The Siegemasters - Part VII

T H E   S I E G E M A S T E R S

Part VII

<center>EPILOGUE</center>

<center>Ten years have passed.</center>

     Autumn was barely halfway over. But it was already snowing in Caer Dinivel and the fireplace in the big main bar room of the Cloven Skull Inn was filled with blazing logs. Anlaf, the owner, was bustling about with a tray filled with tankards and glasses and the tavern wenches were equally busy. Several trading caravans were in the town on this market eve and there were plenty of travellers on route to or from the Ten Towns, the Druids' Sacred College at Dragon's Eye or the Elven and Dwarven strongholds in the Spine of the World. The crowded bar was loud with laughter and conversation.
     The door opened and two people, a man in the hooded black leather robe of a Druid and a woman in a dark green mage robe came in, accompanied, to the worried stares of some patrons, by a large wolf. The man threw back his hood to reveal a lined, moustached and ravaged face and a mane of silver tipped hair with a prominent stripe through it. The lady with him flicked hers back to show a strong face with dark straight brows under a mass of curls.
     'Landlord,' said the man, 'Do you haven any rooms to let?'
     'Few, sir,' said the thin-faced landlord. 'We be a bit busy. What with the Grand Druid and her suite staying here and the Archmage Aoife an' all, but we still got a couple, like.'
     'Good,' the man observed. 'Our cart is outside, if you could send somebody out to take care of our ponies and gear I'd be grateful. You Thorwald's boy, Anlaf?'
     'That I be. Why, it's yourself, Lord Greumach, ain't seen you in, must be eight years! My dad died two year back and left me the place. Lady Eilidh, always a pleasure. Why you dressed up like a Druid, if you don't mind the asking, my Lord? That's why I didn't realise it was you at first!'
     'Well, I.. uhm… sort of am a Druid, Anlaf, sometimes, anyway. The Great Druid of Amn made me one, years back. Oh, and it's nine years Anlaf old son.'
     'So it was! You was with 'er what became Duchess of Gort, wasn't you? The Half-Drow?'
     The landlord was getting into his stride. He liked the casual travellers to know that the very best people stayed at his inn.
     'Yes, we were with Macha Kinslayer. Have you seen the Grand Druid yet today?' asked the wolf-haired man.
     'Not as yet, my Lord. She was exhausted when she got in. But I imagine shell be about in an hour or so. How is the Duchess?'
     'Which one, Kinslayer or Firehair?' asked Eilidh.
     'Well, both, naturally!' Anlaf exclaimed with a broad smile.
     'Haven't seen Macha for about eighteen months, but she was fine then. Maeve is in the best of health as always, we left her on a state visit to Ust-Natha. She sent us to see her aunt with a message,' Eilidh smiled. 'Yvian and Ethne send you their best. Candlekeep agrees with them, but they say that your ale is better than that at the Scholar's Rest.'
     'Well you just take a seat my Lady and my Lord, the both of you, and I'll have you brought some food for yourselves an' your… animal.' The wolf looked expectantly at the thin-faced man and licked his chops. 'And I'll get your gear stowed away and your cart and ponies dealt with. Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see your ferret, my Lady. I'll make sure he gets something too.' Padhraig crouched on Eilidh's shoulder sniffed the air.
     The two travellers sat at a nearby table and within minutes Gudrun, one of the tavern wenches, brought them two tankards of the inn's famous ale and two bowls, also full of ale, for the wolf and the ferret.
     Greumach took a swig from his tankard.
     'Very good too! Bloody snow…'
     'Don't start, my Weasel,' chuckled Eilidh.
     'He'll go on forever,' muttered Padhraig, her ferret familiar.
     'At least I don't start reciting miserable poetry when I'm drunk,' commented Greumach sotto voce.
     'It's good poetry!' snapped the ferret. 'I'm not whiny and self-indulgent!'
     'I didn't say that, Usna of Lismore did,' remarked Greumach. 'I only said it was miserable.'
     'Can we get off this topic please, my darlings?' requested Eilidh. 'When do you think Tormod will get here?'
     'Well the Carthair caravan set out from Dorn's Deep more than a week ago, so they should get here today or tomorrow,' the Weasel sounded ruminative and took another swig of his ale.

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     The Dwarven wagons rolled down the hill towards Caer Dinivel and Tormod Nan Carthair, wrapped deep in his wolfskin cloak against the unseasonable snow, turned to the figure beside him on the driving seat of the lead vehicle.
     'How ye holdin' up, wee yen. 'S no fuckin warm is ut?'
     Godgifu of Easthaven muffled in her Paladin's cloak took a puff from her pipe, pouring a cloud of blue smoke into the frosty air.
     'Oi'm used to it Muscles. This be my 'ome, remember! Bit early fer snow, granted, but Oi known it colder,' said Godgifu.
     'Colder nor a witch's tits! Goads know how in ra Nine Hells those boys up in Dorn's Deep stand ut. S'no like that in Strathderg, mind! Well, no unless ye climb up intae the High Corries, an' no-one wi' ony sense does that, full o' bloody Oreads,' muttered the grouchy Dwarf.
     'D'you reckon as 'ow Eilidh and Greumach got 'ere yet, Muscles?' asked the Halfling Mechanician turned innkeeper.'
     'Aye, they said they was coming, they'll be here.'

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     Greine Bhucaille swung in the saddle to talk to his companion.
     ''Appen snow 'olds off we're reet on time. Should be in Caer Dinivel in three hour. I 'ope as 'ow everyone's there as needs to be.'
     Arianrhod Ui'Niall turned her tattooed face under its leather hood to the sandy haired Elf Mage, in his black and orange robes and heavy bearskin cloak.
     'The Grand Druid is already there, I can feel her presence. And Lady Eilidh, which must mean Greumach the Wolf is also.'
     'You can't feel Greumach?'
     'Not even when he's in front of me, not even he's turned wolf. Nothing, never could.'
     'I thought Druids could feel all living things around them.'
     'Usually, and if we know them, from a distance of ten miles. But not him.'

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     A blue robed and veiled woman, whose height and build suggested she was an Elf, approached Eilidh and Greumach's table. Beautiful eyes of deep grey surveyed them, and a voice like a harp's melodies blowing on a wind spoke.
     'You are Maebh's friends, the Squirrel and the Weasel, yes? I am Aoife NicLileas of the siol Niall.'
     She held out a slim, beringed hand, Greumach stood, took it, bowed and kissed it clicking his heels, Eilidh shook it.
     'NicLileas?' the Weasel queried.
     'Just as you think. My father was Anselm Ui'Niall, Chief and Bard; the Drow killed him before I was born. I was raised by his family in Calimport, not in Strathderg. You both probably know my mother better than I do.'
     'You are the one who adventured alongside Maebh Blacklock when she was the Merlin of Faerûn, aren't you, the Archmage?' asked Eilidh.
     'I am, Sister Eilidh, I had that honour, and with your help, soon shall again.'

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     The snug bar of the Cloven Skull lived up to its name in every respect, and Gudrun had been detailed by Anlaf to take care of the important guests as being his best spoken girl; her father was the illegitimate son of a Knight from Neverwinter. A fire burned in the grate and the best meal the establishment could provide was set on the table along with several bottles of fine Berduskan wine.
     Now within the room were gathering a unique company, Tormod and Godgifu had yet to arrive and the Grand Druid hadn't come down from her quarters but Eilidh, Greumach, Arianrhod, Greine and Aoife were already in the room.
     The tattooed Druid for once was wearing her robe and not jerkin and breeches, and she looked surprisingly feminine in spite of her cropped hair. Aoife had removed her veil and revealed a face startlingly like her mother's in every respect save colour, hers being olive skinned and rimmed by long lustrous black hair. Eilidh had changed into her favourite dark red silks, Greine and Greumach both wore their best black mage robes. Everyone had a glass of wine in their hand and they were chatting.
     'I really thought I had had it,' said Arianrhod. 'Arse deep in shagging orcs I was, and on me own, and out of shagging spells. Then suddenly there was this ginger haired bint in red and gold alongside me, that's how we met, Eibhie and me.'
     'Why'd you split up?' asked the Weasel.
     'Too busy, she's her Regulators to run down in Gabhran, while I'm dashing about all over the shagging place for Lady Niambh, her that's the Merlin now. I was in Cormyr for near on a year and now I've been summoned here. Shame, but there it is.'
     'Abu Tahir really didn't teach me very much about portals,' said Aoife to Eilidh. 'So I've tended to avoid the area in my studies, other than Gateways of course, but they aren't really the same thing, are they?'
     'Not really,' the curly haired painter responded. 'With a Gateway you are reaching out for a thing of a given type and bringing it to you, with a portal you are reaching out for a place and then trying to go to it, though you'd really need to ask Greine or Greumach to explain what it is you are reaching for. Von Zeyle was an excellent teacher, but I always had the ability.'
     At that moment the door opened and Maebh Blacklock Ui'Rourc, the Grand Druid of Faerûn and eldest daughter of the Lady of the Sidhe, entered. Short, slight and black haired, she strongly resembled her niece, Lady Usna, but her eyes were the same grey-green as those of her elder niece, the Duchess-Great Druid, Maeve Firehair's. And for the matter of that as Greumach the Weasel's. The Grand Druid wore an elaborate robe of black and gold silk and carried a staff topped by a golden headpiece in the form of a rising Dragon, in a hand which bore a single complex silver ring with a black stone in it.
     'Good evening, my friends, I trust you are all well?'
     She inclined her head and the others responded in the same way. Her smile was strange and distant, and her eyes seemed focused beyond space itself; her voice was like that of Firehair, but quieter, more relaxed.
     'Oh, I see that our friends Tormod and Goddie haven't arrived yet, they will be here soon though. Greumach, Eilidh; I apologise I wasn't available to greet you, but I was meditating, deeply. Aoife, my darling girl; it has been far too long. I am sorry I had to drag you away from your beloved tower of Caiplich-in-the-Sands. But I need your help very badly, as much as I did when I fought the Maraliths all those years ago. And you, my dear Daughter Arianrhod, we need your youth and enthusiasm, and your strong sword arm. As for you others, I wish that you could come with me, your knowledge would be invaluable, but you are needed here in no very long time, I believe, or at least so the wind tells me. But for now we dine and talk. Can I have a glass of wine please, Arianrhod my dear?'

<center>_______________________________________________________________</center>

     The wagons emerged from the snow squall at the foot of the Caer Dinivel pass, the Dwarves still cursing. Darkness was beginning to fall. Tormod was not a happy individual.
     'Fuckin', freezin', friggin' wasteland, naethin' but hills an' muirs an' fuckin' snow! Waste deep en shaggin' trolls, orcs an' fuckin wolves! How en ra name o' Moradun does onyone live up here?'
     'You get used to it, boi,' chuckled Godgifu, 'Oi were born 'ere, remember? Sooner 'ave snow than desert, loike what they got down in Calimshan. Oi, 'oo's that then?' she pointed ahead into the snow-flurried gloom.
     A tall figure wrapped in a heavy dark cloak and a spectacle masked helmet was standing beside the road, a saddle and bags rested on the ground at his feet. He hailed the approaching wagons.
     'I say, you couldn't give me a spot of help could you? A bunch of orcs ambushed me a while back and killed my horse before I killed them, and I rather need to get to Caer Dinivel tonight.'
     'Throw yer gear in ra wagon, pal. Nae probs. Ah'm Tormod, bah re wey. This is Godgifu.'
     'Sean Ui'Dare, Sergeant of Grand Druidic Guards.' The tall man heaved his gear into the wagon one-handed and hopped up onto the seat beside them. 'Miner?'
     'Ah'm no a friggin' miner, pal, Ah'm a sodger like yoursel, Lieutenant o' Bombardiers, leastwise Ah was. Right now Ah'm an army contractor, doon in Athkatla. Ah'm hauling armour tae the Duchess-Great Druid at Gabhran fer her army, guid Dwarf-made scale male fer the Ust-Natha Cataphract Corps.' Tormod was gruff.
     'Firehair, eh? Met her when I was younger. Toughest bitch in the world, is Retribution, but as good a Druid as her aunt. Met her, sir?' The young man sounded suitable respectful towards the grizzled Dwarf.
     'Aye, the baith of us have. Helped her tak Gabhran, ten year back, before she was either Duchess or Great Druid. Back then she was Captain General and Merlin,' Tormod's pride rang in the air.
     'You're that Tormod, Tormod Nan Carthair!'
     'Ah fuckin' was last time Ah looked, son. And this is Godgifu of Easthaven, Master Engineer.'

<center>_______________________________________________________________</center>

     The bard was singing.

     'Mist of the morning, laverock i' the lift
     Singing, due on the grass. Swords dance,
     Axes sing, shields are splitten,
     Skulls cloven, the corbies come.
     The burn is red with Life new spilt
     Helms broken, men by the hundreds dead.
     The gods, our gods, look yon from
     Overworld, our victory they toast.
     The standards and the banners
     Broken shafted trodden under
     By our horses in the mud
     They lie. Dark enemies confounded
     Black of skin, of livery, of soul,
     All dead or fled to caves
     Below the earth. Our banners
     Red as blood fly in the sun,
     For victory is ours; for us
     'Tis Retribution, and for them
     'Tis Death.'

     Tormod, Godgifu and the Sergeant entered the snug bar still flicking snow off of their clothes.
     'No a bad voice he's got, bah re wey,' observed Tormod to the company at large. 'But he's no Aislinn o' Rathkern, is he? An' Ah'm inclined tae suspect his grace notes are no quite ra thing. Goads bless all here! Hey, it's yersel, big yen! How's ra College an' that? Eilidh mah wee princess, put doon that scabby-arsed, crop-headet tree-hugger an' come ower here and gies a kiss. Nae offence bah re wey Weasel. Ah'm nae wantin' mah teeth bustet but Ah never could resist ra princess!'
     Eilidh and Arianrhod hugged the grizzled Dwarf and kissed Godgifu's cheek.
     'How are things going with the Cradle of Winter?' asked Greumach of the Halfling ex-Mechanician.
     'Alright boi, mus'n grumble. Your Sanctity, how do?' She curtsied to the Grand Druid, Tormod shuffled forward looking vaguely embarrassed and kissed her hand; the beautiful black haired Archhierarch intoned a blessing over him.
     'Sit. It's time; now that the company is complete, we can eat,' Maebh Blacklock made a graceful sweeping gesture with her fine-boned beringed hands and everyone sat. 'No business until we've had our meal, please; stories, yes, business, no.'

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     'Tell me about my mother, girls. What is she like?' asked Aoife. 'I know it sounds foolish, but you see, I've never actually met her. After the Drow raiders killed my father she couldn't bear to see me, so she packed me off to his relatives in Calimshan. And since then, well… she's always been too busy elsewhere, and truth to tell, so have I, for more than a century.'
     'You've her eyes,' said the tattooed Druid.
     'And something of her facial structure, the zygomatic arch, for example,' said Greumach, 'but your chin is a bit less pronounced than hers. And of course your colouring is utterly different. Difficult to tell in those robes, but I'd say you're more heavily built altogether, probably because you use a broadsword rather than a katana.'
     'She's kind,' observed Eilidh. 'And gentle, in an odd sort of a way. I think she's shy.'
     'Then we aren't very much alike at all,' Aoife stated rather flatly.

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     'Could herself no have saved ra wee Duchess?' asked Tormod. 'Or brocht her back tae life?'
     'Raspaile cleft her skull,' Eilidh said with a tremor in her voice and dark tone of remembrance. 'Firehair blasted him where he stood, but it was too late. Not even she could move quickly enough to cross the twenty yards between them in the time. Aye, and then Sir Beavis, the bloody moron, tried to backstab Maeve, because Mircalla died!'
     'I'm not going to say I was sorry to put Victoria through his weasand,' said Greumach. 'So don't think it! He probably couldn't have hurt Retribution anyway, but I'd been itching to take the weight off his shoulders ever since we met, pompous ass!'
     'Caused a lot of comment when Mircalla's will was published and it came out she'd left the Duchy to Maeve, and her just raised to Great Druid,' chuckled Arianrhod. 'But there wasn't anyone left in Amn or Tethyr with the muscle to take her on, what with the Bhaalspawn, the Drow, the Baronial Wars and gods alone know what all else. Still isn't for the matter of that, thought the Dahaumarch and the Strategos are rebuilding the legions as fast as they can and Tombelthan is doing pretty well integrating the former rebels into the Royal Tethyrian Army.'
     'Still couldn't face Gabhran, or Gort, or the combined forces of the Knights,' Greumach the Weasel commented. 'But they'll try to set one on the other sooner or later, they aren't stupid, they watched division destroy the Bhaalspawn, and if they can get Torm's and Myrkul's daughters at each others throats, they'll do it. After all, they engineered the feud between the Shadow Thieves and the Night Knives a couple of years ago.'
     'Well, you'd know about that, respected Brother,' the Grand Druid chuckled. 'I seem to recall that you two and Lady Eibhlin were mixed up in that.'
     'Concedo, Sanctity,' the Weasel bowed. 'The Shadow Mistress is an old friend of ours from… Otherwhere. And the Night Knives were working hand-in-glove with the Shadow Druids; and your Sanctity, is it not the duty of a good Warlock to stamp on that particular snake's head every time it pokes out from under its rock?'
     'It is, respected Brother, it is indeed.'

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     'Are you busy at the moment?' asked Aoife of Greumach and Eilidh. 'I've heard such wonderful things about your work at Gabhran and Gort, indeed I saw the new defences and Great Hall at Gort about six tendays ago, and.. uhm… I was wondering. Well, you see; I love Caiplich, but it's getting run down and… needs expansion, and.. the township is pretty much of a mess, and I thought perhaps…'
     'Don't go make any plans, any of you,' snapped Maebh Blacklock, her voice cracking in the air like a whip of fangs. 'I didn't ask you here for fun! There is not going to be time for architecture in the near future, believe me.'
     'And so we finally come to it,' Aoife sounded suspicious. 'The last time I heard you talk that way, I found myself up to my oxters in maraliths and assorted denizens of the Nine Hells, not to mention manic Yuan-Ti Mages and Drow Crusaders.'
     'Something monstrous is happening, it ripples through the planes,' said Maebh. 'Can you not feel its taint?' She looked at Eilidh and Greumach.
     'Don't know about monstrous, but that something is happening, has happened, or will, yes,' the stripe-haired Warlock observed.
     'It should be my duty to combat it,' Blacklock sounded what, sad? Distraught? 'But there is… the Oath. On Ge, one of our kind, of the Royal Derbfine, needs my assistance and has invoked the Oath of the Sidhe.'
     'S'excuse,' said the Weasel, 'what is the Oath?'
     'Before we left Ge, long before, the siols were pledged to protect the blood of Hades and of Lugh, “Reverence the Creator, Serve the Balance, but above all Protect the Blood”.' The Grand Druid intoned this like a prayer. 'On Ge, the Blood is in peril and only a Grand Druid of the Sidhe can help. And no Grand Druid of the Sidhe as walked Ge or ridden its winds for two thousand years in the Prince-Merlin's time; he has called me and I must go. Unfortunately, I do not know the way; but you do.' She looked long and hard at the painters. 'Do I not go, the Blood will die. And so, though it cost me everything, go I must. Tell me the way; no, show me the way, Home,' in her voice an immense overwhelming pain and longing.
     'I know of the Prince,' said Greumach, 'He is a figure of legend on Ge. But the Blood, if it ever existed, is gone out, dead in our day, fifteen hundred years after him, so your trip would be a waste of time, Reverendissima, my oath on it.'
     The Grand Druid actually chuckled. 'Whoever trusted the oath of a Warlock? I love you, my son, but you lie, and know that you lie. Why bother, son of Dragons?'
     The Weasel looked back vaguely. 'Do I? Perhaps; but so it has been said, these many years on Ge, and who am I to question it, your Sanctity? Should it suit me not to do so?'
     ''Nuff o' that, the pair of you!' snapped out Greine. 'It's easy, ain't it? Gi' me a picture of somewhere on Ge in 'is time an' I'll open the portal.'
     'Herdie,' said Eilidh doubtfully. 'You need a picture of somewhere that was the same when we saw it, although centuries later, as it was in the Merlin's day, because you need to be able to arrive then. I've not seen such a place, not the Pyramids or the Dance of the Giants that they call Stonehenge are the same, not even the mountains. Man is short lived, his history and progress fast, without the Elder races to slow him down. He has changed and desecrated even the secret places of the mountains and he burned the forests long ago. I have not seen such a place as you need. My Weasel, is there such a place?'
     Greumach looked thoughtful. 'Not the Dance. Not Carnac, Mycenae, Knossos, Troy, nor Skara Brae. Stenness, perhaps, but I saw it only once. Yes! There is the Dance of the Sea, Callanish, in the Outer Isles, in the Realm of Mananan MacLiar. That would do it.'
     'Bloody wonderful,' said Greine. 'A perfect picture in the mind of a man whose mind I cannot for some reason read!'
     'A cloak lay in the mind of Hades also, if my mother is to be believed,' said Maebh. 'It is only to be expected.'
     'Do it in tandem,' said Greumach. 'I'll form the picture, and Eilidh will draft it, and then Greine can draw on it and form a vision. I still say it's a waste of your time, but I'd like to meet the Prince, he's by way of being a hero of mine.'
     'Oh no, my friends. A menace as bad or worse as that which threatens on Ge threatens here. As Grand Druid to Archwarlock, I command you, reform the Siegemasters now and get you South to Athkatla or the Gate, Firehair needs you and your Dwarrow to be ready in three months, though she knows it not. Aoife, Arianrhod, Greine and the Sergeant here, will come with me. March you to the South, I command it. But first, the portal.'

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     Here ends The Siegemasters. For those who are interested, the opening of the portal to Ge and what followed will be told in the short story The Kingmakers, and the mission of the Siegemasters to Amn is a fraction of the first novel of the Firehair Triad, Sword of Order.