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

“I won’t support Lipit as keenig,” Tegan declared, pounding the arm of his chair with a big fist. He wasn’t a tall man, but he had broad shoulders, strong arms, and huge hands. The thump of his fist cut the laughter short.

“Nor I,” Krugen said. The chieftain of Menahan emphasized his unsolicited vote by adjusting his robes. Only Krugen wore robes—rich, lavish garments of dyed material embroidered with patterns of fine needlework. The opulence of so much material to clothe just one person seemed absurd.

“I think we are getting ahead of ourselves,” Lipit said. His words were sharp, maybe in response to the quick, unnecessary rebukes. “Perhaps we should hear from Persephone. After all, she was the one who called for the gathering.”

Persephone saw skepticism on their faces. To them, she had always been Reglan’s wife.

“She did?” Tegan continued to speak to Lipit while casting cursory glances at Persephone. “I thought the messengers calling for this meeting came from here.”

Harkon folded his arms and scowled. “A summit called by a chieftain’s widow, war with the Fhrey, is this some kind of joke, Lipit?”

“Not unless you consider the death of thousands of men, women, and children funny,” Persephone replied. “Do you? Do any of you feel that the destruction of Dureya, Nadak, and now Rhen is humorous? Maybe you’ll feel differently when you find your own dahls in similar straits.”

No one answered. The smiles and bravado shrank into uncomfortable shifts and awkward glances. Persephone had their attention and planned to use it. She stood up. “The Fhrey have declared war on us. Those whom we once thought benevolent gods revealed themselves as treacherous enemies. Without warning, without cause, they attacked and erased two of our clans, and very nearly a third.”

“The way I heard it, one of ours killed one of theirs.” Tegan let his eyes shift toward Raithe.

“A man killed a Fhrey,” Raithe said, “because the Fhrey killed his father.”

“And I heard the men trespassed where they weren’t allowed,” Tegan said. “They crossed the river. Something all the chieftains agreed would never happen.”

“This is your fault then?” Alward glared at Raithe.

“The trespass and the death are not what has turned the Fhrey against us. Do you really think they would unleash so much destruction because of the loss of just one of their own? Does that make any sense?” Persephone said.

“Perhaps I could lend clarity,” said Nyphron. “May I say something?” He stepped out from behind Persephone’s chair and into the center of the ring. No one moved or replied. The Galantian’s long golden hair flowed off his shoulders. His face, unblemished and unscarred, was the perfect canvas for his dazzling blue eyes. The morning light enhanced the yellow metal of his armor.

Nyphron didn’t wait for the permission he’d requested. “I am Nyphron, leader of the Instarya tribe, commander of the famed Galantians, and the legitimate lord of Alon Rhist. I’ll bear witness to what Lady Persephone asserts. A single death didn’t launch this curse upon your people. Shegon’s death was an excuse. The Fhrey have long planned to remove the Rhunes from Elan, and now their campaign has begun.”

As he spoke, he rotated slowly and made eye contact with each chieftain. “Our fane has decreed that your kind has grown too numerous. Your very numbers are seen as a threat. Your success upon this land, your mere existence, is the cause of your doom. The fane fears a growing horde of Rhunes as numerous as the stars, and he wants you gone. All of you.”

He paused, but remained in the center of the circle.

“If that is true,” Tegan was the first to find his voice, although not the same as he used before. It lacked the loud, brassy bellow it once had. “Then why is the lord of Alon Rhist here? Do you come to parley our surrender?”

“You are Tegan, chieftain of Clan Warric? Your people are great traders of jade from the eastern hills of Galesh along the western banks of the Galeannon River. I’ve heard your people are great drinkers and speakers, but I wasn’t aware that Clan Warric also possessed such wisdom, for that is a very good question.” Nyphron paused, making them wait, making them wonder if he would answer at all. “While I am the true lord of the Rhist, sadly the rest of my people, including the fane, don’t see it that way. I was cast out for refusing to butcher Rhune women and children. I wasn’t able to stop the slaughter of Dureya and Nadak by my brothers-in-arms, but my band and I reached Rhen in time to prevent its total destruction. We defended that dahl first against my own people, and then against a band of Grenmorian giants.”

The word giant was passed around in hushed whispers.

“I stand before you this day to confirm that war with my kin is upon you. I am forbidden by my god, Ferrol, to slay another Fhrey, so I cannot fight this war for you. This is a battle you must win for yourselves, but you do not have to do so alone.”

“Men can’t fight gods,” Lipit said, looking horrified at the very suggestion.

“Why not?” Nyphron asked.

“They’ll strike us dead.”

“If you don’t fight, they’ll kill you anyway.”

“But…” Lipit couldn’t hold Nyphron’s stare, and he faltered. “Men can’t kill gods.”

“This man here”—Nyphron pointed at Raithe—“is the God Killer. He has killed two of my people, one of whom was so powerful he called lightning from the sky and rent the earth with powerful magic. That Fhrey, Gryndal, was one of the most powerful Miralyith of our kind. To you he would truly seem godlike…and yet a Rhune…this one…ended him.”

Once again, Nyphron rotated, rocking from foot to foot, and this time he lifted his gaze to include those who were gathered behind the chairs, and his voice rose to address the whole courtyard. “You will fight. There is no choice in that regard. Your only other option is death…the death of Rhunes everywhere. You can fight separately and die alone, or join together and use your vast numbers. You can become the very thing the fane fears. I will teach you how to win against my people—I will show you how to prevail.

“You need to appoint a single leader,” he went on. “I know your custom is to choose the largest and strongest, the warrior most capable to command your people in battle. But don’t limit your thinking so foolishly. This war will not be won by virtue of one man’s ax, spear, or courage on the field. What if he falls in battle? The clans could break, the alliance falter…and you can’t afford to lose this war. There will be no second chance, no truce possible, no peace. You must select a person capable of leadership, a person who isn’t mired in the petty bickering that might divide you through past grievances. This person does not need to take the field with you, nor do they need to be capable of fighting your enemy with blows. The person you should appoint should be a symbol of unity who can lead with intelligence, wisdom, and strategy. Look for someone above the squabbles. Someone you can put your faith in. Someone you won’t doubt. Someone who can win this war for you.”

Nyphron stopped rotating and stood before them, waiting.

No one spoke.