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

Persephone said you refused to fight because Rhune weapons are rubbish, so she’s getting better ones from the dwarfs.

The whole idea of fighting the Fhrey was absurd. No Rhulyn clan had ever lived by the sword as fully as Dureya, and he and Tesh were all that remained. That should be more than enough evidence to anyone curious about the virtues of war. If his father hadn’t been stubborn, if he’d handed over his weapon when Shegon demanded it that day by the river, Raithe wouldn’t even be in Tirre. They could have left, then circled back after Shegon, Malcolm, and the other slave had left. Instead, his father had fought, and died, leaving Raithe adrift.

He looked at the other men seated in the circle. They all planned to fight, to go to war. Raithe was no genius, but he knew how that venture would turn out. The smart thing to do was disappear, walk away. In the turmoil of the conflict, the Fhrey wouldn’t be watching the frontier. It’d be easy to slip across the Bern and Urum rivers and vanish forever into the wilds of lush fields and abundant game. And yet…

Raithe glanced at Tesh, and then again at the empty chair and wondered where she was.

“I crushed your father’s warriors at the narrows near Greenpoint,” Tegan said in a raised voice to Harkon, who sat red-faced for reasons Raithe had missed.

“You weren’t even there!” Harkon shouted at him. “Sile Longhammer led that attack.”

“On my orders!” Tegan said in a raised voice “My wisdom succeeded in—”

“Getting your best and brightest killed?”

Lipit stood up. “This is foolishness. It’s obvious who the best keenig choice is.” He stared at Raithe.

“But he refuses,” Krugen said. “You still do, don’t you?”

Raithe nodded.

“There, you see? Instead of arguing among ourselves, why don’t we focus on how to convince him to serve?” Lipit stamped his foot in frustration. “Raithe must be keenig. He is the only one capable.”

“Not the only one,” Nyphron said from behind Raithe’s chair. This was the first time he’d spoken since the initial meeting, and once more he stepped inside the ring of chairs. “There’s another qualified and more capable choice. Someone who has vast experience leading warriors into battle. Someone who has never known defeat. Someone privy to the secrets of the Fhrey, their strengths and weaknesses, and who already has a perfect plan to defeat them.”

This got their attention and each leaned forward.

“And who is this secret savior?” Tegan asked.

“Me,” Nyphron said. “You’ll find no one better in a war against the might of Estramnadon, I can assure you. From birth, I was trained to lead skilled warriors. My father was the chieftain of Alon Rhist, the most powerful stronghold in all of Avrlyn. I have led battles against giants, goblins, witches, and dragons. My name, and that of my Galantians, are legends to my people. I could train you, teach your men to wield spears and javelins as we do, to fight in formation, to wheel and pivot. I’ll show you how to use terrain to your advantage, to make your enemy fight where and when you want. I can show you how to befuddle, divide, and conquer. I know every weak point, every back door that can be broken.”

Tegan opened his mouth to speak, but Nyphron went on. “I know you wonder why I would do such a thing. Why I would turn against my own kind. The answer is I’m not. Those in Estramnadon, the fane and his cohorts, are nothing like the Instarya. They are no longer even Fhrey. They have been taken over, seduced by magic that has worked as a poison to my people. I hope to cut out that toxin the only way I can…by removing it.

“My father tried. He fought for leadership of the Fhrey, battled in one-on-one combat with the ruling fane, and was killed. Not because he was weaker, but because the fane cheated in what should have been an honorable duel. I’ll lead you across the Nidwalden and we’ll take Estramnadon.”

“What about your law against killing your own kind?” Raithe asked.

“True, I can’t be out in front with a weapon, but that’s not what you need me for. You require someone who isn’t so much a warrior as a planner. Your commander doesn’t have to be on the battlefield. Your best choice is someone with the ability to achieve great things, a person with confidence in themselves and the people they lead, a strategist who can see what needs to be done, and who is able to put a plan into action to accomplish it. More than anything, your leader should be someone with conviction who is willing to sacrifice everything to succeed.”

“But we can’t appoint a Fhrey as keenig,” Lipit said.

“Of course you can!” Nyphron said. “Think about it. As a Fhrey I am outside the petty politics that you are mired in. We have no history or grudges. I will make my decisions fairly and without the prejudice that none of you can hope to avoid. My impartiality is just another reason why I’m so well suited to the task.”

“You don’t understand,” Harkon said. “We can’t have a Fhrey keenig.”

Nyphron slapped his side and spun. “I know it’s unusual, but if you really want to win this war…if you want to continue existing…you need to set aside your petty prejudices and realize I am the best one for the task.”

“Lord Nyphron,” Lipit said, “your offer is…very impressive…and appreciated.” He looked around, Harkon and Krugen at least nodded. “But making you keenig is impossible.”

“How is it impossible?” The Fhrey held up his hands. “You just declare me as keenig and it’s done. That doesn’t seem at all difficult.”

“My lord, what you are failing to see is that, in the same way that your law requires that Fhrey cannot kill Fhrey, ours demands that the keenig be from one of the Ten Clans. A Fhrey cannot be keenig. Your failure to know this underscores that you aren’t one of us, and displays exactly why you are fundamentally unsuited for the task.”

Nyphron stood silently, his jaw clenched tight. The Fhrey was difficult to read, but Raithe was certain the Galantian was fuming. Still, he did well to hide it, and without another word, Nyphron walked away.

As he left, a horn sounded—three crisp blasts, harsh and shrill in the morning air. Everyone around the circle looked to the walls where one man was waving his arm.

“What is it?” Lipit called.

“They’re coming!” the watchman shouted.

“The Fhrey?” Lipit said, his eyes fearful.

“No. The Gula.”

—

“I suppose that answers the question of whether they got the message,” Raithe said, reaching the top of the wall with the other chieftains. A horde was gathered at the top of the hill, and more could be seen on the hills behind that. If the entire expanse was filled with Gula-Rhunes, and there was no reason to think that wasn’t so, there had to be thousands.