Ross Lawhead - A Hero's throne

“Clear the field!” shouted one of the prince’s captains. “All of you that can move, clear the field for the battlescryers!”

The soldiers did so, rushing to the edges of the open areas as the four stilted elves stalked into the fields. Their manner was easy and adept and rather eerie as complete silence and attention was given to their activities.

Their increased foot spans gave them surprising speed across the plains, and they used their black poles to move certain objects that they deemed to be in the way. Occasionally they would place their walking sticks in the ground behind them and sit on them in a tripod fashion as they made notes and created diagrams on square books that they carried in a satchel at their waists. They seemed particularly interested in how the bodies had fallen, and how they were clustered, and what relation the fallen apparently had with each other. Daniel could hear them murmuring across to one another.

“There are three brothers, here, there, and there-do you see? Each bears an emblem on his shield with a purple, eight-pointed star. Can another be found?”

“I have one here, a youth of perhaps eighty,” came a reply in a low, sullen voice.

“He would be the youngest, then. How is he oriented?”

“Feet to the sun, head to the wind, hands to his heels.”

This made all of them pause to record this information, and then they began circling the scene again. Another brother was found and they all halted and recorded this discovery with much muted excitement.

Their work apparently finished, they strode back across the plain and alighted with surprised dexterity from their stilts and stood a little apart from the prince and his entourage and conferred awhile, comparing notes.

“Most august and glorified ruler of elf,” said the foremost. “We have finished our divinations.”

“And?”

The battle diviner straightened himself and reported in an authoritative voice:

One body dead with no cut or break in the skin-a high fort will shoot thrice time ten.

Two carrion birds upon a hand-a captain wounded.

Four fallen from the east-fair weather at the next engagement.

Eight headless helmets-lost wealth on a rainy morning.

Nine white worms around a boot-horse sickness for three days.

Overlapping wrists: thirteen-the number of days to travel.

Fifteen flies on one breastplate-fortune for felons.

Thirty-nine broken shields-ships will stay at sea.

Eleven gauntlets lost, eleven buckles loosed, eleven heels covered-store half your provisions.

Eight by nine the field of Elven slain-shelter under the canopy. Forty-three within the centre-welcome the first blow.

Twenty-three giving northward supplication-a spy in the fifth ring.

Nine enemies on the fifth level-ride to the South.

These numbers: one, two, four, eight, nine, thirteen, fifteen, thirty-nine. . acquisition, forceful reciprocity, remuneration, fortunate remembrance, a diverse mind, a quick eye.

These numbers: thirty-three, seventy-two, forty-three, twenty-three, forty-five. . changeable fortunes, the stars hidden, a mask unused.

Five brothers-the end of conflict in three weeks.

Four of the brothers with three wounds-finality on the midday.

Three brothers to the west-the location of the next field.

Two brothers supplicant-victory at a great cost.

One brother outside of the square-a claimant abandoned.

The priest-like elf stopped his recitation.

“That’s all well and good,” the prince said, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and ring finger. “But where does that leave me?”

“An end of the campaign in twenty-two days, an unexpected boon in ten. A fortunate departure by the end of the day.”

The prince grunted and dismissed the warpriests. “Keep up pursuit with our runners. Report back to me when they’ve caught track of the leaders. Where’s the human? I would speak with him.”

The aide made a face. “He would be with the rest of the train-back along the road. The warriors do not like him. They believe such a thing brings bad luck. He is too interested in the prisoners, they feel.”

“He is a valuable oracle, and I would hear his counsel.”

“Yes, my prince.”

Kione Traast surveyed the landscape. “Unless they flee to the lake, which I doubt, then they will be doubling back. It would be better for us to rejoin the train. Give the orders to return. And next time bring the man with the entourage.”

“Very well, my lord. It will be done.”

Daniel rose up and now faced a decision. He was intrigued by this talk of a human, but it may be better if he meet up with the elves escaping from the battlefield and aid them in their flight.

But there was also talk of prisoners, and he wondered who they might be-it could be anyone, since he hadn’t determined how long the Night had kept him this time. It could be either of the generals, one of the wizards, or the prince himself. And then he might glimpse the human too. .

Daniel decided to look into it. He could easily be there in a matter of minutes, and if he saw nothing, then he would quickly be on his way to Prince Filliu.

He started swiftly along the paved road and before too long the elfish war host’s encampment could be seen on the road ahead. Daniel slowed, not because he was cautious anymore, but because he needed to take it in.

It looked much like the Fayre he had visited on his first trip to Elfland, but populated by a very different looking type of elf. Where the Fayre had attracted colourful and pageant-like elves, this one was full of warriors in sparkling gear and weaponry, and their attendants who dressed and behaved more utilitarian. Inspecting the tents and the elves passing in and around them, he found butchers and bakers bustling around baking pits, herders tending to strange livestock that looked like massive, ornately horned oxen, drink-makers pulping and distilling fruits that had been harvested from the nearby wilderness. There were smiths working industriously at repairing sword blades, shields, and odd pieces of armour. Fletchers were creating arrows and unstringing and steaming bows, and there were any number of elves doing a dozen other tasks.

But where would he find this “human,” who was trusted by the prince, but not by anyone else?

From helping the Elves in Exile, he had a passing familiarity with how they organised up their military camps. He quickly located the prince’s tent, which was a deep blue trimmed by dark purple banners and pennants. Because he couldn’t see into it, he had to materialise at the entrance and push his way through.

“Hello?” a voice called out in Elvish.

Daniel instantly dissolved into the air.

The tent was just a single, large space, not separated into different rooms by fine cloths and carpets as they usually were. Lush rugs were strewn across the ground and a black polished wood table the size of a merry-go-round dominated the centre of the area.

There were small booths around the edge of the tent that contained beds, wardrobes, maps, scrolls, and books. It was from one of these that a white-haired man-and he did seem to be a man, not as tall or angular as the elves-popped his head out and peered at the tent entrance.

It was Ealdstan.

“Hello?” he asked again. “Is anyone there?”

Daniel was so surprised that he did nothing and the wizard turned back to his booth where a large scroll of parchment had been unrolled. Daniel came nearer to Ealdstan as he saw he was copying it into a large notebook with a gel pen, both of which Daniel recognised as being from his own world and incongruous not just in this world but also in Ealdstan’s hand. The image that was being copied was a complex series of interlinking rings that Daniel recognised as being very similar to the map of the spheres that Reizger Lokkich had once consulted.