Return of the Temujai

by John Flanagan

  Lydia lay on the ground behind them, a dart drawn from her quiver and fitted to the throwing handle. This time, she had selected one with a razor-sharp iron warhead. If anything went wrong and one of the sentries made a break for it, she wouldn’t have time to be bothered with the niceties of knocking him unconscious.

  Hal peered into the shadows under the wagon. He was ready, behind one of the massive wooden wheels. He could see that Thorn had reached a similar position. His face was turned toward Hal, waiting for his command. Stig was watching as well.

  Hal drew his saxe and raised it, turning it back and forth in the clear space beyond the wagon so that the blade caught the dim starlight. Then he gestured forward with it and began to crawl out from under the wagon, heading for the Temujai, who was silhouetted against the sky.

  He kept his eye on his target, resisting the urge to check and make sure Stig and Thorn were moving to the attack as well. The Herons had been working and fighting together for years. They trusted one another and he knew they would be moving.

  Slowly, he rose to his feet behind the sentry. But his clothing must have made some noise as it rustled in the grass and the man started to turn toward him.

  Hal brought the brass hilt of his saxe down in an overhand arc, slamming it against the man’s skull. The sentry gave a small whimper of sound and collapsed to the ground, his spear falling one way, his shield the other. But they landed on soft grass and the noise was minimal.

  Almost at the same time, Hal heard a similar thud and a slight groan as Thorn brought his hook down on his man, and a catch of breath as Stig’s arm went round the middle sentry’s neck in the same choke hold.

  Hal crouched over the fallen sentry before him, saxe ready, looking uphill to the outer ring of guards. The nearest was fifty meters away and had heard nothing suspicious. He remained staring stolidly outward into the night.

  Lydia emerged from under the wagon and rolled the unconscious sentry on his stomach, pulling his hands behind his back and fastening them with a pair of leather thumb cuffs. She whipped a short length of cord around his ankles, quickly binding them, then removed his long, flowing wool scarf and wrapped it around his head and face to muffle any attempt to call for help or sound an alarm.

  Hal nodded his thanks. He looked at the others and saw they were tying and gagging their men as well. He waited till they finished and looked at him, then gestured under the cart for them to make their way back to the front of the yurt.

  They bound and gagged their three earlier victims lying in the grass near the entrance to the yurt. None of them looked as if he was likely to regain consciousness in the near future, Hal thought. But it didn’t hurt to make sure.

  Then, bent double, he led the way to the wooden steps leading to the rear platform of the yurt.

  The stairs creaked slightly under their weight as they mounted them. But the sound was lost in the creaking and groaning movement of the yurt itself as the wind stirred its fabric.

  Moving silently, Hal crossed to the entrance, which was secured by a heavy felt flap. The flap was tied in place and he slid his saxe into the gap between it and the main structure and sliced through the fastenings. He pulled an edge of the flap aside several centimeters and put his eye to the gap.

  He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that the interior of the yurt was dimly lit. In the far corner, there was what appeared to be an altar or shrine, and several small oil lamps were burning in front of it. They cast a red light through the interior. It was dim, but not the stygian blackness he had feared it might be. He signaled for the others to wait, pulled the flap aside and slipped inside the yurt, letting the flap fall back into place.

  He pressed his back against the felt wall inside the doorway, waiting till his eyes became adjusted to the dimness. Gradually, he began to make out detail.

  The yurt interior was one large room. In the center was an iron stove, with a chimney pipe that went up and out through the roof. The stove was currently unlit. To one side, a low table was surrounded by thick cushions for seating. Around two of the walls, robes and cloaks were hanging from wooden racks. Set against the third wall was a large bed—basically a thick mattress placed on the wooden floor, covered in rugs and furs. As his eyes became more accustomed to the dim light, he could make out two figures under the bedclothes. One of them was snoring softly. Hal’s lips twitched in a grin. He assumed that was the Sha’shan.

  He waited a minute longer, making sure that he hadn’t disturbed either of the bed’s occupants and that both were still sleeping soundly. Finally, he twitched the door covering aside and motioned for Stig and Lydia to join him. As prearranged, Thorn would stay outside, keeping watch.

  The other two slipped through the doorway and he let the flap fall into place once more, ushering them to one side, along the wall where he stood. He pointed out the stove and the table and cushions. He didn’t want either of them blundering into the furnishings. Then he pointed to the bed.

  They both nodded, but Stig cocked his head to one side in a question. Hal guessed he was asking, Who’s who? as it was impossible to distinguish between the occupants of the bed. He gave an exaggerated shrug. They’d just have to deal with that when they hauled the bedclothes back.

  He held up a hand in a wait gesture. He wanted to give his friends time to become used to the dim light in the yurt before they acted. They had discussed this when they were planning the raid. After a minute or so, both Stig and Lydia signaled that they were ready. Hal started toward the bed, drawing his saxe. But Lydia held up a hand to stop him. She moved to one of the racks holding clothes and selected a heavy shawl, testing its weight and thickness before nodding to herself. Then she moved back to join her companions, holding the shawl ready in both hands. Guessing what she intended, Hal mimed a movement where he lifted the bedclothes aside, pointing to the two of them, indicating that they were to take care of the bed’s occupants. Again, this was something they had discussed earlier in the evening, and they signaled their understanding.

  Moving together, they ghosted across the wooden floor of the yurt and stopped beside the bed. Glancing to either side, Hal made sure that his friends were ready. He leaned in, listening to the soft snoring, and determining that it came from the figure nearest them. He pointed to it, and then to Stig. The tall warrior nodded understanding. Lydia, who would have a little farther to go to reach her quarry, moved a pace forward, the shawl held ready in front of her.

  Hal held up his right hand, with three fingers extended. One after another, he closed them, signifying a count of one, two, three.

  Then he took a firm grip on the fur and blanket covering the two bodies and hauled them aside.

  The Sha’shan stirred groggily. He was lying on his side, facing away from the three intruders. But before he could wake up fully or call out, Stig’s big left hand clamped over his mouth and twisted him onto his back, while the point of his saxe touched the Sha’shan’s throat.

  The Temujai leader’s wife responded even more slowly. She muttered angrily in her sleep and tried to pull the bedclothes back over herself. Hal couldn’t help grinning at her automatic reaction. She was probably used to having her husband steal the covers for himself on cold nights, he thought, and she was used to responding without fully awakening.

  Then something must have warned her and her eyes flew open, a startled expression on her face. She started to sit up, opening her mouth to cry out. But Lydia was too fast for her. She dropped onto the bed on her knees, scrambling over the Sha’shan’s immobile form, and hurled the heavy shawl over the woman’s head and face, sealing off her incipient cry of alarm. All that emerged from under the thick shawl was a mutter of sound.

  The Sha’shan was awake now and aware of the situation, if not how it had come about. His eyes angled down to the razor-sharp point of the saxe at his throat, bulging slightly in fear as he took in the tall, shadowy figure leaning over him.

&n
bsp; Knowing that the man spoke the common tongue, Hal spoke, enunciating carefully.

  “Don’t either of you make a sound or you’re dead.”

  chapter twenty-seven

  The woman continued to struggle until a sharp word from the Sha’shan silenced her.

  Stig moved the blade of his saxe a few centimeters away from the man’s throat. The Sha’shan nodded in appreciation, then spoke, also enunciating carefully.

  “My wife does not understand the common tongue.”

  The woman was pinned down by Lydia’s weight. Her legs were still tangled in the bedclothes and the heavy shawl wrapped round her head and face kept her upper body confined. Hal saw her try to turn her head toward the sound of her husband’s voice.

  “Tell her,” Hal said, “that she will not be harmed if she remains silent. We’ll take the gag off her face. But if she makes a sound or tries to cry out for help, we will kill you both.”

  He knew that it was a threat he would never carry out. None of them could bring themselves to kill an unarmed, helpless woman. But the Sha’shan didn’t know that, and from what Hal had learned of the Temujai’s merciless ways, he would believe the threat. It was the sort of thing that he and his men would do without a second thought. The Sha’shan looked up at Hal now, trying to see his expression. But the dim light in the yurt defeated the attempt.

  “Tell her,” Hal repeated. His voice was quiet but he contrived to make it as full of menace as he could manage. Apparently, he succeeded. The Sha’shan spoke again, at length, and the woman, who had been tense and rigid on the bed, slowly subsided. Her voice, heavily muffled and barely audible, came from under the shawl.

  “She understands,” her husband said. Hal nodded to Lydia, and the girl carefully unwrapped the shawl from the woman’s head. The Sha’shan’s wife emerged, her hair wildly tousled and her face red. She gasped as she filled her lungs with air. Apparently, her breathing had been constricted under the shawl. She raised her head and glared at Lydia, then turned her wild gaze to her husband, who spoke again, a calming tone in his voice. She relaxed, letting her head fall back on the pillows. Lydia, who had been poised with one hand ready to clap over the woman’s mouth, lowered it.

  “Let’s get some light in here,” Hal said. He had noticed an oil lamp on the low table, with a taper beside it. He took the taper and crossed to the shrine, lighting it from one of the red lights burning there and returning to the table, where he placed the tiny tongue of flame against the lamp’s wick. The yellow light flared up inside the tent, letting them see more detail.

  “Let’s get you up,” Hal said to the Sha’shan.

  Stig nodded and hauled the Temujai leader to his feet with his left hand wrapped in the man’s collar. His right hand, still holding the saxe, stayed ready. The Sha’shan’s wife made a move to join him, but Hal held out a hand to stop her. “You can stay there,” he said. She was relatively immobilized lying in the bed with the bedclothes tangled around her lower body and he thought it would be best to keep her that way. She didn’t understand his words, but the meaning of the gesture was obvious. She lay back again. Lydia sat on the bed beside her, ready with the shawl in case the woman tried to cry out.

  The Sha’shan looked to be around forty years old. He was short and stocky, like most of the Temujai. But it had been many years since he had ridden hard and led warriors in battle. Life as the Sha’shan was an easy one and he was seriously overweight. His face was fleshy and he had a double chin. He was dressed in a linen nightshirt that came down to his knees. The rounded paunch of his belly was all too obvious.

  “Been living the good life, have you?” said Stig.

  The Sha’shan looked at him curiously. But Stig had spoken in Skandian and the man didn’t understand him. He looked back at Hal now.

  “You’re the ones from the lake,” he said. “The ship-men.”

  “That’s right,” Hal told him. “We’re Skandians.”

  The Sha’shan nodded, then frowned. “How did you get to the lake?”

  “We flew,” Stig said, also using the common tongue.

  The Temujai looked at him, puzzled. Humor didn’t seem to be one of his fortes. Stig smiled and mimed a bird flying with his hands. The Sha’shan realized he was being mocked and dismissed Stig with an angry hand movement.

  “What do you plan to do with us?” he asked, turning back to Hal.

  “You’re coming with us,” Hal told him. “We need you to get us past your men at the south end of the lake.”

  “They’ll never let you pass,” the man told him.

  Hal smiled easily. “Oh, I think they will,” he said. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

  “And what of my wife?” the Sha’shan said, nodding to the woman. “What are you planning to do with her?”

  “She stays here. We have to get past the sentries around the camp and dragging two of you along with us would be too much to manage.”

  The woman’s eyes flicked from her husband’s face to Hal’s. It was obvious they were discussing her and her eyes betrayed her fear. She began to struggle once more and Lydia moved to still her. But her husband spoke a sharp command and she subsided again.

  “So, you plan to kill her?” the Temujai leader asked Hal. His voice was matter-of-fact. It was, after all, what he would do if their positions were reversed. He went on. “If you leave her, she’ll raise the alarm the moment we’re gone.”

  Hal shook his head. “We’ll tie her up and gag her,” he said. “That should give us four or five hours’ lead before she’s discovered. Plenty of time to get back to our ship.”

  The Temujai leader’s lip curled at the statement. “You’d be better to kill her,” he said.

  “I’ll tell her you said so,” Hal told him. “Nice to see you’re so fond of her.”

  The Sha’shan shrugged. It was a matter of practicality. The woman would be a risk to the Skandians. They would be wiser to make sure she couldn’t get free and raise the alarm.

  “If she gets loose, she’ll send my men after us,” he said.

  “She won’t get loose,” Stig told him. “We’re sailors. We’re very good at knots.” The Sha’shan looked at him for a few seconds.

  Hal frowned. “You sound as if you’d prefer it if we killed her,” he said, finding it hard to understand the Sha’shan’s attitude.

  The leader shook his head. “I don’t prefer it. She’s a good wife and I love her. But this sort of softness is why you will lose to us in the end. The Temujai do what is necessary, no matter how distasteful it might be.”

  “Well, to us, it’s distasteful to drag you along. But we need you. So, let’s get going.”

  He stepped away from the Sha’shan and leaned down over the woman. He spoke softly to her, trying to keep any sense of threat out of his voice. He knew she wouldn’t understand the words, but perhaps his reassuring tone would allay her fears.

  “We’re going to tie you and gag you—” he began.

  The Sha’shan started to interpret and Hal rounded on him instantly.

  “You shut up!” he ordered. He had no idea what the Sha’shan planned to say to her and he didn’t understand his language. For all Hal knew, the man might be telling his wife to yell for help, regardless of the fact that they might kill her. He had already shown a distinct indifference to her safety.

  The Sha’shan gave him a superior smile. But he stopped talking. Hal turned back to the woman.

  “We’re not going to harm you. You’ll be left here while we take your husband with us.” He used hand gestures to illustrate left here and that the Sha’shan would be going with them. She frowned and he knew she hadn’t understood. He shrugged and gave up the attempt.

  “Get her up,” he said to Lydia. “Do it gently. Tie her hands and feet and gag her. But make sure she can breathe.”

  Lydia rolled off the bed and pulled the be
dclothes back. The Sha’shan’s wife looked to be in her thirties. She was short and stocky, but not unattractive. Her hair was pulled back into a tight pigtail behind her head. Like her husband, she wore a knee-length linen bedshirt. It had ridden up past her knees and she hastily rearranged it to cover them.

  Lydia put a hand under her arm and helped her rise from the bed. She smiled at her and the smile probably did more to reassure the woman than any of Hal’s attempts at communication.

  “Hands in front, or behind?” Lydia asked.

  Hal hesitated for a second or two. In front would be less intimidating, he thought, and more comfortable. But it would also make it a lot easier for the woman to work her way loose. Reluctantly, he decided.

  “Behind,” he said.

  Lydia shrugged apologetically at the woman, turned her around and drew her hands behind her back. The girl was making all her expressions and movements as encouraging as possible, understanding Hal’s intention to keep the woman reassured that she was going to come to no serious harm. As long as she believed that, she would be less likely to struggle or resist, or make excessive noise.

  Lydia took a length of cord from inside her sheepskin vest. The four Skandians had equipped themselves with thumb cuffs and lengths of cord before they left the ship, knowing there would be occasions where they would have to tie up captives or unconscious sentries.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Sha’shan,” she said gruffly as she circled her wrists quickly with the cord. The Sha’shan’s wife gasped quietly as Lydia pulled the bonds tight. The rope had to be uncomfortable because it had to be tight. Otherwise she might wriggle free before they established a good lead over any pursuit.

  “Sorry again,” she said, and the woman seemed to understand. She shrugged slightly, although she still pulled a face as she moved her wrists and felt the cord cutting into her flesh.

  “Now the gag,” Hal said. Lydia found a large silk kerchief and a long neck scarf of the same material. They would serve as a suitable gag and be a little less irritating or uncomfortable than the coarse woolen garments that were the alternatives. She wadded the kerchief up and placed it against the woman’s lips.