Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (23 page)

Passing
through an area of large houses, formal gardens and neat rows of trees on
either side of the street, they trotted onto a wide bridge spanning the river.
Hooves boomed on wooden planking, and they were across. Rengeld pulled up in
front of a blockish building with groups of plainly garbed people bustling in
and out.

Oh
ho, Jeff thought. Paper pushers. Got to be. That means some form of organization
to this hodgepodge.

Rengeld
dismounted. “The horses will be seen to.”

Looping
the hackamore over a hitching rail, Jeff admonished Cynic to behave himself and
hurried after Rengeld. Upon entering the building Jeff decided his first
impressions were correct. Brown-robed men and women hurried about carrying
scrolls and stacks of parchment. Nearby, gaudier specimens frowned importantly
from behind expansive desks.

Brushing
aside pompous demands for authorization to pass, Rengeld strode down a hallway
and entered an alcove that had a large door set in the center of a curved wall.
He rapped lightly on the door and pushed it open.

Jeff
followed Rengeld into a large circular room. It was furnished with a thick
carpet on the floor, wooden racks holding scrolls along the walls, and not much
else except a table and some chairs. A tall, thin man in his late fifties was
seated at the table.

Pushing
aside what appeared to be a map or chart, he fixed Jeff with a sharp glance.
Neither hostile nor friendly, the glance was so acute that Jeff concluded any
attempt at deception might well prove deadly.

“I
trust that suspicion has not been aroused?”

Rengeld
bowed. “Matters have progressed as designed.”

“Excellent.”
The older man turned his attention back to Jeff. “Your presence has cost
Rengeld and me loss of much sleep, Redhair, but a loss put to good use. How are
you called?”

“Jeffrey
Friedrick. How may I address you, sir?”

“I
am Ethbar, Counselor to Imogo, Sovereign of the Northern Kingdom. I am also, at
least for a time, your protector along with good Rengeld. Now, tell me at
length of the travels that led you here.”

Well,
Jeff thought, this is it. You’re on. It’s fish or cut bait time. He met
Ethbar’s gaze and attempted to fathom risk. In spite of the circumstances of
their first meeting, Jeff had to admit that he respected Rengeld. And Rengeld
appeared to be on friendly terms with Ethbar. This guy talks like a straight
shooter, but what does that mean when you’re dealing with a politician? I
really need to check them out.

That
was a forlorn wish, and Jeff knew it. The sense of urgency had not abated in
the least since leaving Valholm. If anything it was stronger. There were no
viable options and time pressed hard. Okay, Jeff decided, Let’s go with it.
This meeting did not occur by chance.

“I
have come to this land from one so distant that I have no words to convey the
sense of it. Only recently have I grown to suspect that the full circumstances
of my arrival speak of power and skill beyond the contrivance of man, whatever
their origin. But allow me to relate what I learned at a village far to the
north of Rugen; what I learned of the Iron-shirts…”

As
Jeff talked, Rengeld crossed his arms and stared down at the table to focus his
attention on every word and not the man. Ethbar rested his elbow on the table
and sat with chin in hand. Although he listened attentively, a part of his mind
was tuned to the impact of the moment. He had studied the history of Rugen, now
he was experiencing it.

“…And
so I departed Valholm, driven south by urgency and urged on by a man who walks
close to the gods.” Jeff paused for effect and crossed his fingers. “Now you
have heard my tale and must judge its merit.”

Without
comment, Ethbar motioned for Jeff to be seated. It was some time before he
stirred from reflection.

“It
is true,” he murmured, “the times of legend have returned and I doubt not that
war will soon follow.” He stared thoughtfully at Jeff. “You have taken a great
risk in revealing what you have. For that I thank you. Your trust will not be
betrayed.” Ethbar probed Jeff with intense eyes. “What you have said persuades
me that your character is sound and fuels my concern for the safety of this
land. Now permit me to reciprocate trust and relate in turn what we have learned
through our studies.” Ethbar frowned at the table.

“Years
ago this city was the seat of much knowledge if one can believe the tales and
the writings, which we do. While the records in our possession are incomplete,
they do clearly indicate that Rugen was first invaded sixty years ago by a
people called the Salchek.”

Ethbar
got up from his chair and unrolled a crude map on the table. Motioning Jeff
over, he pointed out various features as he talked.

“The
Salchek entered Arvalia through Arzak which lies here, bordering on the
southern and eastern ocean. It is a hot land, and from what little we know of
it appears to hold no love for strangers or even its own citizens.” Ethbar’s
finger moved far to the west. “While Arzak is rumored to be a decadent country,
Zomar is cloaked in mystery alone. I know nothing of its policies, form of
government, or the nature of its people. I do know that while Arzak’s role in
the invasion suggests complicity, the warriors of Zomar fiercely resisted the
Salchek and were never overcome.”

Ethbar
stroked his chin in silence and continued to study the map. “I have often
wondered what lies beyond the confines of this feeble thing we examine. Careful
study suggests the Salchek spring from a land far to the east of Arzak, and
perhaps to the south. Ah, well. Perhaps one day we will know.” Ethbar returned
to his chair. “Whatever occurred to the south, Salchek armies made their way
north virtually unopposed.

“At
that time Rugen was little more than a collection of rude lodges protected by an
earthen wall and quickly fell. The Salcheks then marched farther north only to
be met with fierce opposition by the yellow-hairs, as you reported.”

“And
had some success for a season or two.”

“Yes,
the invaders made good progress and crushed tribes one by one for a season or
two. At that point it appears the Salchek began suffering a series of defeats
that cost them most of the ground they had won in the forest land.” Ethbar
looked pointedly at Jeff. “It was about this time that notes began appearing in
Salchek records concerning redhaired, darker skinned warriors with eyes like
wolves. Warriors who appeared to be leading the yellow-hairs.”

“The
Redhairs.”

“Or
as you report their name, the Alarai. A war of stalemate continued for over
thirteen years, during which Rugen was continually reinforced and its present
walls largely
 
constructed.”

“An
invasion seemed to me the best explanation for such sturdy defenses with no
cities nearby to pose a threat,” Jeff commented. “The walls are impressive. Why
did the Salchek leave after so much effort to build them?”

 
“We do not know. Without forewarning and
having suffered no serious defeats, the Salchek withdrew southward leaving the
city to its own devices. It was most fortunate that northern warriors did not
choose to seek revenge. Shortly, mercenaries left behind contended among
themselves and with local warriors for supremacy.”

“Civil
war and anarchy. It must have been a terrible time for the people of Rugen.

“In
some ways worse than the Salchek occupation. A full year passed before a
mercenary officer named Bartel gained undisputed control of Rugen and the
surrounding countryside, styling himself count. The current ruler, Imogo, is
his son and has advanced his title to king.” Ethbar paused to sort memories. “I
was a mere child when the Salchek departed. They were brutal and caused great
harm yet brought learning as well. The Salchek largely introduced the policies
that regulate the city and our lives to this day.”

“The
other side of the coin,” Jeff observed. “Great oppression, yet a system of
effective laws that create order out of chaos. May I assume the Salchek built
more than the walls?”

 
“This building, the palace, our bridges—all
constructed from their designs.” Ethbar gestured around the room. “Every scroll
you see, in fact every scroll in our possession, was brought or composed by
Salchek scribes. Yet I imagine there are now no more than a dozen scholars in
this city that bother to study them, and that number declines by the year.
There are no schools to educate our young; no attempt has been made to educate
their parents. So much has been lost through negligence.”

A
look of alarm appeared on Rengeld’s face. He hurried to the partially open
door, checked the hall in both directions, and closed it. Ethbar acknowledged
the service with upraised hand.

“Thank
you, Rengeld. The door should have been closed from the outset.”

“We
cannot afford to expose ourselves for even a moment. If maliciously overheard,
your words would be artfully employed against us. A closed door is no sure
protection.”

“I
am aware of the risks in so talking, but risks that are as nothing when
compared with what is likely to come.” Ethbar glanced at Jeff. “I must also say
that the risk our guest has ventured by offering us his confidence is not trivial.
In my estimation, it far exceeds ours should my words come to the ears of those
incredibly ignorant courtiers who fawn on Imogo and find solace in stupidity.”
Rengeld appeared skeptical, but bowed acceptance.

“And
so, young Jeffrey, can you doubt the Salchek I have spoken of and Gurthwin’s
Iron-shirts are one and the same?”

“It
seems likely they are. To argue otherwise would place a heavy burden on
coincidence.”

“Just
so. The question that might well be large in your thoughts, however, is why we
share your belief that the Salchek have returned. Rugen, after all, is quite
isolated from the South and rumor.”

“Having
viewed your map of this land, that thought has indeed occurred to me.”

Ethbar
shuffled through a pile of parchment and hurriedly moved to another. He
carefully extracted a single sheet from the third pile.

“Thank
the gods. For a moment, I feared it had been misplaced.”

“Evidence
of invasion?”

“Perhaps.
Certainly this mere sheet of parchment aroused our suspicions. One of Rengeld’s
scouts happened across remnants of a body some distance south of Rugen. This
was found nearby.” Ethbar held the tattered sheet up so Jeff could peer at it.
The ink was smeared and the parchment looked like it was ready to fall apart.
“It is composed in Salchek script.”

Jeff
whistled low. “Yes, that would do the trick.”

Ethbar
raised his eyebrows in query.

“Forgive
me. As Captain Rengeld discovered earlier, amazement leads naturally to my
native tongue. To be sure, I can well understand that such a discovery would
inflame suspicion. Have you succeeded in deciphering its content?”

Ethbar
indicated Rengeld should reply. “We believe the man was returning south when he
was slain. All that remained were bits of moldy clothing, scattered bones, and
a leather pouch. This single sheet is all that survived within the pouch, and
that barely. It is one page of what can only be a scouting report.”

Jeff
and Rengeld shared a long look. “A scouting report having to do with Rugen, I
presume?”

“This
lone page has no reference to Rugen,” Rengeld drawled. “Considering the other
cities located close by, I feel confident in concluding that Rugen was the
subject of this report.”

That’s
a good way of putting it, Jeff thought with a smile. There were no other
cities, close by or otherwise.

“And
then I arrived, speaking of a mission to determine threat.”

“Indeed.
Once again, shall we argue coincidence?”

When
Ethbar looked up from tracing idle patterns on the tabletop, his expression was
frustrated.

“My
scholarly regrets notwithstanding, Imogo has done well by Rugen and the
Northern Kingdom. Yet now he risks it all. If only he would acknowledge what
this scrap of parchment implies! He must come to realize this threat is real or
his son, Torget, will never rule.” Ethbar stared into his mug and brooded in
silence

Rengeld
arose to wander the room, his face a dark study. Some minutes later Jeff’s
drawn-out sigh broke the silence.

“Now
my way is clear. I must journey farther south and discover the truth. If the
Salchek have not returned, a subject state or ally might have. It is my duty.”

“I
believe you have been marked for this task.” Ethbar found his feet and extended
his hand. “We are well met, Jeffrey Friedrick. Let no one persuade you that
chance contrived it.”

Releasing
Jeff’s hand, Ethbar walked to the door with a young man’s step. “We will talk
again on the morrow. Much remains unsaid.” He glanced at Rengeld and chuckled.
“Please be so kind as to see our young guest to more suitable quarters.”

Upon
leaving the building Jeff and Rengeld retrieved their horses from a nearby
stable. Well rested and fed, Cynic was in a feisty frame of mind and delighted
in testing Jeff’s seat. He cavorted, sidled, did stiff-legged hops and
generally raised hell. Cynic was only having a little fun, but his timing was
terrible.