But he had been wrong. The memory of their days together came back again and again to haunt him.
The Krayakin rode in silence for several hours. The
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smell of death was strong upon the wind as they rode down a short slope and emerged by the shores of a glittering lake. Keeping to the shadows of the trees Bakilas took in the campsite. There were five dead wolves upon the ground, and a sixth body by the water-line. Bakilas dismounted and lifted his hood into place. Then he walked out into the sunshine. Pain prickled his skin, but he ignored it. At the centre of the camp the grass was singed in a circle of around five feet in diameter. Removing his black gauntlet he reached out and touched the earth. His hand jerked back. Pulling on his gauntlet he returned to the shadows.
'Magick,' he said. 'Someone used magick here.'
Tethering their mounts the Krayakin sat in a circle. 'Anharat did not speak of magick,' said Mandrak, at just under 6 feet tall, the smallest of the warriors. 'He spoke only of three old men.'
'How strong was it?' asked Drasko, next to Bakilas the eldest of the group.
'By the power of four,' he answered. 'The wolves must have been possessed by the Entukku and the wizard used the light of halignat. Only a master could summon such power.'
'Why should the wolves have been possessed?' asked Pelicor.
Bakilas felt his irritation rise. 'Study was never a strength of yours, brother. Had they been merely wolves then any bright flash of light would have dispersed them. Halignat - the Holy Light - is used only against the Illohir. It would have hurled the Entukku back to the city - and perhaps beyond. Those closest to the flash might even have died.'
'If there is such a wizard,' said Drasko, 'why did we not sense his presence before now?'
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'I do not know. Perhaps he is using a mask spell unknown to us. Whatever, we must proceed with more caution.'
'Caution is for cowards,' said Pelicor. 'I have no fear of this wizard, whoever he may be. His spells may vanquish the Entukku, but they are little more than mind-maggots. What spells can he hurl against the Krayakin?'
'We do not know,' said Bakilas, struggling to remain patient. 'That is the point.'
Bakilas strode to his horse and stepped into the saddle. Mandrak rode beside him as they set out after the wagon. 'He has always been impatient,' said Mandrak.
'It is not his impatience which offends me - but his stupidity. And he is a glutton. I have always abhorred that trait.'
'His hunger is legendary,' admitted Mandrak.
Bakilas did not reply. They had reached the end of the tree line, and the bright sun scorched his face. Putting on his helm he pulled up his hood and spurred his mount onwards. The brightness hurt his eyes, and he longed for the onset of night, the freshness of the breeze, the dark, cold beauty of the star-filled sky.
Their mounts were tired as they reached the base of a tall hill. Bakilas examined the trail. The fugitives had stopped here to change the horses, and the occupants of the wagon had walked up the hill. Two women and a child. He rode on. One of the women had picked up the child and carried it. A heavy woman, whose imprints were deeper than the rest.
Spurring his mount up the hill he rode over the crest, and saw the tracks wending away into another wood. He was grateful for the promise of shadow.
Did they know they were being followed? Of course
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they did. No-one could hope to spirit away a queen without pursuit. Did they know they were being followed by the Krayakin? Why should they not, since a wizard was amongst them? Bakilas thought hard about the wizard. Drasko's point had been a good one. Why could they not sense the presence of his magick? The air should be thick with it. Closing his eyes Bakilas reached out with his senses.
Nothing. Not a trace of sorcery could be detected. Even a mask spell would leave a residual taste in the air. It was worrying. Anharat had always been arrogant. It was his arrogance that led to the defeat of the Illohir at the Battle of the Four Valleys. What had he said? How far had the enemy fallen that he could rely on only three old men. It could be viewed quite differently. How mighty was the enemy that all he needed were three old men. He thought of the black warrior. Such a man was not built for retreat. Somewhere along this trail he would seek to attack his pursuers. It was the nature of the man.
They approached the trees with caution, swords drawn, then entered the wood.
There was no attack. For another hour they followed the wagon tracks. They were fresher now, the edges of the wheel imprints clean and sharp.
Bakilas drew back on the reins. The wagon tracks turned off from the road and vanished into the trees. There was thick undergrowth beyond the tree line, and the wagon had crushed bushes and saplings beneath it. Why would they take such a difficult trail? Bakilas removed his helm and sniffed the air.
Mandrak moved alongside his leader. 'Can you smell it?' he asked. Bakilas nodded. Humans could never surprise the Krayakin, for human glands secreted many scents, oozing from their pores in the disgusting sweat
that bathed them. Of all of his brothers Mandrak's sense of smell was the most keen. Bakilas drew rein and scanned the tree line and the bushes beyond, careful not to let his gaze dwell on two of the hiding places he had identified.
'Three men are hidden there,' said Mandrak.
'I have identified two,' whispered Bakilas.
'One is behind the large oak overhanging the rise, another is crouched behind a bush just below it. The other one is further back. Yes . . . with the horses.'
'Why are we stopping?' asked Pelicor.
'Remove your helmet, and you will know,' Bakilas told him, his voice low.
Pelicor did so. Like his brothers his hair was white, but his face was broad and flat, the eyes small and set close together. His nostrils flared, and he smiled. 'Let me take them, brother. I am hungry.'
'It might be wiser to circle them,' offered Mandrak. 'Cut off their means of escape.'
There are three of them!' snapped Pelicor. 'Not thirty. How can they escape us? Come let us put an end to this dismal mission.'
'You wish to take them alone, Pelicor?' asked Bakilas.
'I do.'
'Then by all means charge. We will await your victory.'
Pelicor replaced his helm, drew his longsword and slashed his spurs into the horse's flanks. The beast reared then galloped into the trees. Just beyond the trail the black warrior stepped from behind a tree. Pelicor saw him and dragged on the reins. The warrior was holding a slim knife by the blade.
'You think to hurt me with that?' yelled Pelicor, spurring the horse once more.
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The warrior's arm came back, the knife flashed forward, missing the charging rider. The blade slammed into a small wedge of wood, beside the trail, slicing through a length of stretched twine. A young tree, bent like a bow, snapped upright. Three pointed stakes lashed to it slammed into Pelicor's chest, smashing through his black armour, breaking his ribs and spearing his lungs. The horse ran on. The body of the Krayakin warrior hung in the air twitching.
Bakilas heard a whisper of movement. Flinging up his arm he took the arrow through his gauntleted hand. The arrow head sliced through the limb and buried itself in the pale flesh of his face, cutting his tongue. The wood of the shaft burned like acid. At first he tried to pull the arrow loose from his cheek, but the barbs caught against the inner flesh. With a grunt he pushed the shaft through his other cheek, snapped off the head, then drew the arrow clear of his face and hand. The wounds began to heal instantly. But where the wood had touched him the soreness continued for some time.
'They have run,' said Mandrak. 'Do we give chase?'
'Not through the woods. There will be other traps. We will catch them upon the road . . . very soon.'
Bakilas rode to where Pelicor hung from the stake. His eyes were open, his body in spasm.
'Help me,' he whimpered.
'Your body is dying, Pelicor,' said Bakilas, coldly. 'And soon
you will be Windborn again. We can taste your fear. It is most exquisite. Drasko, Mandrak and myself fed only recently. Therefore our brothers shall draw sustenance from what remains of your form.'
'No ... I... can ... heal.'
Bakilas shivered with pleasure at the increase in fear emanating from the impaled warrior. Like the others
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Pelicor had endured thousands of years in the torment that was Nowhere. The thought of returning to it filled him with horror. 'Who would have thought you could be capable of such intense terror, Pelicor. It is almost artistic,' said Bakilas.
Bakilas drew back, and the remaining six Krayakin moved in with daggers drawn.
Dagorian moved out onto the old bridge, testing each step. The ancient boards beneath his feet were 10 feet long, 18 inches wide, and 2. inches thick. They creaked ominously as he moved out upon them. Less than 12. feet wide the bridge spanned just over 100 feet. Below it the swollen river rushed on down the mountains, white water surging over massive rocks, and sweeping on to a rumbling fall some 2. miles down river. If he fell through he would be swept to his death. No man could swim in such a torrent.
The boards were nailed to huge cross beams set every 9 feet, and gaping cracks showed between them. Dagorian was sweating heavily as he moved out over the river. Since the attack by the wolves his fears had been growing, preying on his mind. Doubt had crept in, and with it a fierce longing to live. To be free of his duty. Only his sense of honour held him to this doomed quest, and even this was fraying. You should have stayed in the temple, he thought, as he moved carefully out over the rotting boards. Nogusta had ordered him to get the wagon across, if possible. He glanced back to where the others waited. They were all looking at him, including the queen. Carefully he moved on to the safety of the far bank.
There was still no way to be sure the bridge would take the weight of the wagon.
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Moving swiftly back to where the others waited he instructed them to walk with care, keeping to the stone reinforced rail. Ulmenetha took Axiana by the arm and led her out onto the bridge. Pharis followed with Sufia. Conalin remained with the wagon.
'Get across, boy,' ordered Dagorian.
'I can drive it,' insisted Conalin.
'I don't doubt your skill. I just don't want to see you die.' The boy was about to argue, but Dagorian shook his head. 'I know you have courage, Conalin, and I respect it. But if you want to help me then lead the spare horses across. I will follow when you are safe on the far bank.'
Conalin climbed down and moved to the rear of the wagon. Dagorian took his place, gathered up the reins, and waited. The boy moved out past him. 'Talk to them as you walk,' advised Dagorian, 'for the rushing water will frighten them.'
The boy was halfway across when one of the boards suddenly moved. A horse reared, but Conalin stepped in close, whispering to it, stroking its long neck. Dagorian looked on admiringly. Conalin continued on his way. Upon reaching the far side he turned and waved. Dagorian flicked the reins and the team moved out onto the bridge. The horses were nervous and, keeping his voice low and even, Dagorian encouraged them. Underneath the wagon the boards groaned. One split, but did not give way. Dagorian was sweating as they reached the centre of the bridge. The rushing of the water below sounded thunderous now. One of the horses slipped, but righted itself.
Then a board cracked, and the wagon lurched. For a sickening heartbeat Dagorian thought he was about to be pitched into the river. He sat very still for a moment,
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his heart thudding in his chest, then carefully climbed down. The left rear wheel was halfway through the boards, being supported only by the jutting axle head. Dagorian let out a soft curse. Putting both hands under the tailboard he struggled to lift it clear. It did not move a hair's breadth.
'They're coming!' shouted Conalin. Dagorian swung to see Nogusta, Kebra and Bison. They were galloping their horses, riding hard and fast. Nogusta reached the bridge first, dragging on the reins. Then he leapt from the saddle and led the giant black gelding out onto the bridge. Kebra and Bison followed his lead. There was no room for them to pass.
Bison tossed his reins to Kebra and strode to where Dagorian stood at the rear of the wagon. 'Get back in the driver's seat,' said the giant,' and give them a lash when I call.'
'It won't move,' said Dagorian.
'Riders!' yelled Conalin.
The warriors of the Krayakin breasted the slope, and, swords drawn, rode for the bridge. Dagorian scrambled up to the wagon. Bison grabbed the wheel. 'Now!' he shouted. The giant heaved, and the wagon rose. At the same time Dagorian lashed the reins across the backs of the team. The wagon lurched forward. Bison was hurled from his feet, but rolled clear of the iron shod wheel.
Dagorian lashed the backs of the team and the wagon picked up speed. Nogusta and Kebra came running behind.
The child Sufia climbed into the wagon as it reached the bank. In a high-pitched voice she chanted something in an alien tongue.
The Krayakin had reached the bridge, and two of them set off across it.
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A ball of flame flew from Sufia's hand, striking the bridge. A column of fire reared up, and the bridge began to blaze. One of the Krayakin backed his horse to safety, but the second spurred his mount, riding through the blaze. Bison ran at the charging horse, waving his arms and shouting at the top of his voice. The beast reared. Bison hurled himself forward, ducking under the flailing hoofs. Throwing up his arms Bison clamped his hands to the horse's chest and pushed with all his strength. The horse toppled back hurling its rider into the flames. The boards gave way. Horse and warrior crashed through to the roiling river below. Fingers of fire swept along the boards. Bison's leggings caught alight. Spinning on his heel the giant ran, panic stricken, to the bank. Nogusta and Kebra leapt upon him, hurling him to the ground. They tried to beat out the flames on Bison's burning clothing, but to no avail. Then Sufia stepped forward and held out her hand. The fire leapt from Bison to the child's waiting fingers, where it vanished. Bison tore off his leggings. His flesh was badly burned on the left thigh. Sufia moved to him, dropping to her knees. Her tiny hand reached out. Bison winced as her fingers touched the blistered flesh of his thigh. Then, as if a cool breeze was whispering over the burn, all pain ceased. She lifted her hand. The burn was gone.
'Such small magick is still left to me,' said the voice of Kalizkan. The body of the child settled down against Bison, her blond head resting on his chest. 'Let her sleep,' said Kalizkan. Bison carefully lifted the sleeping child and carried her to the wagon, where he laid her down and covered her with a blanket.
Ulmenetha approached the giant warrior. 'That was a brave act,' she said, 'to charge a mounted knight. I must say you surprised me.'
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Bison turned to her and gave a wide, gap-toothed grin. 'If you'd like to thank me properly we could move further back into the bushes.'
'Now, that reaction doesn't surprise me,' she said. With a withering glance at his naked lower body she added: 'And find some fresh leggings. There are ladies present.'
That's when I normally need it,' he said, still grinning.
Swinging away the priestess walked back to where Axiana and Pharis were sitting together. From the wagon Conalin grinned at the old man. 'Women,' said Bison, 'who can understand them?' Conalin shrugged.
'I don't,' he admitted. 'But I know enough to realize that she doesn't like you.'
'You think so?' asked Bison, genuinely surprised. 'What makes you believe that?'
Conalin laughed aloud. 'Perhaps I'm wrong.'
'I think you might be,' agreed Bison.
Black smoke was rising from the blazing bridge, and Nogusta strode to the bank, staring across the river to where the eight remaining Krayakin warriors waited. Dagorian joined him. 'There are other bridges,' he said. 'But we have gained a little time.'
The Krayakin divided into two groups. Four warriors rode down river towards the west, the other four heading east.
'We have had more luck than we deserve,' said Nogusta, softly.
'What happened back in the forest?'
'We killed one. But only because the leader wanted him dead. They are deadly foes, Dagorian. More terrible than any I have faced before.'
'And yet two are dead, and we have suffered no losses.'
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'Not yet,' whispered Nogusta.
Dagorian shivered suddenly. He glanced at the black warrior. 'What have you seen with that Third Eye of yours?'
'Do not ask,' advised Nogusta.
Ulmenetha's spirit rose above the campsite, hovering in the night air. The moon was bright, the sky clear over the mountains. From here she could see Nogusta, sitting alone on a hillside. Close by Kebra was talking to Conalin. Axiana, Pharis and Sufia were asleep in the wagon. Bison sat alone by the camp-fire, finishing the last of the stew prepared by Kebra.
There was freedom here in this astral solitude, and Ulmenetha gloried in it. There were no demons over the forest, no Entukku with their slashing talons. She allowed herself to rise further, the moonlit forest shrinking below her. Ulmenetha flew north, over the ruined bridge, intending to seek out the Krayakin.
A glowing form materialized in the air alongside her. This time she could make out a face. It was that of a young man, golden haired and handsome. 'It is not wise,' he said, 'to journey far. The Krayakin will be able to see you, and they can summon the Entukku to attack you.'
'I need to know how close they are,' said Ulmenetha.
'The group heading east will lose two days. Those heading west will cross the river at Lercis, forty miles from here. They will not catch up with you by tomorrow.'
Gemmell, David - Drenai 08 - Winter Warriors (v1.0) Page 21
