“You said that I have enemies.”
Anzar pulled away. “I have something for you. Something unique. We spoke of destiny. This is yours. You are man enough now to receive it.”
Outside the window, the storm raged on, raising its voice as if in response to Anzar’s strange words. Vaddi felt a pulse of deep unease, as if this revelation stirred great powers beyond his understanding. From beneath his light mesh shirt Anzar pulled an object on a thin chain. It looked pale and featureless in the shifting firelight, but Vaddi could see that it was a horn the length of a dirk, Anzar held it in both hands, turning it slowly, cautiously.
“This is Erethindel,” he said, his voice almost reverent.
In spite of the ordinariness of the horn, Vaddi’s own voice dropped to a whisper. “It seems a plain thing.”
“It is not what it seems, Vaddi. It is said that the elves made it, with the aid of the dragons. It stores great power, but only one person can use it while he is alive. The elves have hidden it for centuries. Indreen, your mother, was the last to keep it, here, far from those who might seek it. Since her death, it has been locked away, but now it is for you to bear.”
Vaddi drew back. “To do what?”
“You must carry the horn. Guard it with your life until it is needed. You will know when that moment comes.”
Very slowly, Vaddi took the horn. He felt heat, as though it were alive. Something in his blood stirred, a response to the horn, as if resonating to a chord of music. Quickly he slipped the silver thong over his head and tucked the horn inside his shirt. He glanced at his hand that had touched it, and to his consternation saw that there was a smear of his blood on it.
If Anzar had seen this, he said nothing, but he nodded, pleased. “You are one with the horn, Vaddi. Powers will seek you because of it. Weigh them with caution. And let no one know what you carry. You were born to serve it and it to serve you. Never forget that.”
Ironically, for such a portentous thing, the horn felt like no more than a common ornament about Vaddi’s neck. Perhaps it was as well. Even to think of being joined with such powers made him uncomfortable.
He was about to say more when a shout from the stairs below the room made both of them turn in alarm, Anzar flung the door open to reveal a blood-spattered soldier, panting with exertion.
“Lord, we are besieged! An army … within the walls!”
“An army?” snarled Anzar. “What are you blathering about?”
“The walls are breached, lord! Everyone is arming.”
Anzar looked at Vaddi then pushed the man before him as they descended the stairs. Vaddi could hear his father shouting for his weapons.
Vaddi ran to the large wardrobe between the everbright lanterns on the far wall and flung open the doors. He donned a steel-mesh shirt and grabbed the long dirk that was always close at hand. He did not understand this. How could an army breach the castle walls? Marazanath was perched on the crags, aloof and dominant. No enemy had ever taken it. Selecting another sword, he fled the room.
Minutes later, Vaddi emerged on battlements above his chambers, ignoring the blasts of wind and the sling of rain. Not far below he could see, to his horror, that the soldier had been right. Not only were there numerous assailants within the castle, but flames were licking up at the bailing skies from several towers. War had indeed come to Marazanath.
The ring of swords and the snarls of combat came to his ears through the storm. Men were cut down and tossed over the walls. House Orien was well fortified here, with several hundred skilled warriors on hand to defend its master, but Vaddi realised that whatever dark force had burst in upon them was no small thing.
He sped down a stairway and came to the edge of the fighting. A wounded soldier, his side leaking blood, held him back. “Not that way, my lord. It’s hopeless.”
“Who are they?”
“Bandits.”
“Bandits are no match for knights!” snapped Vaddi. “How many are there?”
“Someone—” The man grimaced and fell to his knees. He was trembling, and Vaddi could see the blood loss would soon do him in, but the guard gathered his strength and continued. “Someone has pulled them in. By the … hundreds. Every last villain skulking in the Icewood! And … the undead—”
“Undead?” Vaddi could not keep the horror from his voice.
“Scores of them. They are led by a vampire.” The man clutched at Vaddi’s arm. “The Emerald Claw, master! It … must be. Their agents have stirred up this nest of maggots.”
“For what reason?”
But the man had spoken his last. Cursing, Vaddi sped on down the stone corridors. He found blood and death at every turn, where soldiers of the House had been gutted or the invaders had been similarly chopped down. There were indeed undead among the fallen, their twitching, rotting parts still clinging to a semblance of grim life.
“Where is my father?” he shouted at a group of warriors who were barring one of the tall doors to an inner chamber.
“Above us! But have a care, lord. They are like hornets, these invaders. Already we have lost many.”
Vaddi raced up another stairway and came out on a long wall. He could see through the murk of the night a parallel wall across another deep courtyard. On it was a grisly spectacle. Squeezed together in a knot of resistance, Anzar and two of his sons hacked and slashed at the invaders. The defenders of Marazanath fought with extraordinary energy, laying about them with their longswords, sending countless foes over the wall.
Vaddi raced along the parapet, through the rooms of a tower, and over to where his father fought. Using every last bit of skill he had been taught in the long and arduous hours of training, he cut into the enemy. Ignoring the cuts he took and the blows that buffeted him, Vaddi let nothing prevent him from chopping through to his father’s side. But he saw with a stab of pain far deeper than any sword cut that two of his half-brothers, Brohulan and Dannaharn, had already been speared. They had fallen almost at Anzar’s feet, their lives spent.
Anzar and the last of his warriors drove back the enemy, hurling them from the battlements. Gaining a brief respite, Vaddi hugged his father. Howls of anger rose from the enemy below as they gathered themselves for what must be a final assault.
“Where is Ferrumas?” Vaddi asked, naming his third half-brother.
His father shook his head, fighting back a wave of emotion as he dragged ragged breaths into his lungs. “He fought on the western battlements, but we saw a huge wedge of the enemy scaling them on all sides. We are undone, Vaddi. Whoever has engineered this assault has caught us unready.”
“Agents of the Claw?”
“They are behind this for certain. They mean to kill us all, but you must not fall.” He leaned forward. “You must take the charge I gave you and flee. It is vital.”
“You think I would abandon you?”
“There are more important things than me, Vaddi. You must not be taken. You have always fulfilled your duty to House Orien and me. Now you have a greater duly to discharge.”
From among the press of surviving warriors on the battlements, another figure emerged, slowly easing its way towards them. “Cellester must be your guide now.”
Vaddi scowled. He had no love for the cleric, who had attached himself to House Orien when it had first won this hold back from its scavenging tenants even before Vaddi was born. In those days of the War, Marazanath had been the den of all manner of monstrous beasts.
Anzar ignored Vaddi’s distrustful look. “He knows these grim lands well—and the rats that infest them. The cleric’s knowledge is formidable. Never forget that, Vaddi, nor underestimate the power of his knowledge.”
But I don’t trust him, Vaddi wanted to say. Overhead, thunder growled, almost in response to his thoughts.