War of the Crown

2. The Clans

TWO

The Clans

SUMMER 965 MC

Lochlan gazed around the room. The chieftains of the Twelve Clans sat at the table, all except for his father, Dathen. Instead, his seat was occupied by Brida, the next in line according to Clan tradition.

Dathen had been proclaimed High King over five years ago, but with him rotting away in a Weldwyn dungeon, the Clans had slipped back into their constant state of bickering. Lochlan wondered if the Clans could ever be truly united. It had been a dream, of course, and for generations, tales were told about how one ruler would bring them all together. Everyone thought Dathen was the one to lead them, but then disaster had struck, and with his defeat came imprisonment.

In the wake of that defeat, Weldwyn had dictated the terms: never again would an army of the Clans assemble within one hundred miles of the border. And so they fell amongst themselves, eager to advance their own causes at the expense of their fellow Clansmen.

It had always been thus, and Lochlan, despite his seventeen years of age, knew nothing could change that. The Clans were, quite literally, their own worst enemy.

The conversations died down as Brida stood. "It's been four years since we were defeated at the hands of Weldwyn." Everybody grumbled, but Lochlan detected no true passion.

"In that time," his sister continued, "we have fallen to fighting amongst ourselves once more. As High Queen, I cannot let this continue."

"What gives you the right to call yourself High Queen?" called out Warnoch. "Your father was given that title, not you."

"And I sit in his name, or did you forget he still lives?"

"Does he?" yelled Rurik. "We have no proof of that. For all we know, he died in the dungeons of Summersgate."

"He speaks the truth," added Warnoch. "The Clan chiefs cannot sit around pining for the days of glory. Instead, we must get on with our lives."

"By warring amongst ourselves?" Brida's voice was high now, a sure sign she was frustrated. "We need to learn to live together in peace."

"Fine by me," said Warnoch. "Just tell Rurik and his people to stay off our lands."

"Those are not your lands," warned Rurik. "They've belonged to us for generations!"

The room erupted into arguments, and Lochlan closed his eyes, trying to will it away. He wished his father were here, for he knew how to control the Clan chiefs. Brida, on the other hand, had no such skill. Her relatively young age also added to the problem, for the Clan chiefs were, by and large, an aged group.

He decided he'd had enough. Being only an observer, no one would likely note his absence, so he left the room, letting the raised voices fall into the background as he made his way out of the great hall.

The fresh air brought a welcome respite from the cloying interior of the building. Lochlan looked around, seeing villagers at work, oblivious to the arguments that raged only a few dozen paces away. Part of him wished he were a commoner, for, in his mind, the simple life of a farmer had a certain appeal.

So entranced was he by his musings that he almost missed the arrival of a stranger. Whoever it was was tall and lithe, wearing a hooded cloak that hid their features, but there was no denying the bearing with which they carried themselves. This person was clearly born to a noble house.

"Greetings," said Lochlan, "and welcome to Dungannon."

The stranger bowed, answering in a husky voice, "Thank you. I come seeking Brida of the Twelve Clans. Is she here?"

"My sister? Yes, she is within the hall, but I'm afraid she's occupied. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Sister, you say? How curious. I would deem it a great honour if you would introduce me. My name is Lysandil, and I travelled a long distance to speak with her."

"As I said, she's rather busy at the moment. The Clan chiefs have gathered."

"All the more reason to hasten my introduction."

"Where did you say you were from?"

"I didn't, but it matters little. They will all want to hear what I have to say."

Lochlan shook his head. "I'll take you in, but I warn you, they're just as likely to tear your head off as listen to you."

"I am more than willing to take that chance."

"Fine. Follow me, Lord Lysandil, and I'll announce you to the gathering."

Lochlan re-entered the great hall, his guest in tow, pushing his way past the onlookers. The Clan chiefs sat arrayed around a great 'U' shaped table, and he led the visitor into the middle of this arrangement, halting before the head of the gathering.

The room slowly quieted as, one by one, the chiefs took notice of their new visitor. For his part, the newcomer waited until all eyes were on him before speaking.

"Greetings, noble lords," he said. "My name is Lysandil, and I bring salutations from Queen Kythelia." He threw back his hood, revealing the pointed ears of an Elf.

Everyone stared back, dumbstruck. They'd all heard of Elves before, but the presence of one here, in Dungannon, was unfathomable. The silence stretched out for what felt like an eternity until Brida broke the spell.

"Greetings, Lord Lysandil. You say you represent Queen Kythelia, yet that name is not known to us. What land does she rule?"

"A kingdom of Elves," he replied. "One that lies far beyond your borders. We Elves call it Estlaneth, but in your tongue, the closest translation would be the Kingdom of Moonlight."

"You honour us with your visit, Lord, but if your land is as far away as you say, why would you grace us with your presence?"

Lysandil smiled. "Let's just say we share a mutual interest."

"Which is?" pressed Brida.

"The destruction of Weldwyn."

"Where was your queen when we marched on the walls of Summersgate four years ago?"

"I regret we were unable to assist in your endeavours at that time."

"And what makes you believe we'll accept your help now?"

"Because this time," Lysandil said, "I bring allies more powerful than you can imagine."

"Allies?" sneered Warnoch. "What kind of allies? Not more of those useless Kurathian mercenaries, I hope?"

"Mercenaries? No, I offer you the army of Prince Tarak himself, possibly the most powerful of all the Kurathians."

"What nonsense is this?" said Rurik. "The islands are months away at best. Why, it would be years before such an army could be assembled."

"I'm afraid you misunderstand my meaning," said Lysandil. "Prince Tarak and his army are already on the way. I'm giving you the chance to join him in subjugating your old nemesis."

"How would this be any different from last time?" asked Brida.

Lysandil looked around the room, a smile creeping into place. "Did you not hear the news? Leofric is dead, and with him, a large portion of the Weldwyn army."

"We heard nothing."

"The army of my queen defeated him some weeks ago. There are no survivors."

"An easy thing to claim," said Warnoch. "Have you any proof? This could be some sort of trick to lure us to the slaughter."

The Elf reached into his tunic, pulling forth a ring, which he tossed onto the table. Brida immediately snatched it up, examining it closely while all eyes were on her.

"It's the Royal Seal of Weldwyn!" she proclaimed.

"Then it's true," said Rurik. "Leofric is dead. This calls for a celebration!"

"This is not the moment for such frivolity," said Lysandil. "Rather, it is the time for action."

"What would you have us do?"

"Invade Weldwyn, alongside the army of Prince Tarak."

"What's in it for you?" asked Lochlan.

"My queen seeks only peace with the Twelve Clans after the war. Is that so much to ask?"

Brida wasn't exactly convinced. "How do we know this isn't some sort of elaborate ruse?"

"Come with me to Windbourne and see the fleet for yourself. It should be here by the end of the month."

"And if it isn't?"

"Then you did nothing save waste a little time, unless, of course, you have more pressing issues to deal with?" He looked around at each chieftain in turn, but none would meet his gaze, save for Brida.

"What say you?" he pressed.

"I will go to Windbourne," she declared, "but if I find you lied to us, it will mean your head."

He bowed. "So be it. I accept your declaration. In the meantime, I take my leave of you, such that you may discuss the matter amongst yourselves."

Lysandil turned, leaving the great hall without further word. Everybody quietly watched him go, then exploded into excited chatter. Lochlan made his way out, once more seeking peace and quiet.

He didn't see Brida again until that evening when she entered the house with little fanfare and sat by the hearth, taking a cup of mead from one of the servants.

"Well?" said Lochlan. "What did everyone decide?"

"They're going to hold off on making a decision until I've been to Windbourne. Upon my return, if I confirm the existence of this fleet he spoke of, the other chieftains will join in the attack."

"And if not?"

"Then the Elf dies, and that puts an end to it, but I doubt it'll come to that."

"What makes you so sure?"

She took a sip of her drink. "Why come all this way if it were a ruse?" she said. "Clearly, this Kurathian prince is on his way, but we need a better idea of his numbers."

"Could he be planning to invade us?"

"I thought of that already," said Brida, "but I believe it unlikely. Our lands are considerably poorer than theirs. Why go to such lengths to trick us when the fertile fields of Weldwyn are so tantalizingly close?"

"But didn't the Kurathians try to take Riversend a few years ago?"

"They did, but the attack was ill-conceived. It's said the Mercerians helped defeat it."

"Mercerians?"

"Yes, the kingdom that lies to the east of Weldwyn.

"Oh yes," said Lochlan. "Their princess managed to manoeuvre Prince Alric into a marriage, didn't she?" He watched his sister scowl. "Wasn't that the prince who YOU were supposed to marry?"

"And I would have if that Mercerian hadn't come between us."

"I suppose it just goes to prove not everything goes your way, Sister."

Brida wheeled on him. "Don't talk to me of things you don't understand!"

Lochlan knew his sister's temper well, but this time there was something else. "You still love him, don't you?"

"Don't be ridiculous. That was purely a political move, and we needed the marriage to cement an alliance."

"I think it's more than that. I see the way you look at the men of the Clans, Brida. It's clear you want more. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Then why are you lecturing me?"

"Because I fear your l**t for power will steer you down a dark path."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your ambition makes you blind, Sister. We know nothing of this visitor, Lysandil, other than what he's told us. Have you stopped to consider his motives?"

"He comes at the bequest of his queen."

"A queen we have never heard of. He talks of this land called Estlaneth, but we have only his word it even exists or his queen, for that matter."

"We'll know the truth of that when we get to Windbourne."

"Will we though?" he asked. "I have my doubts."

"We've always been open with each other, Lochlan. Speak your mind and share your fears."

He paused, gathering his thoughts. "I don't doubt a fleet will arrive at Windbourne, and I believe this Lysandil when he says he wants us to conquer Weldwyn."

"Then what is it you distrust?"

"It's what comes next that worries me. It'll take most of our resources to garrison the cities of Weldwyn, leaving our own towns undefended. Who's to say the Elves of Estlaneth won't turn around and take over both our lands?"

"They would need a powerful army to do so."

"What about the army of a Kurathian prince? That's the other thing that bothers me. The Kurathian Isles are thousands of miles away; why would one of them be interested in Weldwyn?"

"We cannot begin to understand the mind of a foreigner," said Brida.

"You say that only because you wish Lysandil's offer to be genuine."

"And what if I do? Don't you want to see Father released from his imprisonment?"

"Of course, but I won't sell the soul of our people to do it."

"You are young and inexperienced in the ways of the world," said Brida. "So I'll forgive you for your lack of trust, but opportunities like this only happen once in a lifetime."

"I agree with you in principle, but whose opportunity is it? Ours or the Elves? I can't help but feel someone else is pulling the threads that control our lives."

Brida frowned. "You're overthinking things. You should trust more in your fellow man."

"Ah, but you forget, Lysandil is no man—he's an Elf."

"Close enough."

"Is it?" he said. "What do we know of the woodland race? Very little, if the truth be told. There are none of them on Clan lands, and the few stories we do have are little more than bedtime tales."

"The same could be said of Dwarves or Orcs, for that matter."

"Not quite," said Lochlan. "We drove the Orcs deep into the mountains less than two generations ago, and as for Dwarves, well, we still see traders from time to time, peddling their wares."

"Ah, I concede your point, but how would we go about learning more of the woodland race?"

"There's a scholar in Glanfraydon who might be able to help us, a man by the name of Camrath."

Brida shook her head. "You and your books. Sometimes I think all you do is pore over old manuscripts. There's a whole world out there, Lochlan. You should get away from those musty tomes and experience life."

"Still, if it helps us, it's worth investigating. In the end, it's on the way to Windbourne."

"I can't afford the delay."

"True," he said, "but I can."

"What are you proposing, Brother?"

"Drop me off in Glanfraydon. I'll find Camrath and learn all I can."

"That could take weeks. In the meantime, I must deal with Lysandil and this Kurathian prince—what was his name?"

"Prince Tarak," replied Lochlan, "but you needn't worry quite yet. Our interests are aligned, at least for the moment. It's the long-term goals that are of more concern to us."

"Easy to say. You're not the one going to welcome a large fleet of warships."

"Windbourne is hardly the place to launch an invasion. The coast is rocky and treacherous."

Brida laughed. "The same can be said for most of our lands. No wonder the Weldwyners never invaded us! Very well, you go to Glanfraydon, and I'll continue on to Windbourne. If you find anything that might support your fears, make sure to send word."

"I will," he promised.

"I expect I'll be there for some time, but I'll arrange for another boat to pick you up. No sense in wasting coins on hiring someone."

"Should I seek permission from Erlach?"

"I doubt the Clan Chief of Glanfraydon has any interest in your scholarly pursuits."

"Still, it might be seen as an insult."

"I believe we can safely take that chance. In any event, I suspect Erlach will be coming with me down to the coast, as will the other chieftains. They all want to see this Kurathian prince for themselves."

Lochlan thought it over. The Clan holdings were mostly wilderness and certainly didn't lend themselves to a quick conquest. Roads were virtually non-existent, with the only real means of safe travel being by boat, but there was no way a deep draught ship was going to be able to navigate the waterways. How did this Kurathian prince plan on helping in the conquest of Weldwyn? Would this be the start of a sea-borne invasion? They'd tried that before, at Riversend, but most likely the Elves had another strategy in mind.

"What is the strength of our fleet?" he asked.

"Our fleet? You mean from all the Clans?"

"I was thinking of our deepwater fleet at Windbourne."

"That belongs to Calindre, not us," said Brida. "She holds dominion over the coast."

"Yes, but how many ships does she possess?"

"I haven't any idea. Why?"

"I believe this Kurathian prince means to land on the southern coast of Weldwyn. How else would he get a large army ashore without taking a city?"

"What if he is?" she asked.

"Wouldn't it make sense for us to send our own vessels to assist? That way, we could keep an eye on things."

"You really don't trust them, do you?"

"Do YOU?" he asked. "We used Kurathians in our last attempt to take Weldwyn, and look what it got us."

"Does your mind ever stop working? We haven't even met this prince yet, and you already see conspiracies at work. Sometimes things are exactly as they appear."

"I suppose you're right, but I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around the whole idea. You must admit, it's a bit strange? An Elf shows up at the precise moment we're holding a meeting of all the Clan chiefs, and he just happens to have an army available for us to use? It's a little too… what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Serendipitous?" said Brida. "I'll admit the timing is fortuitous, but why argue when it's in our favour? For generations, we struggled against the might of Weldwyn. Why not take advantage of this offer?"

"And the coincidence doesn't bother you?"

"It could be a gift from the Gods."

"I wish I had your outlook on life, but the pragmatic side of me won't allow it. You keep your faith, Sister, and I'll stick to my scholarly ways."

"All right," she agreed, "but you won't find a bride skulking in the catacombs looking through old scrolls."

Lochlan blushed. "Who said I'm looking for a bride?"

"You're the son of a chieftain. You must wed, eventually."

"Having said that, here's you, my older sister, still unmarried? How can that be? Isn't there some son amongst the chieftains who would have your hand? Or is it something a little more foreign you desire? Perhaps this Kurathian prince will be to your taste?"

Now it was Brida's turn to blush. "Stop that. It's unbecoming in one born to a High King."

"Then let's leave this topic and call a truce, shall we? I have no desire to be rehashing an old argument."

Brida drained her cup, setting it down with a firm hand. "I shall mention it no further. You go to Glanfraydon; I'll go to Windbourne, and we'll argue no more until we've both done our duty, agreed?"

"Agreed."