Laromendis knew that such thinking had done nothing but destroy the lives of millions of the People over three generations. To survive, the People would need to put aside dreams of conquest and come to terms with the dwarves and humans. His way required planning and luck, for the two brothers were barely tolerated and hardly trusted, yet it fell to them to change the mind of the Regent Lord.
A messenger appeared at the door, breathless from the dash up the long flight of stairs from the stable yard below. As he fell to his knees before his ruler, he lowered his head and held out the scroll.
The Regent Lord’s expression darkened as his worst fears were fulfilled. ‘Garjan-Dar has fallen. The demons are through the breach.’
Laromendis knew two things; the demons would be repulsed and the Barrier Spell would be re-established, but at great cost. But how many more times could they repair the barrier, for each time warriors were needed to hold the ground while magic users spent their lives to maintain the spell. Once more, twice perhaps, but eventually the Barrier Spell would fail entirely, and soon after the city would be besieged. The walls of Tarendamar would prove little obstacle for the Demon Legion. Masonry and magic might keep them at bay for a week or two, perhaps a month, but the city would fall and with it, the heart of the Seven Stars.
The Regent Lord put his boot against the shoulder of the kneeling messenger and pushed him away. ‘Get out!’ he shouted, and the messenger appeared glad to obey, obviously relieved the Regent Lord’s wrath had been limited to an impolite kick. In days past his head might have adorned a pike at the entrance to the keep.
The Regent Lord moved back towards the window and stared out. He took a deep breath then he asked, ‘Which is your birth world, Conjurer?’
Laromendis said, ‘This one, my lord. Far to the north in the snowlands, at the foot of the Iron Mountains.’
The Regent Lord said, ‘I was born here, as well, but my eldest son was born on Utameer.’ The Conjurer knew this, but if the Regent Lord felt the need to belabour the point, the magician was not fool enough to interrupt. ‘When he was but ten seasons, I took him hunting bovak and longhorn greensnouts in tablelands to the east of the city of Akar. It was hot, all day, every day. Rain came rarely in those lands, and when it did it thundered and came down in a deluge. Children and small animals were sometimes washed away in flash floods. Lightning would rip through the sky as if the gods themselves were at war.’ He turned to look at the magic user. ‘We are going to lose this world, Conjurer, as we lost Utameer.’ He leaned against the window’s ledge, staring off into the distance. ‘As we lost Katanjara, and Shinbol and the others.
‘In my grandfather’s grandfather’s time, we conquered the stars. The Clans of the Seven Stars ruled worlds!’ He added sadly, ‘Now we have come to the end of our reign. Now we must become refugees.’
Turning away from the Loremasters and the magician, he moved back to the chair and said, ‘We must return Home. It is our only salvation.’
Turning to Laromendis he said, ‘Eat, rest, then return at first light. You shall conduct our battlemaster and a company of scouts to Home. We will begin preparing the way.’ He frowned at Laromendis and said, ‘Go!’
The Conjurer bowed, turned and hurried from the hall. He had a great deal to do between now and the morning, and had no illusions he would get any rest. It took a great deal of energy to plot treason.
THE RIDER RACED UP THE HILLSIDE.
It had taken Alystan three days of hard running to reach the Keep at Carse. He had paused in Carse only long enough to deliver the merchant’s response to the Earl’s request, eat a hot meal, sleep in a warm bed, then leave again at first light. As the negotiations had ended on good terms, the merchants could wait for another to return with the agreement. He had bid farewell to the Earl and his household that evening, for he left as dawn approached, accepting the loan of a sturdy gelding, and promising to return it on his way home.
The Ranger kept his own counsel on the matter of the elf, not wishing to involve the Kingdom unless it became necessary. At the moment the only evidence he had was what he had seen, and there might still be some explanation that would remove his foreboding. Yet, there was something in the manner of that elf, the way he carried himself, something that communicated menace. If nothing else, he was dangerous.
The quickest route to the dwarven stronghold at Caldara was through the Green Heart, the thick woodlands dominating most of the Duchy of Crydee. For the first ten miles inland, the coastline was dotted with small hamlets and solitary farms, trails and roads, and three towns of some size, Tulan, Carse, and Crydee. Light woodland occupied some of the land between them, but once a traveller moved farther inland, heavy forest was all one encountered.
The Rangers of Natal were second only to the elves in their ability to move swiftly and quietly through the heavy woods, but when it came to the open road, they had no difficulty in letting a horse carry them swiftly. They were a close-knit society, the inheritors of a unique birthright. Their ancestors had been Imperial Keshian Guides, the elite scouts of the Empire’s army who had come to the region when the Empire of Great Kesh had expanded northward. Like Kesh’s Dog Soldiers, they stood apart from mainstream Keshian society. When Kesh withdrew from the northlands, abandoning their colonies, the Guides became the de facto intelligence and scouting arm of the local militia. The cities had become autonomous and had bound together in a loose confederation, the Free Cities of Natal. And the Guides became the Rangers.
Rangers lived in large camps, moving as it suited them, always vigilant for any threat to the Cities. They felt more kinship with the elves of the north than the citizens they protected, and felt their only equals to be the present Keshian Guides and the Krondorian Pathfinders, also descended from the original Guides. The three groups shared a traditional greeting, ‘Our grandfathers were brothers,’ which was to them a bond.
Many Rangers had died beside soldiers from the Kingdom and the Free Cities during the Tsurani invasion, and because their numbers had been small, it had taken a devastating toll. Alystan remembered his grandfather’s stories of the Riftwar, and now he feared another threat of that magnitude was approaching; he knew another such invasion might mean the end of the Rangers.
Alystan was newly wed and as he rode through the dark pathways of the Green Heart he thought of his young wife, staying with his own mother and father as they broke winter camp down near Bordon and prepared to move up into the mountains for spring and summer. They had spoken of having their own child someday, and while they had yet to conceive, Alystan now feared that he might never see that child should his worst suspicions prove true.
The Ranger rode through the first day without incident, the patrols from Carse had kept the King’s Road clear of bandits and other troublemakers. He had seen game sign, bear and elk, so he knew few hunters were nearby.
In years past, the moredhel, the Brotherhood of the Dark Path, had roamed these woods and the Grey Tower Mountains making such a ride suicide without a company of soldiers as escort. Now times were more peaceful and the worst a traveller might face was a small band of poachers or the occasional outlaw. Still, goblins roamed the Green Heart from time to time, and more than three or four could prove dangerous to a solitary rider.
Alystan made a cold camp on the first night, not wishing to draw attention to his presence with a fire. He staked out his horse and moved some distance away, lest the animal draw unwanted attention. He risked losing the horse that way, but gained the advantage of not being surprised.
The night passed without incident.
Alystan