Sean Russell - The Swan's War 1 - The One Kingdom

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Book Information:

Genre: High/Epic Fantasy

Author: Sean Russell

Name: The One Kingdom

Series: Book One of The Swan’s War

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Sean Russell

THE ONE KINGDOM

Book One of The Swan’s War

IN THE MOVING LANDSCAPE ONLY THE MEN WERE STILL. THEY SAT AT the

long table atop Summer's Hill as motionless as stones in a running stream. Around them

the wind was in flight, more joyous than a swallow, as heedless as a child. It swept

down onto the new green oats and raked through the hay, making waves and patterns

like sand on a riverbed. Gusts bent and swayed the trees, pulling away the spring leaves

and spinning them up into the wind-washed sky. But in the center of this the men

remained still. Dease was relieved that he and Samul had prevailed, and the others had

agreed to meet here, where the countryside was visible for almost half a league. He

didn't want to take the least chance that they would be overheard—it was enough that

they had to listen to themselves.” I would say there is not one among the Wills who can

even unhorse him, let alone manage what we need," Samul said— Samul, who almost

never spoke out in the family assemblies, preferring to seed his ideas in the minds of

others so that he might watch quietly. Samul the cunning, Dease thought of him. Beld

shifted on his bench.” Toren is so sympathetic to the Wills that I think they should not

even want to cause him a bruise, let alone do him harm." Dease noticed that the others

looked a little uncomfortable whenever Beldor spoke. No matter what their feelings in

this, no one else hated Toren the way that Beld did. Several were Toren's admirers, in

many ways.

"I fear we can't trust to others to do it for us," Samul said softly.” I think the earlier plan

the best. We let our cousin win the tournament, as he is likely to do anyway, and then

do the deed at night so that it looks like revenge. That would be best. It will see our dear

cousin removed from the succession and place the blame clearly on the Wills."

"It will hardly be clear," Dease said, unwilling to hide his distaste for what they planned,

"not that it will matter. Everyone is ready to believe the Wills capable of the worst

treachery."

"Then that is what we'll do, Cousins," Beld said, sitting back a little on his bench.” I

worry only that some might lose their nerve." He looked around the table.” That hard

decisions do not come easy to everyone."

"You can name me, Beld," Dease said.” We all know of whom you speak. You're hardly

subtle."

"But subtlety is not what's needed," Beld answered, sitting forward quickly, his temper

flaring. Dease could see his cousin's muscles tensing beneath his tunic.” Deeds are what's

required, Cousin, and I'm not sure you can stomach that, being such an admirer of

Toren's and all."

Dease met his cousin's gaze easily, not looking away or even looking particularly

intimidated, and very few were not intimidated by Beld. He was a great bear of a man,

but even more so, he looked like someone barely in control of a vast and raging

anger—which was, in fact, the truth.

"I do admire him," Dease said simply.” In many ways he is the best of us, and not just

on the tournament field."

Beld banged his fists on the table.” But Toren will give us over to the Wills! He thinks that

they can be won over by charm and words, that they will be convinced to give up their

feud of nine generations. He will gift them the Isle of Battle, which is no different than

giving them the wealth to raise an army. Toren thinks that all we have to do is renounce

our claim to the throne—as simple as that—and they will do the same, and all will be

well with the world." He looked around at the others quickly.” Give up our claim! I've

heard him say it myself. Do he know what the Wills would do to us if they were ever to

ascend the throne? They would not forget the past. They would not forgive. Toren will

see the Renné name eradicated from Ayr, that's what Toren's... statecraft will

accomplish. But it isn't our name that I want to see forgotten. No, I for one have had

enough of his conciliation. I—" "Enough, Beld!" Dease interrupted.” We've all heard you

rant before. Spare us, this day." Beld lunged up from the bench, but Arden and Samul

grabbed his massive arms, and he let them pull him back onto the bench.” Enough of

this," Samul said, his voice, as always, firm and reasonable.” Don't bait him, Dease; we

can't afford division now." "Yes, I know, but let's not try to justify what we do as noble,

Samul. It is the most vile treachery. We are about to murder our own cousin, and

though I admit it's necessary to our preservation, still I can't pretend it is anything but

what it is. You all know I've tried to reason with Toren, I've spent countless hours in this

vain pursuit, and I sometimes think he came nearer to convincing me, than me to him."

He splayed a large hand on the table, looking down at it sadly.” But I'm sure now that he

will not be convinced to give up this folly. So we must either follow him to disaster or

resort to treachery. For the future of our family, I choose treachery, but I have no doubt

that I am a blackguard—a murderer and a traitor. And if we are discovered, don't

imagine that our family will think otherwise, for they would rather honorable ruin than

this ignominy that we have chosen." The stillness returned, as the wind raged around

them, swaying the branches of the tree overhead so that shadow and sunlight chased

each other madly across the table and over the grim faces of the gathered men.” Are you

with us, yea or nay, Dease?" Samul asked at last. Dease looked up, a little surprised by

the question.” I'm with you, yea and nay, Cousin, but I'm with you."

Samul stared down at the table before him.” Then," he said softly, "we have only to

decide who will do it and how."

"I'll gladly take this infamy on myself, Cousins," Beld said, trying, but failing, to hide his

satisfaction.

"No," Dease said firmly.” This is not an act born of hatred. I will do this thing"—he took

a breath—"for I love him best."

Beld began to protest, but Samul silenced him.” Then you will both go. Dease will do the

deed, and Beld will witness. And we will all pledge ourselves to silence or to hang

together, if that is what comes—but it will be as though each of us had committed the

act himself. Do you agree?"

No movement, and then each man nodded his head in turn, some more reluctantly than

others. Silence settled around them again.

"How do you propose to do it, Cousin?" Arden asked quietly. He was the youngest of

them, barely more than twenty, and spoke his mind the least, though Dease knew that

he was not the least thoughtful.

Dease looked up from the table, the sorrow of the death already etched on his face.”

During the archery trials at the Westbrook Tournament I will steal arrows from the

Wills...." He paused to take a sudden breath.” And I will use them to shoot Toren

through the heart. He will die quickly." No one made comment, but they sat with the

weight of what they would do and what they had become pressing down on them.

A gust of wind moved the branches overhead so that the leaves hissed. A dark bird

clung determinedly to its perch, protesting the disturbance.

"Once," Arden began, his voice filled with affection and sadness, "Toren unseated me at

the tournament in Waye, and afterward—"

"Don't begin that!" Dease said, turning on his cousin.” Don't even think of beginning that!

You have no right. None of us has any right."

5

When the men went to untether their horses, the wind, which had not paused to draw

breath all morning, sighed once and died away. So the cousins rode down the hill into a

newly still world, where the only sounds were their horses passing, for the men spoke

not at all.

The silence left after the death of the wind was like the world in mourning. Even the

birds gave up their songs. Dease rode along a lane shaded by plane trees, enduring his

sorrow. Like the countryside after the wind's death, he felt emptied, hollow. Silence

invaded him. Silence and bitterness. Out of his sadness and remorse came feelings of

anger and resentment toward his cousin. Why was Toren forcing them to this? Could he

not have listened to reason? Could he not have heeded the warnings—for Dease had

tried to warn him. Unfortunately, Toren did not believe that anyone's opinions had more

validity than his own—a family weakness. Beld suffered the same problem, and he had

not half the intellect of Toren. It was difficult for Dease to admit that he agreed with

Beldor this time, though Beld's opinions were mere reactions, not arrived at by careful

consideration— perhaps there had been no thought at all. Dease realized that more than

anything he wished that their problem could be solved by Beld's death. That death he

would not feel such sorrow over. The idea that Beld would accompany him—no doubt to

savor the death of the cousin he hated—did not sit well with Dease. He wondered if Beld

could suffer an accident on the tilt field that summer. It wasn't impossible. But, no; one

murder was enough, even though Beld was more deserving of it than Toren—at least in

some ways. Dease shut his eyes and tried to clear these thoughts from his brain. When

he opened them he looked around and saw something moving across a field.

It was Arden's head bobbing just above the green oats. His young cousin was trotting

along beyond the field, trying to outpace him, no doubt. Planning to intercept him.

He will want to talk, Dease realized, and then hoped the others would not see them. It

could not help but look suspicious. Why had Arden not ridden off with him in the first

place? Everyone would have thought that innocent enough.

This is what conies of being a conspirator, he realized: you live in fear of suspicion.

At the corner of the next field Arden caught him, his face red in the sun, his look a bit

embarrassed. Dease was certain that the decision they had made did not seem real to

Arden yet. It was all just talk, as most things were with young men.

"Cousin," Arden said as he reined his horse in, and then nothing. Silent like the world

around them.” May I ride with you awhile?"

Dease nodded and the two fell in side by side, riding down the long row of trees, from

shadow to light to shadow again.

"You're not happy with the decision," Dease said at last.

"No one is happy.... No one but Beld, that is." He played with his mare's mane.” I still

hope that Toren can be convinced to change his mind. There is time. The Westbrook Fair

is some months off." He looked up at Dease, clearly an appeal.” He won't listen to me,

but don't you give up, Dease. Toren might be brought to his senses yet."

Dease nodded, though it was not in agreement.” I will try, but I fear my constant

badgering has begun to antagonize him."

They rode on through the still day, each of them lost in thought. Dease looked at his

cousin. He had grown into a fair young man, or at least that was what the women

thought. Blond and blue-eyed like so many Renné , with skin fair as a child's. Arden was

strongly built, like his father—or so he would be when he reached his full weight. Dease

had not seen Arden on the tilt field in some time, but he was

7 hearing reports that his young cousin would do the Renné proud this season.

Suddenly Arden raised his head.” I have one concern, Dease." He said this so earnestly

that Dease found himself leaning over to hear what would be said next.” What if Beldor's

interest in this is not so simple as it seems? We all know he hates Toren—that is not in

question—but after Toren is dead the succession falls to Kel. And after Kel only you

stand between Beldor and the throne. And if the feud begins again ..." "There is no

throne," Dease reminded him. Arden looked at him oddly, as though trying to plumb his

thoughts.” Perhaps, but who does Beldor hate most next to Toren?" Dease nodded. It

was no secret. Beld hated him. Hated him for their difference. Beld, the man of action,

could not bear Dease's thoughtfulness. His love of music and art were offensive to a man

of arms. Such interests weakened a man. He had heard Beld say it. And the fact that

Dease always triumphed over Beld on the tilt field drove his cousin to fury.” Everyone

has had this same thought, Arden. Beld knew I wouldn't let him do this thing. I wonder

if he wanted to be seen to offer. Who would suspect the man offering to commit the

murder of treachery? But, in fact, we all do. I've never turned my back to Cousin Beld."

"Samul and I have our eye on him, Cousin," Arden said.” If some accident befalls you

after Toren is gone, we've made a pact. We shall not let Beldor come into the succession.

We will not." Hearing this, Dease closed his eyes. His sorrow kicked inside him. Such was

the choice they'd made this afternoon upon Summer's Hill.

THE RUINED TOWER STOOD ABOVE THE OLD BATTLEFIELD AT TELANON

Bridge, an empty-eyed sentinel overlooking a meadow of spring flowers and slumbering

ghosts. A cooling breeze bore the scent of ice and snow down from the nearby

mountains, and the trees bordering the old battlefield began the furtive whispering that

haunted the winds by night.

From the crumbling battlements Tarn watched the shadow of great Eldhorn wash over

the hills: night's tide flowing, silent and relentless. Shadows pooled in the valleys and

made islands of hilltops still lit by the sun.

Below, a fire crackled, and Tarn heard the muffled voices of his cousin and Baore as they

prepared the meal. Smoke, caught by eddies and drafts from the ancient stoneworks,

drifted through the ruin like the spirit of regret that seemed to dwell in this place.” The

young begin their journeys with joyful hearts," Tarn quoted to himself, "the old with

regrets."

Yet his heart was not filled with joy. The world beyond his home, the Vale of Lakes, was

strange and not much spoken of by the people of the Vale—despite the fact that all of

their ancestors had come from that outside world.

Driven here by war, Tarn reminded himself.

All the most important things you'll do in this life will exact a price in one way or

another, his grandfather liked to say. Once you've made up your mind, pay the price and

get on with it.

Of course, his grandfather had never traveled more than a day's walk from the Vale. To

the south Tam could see the dark river twist and fall and then disappear behind the

ragged edge of a wooded hill—the River Wynnd, gathering speed for its long journey to

the sea. Tam closed his eyes and thought of the map he'd traced on his grandfather's

table. Beyond the old tower lay the wildlands—league after league of deeply forested

hills— which eventually gave way to rolling meadows, then fields in their frames of

hedgerows and drystone walls. Here one would find the villages of the lowlanders,

houses of weathered stone washed up along the riverbank. Tam opened his eyes and

gazed into the distant south where small clouds blossomed on the horizon. No point

getting ahead of himself. They would not go so far. Not halfway through the wildlands

was a small, isolated village— Inniseth—and between there and here lay a fortnight of

speeding, twisting river. Tam let his eye follow the river back; a brief, effortless journey.

Immediately beneath him the delicate curve of the old bridge arced like an arrow's flight

across the chasm, its stone lighter in color and harder than the rock of the cliffs— carried

here from quarries far away.” The man who spends his time gazing at far horizons and

not helping with the preparation of his meal shall soon hunger after more than distant

lands." This was Tarn's cousin, Fynnol, calling up from below, another of his

spontaneous pieces of "ancient" lore and wisdom.” I thought it was me who shot the

grouse?" Tam called down.” Giving you a chance to show off your skill yet again. And

when did we begin to count grouse hunting as work? It's play, and therefore doesn't go

on the ledger." Tam could just make out his cousin staring up through the spray of new

leaves, his face creased with humor, as it usually was. Fynnol of the quick wit and

quicker laugh. Tam didn't think he could win this small duel of words. Few could best

Fynnol there.” I shall be down immediately, then."

Tam took one more look around the hills that were coming back to life after winter, and

then climbed down from his perch. The three young men had made their camp here for

five days in what they thought might once have been a dining hall, though the walls

were now covered with lichen and wild ivy, and the roof was the vault of the

ever-changing sky. Fynnol hunched over a fire burned down to coals, and with great

concentration, turned a pair of spitted grouse. Ten feet away, Baore sat against the stone

wall, carefully polishing a bronze dagger hilt unearthed that morning.

"Do you realize, Cousins," Fynnol said, "that we have escaped the Vale? We are free of

it!" He laughed.” No more Wella Messt knowing every little thing we do—and sharing it

with everyone beneath the living sun. No more cows to milk, hogs to slop, corn to plant.

My only regret is that we plan to return so soon."

"We shall likely not be back before midsummer's day," Tam said, "especially if we can't

find what we want in Inniseth."

"I want nothing more than to get away! Far, far away," Fynnol said, and then glanced

over at his cousin Baore, who shifted uncomfortably. Tam crouched down by the fire,

but Fynnol cocked his head toward the food bags.” Tubers await your attentions."

Tam nodded, but his focus was on their companion. Baore was bent over, looking

closely at the dagger handle in the fading light. He was a man whose hands could not be

still. Even when they sat around the fire telling stories in the evening, Baore would be

honing fishhooks or sewing a tear in a shirt. He was never without some small job of

work in hand.

Quiet then, as each bent to his task. There was a bit of awkwardness between the three

this evening, and Tam was

not quite sure what the cause might be. Baore was silent— more so than usual—and

Fynnol, ever aware of his cousin's moods, was more talkative and animated. Tam

wondered if Baore might be having second thoughts about their journey down the river.

After three years of talking endlessly about their plans, how could Baore say that the

Vale looked fairer to him than any adventure? Certainly he didn't dare say it to Fynnol,

whose judgments of their place of birth had become more and more harsh as their day

of departure approached. It was ironic, Tam thought, for of the three of them Baore

looked the most like an adventurer: large jawed and crooked nosed, with an impressive

breadth of shoulder and a height that few men equaled. Appearance belied the truth,

though, for Baore was gentle by nature and a bit slow and unsure when it came to

speaking his mind. Just waiting for a good woman to make up his mind for him, Fynnol

always said, and Tam feared that judgment was not far wrong. Fynnol called Baore "the

draft horse," and it was more true than flattering—strong, easy of nature, loyal, and solid

on the earth. If the gate is left open, our draft horse would not think to go out, Fynnol

once said, and Baore appeared to be proving him right. Perhaps he would need to be

led—or driven. Tam looked over at the big Valeman. With his blond hair (which Fynnol

described as willful) and downy youth's beard, Baore brought to mind nothing so much

as a hay mow battered by a windstorm. Conversation over dinner was a bit forced,

Fynnol talking excitedly about the journey and taking wicked pleasure in mocking the

people they were leaving behind. If Baore was their draft horse, then Tam thought

Fynnol was the crow of the group—cunning and wary, but swift and filled with hidden

purpose. And like the crow, Fynnol was little concerned with his effect on others. Tam

looked from one to the other, marveling that these two were cousins. One clever and

prone to scheming, the other solid and steady. And yet here they were, about to set out

on this adventure together—Fynnol's adventure, for though Fynnol was not blessed with

the personality of a leader, Tam knew it had been Fynnol's zeal that I had pressed them

forward.

"I have decided," Fynnol said suddenly, "that I would like a gray mare that will be the

envy of all the Vale and shall give j me foals that men will clamor to buy."

"I thought you were set on a bay stallion with a star on his forehead?" Tam teased.

"That was before I thought it out straight, Tamlyn." Fynnol was eating a leg of grouse

with greasy fingers, and waved the gnawed bone to make his point.” Gray is the color of

early I morning, so shall bring me good luck, for it is about beginnings; and a mare will

give me foals of which I shall take my pick, thereby being sure to have another horse

just as good. | Or maybe better. A gray mare. That's what I shall have."

"Well, you can't name a gray mare 'Evening Star' if gray is ; the color of morning," Baore

said, forcing himself to join the banter, trying to shake off his mood, for he was not

grave by nature.

"Baore speaks the truth. And why is gray not the color of evening as well?"

"Because the color of evening is purple, Tamlyn, as everyone who has ever read a book

well knows. And as to the name, I have another just as good. 'Greystone,' after my

grandmother's family. Solid as the earth, but light on the tongue. Greystone."

"You always have things worked out so perfectly," Tam said.” And then, when you

change your mind, you soon have them worked out just as perfectly again."

"Oh, more perfectly, Cousin. More perfectly."

To their left someone cleared his throat, and everyone turned to find a man standing just

at the edge of the firelight. For an instant no one moved they were so surprised.

"As you have everything worked out to such perfection," the man said in a warm voice,

"perhaps you will not mind

sharing some of it with a stranger? The light of your fire would be welcome."

All three Valemen were on their feet, Baore with a heavy staff in his hands. The man

took one look at this giant who had risen before him, and stepped quickly into the light,

extending both his hands palm outward.

"You've no reason to fear me," he said, a smile appearing from behind a neatly trimmed

beard.” I'm a peaceful traveler, and shall gladly give my sword and bow into your

keeping to prove it." He unbuckled a scabbard and held it out

toward Baore.

"Keep your sword," Tam said after a second.” We make travelers welcome in this corner

of the world."

Despite Tarn's words the man stood his sword against the stone wall before approaching

the fire. Tam thought him neatly turned out for a traveler. Not a hunter or trapper, he

was quite sure. Though the stranger dressed for the wood and looked comfortable in his

role, he had a hint of the city about him— or so Tam imagined, for he had never been to

a city himself.

"I thought I heard the vowels of the Valemen here." He smiled again.” I'm Alaan, and

you are Tam, I think, and Baore and Fynnol." He laughed at their reaction.” I apologize,

but I sat and listened to you speak long enough to be sure you weren't brigands or

fugitives. Most men you meet in the hills are kindly, honest men, such as yourselves, but

not all, and I have become more cautious as I grow older."

Tam gestured to a place by the fire.” It is a rough table we set, but we've more than

enough on it to feed four."

"I've a horse tethered out in the dark," Alaan said.” Let me find him and I'll be back."

Fynnol cast a look over at the man's sword leaning against the stone.” Is that the weapon

of a hunter, Cousin," he said quietly, "or is that the sword of a man-at-arms?"

Tam looked over at the long blade, with its unadorned hilt and pommel." 'Tis as you say,

but there are three of us and one of him, and if he wanted to rob us he would have only

to empty our boat as we slept, as he must know if he's been listening."

They sat back down to their meal, and in a moment Alaan reappeared, leading a heavily

burdened horse. This he tended to and tethered outside the hall, speaking softly to the

beast. When he came to the fire he bore a drinking skin and several bags.

"I have a wine here that has not killed me yet and some other things that I might offer to

your fair table, for any table with kindly men about it seems fair to me. I can't tell you

how often I've eaten my supper with only my horse for company these past months. He

is intelligent for his kind, but still he talks only of food and mares and how much his

hooves pain him at the end of each long day, and I have heard enough of that."

"You may be disappointed here," Fynnol said.” We were just speaking of mares

ourselves."

The man smiled and poured them each some wine, which was far better than his claims,

and shared some goat cheese mixed with herbs none of them knew, and by the time

they had tasted his food and drink he was a welcome guest indeed. Polite questions were

asked as they ate, though the food and wine took up much of their attention.

"Where is it you travel to, Alaan?" Fynnol asked as they sprawled about the fire after

their meal.” Or do you come to visit us in the Vale of Lakes to see the beauty of the

waters?"

The man laughed pleasantly, like a man genuinely glad to find company.” I am not

stopping in the Vale this time, though I have done so in the past. Does Delgert Gallon

still dwell by the Neck?"

"He does indeed," Baore said, surprised, "though he's old and mostly deaf these days,

and growing frail."

"Gallon is Baore's aunt's cousin's brother, or some such thing," Fynnol added.

"I'm sorry to hear he is not hale." Alaan shook his head, the smile disappearing.” But I

go south this time."

15

"As do we," Fynnol said, "though we can't join you on your journey, for we go by boat."

Tam saw Alaan's eyebrows lift a little.” You don't fear the river, then?" he said evenly.” If

you're speaking of the fast water and gorges," Fynnol said, "we fear them as much as

any man should. If you're talking about the old wives' tales ... We're more afraid of the

old wives, to be honest." Alaan nodded but made an odd little grimace.” Then I shall not

regale you with old wives' tales." There was a moment of silence, and then Baore said

softly, "You don't believe these stories, do you?" Alaan kept his attention on his cup for a

moment, his face impassive in the flickering firelight.” It is a strange old river, I'll tell you

that," he said at last.” And I've been down it once. That is how I know old Gallon—he

sold me a boat some years ago and I followed the river, though not quite to the sea as

I'd hoped." He smeared a bit of bread in the juices in his bowl.” How far will you

venture?" "To Inniseth." Alaan nodded, thinking.” You'll likely encounter few difficulties

between here and there, that is, if you pass through the Lion's Maw without harm." He

glanced at Fynnol.” Will you pay the Lion for passage, or is that an old wives' tale as

well?" Before Fynnol could speak Baore interrupted.” I'll pay," he said." 'Tis only a coin,

and many a man who's kept his silver has come to harm in the Maw." "It is only a coin!"

Fynnol scoffed. Then said to Alaan, "1 wouldn't throw any of my hard-earned money

into the river, though Tam and Baore may do as they please." "And you, Alaan," Baore

said, "did you pay the Lion for passage?" "I did, and I would do so again, were I to

travel that way. And when you see the water racing through the Maw and hear the Lion's

roar ... why, even Fynnol might change his 16

mind." He smiled as though he jested.” But I'm sure you'll survive it. You've likely spent

your lives in boats. Beware the River Wynnd, though, for it will take you places

unexpected and show you things you might rather not see."

The three Valemen glanced at one another, Baore uncertain, but Fynnol not quite

suppressing a smirk.

"Is it true the people of Inniseth sacrifice their dead to the river and will not venture near

it after dark?" Baore asked.

Alaan smiled.” Well, it is hardly a sacrifice. They pour the ashes of their dead into the

river and will not be buried in the ground. They believe that is the worst curse you can

place on a family—to bury one of them in the ground. It is their punishment for

murderers. But it is true the ritual of sending the ashes down the river is partly done to

appease the river or its spirits, in some strange way. Outsiders are not welcome at their

funeral rites, so I can't say what is done, but they seem to believe they've made a pact

with the river: it will leave them in peace during their lives if they are surrendered to it in

death."

Fynnol laughed, but Tarn and Baore did not join in and he fell quickly silent.

"And do they not venture near the river after dark?" Baore asked.

"Well, the town lies on the high ground across the river from the fields, which flood in

spring. Each day the people must go there to work. It's true that they'll not cross the

river after dark and that those who live nearest to the water bolt their doors and gates at

night and leave no windows open on the river side." Alaan looked around at the others

and suddenly smiled.” But these are old wives' tales and I promised not to indulge in

those."

The traveler looked off into the darkness, concentrating as though listening. Tarn

wondered where the man might be going and where he had come from. There were

signs in his speech that he was a man of education, and clearly he'd traveled. It was hard

to say why such a man was here, so far from

17 the inhabited lowlands, for the Vale was one of the few settlements in a vast

wilderness. Occasionally men would appear traveling up the old road, seeking gold and

silver in the far valleys, but the mines there had been emptied long ago and few men

carried anything but disappointment home again.” You've been digging in the old

battlefields and mounds, I take it?" Alaan nodded to the artifacts that Baore had been

cleaning. When no one answered right away: "There must be many a broken blade and

shield still buried beneath the earth hereabout, though I would guess that time has left

Sean Russell - The Swan's War 1 - The One Kingdom

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