Things Come to a Head

And now this was a different day, and in Levare the streets were glistening with slush. The Kûzeen were carrying their colourful umbrellas against the soggy snowflakes that came tumbling out of the afternoon sky. In spite of the dismal weather, people had a spring in their step, buoyed up by the recent news that the women of Mil Nahara had stood up to an invasion of Krâ and had somehow shamed them into going away, with some help from the elves. So what better way to spend a Saturday afternoon than to enjoy the diversions of the city? There was a poetry reading about to start in the library, and at the Tower of Knowledge the Seekers were giving a lecture about The Intricate Lifecycles of Eels. Music was played in the coffee houses. The Baths were offering special lantern-lit steam treatments. And somewhere in the Fourth Rung, the ambassador scowled at his accomplice, who was dragging her feet.

“Hurry up, woman!”

“Shall we not wait till your men get here?” she said.

“They will be here in a couple of hours to secure the city. We don’t need their help to deal with a bunch of pampered ladies. Come on! I have waited long enough.”

And they hastened on towards the palace.

-oOoOo-

About two hours’ ride south of Levare, the lands of Kûz came to an end and the lands of the Tree Women began. It was not a clear-cut border, but a gradual blending, with first a Tree Woman garden among the Kûzar farms, and then another two or three, and then fewer farms, and more gardens until eventually there were no more roads apart from the Great South Road, because the Tree Women had no need for carts and no problem with striding cross-country.

Of course, the term Tree Women was misleading. The story went that thousands of years ago, the Tree Women had arrived in these lands with only their children, having fled from calamities in the West. They had left their menfolk behind. But as the children grew up – slowly, ever so slowly – new families were formed, more children came into the world, and little by little their numbers had increased. The Tree Men spent much of their time wandering about in the forests of Wood and of Hill, and so it was mainly the women with whom the Kûzeen talked and traded, and hence they had begun to give these strange folk the name Tree Women. They held them in awe, as they did all immortals, and preferred them to the Hwenti. Fimbrethil, leader of the Tree Women, was a friend and trusted advisor of the Seraphs.

The Kûzeen owed much of their wealth to the Tree Folk, who taught them many skills by way of plant lore and who had first shown them the secret of the pale caterpillars that fed on the mulberry trees. As the Tree Women rejoiced in tending gardens but wanted or needed little of the produce for themselves, they were happy to trade their fruit and vegetables, flowers and wine with the Kûzeen, who in turn gave them artfully woven baskets for the harvest, barrels for the wine, and reed panels to make into fences.

The further south the Tree Women’s land stretched, the milder the climate, but here by the edge of Kûz they could still expect the occasional frosts in the winter. It was on the off-chance of such a frost occurring that an entire vineyard had been left unharvested, as it was every year. The Tree Women had nothing much to lose with such a gamble. If no frost came, the grapes would eventually rot on the vine and be dug under to enrich the soil. But if frost did come, if it froze the grapes and by some untold mystery turned the sugars, the result was the sweetest, most delectable wine, a precious gift to be shared with friends, fit even for the Seraphs.

On a hillock by a thicket of hazel bushes stood a group of the Tree Folk, three women and their youthful sons. They looked down on the ice wine vineyard and took note of the figures that were approaching it from the farther side: a score of men on horseback, neither Kûzeen nor Krâ.

“That’s them,” said one of the Tree Women, and the others agreed.

The watched as the men dismounted and spread out in the vineyard, yanking the grapes off the vines and wolfing them down. Their horses began to graze on the withered vine leaves.

Slowly, the Tree Folk moved down the slope towards the vineyard. Another, slightly larger group joined them from behind a barn.

The men in the vineyard did not notice them. Their eyes were on the grapes, the golden green, frost-encrusted bunches which, though so cold to the teeth that it hurt, were juicy and sweet and a very welcome treat for their empty stomachs. The men had shaggy beards and unkempt hair, their clothes were grimy under their armour, but by their sides hung evil looking curved swords. They knew they were expected in Levare, but this was just too good an opportunity, and the ambassador could wait. In fact, they were not best pleased with him and the way he had abandoned them out here in the countryside to fend for themselves while strictly forbidding them to return home. “Await my further orders,” he had said, and the further orders had been, month after month, to keep waiting. So now he suddenly wanted them in the city. Well, they were not going to rush.

They had barely time to exclaim and certainly no time to draw their swords when they were suddenly, every single one of them, plucked off the ground.

“This one’s the leader, I think,” said one of the young Tree Men and held up the soldier in his right hand. From his left, another soldier dangled upside down.

“Probably,” agreed one of the Tree Women. “But it doesn’t matter. They’re all as bad as each other. Listen to me, all of you! We have watched you for a long time. Our folk don’t have many needs, and we are happy to share our harvests with friends. We don’t mind the deer and the birds and the rabbits taking a share as well. But for speaking folk to sneak round our gardens and take all the best things without asking or giving thanks, that’s just thieving. Even so, we would have let you have the apples and the carrots and the potatoes, since we didn’t really need them and you were clearly hungry. But breaking into a barn like you did yesterday, and smashing the tools and spilling the seed bags, that cannot be excused by hunger. We will not put up with such mindless vandalism. And look at you now, stealing our finest grapes. Enough of this! Your time here has come to an end.”

“What will you to do us?” squeaked the leader.

“Nothing much. There is a road that runs between the shore of the inland sea and the reed marshes. We will take you to the far end of it and from there you can go back to wherever it was you came from.”

The Tree Folk turned and began to walk.

“What, right now? What about our horses?”

The Tree Woman looked back to where the horses were still peacefully grazing.

“If you’ve treated them well,” she said, “they must love you and they will follow you.”

-oOoOo-

“Majani will be in her state room at this time. But there will be guards outside it.”

“Don’t worry about the guards,” said the ambassador. “They will be hasting away towards the fire.”

“You’re going to set fire to the palace?” she said. “But I thought that’s where we would –”

“Don’t be such an idiot! Of course we won’t burn down the palace, our palace. But these guards are simpletons. Just run up to them and shout that the throne room is on fire, and they will leave their posts. They know you; they’ll see no reason not to believe you. And by the time they realise their mistake, we will have the Seraphine in our hands.”

“I don’t like it. All your plans are just based on bluffing. I think we should get some actual weapons. Bring those kids in with a knife to their throat, then Majani will not dare defy us.”

“She will not dare defy us anyway, you foolish woman. What’s she going to do? You overestimate those ninnies.”

The foolish woman was not entirely convinced, but when she rushed up to the door and shouted, “A fire! A fire in the Archseraph’s throne room!” the men both ran off, leaving the double doors unguarded. The ambassador stepped round the corner and smirked.

“What did I tell you? And now for our moment of triumph.”

He flung open the doors and they marched into the middle of the room.

“Everyone stay where you are and listen!” shouted the ambassador. “I am taking over this land in the name of Sauron the Great. Anyone who dares to defy us has forfeited their life.”

The tableaux in front of them was most gratifying. Majani sat on her throne under the blue baldachin with a letter in her hand. Most of her ladies were clustered around her as if they had just been listening to her read out the letter. Now they stared, wide-eyed, even open-mouthed in some cases, at the unlikely pair that had just barged into their intimate group. But it was a man’s voice that was heard next.

“What are you doing here, Tilar?”

Tilar spun round and saw Warden Olan seated on a sopha near the door.

“I’m doing us all a favour, Olan,” she said. “Why are you looking so shocked? I know you hate the New Way and the Archseraph as much as I do. Well, they’re a thing of the past. A new era for Kûz is about to begin.”

-oOoOo-

After another long day’s march, Ezen Kemra of Krandi sat in his tent with his feet in a bowl of lukewarm water. The tent was large and octagonal, modelled on the tents of the steppe tribes, but without the ample woven carpets that were usually found on the floors of those. Instead, the bare ground was covered only with some limp faded grass. A ring of round boulders had been brought in to serve as seats, which were occupied now by about a dozen soldiers busy with their gear.

The tent flap opened and a man came in.

“Ezen Kemra, sir,” he said. “There is a dragon outside!”

“Where?”

“At the edge of the camp, near the river. I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s glowing in the dark.”

Ezen Kemra sighed. He’d spent all day on horseback and had really been looking forward to stretching out on his bedroll very soon, but a report like this, even though it was probably some nonsense, couldn’t be ignored. He dried his feet and put his boots back on.

Outside the tent, the February night was lit only by the diffused shimmer that came through the tent walls and the glow from various cooking fires. The sky was thickly clouded, and once they had had the camp in their back and approached the river, it was so dark that nothing could be made out at all. Nothing apart from…

“There it is, sir,” said the soldier and pointed.

“I can see it.”

There in the black floated a dragon, gleaming vaguely purple, each scale, limb, talon defined by a glowing line. It undulated, to, in a disconcerting way that was simply not natural. Ezen Kemra was convinced it was not real, but then what was it?

“Shall we shoot it?” asked one of the men.

“No.” Ezen Kemra lifted his head and boomed, “Who goes there?”

In response, a diffused circle of light appeared on the back of the dragon, and in the circle sat the Archseraph of Kûz. He seemed almost to be sitting on the back of the dragon like a lungi, but again, it did not look quite right.

“I bid you good evening!” he shouted, and it was his voice, and then again something about it was off. “And I bring you greetings from the people of Kûz. If it pleases you, I wish to speak with your Ezens.”

“I am Ezen Kemra. Why do you wish to speak with us?”

“I wish to speak about this war you are going to. I believe you are making a mistake.”

This was a thought that had also occurred to Ezen Kemra more than once during the march, but he was getting annoyed about this prank that Hamûjil was clearly pulling on him.

“We do not parley with spectres conjured up by magic or trickery,” he said. “But with the real Archseraph, we would speak. Let him come forward, and we will talk with him.”

Hamûjil made no reply; he looked aside and seemed to be talking quietly with someone beside him.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to shoot him, sir?” said the same man.

“Don’t be a fool!” snapped Ezen Kemra.

Hamûjil turned back towards the Krâ. “I will come,” he said, “if you grant me safe passage.”

“You have my word,” replied Ezen Kemra.

“So be it.”

With a flicker, the halo of light went out and the Archseraph was gone. The shimmering dragon still hovered for a moment and then, with an impossible contortion of body and limbs, it also disappeared.

“Shall we go and check it out?” asked one of the men.

“No,” replied Ezen Kemra. “We wait a moment.”

For several moments it seemed like nothing would happen. The Krâ soldiers shifted on their feet. And then, from the thickest darkness, emerged the Archseraph with both hands held out in front of him, palms up. Behind him came two other figures bearing lanterns – a gaunt, dark man and a Krâ woman. Muttering arose among the Krâ.

“Silence!” roared Ezen Kemra.

The Archseraph stopped about twenty yards away.

“Here I am,” he said. “I come in peace and bring you greetings from your friends and neighbours, the Kûzeen.”

“Fine friends!” shouted someone, but he was quickly hushed when Ezen Kemra raised a hand.

“You have come a long way, Hamûjil,” he said. “I see you have your wizard and Jarin Dragonrider with you. And I can tell there must be at least one more of you hiding in the gloom, for one lungi could not bring both you and the Guardian.”

Hamûjil inclined his head. “There are eight of us. One of my Wardens travelled with me, and a dwarf who is my guest, and three other lungi.”

“That is fortuitous,” said Ezen Kemra, “for there are eight leaders in this camp and I would not want you to be outnumbered.” There was laughter from the Krâ. “The eight of us will meet your party of eight in my tent. Then you may tell us whatever it is you came to say about the mistake we have made.”

“Agreed,” said Hamûjil.

Ezen Kemra spoke quietly in Krâin to a couple of nearby soldiers and they hurried away. Hamûjil turned to Jarin.

“Go and fetch the others, if it pleases you. I believe we will be safe.”

Jarin nodded, and so it was that some ten minutes later, she was the last to enter Ezen Kemra’s tent after Diri and Sâlian. The tent flap fell behind her.

-oOoOo-

When Yoltuk awoke, the first thing he knew was a blistering headache. He felt reluctant to open his eyes, but the next thing he noticed was that he had no idea where he was or what had happened, so he risked a glimpse.

It was mercifully dark, with only a dim light shining from a lantern that swung gently on a hook in the ceiling. Swung gently, but continuously.  The floor seemed to heave a little as well. There was the noise of creaking wood. So he was on a ship. The room was full of sleeping shapes and the sound of snores, sighs and grunts. Then he saw by the door a tall figure sitting upright. He pushed himself up on his elbows. The figure turned its head.

“Ah, you are awake,” it said. “Clearly you didn’t have as much as your brethren. Or maybe you are just better used to strong liquor.”

“We’re all drunk?”

“Oh, I’m not.” The figure got up and Yoltuk realised it was a Hwenti man. “But you and your mates certainly are. Drunk as my granny, haha!”

The Hwenti came over and crouched down beside Yoltuk. “Are you in a mood to fight me?”

Yoltuk pressed a hand to his throbbing forehead. “I’m in a mood to die.”

“Excellent,” said the Hwenti with a grin. “Here, have some water.”

Greedily, Yoltuk emptied the cup. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing much,” said the Hwenti. “My friends and I thought we would go on a little outing to Mil Nahara. We have a favourite tavern there, you know.”

“A little outing? There was a whole fleet of you.”

“Well, yes, I have a lot of friends,” said the Hwenti with a shrug. “And we maybe had an inkling that there might be trouble in Mil Nahara. And the tavern maybe wouldn’t fit us all. So we brought along some barrels of our finest. Well, when I say finest, I mean – ”

“I can imagine what you mean.” Yoltuk lay back and moaned. “It probably has a name like Sledgehammer or something.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said the Hwenti primly. “We call it Warrior’s Blood. But the name is ironic. At least in your case.”

“It’s starting to come back to me now.” Lots of elves suddenly appearing at the quay, greeting the Krâ like long-lost brothers, patting them on the back while they took their swords away, going round with trays of goblets… He had seized one and drained it swiftly, for it tasted like summer and sunshine and magic, then taken another, and then he wasn’t quite sure what next. But he could see it now – how one after another the Krâ would have keeled over, how the Kûzar women would have laughed at them, and then the Hwenti had captured them and were now holding them prisoner on board their own ships? Yes, on board the Krâ ships, because he was quite sure that an elven vessel would look – and smell! – differently.

“So what will you do to us?” he asked.

“Oh, you have slept a long time, my friend. You are nearly home. We will drop you all off in Krandi and then you can go on your merry ways.”

“That’s all?”

“Pretty much. We can’t let you have the ships, of course. Not until you’ve learned to play nicely with the other children. And some of them belong to the dwarves anyway. Don’t worry about that; we’ll return them for you. The others we’ll keep at Vindalondë for a while.”

“We won’t be able to trade without ships.”

“Oh, dwarf and Kûzar ships can still come to you.”

“They’ll dictate the prices.”

“I dare say they will,” said the elf cheerfully. “That’s the price of failure, I guess. Goodness me, what a total disaster of an invasive force you were! Your commander is like a little boy playing at conkers. Haha! Conkers, not conquest. And what was your long-term plan for after your conquest of Kûz? Just plunder? Trust me, that’s not sustainable.”

“Tell that to the Ezens,” said Yoltuk. “I don’t make the decisions: I’m just a baker.”

“Oh, can you make those pleated loaves with the chopped walnuts?”

“Yes, all the Kandi bakers make them; they’re a local speciality.”

“You wouldn’t have any with you, I suppose?”

“No!” Yoltuk was beginning to feel rather exasperated. Was this elf not taking anything seriously?

“Shame,” said the elf. “Anyway, we can’t tell the Ezens anything, because they’re away. But my friend Lossë has your commander and all your captains on one of the other ships and I’m sure he is explaining things to them very carefully. Like what we might do if another such…unfortunate situation should arise.”

“Why do you even bother?” grumbled Yoltuk. “I mean what’s it to you?”

The elf looked at Yoltuk like a disappointed parent at a wayward child. “Is it possible that you do not understand? Do I have to spell everything out to you? We are the immortal Hwenti. The Sea of Calma is ours, as are all the lands around it, from the very beginning. It pleases us to see mortal folk live and thrive here. We are content to leave you in peace to get on with whatever makes you happy – as long as you behave. But we will not tolerate any bullies.”

“Whatever you say.” Yoltuk really, really wanted to get back to sleep. His forearm looked like a most inviting pillow and he sagged slowly towards the floor. However, just at that moment a shout was heard from above and then another Hwenti stuck his head through the door and declared they had reached Krandi and were about to dock. The elf jumped up.

“Well, time for our sleepy passengers to disembark. And you, my friend, are going to help,” he said to Yoltuk. “Go, grab a pair of feet, I’ll take the other end.”

There was nothing left for Yoltuk but to groan.