“It took you somewhere,” Vaelin prompted when the old woman fell silent once again.
Wisdom shook her head. “No. It gave me . . . knowledge. So much knowledge, all at once. Your language, the Lonak tongue, even the words spoken by the people we go to fight, and many more besides. I can recite every catechism of your Faith and every word in the Ten Books of the World Father, name all the Alpiran gods and relate every legend told by the Lonak. There was no insight to it, no context, just knowledge. It . . . hurt. So much that I fainted. When I woke the blind woman had gone, but the knowledge hadn’t.”
“So you are gifted?”
She shook her head with a small sigh. “Cursed, some might say. More puzzled than anything. That stone, that small perfect stone, filled with knowledge about the people of this world, but it was so old, crafted long before any of those languages were spoken as they are now. Who made it? And why?”
“Do you still have it?”
She raised her head, eyes searching for a gap in the canopy, no doubt hoping for a glimpse of sky. “No,” she said, smiling a little as a small patch of blue appeared above. “I found a heavier stone and smashed it to dust.”
The forest began to thin the next day, there was a noticeable widening of ground between the trees and clearings grew more numerous, although it remained dense in comparison to the Urlish. The mood of the men lightened further, the availability of open ground enabling more regiments to camp together, bringing a welcome sense of security. The forest’s charms may have won many hearts, but the basic fear of it remained, the ever-present knowledge that they didn’t belong here. The comparatively open ground also enabled Vaelin to gain a better appreciation for the Seordah’s numbers as he moved from clearing to clearing.
“Has to be well over eight thousand of them,” Nortah opined that evening at the council of captains.
“Ten thousand, eight hundred and seventy-two,” Brother Hollun reported. “Those that have remained within sight long enough to count that is. Bringing the total strength of the army to just over thirty thousand men.”
“I was wondering if we shouldn’t give the army a name,” Nortah said. “The Army of the North or something.”
Vaelin glanced at Captain Adal, who gave a nod. “Binding the men under a single name couldn’t hurt morale, my lord.”
“Very well,” Vaelin said. “I’ll ask my sister to design a banner, something suitably fierce.” His eyes tracked over the map. “The Seordah advise we are but one day’s march from Nilsael. Captain Orven, take your men and scout east. Captain Adal, send a company of North Guard west and take another south yourself. Any Volarian forces of appreciable size within thirty miles are to be reported to me as soon as possible.” He looked at Dahrena. “We will, of course, require deeper reconnaissance.”
“You’ll have it tonight, my lord.”
“My thanks, my lady.” He moved back from the table, addressing them all. “In the morning a full inspection of kit and weapons will be conducted and we will march into the Realm in battle order. Make sure every man under your command understands that we are now marching to war and like to find it in short order. If any were thinking of desertion, this is their last chance, though I wouldn’t advise making the return journey through the forest.”
“Good country,” Sanesh Poltar commented, on horseback once again and clearly happier for it. Northern Nilsael was indeed well suited to cavalry, rolling fields of grass and low hills stretching off towards the south. “How many elk roam here?”
“None that I know of,” Vaelin replied. “But you’ll find deer and wild goats as we travel south.”
“Goat,” Sanesh said with distaste. “Takes ten of them to skin one shelter. One elk will give you two.”
The army trooped from the forest in close order, well-dressed ranks moving with accustomed uniformity, though not quite in step. The ten regiments of infantry moved in a thick column, two regiments wide, the Eorhil on both flanks and the Seordah bringing up the rear in a mass of warriors, the various clans clustering together but giving only the vaguest impression of military organisation. The new banner of the Army of the North fluttered at the head of the infantry column, borne by Foreman Ultin himself, who had been fierce in warding off other hands when Vaelin handed it to him in the morning. Alornis had enlisted the help of the army’s tailors in realising her design, a great white hawk fringed with an Eorhil lance on one side and a Seordah war club on the other. Below the hawk was the bright azure oval of a bluestone.
“A little simplistic, perhaps,” she had said when showing him her sketch.
“When it comes to soldiers,” he told her with a hug, “you can never be too simplistic.”
He waited until the last Seordah had emerged from the forest and spent a while scanning the dark mass of trees, wondering if perhaps he would find a bright pair of green eyes staring back. There was nothing, just the trees and the deepening shadows, but there was a murmur from the blood-song, a forlorn note, uncertain but with enough ancient strength to carry a sense of hope.
“Good luck to you too,” Vaelin replied in a whisper before turning Flame’s head towards the south.
He marched them south for fifteen miles then called a halt, setting out pickets three times the usual strength. The Eorhil galloped off unbidden, some whooping with joy at the release from the forest’s strictures, the war-bands returning one by one as night fell, some bearing a few deer they had managed to bring down. The Seordah had encamped on the northern fringe of the army, remaining as close to the forest as they could. They were quiet as they sat about their fires, Vaelin seeing just grim acceptance on the faces of the men and women as they mended their arrows and sharpened their knives.
He found Dahrena seated outside Hera Drakil’s shelter, eyes closed and face immobile. The Seordah chief sat beside her, the concern on his face no doubt a mirror of Vaelin’s own.
“Once a child was lost,” he said when Vaelin sat down at the fire. “We feared he had been taken by a wild cat. Adra Dural sat like this for a whole night then took me to where he could be found. He had slipped on a rock in the river and hit his head. He lived but now has trouble remembering his name.”
“Adra Dural?” Vaelin asked.
“Flying Spirit. What else could we name her?”
Dahrena gave a soft groan and opened her eyes, face tensing with sudden cold. Vaelin pulled a fur over her shoulders as she shuffled closer to the fire. “You were gone too long,” he said.
“There was a lot to see,” she replied in a gasp. “You were right, about Alltor. It still holds, and a very bright soul burns atop its walls.”
“And between them and us?”
“Volarians move in large groups across Asrael and Cumbrael. Fewer in Nilsael but I saw more moving out from Varinshold. There are other souls in the forest to the north of the city, burning bright but also dark, some darker than the Volarians. I had a sense much killing was being done there.” She paused to gulp water from her canteen. “What remains of the Realm Guard is moving north of the Greypeaks, trying for the Nilsaelin border. I guessed their strength at perhaps three thousand men. Their souls are dark with fear and the burden of defeat. I caught a glimpse of a large body of men approaching from western Nilsael, but I couldn’t linger any further to discern their identity or intent.”
“You have done more than I could ask, my lady.”
Off the eastern perimeter a horn sounded the approach of mounted men. Vaelin rose as Captain Adal galloped into the camp, reining in and offering a salute, his face grave. “My lord, we found a village.”
The bodies had been piled in the village square, stripped naked and bleached white, the limbs already stiffening in the morning air. Most had had their throats cut but some showed signs of having died fighting.