The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood (19 page)

Across the courtyard, he walked up the steps and tried to clear the thoughts of the dead from his mind. The racial memory of the Dokkalfar extended beyond death and he could never truly lose the companionship of his fallen people. If he concentrated, Nanon could feel the thoughts, dreams and fears of every Dokkalfar and, the older he grew, the more beautiful the gift became. Most of his people tried to shut out the thoughts of others, but Nanon was old and valued the insight it gave him. Unfortunately, it was difficult to explain to Bromvy, and Nanon had resigned himself simply to saying
trust me
whenever he had revealed an impossible insight.

He walked quickly into the great hall. The outer doors were not guarded. Nanon knew armed men were in short supply and that few Dokkalfar had accepted the concept of guards. The hall was cavernous and empty during the hours of darkness and, despite the warm red and green colouring and the low-burning fire pits, he found the vast space unnerving. The floor was of large flagstones, making this one of the least natural spaces within Canarn and a symbol of the craft of men. Even the woven banners and ceremonial weaponry sent a slight shiver up the forest-dweller’s spine, as he crossed to a small wooden door behind the raised dais.

The corridors of the inner keep were dark, even in daytime, with few external windows. The stone walls held braziers at regular intervals, and Nanon ghosted from shadow to shadow as he made his way along empty hallways. He had already found the strange network of secret passages and covert balconies that honeycombed the keep, and had begun to train some of his fellows in how to move swiftly through Canarn without being detected. If the Dokkalfar were to assist in defending this place, and to think of it as their home, they needed to know all they could about Bromvy’s keep. The young lord had not objected and had indeed relished the opportunity to venture back into the secret tunnels. The forest-dweller had sensed in Bromvy a nostalgic love for the secrets of Canarn, which reminded the young lord of happier times with his father and sister.

Two levels above the great hall, Nanon turned a sharp corner and approached the guard sitting wearily in front of a set of large wooden doors. The man was portly and red-faced, struggling to keep his eyes open. Nanon pursed his lips in place of a smile.

‘Hello,’ said the Dokkalfar in a loud and friendly voice.

‘What... no... yes, I’m awake.’ The man spluttered and blinked rapidly, looking in Nanon’s direction. ‘Oh, it’s you, my lord. Sorry, it’s been a long night.’

‘No need to apologize,’ responded the forest-dweller, before extending his hand and attempting another smile.

The guard raised his eyebrows, but hesitantly took his hand. ‘Still shaking every hand you can get hold of, my lord?’ he asked with humour.

The guard was called Auker and, as one of the few guardsmen to survive the assault, he had taken it upon himself to protect Bromvy at all costs. Nanon suspected a touch of guilt motivated the old soldier because he had been living on an outlying farm when the Red knights had attacked.

‘You’re not the first to ask me that, Auker,’ replied Nanon cheerfully. ‘But I choose to continue anyway.’

The soldier yawned loudly and looked around for a near-empty wineskin. ‘Is it dawn yet?’ he asked, taking a shallow swig.

‘Nope,’ replied Nanon. ‘’Tis still the dead of night.’

Auker rubbed his eyes. ‘You really need to learn the human concept of night and day, my lord. I think your people have very different sleep patterns to mine.’

Nanon pouted, attempting to convey an apology for having got something wrong. He succeeded only in looking foolish and caused Auker to laugh.

‘Was that a smile, my lord?’ he asked.

‘No, I was trying to say sorry... did I not quite manage it?’ Nanon replied.

‘Well, you look a bit like a guilty child, so... no, not really, no.’ The old soldier was worldlier than many of his fellows and Nanon found himself liking him.

‘I’ll work on it,’ the Dokkalfar replied with conviction. ‘I wanted to speak to Lord Bromvy. Is he awake?’

Auker smiled again. ‘I doubt it. He’s in there with the Lady Hannah. They were certainly both
awake
a few hours ago, but I’d say they are having a well-deserved rest now.’

Nanon wasn’t sure what Auker was insinuating. ‘They’ve been spending a lot of time together recently. Are they good friends or are they mating?’

Auker spat out a mouthful of wine. ‘Hannah is one of the few nobles left in the duchy, my lord. Her father owns three farms to the east and Lord Bromvy made a promise of marriage to him. Luckily for him she’s quite an attractive young thing.’

The complex politics of the Ro was a complete mystery to Nanon and he screwed up his face, attempting to fathom the need to marry to secure alliances. Among the Dokkalfar you knew to whom you would be mated from a young age and, when the time came, you were bound together for life. Sex played very little part in a Dokkalfar union and, once a child was born, the match tended to be more ceremonial than loving. Nanon himself had one child and had not seen his mate for at least a hundred years. In fact, as he stood outside Bromvy’s rooms, he confessed to himself that he did not know whether she was alive or dead, and even her name temporarily escaped him.

He looked up, mimicking the human expression of deep thought, before blurting out, ‘Jasn. Her name was Shar Jasn.’

‘What?’ queried Auker.

‘Sorry, I’d forgotten the name of my mate,’ Nanon replied, with a tilt of his head.

‘You’re strange, my pointy-eared friend,’ the Ro said, ‘but I find myself liking you all the same.’ He smiled warmly. ‘Go on, wake him up. Just don’t expect a smile.’ He pointed over his shoulder to the large wooden doors. ‘He’s always moody these days, so a few hours’ less sleep won’t make much difference.’

Nanon nodded. ‘You and I will be good friends, Sergeant Auker.’

He stepped past the guardsman and pounded loudly on the oak door.

‘Of course, the more rudely you wake him up, the moodier he’ll be,’ said Auker with another chuckle.

A loud grunt sounded from within Bromvy’s room. It was guttural and filtered through several layers of tiredness. Nanon pressed his ear against the door and listened. More grunts followed, mostly male, with a barely audible female accompaniment.

Nanon knocked again, quieter this time. ‘Brom,’ he whispered through the door.

‘If that’s you, Nanon, I’m gonna throw you off the battlements,’ was the response from within. ‘Go and sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.’

Nanon tilted his head and wondered why he was required to sleep during the night if he wanted to talk to his friend. Dokkalfar required little sleep and tended simply to rest for an hour or two when tired. Nanon regularly went for days without closing his eyes.

He knocked again. ‘Brom,’ he repeated, ‘it’s Nanon.’

A roar of frustration carried through the door and echoed down the silent halls of Canarn. ‘I know it’s you, Nanon, you grey-skinned bastard. Leave me alone.’

The Dokkalfar smiled at Auker. ‘I’ll just go in.’ He turned the door handle to the sound of muffled laughter from the guardsman. ‘Brom,’ Nanon whispered. ‘Can I come in?’

‘NO!’ shouted the young lord of Canarn.

Nanon pushed the door open and entered the dark room beyond. Thinking it likely that his friend was teasing him in some way, the forest-dweller ignored the muffled cries of alarm from within and closed the door behind him. The light in Bromvy’s chamber was minimal, a sliver of moonlight coming through the single window, but Nanon could see perfectly in the darkness.

Lord Bromvy Black Guard of Canarn was sitting up in his large bed, half-covered with a fur blanket and rubbing his eyes. Next to him, face-down and grumbling to herself, was Lady Hannah of the Eastern Marches. She was a tall and slender woman, with dark red hair and freckled skin. Their room was large and comfortable, decorated in dark wood with a bear-skin rug in the centre. Bromvy’s sword hung above an empty fireplace. The room had the distinctive smell of sweat and bodily fluids, indicating to Nanon’s sensitive nose that the young lord had been engaging in coitus in the recent past.

‘Hello,’ the Dokkalfar said cheerfully as he crossed to a chair by the window.

‘In the name of any god you care to mention, if you wake me up once more, I’m going to cut off your pointy-fucking-ears,’ said Bromvy blearily.

‘What... what’s happening?’ mumbled Hannah, barely looking up.

Bromvy ran a gentle hand down the woman’s back and tenderly kissed her shoulder. ‘We’re under attack from a particularly persistent foe, my dear,’ he said quietly. ‘Go back to sleep while I go and defend you from him.’

Bromvy rose up reluctantly from his bed and reached for a woollen tunic, leather trousers and thick fur cloak. ‘Cold, cold, cold,’ he muttered, covering himself up. ‘Do you not feel the temperature?’

‘Not the cold, no. I don’t like too much heat, though,’ replied the forest-dweller, taking a seat and making himself comfortable.

‘What are you doing?’ the young man of Canarn asked. ‘Get up, we’re not staying in here.’

‘Okay.’ Nanon was still being cheerful, though he suspected his demeanour was aggravating Brom. The young lord frequently wrestled with the need to appear dour and miserable. Or maybe he actually
was
dour and miserable, Nanon wasn’t sure.

‘Hannah,’ whispered Brom, once he was dressed in his cloak, ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

She made a contented, sleepy sound and wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘Just don’t wake me up when you do,’ she said, with a tired kiss.

‘Bye, Hannah,’ said Nanon enthusiastically.

Brom pulled on his leather boots, instantly feeling better without cold feet. He opened his chamber door and glared at Sergeant Auker, who spread his arms wide with a helpless look on his face.

‘He does what he wants, my lord,’ said Auker. ‘Do you want me physically to stop him next time?’

‘I thought we were friends,’ replied Nanon, surprised that Auker would suggest such a thing.

‘He’s joking, Nanon. Humour, remember. What did you call it... the last real war between us?’ Brom had tried to foster integration as best he could, but, like Nanon, he still felt the differences keenly. ‘No, sergeant,’ he said to Auker, ‘just suggest that he come back in the morning.’

‘My lord,’ replied the sergeant with a nod and a smile.

Bromvy returned the smile, further confusing the forest-dweller, before walking down the passageway towards one of the outer towers of the keep. Bromvy liked to be outside, watching the slowly rolling ocean of Canarn, while they sat talking.

Opening the door by its heavy metal handle, they were hit with a heavy waft of cold sea air. They were high up on a balcony, looking out over the rocky cliffs below. The wind was blustery and even Nanon felt a little uncomfortable. Bromvy walked down a set of stone steps that snaked their way round the outside of the tower. Nanon followed and they gained the cover of the balcony below. There were several chairs on the stone terrace and a brazier was kept alight by the household guards.

‘It’s not too cold if you sit right next to the fire,’ said Bromvy, plonking himself on a wooden chair and huddling close to the brazier.

‘Why don’t we just sit inside,’ asked Nanon, ‘if the cold bothers you so much?’

Bromvy rubbed his hands together in front of the fire and smiled, letting his expression soften. He was still a young man and, despite the full beard and thick, curly black hair, the Ro noble remained capable of displaying boyish charm. ‘Because, if we sat inside, I’d fall asleep listening to you,’ he said through the smile. ‘My father used to say that the cold winds of Canarn were a man’s greatest advantage when listening to dull counsel... I think he meant idiot diplomats from Ro Tiris, but the same applies to you, my friend.’

Nanon tried to frown, to show that he wasn’t sure whether or not he should feel hurt. ‘I’m not dull, am I?’ he asked.

‘Not at all. You’re just shit at time-keeping.’

The forest-dweller took a seat opposite Brom. ‘I do actually need to talk to you, you know. I didn’t wake you up for the inherent humour.’

Brom gave him a sideways glance and leant back from the fire. ‘Why do you insist on pretending that you don’t understand the humour of men?’

‘I’m getting better, but it pleases your people and mine if I seem a bit dim-witted. My people prefer me to be more like them, and your people don’t like me to be too human.’

‘Okay, but between you and me, let us not play games, my friend,’ said Brom sincerely. ‘What was so urgent?’

‘It’s the Shadow,’ said the forest-dweller. ‘He may need my help.’

‘The Shadow? You mean Utha the Ghost, the Black cleric that did this?’ Brom tapped his broken nose and frowned. ‘Where is he?’

‘I’m not exactly sure. Somewhere south of Tiris. The Dokkalfar with him is young and a bit difficult for me to read at this distance.’ Nanon was not even sure of the young forest-dweller’s name, only that he was deeply afraid of Utha the Shadow even while trying his best to guide the old-blood towards the Fell.

‘Young?’ replied Brom, still smiling. ‘You’ve still not told me how old you are.’

‘Older than the Dokkalfar with Utha and the squire,’ was Nanon’s simple reply. ‘I need to leave.’

‘Why?’ queried the young lord. ‘Utha’s a Black cleric, which means he can look after himself. It took Rham Jas to put him down.’

‘He needs to reach the Fell and I’m not sure the two youngsters with him are enough. I don’t know if
I
’ll be enough, but he’s important.’ Nanon was no longer trying to smile. ‘He’s the last old-blood, Brom, the last man with the blood of Giants.’

‘Okay. I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand... but, okay. A Black cleric of the One God has the blood of the Shadow Giants.’

Nanon baulked at the term and involuntarily tilted his head to show his displeasure. ‘Don’t call them that. We call them
those we loved
.’

Brom was deep in thought but still had his eyes locked on the Dokkalfar. ‘I swore I’d help you in any way I could. So, I ask you, my friend, how can I help?’