Cheiromancer
Explorer
Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 06-22-2002
On a warm spring morning, a day before the Equinox, Eadric of Deorham rode from the gates of the Duchess’s castle with his paladins. A quarter of Trempa’s knights, thanes and bannermen, as well as five hundred or so mounted man-at-arms, accompanied them. The cavalry was protected by a screen of Ardanese mercenaries – horsed archers whose fierceness in battle was matched only by their capacity for mead – and foreshadowed by hand-picked scouts from the fiefs of thanes Ekkert and Streek. Eadric had led out the army post haste – his main objective being to hold the crossings over the River Nund – until Tahl arrived with Soraine and the bulk of Trempa’s armoured aristocracy.
Most of the Uediians – including the skirmishers and longbowmen – had been dispatched northwards under the command of Ryth of Har Kumil. The Thane, although bloodthirsty and itching for war, was no fool. He was to conduct a guerilla campaign of attrition against the forces advancing from Tomur – a task for which he was amply qualified. His orders had been clear: Do NOT cross the Nund. Do NOT invest Tomur.
Eadric sighed. He doubted whether Ryth would remain within his remit. He also wondered whether Rintrah’s instructions* applied to him personally, the troops under his command, or everyone in Trempa involved in the war.
In the rearguard, aside from Togull, the Laird of Rauth Sutting, to whom nominal command fell, rode a motley rag-tag of soldiers-for-hire, libertarian idealists, religious zealots of uncertain persuasion, romantics, poets, artists, and Ortwin of Jiuhu. Next to him, sullen and uncommunicative, Iua sulked. She sat upon a remarkable horse whose feet did not seem to touch the ground, but rather the legs of which ended in cloudlike wisps of vapour.
Mostin the Metagnostic rode nearby, his uncanny green eyes peering out from underneath the most outrageous hat that he possessed, made from purple velvet and topped with a wing-feather from a lillend. The brim was a full three feet in diameter. The robe of eyes which he wore dispelled any remaining doubt in the minds of those who saw him that this was someone of arcane power, and to be carefully avoided.
Despite her protestations, Iua had not been able to dissuade Ortwin from riding. She had pointed out that now – with virtually every Templar absent from the Fane – was the ideal time to raid the vault. The Bard had half surprised himself when Eadric had asked:
"We leave in the morning. Are you coming?"
And Ortwin had replied "Yes."
No doubts, no equivocations, no procrastinations. Iua’s scheme could wait – after all, the vault would still be there in a week. Here was a chance for songs, glorious deeds, bloodshed, and a boost to his recently battered ego. His reputation demanded that he be in full prominence, inspiring people with exaggerated braggadocio and tales of daring. In the final analysis, being in the limelight was the most important thing in the world to him. And, after all, he couldn’t let Ed down, he added as an afterthought.
Iua had commended the Bard, but pointed out that there were other ways of striking a blow to the Temple – that a financial crisis would cause pandemonium quickly and effectively. She missed the crux of the Bard’s motivation, however – the unchecked desire for self-aggrandizement – and by the time she had realized it, Ortwin had made up his mind and could not be deterred. Iua had pouted, and decided that she’d continue to pester him until he acquiesced.
Mostin’s reasons for being there – in an ‘advisory capacity,’ of course – were more straightforward. He’d never seen a battle before. He hoped that someone would overlook the fact that he was a wizard and assault him, thus provoking ‘reasonable self-defense.’ And he wasn’t letting Iua and those scrolls out of his sight for one damn minute.
After a nine-hour march, the army halted on the meadows near the village of Hernath, halfway between the town of Trempa and Deorham. As tents were pitched, guards were posted and horses were picketed, Eadric visited Mostin. The Alienist - excited by the prospect of battle but rejecting the inconveniences that campaigning brought – had erected his portable manse some distance from the camp, and was scrying for enemy movements.
"What exactly are you permitted to do, Mostin, and what does the Injunction forbid?"
"I have been musing upon the same question myself," the Alienist replied. "As no mage has ever violated it, it is difficult to answer."
"Never?" Eadric was amazed that here, apparently, was a law that had never been broken.
Mostin smiled. "Despite my urge to fling magic around on the battlefield, I am in general accord with the premise of the Injunction. Wizards have far better things to do with their time than demean themselves with temporal politics, and I think everyone would agree that the prospect of mages being used as artillery is a terrifying one."
"But you spoke of using ‘auxiliary’ magics. What do you mean by this?"
"Divinations are permitted," Mostin replied. "And whilst auxiliary to most mages, they are, in fact, my specialty. Which is good for you."
"And ‘reasonable self-defense?’" The Paladin further queried him.
"That is equally vague," Mostin sighed. "I think that placing myself in the centre of a battle would probably constitute some kind of provocation, and I doubt that I could use it as a defense for evoking a ‘fireball’ for example. I intend to remain on the margins of the fight, acting for the most part as a passive observer. If anyone is foolish enough to target me with their lance or sword, then I will retaliate, and my role will become that of a ‘participant-observer.’ At that point, I am treading on very thin ice as far as the Great Injunction goes but not, I think, in open violation."
"And exactly what would happen, if you were to flagrantly violate the Injunction?"
The Alienist shrugged. "As I say, in five hundred years, no-one has ever done it to my knowledge. I suspect that, after news got out, then divinations would be made and I would be revealed as the culprit. I would, at the very least, be shunned by the magical community. If my behaviour continued, I guess that a cadre of mages would form in order to arrest my deviancy. The technical penalty is ‘Imprisonment.’"
Eadric gave a quizzical look. That didn’t sound too bad. But he didn’t understand that Mostin was referring to a spell, or what that spell involved.
"Why the sudden interest?" Mostin asked. "I hope that you aren’t trying to persuade me to summon pseudonatural entities to aid you."
Eadric was aghast, and held his hand up. "No! Certainly not. I’m curious, that’s all. I know little of the world that you move in, or the rules by which it operates. Why exactly are you here, Mostin?"
The Alienist sighed. "Intellectual curiosity? Ennui? Maybe even loyalty and camaraderie. Who knows? I try not to question my motivation – it tends to be unproductive, and leads to irresolvable paradox. Especially when one possesses a logical faculty as titanic as mine. Incandescent genius brings its own worries, you know."
Eadric rubbed his cheek. Mostin seemed quite serious.
**
Nwm flew south over the hilly uplands of Iald. He was exhausted, and needed to recuperate his magic. The contest with the shamaness Mesikämmi had proven almost beyond his abilities. Why hadn’t she told him, when he’d first encountered her in the foothills of the Thrumohars? Why send him into the wastes of Tun Hartha, only to have another shaman redirect him back to her? Her reasoning was mysterious, and Nwm wondered whether she was somehow testing him, making time to gather her own strength, or merely teasing him for her own perverse entertainment. The Tunthi! Their customs and motivations seemed impenetrable.
"Our allies will contest with one another," she had said. "If yours prevail, then I will render an item of Hullu’s to you, and you may scry him. If mine are triumphant, then I will take your torc, Nwm, and you will depart forever. Will you rise to the challenge?"
The Druid had wondered what she meant until, showing forth her power, she summoned a fire elemental of prodigious size. If he’d had time to prepare, Nwm knew that he could have conjured a larger one, and the contest would have been over before it began. As it was, he was pressed to match the elemental in terms of power, and instead elected to summon three salamanders. Mesikämmi had thrown another elemental into the fray, and Nwm had invoked the powers of his staff in order to bring yet more salamanders into being. Pillars of interweaving fire scorched the frozen tundra, causing great plumes of steam to erupt as the magical allies fought each other fiercely.
When Nwm finally prevailed, the shamaness had returned to her hut, and reluctantly given the Druid a carved aurochs horn, which he gratefully accepted.
"Perhaps I should have required your staff as payment, had I won," Mesikämmi had ruefully remarked. But, in the end, the contest had cost her little and she had had much to gain.
Nwm had flown on and, passing again through the mountains, had found a cold, still pool and scried Hullu.
There. In a small cabin in the woods, in Iald. Nwm had set out immediately.
**
The Druid rematerialized next to a great boulder, deposited ages before by a glacier, and walked towards the simple house. Smoke, issuing from the chimney, alerted Nwm to the fact that Hullu was home.
Swallowing, the Druid strode up to the door and rapped loudly upon it with the base of his staff. There was no reply. Nwm knocked again. Still nothing. He gingerly pushed the door inwards, and glanced to see a rudely furnished interior, before someone sprang at him from the shadows and grappled him to the ground.
The face, with its narrow eyes and beardless chin, was certainly Tunthi. He was small, but wiry, and immensely strong.
"Peace, Hullu," Nwm said quickly.
The grip did not relax. "Who are you?" Hullu barked with a thick accent.
"I am Nwm, a Uediian. I seek your aid."
"I am no longer for hire." Hullu snapped, standing up. "You may leave, now."
"I offer no money," Nwm said, pulling himself to his feet, brushing off his cloak, and smiling benignly. "I merely require your aid. I want you to offer it freely and willingly, with no thought of gain for yourself, and to risk death if necessary."
Hullu looked incredulous. "Are you mad?"
Nwm grinned. "I have spoken to the shamans Tietäjä and Mesikämmi. Your name was suggested to me."
Hullu hissed. "Why were you in the Linna? And what does the Honey-Paw have to do with this?"
"I am tired and hungry, Hullu, and I smell something agreeable roasting inside. This would be better discussed with a full stomach."
"You are unbelievable! You have never met me before."
"No," agreed Nwm, nodding. "Do you have any mead?"
**
"It is simple," Nwm said, relaxing in the smoky interior of the cabin and holding a full belly. Hullu eyed him suspiciously – the Druid had proven to have a healthy appetite. "The Uediians are scattered, disorganized, leaderless and need a figure around whom they can rally."
Hullu snorted. "Then do it yourself. I am not even Wyrish. And I don’t buy into this Goddess nonsense either."
"Nor do half or more of those who are labelled ‘pagan,’" Nwm explained. "Tell me Hullu, you revere the spirits of lake and tree and mountain, don’t you?"
"Yes, but..."
"In fact," Nwm continued, "you are Tunthi. You live it and breathe it. It runs through your veins naturally and effortlessly, a memory of a world which we in Wyre have forgotten."
"If you mean to suggest that I am more primitive, just come out and say it," Hullu snarled.
"No," Nwm abruptly snapped. "I have much to learn from your people. They are not decadent. They are focussed, in tune with nature. They are in the NOW to an extent which a settled, agrarian lifestyle crushes. Few amongst us now can evoke that momentless moment, when Nature is gloriously unified."
"And you are one of them?" Hullu asked archly.
"Yes," the Druid replied honestly.
"Then lead your people," Hullu said simply. "This is not my fight."
"When the Inquisition arrives and demands your conversion, will you accede? Will you bow down before their god – or, more likely, the aspect of their god which demands blind obedience and unthinking acceptance of dogma? Or will you flee into the forest?"
"The last is more likely," Hullu replied.
"Then you will live like a fugitive until they find you, and then you will convert, or burn."
"You will not cow me into any course of action," Hullu rose to his feet. "These words are meant for the ears of the ignorant. I have served as a mercenary from Morne to Bedesh. This is not the way of the Temple, and as oppressive as they might be, there has never been any forced conversion."
"As an unrepentant subject of Iald, you are already under a death sentence for heresy," Nwm told him.
"That is absurd," Hullu said. "I don’t believe you."
"You have been alone in the woods for too long, Hullu," the Druid said.
And Nwm told him the whole story, from beginning to end, leaving out no detail.
**
"So this is the sword?" Hullu asked, brandishing it.
"It is called ‘Melancholy,’" Nwm replied. "It was forged by the slaadi and belongs to a half-demon called Feezuu. She will likely wish it back at some stage."
"I don’t like the name. And what do you suggest I do with it?" Hullu asked.
"Head for Hethio, and rally the Uediians there," Nwm replied. "It is the heart of the Temple’s power, and the place where they least expect resistance to arise. Organize the cells of pagans into a coherent body. Show them a direction."
"And why can’t you do this?"
"Because I will not subject my faith to theocratic despotism, however well-intentioned it might be. There needs to be a groundswell of opinion, not the mindless observance of commands that I might give."
Hullu smiled ironically. "But you are willing to manipulate them using other means? Using me?"
"That is the only choice remaining," Nwm confessed.
"What makes you think that they will trust me? That they will follow a barbarian from the north?"
"It is two days until the Equinox," Nwm replied. "We will make a suitably dramatic appearance."
**
The dolmens at Groba had, for centuries, been a place of worship for the pagans of Hethio. Even with the rapidly growing stigma attached to the Old Religion, the stone temple, interspersed with oaks of enormous size, was thronging with worshippers. Because most of the Inquisitors and Templars were in the East, mustering for the war with Trempa, many of those who would have otherwise been reluctant to attend did, in fact, show their faces. A number of druids led them in prayers and supplications to assorted woodland spirits, deities of rocks and streams, and the great fertility Goddess, Uedii.
Nwm arrived at dawn, the climax of the ceremony, in the form of an eagle with a fifty-foot wingspan, bearing Hullu between his huge talons. It was a carefully orchestrated piece of showmanship, designed to evoke a complex reaction – the eagle was, after all, the symbol of Oronthon. Regarding it as a portent, some of those present tried to flee, others fell to their knees. The druids, uncertain of the meaning, stood and waited.
Nwm’s pinions beat mightily, causing a great downrush of air which made those below shield their eyes and hold onto their cloaks. He deposited Hullu atop the highest of the menhirs, and then alighted on the ground next to him. His head was level with the Tunthi warrior, twenty feet above the earth.
Nwm screamed out a spell, and suddenly the air around was full of spirits, whispering encouragement to those gathered there and dispelling their fears.
The Druid resumed his human form.
"I am Nwm, the Preceptor," he announced in a clear voice. "I am not here to lead you, but I bring someone who can and will. He is a warrior from the North. His name is Hullu. If you won’t accept him on my recommendation, then that is all well and good: in time, he will prove himself capable and you will follow him. His names are not our names, but he believes as we do. He knows much that we have forgotten, and he can teach us. He can show us how to remember. He can give us direction in the war against oppression and persecution. I leave the choice as to how you deal with him to you."
"I am now active in this fight," Nwm continued. "Not as a leader of men, but as myself. I have no desire to command, and I will reject any attempts to persuade me to do so. I will act according to my own conscience, wherever I decide the need is greatest. I am beholden only to the Goddess: do not succour me for aid, lest I reject you and you resent me for it. I ask you to remember one thing only: it is the Temple that oppresses you, not the Eagle." The last words were in a hope that peaceful Oronthonians would not be targeted.
One of the druids stepped forwards. "You are arrogant beyond belief, Nwm. You are acting outside of your remit."
"I act according to my conscience, as should you," Nwm replied, simply. He resumed his aquiline form and took off, flying eastwards.
Late on the morning of the Spring Equinox, the eagle was sighted over Morne, and people stopped in the streets to wonder what it might portend.
Nwm followed the road from Morne to Trempa, and saw that it was churned up by the passage of numerous horses and wagons. The army had already left.
On the evening of the same day, fifteen miles from the border with Trempa, Nwm spied from a great height the smoldering remains of a dozen bodies by the roadside. He descended and stood grimly, before pulling down the corpses. He summoned a Xorn, instructed it to dig a grave, and buried them.
It had already started, he sighed to himself.
He took to the air again and before long saw, far in the distance, a thousand tiny campfires glowing on the meadows on the western side of the Nund. Engineers were building pontoons by torchlight, working to find ways of moving the troops as quickly as possible in the event that the Templars could not win the main bridges: at Hartha Keep and Moath Gairdan. Nwm screeched a spell as he flew, and clouds began to gather.
When he descended again, he brought thunder and death.
**
Deorham was only half a day’s ride from the crossings of the river, and Eadric had garrisoned Kyrtill’s Burgh with thirty knights and a hundred men-at-arms before moving swiftly onwards. The keep, which had not seen war for a century, echoed to armoured footsteps - something which the Paladin found somehow disagreeable.
Reports brought back by scouts and the Ardanese outriders indicated that skirmishers had already crossed the river, and were setting ambushes and burning crofts along the eastern banks of the Nund. Eadric cursed, and dispatched contingents of light cavalry to seek out and engage them, before splitting his remaining forces to secure the crossings. He himself rode to the southern bridge at Hartha Keep. He instructed Togull to remain to the rear on the Blackwater Meadow, and to use his own best judgement as to how to deploy the reserves – "Throw them at whichever bridge looks like it will fall first," he said ironically.
When evening came, Eadric paced to and fro restlessly in his armour, on the top of one of the two small towers of the shell keep. Plumes of smoke rose from the enemy camp, less than two miles away.
"It’s getting humid," Ortwin remarked casually whilst practicing complicated maneuvers with his scimitar. "It’s going to rain."
*The Planetar had instructed Eadric to "initiate no war" beyond Trempa’s borders until commanded to do so.
On a warm spring morning, a day before the Equinox, Eadric of Deorham rode from the gates of the Duchess’s castle with his paladins. A quarter of Trempa’s knights, thanes and bannermen, as well as five hundred or so mounted man-at-arms, accompanied them. The cavalry was protected by a screen of Ardanese mercenaries – horsed archers whose fierceness in battle was matched only by their capacity for mead – and foreshadowed by hand-picked scouts from the fiefs of thanes Ekkert and Streek. Eadric had led out the army post haste – his main objective being to hold the crossings over the River Nund – until Tahl arrived with Soraine and the bulk of Trempa’s armoured aristocracy.
Most of the Uediians – including the skirmishers and longbowmen – had been dispatched northwards under the command of Ryth of Har Kumil. The Thane, although bloodthirsty and itching for war, was no fool. He was to conduct a guerilla campaign of attrition against the forces advancing from Tomur – a task for which he was amply qualified. His orders had been clear: Do NOT cross the Nund. Do NOT invest Tomur.
Eadric sighed. He doubted whether Ryth would remain within his remit. He also wondered whether Rintrah’s instructions* applied to him personally, the troops under his command, or everyone in Trempa involved in the war.
In the rearguard, aside from Togull, the Laird of Rauth Sutting, to whom nominal command fell, rode a motley rag-tag of soldiers-for-hire, libertarian idealists, religious zealots of uncertain persuasion, romantics, poets, artists, and Ortwin of Jiuhu. Next to him, sullen and uncommunicative, Iua sulked. She sat upon a remarkable horse whose feet did not seem to touch the ground, but rather the legs of which ended in cloudlike wisps of vapour.
Mostin the Metagnostic rode nearby, his uncanny green eyes peering out from underneath the most outrageous hat that he possessed, made from purple velvet and topped with a wing-feather from a lillend. The brim was a full three feet in diameter. The robe of eyes which he wore dispelled any remaining doubt in the minds of those who saw him that this was someone of arcane power, and to be carefully avoided.
Despite her protestations, Iua had not been able to dissuade Ortwin from riding. She had pointed out that now – with virtually every Templar absent from the Fane – was the ideal time to raid the vault. The Bard had half surprised himself when Eadric had asked:
"We leave in the morning. Are you coming?"
And Ortwin had replied "Yes."
No doubts, no equivocations, no procrastinations. Iua’s scheme could wait – after all, the vault would still be there in a week. Here was a chance for songs, glorious deeds, bloodshed, and a boost to his recently battered ego. His reputation demanded that he be in full prominence, inspiring people with exaggerated braggadocio and tales of daring. In the final analysis, being in the limelight was the most important thing in the world to him. And, after all, he couldn’t let Ed down, he added as an afterthought.
Iua had commended the Bard, but pointed out that there were other ways of striking a blow to the Temple – that a financial crisis would cause pandemonium quickly and effectively. She missed the crux of the Bard’s motivation, however – the unchecked desire for self-aggrandizement – and by the time she had realized it, Ortwin had made up his mind and could not be deterred. Iua had pouted, and decided that she’d continue to pester him until he acquiesced.
Mostin’s reasons for being there – in an ‘advisory capacity,’ of course – were more straightforward. He’d never seen a battle before. He hoped that someone would overlook the fact that he was a wizard and assault him, thus provoking ‘reasonable self-defense.’ And he wasn’t letting Iua and those scrolls out of his sight for one damn minute.
After a nine-hour march, the army halted on the meadows near the village of Hernath, halfway between the town of Trempa and Deorham. As tents were pitched, guards were posted and horses were picketed, Eadric visited Mostin. The Alienist - excited by the prospect of battle but rejecting the inconveniences that campaigning brought – had erected his portable manse some distance from the camp, and was scrying for enemy movements.
"What exactly are you permitted to do, Mostin, and what does the Injunction forbid?"
"I have been musing upon the same question myself," the Alienist replied. "As no mage has ever violated it, it is difficult to answer."
"Never?" Eadric was amazed that here, apparently, was a law that had never been broken.
Mostin smiled. "Despite my urge to fling magic around on the battlefield, I am in general accord with the premise of the Injunction. Wizards have far better things to do with their time than demean themselves with temporal politics, and I think everyone would agree that the prospect of mages being used as artillery is a terrifying one."
"But you spoke of using ‘auxiliary’ magics. What do you mean by this?"
"Divinations are permitted," Mostin replied. "And whilst auxiliary to most mages, they are, in fact, my specialty. Which is good for you."
"And ‘reasonable self-defense?’" The Paladin further queried him.
"That is equally vague," Mostin sighed. "I think that placing myself in the centre of a battle would probably constitute some kind of provocation, and I doubt that I could use it as a defense for evoking a ‘fireball’ for example. I intend to remain on the margins of the fight, acting for the most part as a passive observer. If anyone is foolish enough to target me with their lance or sword, then I will retaliate, and my role will become that of a ‘participant-observer.’ At that point, I am treading on very thin ice as far as the Great Injunction goes but not, I think, in open violation."
"And exactly what would happen, if you were to flagrantly violate the Injunction?"
The Alienist shrugged. "As I say, in five hundred years, no-one has ever done it to my knowledge. I suspect that, after news got out, then divinations would be made and I would be revealed as the culprit. I would, at the very least, be shunned by the magical community. If my behaviour continued, I guess that a cadre of mages would form in order to arrest my deviancy. The technical penalty is ‘Imprisonment.’"
Eadric gave a quizzical look. That didn’t sound too bad. But he didn’t understand that Mostin was referring to a spell, or what that spell involved.
"Why the sudden interest?" Mostin asked. "I hope that you aren’t trying to persuade me to summon pseudonatural entities to aid you."
Eadric was aghast, and held his hand up. "No! Certainly not. I’m curious, that’s all. I know little of the world that you move in, or the rules by which it operates. Why exactly are you here, Mostin?"
The Alienist sighed. "Intellectual curiosity? Ennui? Maybe even loyalty and camaraderie. Who knows? I try not to question my motivation – it tends to be unproductive, and leads to irresolvable paradox. Especially when one possesses a logical faculty as titanic as mine. Incandescent genius brings its own worries, you know."
Eadric rubbed his cheek. Mostin seemed quite serious.
**
Nwm flew south over the hilly uplands of Iald. He was exhausted, and needed to recuperate his magic. The contest with the shamaness Mesikämmi had proven almost beyond his abilities. Why hadn’t she told him, when he’d first encountered her in the foothills of the Thrumohars? Why send him into the wastes of Tun Hartha, only to have another shaman redirect him back to her? Her reasoning was mysterious, and Nwm wondered whether she was somehow testing him, making time to gather her own strength, or merely teasing him for her own perverse entertainment. The Tunthi! Their customs and motivations seemed impenetrable.
"Our allies will contest with one another," she had said. "If yours prevail, then I will render an item of Hullu’s to you, and you may scry him. If mine are triumphant, then I will take your torc, Nwm, and you will depart forever. Will you rise to the challenge?"
The Druid had wondered what she meant until, showing forth her power, she summoned a fire elemental of prodigious size. If he’d had time to prepare, Nwm knew that he could have conjured a larger one, and the contest would have been over before it began. As it was, he was pressed to match the elemental in terms of power, and instead elected to summon three salamanders. Mesikämmi had thrown another elemental into the fray, and Nwm had invoked the powers of his staff in order to bring yet more salamanders into being. Pillars of interweaving fire scorched the frozen tundra, causing great plumes of steam to erupt as the magical allies fought each other fiercely.
When Nwm finally prevailed, the shamaness had returned to her hut, and reluctantly given the Druid a carved aurochs horn, which he gratefully accepted.
"Perhaps I should have required your staff as payment, had I won," Mesikämmi had ruefully remarked. But, in the end, the contest had cost her little and she had had much to gain.
Nwm had flown on and, passing again through the mountains, had found a cold, still pool and scried Hullu.
There. In a small cabin in the woods, in Iald. Nwm had set out immediately.
**
The Druid rematerialized next to a great boulder, deposited ages before by a glacier, and walked towards the simple house. Smoke, issuing from the chimney, alerted Nwm to the fact that Hullu was home.
Swallowing, the Druid strode up to the door and rapped loudly upon it with the base of his staff. There was no reply. Nwm knocked again. Still nothing. He gingerly pushed the door inwards, and glanced to see a rudely furnished interior, before someone sprang at him from the shadows and grappled him to the ground.
The face, with its narrow eyes and beardless chin, was certainly Tunthi. He was small, but wiry, and immensely strong.
"Peace, Hullu," Nwm said quickly.
The grip did not relax. "Who are you?" Hullu barked with a thick accent.
"I am Nwm, a Uediian. I seek your aid."
"I am no longer for hire." Hullu snapped, standing up. "You may leave, now."
"I offer no money," Nwm said, pulling himself to his feet, brushing off his cloak, and smiling benignly. "I merely require your aid. I want you to offer it freely and willingly, with no thought of gain for yourself, and to risk death if necessary."
Hullu looked incredulous. "Are you mad?"
Nwm grinned. "I have spoken to the shamans Tietäjä and Mesikämmi. Your name was suggested to me."
Hullu hissed. "Why were you in the Linna? And what does the Honey-Paw have to do with this?"
"I am tired and hungry, Hullu, and I smell something agreeable roasting inside. This would be better discussed with a full stomach."
"You are unbelievable! You have never met me before."
"No," agreed Nwm, nodding. "Do you have any mead?"
**
"It is simple," Nwm said, relaxing in the smoky interior of the cabin and holding a full belly. Hullu eyed him suspiciously – the Druid had proven to have a healthy appetite. "The Uediians are scattered, disorganized, leaderless and need a figure around whom they can rally."
Hullu snorted. "Then do it yourself. I am not even Wyrish. And I don’t buy into this Goddess nonsense either."
"Nor do half or more of those who are labelled ‘pagan,’" Nwm explained. "Tell me Hullu, you revere the spirits of lake and tree and mountain, don’t you?"
"Yes, but..."
"In fact," Nwm continued, "you are Tunthi. You live it and breathe it. It runs through your veins naturally and effortlessly, a memory of a world which we in Wyre have forgotten."
"If you mean to suggest that I am more primitive, just come out and say it," Hullu snarled.
"No," Nwm abruptly snapped. "I have much to learn from your people. They are not decadent. They are focussed, in tune with nature. They are in the NOW to an extent which a settled, agrarian lifestyle crushes. Few amongst us now can evoke that momentless moment, when Nature is gloriously unified."
"And you are one of them?" Hullu asked archly.
"Yes," the Druid replied honestly.
"Then lead your people," Hullu said simply. "This is not my fight."
"When the Inquisition arrives and demands your conversion, will you accede? Will you bow down before their god – or, more likely, the aspect of their god which demands blind obedience and unthinking acceptance of dogma? Or will you flee into the forest?"
"The last is more likely," Hullu replied.
"Then you will live like a fugitive until they find you, and then you will convert, or burn."
"You will not cow me into any course of action," Hullu rose to his feet. "These words are meant for the ears of the ignorant. I have served as a mercenary from Morne to Bedesh. This is not the way of the Temple, and as oppressive as they might be, there has never been any forced conversion."
"As an unrepentant subject of Iald, you are already under a death sentence for heresy," Nwm told him.
"That is absurd," Hullu said. "I don’t believe you."
"You have been alone in the woods for too long, Hullu," the Druid said.
And Nwm told him the whole story, from beginning to end, leaving out no detail.
**
"So this is the sword?" Hullu asked, brandishing it.
"It is called ‘Melancholy,’" Nwm replied. "It was forged by the slaadi and belongs to a half-demon called Feezuu. She will likely wish it back at some stage."
"I don’t like the name. And what do you suggest I do with it?" Hullu asked.
"Head for Hethio, and rally the Uediians there," Nwm replied. "It is the heart of the Temple’s power, and the place where they least expect resistance to arise. Organize the cells of pagans into a coherent body. Show them a direction."
"And why can’t you do this?"
"Because I will not subject my faith to theocratic despotism, however well-intentioned it might be. There needs to be a groundswell of opinion, not the mindless observance of commands that I might give."
Hullu smiled ironically. "But you are willing to manipulate them using other means? Using me?"
"That is the only choice remaining," Nwm confessed.
"What makes you think that they will trust me? That they will follow a barbarian from the north?"
"It is two days until the Equinox," Nwm replied. "We will make a suitably dramatic appearance."
**
The dolmens at Groba had, for centuries, been a place of worship for the pagans of Hethio. Even with the rapidly growing stigma attached to the Old Religion, the stone temple, interspersed with oaks of enormous size, was thronging with worshippers. Because most of the Inquisitors and Templars were in the East, mustering for the war with Trempa, many of those who would have otherwise been reluctant to attend did, in fact, show their faces. A number of druids led them in prayers and supplications to assorted woodland spirits, deities of rocks and streams, and the great fertility Goddess, Uedii.
Nwm arrived at dawn, the climax of the ceremony, in the form of an eagle with a fifty-foot wingspan, bearing Hullu between his huge talons. It was a carefully orchestrated piece of showmanship, designed to evoke a complex reaction – the eagle was, after all, the symbol of Oronthon. Regarding it as a portent, some of those present tried to flee, others fell to their knees. The druids, uncertain of the meaning, stood and waited.
Nwm’s pinions beat mightily, causing a great downrush of air which made those below shield their eyes and hold onto their cloaks. He deposited Hullu atop the highest of the menhirs, and then alighted on the ground next to him. His head was level with the Tunthi warrior, twenty feet above the earth.
Nwm screamed out a spell, and suddenly the air around was full of spirits, whispering encouragement to those gathered there and dispelling their fears.
The Druid resumed his human form.
"I am Nwm, the Preceptor," he announced in a clear voice. "I am not here to lead you, but I bring someone who can and will. He is a warrior from the North. His name is Hullu. If you won’t accept him on my recommendation, then that is all well and good: in time, he will prove himself capable and you will follow him. His names are not our names, but he believes as we do. He knows much that we have forgotten, and he can teach us. He can show us how to remember. He can give us direction in the war against oppression and persecution. I leave the choice as to how you deal with him to you."
"I am now active in this fight," Nwm continued. "Not as a leader of men, but as myself. I have no desire to command, and I will reject any attempts to persuade me to do so. I will act according to my own conscience, wherever I decide the need is greatest. I am beholden only to the Goddess: do not succour me for aid, lest I reject you and you resent me for it. I ask you to remember one thing only: it is the Temple that oppresses you, not the Eagle." The last words were in a hope that peaceful Oronthonians would not be targeted.
One of the druids stepped forwards. "You are arrogant beyond belief, Nwm. You are acting outside of your remit."
"I act according to my conscience, as should you," Nwm replied, simply. He resumed his aquiline form and took off, flying eastwards.
Late on the morning of the Spring Equinox, the eagle was sighted over Morne, and people stopped in the streets to wonder what it might portend.
Nwm followed the road from Morne to Trempa, and saw that it was churned up by the passage of numerous horses and wagons. The army had already left.
On the evening of the same day, fifteen miles from the border with Trempa, Nwm spied from a great height the smoldering remains of a dozen bodies by the roadside. He descended and stood grimly, before pulling down the corpses. He summoned a Xorn, instructed it to dig a grave, and buried them.
It had already started, he sighed to himself.
He took to the air again and before long saw, far in the distance, a thousand tiny campfires glowing on the meadows on the western side of the Nund. Engineers were building pontoons by torchlight, working to find ways of moving the troops as quickly as possible in the event that the Templars could not win the main bridges: at Hartha Keep and Moath Gairdan. Nwm screeched a spell as he flew, and clouds began to gather.
When he descended again, he brought thunder and death.
**
Deorham was only half a day’s ride from the crossings of the river, and Eadric had garrisoned Kyrtill’s Burgh with thirty knights and a hundred men-at-arms before moving swiftly onwards. The keep, which had not seen war for a century, echoed to armoured footsteps - something which the Paladin found somehow disagreeable.
Reports brought back by scouts and the Ardanese outriders indicated that skirmishers had already crossed the river, and were setting ambushes and burning crofts along the eastern banks of the Nund. Eadric cursed, and dispatched contingents of light cavalry to seek out and engage them, before splitting his remaining forces to secure the crossings. He himself rode to the southern bridge at Hartha Keep. He instructed Togull to remain to the rear on the Blackwater Meadow, and to use his own best judgement as to how to deploy the reserves – "Throw them at whichever bridge looks like it will fall first," he said ironically.
When evening came, Eadric paced to and fro restlessly in his armour, on the top of one of the two small towers of the shell keep. Plumes of smoke rose from the enemy camp, less than two miles away.
"It’s getting humid," Ortwin remarked casually whilst practicing complicated maneuvers with his scimitar. "It’s going to rain."
*The Planetar had instructed Eadric to "initiate no war" beyond Trempa’s borders until commanded to do so.