Also, Threehands might keep Hawkbrother busy enough to stay away from Eskaia. Pirvan realized this was doubtless wishful thinking in the tradition of centuries of fathers before him. Even so, he could not keep the wish from his thoughts any more than all those other fathers!
Chapter 8
Word of the advance-Krythis refused to use the word “onrush”-of Zephros’s motley column reached Belkuthas about the same time it reached Pirvan and the Gryphons. Krythis and Tulia kept no scouts in the desert. They did keep as friends some of the desert clans, both Free Riders and the root-grubbers who burrowed into cliff faces and hillsides.
It was the tale of a scout from the Treecat clan that reached Belkuthas first, passed on through several dwarves. (Indeed, it was said that dwarven tunnels so honeycombed the land that one could walk all the way from Belkuthas far into Thoradin, if one could find the right entrance, and the dwarves allowed it.)
For this, Krythis and Tulia did not mind being awakened from the deepest and most pleasant sort of slumber. That is, they did not mind once they were awake enough to understand what the tidings meant.
“They may not be marching against us,” Tulia said. It was a painfully transparent effort to reassure herself.
“I can well believe that, for now,” Krythis replied. “But they will be marching upon us before long. Where one like Zephros marches, people flee. When people flee, those like Zephros pursue-like a dog roused to give chase by his prey’s flight.
“Many will surely come here. We have labored for half a human lifetime to make this a place of peace and a refuge for all. In this time of trouble, many will remember that and come here. Zephros will follow.”
Tulia looked at the ground. “He will come here, and he will see humans and all other folk living in peace. If he is one of those sworn to destroy that harmony …”
She could not command her voice well enough to finish. To Krythis, taking her in his arms seemed a sadly inadequate gesture. It was the best he could do, however, for he was none too sure of his voice either.
At last they stepped apart, and as if at a command both turned to look outward from the tower, at their citadel. As a home filled with memories, the sight of it warmed. As a fortress to withstand even the most inept siege, the sight chilled.
There had been a fortress on this site since the days of the Empire of Ergoth, long before Vinas Solamnus’s birth. It was likely that the site had been inhabited even before then.
Indeed, a dwarven friend of Krythis, one Gran Axesharp, had walked about Belkuthas, examining all the stonework, then turned to his host and said: “Let me take this place down stone by stone some day, when you no longer need it. I swear to find signs of at least three completely unknown races somewhere about here.”
Antiquity was all very well, and Krythis and Tulia, being folk at peace with themselves and the world, were also at peace with the odd ghost that Belkuthas harbored. It was not so good to make a home in what had been a place for war.
Much work had been needed to restore those buildings they wished to keep and shore up or tear down the rest. The restored buildings would need to keep out the chill of winter, the heat of the sun, the wind, the rain, thieves, and wild animals. The other buildings needed not to fall down on their heads, or the heads of their servants, guards, visitors, or children, or even the nesting birds, squirrels, and mice.
So the keep rose tall and dark, looming over the old Great Hall, where in a maze of newly built rooms Krythis and Tulia actually lived. The keep served well enough as a watchtower and storeroom, but no one had thought of defending it since before Rynthala’s birth.
It was much the same case elsewhere. Some outbuildings housed servants, guests, or horses. Others were only fenced holes in the ground. Parts of the wall rose as high and stout as ever. In other parts gaped holes through which six minotaurs could have marched shoulder to shoulder.
“We’ll have to ask people to bring their own food, as much as possible,” Krythis said. “We can store it, but we can’t divide our own supplies among a thousand mouths. We will also have to buy from our neighbors. I will pray for the crops to be in and abundant, before enemies or fugitives arrive.”
“Can Sirbones do anything to help?” Tulia asked.
“I suspect not even Sirbones himself knows what he can do,” Krythis replied. “The gods, maybe. Any lesser being, I doubt. It cannot hurt to ask. But remember he is not a young man. Healing spells take much from a priest-and he will be casting far too many of those.”
“So the magic, like the food, may not be enough to go around, and we will watch, helpless, while people die?” Tulia said. It was hardly a question, and any urge Krythis had to console his wife vanished as she slammed one fist hard against the battlement.
In that moment she reminded Krythis very much of their daughter in a rage. In the next moment Krythis wondered if there was any place they could send Rynthala, to keep her safe.
In the moment after that, he was ready to laugh at himself for the absurd notion. If war washed over this land, there might be no safe place. There was probably no place they could send Rynthala that could keep her if she did not wish to stay. And there was little chance they could make her leave in the first place.
By then Tulia was sucking her scraped knuckles and looking ready to both laugh and cry at once.
Now, Krythis decided, it was time to embrace her-closely and for a long time, before they went downstairs to begin preparing Belkuthas for war.
To Pirvan’s left, Nedilhome Canyon slashed into the hills, now splotched with green over the desert hues of umber and ocher. To his right, Haimya and Threehands rode silhouetted against a long, gentle slope of savagely scarred and nearly barren rock.
“The canyon’s the most common road for traders,” Threehands said. “Water, caves for the night, fodder you can cut from atop the cliffs if you’re man enough to climb them. But of course, traders seldom come this way, or if they do, seldom last this far.”
“I was hardly thinking of using-” Pirvan began, when a raised hand from an outrider ahead stopped all conversation. The man turned his horse and rode back.
“Somebody’s been by here, my chief,” he said.
“Chiefs,” Threehands said. “We are two. Now speak. Mounted or afoot?”
The man spoke with the same brevity as Threehands. Men in boots leading mostly new-shod horses with moderate loads. The track angled in from the right-from the northeast-and now ran parallel to the line of the Gryphons’ and knights’ advance.
“Zephros,” Threehands muttered.
“I hope so,” Pirvan replied. He hated to think of any more armed bands, Istarians, sell-swords, bandits, or others, wandering about this land. Tempers were high enough already, and any slight mischance could mean a horrid death toll.
Threehands was already signaling the men into battle order. A Gryphon band of this size fought in three triangles, each with the base toward the enemy and the point toward the rear. Pirvan’s fighters formed the leftmost triangle, normally the least honorable.
Today the left flank was toward the hills, from which surprise attacks would most likely come. Threehands could hardly intend insult. Pirvan would also refuse to take it, regardless of the Gryphon’s intention.
They rode on, now in battle formation. Nedilhome Canyon slowly fell behind. Pirvan let his horse drift right, until he rode beside Threehands.
“What are your plans?”
“Need you ask?”
“You do plan to attack, then?”
“If it is any of your-no, you are chief, likewise. It is your concern. They are on our land, without our leave, and you speak ill of them. I trust your judgment. Is that not enough reason for attacking?”