John Dalmas - The Lion Returns

The deputy saw the hithik rear guard charging up, shouted an order, and the trumpeter blew the quick notes of retreat. As best they could, the ylver disengaged and galloped back into the forest, crossbowmen sending bolts after them.

Nearly a hundred bodies lay in the snow, more raiders than escorts. Not all of them were dead.

The Younger Quaie and his party had met with a voitik officer the evening before, at the flank post. There'd been no actual negotiations. The voitu had asked questions, then presented terms. Quaie had accepted. He had nothing to negotiate with except his services, and at any rate he felt optimistic. He usually was, manically so, despite the mental abuse visited on him by his famous and sadistic father. Just now, in fact, he felt positively exhilarated; he would soon have the respect he desired and deserved. This voitik prince needed someone who knew the people, politics, and power sources of the empires and the Marches. And he was that man. As time passed, the voitu would rely more and more on him. He'd have rewards, power, people subject to him, whom he could do with as he pleased.

They spent a second night in the rude cabin assigned to them, and slept late. When Quaie awoke, his exhilaration had faded. Breakfast was more spare than he'd expected. After eating, he said good-bye to his bodyguards. That was the hardest part of the bargain-harder even than being searched. Then his new driver led them outside, and watched while they got back in the cutter.

Quaie felt alone now, exposed and anxious. His driver was a large, hard-looking, frightening man with a face seeming carved from pale, scarred stone. Even the voitik sublieutenant who would accompany them spoke courteously to the creature.

For days, Quaie's hostage had traveled gagged and hooded, nearly hidden beneath heavy furs. After they'd crossed the river, Quaie had removed the gag; they would no longer encounter ylvin couriers and other travelers. Now, as the cutter moved smoothly away into the forest, he smirked at her. "Soon you will meet your new husband," he taunted. "And if you please him well enough, who knows? He may not share you out."

She didn't answer. The Younger Quaie was well known as susceptible to taunts, but infuriating him could have no good result.

The cutter was drawn by excellent horses on packed snow, and moved briskly. Here the countryside was a fertile till plain, but very stony. Thus it was largely forest, with occasional farm settlements rich in stone piles, rough stone fences, and stone foundations topped with the charred remains of buildings. The voitu loped tirelessly ahead of them, eating occasionally from his pocket as he ran. The creature impressed Quaie greatly; his only stops were to turn his back to the cutter and relieve his bladder. Quaie wished the voitu wouldn't turn away. He wanted to see what the creature had.

Twice they met large mounted forces patrolling the road. They wore uniforms like his driver's-quite different from those of the hithik soldiers at the flank post-and their men looked dangerous. The fabled rakutur, Quaie told himself. They must be.

The sun had set, and dusk was thickening, when they rode into a large cleared area, perhaps a mile square. Here there were no stone piles. Along the road were only the stubs of hedges cut since the last snow, and the charred remains of brush piles. In the southeast quarter of the clearing were buildings, a hamlet's worth, with lamp- and candlelight burning in windows. He was, Quaie realized, almost to the next phase of his great adventure, his new life.

As she got out of the cutter, Quaie threw the fur hood back from Varia's head, exposing her face. Then he gripped her arm needlessly. His strength surprised her. He'd always seemed smaller than he was. Now she realized his seeming weakness had also been an illusion. But not his mental problems; they were genuine.

Their tireless voitik sublieutenant entered the stone manor house ahead of them. Their driver herded them from behind. Varia found the rakutu disquieting. There was a sense of cruelty about him, and more unnerving, hatred.

The entryway opened into what had been a large parlor. Now it was a reception and office area, with numerous administrative personnel, and guards. As she entered with Quaie, eyes turned to them, but they were not challenged. They'd been expected.

The interior was rustic but well-constructed, with heavy, rough-hewn beams, and hardwood floors. The sublieutenant led them up a staircase. At the top, they turned down a hallway to a guarded door at the end. The voitu knocked. The door was opened by another voitu whom Varia realized was in early adolescence; a page or orderly she supposed. The sublieutenant ushered them in-Quaie first, then herself.

She knew at once which of the several voitu there was the crown prince. Even for a voitu he was tall, and his charisma struck her at once. Like the other voitar, his aura was strange, but it was a ruler's aura nonetheless. Like Raien's and Curtis's, and Sarkia's, but more intense than any of them.

He looked first at her, taking in her red hair and green eyes, then at Quaie, then at the sublieutenant. "Yes, Lieutenant?" he said.

The young officer bowed, a short half-bow. "Your Majesty, I have brought the ylvin Lord Quaie. And his captive."

"Ah." Kurqosz turned. "Lord Quaie. Remind me why you have come here."

Varia had already been impressed with the voitik fluency in Yuultal. She'd long since read of their hive mind; perhaps when one of them learned a language, it was accessible to all. All they'd need to do was practice using it.

"Your Majesty," Quaie said, "I am volunteering my services to you. I am expert in ylvin government and politics, and of course in the ways and attitudes of my people. In fact, during my fifty-seven years of life, observation, and study, I have learned much about all of Yuulith and its peoples. I can advise you and your generals on the most effective ways of dealing with them. And when your conquest is complete, on administering them with the greatest profit and least aggravation for Your Majesty."

"Hmm. Interesting. But as a person of power and position, why ally yourself with an enemy?"

"Why, it's clear that you will win. In Duinarog, the pessimism was so thick, you could cut it with a knife."

"Indeed? And your gift to me?" He turned to look again at Varia. "Why did you bring her?"

"As a token of my respect, and to demonstrate my knowledge and ability. She is the wife of Lord Raien Cyncaidh, you see, the Western Empire's most powerful duke, and the emperor's chief advisor. Yet I stole her without difficulty." He smirked. "She's very beautiful, don't you think? You may find her useful as a hostage. Or for your royal pleasure. Or both."

There was a sharp rap at the office door and, scowling, the crown prince turned to it. "What is it?" he said sharply.

The answer was in Hithmearcisc. "Your Majesty, an ylvin prisoner has been brought in. By his insignia, a general. He was wounded and captured while attacking a supply train."

Kurqosz responded in Vismearcisc, seemingly for the benefit of his visitors. "A general? Leading raiders? Interesting. Is his wound serious?"

The man at the door switched to Vismearcisc to fit the crown prince's pleasure. "Your chief physician is with him now, Your Majesty."

"Your Majesty," Quaie interjected, "it is quite possible I can identify him for you." He had no doubt the prisoner was Cyncaidh.

"Can you now? Hmm." He turned to the door again. "Bring him in when Agr: Ucirc; x has finished with him. I want to see this general who leads his men instead of sending them. Either he has a poor opinion of his importance as a strategist, or a very high one of his importance as a fighting man."