“Huh,” Ondus said curiously. “Wish I’d talked to him myself. Sounds like he was a Reonus.”
“A what?”
“A Reonus, horse-warrior in our tongue. From the old Orell Kingdom. They were cavalry masters, fearless and terrible in battle. Lived in great cities of wood and thatch, no stone. Stone construction requires time, skill, and a lot of workers, which they didn’t have. Most of the population at any point in history was working with the military in some form or fashion and the military always came first.” Ondus paused. “In the end, it wasn’t enough. But they fought bravely.”
“What happened?” Khollo asked.
“A war, before either of us were born. The Sthan Kingdom invaded the Orell for their land. They were the last kingdom that hadn’t been brought to heel, the only thing standing in the way of the Sthan kings ruling over the entire world. The Orell army was entirely made up of cavalry, the finest cavalry to ever exist. It was a hard war for our people, but in the end our overwhelming numbers won out. The Orell were defeated time and again, driven slowly southward. They put their own cities to the torch to keep us from capturing them. And not a one of them ever surrendered, though the opportunity was given many times. It was not their way to give up their land while they could yet draw breath.”
“Eventually, they were driven all the way to the end of the peninsula. Surrounded by water and ice on one side and our armies on the other, they finally gave up. They were outnumbered by multiple hundreds to one. The Sthan army set up camp, prepared for a siege even though winter was coming and the weather was turning for the worse. They dug in, built earthen fortifications and the like.”
“When you say the Orell gave up – ”
“One morning the Sthan force woke up to a clear, silver horn ringing over the South,” Ondus said quietly. “The army rushed to its positions, thinking a desperate escape bid was underway. But the Orell were riding in the opposite direction. They rode straight into the sea, and kept on riding until they were swallowed by the ice and the water.”
Khollo was struck dumb. “They killed themselves?”
Ondus nodded. “The site bears a permanent memorial to the Orell, built by the commander of the army. He respected their ways and lamented the destruction of their people when it was all over. But the war was not really over for several more weeks. The South turned against the Sthan. As the army retreated, it was hounded by the most extraordinary bad luck. Blizzards, packs of massive wolves, avalanches. Half of the Sthan army is still buried in the South, the last revenge of the Orell.”
Khollo shivered. He tried to imagine his life ending in a torrent of ice and snow and rocks, buried alive, and failed. It was just too horrible. “So, the Orell are all dead?”
“Nearly all,” Ondus said sadly. “Some of the commoners remained. In fact, many of the villages in the Renlor Basin have descendants of those survivors living in them. But I did not think any of the Reonus had survived. The man you spoke with would have been very young at the time though. Perhaps his blindness and youth allowed him to distance himself from the Reonus practice of honorable death rather than defeat.”
Ondus looked up at the sky and swore quietly. “It’s later than I thought, we’ll have to ride like hell back to base. Come on, up you get.”
Khollo swung into the saddle and followed Ondus out of Holwey. The villagers hardly glanced at them, plodding along in their meager existence, content with their lot. And one old man of a dying race, now dead himself. Khollo abruptly turned to face north, urging Arle to greater speeds, eager to put distance between himself and the village for more than one reason.
They are important to your kind, the blind man had said.
Somehow, Khollo didn’t think he was talking about the Sthan. No, the old man had been speaking directly to Khollo.
Chapter 8
The West Bank was in an uproar when Khollo and Ondus returned. Cadets were scurrying here and there, carrying weapons and messages, moving crates between them. The watch on the walls had been doubled, and it took several minutes for Ondus to get the attention of the guards to let them in.
“What the devil has happened?” Ondus demanded of the gate guards.
“A vertaga attack,” one replied grimly. “Word just came by way of message pigeon. How it got through all the storms I’ll never know.”
Ondus dismounted. “See to our horses. I have to find Lord Kurkan and see if there’s anything I can do to help.”
Khollo dismounted as well and hurried after Ondus, who was marching directly for the central keep, tramping straight through the middle of the drill field. The snow had been almost cleared from one corner, presumably so that the cadets could continue their drills with Wilkes. But those drills had been forgotten in the new panic that had gripped the fortress.
Ondus burst through the doors of the keep. A frightened yelp and a crash came from the far side of the hall. A kitchen hand had just dropped a tub of dirty dishes and cutlery, startled by the sudden entrance. Ondus ignored her and made for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Khollo followed at a more sedate pace.
What can possibly have happened? Khollo wondered. Another trade caravan slaughtered? Ishkabur itself?
In no time it seemed they were at the door of the council chamber. Four guards stood where two had once been, standing stiffly to attention, hands on their weapons. They let Ondus and Khollo in almost immediately though, ushering them through the door grimly. Janis was there, pacing agitatedly on the other side
