* * *
Mendaka and the young bloods passed through the forest of DiAhman with their eyes riveted on the two ravens leading them through the forest where no tracks were visible due to the rainstorm the night before. The ravens flittered from tree to tree until they reached the edge of the forest where it opens to the spanning desert. Mendaka called a halt and summoned Wselwulf to the front. The young blood was the son of the famous Herewardi hunter and tracker, Elf Beard and had a nose for tracking that would put a bloodhound to shame.
The tall skinny blond hunched over the ground and moved along it like a hound sniffing out a trail. While the ravens watched from the top of a yellow pine, Wselwulf searched for signs of Sur Sceaf’s course. After lengthy scrutiny, he came upon the distinctive shoe prints of a Herewardi steed and shouted out, “I’ve found it. I’ve found Surrey’s trail.”
Mendaka glanced upward at the two ravens. “Thank you, my feathered brothers. We can find our way to Sur Sceaf now.”
Immediately, the ravens took flight, heading due north. Redelfis rode up next to him and
said, “Seems like our friends have brought us as far as they wanted.”
Mendaka scanned the desert and said, “Now that we can see the tracks, we’re on our own boys.”
Wselwulf pointed out, “See there, those are Sur Sceaf’s tracks.”
Redelfis asked, “But how can you know that is Surrey’s tracks and not another Herewardi?”
Wselwulf explained. “Those omega shaped tracks tell us this horseman is a Herewardi, but see here atop the shoe is a small imprint which I am sure is the mark of a honey bee. A mark, which Surrey places on all his property as a token that it was gotten through industry.”
Ilkchild tossed his wild head of hair back, “He’s right. That is Sur Sceaf’s mark. I even watched the black smith forge it many times at Namen Jewell. It is the mark of his property.”
The noon sun was bright over the sage-laden desert before them and Wselwulf scurried along the ground with his eyes scanning the tracks while pulling his horse along by its reins.
Seven hours passed tracking Surrey in the juniper scented air of the high desert when in a twinkling, Wselwulf came to a halt.
“Out there, on the first point of the medicine wheel is a smoke plume from a campfire.”
Redelfis, looked at the tracks while Wselwulf continued to interpret.
“They are Pitters. See the cross marks on them and look they are pursuing someone bare foot. And look over here! White Fire’s tracks are not as deep. That tells you Sur Sceaf is not riding him and the Pitters are pursuing him. These devils are in hot pursuit of Sur Sceaf. Look at how the horses pace is picking up.” Wselwulf slapped his thigh. “By Tyranus, this means there is a Sharaka traitor amongst them. Pitters can’t track worth a damn. Someone else has to be guiding them.”
Mendaka looked to Xelph, for he knew him to be a warrior of excellence for such a youth. Although Xelph was the son of Sliding Moon and Wind Chaser, both Sharaka, his long blond hair, an unusual hair color, caused him to stand out in any Sharaka group, just like Redelfis with his red hair. Mendaka turned to Xelph, chosen leader of this young blood wolf-pack in Lord Arundel’s stead. He was a zealous, fierce stalker, whose love of Sur Sceaf was like that of a son. Mendaka knew he would bring back the intelligence so desperately needed. “Xelph, go scout out the enemy camp and report back to us. We will await your report here, concealed in this juniper grove.”
As Xelph tied his horse to a juniper, he left his bow, but took his scramasax and blade and made his way through the sagebrush on foot.
The young bloods had, with the exception of Redelfis, all been hooded, which meant they had passed every proficiency for being a warrior. They busied themselves with tending their horses’ needs, passing around jerky, and discussing what they might find. Mendaka knew that for all of them it would be their first encounter with the Pitters. He hoped their training and skill would compensate for their lack of actual combat experience.
He gave the command, “Everybody tie your horses and see to their needs, be sure your weapons are ready, and eat if you are hungry. We may have a fight on our hands. I suspect Xelph will confirm that Sur Sceaf has in all likelihood fallen into the hands of a Pitter rat pack. Once we know the lay of the land and the enemy’s strengths and weaknesses, we will devise a plan of attack.”
Mendaka turned to his son. “Redelfis, the time has come to let you know that these young bloods that we are riding with will be your wolf pack from here on.”
Redelfis grinned and shook his head in disbelief. “I am honored, but I count only six young bloods. I thought a wolf pack consisted of twelve members.”
“Normally, it does,”Mendaka said as he loosened the bridle on his horse, “but in addition to being in a young blood fyrd, they are also citizen soldiers. Some of this wolf pack had to stay behind to tend their farmsteads and flocks. Lord Arundel, for instance, is the heretoga of this wolf pack and has remained for the lambing and the foaling at Sur Sceaf’s ranch. Sur Sceaf assigned him the stewardship of his holdings while he is on his commission to the tribes.”
“Well, I recognized Ilkchild right away: the maidens described him perfectly,” he glanced over at Ilkchild who was busy talking to Wselwulf, “and he’s the only Herewardi who rides a palomino instead of the white war horses most Herewardi mount. When we were riding together, he explained to me that his sole mission in life is to avenge the death of his father. The maidens were right to compare his hair to spun gold, but Xelph’s hair is also blond. But that face is Sharaka.”
Mendaka took the saddle off his horse, Wind Whistler. “Yes, he was born of Sharaka parents, but like you, the white blood crept upon him, so his parents opted for him to live with the Herewardi. You’ll have to ask him what he considers himself to be.”
Redelfis also removed the saddle from his pinto and began brushing him down. “How about that other blond, the one with a dark streak in his hair?
Mendaka glanced at the wolf pack. “Oh, he is called Sunchild and is of the Jywdic Tribe on the coasts. His father was Herewardi, his mother a Jywd. His father is a good friend of Surrey’s and his mother is also related to Surrey somehow. Now the one with a top knot on his head is Herewardi and called Fairchild, also from the coast. Maybe even a half-breed like Sunchild. I don’t remember.”
Redelfis poured some water into a nose bag and proffered it to his horse. “Who is the one with the long brown hair and the forked beard?”
“That is Sceafbeard and the colorfully dressed fellow is the joker, Yellow Horse.”
“But he looks so Sharaka.”
“He is. Sur Sceaf found him in a burnt over camp at the Frink Glen Camp. He was the only one of his clan who survived the Pitter attack. He was raised Herewardi and adopted into the Herewardi family of Muryh the Builder.”
“Well, that leaves only one more. Who is the heavy fellow with the flat nose?”
“His name is Elfwin Ev’Rhettson.”
“You did not give his descent. Who is his father?”
“He is born without a known father as are any with the last name Ev’Rhettson.”
“Oh! I see, children of the Fifth Sabbath.” Redelfis said smugly.
* * *
Two long hours passed before Xelph returned. Immediately, he was surrounded by the others, eager to hear his report. “I counted eighteen Pitter hell-rats, camped two miles from here. Their camp abuts some rock outcroppings.” He said wiping the sweat from his brow. “Two hell-rats seemed badly wounded. Several sport black eyes and busted noses or lips.”
“Did you see my father?” Ilkchild interrupted.
“No, I’m sorry, Elfy,” Xelph said with a saddened look, “but I could spy Surrey’s pack and several of his personal items lying before their campfire. I did see White Fire. Two bastards were trying to break him to their will. While I was watching one of them was kicked in the groin and screamed so loud it’s a wonder you didn’t hear him. If we wait long enough I’m sure Whi
te Fire will kill them all. That is unless they somehow manage to kill him first.”
Sunchild threw back his peyos and added, “And that will never happen. No Pitter will ever ride White Fire. Arundel said that is why they don’t ever take Herewardi horses and usually just use them for meat.”
Xelph took a drink of water from his flask before continuing. “I could tell, they are led by this ugly brute of a Pitter with the face of a skeleton, and you were right Wselwulf, one of them is Sharaka. I couldn’t tell his clan, he was dressed too much like a Pitter. Could have been a Quant.” Xelph stole another drink, then his face darkened.
Mendaka’s mind flashed as he asked tersely, “Was there a pit? Did you see a pit?”
Ilkchild burst in, “Those pit digging bastards will never see another sunrise!”
Xelph shook his head. “No, from where I was hiding, I couldn’t see a pit of any sort and it would have been too dangerous to get any closer. But, I did notice the men’s clothing were all covered in dirt. Far more dirt than one gets from riding.”
Ilkchild boomed, “Those bastards have buried him alive.”
Yellow Horse said, “I will carve my wrath in their skin heads. As Sharaka, I claim the privilege of scalping the renegade myself.”
Sunchild added, “And I will cut off their man parts.”
Mendaka fought off a surge of rage and grief. “Now is not the time to give into emotion. Now is the time for calculated action. From here on, we will go into stalking mode. We will leave the horses tied here. Wselwulf, you guard the horses. When you see a torch wave three times three, that will be your signal to come. Bring the horses and supplies to join us. Each of us, be sure to carry a torch in your pack.”
Ilkchild spoke up, “We’ll make short work of these evil spirits and trolls. Once we are upon their camp I’ll carve their livers up with my sword and cut their eye sockets out with the point of it. I’m so damned tired of them taking everyone I love.”
Mendaka placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Never underestimate the enemy, Elfy. They’re not going to stand around like a bunch of wooden stick men for you to carve up. They are going to be raging demons, all teeth, snarls, and claws. Treat every enemy as if he is superior to you. Fight like it was your final battle. Do not fear death. Remember your training. Every move should be calculated. Never act in haste and watch for distractions.”
Ilkchild said, “You are right to chastise me.”
Satisfied, Mendaka signed for all to huddle. Once they drew in close, he declared, “Here’s the plan. Ilkchild, you will come from the first serpent point of the medicine wheel. Sunchild, you will come from the third point of the wheel. The rest of you lead the frontal attack with me. As soon as the sun sets, we go. Redelfis and I will approach from the sixth, Yellow Horse you will approach from the ninth sun mark. When I give the call of the whip-poor-will, we launch the attack from all points at once. This will be most disorienting to the enemy and gives us the precious time we need to close in on them in their chaos because they have us outnumbered. That should get us to their camp by twilight when we will begin this dark work. Xelph, you will make sure everyone is camouflaged and remembers their crypsis training. In the meantime, eat, drink, get camouflaged, and don’t forget to pray.”
* * *
The moment had come. Twilight was ebbing into darkness by the time Mendaka and the young bloods had converged on the Pitter camp. The moon had not yet risen, but a breeze was arising out of the east. The smell of cooking rabbit wafted on the air, mixed with the foul Pitter odor urine.
The Pitters were cursing, arguing, and squabbling over a number of jackrabbits skewered over a bed of cooking coals. The voices and sounds carried out here in the desert far better than the woods Mendaka was accustomed to. All the Pitters with the exception of a single guard, had laid down their weapons to feast, and even he stood slouching against a boulder with no more than a spear. As Xelph had reported, the camp was backed up to rock outcroppings, which looked to have just been dumped there by giants. Two seriously wounded Pitters lay propped against the rocks and did not look like they were going to recover. Mendaka studied each Pitter carefully calculating strengths and weaknesses. The Pitter with the gaunt face and sinister grin was particularly cocky as he pushed and shoved the others to get the best rabbit.
A rickety horse corral lay south of the camp with White Fire tied by a rope to a firm juniper tree. He heard the familiar nicker of White Fire and knew the stallion sensed their presence.
Mendaka glanced at the sky to gauge how much longer they had til it was dark enough for attack. He signed to Reldfis and the others ‘quarter of an hour before we attack’.
As they waited the gaunt one rose, “Before we eat, let us face east, and pray towards Hormah.” They all knelt and bowed, looking east. “Angrar is good. Angrar is great,” they chanted. At the end of the chant those kneeling stood up and all crossed themselves before kneeling once again. They chanted, “Give us the blood of our enemies. Let us bring horror, rapine, and conquest upon the heads of the infidels. No sin can ever be counted against killing the unbelievers. Oh mighty and infallible Angrar, we thank thee thou has placed us above the infidels.”
Mendaka thought, Their god is the god of blood lust. The Evil Spirit has conditioned them to do his works.
Immediately after the prayer finished, they broke rabbits and resumed boasting of their robbing and raping, their killings and torturing while they slung the bones all about camp. The skeleton-faced one was the loudest of all. Boasting about torturing a fox with his whip, which really didn’t make too much sense until Mendaka realized they were talking about a man and as he listened it began to sound like they were talking about Sur Sceaf. Once they identified the fox as a Herewardi swan lord, he knew for sure that’s whom they were talking about.
The skeletal leader continued to mock the pain he had wrought on Sur Sceaf, eliciting raucous laughter and crude comments from the others. “And it thought its god would come and help it.” The rat-pack roared with laughter.
His words hit Mendaka hard and he felt sick to his stomach over the indignities his blood brother must have suffered. Next to him Fairchild stiffened. A moment later one of the hell-rats held up Sur Sceaf’s loincloth with the fire swan and eye of Hrus marking on it. Their leader grabbed it, mockingly held it over his groin, and in a whining voice cried, “Oh, All Father, deliver me from the pit! Deliver me from the pit!” The following round of laughter enraged Mendaka so much that it required every ounce of restraint to wait for the right moment. He prayed, Ilkchild was not hearing what he was.
Another round of uproarious laughter hit Mendaka’s ears like stinging mosquitoes.
The guard shouted out, “Hey, for Angrar’s sake, somebody relieve me of my duty. There won’t be a damned thing left for me to eat.”
Mendaka touched Redelfis and Fairchild to alert them he was about to attack. Silently, he took up his bow, nocked an arrow from his quiver, drew back, sighted carefully, then let loose the arrow which lodged right between the guard’s eyes. At the same instant, he gave the whip-poor-will call, drew his blade and charged forth with shrill cries and whistles. From the other points of the medicine wheel the young bloods charged forth whooping and hollering.
The Pitters sprung up in alarm and confusion. Twisting their heads from side-to-side unsure of which group posed the greatest danger. Mendaka thrust his blade up through the bowels and into the heart of the nearest hell-rat while he caught another one with his elbow in the jaw. Xelph came up behind the Pitter Mendaka had just elbowed and strangled him with a buckskin cord. The Pitter kicked frantically for footing. Xelph twisted the garrot even tighter, then released the motionless body to death.
Another Pitter attempted to flee, but Ilkchild, with a chilling war whoop, planted a spear in his chest cavity as the hell-rat leaped through the air, his protruding yellow teeth, snapping at the air as he fell and writhed on the ground like a fish out of water. Redelfis crushed the skull of another fleeing Pitte
r with his tomahawk only to spin around to quickly slit the throat of another, but not before it planted a knife in Redelfis’ thigh.
Mendaka ran over to his son and quickly examined the wound, saw it was not critically close to his artery and breathed a sigh of relief. “Wrap that with your head band,” he ordered, “I’m going after their leader. He spotted the pack leader running through the brush toward the horse corral. With a burst of speed, Mendaka took out in hot pursuit. Swiftly closing the distance, as he drew near, the fiend turned, breathless, with his scimitar in hand, to face Mendaka off.
“Sheep-Eater, now you die.” He jeered before letting out a venomous laugh as the campfire cast an eerie light over that cadaverous face.
Mendaka declared, “I am the arm of vengeance for the fox you bragged about torturing. You can’t even imagine what I am going to do to you.”
Mendaka balanced on the balls of his feet swaying from side to side, prepared to deliver death if needed. As he approached the fiend, he offered, “The only mercy you will get is if you tell me what you’ve done with the man you caught.”
“Eat shit!” The Pitter cried, his beady eyes filled with an insane glare. “Your brother is already dead by now. You came too late. He’s been made all mine and crushed beneath the Penitence Stone, and I will go into a better world.”
Before Mendaka could respond, the Pitter thrust his blade up into his own heart and fell to the ground upon it.
Mendaka was stunned, kicked a stone and yelled, “You son of a Pitter whore. Hell-born spawn of wolf, rat, and man. Damn you to Hell! You son of a bitching monstrosity.” He spat upon the corpse, kicked it, and returned through the brush to the young bloods, who were already gathering the bodies for burning. The Pitters had been slain.
As soon as Ilkchild spotted him approaching, he asked, “Do we know where Sur Sceaf is, yet?”
“We don’t know yet. The swine-bitch would not talk.”
“But all of his stuff is here. He has to be here somewhere. If not here, he must be near.” Ilkchild pleaded. “Where is my father, Dak?”
The Frightful Dance (The King of Three Bloods Book 2) Page 3
