Those long ago masters of the world, called “the beautiful Irda” by storytellers, had supposedly been kin to the gods. Yet they had fallen into evil ways and been destroyed by their own corruption and black desires.
Tol circled the broken column. Tumbled among the choking weeds were more fragments of bluestone. Great blocks as big as a tall horse were cut with dovetail mortises and tenons of impossible size. These Irda must have been giants, or else had giants to do their building for them.
A piercing whistle signaled Relfas’s recall. As Tol turned to go, the glint of metal halted him. The reflection came from a circular hole in the underside of an upturned block. Thinking he might find an ancient coin, he probed the hole with the tip of his saber. It was only elbow-deep, and seemed snake- and spider-free. He pushed back the sleeve of his ring mail shirt and eased his gloved hand inside. He found what he sought-metal, hard to the touch-and withdrew it from its stony hiding place.
It was a circlet made of three kinds of metal braided together like a woman’s hair-a dark reddish metal intertwined with silver and gold. As thick as his smallest finger, it fit easily in the palm of his hand. The circlet’s two free ends were joined by a spherical bead of the odd red metal. On the bead was etched a complex pattern of angular lines and curving whorls. Completely filling the center of the circlet was a piece of black crystal.
If this was a relic of the Irda, it had to be uncounted generations old. Yet it was completely unblemished by tarnish or corrosion. Its strange markings flashed in the sun like the facets of a gemstone. It was surprisingly lightweight, not heavy as might be expected of gold or bronze.
Tol held the circlet up to the sun and squinted through the center. The crystal did not blot out the bright orb of the sun, merely darkened the distant fire to a bearable level. Tol thought the crystal must be glass rather than a black gem like jet or night jade, because it was flat and dull, not shiny at all.
The whistle sounded again, and Tol slipped the ancient artifact into his belt pouch. He untied Smoke’s reins from the slender elm tree, mounted, and galloped up the hill to meet his comrades.
Relfas, his freckled face red from heat and sheened with sweat, grumpily asked why Tol had taken so long to return. Tol pleaded the noise of the river’s rush as the reason he hadn’t heard the recall at first.
“Well, we found a crossing,” Relfas told him. “The warden’s sent word we’re to join up, right away!”
The Rooks and Eagles rejoined at the ford Relfas’s scouts had located. Everyone made it safely across, and the quick splash through cold water was welcomed by men and horses alike.
Because their wing of the army was so far ahead of the others, Egrin called an early halt to the march, well before sundown. They pitched camp and fortified it with a ring of sharpened palings to prevent surprise cavalry attacks. When the hedge was finished, Egrin ordered more riding drill for the shield-bearers. Groaning and complaining after a full day in the saddle, the youths went off to practice formation riding and mounted sword fighting until well past dark.
When the shilder fell onto their bedrolls at last, they slept like dead men. So tired was Tol, he forgot to show his strange artifact to Egrin, or to ask Felryn if he could divine its purpose.
Chapter 7
East of the river, the Rooks and Eagles found clear signs they were not alone. They crossed wide areas of grass trampled flat by scores of cart wheels and hundreds of horses. Once they turned south, the evening sky ahead was illuminated by massed campfires; by day, stragglers and coveys of camp followers dotted the countryside.
Before noon on the fourth day out from Juramona, Egrin halted the horde and called in all his outriders. He climbed a convenient stump and addressed the youthful contingent among his soldiers.
“Lads, we’ll soon be joining up with warriors of the Great Horde. There are things you should know. The empire is wide, and those who serve the emperor come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. You’ll see many who dress differently, and bear strange arms. Don’t be distracted! Listen to your orders, don’t converse with strangers. You’ll be offered every sort of vice you can think of, and many more you haven’t yet imagined. No one expects you to behave like priests, but beware! Nothing is free. If an offer sounds too good to be believed, then believe it not. Pay up front for what you want, or you’ll pay a far higher price later.”
“Sir, what about the enemy?” called out a youth in the rear ranks.
“Your commanders will have an audience with the prince and his advisers, and we’ll know more after that. All I know myself is the enemy is said to be forest tribes, living in the Great Green. They’ve raided imperial lands around Caergoth, looting, pillaging, and carrying off captives.”
“Are they men?” asked Tol.
“Can’t say. We’re near enough Silvanesti land, there might be wild elves, Kagonesti, among our foes.”
Egrin got down from the stump and mounted Old Acorn. The Rooks and Eagles formed into a compact column and resumed their southern course.
Evidence of movement was all around them. Tol saw so many dust clouds he stopped counting them. Trampled grass became common, and the thickening stands of trees shielded sight but not sounds. All around them they heard the creak of harness leather, the fall of horses’ hooves, and the thump of wagon wheels. On ridges, the silhouettes of riders, all heading south, could be seen. One band in particular caught the attention of the shilder-a group of dark-skinned men in breech-cloths and wicker breastplates. Each carried a short bow and a sheaf of throwing spears-javelins, Manzo called them. They never overtook the Juramona horde, but merely dogged their heels. Their ghostly presence got on Relfas’s nerves, and he asked permission to chase them off.
“Think you can?” asked Egrin.
“Give me twelve horse, and I’ll banish them!” Relfas vowed.
“Take your choice, but no bloodshed, mind you.” To Tol, riding near him, Egrin said, “Will you go?”
Tol thought for a moment, then said, “No, I’ll stay with the column.”
Relfas picked twelve of the best riders among the shilder and led them off to chase the lightly clad riders away. Waving their sabers, they charged across the dusty plain. In a markedly unhurried manner, their quarry cantered behind a nearby hill. Relfas divided his eager group, sending four shilder out wide to cut the riders off, and leading the remainder behind the hill.
Tol twisted in the saddle, straining to see what was happening. Dust rose from behind the hill, but no horsemen appeared. A short while later, Relfas returned, his puzzled and dejected troop behind him.
“What happened?” Tol demanded.
“They vanished!”
Egrin, Manzo, and the other veterans laughed.
“Of course they vanished! Those are men of Alkel!” Manzo exclaimed, naming a province far to the west, on the shores of the sea. “They’re called Wind Riders, and it’s said they can disappear from sight-man and horse-in broad daylight.”
“You might have told us,” Relfas grumbled.
“Lessons are best learned by doing,” Egrin told the youth. “The Wind Riders serve the emperor as we do. They trail us for sport.”
Under the glaring noonday sun, the Rooks and Eagles emerged from a grove of hardwood trees onto a broad ridge. The air shook with the sound of hoofbeats, a ceaseless, rolling thunder. From the top of the ridge, they saw an awesome panorama spread out beneath them. Egrin halted the column and let the shield-bearers take it in.
The plain below was filled by a huge city of tents-hundreds and hundreds of them-tall, wedge-shaped tents in the southern style; conical canvas huts common to the Eastern Hundred; and vast, flat-roofed beehives called Daltigoth tents. Temporary corrals were sprinkled throughout the tent city. Most were filled with milling horses, but more than a few contained fat bullocks to feed the multitude. There was no fence of sharpened stakes around the camp. The site was so vast, there wasn’t enough timber available to surround it.