From Across the Clouded Range (75 page)

At Arin’s side, Thorold’s braided hair
swung almost imperceptibly, betraying his disapproval. Arin caught
the movement out of the corner of his eye and glowered at his
uncle. Thorold’s head snapped to an immediate stop. The exchange
put Ipid on guard. He had never seen Thorold disagree with Arin.
Something important was happening, and Ipid’s mind stretched to
capture every scrap of information that floated around the
room.

He was so intent on deciphering those
messages that it took a small grunt from Arin before he realized
that he was expected to respond. Quickly recovering, he bowed
nearly to the floor. "It is my duty to serve and learn so that one
day my children's children will know the honor of being Darthur."
It was a well-practiced phrase. The Darthur was perfect.

“
Humph” was Arin’s only
response, but a small smile formed on the lips of the fourth man, a
giant even by Darthur standards named Kurion. Ipid did a double
take. Kurion had been made the commander of the northern army, so
he should have been at Thoren. Ipid could only imagine the creature
that had carried the seven-foot-tall, three hundred and fifty pound
warrior on its back over a hundred miles.

“
You remember talk of
Eroth Amache, Battle of Testing?" Ipid was taken back by the
question not because of its content, but rather its mode. Arin had
spoken in the Imperial tongue, something he never did while other
Darthur were present.

“
I . . . I remember,” Ipid
stammered in his native language. As he said it, he racked his
brain for the forgotten term.

"North army has arrived Thoren,” Arin
continued in Ipid’s language. “The Ashüt voted for Eroth Amache at
Thoren.” Ipid’s mind was now moving. He remembered the discussion
and resulting unanimous vote, but it had been one of many unanimous
votes during the long Ashüt meeting. At the time, he had been lucky
to make any sense of the complex proposals and failed to make the
connection when Arin told him about the custom several days later.
Now the pieces were starting to fit together. He felt his blood
turn cold. His stomach sank.

“
Kurion sends messages to
Thoren, but leaders drive away. If they no hear messages, how will
they know to be on honor field for test? If they are not there to
fight, there will be no test. Your people, all people of Unified
Kingdoms, will be te-nuator, those with no honor. By Darthur law,
they will be killed, all of them, man, woman, child, you, your
boys, all. Your cities will burn. The stories will forget
you.”

Arin’s eyes bored into Ipid, but he
was frozen. He could not believe what he was hearing. He now
remembered the conversation about the Battle of Testing. It was
held whenever the Darthur encountered a new nation or people to
judge the honor of those people and determine their position in the
Darthur social hierarchy. It was held on an open field – the
Darthur considered it dishonorable to fight from behind walls – and
lasted exactly two hands of sun. After that time, the two sides
would withdraw and determine the status of their opponents. That
status, Ipid had thought, ranged from te-adeate all the way to full
membership in the clans – that is why some of the non-Darthur
peoples were represented in the Ashüt. Once that status had been
determined, either side could surrender and assume its position in
the other’s ranks or continue fighting, but no matter the outcome
of future battles, the people – all the people, no matter how many
had participated in the original battle – would have the same
status. Arin had never mentioned what happened if a nation refused
to participate in the battle, and Ipid had not even considered that
genocide would be the answer.

The implication struck Ipid like a
board between the eyes. He could only stare dumbfounded at Arin in
a manner that was certainly not appropriate to his standing. There
was no chance that the leaders of Thoren would leave the walls of
their city to meet a vastly superior force on an open field.
Nothing Arin could say would convince them. They would bring down
the wrath of the Darthur. The bodies would form piles that rivaled
the mountains these monsters had crossed.

“
But . . . but I thought
that our status was already . . .,” Ipid managed to
stutter.

Arin’s hand slammed down on the table.
“Do not ever question me!” he whispered with the force of a scream
in Darthur. “The current judgment only holds until there is a real
testing. There was no battle in your pathetic village. It is an
insult to suggest that was a test of my people or yours.” Arin’s
harsh words and tone drove his frustration home. Ever since Gurney
Bluff, he had been far less stern. He and Ipid often spoke
candidly, and Ipid seldom had to follow the oppressive te-adeate
customs of submissiveness and unquestioning obedience, but this was
a situation altogether different.

“
I apologize for. . . .”
Ipid started in Darthur, but Arin cut him off with his hand
pounding on the table.

“
Silence!” He did yell
this time and rose from his chair. “You will convince the people of
Thoren to be on the field of honor at the third sunrise or none of
you will see the fourth.”

Arin sighed and fell back into his
chair looking deflated. “Belab will arrange for you to be in Thoren
before the dawn. Kurion will ensure that you have an escort to the
city. That is all.”

Ipid shook as he bowed. He had never
seen Arin rattled. He was nearly mechanical in his lack of emotion,
unbending confidence, and single-minded determination. It was
startling to see such a change. He knew he should be happy to see
the young leader show some weakness, but it had the opposite
effect. Over the past weeks, he had come to depend on Arin’s
stability like a rock he leaned against. Even if he detested that
rock, finding it coming loose was a shock.

A quick glance at Kurion and Thorold
further destabilized that support. They sat frozen as statues, but
their deep frowns showed that they did not approve of what had just
happened. It was the first time Ipid had seen either of them
express even the slightest displeasure with Arin’s decisions. Ipid
had been around the Darthur long enough to know what that meant.
The Darthur were entirely dictated by the strictures of custom.
Arin must be acting outside those strictures and paying a political
toll to do so.

He doesn’t want this
either
, Ipid realized.
Not because of the lives that will be lost. No, this
conversation, my presence here, is because this slaughter would end
any chance he has of conquering the East. It would turn every man,
woman, and child into a soldier against him and focus every nation
on the singular goal of destroying his demonic tribe.
If the cost were not so high, Ipid would almost
appreciate such an outcome.

"We should go.” Belab clasped Ipid’s
arm and brought him up from his trembling bow. Ipid stood and
allowed himself to be led from the inn. He was reeling, mind
overcome by the implications of what he had just witnessed, but
cool mist hitting his face brought him back. “Do you mind if I hold
your arm?” Belab’s voice was a soft rasp but warm and friendly like
a grandfather speaking to a favorite child. Still, the words were
spoken in the strange language that Belab and the te-am’ eiruh
used, and it unnerved Ipid. “While we are like this no one will
hear our words.”

Ipid nodded and glanced at the hand
holding his arm. It was wrinkled, white, and generously spotted
with the blemishes of age. Yet, it felt warm, and the grip was
soft, almost reassuring.

“
How. . .” Ipid started
then caught himself. “Most honorable teacher, may I, your most
unworthy student, ask a question?” He spoke the familiar phrase in
Darthur out of habit.

“
There is no need for such
protocol with me.” Belab chuckled. “I am part of this company, but
I am not Darthur. What is your question?”

Ipid searched the cowl for Belab’s
eyes or some indication of his features, but in the dark, misty
night there was no hope of that. He realized that he didn’t have
anything more than a shadow marred sketch of his face. He had
always assumed that he was old but not ancient given the seeming
ease of his movements, but his hand suggested otherwise. He had
also guessed he would be harsh and derisive given how the other
te-ashüte treated him, but he seemed genial and unassuming. He had
not spoken with Belab prior to this, but for some reason, he had
never trusted him or his followers. Perhaps it was because of their
seclusion, perhaps because of their strange dress, perhaps because
of the creatures they tended, but most likely it was because
everyone else in the army seemed so wary of them. Now that he was
speaking with Belab, however, those things seemed inconsequential,
and he found himself strangely drawn to the man.

“
I know it is a lot to
take,” Belab began when Ipid did not manage to form a question.
“This custom has caused more suffering than you could imagine. My
own people refused to fight the Darthur when they came upon our
city. We were peaceful religious leaders similar to your
counselors.”

Ipid stopped at the reference to
counselors. It seemed strange coming from Belab.

“
Do not worry.” Belab
chuckled again and patted Ipid on the arm with his free hand. “I
know a great deal about your side of the Devil’s Teeth, or Clouded
Range as you call them. Our people have long studied the ancient
world and kept histories dating back to the times before your great
Valatarian. Our studies allow us to use certain powers, but we
swore an ancient oath to never again use those powers in war. We
also keep the stoche as the Darthur call the lost creatures, the
tal’ ladorim in our language. They were cast out of your world, but
we took it upon ourselves to watch over and protected them,
swearing to never again expose them to war.

“
Then the Darthur came,
and everything changed. They emerged from the wild lands of the far
west and swept across our world. The nations on our side of the
mountains never banded together, so Arin was able to take them one
at a time. Most pledged their allegiance to him as soon as they had
been tested, making the Darthur continuously stronger. We did not
claim to be a nation, but rather a part of all nations, and we had
sworn a pledge of peace in ancient times. But Arin would not bend,
and neither could we.”

Belab stopped abruptly and turned to
face Ipid. They were almost to the side of the village that the
te-am’ eiruh had claimed, but Ipid was so enthralled by the story
that he did not notice that the tents had cleared, leaving a large
open space between the army and the te-am’ eiruh. When he had
Ipid’s attention, Belab brought his thin hands to his hood, pulled
it back over his head, and stepped so that the light of the village
was on his face. He was, in fact, a very old man with heavy
wrinkles that stacked upon each other in an impossible multitude
and wispy grey hair that stood out from his head and face in a wild
array, but even through the wrinkles, Ipid could see the scars that
cut across his face from either side in a great X. He could not
restrain a gasp at the gruesome sight.

“
Many of our order
suffered such fates at the hands of the Darthur.” Belab pulled the
hood back over his head and started back toward the buildings that
housed his people. “Most of us were already dead when I succumbed
to my anger and fought. Those that remained joined me, and fight we
did. We were few and not mighty with weapons, but we have powers
dating to the time of creation, and the stoche are truly fearsome
when unleashed. We inflicted great casualties on the Darthur, but
there were too few of us by then, and we were eventually
subdued.

“
Those that fought were
spared the Darthur wrath in exchange for our oath to serve them.
The rest of our order was slaughtered. Our holy city was burned.
Our libraries were destroyed. We were forbidden to speak the names
of those who had fallen. We were made a people without a home,
without a history. It is the same fate that will befall your people
if you do not succeed.”

Belab stopped at the door of a large
house and turned to Ipid before stepping in. “We wear black as a
reminder of the betrayal to our oath and cover our faces to hide
them from those who had the courage to die.” He paused in what
seemed a somber moment. “I know that you are suspicious of us, and
that is why I have told you this. Know, however, that we are all
slaves of the Darthur in one way or another. Arin relishes nothing
but conquest. He does not care for gold or women or knowledge. Only
power drives him. Your people mean nothing more to him than a means
to an end. He passes down the judgments based upon what is most
convenient for his campaigns. Here and now, he needs food and
slaves. A judgment of te-adeate allows him to take those. Moving
forward, he needs vassals that will provide him with men and
supplies. That is why he wants this battle. You will have to give
it to him, but know that it plays directly into his
hand.”

Ipid was absorbing everything he could
of what the old man said. He would work through it later to see
what of it he trusted, but for now, he just listened.

Finally, Belab placed a hand on his
shoulder. “Do not worry. Arin will not always succeed. He is young
and brash, and there is much maneuvering behind the scenes of those
well-orchestrated meetings. Arin does not know how tenuous his hold
on power is, and without him, the Darthur army will quickly
collapse. One day soon, he will trip and we will all win our
freedom.”