chapter eight
The man emerged from the trees into the mid-morning light undaunted by the countless leagues that lay behind his journey, undaunted even by the limp he could not hide. The pain from his injured left leg was a minor thing, at best. He stopped by the side of the road and waited for the approaching column of soldiers and wagons. At three stones distance, he hailed the riders at the head of the column, smiling broadly all the while. Two of them sprang forward immediately, and the man limped into the center of the road to meet them.
Bardeenians by the look. The older of the two armored men greeted him. "Well met, traveler. What is your business, here on a road so removed from home and hearth?"
The man informed them that his name was Ris Vengel, and that he had traveled far to reach the citadel of Siguard City, but feared he had lost his way.
"You seem to favor your right leg. Have you suffered hurt?"
Vengel told them of his encounter with a lone Godiian raider, and how he had been fortunate to escape with his life, if not uninjured. The Godiian was not so fortunate, and had been buried in a shallow grave some leagues back.
The two soldiers waved the approaching column to a standstill. The dour, commanding officer appeared to be ill at ease. "Here you speak of our concern. How do we know that you are not some threat or decoy yourself? This could very well be a prelude to ambush. Godii prowls this eastern stretch of Siguard seemingly at will, of late, and you might in fact be such a prelude." Both soldiers surveyed the trees on either side of the road uncertainly. The ranking officer continued. "What token of sooth do you offer, traveler? We are about important business and can scarcely delay. By my judgment, you will either be driven from the road, taken into our custody, or perhaps otherwise. Speak!"
And Vengel spoke. He spoke of his homeland, Cleppar Jest, and his position as a minor poet and troubador in the service of the Council of Vision. His mission was to visit Siguard's capital during the current festivities and try to capture the essence and beauty of the Krysli in word and song, that he might add to the aesthetic wonder and wisdom of his countrymen. Such tribute to their beauty was so very long overdue, he added.
The younger soldier perked up at the very mention of Cleppar Jest. "A Jester! Such a voice! And such company on the road would be most welcomed. We have no troubadour, and certainly no poet. This is good fortune indeed!"
The elder was not so sure. "Perhaps." Looking Vengel up and down, he nodded. "You certainly look the part, if the bold colors you wear are any indication. And the illness of the fit. I have heard, even seen such among your countrymen, Ris Vengel. And clearly you have the voice of a Jester." He paused, gave a final look to the thick trees where Vengel had emerged, and muttered something unintelligible to himself. "Very well. You look as if you haven't eaten so well on your journey. And you are far off course. Lost in poetic reverie, were you?"
Vengel shrugged, his smile unchagrined. It had been known to happen, he said.
"Know that I am Captain Den Tabir, head of security for the esteemed Baron Donto of the new Bardeenian Union. We ride with all haste to a great celebration and momentous 'Cord-making at the very citadel you missed. You may join us, once young Kole here has determined that you are unarmed. Will you submit?"
Vengel positively beamed. Yes, he was very hungry, he said, and would be happy to repay safe passage on the road with whatever song and speech might please the Baron. He opened his stained, yellow overcoat with a flourish, revealing a bright blue tunic and brown breeches, which were indeed ill-fitting, yet unadorned by weapon or sign of wealth. Kole grinned at his superior, dismounted, and half-heartedly searched Vengel's many pockets and back-satchel. Then he paused with a frown. "Where is your instrument, Jester?"
The sing-song voice replied that it was damaged beyond repair in his struggle with the Godiian, and as was custom, had been buried as well.
Kole thumped Vengel's back soundly. "Bested a Godiian, did you? Not bad for a little poet!" He looked up at Den. "Nothing. He carries nothing."
Den waved the column forward. "He rides with you for now, Kole." He looked down on Vengel with a welcoming smile. "We will break for lunch shortly after noon. Can you last that long?" Vengel nodded. "Then, Jester, you may learn something of our hospitality. And we may learn something of your song. Come now!"
And so it was that Ris Vengel, poet of Cleppar Jest, found himself fed and unalone, at last on his way to the capital of Siguard. Villages and hamlets were passed, local dignitaries and well-wishers lining Derning Road to see the proud, new Bardeenians and their Baron on their way to forge peace instead of war. As night fell on their encampment on the second evening since he joined them, Vengel was pressed once again to explain how he had come to be wandering alone in the eastern wilds of Siguard, if the citadel had been his mark. Vengel smiled, set down his meat, rose gracefully, limped to the edge of the fire, and answered in long-awaited song:
Beauty might wither, should movement be naught
So into the wild, our poets are strewn
Seeking to capture the movement of thought
As into the wild, our poets are strewn
Beasts unbecoming and fairest are found
Not by the side of the hearth and the fire
Meads and deep forest the fairest abound
Not by the side of the hearth and the fire
Chasing our vision and seeking our fate
That we might somehow enrich our good people
Not then uncommon, the seeking come late
That we might somehow enrich our good people
To the dawn I did travel, the sun was my guide
To the East end of Siguard beyond my intent
Driven by dream that the sun was alive
At the East end of Siguard beyond my intent
Where the Godiian prowls still the poet may walk
Riven from path by the beauty he seeks
And should the twain meet, should the poet then balk
And be riven from path by the beauty he seeks
Struggle is bane to those who would avoid
Destruction is that which we wish would not be
My tears not a smile sent just who to the void
Destruction is that which we wish would not be
Sick from the tempest and ill from the storm
Destruction is that which we wish would not be
Might war not be taken from our ill-fitted forms
And seen to be something that never should be
And seen to be something that never should be
The song was delivered in a traditional Jesterian form of seven stanzas, without accompaniment. As Ris Vengel surveyed the wide eyes surrounding him in the firelight, he knew he had needed no accompaniment. Long after the last note had trailed to its end, one soldier--it was indeed young Kole--rose and began clapping. As one, the rest of the circle, save the good Baron, joined him. The guards, who had come forth from their posts at the edge of the camp to listen to the poet sing, set down their weapons with unknowing symbolism and joined the circle of applause. Vengel smiled the smile of an artist who has truly reached his audience, breaking through the veil of separation and achieving a true Moment, as it was referred to in Cleppar Jest.
Returning to his seat, he found Kole there to congratulate him with another one of his heavy thumps upon Vengel's back. Since their meeting, he had attempted to assert a kind of ownership, rather, responsibility for Vengel, as if it was Kole himself who had reached into the very trees and plucked down what he now referred to as "surely the finest troubadour in all of Sid."
Vengel replied that it was meager recompense for such good and generous company on the road. He would have to work long and hard to summon forth a song of fitting tribute to the goodwill and hospitality of this new Bardeenian Union. Before Kole could answer, a large shadow crossed the firelight, and a hand was extended to clasp Vengel's. Ris Vengel again rose from his seat.
"Amazing, simply amazing, my good Jester. Vengel, is it? We are indebted to such quality of company on our journey. On behalf of my men, I thank you." This was the first time Baron Donto had addressed Vengel in person. Before he could reply, the Baron continued. "I have observed a most unusual quality to your voice, my good poet. Even in simple conversation, your words are a delight to listen to, yet difficult to hear. Do you understand me? It's as if you are always singing, even when you are not. Meaning is given, yet the actual words elude. I find it fascinating."
Vengel inclined his head in deference, and thanked the Baron for his kind words. He replied that he had often experienced the same sensation when listening to the Master Poets perform for the High Visionary, back at the Courts of Valesa in his homeland. To be compared to such as these was the highest compliment his humble ears could ever hope to hear.
"Well, surely it is but a matter of time before your voice is counted among these Masters, Ris Vengel, if the opinion of a barbarian from the Far Coast has any merit. Good evening, sir." The Baron turned to leave when Kole put a hand on his shoulder.
"Sire, a thought. Would it not be grand, if Poet Vengel here were to compose a song for you, and for the new Bardeenian Union, to be performed in Siguard before their council? What better way to open such an historic meeting?" Kole's eyes were dancing with more than just reflected firelight.
The Baron paused, then turned full around. "What of this, poet? Were you willing, could such be done? Could you compose this tribute?"
Vengel did not, felt he could not, tell them of the audacity of their request. All Mander Poets, such as he had described himself, were forbidden to compose before-hand, charged as they were to go forth, find inspiration in the world about them, and perform without rehearsal. This was well known in Cleppar Jest, but perhaps less known so far away as Bardeen. He simply replied that he could, in sooth, perform so, however it would be best improvised, like the song he had given just now, in accord with Jesterian custom.
The Baron looked down. Then across at Kole, grinning in the firelight. Then finally at Vengel. "Very well. After this performance, your talents have won my trust--a victory not lightly gained. You will sing before the Siguardian Council, two days hence, and if you sing only half so remarkably as you just did, all will be honored to hear it." He thumped Vengel on the shoulder with a smile, and returned to his seat across the fire. Vengel felt too honored for words, nearly stunned at the Baron's confidence and trust.
Kole's smile and shoulder-thump mirrored his Baron's. "Good show, Ris, good show!"
For the remainder of the journey, with a poet's eyes, Vengel consumed every detail he could about the Bardeenians around him. The Baron was a proud man, who would favor his left hand in battle. He was concerned still about the instability of the new order he had brought to the many warring factions of Bardeen, fearing perhaps that some trouble might arise back home while he was away. But he hid his worries behind his pride, pride at achieving unity and peace among a people known across all of Sid for their lawlessness and warlike nature. He was on his way to sign a 'Cord of Peace with Siguard after countless years of raids, battles, and border disputes.
The Baron's pride spread like ripples in a forest pond to the men around him, some thirty in all. Most were soldiery of the common variety, clad in lustered brown armor which left only the neck, joints, and lower legs open to blade or arrow. Their helms were minimal, exposing their fresh confidence and bright eyes to the world. Kole was of this number, and like his Baron, would also favor his left hand in battle. Fewer were the Baron's Guard, such as Captain Den Tabir. Their brown armor was more thorough, leaving much less exposed to attack. Their very boots were clad in iron, up to the calf, and skirts of silver mail ran from waist to knee. These six were much more serious, much less celebratory in their cadence and demeanor. To Tabir's men, everything was serious business, particularly now, as the Baron rode exposed on the naked face of Eastern Siguard with naught but a score and ten soldiers between himself and any Godiian raiding party. Scouts rode far to the north and south of the main road, reporting often to Tabir. Only as the party neared Siguard City itself, only as villages, homes, and fields on either side of the road came more frequently, only then did the Baron's Guard noticeably relax.
Vengel learned much of Bardeen, its history and nature, but as they neared the citadel, ever did his questions return to Siguard itself. Of what valor and behavior were its warriors, recent enemies as they were of the Bardeenians? They were described as being a staunch breed, well-disciplined and well-armed. Tabir himself told Vengel of a battle where the Siguardian chief general's personal cadre had been pinned down in a gully by several archers, when a single, lone warrior braved an impossible hail of arrows, uphill, to single-handedly dispatch their archers and allow a hasty retreat before the Bardeenian infantry could close on them.
And everywhere he turned, Vengel heard tale and wonder at a man who eschewed armor, the Flaming Blade of Siguard, Garth Vencher. He was said to command the field with an immediacy unmatched by any general, always charging headlong to where the battle raged most fiercely, and always turning the tide in Siguard's favor. A handful of these proud Bardeenians confessed with averted eyes to quitting the field, on but a sign from this great warrior. Surely, wondered Vengel, some archer or armored soldier could strike down a man without armor, nevermind his prowess, from some safe distance? "So you might think, little poet," responded one soldier. "So any might think, who had not faced him. His intensity on the field burns like the very heat of the Krysli."
At the mention of Krysli, Vengel's own eyes would widen. What of the Krysli? Had any of these men ever seen one? Faced them in battle? Witnessed their fiery flight? How many were their number, and what tale, if any could be told?
It was Den Tabir himself who gave him answer. "The Krysli appear to serve chiefly on the northern marches of the Five Nations, as defense against Godii. Only once, to my knowledge, did Bardeenian forces encounter them." He paused and rubbed his bearded chin. Facial hair was clearly customary with this lot. "Five winters past, after a long and vicious battle over the disputed border lands between us, a Bardeenian colonel named Lon Jaber managed to rout the Siguardians from the field. Instead of returning to Bardeen with his mandate achieved, he purposed to follow the Siguardians and vanquish them to the last soldier." Tabir lowered his eyes. "A few of us, under then-colonel Donto's command, warned him against such boldness, but he was consumed by battle lust, and would not be gainsaid." Now he raised his gaze, summoning forth a vision from memory. "At his command, several selvats, nigh on half a ballion, lept forth in pursuit deep into Siguardian territory. We watched with no small concern as they vanished into the western horizon and the blood-red setting sun. Shortly after nightfall, it appeared as though a pair of stars descended from the very heavens upon the horizon. Great bolts of lightning and fire rent the fabric of the air, and the sound, long in arriving, was terrible, shaking the earth upon which we stood. Over five hundred soldiers, and not a one ever returned."
Elsewhere, much was said that Vengel had already learned in his travels. The Krysli served only to defend, never to attack. They were beautiful beyond compare, or so the rumor went, and all of Sid should be grateful for their restraint, and Siguard's policy of non-aggression. Beset only recently on three sides, by Godii in the north, Bardeen in the east, and Demons in the south, they fought valiantly, yet only to preserve their own. Never to dominate another nation's will. At the signing of the 'Cord of the Five Nations, it was agreed that the newly born Krysli would be stationed at strategic points along the northern marches, to dissuade Godiian raiders and incursions into any of the five nations. Since then, active hostility from Godii had virtually ceased. It only took a few demonstrations of the Krysli's unmatchable power to defend--utterly--their homeland, to convince General Graeme that open war upon Siguard and its neighbors was unthinkable. Now of course, Godii instead sent raiding parties under cover, attempting to pierce the Krysli's shield of protection and discover what they might about Siguard's inner defenses and preparedness. It was thought that they passed east of Dulma Sea, by way of The Torn Lands, where habitation and defenses were few, slipping between Siguardian patrols to prowl Eastern Siguard. As Tabir put it, one condition of the new 'Cord the Baron traveled now to sign was that the Bardeenians would assist in patrolling The Torn Lands and the northeastern Siguardian border in an attempt to prevent any such further raids.
As to the Krysli and their number, none could guess. Kole surmised that there could not be that many of them, else they would have been deployed against his countrymen in the east, and the Demons in the south. To his knowledge, neither had transpired.
Do they report to Siguard's General Enderin, to the Council, to the very Triad? Nobody knew. There was some rumor of a Magician who had granted them their amazing powers, but none could speak to his name or role in the defense of Siguard, save that he had been, upon a time, referred to as "The Savior of Siguard", and seemed to operate independently of the other Magicians of Ernesse.
With each such interview, Vengel would sigh and reveal that he only longed to see a Krysli in flight, recording the beauty of the event for the posterity of his masters in Cleppar Jest. Upon hearing this, Baron Donto smiled broadly. And of course, thumped the poet's back soundly. "Then you could have scarcely fared better than stumbling across our path, my lost poet. At the upcoming celebrations in their Citadel, I am told the Krysli will be putting on a show, of sorts. 'Tis the anniversary, the tenth I believe, of the first flight of a Krysli. Many will be present, it is said, and I think you may just see enough Krysli in flight to keep you happy and sated for a lifetime. It is said there is no more beautiful sight in all of Sid... unless, of course, you are a Godiian."
Vengel smiled appreciatively. The yellow leaves of the passing falina trees were giving way to the more solid green of the bancher once again, even as the forest thinned and began to disappear. He could easily imagine the beauty and destructive capacity of a Krysli striking down a selvat or more of enemy soldiers. It seemed they were untouchable and unknowable, yet he yearned to somehow touch or know one, if he may. The prospect consumed him, and he slipped into his own distant reverie as the party neared its destination.
And without warning, of a sudden, there it was. The bronzed, three-spired citadel of Siguard. One moment, there was naught on the horizon, the next, there sat Siguard City, as if it had always sat just so on the horizon. A murmur of muffled, tired yet happy conversation spread through the Bardeenian ranks, but Vengel had to shake his head and look again, not trusting his normally sharp eyes. How does a city of that apparent size simply appear without preamble? It should have started as a dot, grown to perhaps a three-towered blotch, and then, maybe appear as it did now, still two leagues or more distant.
Was this the work of the Magicians of Ernesse, guests to the people of Siguard, or were his eyes tired from his long journey? He could not say. From the height of their shared steed, Kole's back smiled and asked, "Ah, the citadel at last. Does it not warm the heart, Ris?" Perhaps. Moreso just now, it mystified Vengel's mind. He thumped Kole's back in the Bardeenian expression of goodwill, and answered that it certainly did fill one's eyes with wonder.
As they rounded a bend in the road, Vengel observed that the packed dirt gave way to flagged brown stones. The soft multiple thumps of the hooved steeds were replaced by a multitude of sharp clacks, and a guardhouse of polished stone appeared before them, sprawling across the road. The gateway was open, and polished armor gleamed a dull red from the figures, four, no five, standing upon the battlements overlooking the road. A cry went up, and with a thunderous clacking of their own, the Siguardians rode out to meet their guests.
Indoors, perhaps, their bright armor would shine of silver, but under the heavy, ruddy late-morning sun brooding high overhead, they appeared to be covered in blood. There were twenty two mounted soldiers, and greetings were made, and Captain Tabir was informed that this would be their escort to the citadel. The Siguardians split their number, and took positions respectfully to each side and slightly behind the head of the Bardeenian column. Craning his head around, Vengel saw four take up a position on the road some half a stone behind the trailing supply wagon. Turning to his right, he took stock of the Baron's former adversaries riding in upright silence beside him. Their steeds were larger than those of the Bardeenians, though somewhat smaller than the massive steeds of Godii. The armor of this particular honor escort was plated with tempered steel, polished to crimson-lit perfection, nigh from head to toe. Very few weak points where an enemy could pierce and do harm. If their brethren on the Bardeenian border had been half so well armed, Vengel could easily imagine why the Bardeenians had been forced to settle for peace. He had no doubt this score and two of Siguardians would have little problem dispatching of the Bardeenian party, should they have a mind, even though the Bardeenians totalled nigh half again their number. He briefly mused as to just how sound this impending 'Cord of Peace might be. Did the size and armory of their escort reveal a certain, lingering mistrust between old foes, or was this the measured display of honor and protection it claimed to be, as they rode into the city?
Vengel hinted as much when he asked Kole if this escort seemed, well, somewhat excessive. Kole looked at the gleaming Siguardians on either side of the road, half craned his head back towards Vengel and simply shrugged. "We are honored."
A thought occurred to Vengel then, and he asked Kole if they might sidle up next to the nearest Siguardian at their right, a tall, dark-skinned man who seemed to be looking at something far away that wasn't quite the citadel. Kole's wide back smiled at him and he spurred his steed off the road. The Siguardian watched them draw close and greeted them.
"Well met, brothers. And this, a Jester?" His smile was genuine, his features strong and sure. "Come to sing me a song, perhaps?" Vengel was surprised to see that their was no visible insignia or decoration on the man's helm, unlike the Bardeenians, whose armor displayed a symbol of crossed swords. Vengel replied that such was not his intention, but that he was confused, trying as he was to understand the ways and division of the Siguardian military. Where were the legendary Greenbacks, and of what distinction was this fine company which escorted their party with such dignity and grace?
At the word Greenback, the soldier's smile faded somewhat. "By Greenback, I suppose you mean the Foresters. If they truly be legend in your land, we are then pleased. They are trained in all manner of woodcraft and stealth, expected to survive and give battle, when necessary, under the canopy of even the deepest forests. As for myself," and the smile regained its warmth with no small hint of pride, "I am Dol Sender, of the Honor Guard of Siguard. The Honor Guard are those who have trained and been deemed worthy in all the divisions and skills of our forces. We have ridden with the Cavalry, we have run the deep woods as Foresters, we have marched the long leagues in the Infantry, and retain all these skills and more in the utter defense of our land, honored to serve under our esteemed General Enderin herself, greatest soldier in the land. In fact," he looked quickly from side to side and leaned close, as one about to share a secret, "perhaps the greatest soldier since the High General Ish himself." He straightened back up in his seat. "Of him, you surely know."
Kole laughed. "Everyone in Sid knows of Ish, friend Sender. I am named Dire Kole. My curious companion is a renowned poet and troubador of Cleppar Jest, Ris Vengel." Vengel instantly demurred, muttering softly that he was hardly a man of any renown just yet, but smiled gratefully at the compliment. Kole continued, "You know, he actually bested a Godiian prowler in your woods, south of Bemer. We met him, halt of foot from the struggle and bereft of his instrument, on the side of Derning Road. May this union between your land and my own soon put a stop to these base incursions, that gifted poets like my friend here might wander as their thought and inspiration beckons, free from threat of hurt."
Sender gave the poet a sharp, new look. His smile was now askance. "A lone prowler, and you did him in without aid, little poet? Yet, the Godiians hardly prowl alone. Neither have we had any report of raiding parties near Bemer for many moons now." He paused and returned his gaze to its invisible, distant focal point again. "Well, there was rumor, but that was nigh three moons past." He turned to Kole. "I thank you for this information. I'll be sure to report it to my captain. As for you, Ris Vengel, Jester of some renown," he laughed now, and Vengel found it to be a full and warm expression, "Well done!"
So the conversation appeared to be over, yet Vengel could not help himself. He asked the Siguardian about his comments regarding the prowess and skill of his esteemed general. Yet what of this Man Without Armor, the great Garth Vencher, held in high esteem by his former adversaries riding in this very company?
Sender leaned close again. "He has yet to come to the full measure of his prowess and wisdom. His courage and skill are beyond question. Yet he has much to learn." He straightened, smiled, and spurred his steed forward. As he pulled away, Vengel heard him speak softly, as if for his own ears only. "He is a brash, lucky fool."
Soon the road widened to some four spans of polished stone, and before them, again without warning as if it had snuck upon the riders, stood the Citadel of Siguard, in all of its bronzed, ruddy glory. The outer walls were well battlemented, with various defenses mounted atop and within that would give all enemies a hard way to go. Narrow slits for archers ran in double rows, high above the great entrance. Great salista, the giant, mounted crossbows, dotted the battlements, and weapons that defied a poet's description lurked in the shadowed windows of the evenly spaced parapets. Though the great red-brown wall yawned high in their sight, yet still beyond the battlements could be descried the Three Towers. The most distant, to the northwest, was surely the tower overlooking the north gate, where the threat of seige was most clearly perceived. Nearer and almost straight ahead gleamed a tall spire, wide at the base and narrow at its peak, that must house the Lords of Siguard, the Triad. Nearest and southwest of Vengel was the least of the towers, and he could not guess its purpose, removed from the outer wall as it appeared. Through the vast gate, their column would have no problem riding eight abreast, should they choose. The polished stone continued into what appeared to be a large courtyard, with a lesser gate waiting in the inner wall straight ahead, mirroring its larger counterpart here before them. This gate was closed, but through the latticed black iron, Vengel managed to glimpse a rush of brightly-dressed figures, some walking briskly, others, with children being the chief part of their number, running with all haste--all headed northward.
Suddenly a great shout went out among the soldiers all around him. Bardeenian and Siguardian alike raising a cry of wonder, as far off and high above even the tallest spire of the Triad, seven, eight, no, ten gleaming lights soared and swooped in an intricate dance of brightest argent, alight clear and wondrous even in the full red of the noontime sun.
The Siguardians cheered and clapped their gauntleted hands with great, heavy thunks. The Bardeenians to a man simply craned their necks ever higher, now stricken with mute, slack-jawed wonder. And Ris Vengel, all thoughts of poetry and song now driven from his mind, gazed without word or conscious thought himself, as one who had never before seen the flight of the Krysli.
Bardeenians by the look. The older of the two armored men greeted him. "Well met, traveler. What is your business, here on a road so removed from home and hearth?"
The man informed them that his name was Ris Vengel, and that he had traveled far to reach the citadel of Siguard City, but feared he had lost his way.
"You seem to favor your right leg. Have you suffered hurt?"
Vengel told them of his encounter with a lone Godiian raider, and how he had been fortunate to escape with his life, if not uninjured. The Godiian was not so fortunate, and had been buried in a shallow grave some leagues back.
The two soldiers waved the approaching column to a standstill. The dour, commanding officer appeared to be ill at ease. "Here you speak of our concern. How do we know that you are not some threat or decoy yourself? This could very well be a prelude to ambush. Godii prowls this eastern stretch of Siguard seemingly at will, of late, and you might in fact be such a prelude." Both soldiers surveyed the trees on either side of the road uncertainly. The ranking officer continued. "What token of sooth do you offer, traveler? We are about important business and can scarcely delay. By my judgment, you will either be driven from the road, taken into our custody, or perhaps otherwise. Speak!"
And Vengel spoke. He spoke of his homeland, Cleppar Jest, and his position as a minor poet and troubador in the service of the Council of Vision. His mission was to visit Siguard's capital during the current festivities and try to capture the essence and beauty of the Krysli in word and song, that he might add to the aesthetic wonder and wisdom of his countrymen. Such tribute to their beauty was so very long overdue, he added.
The younger soldier perked up at the very mention of Cleppar Jest. "A Jester! Such a voice! And such company on the road would be most welcomed. We have no troubadour, and certainly no poet. This is good fortune indeed!"
The elder was not so sure. "Perhaps." Looking Vengel up and down, he nodded. "You certainly look the part, if the bold colors you wear are any indication. And the illness of the fit. I have heard, even seen such among your countrymen, Ris Vengel. And clearly you have the voice of a Jester." He paused, gave a final look to the thick trees where Vengel had emerged, and muttered something unintelligible to himself. "Very well. You look as if you haven't eaten so well on your journey. And you are far off course. Lost in poetic reverie, were you?"
Vengel shrugged, his smile unchagrined. It had been known to happen, he said.
"Know that I am Captain Den Tabir, head of security for the esteemed Baron Donto of the new Bardeenian Union. We ride with all haste to a great celebration and momentous 'Cord-making at the very citadel you missed. You may join us, once young Kole here has determined that you are unarmed. Will you submit?"
Vengel positively beamed. Yes, he was very hungry, he said, and would be happy to repay safe passage on the road with whatever song and speech might please the Baron. He opened his stained, yellow overcoat with a flourish, revealing a bright blue tunic and brown breeches, which were indeed ill-fitting, yet unadorned by weapon or sign of wealth. Kole grinned at his superior, dismounted, and half-heartedly searched Vengel's many pockets and back-satchel. Then he paused with a frown. "Where is your instrument, Jester?"
The sing-song voice replied that it was damaged beyond repair in his struggle with the Godiian, and as was custom, had been buried as well.
Kole thumped Vengel's back soundly. "Bested a Godiian, did you? Not bad for a little poet!" He looked up at Den. "Nothing. He carries nothing."
Den waved the column forward. "He rides with you for now, Kole." He looked down on Vengel with a welcoming smile. "We will break for lunch shortly after noon. Can you last that long?" Vengel nodded. "Then, Jester, you may learn something of our hospitality. And we may learn something of your song. Come now!"
And so it was that Ris Vengel, poet of Cleppar Jest, found himself fed and unalone, at last on his way to the capital of Siguard. Villages and hamlets were passed, local dignitaries and well-wishers lining Derning Road to see the proud, new Bardeenians and their Baron on their way to forge peace instead of war. As night fell on their encampment on the second evening since he joined them, Vengel was pressed once again to explain how he had come to be wandering alone in the eastern wilds of Siguard, if the citadel had been his mark. Vengel smiled, set down his meat, rose gracefully, limped to the edge of the fire, and answered in long-awaited song:
Beauty might wither, should movement be naught
So into the wild, our poets are strewn
Seeking to capture the movement of thought
As into the wild, our poets are strewn
Beasts unbecoming and fairest are found
Not by the side of the hearth and the fire
Meads and deep forest the fairest abound
Not by the side of the hearth and the fire
Chasing our vision and seeking our fate
That we might somehow enrich our good people
Not then uncommon, the seeking come late
That we might somehow enrich our good people
To the dawn I did travel, the sun was my guide
To the East end of Siguard beyond my intent
Driven by dream that the sun was alive
At the East end of Siguard beyond my intent
Where the Godiian prowls still the poet may walk
Riven from path by the beauty he seeks
And should the twain meet, should the poet then balk
And be riven from path by the beauty he seeks
Struggle is bane to those who would avoid
Destruction is that which we wish would not be
My tears not a smile sent just who to the void
Destruction is that which we wish would not be
Sick from the tempest and ill from the storm
Destruction is that which we wish would not be
Might war not be taken from our ill-fitted forms
And seen to be something that never should be
And seen to be something that never should be
The song was delivered in a traditional Jesterian form of seven stanzas, without accompaniment. As Ris Vengel surveyed the wide eyes surrounding him in the firelight, he knew he had needed no accompaniment. Long after the last note had trailed to its end, one soldier--it was indeed young Kole--rose and began clapping. As one, the rest of the circle, save the good Baron, joined him. The guards, who had come forth from their posts at the edge of the camp to listen to the poet sing, set down their weapons with unknowing symbolism and joined the circle of applause. Vengel smiled the smile of an artist who has truly reached his audience, breaking through the veil of separation and achieving a true Moment, as it was referred to in Cleppar Jest.
Returning to his seat, he found Kole there to congratulate him with another one of his heavy thumps upon Vengel's back. Since their meeting, he had attempted to assert a kind of ownership, rather, responsibility for Vengel, as if it was Kole himself who had reached into the very trees and plucked down what he now referred to as "surely the finest troubadour in all of Sid."
Vengel replied that it was meager recompense for such good and generous company on the road. He would have to work long and hard to summon forth a song of fitting tribute to the goodwill and hospitality of this new Bardeenian Union. Before Kole could answer, a large shadow crossed the firelight, and a hand was extended to clasp Vengel's. Ris Vengel again rose from his seat.
"Amazing, simply amazing, my good Jester. Vengel, is it? We are indebted to such quality of company on our journey. On behalf of my men, I thank you." This was the first time Baron Donto had addressed Vengel in person. Before he could reply, the Baron continued. "I have observed a most unusual quality to your voice, my good poet. Even in simple conversation, your words are a delight to listen to, yet difficult to hear. Do you understand me? It's as if you are always singing, even when you are not. Meaning is given, yet the actual words elude. I find it fascinating."
Vengel inclined his head in deference, and thanked the Baron for his kind words. He replied that he had often experienced the same sensation when listening to the Master Poets perform for the High Visionary, back at the Courts of Valesa in his homeland. To be compared to such as these was the highest compliment his humble ears could ever hope to hear.
"Well, surely it is but a matter of time before your voice is counted among these Masters, Ris Vengel, if the opinion of a barbarian from the Far Coast has any merit. Good evening, sir." The Baron turned to leave when Kole put a hand on his shoulder.
"Sire, a thought. Would it not be grand, if Poet Vengel here were to compose a song for you, and for the new Bardeenian Union, to be performed in Siguard before their council? What better way to open such an historic meeting?" Kole's eyes were dancing with more than just reflected firelight.
The Baron paused, then turned full around. "What of this, poet? Were you willing, could such be done? Could you compose this tribute?"
Vengel did not, felt he could not, tell them of the audacity of their request. All Mander Poets, such as he had described himself, were forbidden to compose before-hand, charged as they were to go forth, find inspiration in the world about them, and perform without rehearsal. This was well known in Cleppar Jest, but perhaps less known so far away as Bardeen. He simply replied that he could, in sooth, perform so, however it would be best improvised, like the song he had given just now, in accord with Jesterian custom.
The Baron looked down. Then across at Kole, grinning in the firelight. Then finally at Vengel. "Very well. After this performance, your talents have won my trust--a victory not lightly gained. You will sing before the Siguardian Council, two days hence, and if you sing only half so remarkably as you just did, all will be honored to hear it." He thumped Vengel on the shoulder with a smile, and returned to his seat across the fire. Vengel felt too honored for words, nearly stunned at the Baron's confidence and trust.
Kole's smile and shoulder-thump mirrored his Baron's. "Good show, Ris, good show!"
For the remainder of the journey, with a poet's eyes, Vengel consumed every detail he could about the Bardeenians around him. The Baron was a proud man, who would favor his left hand in battle. He was concerned still about the instability of the new order he had brought to the many warring factions of Bardeen, fearing perhaps that some trouble might arise back home while he was away. But he hid his worries behind his pride, pride at achieving unity and peace among a people known across all of Sid for their lawlessness and warlike nature. He was on his way to sign a 'Cord of Peace with Siguard after countless years of raids, battles, and border disputes.
The Baron's pride spread like ripples in a forest pond to the men around him, some thirty in all. Most were soldiery of the common variety, clad in lustered brown armor which left only the neck, joints, and lower legs open to blade or arrow. Their helms were minimal, exposing their fresh confidence and bright eyes to the world. Kole was of this number, and like his Baron, would also favor his left hand in battle. Fewer were the Baron's Guard, such as Captain Den Tabir. Their brown armor was more thorough, leaving much less exposed to attack. Their very boots were clad in iron, up to the calf, and skirts of silver mail ran from waist to knee. These six were much more serious, much less celebratory in their cadence and demeanor. To Tabir's men, everything was serious business, particularly now, as the Baron rode exposed on the naked face of Eastern Siguard with naught but a score and ten soldiers between himself and any Godiian raiding party. Scouts rode far to the north and south of the main road, reporting often to Tabir. Only as the party neared Siguard City itself, only as villages, homes, and fields on either side of the road came more frequently, only then did the Baron's Guard noticeably relax.
Vengel learned much of Bardeen, its history and nature, but as they neared the citadel, ever did his questions return to Siguard itself. Of what valor and behavior were its warriors, recent enemies as they were of the Bardeenians? They were described as being a staunch breed, well-disciplined and well-armed. Tabir himself told Vengel of a battle where the Siguardian chief general's personal cadre had been pinned down in a gully by several archers, when a single, lone warrior braved an impossible hail of arrows, uphill, to single-handedly dispatch their archers and allow a hasty retreat before the Bardeenian infantry could close on them.
And everywhere he turned, Vengel heard tale and wonder at a man who eschewed armor, the Flaming Blade of Siguard, Garth Vencher. He was said to command the field with an immediacy unmatched by any general, always charging headlong to where the battle raged most fiercely, and always turning the tide in Siguard's favor. A handful of these proud Bardeenians confessed with averted eyes to quitting the field, on but a sign from this great warrior. Surely, wondered Vengel, some archer or armored soldier could strike down a man without armor, nevermind his prowess, from some safe distance? "So you might think, little poet," responded one soldier. "So any might think, who had not faced him. His intensity on the field burns like the very heat of the Krysli."
At the mention of Krysli, Vengel's own eyes would widen. What of the Krysli? Had any of these men ever seen one? Faced them in battle? Witnessed their fiery flight? How many were their number, and what tale, if any could be told?
It was Den Tabir himself who gave him answer. "The Krysli appear to serve chiefly on the northern marches of the Five Nations, as defense against Godii. Only once, to my knowledge, did Bardeenian forces encounter them." He paused and rubbed his bearded chin. Facial hair was clearly customary with this lot. "Five winters past, after a long and vicious battle over the disputed border lands between us, a Bardeenian colonel named Lon Jaber managed to rout the Siguardians from the field. Instead of returning to Bardeen with his mandate achieved, he purposed to follow the Siguardians and vanquish them to the last soldier." Tabir lowered his eyes. "A few of us, under then-colonel Donto's command, warned him against such boldness, but he was consumed by battle lust, and would not be gainsaid." Now he raised his gaze, summoning forth a vision from memory. "At his command, several selvats, nigh on half a ballion, lept forth in pursuit deep into Siguardian territory. We watched with no small concern as they vanished into the western horizon and the blood-red setting sun. Shortly after nightfall, it appeared as though a pair of stars descended from the very heavens upon the horizon. Great bolts of lightning and fire rent the fabric of the air, and the sound, long in arriving, was terrible, shaking the earth upon which we stood. Over five hundred soldiers, and not a one ever returned."
Elsewhere, much was said that Vengel had already learned in his travels. The Krysli served only to defend, never to attack. They were beautiful beyond compare, or so the rumor went, and all of Sid should be grateful for their restraint, and Siguard's policy of non-aggression. Beset only recently on three sides, by Godii in the north, Bardeen in the east, and Demons in the south, they fought valiantly, yet only to preserve their own. Never to dominate another nation's will. At the signing of the 'Cord of the Five Nations, it was agreed that the newly born Krysli would be stationed at strategic points along the northern marches, to dissuade Godiian raiders and incursions into any of the five nations. Since then, active hostility from Godii had virtually ceased. It only took a few demonstrations of the Krysli's unmatchable power to defend--utterly--their homeland, to convince General Graeme that open war upon Siguard and its neighbors was unthinkable. Now of course, Godii instead sent raiding parties under cover, attempting to pierce the Krysli's shield of protection and discover what they might about Siguard's inner defenses and preparedness. It was thought that they passed east of Dulma Sea, by way of The Torn Lands, where habitation and defenses were few, slipping between Siguardian patrols to prowl Eastern Siguard. As Tabir put it, one condition of the new 'Cord the Baron traveled now to sign was that the Bardeenians would assist in patrolling The Torn Lands and the northeastern Siguardian border in an attempt to prevent any such further raids.
As to the Krysli and their number, none could guess. Kole surmised that there could not be that many of them, else they would have been deployed against his countrymen in the east, and the Demons in the south. To his knowledge, neither had transpired.
Do they report to Siguard's General Enderin, to the Council, to the very Triad? Nobody knew. There was some rumor of a Magician who had granted them their amazing powers, but none could speak to his name or role in the defense of Siguard, save that he had been, upon a time, referred to as "The Savior of Siguard", and seemed to operate independently of the other Magicians of Ernesse.
With each such interview, Vengel would sigh and reveal that he only longed to see a Krysli in flight, recording the beauty of the event for the posterity of his masters in Cleppar Jest. Upon hearing this, Baron Donto smiled broadly. And of course, thumped the poet's back soundly. "Then you could have scarcely fared better than stumbling across our path, my lost poet. At the upcoming celebrations in their Citadel, I am told the Krysli will be putting on a show, of sorts. 'Tis the anniversary, the tenth I believe, of the first flight of a Krysli. Many will be present, it is said, and I think you may just see enough Krysli in flight to keep you happy and sated for a lifetime. It is said there is no more beautiful sight in all of Sid... unless, of course, you are a Godiian."
Vengel smiled appreciatively. The yellow leaves of the passing falina trees were giving way to the more solid green of the bancher once again, even as the forest thinned and began to disappear. He could easily imagine the beauty and destructive capacity of a Krysli striking down a selvat or more of enemy soldiers. It seemed they were untouchable and unknowable, yet he yearned to somehow touch or know one, if he may. The prospect consumed him, and he slipped into his own distant reverie as the party neared its destination.
And without warning, of a sudden, there it was. The bronzed, three-spired citadel of Siguard. One moment, there was naught on the horizon, the next, there sat Siguard City, as if it had always sat just so on the horizon. A murmur of muffled, tired yet happy conversation spread through the Bardeenian ranks, but Vengel had to shake his head and look again, not trusting his normally sharp eyes. How does a city of that apparent size simply appear without preamble? It should have started as a dot, grown to perhaps a three-towered blotch, and then, maybe appear as it did now, still two leagues or more distant.
Was this the work of the Magicians of Ernesse, guests to the people of Siguard, or were his eyes tired from his long journey? He could not say. From the height of their shared steed, Kole's back smiled and asked, "Ah, the citadel at last. Does it not warm the heart, Ris?" Perhaps. Moreso just now, it mystified Vengel's mind. He thumped Kole's back in the Bardeenian expression of goodwill, and answered that it certainly did fill one's eyes with wonder.
As they rounded a bend in the road, Vengel observed that the packed dirt gave way to flagged brown stones. The soft multiple thumps of the hooved steeds were replaced by a multitude of sharp clacks, and a guardhouse of polished stone appeared before them, sprawling across the road. The gateway was open, and polished armor gleamed a dull red from the figures, four, no five, standing upon the battlements overlooking the road. A cry went up, and with a thunderous clacking of their own, the Siguardians rode out to meet their guests.
Indoors, perhaps, their bright armor would shine of silver, but under the heavy, ruddy late-morning sun brooding high overhead, they appeared to be covered in blood. There were twenty two mounted soldiers, and greetings were made, and Captain Tabir was informed that this would be their escort to the citadel. The Siguardians split their number, and took positions respectfully to each side and slightly behind the head of the Bardeenian column. Craning his head around, Vengel saw four take up a position on the road some half a stone behind the trailing supply wagon. Turning to his right, he took stock of the Baron's former adversaries riding in upright silence beside him. Their steeds were larger than those of the Bardeenians, though somewhat smaller than the massive steeds of Godii. The armor of this particular honor escort was plated with tempered steel, polished to crimson-lit perfection, nigh from head to toe. Very few weak points where an enemy could pierce and do harm. If their brethren on the Bardeenian border had been half so well armed, Vengel could easily imagine why the Bardeenians had been forced to settle for peace. He had no doubt this score and two of Siguardians would have little problem dispatching of the Bardeenian party, should they have a mind, even though the Bardeenians totalled nigh half again their number. He briefly mused as to just how sound this impending 'Cord of Peace might be. Did the size and armory of their escort reveal a certain, lingering mistrust between old foes, or was this the measured display of honor and protection it claimed to be, as they rode into the city?
Vengel hinted as much when he asked Kole if this escort seemed, well, somewhat excessive. Kole looked at the gleaming Siguardians on either side of the road, half craned his head back towards Vengel and simply shrugged. "We are honored."
A thought occurred to Vengel then, and he asked Kole if they might sidle up next to the nearest Siguardian at their right, a tall, dark-skinned man who seemed to be looking at something far away that wasn't quite the citadel. Kole's wide back smiled at him and he spurred his steed off the road. The Siguardian watched them draw close and greeted them.
"Well met, brothers. And this, a Jester?" His smile was genuine, his features strong and sure. "Come to sing me a song, perhaps?" Vengel was surprised to see that their was no visible insignia or decoration on the man's helm, unlike the Bardeenians, whose armor displayed a symbol of crossed swords. Vengel replied that such was not his intention, but that he was confused, trying as he was to understand the ways and division of the Siguardian military. Where were the legendary Greenbacks, and of what distinction was this fine company which escorted their party with such dignity and grace?
At the word Greenback, the soldier's smile faded somewhat. "By Greenback, I suppose you mean the Foresters. If they truly be legend in your land, we are then pleased. They are trained in all manner of woodcraft and stealth, expected to survive and give battle, when necessary, under the canopy of even the deepest forests. As for myself," and the smile regained its warmth with no small hint of pride, "I am Dol Sender, of the Honor Guard of Siguard. The Honor Guard are those who have trained and been deemed worthy in all the divisions and skills of our forces. We have ridden with the Cavalry, we have run the deep woods as Foresters, we have marched the long leagues in the Infantry, and retain all these skills and more in the utter defense of our land, honored to serve under our esteemed General Enderin herself, greatest soldier in the land. In fact," he looked quickly from side to side and leaned close, as one about to share a secret, "perhaps the greatest soldier since the High General Ish himself." He straightened back up in his seat. "Of him, you surely know."
Kole laughed. "Everyone in Sid knows of Ish, friend Sender. I am named Dire Kole. My curious companion is a renowned poet and troubador of Cleppar Jest, Ris Vengel." Vengel instantly demurred, muttering softly that he was hardly a man of any renown just yet, but smiled gratefully at the compliment. Kole continued, "You know, he actually bested a Godiian prowler in your woods, south of Bemer. We met him, halt of foot from the struggle and bereft of his instrument, on the side of Derning Road. May this union between your land and my own soon put a stop to these base incursions, that gifted poets like my friend here might wander as their thought and inspiration beckons, free from threat of hurt."
Sender gave the poet a sharp, new look. His smile was now askance. "A lone prowler, and you did him in without aid, little poet? Yet, the Godiians hardly prowl alone. Neither have we had any report of raiding parties near Bemer for many moons now." He paused and returned his gaze to its invisible, distant focal point again. "Well, there was rumor, but that was nigh three moons past." He turned to Kole. "I thank you for this information. I'll be sure to report it to my captain. As for you, Ris Vengel, Jester of some renown," he laughed now, and Vengel found it to be a full and warm expression, "Well done!"
So the conversation appeared to be over, yet Vengel could not help himself. He asked the Siguardian about his comments regarding the prowess and skill of his esteemed general. Yet what of this Man Without Armor, the great Garth Vencher, held in high esteem by his former adversaries riding in this very company?
Sender leaned close again. "He has yet to come to the full measure of his prowess and wisdom. His courage and skill are beyond question. Yet he has much to learn." He straightened, smiled, and spurred his steed forward. As he pulled away, Vengel heard him speak softly, as if for his own ears only. "He is a brash, lucky fool."
Soon the road widened to some four spans of polished stone, and before them, again without warning as if it had snuck upon the riders, stood the Citadel of Siguard, in all of its bronzed, ruddy glory. The outer walls were well battlemented, with various defenses mounted atop and within that would give all enemies a hard way to go. Narrow slits for archers ran in double rows, high above the great entrance. Great salista, the giant, mounted crossbows, dotted the battlements, and weapons that defied a poet's description lurked in the shadowed windows of the evenly spaced parapets. Though the great red-brown wall yawned high in their sight, yet still beyond the battlements could be descried the Three Towers. The most distant, to the northwest, was surely the tower overlooking the north gate, where the threat of seige was most clearly perceived. Nearer and almost straight ahead gleamed a tall spire, wide at the base and narrow at its peak, that must house the Lords of Siguard, the Triad. Nearest and southwest of Vengel was the least of the towers, and he could not guess its purpose, removed from the outer wall as it appeared. Through the vast gate, their column would have no problem riding eight abreast, should they choose. The polished stone continued into what appeared to be a large courtyard, with a lesser gate waiting in the inner wall straight ahead, mirroring its larger counterpart here before them. This gate was closed, but through the latticed black iron, Vengel managed to glimpse a rush of brightly-dressed figures, some walking briskly, others, with children being the chief part of their number, running with all haste--all headed northward.
Suddenly a great shout went out among the soldiers all around him. Bardeenian and Siguardian alike raising a cry of wonder, as far off and high above even the tallest spire of the Triad, seven, eight, no, ten gleaming lights soared and swooped in an intricate dance of brightest argent, alight clear and wondrous even in the full red of the noontime sun.
The Siguardians cheered and clapped their gauntleted hands with great, heavy thunks. The Bardeenians to a man simply craned their necks ever higher, now stricken with mute, slack-jawed wonder. And Ris Vengel, all thoughts of poetry and song now driven from his mind, gazed without word or conscious thought himself, as one who had never before seen the flight of the Krysli.
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