Authors: David Farland

Sons of the Oak (9 page)

BOOK: Sons of the Oak

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THE SIEGE

Peace comes not from an absence of conflict, but from an absence of despair.

âDuke Paldane

In the watchtower at Castle Coorm, Chancellor Waggitâwho only an hour before had only carried the title of Hearthmasterâpaced beside the far-seers, expecting a siege. By all of the signs, it appeared that he had one.

He had often come to the watchtowers at night, looking to the far-seers for news. The far-seers had many endowments of sight, hearing, and smell. Little happened near the castle that escaped their detection.

On most nights they kept their silent watch, amusing themselves and the chancellor with the antics of the townsfolk. The cobbler's wife had several lovers, and could often be seen tiptoeing to some tryst while her husband slept off his nightly drunk, blissfully unaware that there was only a slim chance that he had fathered even one of his nine children. Other nights, the far-seers would relay the words to screaming fights that took place outside the alehouses, or just watch the stags and bears sneak into apple orchards on the hillsides to eat the fallen fruit.

But tonight, there was danger afoot. A wind picked up just after midnight, less than an hour after Prince Fallion had ordered the slaughter of Asgaroth's troops, and it blew this way and that, signaling a storm. The air was thick and fetid, as if it had blown out the Westlands from the swamps at Fenraven.

It sat heavy in the lungs, and made breathing tiresome. Worse, the air carried clouds of gnats that seemed to want to lodge in Waggit's throat when he breathed, and mosquitoes that acted as if his was the only blood to be found for twenty leagues.

Heavy clouds began to lumber over the horizon, blotting out the stars, and grumbling could be heard, the voice of distant lightning.

Sometimes a bolt would sizzle through the clouds, creating a burst in the heavens. By that light, the far-seers reported strengi-saats at the edge of the woods in the southern hills, dark shadows flitting between trees. Earlier in the day, Waggit had thought that there were perhaps a dozen of the beasts, but with each hour the count grew. Strengi-saats were filling the countryside, and Waggit realized that he and Sir Borenson had only stumbled upon their advance guard. There were not just a dozen of them. The far-seers reported several dozen, perhaps even hundreds.

And over the hill to the north, even Waggit's poor eyes could see that campfires glowed, limning the hills and trees with light. An army was gathering. From time to time, the far-seers reported that troops rode in haste over a distant hill to the north, lances like a forest against the sky, or they would spot small groups of warriors scrounging around cottages, poking through barns.

Warning of the siege had come too late, and most of the livestock was still out there, waiting to fill the bellies of enemy troops.

No sooner had Asgaroth made his retreat than Waggit sent out three graak riders to nearby castles, calling for troops. He hoped that reinforcements would arrive soon.

But the heavens filled with black clouds, and the air grew heavy with the smell of rain. His messengers would not be able to fly in this storm, not with lightning bolts sizzling past their heads.

An hour before dawn, Waggit stood marveling at his own meteoric rise to power. Nine years ago he had been working as a miner and his only title, if he'd had one, might have been “village idiot.” But when the reavers attacked Carris, by virtue of his strength and stupidity Waggit found himself in the front lines, swinging his pickax for all that he was worth. The minstrels claim that he killed nine reavers that day. He doubted it. He could only remember killing a couple. But for Waggit's valor the Earth King gave him the title of Baron, along with nine forcibles. Five of them he had used to take endowments of Wit, so that now he recalled all that he saw and heard. The other forcibles he had used to give himself strength and stamina, so that he might study long into the nights.

Thus he had raised himself to the status of Hearthmaster, a teacher in the House of Understanding.

And only moments before she left, the queen had named him Chancellor and bestowed upon him the task of caring for Castle Coorm and the lands roundabout.

It would have been a pleasant task in fairer times. Coorm was called the Queen's Castle, for over the centuries many a queen had made it their summer resort when the air got too muggy at the Courts of Tide. It was a pretty castle, one might even say dainty, with its tall spires and pleasant views.

But now it seemed a death trap.

Waggit was determined to defend it to the best of his ability, and he had good captains under him who knew how to wage a war. But he couldn't help but worry. His own wife and daughter, both of whom were named Farion, were trapped within the walls.

So it was that just before dawn a large force of soldiers came sweeping toward the castle on foot, racing down over the hill from the north. The men sprinted through the damp fields with unnatural quiet, it seemed, or perhaps it was the contrary winds that blew away the sound of their approach. There were thousands of menâarchers with longbows, force soldiers with spears and axes.

Asgaroth rode before them, upon his red blood mare.

One of the castle guards winded a horn, his plaintive notes warning almost no one, for the walls were already well manned.

The signal was mostly for the benefit of the queen, to let her know that the battle had begun, if any of her folk were still within hearing range of the horns.

But the signal served another purpose, one closer to Waggit's heart: from the graakerie, eight graaks suddenly took flight at the sound. Upon the back of each sat a young boy or girl, cowled and anonymous.

One rider was Waggit's own daughter, seven-year-old Farion.

The graaks split off in groups. Four of them went northeast toward the Courts of Tide. Three winged northwest toward Heredon.

And one flew straight up toward the far-seer's tower, thundering above it, the wash from its vast leather wings stirring the air.

From atop it, Waggit heard a small voice call, “Good-bye, Daddy.”

Waggit's heart skipped a beat. Farion sounded so tiny and frightened to be riding such a great beast.

The graak let out a plaintive croak, then suddenly turned and followed the three that headed for Heredon.

Waggit smiled sadly, relieved to see that his daughter had made it through the takeoff, worried about how far she had to go.

It will be storming soon, he thought. The rain and thunder will drive the graaks to ground. But hopefully it will be many hours from now, and the great reptiles will be far away.

Waggit stood, leaning upon a staff, watching the children fly off into the night.

Let Asgaroth puzzle that one out, he thought. If it is the princes he wants, he'll have to send men to follow the decoys.

But suddenly there arose grunting sounds from the north, the sound that graaks make when they take flight, and Waggit watched in horror as dozens of the creatures rose up from the woods.

They had no riders upon their backs, no saddles even, and when they saw the riders, they let out frightful cries and climbed like hawks.

With rising horror, Waggit watched the cloud of winged beasts, and realization came to him.

There were stories, ancient stories, of such graaksâtrained not as mounts, but as winged assassins.

None had been used in nearly two hundred years.

The lords of the Earth had a tacit agreement: children, even messengers, were never to be targeted in war, and since assassin graaks would of necessity kill children, their use among civilized folk had long since been abandoned.

Apparently, Asgaroth was not civilized folk.

“Farion!” Waggit shouted in warning. “Come back!” But she was too far away to hear.

Amid cries of dismay, the young riders hugged the necks of their mounts as the killer graaks swept toward them. Some children turned their mounts, tried to veer away from the killers, but such a race was bound to end badly, for there were two or three killer graaks to each mount, and they would not be hindered by riders.

Waggit winded his own horn, calling retreat, and watched in terror to see if the children would give heed.

Six of the children heard.

Two others, two that had been heading toward Heredon, seemed to freeze with fear. Waggit watched in dismay as killer graaks swept up and deftly plucked the children from their mounts, then dove and brought the children to earth kicking and screaming, to make of them a meal.

Not my Farion, Waggit told himself. Not my daughter.

He had lost track of where Farion might be. He knew that she was upon a graak, and he also knew that she was the least adept of the riders. Had she been able to turn in time?

The others raced back toward the castle, their mounts veering and swerving as killer graaks gave chase. As the graaks neared the castle walls, archers let fly a hail of arrows, trying to deter the attackers, but it was little use. The assassin graaks kept coming.

One child took an arrow in the shoulder. He cried out and fell from his graak, hundreds of feet, to land with a crunch just outside the castle wall.

Another dove toward the graakerie and hit the landing pad, and as he tried to leap to safety, a killer graak dove like a giant gull and took him in its teeth.

The rest of the children veered between towers, screaming for help as enemy fliers gave chase. Waggit watched them fly by, the wingtips of their graaks nearly clipping the towers, the stark fear showing in every line of their faces.

Two passed him, a third.

Then the last of the children came, racing toward his tower, and Waggit heard Farion's voice, so full of terror that it broke his heart, crying, “Daddy!”

A killer graak was racing up behind her.

Arrows whipped up toward the killer, and Waggit wondered if he could leap onto its back, use his own weight to bear it to earth.

But it stooped above him, screaming down in a dive, and the worst that he could do was to throw his warhorn.

The warhorn bounced off its chest. The graak didn't even seem to notice.

Farion dove straight toward the gate, hugging the leathery neck of her graak, screaming in terror.

Arrows blurred up, hitting the killer graak as it raced down to snatch her. Waggit heard the snick of arrows, saw them bounce off its breast, and
then one struck home, blurring into the monster's breast, and the killer graak made a croaking sound, veered left, and began to fall rapidly.

Waggit saw Farion's own graak hit the ground fast, and Farion was thrown onto the cobblestone streets on impact.

She rolled down near the wall of an inn, and a force soldier hastened to her side, grabbed her.

For a brief moment, the girl was silent, and Waggit held his breath, afraid that she'd taken injury in the fall. But within moments she began to scream in terror and fight the guard, breaking free, and then she scrambled into the door of the inn.

In the end, only five children made it back safely.

When it was done, the assassin graaks flapped heavily out toward the woods, and Chancellor Waggit gazed down into the fields to the north.

Asgaroth sat straight in his saddle, gave a nod of satisfaction.

Now the siege begins in earnest, Waggit thought. For certainly Asgaroth believed that if any of the princes were alive, they had just been driven to ground at the castle.

But Asgaroth waved his men forward. Dozens of them swept over the fields, into the woods east of the castle, and Waggit was left to marvel.

Asgaroth had suspected that it was a ruse. Perhaps he had even
known
that it was a ruse.

Yet he had let his graaks murder innocent children anyway.

What kind of man would do that? Waggit wondered.

Waggit had studied much in the House of Understanding. He had read histories of ancient lords, befouled and evil, and in time had begun to understand a little of how they thought, how they gained power.

But no one could ever really understand them. No sane man would want to.

Now that he had finished terrorizing the castle, Asgaroth left a contingent of warriors to beat back any attempt that Waggit's troops might make to sally forth while he went to search for the princes in earnest.

TRUST

The art of raising a child comes in knowing when to hold his hand, and when to let it go. Once he learns to trust you, he is ready to learn to trust himself.

âJaz Laren Sylvarresta

At the snarl of the strengi-saat, Rhianna rose up on her elbow, edged to the open flap, and peered out over Hadissa's shoulder: the stars shone down through a thin haze that clung to the river. Starlight gleamed on the water, upon the slick round stones along the bank, and upon the glossy leaves of grass and vines along the shore.

Rhianna wished fiercely that there was more of a fog. Myrrima had promised them one, but Rhianna could see plainly through the thin haze.

Enormous pine trees crowded the banks along the steep sides of a hill; beneath them, all was shadows.

The strengi-saats will be on us before we ever see them, Rhianna thought.

And then there was a hiss in the trees, pine boughs brushing against one another, as something huge leapt from a large branch, and Rhianna clearly saw a shadow glide across the water ahead, only twenty feet in the air, and land among the rounded boulders at the edge of the river.

Rhianna dared not cry out, for fear that she would attract the monster's attention. Besides, she was sure that Borenson and the others could see it.

The strengi-saat dropped silently to the ground and merely crouched in the shadows on the riverbank. It sniffed the air and peered about, searching for prey, and then cocked its head to the side, listening.

It can't hear us, Rhianna thought, even though her heart beat so loudly that it thundered in her ears. It can't see us, either.

But she knew from her time among the strengi-saats that they had powerful eyes, and seemed to travel well even in total darkness.

So why doesn't it see us now?

The fog, Rhianna realized.

Myrrima had anointed Rhianna's eyes, promising that she would be able to see through the mist. Could it be that the strengi-saat really was blinded by the haze that crept along the river?

If that was true, then Myrrima was a wizardess, and suddenly Rhianna knew that it was true and some white-hot part of her soul burned with a desire to be like the stately woman.

Rhianna glistened with sweat. It was as if her body was trying to reject the opium that the healer had given her, so that it purged the drug from every pore. She licked her upper lip and found that it tasted bitter from opium and from the acids in her body.

She felt that surely the strengi-saat would hear them or smell them. But the beast just held still as the boat glided swiftly downriver toward it, and for their part, as the boat drifted slowly and began to spin, the adults on the boat remained still, like frightened rabbits that hold and hold right until the time when you reach down into the tall grass and snatch them up.

Water lapped softly at the sides of the boat, but the river here was swift; it burbled among the rocks and hissed through the canyon. Perhaps the small sounds of their passage were masked by the larger waves lapping the shore.

Rhianna's gut ached from her wound. As they neared the strengi-saat, the terror that she felt of the monster, the fear that it would violate her again and try to fill her with its children, was overwhelming. She bit down, clenching her jaw, afraid that if she did not, the beast would hear her teeth chatter, or that she would let out a scream, and she realized that her hand was clenching her dirk so hard that it ached.

And suddenly, there was a movement from the boat. Hadissa, the dark-skinned little man from Indhopal, silently rose to his feet, cocked an arm, and let something fly. A dagger flashed end over end, and lodged into the head of the monster, striking deep into its tympanum with a solid
thunk.

The strengi-saat gave a startled cry, almost a whine, and leapt forward, lunging into water up to its chest. There its head sank beneath the waves, and it thrashed about, kicking with its back legs.

Without warning, a second shadow dropped from the woods, arced toward the spot, and landed without a sound on the riverbank.

It cocked its head, then lunged out over the water, not a dozen feet in the air.

As it neared the boat, Hadissa made a fantastic leap, launching himself at the monster. He had numerous endowments of brawn and grace, and he seemed almost to fly up into the air to meet the beast.

His scimitar sang from its sheath, and the strengi-saat gave a bark of astonishment.

At the last instant, it must have seen its foe. It raised a claw.

With a vicious swipe of the sword, Hadissa struck. There was a crack of metal as his sword shattered against the strengi-saat's bony claw.

The strengi-saat dropped, crashing onto the boat, which rocked wildly. The children cried out in terror, fearing that they would capsize. The beast raised its head and snarled, a deep roar, as Myrrima spun and swung a pole, cracking it over the monster's head.

Rhianna heard a thump and a splash as Hadissa hit first the side of the boat, then water.

There were thuds on the boat planks as Borenson rushed to attack, but in that instant, the strengi-saat's nostrils flared and it lunged toward the opening in the boxes, its mouth wide, as if to take Rhianna in its teeth.

But Rhianna had a secret of her own. When she was a child of five, her father's men had been sent to hunt her. In an effort to disguise her, Rhianna's mother had given her a single endowment of metabolism, taken from a whippet.

Thus, over the years, Rhianna had aged at double speed. Though she had only been born nine years ago, she looked like a girl of thirteenâand she could move with blinding speed.

In stark terror, Rhianna twisted away from the strengi-saat, and the pain of the stitches in her belly flared as she swung her dirk, burying it up to the finger guard into the monster's tympanum.

Rhianna's mother had once told her that if you ever needed to stab something, that you should never settle for one blow, but to keep striking again and again.

So her hand blurred as she buried the dagger into the monster again, again, again. And suddenly she realized that Fallion had lunged forward
and was plunging his own long knife into the tympanum on the strengi-saat's other side. The strengi-saat was lunging toward her, trying to take her in its mouth, and distantly she became aware of Fallion shouting, “Get away from her! Get away!”

Fallion edged his body between Rhianna and the monster. He was simultaneously trying to drive it off and to defend her, as he'd sworn.

So few people had ever kept their word to Rhianna that she stopped to stare at Fallion, her mouth falling open with a little startled “Oh!”

The creature cried out, appearing astonished at Fallion's ferocious assault, wrenched back, and then Borenson was on it, burying his warhammer into its back.

The beast sprung into the air, flung itself backward over the boat, and then lay splashing in the water.

Rhianna crouched, hot blood dripping onto her hand, her heart pounding so hard that she was afraid that she would die. She gaped at Fallion, who grinned wickedly and wiped his blade clean on his tunic.

Mist came to Rhianna's eyes as she peered at him.

Here is someone I can trust, she told herself.

Hadissa suddenly pulled himself over the gunwales, and plopped in a sopping heap in the bottom of the boat. The boat rocked just a little. Then he stood, crouching like a dancer, waiting to see if more of the monsters would come.

Myrrima took an oar and righted the boat. There was a roar of rapids ahead, and she aimed the boat toward a dark V of water. No one spoke. Everyone listened. Only the wind hissed through the branches of the pines.

Rhianna reached down, felt her stomach to make sure that she hadn't ripped her stitches open. When she found a warm dot of blood, she pushed herself to the back of the shelter and tried to hold still.

Don't sleep, she told herself. Don't let yourself sleep. Sleeping is stupid. People die when they let themselves get caught asleep.

But she dared to close her eyes.

Fallion is watching for me, she told herself.

BOOK: Sons of the Oak

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