The guardian chuckled. The sound of its mirth was clipped and hollow, like the notes a drummer played by striking wooden blocks.
Rest assured, little ant, it only seems new to you, it said.
Please, listen before you judge, Vandar replied.
Before this, whatever human rulers came and went, in the truest sense, the fey and the spirits of the forests and hills controlled Rashemen. But if the folk in the Fortress of the Half-Demon have their way, the undead will set themselves above all the living, mortal and immortal alike. It belatedly occurred to Vandar that if the entity before him was a ghost, that might not sound so bad to it. And not even our own dead, at least not at the top. Dead things from some faraway place that no one has ever heard of!
The apparition s eyes narrowed. Explain, it said.
Vandar did his best and hoped the story made an impression. Since he could barely make out the guardian s blurry features, it was difficult to judge.
All he knew was that when he had finished, and the phantom spoke again, its tone was as disdainful as before: And you, blind man, trespasser, profaner, you are the champion who will defeat this threat? it said.
Not alone. Vandar said before he had to stop to cough. My lodge is marching with me, and the Stag King do you know him? He is coming to join forces with us. The Iron Lord and the Wychlaran will help, too, if we ask.
But you haven t, the guardian said, because you want the griffons for yourselves. To make your little lodge more prestigious than any other. Perhaps even to make its chieftain the Iron Lord when the throne becomes vacant again.
Vandar felt a twinge of discomfort different from the uneasiness that came from simply being in the phantom s presence. For the first time, and to his own surprise, he wondered if his ambitions were somehow tainted and unworthy.
But how could they be, when they were simply what every proper Rashemi man wanted? What older warriors taught him to want, especially if he hailed from a family of no particular prosperity or distinction? He tried to scowl the crazy feeling away.
My lord, I don t deny that I hope that, by serving the realm, I can also do well for my lodge and for myself, Vandar said. That s how mortal men think. If the stories I ve heard all my life are true, it s how fey and spirits think, too. But it isn t just ambition or greed that draws me to the griffons. From the moment Yhelbruna called them down from the sky, I felt connected to them, like the spirits meant for me to have them. You have magic. Tell me if I m wrong.
To his surprise, the sentinel chuckled again, and the sound was arguably less cold and dismissive than before. If I saw everything that s hidden, it said, I wouldn t need you to tell me about revenants coming here from a distant land, would I? I will say this: It speaks well of you that you answered honestly. And it might indeed be unfortunate if the dead claimed dominion over Rashemen.
Well, yes, plainly, replied Vandar.
The murky figure shook its head and said, So declares the ant, imagining it s surveying all the wide world from the top of a blade of grass. But you don t see what I do. If a vampire clan keeps a herd of human cattle somewhere else in the land you call Thay, for example you and I have no practical reason to care. But this country has always been unique, and even after the death of the Lady of the Seven Stars, it remains so. This is still where the fey worlds and the mortal sphere interpenetrate more closely than anyplace else, and if your undead intruders take it for their own, their victory may strike echoes and reflections. That may even be why they came here, although I doubt they possess such depth of comprehension.
Vandar smiled a crooked smile. You re right, he said. The ant doesn t understand, or at least, not much. But I take it you agree that my friends and I are doing something worthwhile. That being so, will you help us?
I ll call back my anger, certainly, said the apparition.
Vandar hacked for so long and hard that he felt like he might pass out for lack of breath. But when the fit ended, his head and chest felt clear, as though he d expelled every particle of phlegm. And nothing ached anymore.
Thank you, Vandar said. He hesitated, and then, impatient with his own caution, pushed onward. Truly. But is that it? All you did is cure the sickness you gave us yourself.
The phantom smiled. Or perhaps it was simply a trick of the light, as a wisp of cloud drifted past the moon.
Did I find something to like about your kind once, for a moment or two in the morning of the world? it said. Perhaps and it may be more than chance that led you here to disturb my rest. Even more unlikely things have happened, I suppose. But I m not like your Stag King. I no longer march to war. My own vows would scrape me to nothing if I tried. But that means I no longer need what I once carried to war.
The apparition waved its hand. Something rumbled, and a patch of snow collapsed in on itself. Or rather, Vandar realized, peering, it was falling into a hole like a deep and irregular grave that had opened beneath it.
Climb down, the phantom said.
Wonderful, Vandar thought. According to every word on the subject he d ever heard, simply treading on a fey mound was dangerous. Entering one was a hundred times more so. Still, the phantom itself had opened the way, and if it meant to do him further harm, it scarcely needed to be tricky about it. It already had him at its mercy.
Besides, what sort of berserker, let alone a berserker chieftain, refused a dare?
Clinging to pieces of the frozen earth, Vandar clambered downward, and shadow swallowed him. The only remaining light came from the stars directly overhead and their gleam on the snow below. That was why it wasn t until he reached the bottom that he realized the starlight was glinting on more than snow.
Once, he thought, a body might have rested in the hole. But if so, time had obliterated every trace of bone, flesh, hair, or clothing, or at least every one he might otherwise have noticed in the dark. But, not corroded, tarnished, or even dirty, were a long spear and broadsword that remained. They appeared to be made entirely of some strange crimson metal, even the shaft of the spear.
The sword s scabbard had fasteners to clip it on his hip. The spear was more awkward to manage, but by running it down his back and through his belt, he managed to carry both weapons up out of the hole.
What do you think? asked the apparition, irony keen as any blade in its voice. Are the arms worthy of an Iron Lord in waiting?
Making sure not to point it at the phantom, Vandar lowered the spear into a guard position. Though he was far more proficient with a sword, even he could feel how light and perfectly balanced the weapon was. It seemed awake and eager in his hands, an instrument capable of killing even dragons and demons as required.
I m no Old One, he said, but even I can feel these are full of magic. What do they do?
I can t tell you that, the guardian said, because the weapons behave differently in every set of hands. They magnify what you already are. Knowing that, do you still want them?
Of course! Vandar exclaimed. Except for a place in my lodge and the griffons I ve never wanted anything more. He bowed as deeply as he was able.
And I thank you with all my heart.
As well you should, replied the phantom. And now you have everything I had to give. Well, except advice. I told you I don t see everything. No one does, not the wisest prophet in the bright world or the cleverest seer in the dark one. But now that I m taking an interest, I see something.
Vandar had grown at least a little accustomed to the spectral presence of the guardian, but suddenly his mouth went dry all over again. What do you see? he asked.