The Missing Kin (10 page)

Adalon remembered old soldiers, his instructors
at High Battilon, grumbling that life in the
Army was either hurrying or waiting, with nothing
in between.

We've hurried
, he thought as he looked east along
the length of the valley.
And now we're waiting
.

They'd set up camp a mile or so inside the entrance
to the valley. Another mile eastward lay the stone
bridge where the wild Sleeto River crossed the valley
before bending back and plunging through the gap
in the mountains that led to Callibeen. Adalon knew
that the bridge was a vital strategic point. If they
couldn't stop the Thraag Army from entering the valley,
he would have to order his force to fall back over the
bridge and then destroy it, in the hope that the river
would prove a barrier to their foes' advance.

In the dimming light of evening, Adalon had time
to set a picket line and send scouts to the Fist. In the
forlorn hope that Callibeen might manage to send
troops, he also sent scouts to the eastern end of the
valley, from whence they would come. He doubted
that any Callibeen troops would arrive, though.
It was a peaceful kingdom, more interested in
learning than war.

Sunset stained the mountaintops, turning their
snowy heights pink and orange. The ruddy light
climbed higher and higher until the tallest peaks
glowed like hot coals while the others were still
shrouded in shadow. Then night came and wrapped
the valley in its cloak.

'The stars are bright,' Simangee said, her breath
steaming. She had a pocket harp and strummed it
absently. Adalon thought the music sounded sad.
'They look like chips of ice way up there.'

'Is that where the cold comes from?' Adalon
rubbed his hands together. 'What about food and
a hot drink?'

'As long as you're not looking for a feast, you'll
be happy. A few of the saur who used to live here
went scavenging after we set camp. They've come
back with some roots they swear are tasty.'

'That's all?'

'And whatever we had left of our provisions.
Filling, but not very toothsome.'

Adalon nodded. 'You go. I'll join you soon.'

He ambled through the camp, taking note of
how his inexperienced soldiers were coping. His
sword bounced on his hip and he dropped a hand
to steady it.

He paused, wrinkling his snout, and frowned. The
tents were badly sited. Too many had openings facing
the wind. And the fire pits were poorly located, too.
He clicked his tongue and felt anger rise. He clutched
the hilt of his sword. A good flogging would teach
the shirkers a thing or two.

He leaped onto a boulder, then scrambled upward
until he was overlooking the camp. He stared at the
Fist and imagined the Army of Thraag swarming into
the valley. Absently, he slid his sword from its scabbard
and tapped it against the rock at his feet. He enjoyed
the soft ringing noise it made while he thought.

A tiny force resisting a huge one. It could be done
in such a way to inspire legend. He remembered the
battle of Srinath when he'd commanded fifty A'ak
against an army a hundred times larger. He'd harried
first, then fallen back over the muddy, churned-up
ground. The enemy hadn't appreciated the slope
and . . .

Adalon put a hand to his head. It was throbbing,
pounding as if a pair of hammers were at work inside.
What was I thinking?
He shuddered. The chill,
alien thoughts of an A'ak commander had pushed
themselves into his mind. For a moment he'd seen
things through A'ak eyes. With a groan, he thrust the
sword back into its sheath.

He spat on the ground, trying to rid himself of the
evil taste, but at the same time he pondered some of
the insights he'd been granted. The A'ak commander
had been experienced, something Adalon was not.
In such a perilous situation, perhaps his memories
could be useful . . .

Adalon hissed and shook himself as he remembered
how casually the commander had thought of
flogging his own troops.
No, the cost of such wisdom
is too high
.

A flare of light bloomed in the night sky. Adalon
looked twice. It wasn't a signal coming from the Fist
– it was coming from the eastern end of the valley!

He bounded down the rubble-strewn hillside in
time to meet Simangee. 'What have the lookouts
seen?' she said.

Targesh appeared on his riding beast. 'I'll find
out.' He galloped off into the night.

Adalon roused his troops. 'Get your weapons
ready! Put on your armour!'

He asked Simangee, 'What potions did you
bring?'

'Healing potions, mostly. They're the ones I'm
surest about. I have a few fire potions, too.'

'Nothing else?'

'Well, when I was fetching the potions I
remembered I'd just found that some of the bottles
contained illusion potions.'

'Illusions?'

'Fantasies. Mirages. Things that don't exist.
They're not real, but they appear solid.'

'How do you know?'

'I tried some of them.' She held up a thumb-sized
vial. The glass was clear, with spiral grooves. Inside,
the potion was a rich purple. 'When I shatter these,
apparitions appear. Bright lights, frightening faces,
loud noises from nowhere.'

'That was dangerous, trying them like that.'

'It was the only way to find out.'

At that moment, Targesh rode up, his steed
clattering in its haste. 'Soldiers from Callibeen!'

Adalon brightened. 'Good news indeed!' He
looked toward the cleft. Torches twinkled as soldiers
marched into the tiny valley from the east.

'Simangee, can you assemble our company while
I go and meet the commander?'

'Of course.'

Adalon ran for his riding beast and sprang into
the saddle. With a clash and a clatter it bounded
forward, sending gravel spraying from its brass hoofs.
He arrived at the gap in time to greet the Callibeen
soldiers and he was heartened at their numbers.

They eyed him suspiciously.

'Who is your commander?' he asked.

'I am.' A tall Billed One stepped forward. While
most Billed Ones preferred the trading life, being
well represented among merchants and traders, this
Billed One had the bearing and the scars of a warrior.
'And what kind of creature are you?'

Adalon was taken aback at the question, but then
realised how he must appear. Astride a brass beast
that neither breathed nor blinked, clad in sky-blue
armour that would appear inky-black in the night,
he must look unsettling. He took off his helmet and
cradled it in one arm. 'Adalon of the Eastern Peaks,
good sir, here to stop the Army of Queen Tayesha.'
He smiled. 'We're grateful for your joining us.'

The commander inspected him. 'You are young,
Adalon of the Eastern Peaks. Where are your
elders?'

Adalon frowned. 'How old do I have to be to
defend Callibeen? Queen Tayesha's madness will
destroy young as well as old. The young have a right
to resist.'

The commander held up a hand. 'Well spoken,
young sir. I apologise for my rudeness. What is the
size of your force?'

'Nearly a hundred. Plus forty riders.'

'So few? You are courageous indeed, to oppose
an army with such paltry numbers.'

'It is all we have,' Adalon said simply.

The Billed One was silent for a moment. 'I am
the Duke of Ordoon. The King of Callibeen has
entrusted the safety of his realm to me.' He held out
his gauntleted hand.

Adalon took the commander's hand and shook it.
'Let me take you to our camp, Your Lordship, and
I'll tell you of the countryside.'

'Call me Ordoon, Adalon. In battle a single name
is more than enough.'

As they led the Callibeen warriors to the camp,
Ordoon told Adalon of the troop-raising. It was
almost the entire fighting strength of the country,
or at least those who could be summoned at short
notice. 'One thousand, more or less,' Ordoon said
as they reached the first tents. 'Many Clawed Ones
and Toothed Ones, but plenty of Billed Ones, Longnecks
– everyone flocked to the flag.'

'Hoolgar!'

Adalon turned to see Simangee running through
the tents. She'd removed her helmet and her eyes
shone in the torchlight. She rushed through the
startled Callibeen troops and threw herself at an
ancient Crested One who was hobbling at the rear.

Adalon laughed with surprise and delight. 'You
have some older soldiers,' he said to Ordoon.

'Not all who came are soldiers. That one insisted
on accompanying us. A scholar and a musician, he
claimed he knew the Sleeto Pass well and could help
us. He was very insistent.'

Simangee, laughing, presented a familiar old
Crested One. 'Adalon, it's Hoolgar!'

'Hello, Adalon,' said Hoolgar. He wiped his
glasses on the long sleeves of his travel-stained robe.
'I hoped I would find you here, and it's important
that I have.'

Adalon had always admired Hoolgar for his
patience and his wide-ranging intelligence. Insects,
mathematics, calligraphy and glass-making all
came within his compass; he roamed across fields
of knowledge like a bold explorer, belying his
venerable age. 'Where have you been, Hoolgar?' he
asked the venerable Crested One, then he embraced
his frail form. 'Where did you go when you left High
Battilon? Why didn't you send us news?'

'Questions, questions. You were always the one
with the questions, Adalon.' Hoolgar smiled. 'It's
good to see you again.'

'And you. But what have you been up to? Why
did you leave us so suddenly?'

Hoolgar grew serious. 'I saw dark times on the
horizon. Dark indeed. But I needed to know more,
so I've been roaming all seven kingdoms, talking to
wise ones, sages, scholars of all kinds.'

'You knew about Queen Tayesha's plans?'

'I learned much about them, and about
Wargrach.'

Adalon held up a hand. 'We know about him.
He's installed himself in High Battilon. We've been
there and rescued my uncle.'

'You have, have you? That is well done.' Hoolgar
looked at the sky for a moment. 'But that's not all.
He's taken Knobblond, you know.'

Adalon was shaken.
So soon?
he thought. 'The
seven kingdoms are no more.'

'Correct. With Knobblond fallen, we no longer
have seven monarchs in harmony with the land.
Such a disruption to the natural order has shifted
the balance. We must be prepared for an upheaval.'

'Upheaval,' Adalon echoed. 'The land in
torment.'

'But that's not all.' Hoolgar put his hands together,
clasping them tightly and bumping them against his
chin. 'I've learned that something equally dreadful
is about to happen, something all saur have been
fearing.'

Adalon felt as if a hand made of ice had clutched
his heart. He knew what Hoolgar was about to say.
He wanted to beg him to be silent, but he knew this
would change nothing. 'What is it?' he whispered.

'The A'ak are returning.'

The next morning, Adalon lay dreaming.
In his dream, he was marching at the head of
an army. All the warriors were giving throat to a
tune full of honour and glory. The song soared above
the tramp of feet and the clanging of armour, while
banners snapped in the breeze above their heads.
Adalon's heart was full to bursting with pride. He
was a fortunate saur to be leading such a host.

The dream vanished. Adalon struggled from its
clutches to find that the song still hung in the air. For
a moment, dream and waking were as one, then he
realised he was in the misty, still heights of Sleeto with
the melody echoing around him. He rolled to his feet
and stepped into the fog to find its source.

His blood stirred. He picked through the rocky
waste, casting from side to side as the sound seemed
to come from all around. Groping through the
shifting mist, he finally came on a hollow. It was
a shallow depression in between two folds of the
mountain skirts, strewn with boulders and shards of
rock from the heights.

Many soldiers were gathered. They were staring,
rapt, at the figure in red armour on the slope
above them. Their eyes were bright, their fists were
clenched and they beat the air in time with the song.
Slowly, it dawned on Adalon that the song was
in a language unknown to him. It didn't seem to
matter; the song still moved him. It made him want
to fight, to bring glory to his family and his people.
Caught up in its wild strains, he knew that cowardice
was worse than death and that weakness was to be
spurned. Nobility lay in force of arms. War was the
great game and victory was the highest honour.

Then, just as he was about to be swept away by
the song, Adalon caught himself.
This is wrong
, he
thought.

With an effort, he turned away from the music
and refused its call. When he did, he saw that the
singer was Simangee.

He hissed. Simangee's songs were not songs of
war. Her songs were full of life, not blood and death.
And she certainly never sang in a language like this.

A figure approaching through the mist asked,
'How long has this been going on?'

'Hoolgar,' Adalon said, relieved. 'For some time,
I think. It smells like more A'ak mischief.'

'Ah.' Hoolgar studied Adalon. 'What about
you?'

'I've felt it, too. I thought I was the only one.'

'The A'ak work in cunning ways. We must help
her.'

When Adalon and Hoolgar took Simangee's
arms, she broke off her song and stared with eyes
that were wild and unfocused. Then she turned her
head and looked at Hoolgar. 'We slaughtered them?'
she said, and then hesitated. 'No, that's not right. We
haven't fought yet. We are massed for battle glorious
with weapons polished and eager.'

'Come, Simangee,' Hoolgar said.

'But I thought – ' She halted and put a hand to
her cheek. 'No. That wasn't me. That was someone
else.' She looked at Adalon. 'It's the A'ak, isn't it?
I was singing an A'ak song?'

'I think so.'

'My throat hurts.' She put a hand to her neck.
'I remember now. It felt like the black presence.'

Hoolgar gripped her shoulder. 'What black
presence?'

Startled, Simangee took a step back. 'Months ago,
we were set upon by warhounds,' she said. 'I used a
potion bottle I'd found and a black horror emerged.
Once it slaughtered the warhounds, it entered my
mind.'

Adalon hissed as he remembered. 'It took some
time before she threw it off. I thought we'd lost
her.'

Hoolgar studied Simangee's face. 'This isn't good.
Not good at all.'

'You know about this black horror?'

'I've read about such a thing. You may have
set loose a powerful agent of the A'ak. Ach!' he
exclaimed. 'It could be worse than I thought.' He
clicked his tongue. 'You may have to give up these
A'ak artefacts.'

Adalon's heart lurched. 'The armour?'

'And the weapons. I had no idea that their
influence would be so robust. After all these years,'
he added.

Give up the A'ak sword? Adalon dropped his
hand to the scabbard. He could do it, of course, but
there was no denying how useful it was. 'I've felt the
A'ak influence,' he admitted, 'but I think it's getting
easier to handle. We'd be foolish to throw away such
strong help when we need it.'

Hoolgar nodded slowly. 'The A'ak were mighty.
Are mighty.'

'We should be careful, of course,' Adalon said. 'If
it proves too much for us, naturally we'll abandon
the A'ak equipment. Besides,' he glanced sidelong at
Hoolgar. 'If the A'ak are returning, perhaps we need
to know about their capabilities. We may be able to
use their tools against them.'

Hoolgar studied him for some time. The old
saur's eyes were steady. 'There is much we still don't
know about the A'ak,' he said. 'None of the scholars
I spoke to in my years of travelling ever claimed to
truly know these mysterious saur. And yet when I
find my young students, I find them ensconced in an
A'ak stronghold, clad in A'ak armour, and wielding
A'ak magic. It seems as if I still have much to learn.'

'And we'll help you,' Adalon said. 'We have much
to share.'

'I'm sure you do,' Hoolgar said, but Adalon was
unsettled by the old tutor's thoughtful gaze. Briskly,
he turned to Simangee. 'Can you use magic to help
us see where the enemy is?'

She shook her head. 'Scrying can't find something
if I don't know where it is. I can bring far things
closer, but that's all.'

A cry went up from the camp. The mist had lifted
and Adalon could see the whole valley in front of him.
Ordoon, the Callibeen commander, was hurrying
toward them. 'Adalon!' he called. 'A signal!'

Away to the west, over the ominous bulk of the
Fist, twin columns of smoke rose in the early morning
sky. Adalon's chest tightened. The lookouts had
seen the enemy. He turned and scanned the eastern
skyline, hoping for a signal that the Winged Ones
were on their way, but the horizon there was clear.

The time of trial had come.