she meant. The Ardanien and Hamandien were allies through blood and necessity. Had it not been for Liallan’s power, the Ice Bears would have been obliterated after Gorath’s defection to the Kingdom. No matter that he had saved the moredhel from being dominated by a madman, and aborted the attack on the Kingdom city of Sethanon, thereby saving hundreds of lives; he was still seen as a traitor. He waited.
At last Liallan said, ‘Even as Narab unfolds his schemes, and thinks he’s gained the upper hand, there are other forces that may consume us.’
‘Those Star Elves?’
‘Among others. The humans war among themselves as well.’
‘So Kumal stated; what has this to do with us?’
‘Ah, that is what must be discovered.’ She studied his face for a moment, then asked, ‘What does Cetswaya tell you of his dreams and visions?’
‘He speaks little. He claims he puts little faith in dream-lore.’
‘Still, he has said something.’
Arkan remained silent.
‘Then I shall tell you of my shaman. Arjuda dreams of dragons.’
Arkan’s face became an unreadable mask.
‘Dragons on the wing, with riders on their backs; a host mighty enough to blot out the sun.’
Almost whispering, Arkan said, ‘So do I.’
She nodded. ‘Then there is something you must do, for yourself, for me, for our clans, and ultimately our people – perhaps even our entire world.’
Surprised by the fervour of his aunt’s words, he said, ‘Tell me.’
‘Who among your sons is fit to lead in your absence?’
He thought about this. ‘All three, although Antesh is my heir. I have taught them to be ready, but he is the most level-headed.’
‘Good.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve lost sons, Arkan. It is most bitter. Your father lost two, making you his heir.’ She took a long moment to study Arkan. Her nephew had been as young as his father had been when the responsibility for his people fell to him. After a while she said, ‘Very well. There is something you must do. It will most likely get you killed, and even if you survive you may never be able to return to your clan. Are you willing to risk everything to save your kin?’
Without hesitation he said, ‘That is a chieftain’s burden, and his honour.’
‘I’d expect no less an answer. Then come, Arkan of the Ardanien, this you must know: a conflict that will engulf our world is brewing, and without your help we may all perish. You must travel south, where the humans make war, and possibly beyond.’ She fell silent.
‘What must I do?’ he asked.
Liallan looked him in the eyes, then motioned for him to stand. Once again she studied his face before speaking. ‘I do not know.’
‘So, I am to leave my home, place the care of my people in my sons’ hands, and … do something; but you do not know what it is?’
‘You must go south. You must disguise yourself as an eledhel, since few humans would notice the difference, and you must seek someone out.’
‘Who?’
‘Again I do not know. But I am certain you will find that person and then your next path will be made clearer.’
Arkan was silent for a time, then said, ‘I respect you as much as anyone does – and you are my kinswoman – but you ask much and give so little.’
‘Should you survive, nephew, should all of us survive, I will give Kalina to your eldest son.’
Arkan was rendered almost speechless. ‘Why?
‘Your sons are closer to the soil of this world than my chieftains. They are true sons of the moredhel, warriors without dishonour, strong without being overly ambitious. Should I name any of my chieftains my heir, the bickering and rivalries would tear the Hamandien apart within hours of my death. But if I name your son my heir, not only will he bring a small but powerful clan into the fold, but it will also prevent such a falling out. Clan Ardanien would serve as effective a personal bodyguard as any chieftain could desire. My chieftains would bend their knees and accept his rule to keep the clans intact. The Snow Leopards grow stronger and survive for another generation.’
‘You’d do that?’
‘If you go south and find this man you’re fated to meet.’
‘How do you know I’m fated to meet this … human?’
‘In my dream I see dragons flying; and upon a mountain peak two figures, one a man in a black robe, and the other is you. You protect him while he wields great magic. You are destined to save our people, Arkan.’
He had no words, so he merely sat in silence. Then he rose, nodded and left the light, warm pavilion, and returned to a dark, cold, and windy world.
• CHAPTER TWO •
Raid
BUGLES SOUNDED THE WARNING.
Martin conDoin, son of the late Duke of Crydee, dropped the spoon carrying the first bite of food he’d had in hours and was nearly out of the door of the inn he was using as a forward headquarters before his chair hit the wooden floor. He hurried to the south-western gate. ‘Report!’ he shouted as he ran from the harbour to the city’s entrance.
Sergeant Magwin looked down from his position on top of the tower, a small figure at that distance, but his voice carried. ‘Scout’s returning, sir!’
‘Open the gates!’ shouted Martin.
An exhausted rider wearing the tunic of the garrison of Crydee came cantering through the partially opened gate and pulled up before Martin as it was slammed shut behind him. He was covered in road dirt and sweat, and his horse was near collapse. He saluted and said, ‘Found the infantry, sir.’ He held out a folded parchment.
Martin read the report. ‘Is he seriously refusing to return?’
The scout dismounted. ‘Yes, sir. The captain of the column is from LaMut. He said, “I’ve got my orders, and they are to go to Sarth and meet the Duke; no lad from Crydee is telling me otherwise.”’ He lowered his eyes. ‘That’s when he wrote that and gave it to me, sir.’
Martin fumed silently, then said, ‘That’s … perfect.’
Brendan, Martin’s younger brother and his adjutant, had hurried from the heart of the city, dodging through the press of people who were waiting nearby to hear what news the scout might bring. He was almost out of breath when he stopped and gasped out, ‘A small band from LaMut has arrived.’
‘Some good news,’ said Martin, looking around. The two young men looked like twins, both with long brown hair to their shoulders and slender, agile bodies. Being only one year apart, the differences between them were growing smaller with each passing month. ‘How many?’
‘Forty,’ said Brendan. ‘Mostly men over fifty, but they seem fit: farmers and millers, loggers and the like. Twenty or so are bowmen.’
‘Good, we can always use more archers on the wall. See to their quarters.’
‘They’ve got this old—’ He laughed as he spread his arms widely, as if describing a fish he had caught. ‘A ballista that big … Maybe a bit bigger, but I’ve never seen its like. Said it’s been on the top of the gate in LaMut since … well, since anyone can remember. Some of the retired soldiers who came south thought it would be useful.’
Martin tried to be amused, but failed. ‘Have them bring it here.’ He glanced around and saw a small patch of earth between two buildings, perhaps once a garden in better days, and pointed at it. ‘Move the wagon