A Crown Imperiled (3 page)

His second task was to seek out the one person who could be termed an ally, albeit loosely. She might make the difference between his people’s survival and their obliteration.

Arkan eased his horse down a dark trail. His night vision was better than the horse’s, so he had to carefully manoeuvre his mount to keep them both from stumbling.

At last, in the distance he saw the campfires that marked his destination. As he neared the edge of the encampment a voice called out his name. Slowing his horse, he approached the fire’s glow. ‘Greetings, Helmon.’ He glanced around the sentry camp and said, ‘Are the Snow Leopards ready for war?’

‘No more than usual,’ said the warrior in charge of the post with a wry chuckle. He extended his hand. ‘Good to see you, cousin.’

‘Let’s hope our aunt feels the same,’ answered Arkan, taking his arm. Each gripped the other’s wrist.

‘She’s expecting you.’

Arkan didn’t try to hide his surprise. ‘Really?’

With a slight smile the broad-shouldered fighter nodded once. ‘Head straight to the split in the trail, then right to the small clearing above the main camp. You’ll have no trouble finding it.’

Helmon was correct: Arkan found the pavilion he sought with ease. A great tent had been erected on a plateau overlooking the largest encampment in the area. A guard signalled for Arkan to leave his horse with him. The Chieftain of the Ardanien dismounted, tossed the reins to him, then paused for a moment, looking down at the massive encampment below.

The Snow Leopards.

The most significant single clan among the moredhel, they had grown steadily in size and power over the last century. Their leader was Arkan’s aunt, Liallan, widow of the notorious Delekhan. It had been Delekhan who had tried to invade the human Kingdom of the Isles; an invasion based on the lie that the humans had imprisoned Murmandamus during the moredhels’ first invasion of the south years before. Delekhan had been second among those who had served Murmandamus, only surpassed by Murad, the shaman-chief of Clan Raven. Delekhan had also been among the maddest of those servants. Much of the truth about that struggle was hidden, but Arkan knew that his father, Gorath, had killed Delekhan. And it had been Narab who had killed Delekhan’s son, Moraeulf, seeking to gain control of Delekhan’s Clan Badger and the rest of his alliances. That would have made him king a century ago.

But Delekhan’s widow, Liallan, had kept control of the Snow Leopards and Badgers. Their clans had never merged while her husband lived, but with Delekhan’s death she had deftly integrated the Badgers into the Snow Leopards. She was now the only force among the moredhel with enough power to thwart Narab.

A warrior motioned for him to dismount as he reached his aunt’s tent, a sprawling thing divided into several segments by cleverly hung curtains.

Inside, across an expanse of fine wool rugs, Liallan reclined on a pile of furs wearing travel garb made from the costliest of materials. No tanned leather breeches and home-spun tunic for the mistress of the Snow Leopards; her riding trousers were cut from the best woollen weave, dyed a midnight blue, and her open-collared shirt was white silk laced with loops and frogs carved from ivory over which she sported a dyed red leather vest with a soft sheepskin lining. Arkan had hunted the massive ice walruses and so had some sense of what those buttons alone had cost her.

He bowed slightly. ‘Aunt, are you well?’

Liallan’s appearance had changed little throughout Arkan’s entire life. Her hair was still dark, though shot through with grey streaks, and there were now fine lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Years of riding horseback in the sun had given her whipcord toughness and her movement was lithe as she stood to greet her great nephew.

‘Well enough, Arkan.’

‘Regal’ was the only term to sum up her carriage and manner. If the moredhel were ever to have a queen, she would be the perfect exemplar. Arkan was always struck by her vicious combination of seductive beauty and unconfined ruthlessness. It was reputed that when Arkan’s father had killed Delekhan, Liallan had poured wine and toasted Gorath. She was without a doubt the single most dangerous woman in the history of his people.

‘It is good to see you, nephew,’ she said as she indicated a place for him to sit.

A young female servant brought over a tray and from it Liallan took a small sliver of spiced sausage and placed it ritually between Arkan’s teeth. It was a formal acceptance of him as her guest, and under the laws of hospitality meant that no harm would befall him while he was in her tent.

‘So, you managed to get here without incident. Good.’

He gave her a slight smile. ‘Those who might cause me trouble were otherwise occupied, Liallan.’

She inclined her head. ‘Narab?’

‘His warriors were breaking heads when I left the council.’

She sighed. ‘Narab is prone to impatience. The Southern Clans are not loyal to him, although they reside within his traditional territory. And given my unwillingness to ally with him, he’s been unable to press his claim to supremacy. He’d provoke rebellion among his own subjects if he tried to move in a more overt fashion. So he must contrive a way to have leadership forced upon him over false protests.’

For a moment, Arkan wondered if inviting the Star Elves into Sar-Sargoth was as foolish a move as he had thought mere moments ago. ‘Aunt, do you think he’s found a common enemy to unite the clans of the north under his banner?’

Liallan waved her hand dismissively and reached for a flagon on a low table just behind her. Filling a cup, she handed it to Arkan then poured one for herself. ‘Even the real Murmandamus after he had united the clans was clever enough not to claim the title of king. Had he lived another fifty years, perhaps he might have. His rule was the greatest in the history of our people.

‘At the time of his death the true Murmandamus waited for the clans to endorse his rule, and had he been victorious in his assault on Elvandar, they almost certainly would have.’ She sighed. ‘My grandfather told me of that time. We have never known like times since. The false Murmandamus made no attempt to rule: he merely offered portends and signs to persuade us that it was time to march south.

‘The chieftains were ready for a fight and by routing the Kingdom at Highcastle, he gathered many to his banner.’ She smiled at her great-nephew. ‘Drink.’

He took a sip and found the ale bracing and nutty. Smiling he said, ‘Cetswaya will be pleased to know there’s still some winter ale around.’

Her smile broadened and he could see genuine amusement in her expression. ‘How is he?’

‘Well, enough,’ he answered. He was a little surprised at her interest in the heath of his clan’s shaman, but then he considered that at their age each had few other contemporaries left alive. ‘He worries, as always.’

‘It’s his place to worry, as it is yours to be cautious or bold as the situation merits. And now is the time for you to be worried, cautious
and
bold.’ She studied his face when he didn’t reply. ‘What do you know of the story of your father and Delekhan?’

Arkan shrugged. ‘Only what is commonly known.’

‘And what is that?’ she prodded.

‘That my father learned of a plot by Delekhan and a band of magicians known as The Six. They sought to unite the clans, move south and rescue Murmandamus—’

‘The false Murmandamus,’ she interrupted.

‘Yes,’ he amended, ‘the false Murmandamus.

‘For reasons I do not understand, the plan unravelled, but my father is reported to have died killing your husband while the clans retreated north, back across the Teeth of the World.’ He looked away as if thinking for a moment, then added, ‘My mother never wishes to speak of it.’

‘If you take your people north, Arkan,’ said Liallan, ‘it will be their second trek across the mountains. Gorath married my sister as a means to save what was left of the old Clan Hawk, and my father grudgingly gave permission. But rather than bend his knee to my father, your father took my sister and his remaining retainers into the distant icelands, to nurse his wounds and grow strong again.’ She indulged in a chuckle. ‘My father was livid. Gorath had outsmarted him, using his relationship to the Snow Leopards to ensure that the Ice Bears endured, while not surrendering any authority to him. It was a lesson I remembered when I was forced to wed Delekhan. I always admired your father and envied my sister in some ways.’

Arkan raised a curious eyebrow.

‘Not the life Clothild endured: frozen lakes, barren ice floes, living on fish, walrus, and seal flesh. But she bore him three strong sons and when the Ice Bears came south thirty years later, they were a small but solid clan, one to be treated with respect.’

He listened patiently, but had so far heard nothing he hadn’t already known.

‘My father – your grandfather – had died by then, and I ruled the Snow Leopards. My marriage to Delekhan strengthened my position. It was his choice to make me an ally or his enemy. He wisely chose the first.

‘Yet I would not merge our clans, to his everlasting ire. There was never a hint of love in our marriage, my nephew.’ She sipped her ale. ‘But here’s the truth,’ she said flatly.

Now Arkan was attentive.

‘Your father was counted a traitor by many, even by my sister, his wife, because he did something that ran counter to our every belief and history: he bargained with our enemies.’

‘Bargained?’

‘He had been captured by Delekhan’s agents while fleeing south—’

‘Fleeing?’ echoed Arkan.

She waved at him to be silent. ‘Your father chose to carry warning to the humans in the south. He had been the first to recognize the danger Delekhan and The Six were to our people, but knew he could not find allies enough among the clans to oppose them. So he sought those to the south who might be able to stop Delekhan. And he found them.’

Arkan wanted to ask a question, but he remained silent.

‘He spoke with human nobles, spent time in Caldara, home of the Dwarven King of the Grey Towers, and even paid a visit to the Queen and that abomination she sleeps with in Elvandar.’

Arkan stared at her. None of this was widely known. Finally he asked, ‘How do you know?’

‘Narab,’ she said. ‘When Narab killed Delekhan’s son and rose to take command of Clan Badger, he needed to make peace with me. For once in his life he made the right choice and told me the truth.

‘The trap that was laid during the second attack on the Kingdom city of Sethanon was aided by eledhel and dwarves as well as humans. The secret Narab would happily kill you to hide is that he was the one in league with the eledhel, dwarves and humans. He used them to lure Delekhan’s son, Moraeulf, to his death and then solidify his hold on Clan Badger and their vassal clans.’

Arkan sat back and drained his ale. ‘If the clan chieftains knew of this, Narab could never claim supremacy over the clans.’

‘It is a secret worth killing over. If he could will me dead, I’d be dead. And that’s why he chooses the path of patience on his journey to the throne.’ His aunt looked solemn.

‘Why tell me this?’

‘Because Narab is close to claiming supremacy.’

‘Unless Narab has more swords than we know of, he may have already set what will become a full-scale bloodbath in motion, with his rough treatment of the clan chieftains down there.’

Liallan shook her head. ‘It won’t come to that. By now he will have subdued the ‘council’ without killing any but a few bodyguards. We can be certain that if any chieftain perished tonight, he was no friends of Narab’s. He’ll send them home like whipped dogs in the next hour.’

‘The Star Elves?’

‘They have magic beyond our understanding, beyond even that of the spellweavers down in Elvandar.’ She fixed her nephew with a steady gaze. ‘Unless something changes quickly, Narab is only a year or so, away from entering Sar-Sargoth’s throne room and putting a crown on his own head.’

‘Even the false Murmandamus didn’t dare that, and he was mad.’

‘And he was mad,’ Liallan repeated. ‘I think holy men are more dangerous than ambitious ones, Arkan. The false Murmandamus was content to just lead the nation on a pointless invasion of the human lands.’ She sipped her ale. ‘Give me an ambitious murderer over a fanatic every time. The first will only try to kill you for your position, the second will destroy everything and everyone you love.’

This took Arkan by surprise. His people were not especially demonstrative when it came to feelings and his aunt was perhaps the most ruthless a person he had ever encountered. The dark elves understood desire, but love . . . that was rare and usually reserved for children or, occasionally, siblings. To hear the word ‘love’ come from Liallan’s mouth was something he had never expected.

She smiled. ‘Yes, there are things I love, nephew. Mostly my clan: I have nurtured them as if ever warrior, every woman, each child were my own.’

He nodded. As chieftain of his own small band he understood this feeling. ‘It is more than mere duty.’

‘Indeed,’ she agreed.

‘So Narab seeks to make himself king and we are to just sit here and let him?’

She shook her head and smiled. ‘No, to both. He will not make himself king . . . yet. Tonight is merely an abject lesson. If you head back down into the valley you’ll discover that most of the broken heads belonged to those in open opposition to Narab. His allies and those uncommitted to his cause were, perhaps, jostled a bit, but for the most part remain unharmed. He will claim he was merely restoring order and protecting his guests.’

‘Not all the clans were in attendance. I saw Clan Blood Elk heading west a few days back.’

She looked contemptuous. ‘Those primitives are of no importance.’

He knew she was right politically. ‘But good to have on your side in a fight.’

‘No doubt,’ she agreed, ‘but this time we struggle to avoid a fight.’

‘I noticed no Snow Leopards at the gathering,’ he said in a neutral tone.

‘Why would I go? I knew what was going to happen.’

‘Spies?’

‘I have many . . . friends. And Narab doesn’t have as many as he thinks he does.’

‘Well and good, but that still leaves me up here with you.’