Turnabout

How do you tell twenty thousand soldiers who have marched hundreds of miles towards battle and glory that they have to turn on their heels and go back home? This was the question which still remained and to which neither Hamûjil nor the Ezens had found a convincing answer yet.

“I don’t think there will be an open revolt,” said Ezen Worig. “But I would expect a lot of resentment, and it will make our position as leaders very difficult.”

“It was already difficult,” Ezen Kemra pointed out, “and there was already resentment. Many of the men were not too convinced of our going in the first place. They may be glad of this decision.”

“Yes, but it still makes us look as if we are easily swayed by the Archseraph.”

Ezen Gomru shook his head. “The Archseraph’s offer is very good and I think most of the men will understand that. But we must act quickly. I reckon the news that the Kûzeen have come is discussed all over the camp just now, and we should make sure to quell any unhelpful rumours. Some kind of big gesture to get everyone’s attention would be a good start.”

“You speak with wisdom,” said Alatar. “And I think I can help.” From his robe, he pulled a wooden box and lifted the lid. Incandescent light filled the tent.

“This is the Unquenchable Light.” Alatar said. “You know what it is: the light of the Powers themselves. I am its Guardian. For many long years I have watched over it in a cave under a mountain, and there most of it remains, buried in the rock. But this piece shall no longer lie hidden. I give it to you, honoured Ezens, to be a light for your people. Let it shine over the camp tonight and I am sanguine that the hearts of your men will be moved.”

Ezen Gomru took the box and gently lowered the lid. “I am aware of the value of this gift. On behalf of my people, I thank you, Guardian.”

“Is this how you made your dragon glow in the dark?” asked Ezen Worig.

“That was a painting,” said Hamûjil, “outlined with glowstone paint. Pallando made it for Majani years ago. But the shard of the Unquenchable Light helped us make my image appear on the dragon. It was not magic, just a clever device that may have many other uses. Diri the dwarf will be able to explain it to you, if it pleases him.”

“Are you now offering us the fruits of dwarven ingenuity as well?” said Ezen Gomru. “Are you sure you are not overreaching yourself, Archseraph?”

“The dwarf knows the meaning of the word priority,” said Hamûjil, supressing a little private smile. “If Kûz and Krâ draw closer together, Kamenogi will want to make sure not to be left behind.”

“Hm, politics,” said Ezen Kemra, who had always preferred the heft of his personality to the intricacies of political games. “But we are getting side-tracked. Ezen Gomru has already drawn attention to the danger of rumours spreading in the camp. I imagine the news of Burlast’s death is also making the rounds and may be wildly distorted. However we decide to address this situation, we should not wait till morning.”

“And if we want to use the Unquenchable Light,” said Ezen Gomru, “it will be better seen in the dark.”

This was agreed on, and about an hour later, mounted on a tall pole, the Unquenchable Light started a procession through the camp. The men gathered around it wherever it went; those who were still awake dragged the sleepy ones out of the tents. And over and over in all the parts of the camp, Ezen Kemra with his big, booming voice declaimed the words that had been carefully drawn up by Alatar and Ezen Gomru:

“Men of Krâ, behold the sudden light that has appeared in our darkness! This is the light that brings life, health and happiness! It is the gift of Kûz to Krâ, the first of many to come. This very night, the Archseraph has reached out to us and promised to make Krâ prosper like Kûz. This very night, your Ezens have welcomed his offer. Our future looks bright. Men of Krâ, we are going home!”

-oOoOo-

“Ninod?” Majani laid her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “It’s very sweet of you to try, but I think these birds are broken beyond repair.”

“I know.” Ninod sighed and put down the brush beside the glue pot. “It’s just…I know how much you love them.”

“I do. I did. But in the end, they’re just things. I have no regrets about sacrificing them. No doubt I will acquire new ones in the future. Come, let the attendants throw out these shards before someone cuts their fingers. We’ll forget about them and have a little celebration tonight for Pallando and Uilara.”

“What a time they’ve had!” exclaimed Ninod. “They were lucky the Hwenti turned up when they did.”

“Yes, who knows what might have happened otherwise?” Majani sat down by the chess board and absentmindedly picked up the pieces.

“I’ll tell you what else was lucky,” said Miriel. “It’s that you kept putting off fixing the baldachin, Seraphine.”

They all laughed. “That stupid Tilar!” said Rimere. “I saw her face just as the whole thing came down on her; what a picture!”

Majani shook her head slowly. “I wonder, though. How did she get to be like that? She’s a Kûzin just like us. How could she become a traitor to her own people?”

“Maybe she saw herself as a saviour?” said Miriel. “Anyway, being a Kûzin doesn’t automatically make you a paragon of virtue. It’s not as if Kûz has a monopoly on goodness as well.”

“You may well be right, my dear. But it is distressing nonetheless.”

Later that day, Miriel took Alamûjil to the market so he could practice his arithmetic and the use of money. As they walked from stall to stall, she listened to the chatter around her.

“…more errands just now, but I’ll see you later at the coffee house!”

“…thought she would not get married before the summer, but it suits us so much better to have the wedding during the Festival of Birds, and why not take advantage of…”

“I’m looking for this new fruit they say the Tree Women are growing now in the South, shaped like an egg, hairy brown on the outside, green on the inside? – No? – Are you sure? My neighbour said…”

“…and another twenty before the end of the month, unless the prices go up, in which case…”

“…for the Archseraph as soon as he gets back, and I’m sure he’ll be very pleased.”

Miriel shuddered. Oh, these adorable, infuriatingly naïve Kûzeen! The Archseraph’s triumphant return was a matter of course for them and hardly more of a concern – possibly less – than the rising price of cocoa. Even Majani acted as if they had won, when in fact this was not over yet by a long shot. What had they even done? She, Olan and Majani, along with half a dozen ladies, had overpowered two people with a great deal of luck. They still didn’t know why the ambassador’s escort had not turned up, but if it had, things would have looked very different. They might turn up yet, and what then? And the people of Mil Nahara had escaped calamity by a hair’s width, if she was any judge. And even so, they only had to contend with the Krâ. What were the Krâ, when all was said and done? Just a bunch of normal folk. Misguided perhaps, ill informed, led astray, but fundamentally no different from the Kûzeen. Not like what might be pouring out of the West if the war in Gondor was lost. Nobody in Levare understands what evil people are really like, thought Miriel. Nobody but me.

-oOoOo-

Jarin had insisted on being present for the burial of Burlast. While Hamûjil had been concerned that this might cause a hostile reaction from the Krâ, Ezen Gomru had brushed these worries aside.

“We don’t blame her. It is widely known that Burlast was a rash man, and we have taken care that our people know what really happened. Besides, even though he was a man of high standing, we have decided this should be a quiet affair, with only the Ezens and a few of his close friends. We’ll do it tonight, after dark, so as not to attract attention.”

“So you do have concerns?”

“Let’s just say I cannot vouch for every single one of over twenty thousand men.”

A shallow grave had been hacked out of the frosty ground, and by the light of a couple of torches the body of Burlast, wrapped in a blanket, was lowered into the ground. Ezen Gomru spoke a few words about the journey to join the ancestors, the grave was filled in and everyone placed a few stones on top, and that was all.

“Tell me of his family, if it pleases you,” said Jarin to Ezen Kemra as they walked away.

“There’s not much to tell, as far as I know. His wife died – from the fever that winter, you know. He has a daughter who is married somewhere over Talak way. There may be grandchildren; I don’t know. Probably. But there is nobody left behind who depended on him and will fall on hard times because he is gone. Do you hear me, Jarin Dragonrider?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Try not to let it weigh on your mind too much. If it helps at all, you should know that he is not the first man we lost on this journey.”

“Someone else died?”

“Three died from the runs, one drowned and one broke his neck when his horse bolted.”

“Oh, I am so sorry!”

“Why? We were on our way to the war in the West that you don’t want us to take part in. You should have been glad about every man who wasn’t going to arrive there.”

“But you’re not going now. And they were just…people.”

“And people die. Accidents happen. What else can I tell you?”

“I imagine Burlast’s daughter will not be so philosophical about it.”

“Jarin, do yourself a favour and don’t imagine her; you will only make yourself miserable.  You did what you had to do. Think of how you would feel if it had been Hamûjil we buried tonight. To tell you the truth, there is a fair amount of admiration for you among our men. Even we Ezens feel a little awed that Hamûjil inspires such loyalty. Well, here are your friends…”

Diri and Sâlian stood in front of the tent that had been given over to the Kûzeen. They nodded at Ezen Kemra and without a word pulled Jarin inside. Ezen Kemra walked away, shaking his head.

-oOoOo-

The dragon post came to Kamenogi once a week. While Diri had sometimes in the past received messages about his orders or indeed small packages from the Kûzar craftspeople, Nara had never had any air mail letters until recently. But since the solstice without fail a letter came every week from Levare. The one she held in her hand just now had arrived in the morning, when she had read it twice, and she was reading it yet again. It had been written on the morning of the day her brother had set off with Jarin and the Archseraph to catch up with the Krâ host. 

The Kûzar quest was known and spoken of in Kamenogi, for the Archseraph had considered it good manners to inform his neighbours of his plan. And she had known about it even before, because Diri had kept her well informed about his doings in Levare. The letter was therefore not a surprise. There was, however, a passage she needed to read once more:

You may wonder why I am willing to submit to the terrors of dragon travel again. Well, people simply assumed I would have to come in order to assemble the device, though in truth, the others could do that by themselves now, they have practised so often. But Jarin was sure to go with the Archseraph, and I must go where Jarin goes. Do you understand, Nara?

Yes, she understood. She suspected she had understood it before he understood it himself. But it was clear that he knew himself now.

Nara folded up the letter and slipped it into her pocket. She walked over to Diri’s desk. The paltry winter sun shone on it through the light shaft. Unlike her own meticulously tidy workspace, Diri’s desk was always messy, piled with scrap paper, splattered with ink and sprinkled with quill shavings. Pens and rulers were sticking out of the paper stacks any old way, open books lay face down on compasses and time pieces. His genius thrived on chaos. Nara smiled.

She recalled explaining to Jarin that a dwarf of Diri’s talent should be near the seat of power. And she had to admit that while the Kamenogi dwarves were a power in the region, the Kûzeen were the power.What might he not do in Levare? Nara picked up an experimental device, a helmet with two lenses set into the front to aid those with insufficient eyesight. Well, that might not go down quite so well among the Kûzeen as it might among dwarves. She put the helmet away and sat down in her brother’s chair.

After a while, she brought some rags and a couple of crates and began to pack up Diri’s things.

-oOoOo-

“Jarin,” said Wan, his voice brittle. “I cannot lift you. You are too heavy.”

“Perhaps I am the problem,” said Hamûjil and swiftly dismounted.

“No,” said Wan. “It is Jarin. I felt it straight away. What happened?”

Jarin slipped off and would have fallen to the ground if Hamûjil had not caught her. An instant later, Diri was by her side. Wan turned and brought his nose close to hers.

“What happened?” And when Jarin shook her head and covered her face, he roared, “Will anyone tell me what happened?”

“I will tell you,” said Hamûjil.

The tale was swiftly told, while Diri and Sâlian tried to console Jarin. The other dragons with their lungi and passengers stood by awkwardly, Vilajin whispering with Alatar, Lu-yan scratching the ground with her talons.

“Well,” said Wan, “this is very distressing, but there’s nothing that can be done about it now. I am very sorry, Jarin. I shall go home and consult with Mûn.”

Meanwhile, some Krâ who had been watching from a little distance drew near. Hamûjil stepped forward to meet them, they exchanged a few words and then all went over to Ezen Kemra’s tent. Jarin leaned on Sâlian’s shoulder, trying to quell her tears. But Diri had wandered off to speak with Vilajin.

“Is this forever?” he asked.

“I cannot tell,” Vilajin replied. “I don’t know of any case where a lungi has directly caused a death, even by accident. And it’s not my main concern at this time. Jarin can have a different future in Levare, and I’m sure we will all support her, but how will she get there? We’re in the middle of nowhere here.”

“I wonder...maybe I could rig up some sort of contraption, similar to what we have for the luggage, that would spread the weight over several dragons? And maybe our dragons could ask the lungi back in Levare to summon a few more dragons that could come to meet us?”

“It doesn’t work like that. I think. No, I’m pretty sure. If Jarin’s conscience is burdened with guilt, even a dozen dragons between them could not carry her. The weight would not split between them, you see, but each dragon would feel it the way she feels it.”

“Then maybe – oh, here’s the Archseraph back.”

Hamûjil came back alone from Ezen Kemra’s tent. He walked up to Jarin and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder.

“Jarin? I understand that you are upset, but we must decide swiftly what we are going to do to get you home. Now Ezen Kemra has offered to take you along with the host to Krandi, where you could get a ship to Levare…”

Jarin looked up. “Very well, I’ll go with them.”

“Are you sure? I only mentioned this because it shows his goodwill, but I am not convinced you should accept. It might not be safe.”

Jarin shook her head.

“How can we hope to forge a better relationship with them if we don’t trust them?” she said. “If I decline, they might well decide that your words were dishonest after all. No, I will travel with them. And it’s not as if I don’t speak their language.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Diri.

“You don’t have to.”

“Actually, I do. Someone has to give up their dragon ride to the Archseraph. You can hardly expect Warden Yun to walk, and I’m sure Alatar is needed in Kûz, whereas my task here is done.”

There was a general nodding and murmur of agreement.

“Very well,” said Jarin, “start out with me. Sâlian can come back and pick you up.”

“Yes, of course I’ll come back for you,” said Sâlian. But Diri shook his head.

“Sâlian should rest at home after such a journey. I’m a dwarf, Jarin. It wouldn’t be much of a hardship for me, certainly much less of a hardship than it will be for you. Have you ever walked anywhere further than an afternoon’s stroll?”

“There’s no need to be like that. Just because I’m a lungi doesn’t mean dragons take me everywhere…” She stopped short and her eyes began to fill with tears again.

“Nevertheless, it will be a tough journey for you, Jarin,” said Hamûjil, “and I am much more at ease about it knowing Diri will go with you. I will arrange for someone to meet you in Krandi and bring you home.” He looked about him, hesitant. “And I guess we should get going. Vilajin, can we split the luggage between the remaining dragons?”

“Just take the painting,” said Diri. “We can leave the device behind; I can always build another one. Or, if they want to take it, it can be my gift to the Krâ.”

“You think…?”

“Yes. And I think you should go now, you have such a long journey ahead of you, and there is nothing else to discuss here. I promise to look after Jarin.”

Jarin clutched his hand. Alatar stepped forward now and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Jarin,” he said softly. “You will recover. You have seen the Unquenchable Light. Hold on to that.”

She nodded, but didn’t look up to meet his eyes. Less than half an hour later, the dragons were in the air and rapidly shrinking in the distance. Diri and Jarin watched till they were out of sight. A Krâ soldier approached and bade them to come to Ezen Kemra’s tent. As they followed him, Jarin furtively pulled the chain with the flute over her head and dropped it on the frozen ground.

-oOoOo-

By the coast, the milder weather had already set in and the air smelled of spring. A ghostly white shimmer could be seen in places in the countryside: the first sloe blossoms had made an uncommonly early appearance, and on a clear day this could be an uplifting sight. Mainly, though, it rained, in a fine, persistent drizzle that dampened cloaks and spirits alike.

Erkane was less inconvenienced by this than many others, for she was one of the privileged owners of a Kûzar umbrella, which kept her dry and even protected her daughters Nulken and Tirkil as long as they clung closely to her. They had been to market and were on their way home to their handsome house near Krandi port. The girls, aged five and seven, chattered and giggled in anticipation of a game they planned to play in the attic that afternoon.

There was another way in which Erkane was less inconvenienced than most of her fellow Krâ: Her husband’s absence had not put a burden of work on her, because he was a merchant and there was no trade to be done at this time – the port lay deserted; their ship, along with all the others, had been taken to Vindalondë. Erkane was in two minds about this situation. She was incensed that the Hwenti had essentially confiscated her family’s property and their means of making a living, but also relieved that these same Hwenti had brought back her brother, hale and whole and with no blood on his hands. Would that the same were true about her husband! But there was no chance of the elves intervening in the march of the Krâ to the West. They had made it quite clear, in that insufferably patronising way of theirs, that all they were interested in was “all the children playing nicely” along the shores of the inland sea.

Fortunately for her, the loss of their vessel didn’t bring any immediate hardship to the two families, hers and her brother’s, who jointly owned it, since they made some money from their two lodgers, and besides, they had a comfortable sum laid by. And now, with her brother back home, he might be able to pick up some other work, given so many Krandi businesses were shorthanded. But in the long run, they needed their ship back – the elves had promised they would return it, but had refused to say when. For the umpteenth time, Erkane followed the same train of thought: Even if they got their ship back, the Kûzeen and the dwarves might be much less inclined to trade with the Krâ than before the recent escapades. And all over Krâ, the absence of the men meant that workshops stood quiet, forges lay cold, and who knew what grain there might be next summer with so many strong arms not put to the plough? The women couldn’t do it all (even though Erkane was vaguely planning to see if she could help out somewhere). There would be hard times ahead.

And what if the men never came back, or came back greatly reduced? It was not likely that the great lord who had promised them such riches for their services would take care of their widows and orphans, was it? Of course not. The foolishness of it all! It was as if some evil spell had fallen on the men that they let go of all reason. That Ezen Kemra, for whom Erkane had always had a great respect, had allowed himself to be drawn into this reckless venture! And that even her level-headed husband and her easy-going brother could not see how insane it was!

At least her brother had come to his senses now, was indeed feeling ashamed that he had almost drawn his sword at a bunch of women. That he had believed the whole nonsense about the Kûzeen having “had it coming to them” due to their comfortable lives. What, the fact that the Kûzeen prospered gave the Krâ leave to attack them? Hogwash!

Erkane herself had been to Mil Nahara a few times and was well aware that the Kûzeen were doing better than the Krâ. But whose fault was that? Why hadn’t any Krâ leader ever tried to befriend the Tree Women, who were so generous with their produce? Why hadn’t the Krâ leaders sought the advice of the Guardian? And why had they sneered at the New Way, which seemed to have brought the Kûzeen nothing but prosperity? She certainly felt that if Krâ had some women in public office, there might be considerable improvements…

Something brought her mind back to the solid reality around her. People were moving, nay, hasting in one direction, towards the northern end of the port. “Dragons,” she heard someone shouting. “Dragons on the beach!”

She stopped and bent down towards her daughters. “Quick now, go home by yourselves, you’re nearly there. Tell your aunt I will come a little later. Nulken, take care of your sister!”

“Why, Mama? Where are you going?”

“I’ll tell you later. Go now!”

As the girls ran off, she joined the steady stream of people who were rushing down to the beach. At least a hundred people were already there, crowded around the unexpected arrivals. Erkane was a tall woman, and standing on tiptoe she could see them well enough: three dragons, each with two riders, all dressed alike in air travel garb. One of them, dark and gaunt, she reckoned was the Guardian, and one appeared to be a woman. The rider behind her dismounted and made the Kûzar gesture of greeting.

“Good people of Krandi,” he declared. “I bring you news from your Ezens. They have decided to abandon their campaign in the West. Your host is on its way home.” He held up a letter that bore the seals of the Ezens.

There were bewildered mutterings and scattered cheers. “It’s the Archseraph!” whispered a woman beside Erkane. Perhaps she was right; the Archseraph was known to be a handsome man with a very fine moustache. In fact it had to be him, for now he was talking about a new relationship between Krâ and Kûz, about cooperation and mutual support. Erkane wondered if it was possible that he didn’t know about Mil Nahara. And then she realised that she didn’t care. Neither did she care to hear what else he had to say. All she cared about right now was getting home quickly and telling her children, her brother, her sister-in-law.

Dribuk was coming back. Let the Hwenti keep the ship; she would have her husband.