Devastating Hate (13 page)

“Where did she come from?” hissed Carmondai. Armatòn had not recovered from the shock.

“Drive as fast as you can if you value your lives!” she shouted, burrowing under the rolls of silk and linen cloth to protect herself from älf
archers. “You'll have to whip the oxen! Get going, I beg you! The dwarf kingdom has fallen! There's an army come to wipe us out! Hurry!”

Pantako stared at her in amazement, then he looked up at the battlements. “What the blazes is going on up there? Who is that? And why did she—?”

“Finish them off!” Armatòn commanded.

The guards stood up and took aim, loosing a hail of long arrows straight at the barbarians.

Struck several times over, Pantako and the tradesmen sank down, but the oxen kept going. Carmondai could see that the girl had been spared a feathered death. From the midst of the mountain of cloth rolls, a long rod extended and began to beat the oxen; the animals roared in protest and quickened their pace.

Armatòn muttered a curse. He ordered the guards on the inside of the gate to stand guard.

In the meantime the älfar archers kept up a barrage of arrows. One of the beasts was hit and the cart slowed down. The barbarian girl slipped from the cart, taking a small bale with her as a shield as she ran.

Carmondai bounded down the steps and reached the hall where the warriors were mounting their night-mares.

“Bring the girl back at all costs, even if it means going without your disguises!” Armatòn said. The gate opened.

Carmondai jumped onto his own horse and followed the troop through the gate, trying desperately to keep up with them as they galloped out on much faster steeds, the thunder of their hooves echoing back from the stone walls.

Then they were out, heading into Tark Draan—and way ahead of him.

Carmondai rode past the cart and saw the second ox falter and collapse, stuck with arrows. On the ground he noticed a silver amulet, its chain broken.

Reining in his horse, he jumped down and picked it up. It certainly looked like silver; he could not make head nor tail of the runes inscribed on it, but as he held it in his hand he felt his fingers tingle.
Is it . . . magic?
His kind had certain powers, such as the ability to extinguish light and disseminate waves of fear, but none had the makings of a real magician.
Even so, most älfar would be aware of the presence of magic. This talisman was definitely a case in point.

So, barbarian, who are you exactly?
He raised his eyes to where, in the distance, the road wound over the hills. He saw the älfar riders split into several groups, suggesting they had lost track of the girl.

If she managed to reach a town or even a garrison, the news of the fall of the dwarf kingdom would quickly spread and the älfar would have lost the advantage of surprise.
Help me, gods of infamy, let me be the one to find her! It would be a triumph!

He stowed the amulet in his pocket, mounted his horse and stormed off.

Tark Draan (Girdlegard), to the southeast of the Gray Mountains, Golden Plain,

4371
^st
division of unendingness (5199
^th
solar cycle),

late summer.

Morana had been ill at ease ever since first setting foot on elf territory. Now her agitation grew with every mile she covered across the Golden Plain.

The idyll that surrounded her contrasted with the apprehension she felt: swallows soared against the sky, one cornfield gave on to the next, with the occasional deep green meadow for light relief, and scattered about the landscape were towering trees with huge canopies, shedding shadows as big as a whole village. Far away there were towns and isolated farmsteads connected by excellent roads, so traveling was easy. She could not read the signs at the crossroads; the elf runes were quite different from älfar script.

Morana kept away from the settlements, not wanting to be confronted with questions about where she was from. She had been more or less forced to travel by day in order to make reasonable time, and as a result her eyes—as black as midnight lakes—would have immediately aroused suspicion. She assumed the elves would remember their enemies' black eyes—even if the älfar had faded to rumor in their lands.

These roads will enable our army to advance very quickly.
She decided to take the eastern fork at the next crossroads, heading deeper into the elf lands. She was becoming impatient: when was she going to reach that crater?
Have I miscalculated?

A town reared up close by. Too close for her liking.

Elves in white attire worked in the fields, gathering the harvest and tossing corn on to long carts. The sound of threshing came from the sheds by the mills on the riverbank. Elves who saw Morana passing raised an arm in greeting.

The älf returned their friendly gestures with hatred in her heart, but common sense prevented her from drawing her sword and bounding past the corn to slay as many elves as possible.
The Plain of Gold? We'll be calling it the Plain of Blood before long,
she vowed.

As the town had no protective wall, she studied its construction as she rode past. It was a strange way of building—senseless, really.

The elves had put all the buildings on stilts. All the houses, streets, and squares were a good four paces above ground level, but the earth was not swampy or particularly soft.
Is it a sign of their arrogance?
Morana looked at the river.
It must be prone to breaking its banks.

She reined in for a moment, pulled out her record book and made a note to that effect, then continued on her journey. In planning their campaign they might have to contend with floodwater. This natural phenomenon was probably the cause of the fields being so fertile—but an army would come to grief.

She would have to find out what time of year these floods happened so that the nostàroi could take it into account, though she supposed it was most likely to be spring.

The elf houses were round, like tree stumps or mushrooms, and the walls were painted in soft pastels, with decorations and runes in green. Sun symbols were everywhere because the elves worshipped light. Another frequent emblem was a sign for the river: light blue wavy lines.

Morana gave herself a shake.
I look forward to burning down this insult to my eyes; then the river they love so much can carry the ashes away.

She spurred her horse onward. It was a great relief to know that their enemies did not share their own aesthetic when it came to architecture.

But she should not have been surprised.

She knew many a legend that claimed to explain why the elves were so hated and it was always a question of the deception, treachery, greed and injustice that the älfar had suffered at the hands of the elves.

However, elves and älfar remained physically extremely similar. That was why the elves had to be eradicated, to avoid any further confusion.

You present yourselves to the barbarians as creatures of light, but we know your true nature
, thought Morana.
The groundlings were no more deceived by you than we are, but humans are dazzled by you—they'll believe any nonsense you like to tell them. They'll soon see your true colors and how corrupt and devious you are.

The road she was traveling led due east, passing fields and small groves.

Morana even saw some unicorns grazing at the edge of a wood. She smiled cruelly.
Our night-mares will get the benefit of new thoroughbred blood. It will improve the breed.

Ever since she had seen the pit, she had had a growing suspicion that the elves in Tark Draan were pursuing their own secret plans. Perhaps it did not entail the conquest of the entire land and the subjugation of all the races living there, but they were following a higher purpose: something to do with their goddess Sitalia, for sure. What sacrifice would their goddess demand?
The death of every creature in Tark Draan, perhaps? It would explain why the elves have permitted the barbarians to breed like animals ready for the sacrifice. They are capable of anything.

She came up to a crossroad that surprisingly offered only north and south options. She could make out the crater not too far off, but no path to it through the sparse grassland.

The pointy-ears don't want anyone to get there.
She urged her horse on and they galloped across open country toward the hole.

The landscape changed and turned into steppe, but nothing was growing in the vicinity of the crater. Morana immediately felt more comfortable.

It's a sign! This region is not permeated by the obnoxious spirit of Sitalia and the elves.

She kept coming across weather-beaten signs, probably warning travelers to keep away. Morana found the aura of the crater was exercising a pleasant attraction.

Approaching the crater, she calculated the huge semi-circular hollow to be about 15,000 paces in diameter and 3,000 paces deep. The edges were black, as if burned. Something vast had crashed into the Golden Plain with tremendous force.

And Morana knew what it must have been . . .

One of our Creating Spirit's tears!
She halted her night-mare and surveyed the scene, trying to find clues to affirm her idea.

She discovered a path leading down to the center of the crater and took it, noting the light-colored sand heaped in the center. It looked completely out of place, as if added in later.

The elves have attempted to fill the crater up.
Morana dismounted, took out her notebook and pen, sat down at the edge and started to draw the scene, fascinated by what she had found.

This could be the kernel of a new älfar empire—a new Dsôn that our people will use as a base to rule over Tark Draan! When the nostàroi get my report and see my drawings they will want to conquer the Golden Plain first of all and get the Inextinguishables to erect a second palace here.
Morana imagined the älfar city growing.
And they will look down on Tark Draan from their Tower of Bones and they will know that it was I that discovered the crater and told them about it. They will give me their blessing!

She could neither stop sketching, nor stop letting her enthusiasm run away with her.

Tark Draan (Girdlegard), south of the Gray Mountains,

4371
^st
division of unendingness (5199
^th
solar cycle),

late summer.

Carmondai felt no fear when he rode through Tark Draan on the evening of the third moment of unendingness. To start with he had followed the faint tracks of the barbarian girl, but now he was following his nose in a southwesterly direction, toward the place where the sun sank each evening.

He did not know why he let his horse go that way. He called it an instinct.

He had split from the älfar riders a while ago and now he looked like a genuine elf on his horse.
On a nice little outing to enjoy the fine weather. Although Caphalor won't appreciate me doing my own thing like this.

Carmondai took the amulet out to look at.
Where will I find your owner?
Immediately he felt a tingling in his fingers and up along the wrist. “And what are you capable of, I wonder?”

He was not really surprised that the barbarian girl had managed to evade discovery for so long. Hidden in the Gray Mountains, she had miles of tunnels, mine shafts and caves to disappear into. Though it had emerged that the kingdom of the groundlings had not been as
secure as the nostàroi had thought. And that represented danger for an encamped army.

Night was falling and the uneven path wound away toward a massive wall. Carmondai presumed it had been built to defend the town behind it; the residents must once have been accustomed to fighting off invasions.

All the better that I found it—I can take a closer look without arousing suspicion.
And anyway, he was getting tired. He had been out in the open too long and really liked the idea of a proper bed. Even if it had to be a barbarian bed.

Carmondai reached the town gate. Light fell from two fire baskets and four torches fixed in place on the walls. Two men looked down from the top of the wall, obviously not expecting trouble. “Greetings,” Carmondai called, raising his hand. “May I spend the night here? Though I'm afraid I don't know what your town is called.”

“You are at the gates of Halmengard, elf,” one of them replied. “Welcome, and keep the peace of our town, or we'll trim your ears faster than you can get back on your horse.” His comrade laughed.

Carmondai was interested to note that elves were not treated with respect in this region of Tark Draan, but were issued with threats. “I swear to keep the peace. But why are you so uncivil?”

“Do you come from Gwandalur?”

“No, I am from the south.”

“Then you are indeed welcome in our walls. May Sitalia be with you,” the watchman responded with no resentment in his voice this time. One of the gates was flung wide and Carmondai rode in.

He did not inquire further, not wanting to show his ignorance and appear suspicious. But he made a mental note of the name Gwandalur.
The barbarians don't like the place. Excellent!

Once inside the town he was struck by the robust and simple construction methods. The flat-roofed houses had no timber frame, and were built from large blocks of stone, as if each dwelling might have to be defended.

Another guard wearing simple, plated armor was waiting on the far side of the gate. His black beard was well kept, making him appear as
though he was a relation of the groundlings. “You will be needing somewhere to stay,” he said to Carmondai. “Your kind often stay at the Sun Inn. It's on the southern side. Take the first right then keep straight on. You'll recognize the sign.”

Your kind.
Carmondai suppressed a laugh.
If you only knew
! “My thanks.” After a few paces he reined in his horse and turned around in the saddle. “Oh, and another thing, if I need a famula, where would I look?”

“A famula?” The barbarian considered before replying. “I've not seen one in town for ages. We don't have any links with Simin; his realm doesn't overlap much with Thapiaïn, so he doesn't come here and nor do his pupils.”

“Thank you anyway.” Carmondai took the recommended road, but then turned down an alleyway. The last thing he wanted was accommodation favored by his enemies.

He wandered about aimlessly until he came to a tavern that looked expensive. Two liveried servants waited at the door to greet guests.

Carmondai stopped here. “Greetings. Is the food good here? And the beds, are they comfortable?”

They grinned, taken aback. “We could hardly say anything else, sir,” replied the smaller of the two. “It would be an honor for us—”

“I'm not from Gwandalur, of course, if you were worried about that,” he continued boldly. He wanted to see how the barbarians would react.

“That is a pleasing circumstance, sir,” the man replied. “The dragon worshippers are not welcome anywhere. But if you had been from there the guards would never have let you in.”

“And why is that?”

“Our king is a third cousin of the Duke of Wallham.”

“And?” prompted Carmondai.

“Sir, Wallham is on the border with Gwandalur,” said the servant. “The dragon takes their cattle.”

“Of course.” Carmondai dismounted, lifting down his saddlebags, then handed the reins to the taller servant. “Show me in.”

“Gladly, sir.” The small one led the way and took him into a high-ceilinged room where a slim woman wearing a deep yellow dress was waiting at the entrance.

She bowed to the älf. “Welcome, sir. My name is Geralda and I will be delighted to show you our available rooms so you may make your choice. Perhaps you would like to take a bath to refresh yourself after your journey?”

Carmondai was pleased at the courteous reception. He was struck by the symmetry of her facial features and by the way she held herself.
She would do well in Dsôn
, he thought,
though veiled, and as a slave
. Her voice was pleasant, not too shrill like most barbarian women. “My choice is made,” he said. “I will take your largest room and that bath.”

“Yes, sir. Would you like company when you bathe, or would you prefer just the hot water and fragrant essences?”