From Across the Clouded Range (53 page)

And today would be different. The
meetings to this point had been brief and inconsequential, reports
and logistics more than real strategizing. Today real decisions
would be made before the, now fully mustered, army marched from the
forest. Arin had been agonizing in his planning, drilling Ipid on
responses should he have to speak and meticulously crafting his own
words. It all implied that the outcome was not guaranteed, that the
Ashüt had real power, that they could undo everything that Ipid had
put in place – for better or worse.

Stepping stiffly from his tent, Ipid
splashed cool water on his face from a nearby bucket but barely
felt it for the intensity of his thoughts. He rubbed the water
through his sleep-matted hair and looked around the dark camp.
Emerging from the tents on every side were the huge warriors who
made up this section of the camp. The horn signaled the morning
exercises, which, from Ipid’s observations, would last until after
the sun was down. He had never seen warriors who trained as
tirelessly as the Darthur, and the results were obvious. He had no
doubt that they were the greatest horsemen he had ever seen. Even
their youngest men would best the most elite units in the Liandrin
Royal Cavalry, and they were every bit as capable with their
weapons as any Morg he had ever seen. It was easy to see how they
had conquered a continent.

Fortunately, the Darthur
made up less than a quarter of the total force they commanded. From
the Ashüt meetings, Ipid had learned that the Darthur had conquered
many other nations from their side of the mountains and forced
those nations to provide troops for this campaign. Like the
Darthur, those men were veterans, well trained and well supplied,
but they were otherwise like any other army in the world, normal
men – not near giants – and mostly on foot. Still, the Darthur had
already conquered one continent. It reinforced the importance of
Ipid’s humble skullduggery – what if they
could
simultaneously defeat the
Liandrins and Morgs?

Walking through the forest of
bleached-leather tents, Ipid tried to keep his eyes diverted from
the men preparing for their training. Despite being Arin’s advisor,
he was still a te-adeate, which meant that his life was barely
tolerated by the Darthur. Te-adeate was, as it turned out, the
lowest of the social distinctions that the Darthur maintained for
those they conquered. Ipid had no idea how those distinctions were
determined, but for him and the boys from the local villages being
te-adeate meant that they were less than slaves. They did most of
the manual work around the camp, received only the food that was
left when the Darthur were finished, and were subject to the
strictest punishments without reason or explanation.

The thought brought him back to the
boys he was about to visit. Ipid worked several hours each morning
with them while Arin trained with his men. Most of that time was
spent teaching them a few words of their masters’ language and how
to manage the burden of their chores. In his previous life, he had
succeeded more because of his ability to organize workers than
because of anything he invented. He applied the same concepts to
the boys, efficiently organizing their activities while giving them
the encouragement to keep going.

His motives in that were not entirely
altruistic. The boys moved around the camp extensively as part of
their chores, and Ipid had told them to pay close attention to
everything they saw. They served as his eyes and ears. They
collectively knew a tremendous amount about the composition of the
invaders and were able to record details that Ipid could not get
from his conversations with Arin.

Still, each morning, he
approached the pen that housed the boys with a knot in his stomach,
half-expecting to see Dasen’s ragged face mixed in with the others.
Thus far there had been no sign or news of Dasen or Tethina, and he
continued to believe that they were safe. By all accounts they
should be well ahead of the invaders, but the lack of definite news
worried him.
What if they had tried to
come back to the village to see Milne? What if the invaders found
the cottage on Lake Mithrel?
He hoped that
they had learned of the invasion and taken the northern roads to
Thoren, but some of the recently captured boys were from the
villages to the north and should have seen their coach. Ipid
supposed that they might not have noticed, but such an enormous
vehicle driving through such small villages should have been a
memorable event.

Saying a silent prayer that some good
news would present itself this day, Ipid rounded the last of the
tents that separated him from the boys. Good news was not what he
found.

Some twenty Darthur were bearing down
on the huddled mass of boys, brandishing their weapons and yelling
threats. Ipid examined the scene in disbelief until he found an
especially foul warrior named Üluth at the front of the mob. He was
Arin’s cousin and a te-ashüte, but he was also Arin’s most vocal
opponent. In particular, he had criticized Arin for taking the
villagers as te-adeate, preferring that their “weakness be erased
from the world.” Ipid’s presence as Arin’s advisor seemed even more
offensive, and he had personally offered to kill Ipid on more than
one occasion.

“
They were holding
weapons,” Üluth screamed as he closed on the boys. “Probably meant
to cut our throats in our sleep, like the honorless cowards they
are. They are unworthy of the effort we have expended on their
education.” Despite the rough treatment, the Darthur believed that
they were helping the te-adeate by teaching them the virtues of
‘true warriors.’ It was, however, strictly forbidden for te-adeate
to touch weapons. All of the boys knew this, and Ipid could not
understand how they might have been caught in such an act. He
looked at the boys and saw many of them carrying short knives meant
for kitchens rather than battle. Since the boys did most of the
cooking around the camp, Ipid was not sure how this could be seen
as an offense.

Yet, the Darthur did not appear
concerned with proof of guilt. They were ready to dole out the only
kind of punishment they understood, which left Ipid no choice. He
threw himself between Üluth and the boys, keeping his eyes
appropriately downcast, and spoke in the most formal Darthur he
could manage. “Honorable teacher Üluth, please allow these boys to
learn the wisdom and compassion of a true warrior through your
actions.” From what Ipid had seen, Darthur warriors were neither
wise nor compassionate, but it was his only hope. “Show your . .
.”

A backhanded blow sent him
sprawling into the boys. He shook his head to remain conscious and
heard Üluth laughing. “A te-adeate worm tells
me
the virtues of a warrior.” The
warriors laughed together; Ipid was in trouble. “It is an insult
above that committed by the boys. Though my cousin would accept
advice from this toad, I will show him what it is to insult a
warrior.”

Ipid regained his focus in time to see
Üluth cover the few strides between them and bring his sword
around. “What a failure” was all that he could say as he watched
the blade arc toward the top of his head.

Steel clashed on steel followed by a
thud that shook the ground. “What is the meaning of this Üluth?”
Arin asked a heartbeat later. “The Ashüt agreed only yesterday that
these people are te-adeate. They have the potential to learn the
honor of clansmen and shall be given that opportunity.” Arin
stepped forward so that he stood between Üluth and the boys. “Do
you propose to dishonor the Ashüt, to dishonor me by disobeying our
decisions?” Arin’s eyes locked with those of his significantly
taller and broader cousin. Sparks of hatred flew between
them.

“
They had weapons,” Üluth
screamed in frustration.

“
Where?” Arin looked back
at the boys most of which had conveniently dropped their knives.
“You mean those pathetic knives?” Arin laughed. “The great warrior
Üluth is frightened by te-adeate boys with cooking knives. Look
out, Üluth, I think there is a grandmother with a stick behind you.
Did you need to kills this fat man,” he gestured to Ipid, “because
he might have attacked you with his jowls?” Arin shook his face at
Üluth, taunting the big man.

Laughter erupted from the gathered
warriors. They delighted in the idea of Ipid, in particular, being
a threat, and countless side jokes passed between them, increasing
their jocularity. Üluth seethed. From what he had seen of Üluth,
Ipid guessed that he was not a quick thinker. He often made brusque
assertions but seldom thought them through or had the ability to
support them when they were challenged. This was obviously the case
now. Ipid could almost see his mind struggling for a retort, and
lacking that, his anger only grew until he shook with
rage.

“
Now,” Arin held up a hand
to silence the gathering crowd. “Üluth, since you had no legitimate
reason to threaten these te-adeate, I can only assume your actions
were meant to dishonor me and the Ashüt. If that is the case, then
you should have the courage to formalize your challenge or you
should prepare your apologies and hope no offense has been
taken.”

A small gasp rose from the gathered
warriors, but they were otherwise silent. Their faces were stone.
Üluth’s eyes took on the uncertainty of a caged animal. Ipid was
not sure why. The Darthur valued their honor above all things, and
questions of honor were typically resolved in duels. Ipid had seen
a few of these. They were fierce but not deadly, and the mere act
of participating seemed to prove both participants honor no matter
the outcome. As such, Ipid could not understand why Üluth hesitated
to accept Arin’s obvious challenge. He was half-again Arin’s size,
and though Arin was surely a skilled fighter, his cousin looked
like one of the fiercest warriors Ipid had ever seen. If he won, it
could only further his standing. If he lost, he would lose little.
Yet the big man seemed terrified.

Finally, Üluth glanced at the warriors
surrounding him. “Apologize to you?” he spat under his breath with
a growl. Then he built himself up and bellowed, “Arin va Uhram
Tavuh, your decisions have led us . . . ”

“
Before you finish that
challenge, Üluth, you might want to think about what you are
doing.” Another voice entered the fray. It came from the fringe of
the Darthur, but Ipid immediately recognized it as that of Arin’s
uncle and closest advisor, Thorold. “As Arin’s Shidé-ded-ator it is
me that you will fight, not him. And because you challenge the
Uhram it will be a fight to the death.”

Üluth’s eyes turned to Thorold, who
strode through the crowd to stand beside Arin. A rumble rose from
the gathered warriors at Thorold’s appearance. Though he was
probably twice Üluth’s age and no larger, even Ipid knew that
Thorold was viewed with nearly godlike awe by the Darthur. Ipid had
seen him simultaneously defeat four men. There was no doubt that he
could best any warrior in the clans in one-on-one competition, and
he was loyal without question to Arin.

Ipid looked at Arin. His confident
smile was still there, but it was joined by a touch of what
appeared to be disappointment. Had he somehow planned this? He
looked around. Were the boy’s knives longer than usual? Were there
a few axes among them? Was it only coincidence that they had walked
past Üluth with those weapons? Had the boys been bait in an
elaborate trap? It all seemed too convenient to be true, but what
Ipid could be sure of was that Üluth was being shamed before what
was now a sizeable crowd of warriors. It played directly, too
directly, into Arin’s hand. And the timing . . . .

To make things worse, Thorold reached
out and slapped his nephew. “Do not look at me with those eyes?”
Thorold scolded. “As your uncle, you will show me respect, or I
will teach it to you. I can still challenge you myself if you want
me to show you what honor is. Now, you will apologize to the Uhram,
or you will complete that challenge.”

Üluth spat blood on the ground and
kept his eyes focused there. His body shook. His hand clenched his
sword until his knuckles were white. Suddenly, Ipid was afraid that
Arin had gone too far. Üluth whispered under his breath and brought
his sword around with a bellow. His stroke was aimed at Arin’s
neck, but the young man moved like a snake. He dropped below the
wild swing grabbed his cousin’s trunk-like legs, and hurled him to
the ground.

The big man went down hard, but Arin
just backed away and made room for his uncle. Thorold gnashed his
teeth as he rounded on his nephew. The crowd formed a large circle
to give them room. Thorold did not even bother to draw the sword
angled across his back. He kicked Üluth, sending him to his back.
His boot found Üluth’s hand next, and his sword spun to the end of
the circle. Finally, that same boot came down on the throat of his
immobilized opponent. “Not even worth dirtying my sword,” Thorold
mumbled between clenched teeth as he crushed Üluth’s
larynx.

In rapture of the spectacle, Ipid did
not see the dark shape that broke the circle and closed on Thorold.
The small black-robed man came to within inches of Thorold before
he was noticed. He placed a white hand on his chest, having to
reach up high to do so, and calmly pushed the huge man back.
Thorold moved as if in a dream. His foot came off of Üluth’s
throat, and he took three mechanical stepped back. With the
pressure removed, Üluth coughed and sputtered, writhing on the
ground.