Lands of the Vay

Author's note: Thank you to Liter Knight for her careful editing!

Author's note: This chapter contains themes of non-consent/reluctance.

Chapter 3

Ronan jerked awake to a knock on the door. Cesta jumped and made a sleepy, startled sound in his arms. He untangled himself carefully and crawled out of bed, went to the door and opened it a crack. Declan was standing outside.

"Time to get going," he said.

"Alright, I'll be down in a few," said Ronan.

Ronan closed the door and turned to see Cesta sitting up in bed. He couldn't read her expression.

"You're leaving?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Alright, I..." she trailed off and ran a hand through her hair, messy from sleep. She looked at him uncertainly. It was an uncertainty Ronan shared. He wasn't sure what they were to each other now. He went and sat on the bed and took her hands. It wasn't an entreaty; he gave off no Allure. He just felt a need to hold her hands.

"You remember their names?" she asked.

"Bamron and Mafron Anuthdion, and Anuthdir Edlennion. Third Amon Taered regiment I'll write it all down. I'll be back when your whelps are ready to drop, or soon after. I will keep my promise to you."

Cesta looked at him for a moment, then turned her head to the side, sucked in her lips, and let out a ragged breath.

"Alright. Alright, thank you," she said.

He nodded and she leaned forward. Their goodby kiss was as soft and cool and perfect as their first, but this one meant something else. Then he rose from the bed, washed and dressed. Cesta watched him silently the whole time. Her eyes made Ronan tense and jittery. When he was ready he looked back to Cesta. She opened her mouth and closed it, struggling for what to say, before finally speaking.

"Be careful out there," said Cesta, "I need... I want you to come back."

"I will," he said.

He leaned forward and kissed her one more time. Then without another word he slipped downstairs.

Declan was sitting at the dining room table, stuffing his face with eggs and toast. Cesta's sister-in-law, Niril, stood nearby, ready to serve. She gave Ronan a cool glance as he entered the kitchen.

"Did you have a good night?" asked Declan, giving Ronan a dirty grin.

Ronan felt a surge of irritation at Declan's tone; it felt profane somehow. He pushed the feeling away, assuming the attitude of casual confidence he used when talking to a savay.

"No thanks to you."

"Ha, I knew how things were going to end up. I was here with my dad last spring and he went through the same dance you did and it ended the same way. Cesta's quite the girl. I'm jealous."

Ronan glanced at Niril. The pale woman was looking down at the floor, shame marring her features. She was very pale so the blush of her embarrassment was impossible to miss. Ronan idly wondered which of the E'Allain had put a litter in her, how many times she had whelped, whether she considered it a betrayal of her husband, Cesta's lost brother. It wasn't anything he had ever thought about before.

He looked back to Declan.

"Yeah, Cesta's quite the girl."

Declan looked uncertain for a moment, sensing something in Ronan's tone, a subtle anger.

"Eat up, we should get going," was all he said.

Ronan nodded and sat down to eat.

...

The next day, the patrol was taking its midday rest, feeding and watering the horses and orcs, when Declan's scout thraka, Zag, appeared on the horizon. Lum and Zag were doing at least three times the work of anyone else on the patrol. The scouts ranged far ahead of the party, sometimes for miles, and used their keen senses to look, listen, and sniff for any sign of men. Based on Zag's gait, a little faster than her normal ground eating stride, Ronan thought the thraka might have finally found what they were searching for.

Ronan made his way over to Declan and arrived just about the same time Zag did. Bol, Declan's fighting thraka, walked over as well.

Zag stopped in front of the small group, her eyes taking them all in. Her long pointed ears were drooping from exhaustion and sorrow.

"There's a small farm about a mile east, burned. The vay are in front of the house, all dead," she said.

Declan's face contorted in rage, "Fuck,"

Ronan knew exactly how he felt. The news made him so angry he felt like his head was going to explode. Savay rarely raided each other anymore, not when there was so much easy land available and so many humans to fight and capture. But when they did they never killed vay. Killing a vay on a raid accidently was an act of the deepest shame. The deliberate murder of a vay would destroy a savay's house completely. His sept would abandon him and all his neighbors would ally to hunt him down. The casual way men murdered vay was deeply shocking to savay, and the acts of revenge that followed could be equally shocking to humans.

"Orcfuckers," said Ronan, he didn't recognize his own voice, it sounded so strained.

Declan nodded.

Ronan took a breath and tried to get a hold of himself. The important thing was to find the humans who had done this and make them pay.

"I...didn't think there were any farms this far out," said Ronan.

"Not any of the sept's, but unbound vay set up past the border pretty regularly. And they get hit pretty regularly too. They're not our responsibility, no one is supposed to settle that far out yet, but..."

"Vay are vay," said Ronan, it was an old savay saying. As old as the savay themselves. A savay's duty was to protect the vay of his house and his sept, but every savay felt a responsibility to keep every vay safe, especially from non-Vay. It was what they had been created for, after all.

"Right," said Declan, "let's finish our break. We'll need to be rested for this."

Ronan nodded, excitement warring with his anger. After days slogging through the wilderness with only the occasional bright spot, he might finally get the chance to test himself against the humans they were hunting.

The rest of the break was not very restful for Ronan. He was too angry and tense to relax. He almost suggested they head out immediately, but the orcs didn't know there was anything to be upset about and were lounging on the grass, munching on mushrooms and enjoying the sun. Sometimes Ronan envied orcs for their innocence. They went through life with no knowledge of the conflicts or sorrows surrounding them, happy just to serve their parents and masters.

After a half hour they roused the orcs from their leisure and headed out, tightening their loose skirmishing line in preparation. They reached the burned out farm in about twenty minutes. Ronan smelled the acrid smoke a few minutes before the farm came into view. The farm was small; the burned ruin of the farmhouse couldn't have been more than a single story based on the debris, and there was only a single field in view, though Ronan knew small farms spread their fields out over a few acres. Everything was burned, the farmhouse was a shell of blackened timbers, the orc shed was a crater, even the field was burned.

In front of the farmhouse were three vay bodies. One of them couldn't have been older than seven. Each bodyhad multiple crossbow bolts piercing them.

Ronan turned away and covered his mouth, fighting the need to throw up his lunch. Knowing that vay had been murdered was one thing, actually seeing it was a lot worse.

Declan came up to him, "You okay?" He asked.

Ronan straightened up, crushing his nausea, "Yeah, I'm fine, fine. Just..." he waved behind him at the bodies, refusing to turn round.

"Yeah its pretty fucked. Why don't you take a walk? I'll handle things here."

Ronan nodded. Normally he'd have been angry at Declan for treating him as if he was weak but he was too shaken to care.

Ronan walked away from the farmhouse to the edge of the field. He stared west, towards the great river that marked the hard border between the new frontier and the kingdoms of men. He wondered who over there had decided these vay had to die. Maybe it was the men who had fired the crossbows but men rarely acted on their own. There was always a lord in a castle or palace far away, telling them what to do. He wondered if it kept him up at night. He wondered if he'd ever be able to reach them and make them pay.

Eventually, Lum came to get him and they walked back to the farmhouse. The vay had been laid out next to each other and covered with the canvas they had been using to keep the rain off the orcs.

"This happened this morning, just before dawn," said Lum, her melodious voice matter of fact, "they shot the orcs while they were sleeping. Then burned the house and shot the vay when they ran. I think they took a few animals and killed the rest."

Declan ran a hand through his close cropped hair, "Alright, alright we need to go after them."

"We should bury the vay first," said Ronan.

"There's no time," said Declan.

Ronan's anger surged up again, "We can't just leave their bodies in the front yard, for the fucking crows."

Declan paused a moment before nodding.

"Alright, alright," he said. Then he turned to Bol, "can you take some of the orcs and take care of it? I need to... everyone else take another break."

Bol nodded and rounded up some orcs to dig the graves. Ronan felt like he should look at the bodies, let himself see one more time what the humans had done, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He found a shady spot under a tree and tried to calm himself, taking deep breaths. Eventually the warm summer air and the pleasant breeze managed to relax him somewhat. He just felt like he had calmed himself when Brug came to tell him they were ready.

Bol had buried the vay under a beautiful sugar maple, a vast tree with a branching trunk that spread into a wide canopy. Tradition dictated vay be buried under a tree, in the hopes their spirits would go into it and be purified. Declan, Ronan and the thraka gathered around the graves. Declan looked at him as he approached.

"You want to do it?" He asked.

"I've never done it before," said Ronan.

"I haven't either, my dad always handled it. I'm not great at speeches and you were really good when you presented the gifts to my father at court, so I know you'll do a better job."

Ronan nodded, trying to keep his nerves in check. He took his place before the graves and Declan and the thraka bowed their heads.

"Brightmother, we offer these vay to the embrace of these roots, so that their souls may be accepted into your own embrace and be purified. These vay were courageous in life, setting out into the unknown to build a home and make new life in your image. We beg you to look kindly upon them for that courage, and extend them the forgiveness in death they tried to earn in life."

With the prayer to the Brightmother finished, Ronan bowed his head with the other Vay. When Ronan looked up he saw Declan's mouth moving and he quickly looked down again. He knew Declan was praying to the Giftgiver and tried to keep his anxiety under control. Prayers to the Giftgiver were never spoken out loud and never acknowledged. Ronan didn't know the exact words of Declan's prayer, but all prayers to the Giftgiver were the same; requests for luck and sorcerous power for battle, with flesh and souls offered as payment. Ronan considered offering the Giftgiver a prayer as well, but decided against it. If he did, he would be required to sacrifice his captives in payment, and Ronan wanted to keep them for the bounty. Also, prayers to the Giftgiver just made him uncomfortable. The Giftgiver's Gifts had saved the Vay and made them who they were today, but every Vay knew they weren't really gifts at all; there was always a high price.

When Declan finished his prayer he looked up and Ronan and the thraka moved on as if nothing had happened. They quickly organized into a standard patrol formation; scout thraka ranging far ahead, then a screen of orcs in a loose formation, fighting thraka behind them, directing, and finally the savay on their horses. The scout thraka sniffed out the trail of the human raiders, still clear to their keen noses even though it was a few hours old, and they kept just in sight of the thraka, who guided the rest of the party to follow. They set a ground eating pace but not one that would tire them out. With the horses at a trot, the thraka jogging, and the orcs using a four limbed lope. The miles fell behind them as they moved into the wilderness, past the farthest Vay farms of the frontier.

After a few miles the terrain turned hillier, with rocky soil that grew low bushes and trees. Ronan had to concentrate on the ground in front of him, to keep an eye out for rocks and dips that could make his horse stumble and break his limbs. He had to trust Lum to lead the way.

After about an hour there was a shrill whistle from up ahead, mimicking birdsong. It was a prearranged signal from one of the scout thraka that there was danger up ahead. Declan called an immediate halt and they waited for the scout's report, the orcs shifting restlessly as they picked up on their master's tension. After a minute Lum approached the patrol. Declan came over to Ronan to hear what the scout had to say.

Ronan dismounted as Lum reached him.

"There's an ambush just ahead," she said, her voice low and tense.

Ronan swallowed back some fear. He hadn't expected to be the one being hunted.

"They're good too. Really good," continued Lum, "And they're using magic. I didn't see them, hear them, or smell them at first. Only reason I caught them was one of them took a piss a few hours ago where he wasn't supposed to. After I caught a whiff I was able to suss them out."

Lum paused. Her long, pointed ears dipped and then straightened, quivering slightly.

"These aren't some human farmers turned raider. They have to be rangers, from the Watchtower," she said.

The bottom dropped out of Ronan's stomach. Barad Diriel, the Watchtower, was the great fortress city of the human kingdom of Sandagard. It lay across the river, cut into the heart of a mountain. It was guarded by layers of walls and defenses that had never been taken by force. The Watchtower had fought at the Dawnpass, and their well equipped, disciplined army was the most dangerous the Vay had ever faced.

"What the giftgiving fuck are they doing here?" asked Declan.

"This hasn't happened before?" Asked Ronan.

"No. There have been a few Watchtower rangers among the normal raiders, but never a whole squad."

Declan gave him a worried look and Ronan shared his fear. The Watchtower hadn't crossed the river in force in years. They had taken terrible losses during the Battle of the Dawnpass. Afterwards, they had retreated across the river and stayed there ever since. The raids along the frontier were from displaced farmers fighting back against the Vay that had taken their land. But it seemed the Watchtower had finally recovered enough to take a more active hand in pushing the Vay back from their new lands.

"I spotted ten of them, but there are definitely more," said Lum.

Ronan found his mind had gone blank. He had been in a few fights before but they were against bandits and the desperate remnants of the defeated human armies. He had been in duels with other savay, in open fields with small squads of orcs. He had never fought on the frontier, facing an ambush bent on his death. He had never fought the Watchtower.

"I... what do you think we should do?" he asked Declan.

Declan rubbed his beard, visibly calming down as he started thinking like the experienced patroller he was.

"What's the terrain like?" He asked Lum.

"Pretty much like this," said Lum, she gestured around at the rocky terrain full of small trees, scrub, and gentle hills.

"They're hiding on a pair of hills about a ahead," continued Lum, "Using these low trees and bushes as cover. "

"Any flankers?" Asked Declan, his tone was brisk now.

"A few, in bushes a little in front of the hills, but most of them are on the hills."

Declan nodded.

"They may be good but odds are we outnumber them and we have two savay," he said, "They're counting on an ambush but now we'll be ambushing them. The scouts can take out the flankers and we'll hit the ones on the hills with shouts and then the orcs can rush them."

"That's the plan?" asked Ronan, he hated how high his voice sounded.

"Always good to keep it simple," said Declan.

"Simple is best," agreed Brug.

"These are fucking Watchtower. They're not going to go down easy," said Ronan.

"They're still just men," said Declan. He sounded calm and confident and it helped calm Ronan down as well.

"A... alright," said Ronan. He took a breath and let it out, feeling a little better. He knew his song was strong, He could do this.

"Start singing when I do," said Declan, "I'll take the left hill and you take the right. Be ready to shout when I do. Try not to kill anyone. We want as many of them alive as possible," said Declan.

Declan turned to the fighting thraka, "After we shout, have the orcs charge. Ronan and I will support you wherever you need help."

Ronan and the thraka nodded. They moved off, rallying their orcs and getting back into scout formation. Declan tied his horse to a tree and Ronan followed his lead. The horses were too valuable and fragile to risk in a battle and their shouts were likely to spook the horses and get them tossed to the ground. The scout thraka disappeared ahead once again. Brug was about twenty feet directly ahead of him and the orcs were in a loose formation a few paces ahead of her. Brug looked back, nodded, and they started forward.

They walked a little slower than before, Ronan trying to keep his anxiety at bay. After a minute of walking he heard Declan start to hum and Ronan followed his lead.

Ronan began to hum the Song of Wrath, the fellsong, the song given by the Giftgiver to each and every savay to destroy the Enemy and keep the Vay safe. Ronan kept his mouth closed as he hummed to keep the fellsong locked inside him as he fed it. The song was the tension of barely contained anger, the terror of a looming disaster. It was the rumble of thunder and the grinding of the stone tearing itself apart. As Ronan hummed, the song thrashed in his chest, a monster barely contained by his will. His very being vibrated with the potential for destruction. As the song grew his fear fell away. He may not have Declan's experience fighting on the frontier, but he was the son of Balor Mordha, who had burned the lords of the Watchtower with invisible fires and shattered the walls of Cathar Grian to take this land for the vay. All men feared his father's song and that song was in him.

Ronan kept the song caged as they continued forward. He saw the hills up ahead, growing closer as they approached. They were a hundred yards away, eighty. The song jumped in his chest, eager to be let out, as if it knew its prey was close, that soon it would be free.

At fifty yards Declan shouted. The fellsong roared out of Declan, like a dying animal and the tearing of steel. Ronan quickly followed, his chest hollowing out as he shouted and unleashed his song. His song was the screech of a bird of prey and the rumble of an avalanche. A moment later there was the twang of bowstrings. His song flew through the air as a wave of pure force and malice to meet the rain of bolts. When it reached the bolts it tore them apart, shattering them in midair and leaving clouds of splinters that rained to the ground. Ronan took a breath, setting himself, and the song paused in midair. It didn't have a form, only a presence. There was the faintest wavering in the air, like a heat distortion.

Then Ronan shouted again and his song flew forward. This shout was slower and deeper, almost a dirge. Ronan drew out his shout and filled it with subtle warbles and ominous tonal shifts. The form of ruin the fellsong visited on the world depended on the will and skill of the singer. Fire was the most common because it was in the purview of the Giftgiver and it was a form of destruction all mortals feared. But the fellsong could call lightning from a clear sky, make blasts of wind strong enough to knock men off their feet, or just tear stone and flesh apart. Ronan might not be as strong as his father but he knew from his dueling that he had skill and control and was capable of subtle effects that few savay could match.