Prince Jaran watched from the woods as the soldiers from Ariman grew visible, appearing with the dawn in the clearing below the hills, preparing for war. Two hundred at least, he guessed. The young prince had only a handful of men with him, down to seven now, three having died just yesterday from wounds received in a skirmish on the edges of Golemesk. There had been twelve men in the squad of encroaching troops they'd caught emerging from the swamp. Jaran had intended only to warn them back to Arimanian soil, but they had attacked before a word was spoken, and fought nearly to the last man.
The news had come just an hour after that, a rider from home sent to inform the Prince that Lencia was under attack. "The offenders have been repelled, and all goes well," the message said, "but beware their presence upon your return." The rider explained that the king had been ready, that the Arimanian forces had broken off quickly and fallen back. From what Jaran could determine now, though, they had not given up all together.
"There are a few more men scattered to the North, and still more nearer Lencia to the South, all from Ariman," Purcell, Jaran's first man-at-arms, whispered to him. Jaran turned and looked back into the woods. All of his remaining men were assembled there, including the two he had sent on reconnaissance.
"Are they up to moving?"
Purcell shook his head. "No, they are staying for now. This force must be the one that attacked Lencia. The others may have arrived since then."
"And what is their strength?"
"Before you," Purcell said, indicating the encampment below. "The others are not many."
"Hardly sufficient to defeat my father," Jaran said with a tenuous sigh of relief. "He could defend Lencia against three times as many. The best they can hope is to eventually starve the city."
"There may be more on the way, we cannot know. Surely a report of their failed engagements has been sent back to Lord Ferris."
"If there are more troops on the way they would be waiting to attack again, just as they are. Still, I would not think the Arimanian commander too eager to admit his failures to Lord Ferris. They may be reassessing their plans, hoping to invent a better strategy. A good time to strike back at them, if true. I must tell my father."
"But how do we get to him?" Purcell replied. "Ferris' troops roam the roads and fields and forests, blocking our way."
"We will circle far to the south, then north, up the wall to the Ikaydin plateau."
"Then follow the Saris River into Lencia."
"Yes. My father would not let the invaders gain control of the river, I am certain of it."
"We will be two days at least getting there, maybe three," Purcell said, apparently just pointing it out.
"I know," Jaran said, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Which is why we must begin at once." He turned and faced his men. "Bring the horses!"
Purcell stood back, then lowered his head. "Yes, my Lord."
The great wall of the Ikaydin plateau stood as an imposing barrier before them, though here, where it met the borders of both Bouren and Ariman, where the wall came to a westward point before sweeping back again, the land had been worn away to make the grade passable. Jaran led his men up the southern side of the point as the afternoon waned, and by dark they reached the top.
They slept the night on Ikaydin soil along the trail that followed the edge of the plateau, continuing for hundreds of miles. They took what shelter they could beneath a small stand of trees alongside the trail. Up on the plateau the winds never died, but tonight they were warm and light, and smelled of distant grasses and the heavy blossoms of nearby flowering bushes. Sleep came easily. Just after dawn, the last sentry woke the camp in a sudden hurry. He scurried from man to man, whispering, "Someone comes!"
"Where?" Purcell asked him, and the soldier led the way to the edge of the trail. Purcell glanced briefly into the distance, looking south, then nodded and made his way back. "A small group, all on foot," he told Jaran. "Trailing a mule."
"Behind the trees then," Jaran commanded. "And get the horses down."
The men moved quickly, coaxing their mounts to lay in the tall grasses between the trees, then lying down themselves. Jaran knelt low behind one of the larger tree trunks and waited until the travelers appeared. There was a very fat man cloaked in a flamboyant robe, a peddler, Jaran thought, or a man of magic, and two large, lethal looking warriors with him, one of them a female; finally there came a much smaller figure, dressed more plainly than the others, a female as well, though even she was well-armed. Then, as they passed nearer, he suddenly realized who they were. He stood up as the travelers passed and shouted: "Frost!"
The huge wizard stopped and turned, just looking, while all three of his companions instantly spread out and made ready to fight. Jaran nodded to himself, impressed with their prowess. His own men were good, but they were not Subartans. Though neither, he thought, was the smaller female. He walked out from among the trees and approached the trail.
"I am Prince Jaran Ivran, of Lencia," he said, taking it slow.
"So you are!" Frost shouted, grinning now. "And have you your father with you?"
"He is at Lencia, defending the city, in fact, against barbarians from Ariman."
"Not truly Ariman," the small female warrior said, stepping forward—a girl not at all like the female Subartan, Jaran noticed. Then he noted that she had drawn her sword and not put it away, that she was in fact still moving towards him, leading with it. "They are the hired fools of Lord Ferris, not patriots," she continued. "And as for barbarians, what say you of men who would ride into Ariman to kill the daughter of the king? Of lords who spit on the bonds of generations, and who pay homage by treachery? What of murderers? What of traitors? Bastards!"
She stood only at arm's length from him now. The sword suddenly bridged the distance between them. She kept the point in check while Jaran's own men drew their weapons, making troubled faces, surrounding her.
Prince Jaran stood fast. He looked Madia over. "This is someone new, is it not?" he asked Frost. "Someone not with you on your last visit. I would have remembered a woman such as this. Though, if she does not mind her behavior, I may be forced to mind it for her."
Madia just snarled.
"That is correct," Frost replied, nodding to the prince. "We met in Kopeth. She is Madia Andarys, daughter of Kelren Andarys."
Jaran paused in surprise. "A ghost, then? They say Madia was killed on the road, after, ahh . . . "
"I'm never going to live that down, am I," the girl snarled, apparently to everyone.
"She is real enough," Frost replied.
"But such accusations," Jaran said, feeling the need to defend himself, though against what, exactly, he wasn't sure. "My Lady, had I come to kill you, I would have done so. Obviously you are not dead. I am no murderer, and no traitor to Kelren, God rest the King. And neither is my father." He leaned forward a little and glared at the Princess Madia. "You are the one threatening murder here."
"He may be an arrogant fool," Frost said, looking toward Madia, "but I agree, he is an honorable one."
"It was Bouren soldiers killed a girl on the road outside of Kamrit last autumn, a girl they thought was me," Madia explained. "You must have sent them. You may even have lead them. Assassins hold no honor with me."
"Impossible!" Jaran said. "We did no such thing!"
"For months, all of Ariman has known of the discontent among the northern fiefs. And I know what I saw."
"Ferris himself must have spread those rumors," Jaran insisted. "None of them are true. Even now, my father defends Lencia against an army sent by Lord Ferris."
"The wolves devour each other," Madia said.
Jaran stepped back. "I will not stand for your lies!"
"I say he speaks the truth, Madia," Frost interjected. "I visited with Jaran and his father on my way to Kern, and found only great concern for the well-being of all these lands, and for your father. I knew Jaran's grandfather, as I knew yours."
Madia stood firm. "I know what I saw."
"Perhaps not," Purcell said. "There were reports of mercenaries masquerading as Bouren soldiers, though they were only hear-say, and we have heard nothing since. We assumed they were not true."
"I was nearly killed! By men such as you! And you want me to believe that they were imposters?"
"You could consider it," Jaran replied, grinning at her insidiously. "From what I gather you have been mistaken about many things, and for many years now. That is the true reason for any misfortune that may have found you along the way. Tell me, how is it you came to be alone on the road in the first place? I have heard it is a story worth telling."
"Now you say it was my own fault!"
Jaran folded his arms. "You might consider that, too."
Madia leaned forward again and raised her sword to his throat, which caused Purcell to step up and touch his blade to hers, which caused both Subartans to take a step, subartas at ready, while Jaran's remaining troops did the same. Jaran watched Madia, who was standing absolutely still, gripping the hilt of her sword with ferocious tightness, knuckles going white. For a moment he thought she might try to cut off his head—but then she let the blade down, scowling at Jaran before she turned away.
"As spirited as I've been led to believe," Jaran commented, speaking generally.
Madia turned again and looked at the Prince. "Do not speak of what you do not know."
Jaran paused, feigning a pout, then bowed his head.
"Tell me," Madia said then, "why do you leave your land and your father in such a time of need?" Her voice was soft, mocking. "War breaks out, and the young Prince Jaran runs away. Not as easy as preying on defenseless travelers?"
Jaran concentrated on his own temper and on the look in the girl's eye. She would not quit, he saw, yet if they kept at this he might be forced to run her through, or she him, which he didn't really want. Walk away, he thought.
"You have no idea what you are saying," he said. Then he turned to Purcell. "Make ready to leave," he commanded. Purcell started shouting his own commands. Men began gathering their horses from the trees behind them.
"Leave for where?" Frost inquired.
Jaran spoke to Frost. "Home."
"We could not reach Lencia because of Arimanian troop encampments," Purcell explained. "We had been returning from Golemesk."
"The swamp is being searched by soldiers from Ariman, as well as men from other lands," Jaran added, "interlopers from the Spartooths to the southern Kaya deserts, all looking for the Demon Blade."
"That, I'm afraid, is where we are going," Frost admitted. "Though I occasionally question the reasoning."
"Don't tell me you also search for the Blade?" Jaran inquired.
Frost smiled. "All right, I won't."
"We do!" Madia snapped. "And you will not stop us."
Jaran shook his head, then looked up the road. "Of course, and good luck to you. But I have begun to think it is not even there. With so many looking, it would have been found by now, I think, or it already has been. And good luck to he who has it! I have never been certain what the Demon Blade was supposed to be capable of, but I'd wager no good will come of it. And like as not it is just a sword after so many ages—no magic is timeless. Whatever its powers once were, there must be nothing left. The metal itself may have rusted away to nothing."
"Continuous magic is short-lived," Frost agreed. "But the Demon Blade has always been a simple blade to most, like any other, possessed only of a slight aura to give it away to those who have the sense. And so it remains, until it is used by one who knows its secrets. Otherwise, it is a key that fits no door."
"And then what?" Jaran asked. "What are its secrets?"
"If Ramins is dead, then perhaps no one knows, for he was the keeper of that knowledge."
"The old wizard they found near the swamp," Purcell stated.
"So it seems," Frost replied.
"Then," Jaran said, "the Blade is no good to anyone."
"Frost can find the door," Madia said, the ire still plain in her tone. "Once we have the Blade in our possession."
"And how will you among so many discover the Blade's whereabouts?" Jaran asked.
"Frost will sense it," Madia replied.
"Oh?"
"The others may not know where to look," Frost explained. "If the Blade was in the swamp, and Ramins died there, then the leshy have it by now and are keeping it in an especially safe place."
"What place is that?" Purcell asked him.
"A bog in the swamp's darkest depths, near the Bouren—Jasnok border."
"I know of the general area, though I've never been there," Jaran said. "There are only marshes and bogs, and no roads, and a legacy of death to those who enter. A place known only to leshys and apparitions."
"The Holan barrows lie somewhere within," Purcell noted.
Frost sighed, a draining sound. "That they do."
"You will find no Demon Blade there," Jaran insisted. "You go only to join the dead."
"We go to save Ariman from the wicked thing that rules it, and to save Bouren as well. If you and your people are truly enemies of Lord Ferris," Madia insisted, "you should offer your assistance!"
Jaran tipped his head. "I see. Just the four of you and the mythical Demon Blade, and victory is certain?"
"Ferris is some sort of demon himself," Madia said. "And very powerful. The Blade is our only hope of defeating him, and yours."
Jaran looked to Frost, his mood suddenly staid. Frost met his gaze. "Yes," Frost said. "It is true. He is much too powerful. No mortal man can hope to defeat him, nor any mortal army, I fear. He will eventually rule all the lands he desires, and his desires, I think, are many."
Jaran stood silently thinking over the wizard's words. His father took great stock in Frost; he wondered what his father would do now, faced with this news, what his father would expect him to do? Faced with so many uncertainties, and all of them bearing such consequence. Not the least of which was the question of Madia herself. He wondered how she was supposed to fit into all of this, and whether he could accept whatever the answer was; he only knew of her what he had heard. . . .
But saving the future of the realm outweighed many a misgiving, surely—outweighed everything. "I do offer my service," he said, "and that of my men."
"Of course," Madia said, "but we don't want you!"
"I will favor Frost's opinion," Jaran replied.
"One day," Frost began, speaking to Madia, "you may rule Ariman, as Jaran may rule Bouren, unless Lord Ferris is allowed to succeed. You might need Bouren or the other northern fiefs as Allies in the future, as well as now, if you hope to oppose Ferris, just as I may need the help of their mages. Jaran and his father may be the key to any such alliance. Perhaps cooperation between you two would be an important step, and you should see it as such. We had no idea so many others were searching Golemesk. I have confidence in my Subartans, and in you, but I very much like the odds that Jaran and his men will lend."
"When did you become such a diplomat?" Madia asked.
"I seem to have no choice," Frost told her.
"Nor do I," Jaran said.
"Nor I," Madia conceded. She looked at Jaran. "But let me ask you something."
Jaran nodded.
"You would throw in with us, perhaps to die at the hands of soldiers or leshy or barrow-wights, and leave your father to defend your home alone?"
"If the Blade is our only hope, and Frost our only hope of finding it and discovering its secrets, then I serve my father and my people best by helping him. And truly, my father can take care of himself."
"I thought much the same thing, once," Madia said.
"But each set of choices is different."
"Yet there is a chance that something might happen to your father in your absence, don't you see? And that you might end up feeling . . . responsible, because you weren't there for him when he needed you."
"Perhaps," Jaran said, looking at her. He raised his thumb and finger and gently rubbed his chin. He was beginning to understand. He had only one answer, the truth.
"No," he said. "No, I think, because I have always been there for him, and that he knows."
Madia slowly nodded, then she looked away in silence.
Men and horses had gathered around them. Nervous hooves and scuffling feet stirred the dry soil. Frost turned and motioned to Sharryl and Rosivok, and then Madia, and they started up the trail once more, followed directly by Jaran and his soldiers.