Age of Swords (The Legends of the First Empire #2)

Everyone who could, scrambled out of its way, diving to one side or the other. Some were too slow. Raithe pulled Persephone aside, but a man and his wife were struck. The cart finally raced clear of the column of people, rolling hard and fast down the remainder of the road, wobbling and whistling as it headed straight toward the gates of Dahl Tirre.

The great gates were still admitting latecomers. Seeing the cart, they cried out and scattered. Even the guards ran for their lives when seeing a god rattling straight toward them. The cart appeared as a living thing, a wobbly beast, angry and charging in rage. Striking sacks and uneven paving stones, the cart leapt and crashed, rocked and shook, but it never faltered, never slowed.

Then it struck the gate.

The crash was loud, a crack like thunder. One wheel was sheared off in a burst of splinters as the gate’s two wooden doors were slapped aside. With the impact, the rear of the cart came up, and the whole thing flipped, throwing barrels of grain and beer, along with rakes, hoes, winnowing forks, mattocks, and the god Mari. What remained of the cart, and its chaos, passed within the wall and beyond Persephone’s view. Shrieks were followed by another crash. Then everything went quiet.

—

The stillness that followed was worse than the screams. Overhead, seagulls cried, and they weren’t alone. Clan Rhen wept, some for the loss of those who had been killed by the runaway cart, and others because they couldn’t do anything else. The silence came from inside the dahl, where Persephone couldn’t see. She was blind and deaf to whatever terrible conclusion had occurred, and as she walked the remaining steps down the road, she couldn’t even begin to imagine what she might find inside.

Persephone ordered all the other carts stopped. They, and the rest of Clan Rhen, were to wait while she, Raithe, and Malcolm went to the dahl. Looking back, she spotted Roan, who stood clutching herself, glaring wide-eyed at the body of Cobb. Persephone wanted to talk to her, needed to explain that it hadn’t been her fault, but Persephone had a bigger crisis to deal with. She had to talk with Lipit, Clan Tirre’s chieftain, and salvage what she could.

One of the big doors of Dahl Tirre’s gate had been nearly torn off. It hung at a twisted angle. Passing inside, Persephone searched for blood but found none. No one lay on the ground. No one looked hurt. The cart had mostly destroyed itself when it hit the gate. What was left had crashed and rolled. The empty cart lay on its side. Mounds of wheat and barley lay among shards of broken barrels. Tools were scattered. Miraculously, the four barrels of beer rested on their sides, undamaged. Several bushels of peas and berries had spilled out of baskets. In the center of it all, in the middle of the courtyard of Dahl Tirre, stood the stone figure of Mari, upright and unharmed.

The people of Clan Tirre gathered in a circle around the god. Many were on their knees, heads bowed until Persephone and her escorts entered. They looked up then, fearful. On the stone steps of the lodge, Chieftain Lipit knelt along with his wife, Iffen, and his three sons. All of them wore soft white linen, typical of the Tirre people. Around Lipit’s neck was a stunning gold torc, while a silver one circled Iffen’s throat.

Persephone said nothing as she waded through the grain until she stood beside Mari. She considered how best to apologize for the disaster, but couldn’t find the words. How could she begin to explain, and how could she ask for safe haven after such a catastrophe?

“Forgive us.” Lipit spoke first, lifting his face to look at her.

Persephone glanced at Raithe and then Malcolm, uncertain whether she had heard correctly. Both raised an eyebrow in response.

“We were misinformed,” Lipit said, and took a moment to glare viciously at a man who knelt in the dirt at the bottom of the steps. “Calab said Eraphus was greater than Mari, that Clan Rhen was weak, and that you came as beggars to spoil our lands.” He spat on the prostrate man, who quivered and moaned, his face still pressed to the ground.

Lipit looked back at Mari, rising out of the sea of grain. “Your god is great and generous.” He looked up at the broken gate. “She is fierce and powerful. I can see why you believe Rhunes can fight the Fhrey. Your god is a warrior god. Forgive us. We didn’t know.”

Persephone nodded thoughtfully. “And what about my messenger?”

“He’s here and safe. He said you called for a Council of Clans to choose a keenig to lead us in a war against the gods of the north.”

“And what are your thoughts on this matter?”

Lipit once again stared harshly at the prostrate man.

“We thought it was ill advised.” The chieftain cringed slightly while shifting his gaze to Mari, who did nothing.

“And what do you think now?” Persephone asked.

“We think we were rash.”

Persephone nodded with a sympathetic face and hoped that only she knew it wasn’t genuine. “Chieftain Lipit, Lady Iffen, allow me to introduce Malcolm, who lived nearly his whole life in the famed outpost of Alon Rhist, and Raithe of Dureya, also known as the God Killer.”

Lipit nodded to Raithe. “We’ve heard of you.”

“He is my Shield.”

“A worthy choice indeed. You do yourself a great honor by selecting so mighty a warrior. Allow us to express our extreme sympathies for the passing of Reglan and your son Mahn. They were both great and honorable men.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Now I must ask. Is Clan Rhen welcome in Tirre?”

Lipit looked over at the stone god that faced him. “Of course, of course. The people of Clan Rhen are our brothers from the wood.”

“In that case,” Persephone smiled and said, “may the blessings of Mari be upon this dahl and this land.”

Lipit’s shoulders relaxed. He closed his eyes and took a breath. All around the courtyard, his people did the same as they got to their feet.

“Persephone, my good friend, please come in,” Lipit said in the more familiar tone she was used to. “I’ll have wine and cheese brought.”

“And my people?”

“The streets are crowded. Would it meet with your approval for them to camp outside, along the north wall?”

Persephone waited a moment, and Lipit licked his lips and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Persephone nodded then whispered to Raithe and Malcolm. “Would you please let everyone know they can come down, and see to…well, take care of things until I return.”

They both nodded and headed back.

—

By the time the two returned, Cobb’s body had been covered in cloth and his large family were still weeping over it. As for the husband and wife who had also been run down, only a young boy was draping their bodies. The three must have joined the procession from one of the outer villages, as no one appeared to know them. About fourteen years old, the lad was thin as a stick and had a lock of hair standing straight up. He didn’t cry. His eyes weren’t red. His lips didn’t tremble.

Tough one, that kid. Like a Dureyan. He has that weathered, forsaken look.