|
And part 2 of 'The Long Retreat'-
SCOUTING AHEAD
“Sitting on some stool, and watching the battle from the camp like some Cathayan Spicelord, might be fine for southern generals,” the aged Palin’Tanith said in his rough voice. “But we ‘Rathi boys always lead from the front.” He finished with a wicked gleam in his eyes; half twinkle, half mad devil’s stare.
“And honorary Nagarathi girls as well,” Narrin’Tim added with a rare smile. He seemed much graver these days, Tarabeth mused.
Two days had passed since her surprising election to temporary commander of the Host of Nagarythe. And in that time the army had crawled through the moorlands of far eastern Bretonnia, and passed into the rolling woodlands beyond. Their travel had been hampered by the weather; cold and dreary, and surprisingly wet, for this late in the Season of Frost. The chill in the air hovered just about the ice mark, and as the rain fell it couldn’t quite transform itself into gentle snow, and came down hard on the heads of the weary soldiers as a mixture of ice and freezing cold droplets of water. It was the worst kind of weather to march under. The crude mortal roads - uncrowned and unfashioned, little more than wagon ruts in the loam – soon turned into quagmires of slippery, cold mud, that crept into one’s boots with an icy and slimy touch. And the cold rain that fell had a way of slipping into one’s hood, or through the collar of jerkin or shirt, leading to a damp chill, that often led to sores and chafing of wet cloth on raw skin.
That was during the day. At night, the precipitation fell as ice. Hard hailstones that pelted down on the tents in a ravage of sound. All gear had to be carefully stored, and even then, it was a miserable night that offered little sleep. Worse, the threat of frostbite was ever present.
Yet that morning they had finally passed into the wooded hinterlands. The forest offered some protection from the weather, and Tarabeth’s heart was gladdened by it. The landscape wasn’t quite the majestic white cliffs, and piney crags of her homeland; more like rolling hills covered in deciduous trees – oaks, ash, and beech. But some of the canopy remained, so there was cover.
And that meant cover for enemies as well. So Tanith had quickly found her early that morning, and with Narrin’Tim in tow, led her on a scouting mission to the fore of the army. It was time she learned to be a ‘real Nagarathi commander’ he had said.
She didn’t like the sound of that….
“But how does one command if you are so far in front of your troops,” she asked, as they rested on elbows amongst some brush at the crown of a hill, surveying the valley before them.
“We have runners, calls, and signal arrows to send the orders,” Tanith answered with surprising patience in his voice. He had always been kind to her in the past, but since the vote, he had almost acted…grateful to her. They must really hate the Lothern prince, she thought.
Not that she liked the way that prince eyed her with that oily smile…. She shuddered at the memory.
“And any company commander in the Host knows what to listen and look for,” Tanith continued. “But the Nagarathi way has always been to see for oneself. To know the lay of the land. The best intelligence is what comes from your own eyes and ears,” he finished, as if it was a common axiom.
Tarabeth nodded, trying to look like she understood.
“Look,” he said, grasping at some of the mud on the hilltop. It came apart loosely. He scrunched it into a little slimy ball and then took her wrist and pressed that into her hand. “Feel that. Touch that. What can you tell me about it?”
“Cold, wet and disgusting,” Tarabeth said without humor. Her Chracian leathers were already full with the nasty stuff; she didn’t want any more pressed upon her.
“Yes, its wet and slippery,” Tanith nodded. “You can feel that. See its color. And when you look about you at the valley below you can see how far it covers and where it stops. And a Nagarathi commander would take all that into account. ‘Cause he would know how that might affect the marching of the units. Make it difficult to climb or descend in good order. Or even, how it may cling to fingers and thus ruin bowstrings, or scatter shots of archers. Or how its so wet that there is no chance to dig pits, or set up snares, for ambushes. All that a Nagarathi commander – a good Nagarathi commander - would know, and feel, with his own fingers.”
“The Shadow Prince is an expert,” Tim said, and the pained expression had returned to his face.
“Yes, he is,” Tanith nodded. “Always has been. Ever since I knew him, he had a love for the soil and the things growing in it. Studied it I heard….”
“He’ll be fine, Tim,” Tarabeth said and tried to comfort him by placing a hand on his shoulder. She didn’t know if it was welcome.
She was always unsure of how to act around him now. Ever since that night. She had been angry. And then hurt. And lonely. But she didn’t want to feel like that. And now that she was back…. Well, she mostly had just avoided being alone with him. But that felt silly.
Tim though didn’t seem to notice her gesture, and shifted his eyes over towards Palin’Tanith. “How long have you known him?” he asked softly.
Tanith’s face quickly shifted into a blank granite. “You know we can’t talk about that,” he said flatly.
“Why is that?” Tarabeth asked, delicately recovering her hand from Tim’s shoulder.
Tanith pursed his lips for a moment, and then said, “It’s the Nagarathi way. But you are an ‘altrais’, an outsider, so I’ll just say that we don’t talk about the Shadow Prince from before. And we don’t talk about the dead. Not in that way. It’s just not done.”
“My brother Kurnion talks about him sometimes…. Though not often,” Tarabeth said softly. “And my sister-in-law…. Hardly ever.”
“She is Nagarathi,” Tanith stated bluntly. “She knows. Becoming the Shadow Prince… It isn’t something done lightly.” He shook his head. “To have the will of a people placed upon one elf. It’s a hard thing to bear.” Then he finished, “And it is a death sentence. You serve the will of the people until blade takes you. One way or another.”
The silence that followed that statement seemed colder than the weather. In a few moments Tim blew some misty breath before him and forced a smile, and said, “But you are only a temporary commander. So you don’t have to worry about that.”
Tarabeth frowned trying to think through these foreign ways. A thought struck her. “Tanith, what would’ve happened if the Prince had’ve been injured while in Nagarythe? I mean such that he couldn’t command,” she asked.
“Hmmmm…. If on the battlefield then the senior Shadow Warrior would take over,” he said. “Me, in this case. And then I’d have temporary command until the Prince recovered, or until the Council met and named a successor.”
“But not this time?”
“No. These are…. Strange circumstances. And Ulthuan’s laws take precedence over Nagarathi customs,” he said as if he thought that was a crime in itself.
“What happens-“ Tarabeth started, and then hesitated. No, she must know. “What happens if the Prince doesn’t recover, but doesn’t die? If he can’t be healed to the point of being able to lead again.”
Tim’s eyes fixed on Tanith as well with that question. The old warrior looked out at the valley with a hard face.
“It’s only happened once that I know of,” the Shadow Walker answered. “In the time of Shadow Prince Mourn. He was crippled in one of Caradryel’s wars. Not through any fault of his own. But he lost the use of his legs, and so couldn’t fight….”
“And?” Tarabeth pressed.
“And he was left upon an island in the north sea. With a bow and a quiver full of arrows. Waiting for a druchii landing; as part of a rear guard defense,” Tanith stated softly. “He died in the following fighting. But his sacrifice allowed the time for a village to be evacuated.”
“But… But that’s awful!” Tarabeth cried. “How could he just be left there? He should’ve been sent home to his family! To be cared for!!”
“A Shadow Prince has no family,” Tanith said bluntly. “All he has is Nagarythe. And that is a bond that is only ended at death.” He looked at her, and his eyes softened a little. He placed his hand upon her shoulder. “These are our ways, princess. Not yours. We are a hard people. With hard ways. But history has made us so. And we endure. Because of our ways, we endure.”
Tarabeth felt sick to her stomach at that. She didn’t know what to say. Of course there were many songs in Chrace of the Chracian warriors fighting to the last elf. But that was always on their own two feet! Roaring their battle cries, and defiance in the face of their foes! With axe in hand…. Yet inside the halls, near the hearths…. That was the other Chrace. The place of family, and laughter. Where the elders were treasured for their experience. And given the task of teaching the next generations of their ways and their past. It was how one became Chracian. Even her own father as he had aged, and injury had claimed some of his prowess, had stepped aside to allow her brother to reign. But he didn’t go off to die somewhere! He stayed in his own small manor, and he helped. And taught. And he was there when she, or Kurnion, needed him. It wasn’t like this…. Nagarathi way to send someone to certain death! It seemed madness! And cruel….
“Tanith,” Narrin’Tim’s voice suddenly cut through her reverie. “Look. Wood smoke.”
Tarabeth looked up. They had already come across some signs of logging in the wood. They couldn’t be that far from a mortal settlement. But what Tim was indicating were fresh plumes of hot white smoke, drifting up from beyond the hill on the other side of the valley.
Several plumes of smoke.
“What does it mean?” she asked.
“Trouble,” Tanith answered.
***
|
Login
Register
FAQ
Search
)
).
Ah, I miss old Tanith....) If there is a feeling of grudging respect it is buried deep, deep down....
