A Paladin's War Ch. 12

"I see I finally have your undivided attention," Sara observed, making her voice light and happy. "That is good. Listen closely, and you may yet survive the evening." She had no intention of killing any of them, but they didn't need to know that.

*

"So then Erik says, "Pardon me, sir, but those are my pants!" The ring of seated people erupted with laughter as Sylvia finished her story, some falling back on the cushions scattered about the carpeted floor of the big tent, others slapping thighs or wiping tears from eyes. Elaina chuckled softly. She and Henley were sitting together at the rear of the tent, quietly watching the others talk and joke and drink and laugh. It had been a long time since they'd all been together, and tonight was very much a celebration. She had her head tucked under Henley's arm, and she felt the deep rumble in his chest as he laughed along with the others.

They'd arrived yesterday, Erik and Sorla and Jeira, Ayla and Tavish, Lynelle and Sylvia, Rayna and Bella, with a new young arohim in tow called Mikel, who apparently had been discovered by Sara in Sarresh, of all places. Where was that girl? What was she up to? Regardless, another arohim had been added to their growing number. She eyed young Mikel over the rim of her pewter wine cup as she sipped. He was sitting cross-legged between Sylvia and Rayna, grinning from ear to ear. Elaina suspected the grin was partly for the joke, but mostly for the fact he was surrounded by pretty women clothed in vaima. There was a definite glint of mischief in his dark eyes, though Amina had knocked much of that out of him soon after getting her hands on him, according to Jeira.

It had taken five full days for their party reach the massive army traversing the Sorral Plain after Amina had left them, but they hadn't done it alone; once the dispute between the Elves and Dwarves was settled, Amina had sent Henley to escort them here. The reunion had been one of tears and laughter and fierce hugs. Introductions had been made quickly, and in the way of those touched by Aros, friendships were forged rapidly. Kedron and Ostin and Liddea sat in the circle, as did Noah and Edda, all laughing just as hard as everyone else. Elsa, Smythe's meldin, was present, too, as were Induin and Liaren, both just beginning to show signs of their pregnancy. To Elaina's eyes, the twins glowed softly, something that only an arohim could see. The first arohim babes born from Elves, at least that she had heard of. Andil and Elessir said it had never happened, at least among their people, and their memories went back two-thousand years or more.

"We're going to need a bigger tent," Henley murmured, brushing his fingers down her arm. He had more or less read her thoughts. She tilted her face up to his and smiled. The only one not present was Amina, who had announced earlier she had something important to do tonight. She would return when it was done, whatever it was. Another peal of laughter exploded as Rayna, her blue eyes sparkling beneath her red curls, reached the climax of another tale.

"That would be nice," Elaina replied softly. She wanted tonight to last forever. The only thing that would make it more complete was if Aran walked in right now. That was impossible, of course; he was still far to the east, moving further north by the day. At this distance, she received little through their bond aside from the sense he was alive and not inflicted by any serious injury. She looked for him in amathani every night, but had not seen him there for some time. To stop herself thinking about tomorrow, she said, "Elsa is lovely. And strong. She's good for you."

"Don't I know it," Henley agreed. His meldin was sitting on the left side of the circle, her sandy hair tumbling down around her pale shoulders. Elaina placed her age somewhere between thirty and forty years, but with the melding taking hold, it was difficult to be sure. There was a maturity, a wisdom about her that a younger woman would not have possessed. "She is special." Elaina felt the swell of love and pride from him and patted his bare chest, broad and hairy. Sensing Henley's feelings, Elsa glanced over and smiled warmly, including Elaina. Elaina returned the smile with as much warmth before Elsa brought her attention back to the circle. Sorla was telling a story now, her statuesque, straight-backed form a head taller than anyone else. Elaina remained nestled in against Henley, content to keep watching and listening.

The night wore on, the wine flowed, and inevitably, the air in the tent grew heavy with anticipation. It had been long since they'd all been together. At that point, Elaina rose and chased out the par'vala, sending them off to bed; there was no point teasing them with what they couldn't have yet. They left somewhat reluctantly - especially Mikel, who raked his eyes over the women one last time before slipping out - leaving Elaina and Henley with the meldin and the aronduri. They all watched her expectantly as she stood before them. "Tomorrow will be upon us in a matter of hours," she said gravely, pulling on the sash of her vaima. Gods, but she wanted tonight to last forever. "And I know no other way, no other people with which I'd like to spend those hours." She felt their eyes on her as she let the robe fall.

In silence, the others looked to her, then one another. Henley joined the circle, then Elaina, and then she was lost in a sea of hands and lips and warm skin. She couldn't make it last forever, but this would do.

*

Amina stopped at the bottom of a shallow valley between two grassy crests, where the knee-high grass of the plain had been flattened and scattered with bellpear flowers, their distinct, sweet scent heavy in the air. The moonlight illuminated flat white stones that formed a wide circle on the grass. More of the same stones made three equidistant lines inside the circle that met in the direct centre. This place had been prepared in advance.

"What is this, Priestess?" Andil asked slowly as he approached the border of the circle of stones. He squatted smoothly, careful not to disturb the arrangement. "I sense... something, though I do not know what."

Andil's wife, Elessir, as beautiful as he was handsome, joined her husband, her flowing golden hair brushing the ground where she knelt. Like him, she was garbed only in winding red-and-gold vines that appeared to have grown on her. "I know these flowers," she chimed in crystalline tones. "They have powerful properties." She picked up one of the flowers outside the ring of stones. "You are holding a ceremony, Priestess." Her brilliant emerald eyes found Amina's.

"I am not," Amina replied, shrugging her cloak from her shoulders. The cool night air caressed her bare skin. "We are." The gruff clearing of throats behind her made her turn to regard the three Dwarves outside the circle. Baelin and Fathvir seemed torn between wanting to look at her and turning away out of courtesy, while Finya seemed much more comfortable, openly looking Amina up and down. Finya, at least, had had experience with arohim. The shorter woman muttered something in Dwarvish, but Amina didn't catch it.

"I apologise for the abruptness," Amina began, stepping into the circle and taking the space furthest away before turning back to face the others. "But time is short." She gestured to the two remaining spaces. "Please."

"What is this?" Baelin asked hesitantly, his wizened face concerned.

"I think," Finya said slowly, stepping closer to the circle, "this is very important, Captain-General."

"It very much is," Amina confirmed. "But you must choose for yourselves. I will not try and force you to this." As she spoke, Andil and Elessir exchanged a few close words in Elvish. She touched his face, and he nodded. They faced the circle together as the vines unwound from their bodies, leaving them as bare as Amina. They took the space to Amina's right, leaving the last one for the Dwarves. Baelin frowned at Amina, or rather in her direction; he was staring inwardly, his thick eyebrows drawn down, his sturdy arms folded over his gleaming breastplate. Fathvir glared darkly at the Elves, though he corrected quickly, smoothing his features. Old hates were fading, yet when you had hated something for so long, it was hard to expunge it without time to heal. Amina doubted he was aware of the way his hand kept straying to the hilt of the mace at his belt before jerking away. He muttered a string of Dwarvish under his breath but made no move to leave. Finya, sturdily handsome and clever-eyed, appeared ready to join the circle, though she looked to Baelin, watching for his answer.

Finally, he looked to his fellow Dwarves. "Aevi of einn skipta," he said to them as he began unbuckling the straps of his armour. Finya smiled broadly and began to do the same, while Fathvir nodded solemnly setting about removing his armour as if he were simply performing a job required of him. Amina was glad he was not the one leading the Dwarves. His loyalty to Baelin and to his people would hold him true, at least for now.

A minute later, the Dwarves joined Amina and the Elves in the circle, occupying their own segment. "Long ago," she began, taking them all in with her gaze, "this ceremony was performed by the leaders of the Seven Peoples. Tonight, we are the ones who are here, the ones who are committed to a better world, to fighting back the darkness that sweeps our lands and our hearts." Looking to her right, she addressed Andil and Elessir. "For what do you enter this circle, Andil Eryn'elda, Elessir Eryn'elda?"

"To recover what was lost," Andil replied in his bass voice. "For hope."

"To grow something new and strong," Elessir answered with a smile. "To see our people flourish."

"And you, Baelin Ironborn bu Kara?" Amina said as her gaze shifted to the other side of the circle. "Fathvir Stonehammer bu Guld? Finya Steelheart bu Brod?" The moonlight glinted off the Dwarves' eyes and shone on their pale skin as they stood there straight-backed, the men refusing to let strangeness of the situation get the better of them.

"For Burin, and for Dun'Arghol," Fathvir replied firmly.

"For a future for our people," Finya said with a smile. "And for new friends." She cast a look at Andil and Elessir and got nods in return.

For long moments, Baelin said nothing. A deep quiet settled over the circle, broken only by the yipping of a fox somewhere distant, and the gentle swish of the tall grass swaying in the light breeze. All eyes came to rest on the old Dwarf. In a voice almost too soft to be heard, he finally spoke. "To be whole again. To correct the errors of our forefathers. For a brighter future. May the Stonelord take me if I am wrong."

Amina nodded and raised her hand, placing it palm down over the nexus in the centre of the ring. Instinctively, the others all followed suit, until all hands were touching at least one other across the lines of stones. The much taller Elves looked down at the Dwarves A tension grew as if they waited for something momentous, or perhaps painful, to happen, but Amina's role in the ceremony was now done. In fact, her role had been very minor to begin with, but that was for them to discover on their own. "I take my leave, friends," she told them as she withdrew her hand and stepped backwards out of the circle. "Tomorrow, we go to battle, and we must fight not as Elves and Dwarves and Humans, but as brothers and sisters, else we are doomed to fail."

"You did not bring a Human representative here tonight," Andil observed after lowering his own hand. The others mirrored him.

"Yes," Amina replied. "You are the leaders of your peoples. There are no Humans present who hold that station. The Human leaders will join us in due time."

"And if they do not?" Fathvir asked sourly.

"We shall see, my friend," Amina said gently. "I think they may surprise you." Fathvir hardly appeared mollified, but he nodded anyway. At that, Amina rounded the ring of stones to scoop up her cloak before starting back to camp. It was time for old enemies to learn to become friends once again.

She walked slowly, taking her time so she could process her thoughts. Was it enough? Would the ceremony hold them together? It would have been easy enough to align them all, make them see the common goals, the benefits, but doing so would have robbed them of the opportunity to find it in themselves, of their own accord. True, the vala could not force anyone to something against their will, but mistakes had been made in the past by arohim with the best intentions. Mistakes Amina refused to make this time. This was a second chance, one she would not waste.

*

Smythe's gut was in knots even before the first arrow was launched. The day had dawned bright and fair, though it felt anything but as he charged afoot at the head of a legion of Dwarves, Elves and Humans, three columns aimed at the walls of Ironshire like arrows from a colossal bow. Beside him, Elaina ran, mace held high, face grim. Amina was on his other side, golden hair tied back with a leather cord, crystal blue eyes harder than the gleaming steel of the sword she held up high, hilt beside her head, blade pointed at the sky. She'd found some plain brown breeches and a tunic for today. Simple clothing for such an extraordinary woman. Funny what one noticed at times like this. The town was still more than three hundred yards away, but the army was closing in fast. He could feel most of Ironshire from here, and it bubbled with activity. Any moment now, and the Trolls would start their volley.

Sure enough, no sooner had he had the thought than thick chunks of stone the size of sheep began sailing into the air from behind the walls, arcing into the morning sky before slamming down into the earth. The first wave fell short of the approaching ranks, but the next would land among them. Men and women would die today. His only consolation was that he would be the first one over the wall. Him, Amina, and Elaina.

Goblins, small and dark, fired skinny arrows from atop the watchtowers, no doubt tipped with their poisons that addled the mind. The arrows would not kill unless they entered an eye or a vital organ, but the poison would be just as bad in the end. Screams echoed from behind the Paladins as some of the arrows found targets. He made himself keep his head forward. People would die today, and it could not be avoided. That was all there was to it.

The walls loomed high as they neared, thirty feet of solid iron-strapped logs, shaved to a point at the top. Smythe gathered himself to leap over and throw himself into the menagerie of creatures on the other side, but Amina reached the wall before he could. With a sound like a thunderbolt striking ten yards away, she hit the wall with her shoulder, still running faster than a horse. The spot she hit exploded, blowing a hole in the wall ten paces wide and sending splinters as thick as a man's arm spinning into the air. The logs to either side tilted, leaning inward drunkenly, the iron strapping no longer supporting them as it had.

Smythe didn't have time to marvel at the Priestess's strength - had he tried that, he would have shattered half his body - for no sooner had the hole been made than darkspawn flowed out, stomping over the shattered logs and fallen bodies of their own. Pulling deeply on his vala, he let his thoughts go and became one with the battle.

*

The sun had been low in the morning sky when the fighting had begun, and it was only halfway to its zenith when he finally ground his sword point against the cobblestones of the main street and leaned against it heavily, breathing hard. Dwarves and Elves and Humans filed past him in organised groups, heads swivelling as they searched the tall brick houses and shops, many of which were either smouldering, still burning, or partially collapsed from the invasion. How many times had he walked down this street? Had any of his old friends escaped, or were they all dead?

"Over there!" Elaina called as she approached him. She was addressing a party of green-garbed Elves as they passed her, their bows held low, but arrows nocked and ready to be fired. She pointed to a big building at the end of the street. It had once been the town hall, where Smythe had enjoyed many a long chat with an old friend before discovering that friend was a Herald in disguise. "That's where they kept the..." She grimaced, unable to finish. Smythe didn't blame her.

The leader of the Elvish group nodded quickly and barked orders in his native tongue. They raced off in that direction, gathering others as they went. Smythe ignored the sick feeling in his gut. Women and men kept for sport. He would never get used to it. "It's over then," he said as Elaina came up to him. She was filthy, her fair hair and face dark with half-dried black blood, her vest and shirt barely recognisable from the rips and stains. Some of that blood was hers, though she appeared not to be harmed seriously. Her emerald eyes were all the more brilliant out of that dirty face. How did she manage to look beautiful even now?

"You look like shit," she observed with amusement as she ran her eyes over him. He supposed he did, at that. His own vest was torn open, hanging off one shoulder, and his shirt was simply gone from the chest down, leaving his midriff bare. A Troll had grabbed at him, but he'd slipped away just in time, leaving it with a handful of cloth instead of his flesh.

He chuckled at her remark, so contrary to his own thoughts of her. "I was just about to say the same of you," he lied. The last word became a sharp grunt as she reached out and pulled a Goblin arrow from his shoulder. He hadn't realised it was there.

She tossed it away with a look of disgust. "Horrible bloody things." She turned a small circle, surveying their surroundings. "I suppose that really is it. I can't sense any more, can you?" When Smythe shook his head, she frowned. "Is it just me, or was that too easy?"

Smythe was just happy it was over, but now that she'd said it, he thought she had a point. He let his mind play through the battle. The darkspawn had been as savage as ever, but not as organised, perhaps not as focused as he'd seen them. "Perhaps, lass," he replied slowly, looking back toward the gates, just visible at the far end of the wide street. "But three arohim and a hundred-thousand warriors had them scared, I reckon."

"Maybe," she replied doubtfully. "Maybe." Something in her tone had the skin on the back of his neck prickling. "The cloaks," she said suddenly as she looked around at the bodies on the street. "There are no Herald cloaks anywhere."

Spinning, Smythe again ran his eyes over the bodies littering the ground. Even among this carnage, the yellow-and-red of a Herald cloak would stand out, no matter how soiled it might have gotten. "What happened to them then?" The prickle on his neck became an itch. His eyes found Elaina's, and he saw the same thought there he knew was in his.

They'd been baited. Ironshire was a trap.

*

"Hold, Captain," Eames said calmly as he studied the town in the valley far below through his brass-banded looking glass. Beside him, Torm - a solid captain of good mettle - made no visible movement, though Eames could sense his eagerness to give the order. The man practically bristled with impatience. "Not yet."

From this elevation, on a rocky outcrop several miles up the side of a mountain overlooking Ironshire, Eames had a very good view despite the smoke blanketing the town. The battle had been fierce and fast, the army of Elves and Dwarves overwhelming the darkspawn in a matter of hours. Well, that was how he had pieced it together; from this far away, even a finely crafted looking glass only revealed so much. Still, armies that size were visible from great distances, like a vast shadow sweeping across the land.