by H. M. Clarke
‘Heorte of min heorte,’
“Heorte of min heorte,”
‘And bita of min sáwol.’
“And bita of min sáwol.”
Hauga then unclasped his hand from hers and touched it to the side of her head.
‘Welcome to Clan Mufista – Our Family.’
Hauga then bent at the waist making his head easier for Dearen to reach. She placed her hand hesitantly against his head. She did not even know what her family name was. What could she say? A word suddenly popped into her mind
“Welcome to Clan Kalarthri - Our family.”
She now had a name and a real family. Emotion overwhelmed her and Dearen sniffed hard as tears grew in her eyes. Nothing in her life could be better than this moment.
“What did we just say?” Dearen asked. She somehow knew that she had never heard that language before but it sounded familiar.
‘Roughly translated we said – we are now flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, heart of my heart and soul of my soul.’
Hauga towered over her, a sloppy smile across his face. ‘Come, we’d better go and help look after the dead. Ghrista will want to get us moving as soon as possible. Also I’d best let Ghrista welcome you into the Clan before we go or I might be joining them.’
Chapter Three
What is Freedom?
‘Dearen, we need you.’
Dearen stopped in her tracks and glanced about the field, searching for Ghrista. She saw him standing with two other Dymarki near the western wall. Dearen turned to look at Hauga who had halted not far ahead of her.
‘Hauga, Ghrista wants to see me.’
‘Did he tell you where he is?’
‘I can see him over by the wall,’ Dearen said as she pointed in Ghrista’s direction. ‘He’s with Fasta and Drusa.’
‘I’ll come with you. We both have to see him anyway.’
Both Dearen and Hauga picked their way through the dead that lay across the field. The three Dymarki dead had already been carried away and hidden within the ruins. The Dymarki plan to come back and cremate their bodies after destroying the Northern Bareskins who threaten the Councilmeet. They had waited to the late morning to see if any other Dymarki bands would join them but so far none had arrived.
As they walked closer, Dearen could see that the three Dymarki stood talking over the body of a bloody Northerner. He looked well armored with a chain shirt and metal leg grieves but he obviously had nothing to protect his head as the man’s cheek and temple was ripped open by the strike of a Dymarki blow. She could see the shallow rise and fall of the man’s chest. Pink colored foam bubbled from his lips and was caught in his blood-encrusted moustaches. The Northerner was suffocating in his own blood.
Dearen stopped a small distance away from the three.
‘Ghrista, we are here.’
The three Dymarki suddenly stopped their conversation and turned to stare at both herself and Hauga. Ghrista stepped away from the group and took the two further back from the strange gathering.
‘Thank you for the warning Dearen, a good many more of us would have been dead without it.’ Ghrista showed his teeth in a grin. ‘Now it is the Northern Bareskins who are dead and we need to find out what the rest of those filthy curs are doing.’ Ghrista laid a hand on both Dearen and Hauga’s shoulder and looked at both in turn before speaking again. ‘I wish for you two to do a little play acting for me.’
‘Play acting?’ Hauga raised a whiskered eyebrow in query. Dearen glanced again at the wounded man. Even through his injuries, Dearen could see the man’s determination and defiance by the set of his mouth and eyes. His eyes also showed a little fear. The Dymarki will find it hard get any information from him before he died. The man did not look in their direction, he was too busy keeping his good eye on the two Dymarki standing over him. Then it dawned on her what Ghrista wanted her and Hauga to do. Dearen turned shrewd eyes back to Ghrista.
‘Yes. I would like Hauga to pretend that you are our captive and that we need you to translate for us. The Bareskin cannot hear us mind speak. If he thinks we do not understand him, he might be more inclined to say more.’
Dearen looked up at Hauga. ‘What do you think?’
Hauga rubbed a paw through the thick fur on his head as he thought. ‘Sure. We can do it,’ he said finally with a shrug.
‘Good. Best get this over and done with. I don’t know how long he’ll live,’ Ghrista replied. ‘Dearen, best unbuckle your sword belt and leave it here and we’d better get Hauga to tie your hands loosely behind your back. The blood and cuts on you certainly make you look like a captive.’
Reluctantly Dearen unbuckled her sword belt and placed it carefully on the ground beside her. Dearen then crossed her hands behind her so Hauga could secure them with the small piece of rope he carried in a pouch on his bandolier.
Once Hauga had tied his knot, Ghrista turned and headed back to Fasta and Drusa and the wounded man. Dearen followed meekly behind with Hauga giving her a theatrical push to help her along.
When Dearen came within earshot of the Northerner she swore loudly. She saw the man jerk his bloody head in her direction. “Get your hands off me you lousy mongrel cur,” Dearen shouted as Hauga gave her a light push to the shoulder. Silently she apologized as she spun around to look at him but Hauga merely snarled and pushed her forward again.
‘Do you think it’s working?’ Dearen asked as she stumbled to stand beside Ghrista. She looked down to see the man’s eye widen in shock, Dearen could feel his gaze resting on that tattoo on her left cheek. The Arranian definitely recognized it.
‘Yes,’ Hauga replied as he placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘I am going to push you to your knees. Be ready.’
He suddenly pushed down and Dearen let her legs buckle under her. She grunted in real pain as her kneecaps hit the solid ground. She kept her eyes down, hoping that this man could not feel her hatred of him. If he did see her eyes maybe he would mistake it for hatred for the Dymarki
Dearen could feel the man’s eyes upon her and she glanced down into his. He still lay as he had fallen on the battlefield, the Dymarki had not touched him and Dearen could plainly see that the man was dying. There was nothing anyone could do to help him and emotionally Dearen felt – from Drusa especially – that they would not have helped him anyway. Knowing that these Northerners killed innocent mothers and children drove all pity for the man from Dearen’s mind.
‘Dearen, ask him what he and his people were doing here and where are the others of his company.’
‘You better give me a cuff on the ear first Ghrista. It will make it look as if you are forcing me.’
Ghrista growled low in his throat in response and Dearen thought he was going to refuse but suddenly his hand snaked out and backhanded her across the side of her head knocking her over. The blow did not hurt but it was solid enough to make Hauga tense beside her. Using her elbow she pushed herself back to her knees.
‘Leave it Hauga. I can handle it. It didn’t hurt.’
She raised her eyes again to look at the Northerner. The Northerners look a little different from her and Asnar, they also speak differently as well. Strangely enough, Dearen just realized that she knew how to speak their language, which was different to what she spoke naturally. It made her wonder how many more languages she might know.
“What is your name?” She suddenly asked. The man clamped his mouth shut and stared at her. Dearen could see the questioning look in his eyes. He wanted to know who she was, what was a Kalar doing here? She had to hold her breath to stop herself gasping in shock. She could hear his surface thoughts.
“My name is Dearen.” She glanced at the Dymarki standing around them. “They don’t want to know it. They want me to translate their questions to you. I just want to know who I am speaking with.”
The man’s steady gaze held hers for a moment longer. “The beasts say no words, how do you know what they want?”
Ghrista was right. The Northerner cannot hear their mi
nd speak. Dearen drew a deep breath. At least she had the man talking.
“They speak with their thoughts. I can hear them.”
“That’s why they kept you alive Kalar.” The man turned his head and spat pink foam onto the dirt, his breath rattled harshly in his chest.
“They cannot understand our tongue but I made the mistake of revealing I could hear them.”
“Hatar Kalar –sentient royal pets.”
Royal pets? Dearen itched to ask more but did not want to show her ignorance and give their scheme away.
“My name is Dearen. What is yours?” She threw a fearful glance at Ghrista who lifted his hand as if he was going to hit her again. He let out a fearsome growl and Dearen hunched down, raising her arm as if to protect her head from the blow.
“He wants to know what we have been saying,” she said quickly. “Please, say something.”
The man’s good eye flicked from her to Ghrista and back. The fear had returned to his face. After seeing Hauga in battle, Dearen could understand how a growling, snarling Dymarki could put the terror of death into anyone.
“My name is Chan.”
At the sound of the man’s croaking voice Ghrista lowered his arm.
“Thank you Chan,” Dearen said as she slowly lowered her arm. “He wants to know what you were doing here?”
“We were patrolling the area. We heard the enemy was here.” Chan’s words sounded like the rasping of a metal file.
Dearen frowned at the comment. She paused as if relaying his information on by thought and then looked at Chan.
“He wants to know where the others are. He says that his scouts have reported that there are over a hundred men moving east.”
Chan suddenly closed his mouth and turned his head away from her.
She risked a quick glance at Ghrista before speaking quickly to the Arranian. “If they are close by maybe we could escape or be rescued.” The man turned his head back towards her and was wheezing with laughter.
“They will not be moving near here Kalar. It was only by chance that we came across this camp. They have heard of greater prey to the East and are a half-day behind us. I know that I will not live for much longer. My chest is crushed. If you really wish for freedom then kill us both.”
Dearen rocked back on her heels. How could he suggest that she commit suicide? The thought of it made her stomach turn in revulsion. The expression on her face must have spoke her thoughts as plain as day as Chan smiled grimly at her.
“So that is a truth about the Kalar. Your one, true chance at freedom has been conditioned out of you.” Air hissed through his mouth making a sound like a leaky bellows and Chan’s one good eye glazed over. It happened so quickly that it took Dearen a moment to realize the man was dead.
“Such is life. It always ends in death,” Dearen murmured as she stood up and stepped away from the body. She felt nothing for the man, whose sightless eye and relaxed face stared blankly at where she had been sitting. She had spoken with him and Chan’s last breath had been to speak to her instead of whatever divinity he followed. It worried her a little that she felt nothing inside. No hate, no sorrow, no nothing.
Hauga hastily untied her hands and Dearen began to rub at her wrists where the coarse fibers of the rope itched at her.
‘You did not have to hit her so hard!’ Hauga turned angry yellow eyes on the Dymarki leader. ‘There was no need for it.’
‘Leave off Hauga. I told him to, it is how prisoners are treated,’ Dearen said as she rubbed first one wrist in one hand and then swapped positions to rub the other wrist.
Hauga humphed as he stared a moment longer at Ghrista before turning away. Dearen could feel his anger throbbing through her head.
‘What is this?’ Ghrista cried.
Dearen stopped her hands mid rub and looked quickly about her. ‘What?’ Hauga, Fasta and Drusa echoed her query.
Ghrista’s eyes were focused on Dearen’s exposed left palm. The knife cut on her left palm stood out against the pale skin of her hand.
Hauga slowly raised his left hand and revealed the cut along his pad.
‘Ah, so you both have become Oath Bound. That would explain Hauga’s over protectiveness.’
Both Dearen and Hauga nodded.
Ghrista’s lips suddenly peeled away from his teeth in a smile.
‘Finally, I have a daughter – and one that has a bit of bite to her.’
‘Daughter?’ Dearen’s evident confusion made all the Dymarki around her wheeze with laughter.
‘Yes. Daughter. If you have sworn to be Oath Bound to young Hauga here. He is my son.’
Dearen stared at Hauga in shock. She was not just a low ranking member of Clan Mufista, she was a member of the Royal Line.
‘You have other Daughter’s don’t you?’ Dearen asked suddenly but she was afraid that she already knew the answer.
‘No, he doesn’t,’ Hauga said. ‘Ghrista’s sister is the Cearc and she is childless. I have just made you next in line to the throne.’
‘Oh bollocks! Asnar is going to kill me.’ The laugh in her voice took the sting from her words. ‘You will just have to work harder at getting yourselves some daughters. I have no wish to be Cearc!’
‘As you command Highness,’ Ghrista said as he swept back in a deep Dymarki bow.
Hauga followed suit after his father. ‘Now that I have a sister, you can start looking for a wife for me.’
‘What!’ Dearen looked up at Hauga in disbelief.
‘In Dymarki families the females choose wives for the males.’
‘Who chooses husbands for the females?’ Dearen asked with one eyebrow raised and her hands on her hips.
‘Why, they do of course,’ Ghrista answered with a laugh.
Dearen snorted before striding away to retrieve her sword from where it was placed on the ground.
As Dearen secured the tongue of her belt in the buckle, a shout was raised at the far end of the ruins. The small group watched as a pack of Ghrista’s Dymarki came trotting towards them. With them came strangers to Dearen, but Ghrista obviously knew them as he threw up his hands and gave a deep rumble of welcome at the sight of them. The lead stranger let forth a growl in return.
‘Who are they Hauga?’ Dearen asked as she came back to stand beside her new brother.
‘They are the war leaders for Clans Drewsa, Plautina, Usina and Kersa. They have answered Ghrista’s call for aid – and from the sounds of it they have bought their entire patrol groups with them as well.’
‘That will bring our combined forces to just under One hundred and twenty. It should be enough to stop that company of Northern Bareskins.’ Dearen said with a fierce smile. Cub killers deserve no mercy. She felt nothing for the man who died thinking her a prisoner and now it no longer worried her. The Northerners with their jaundiced skin and smooth, non-wrinkled faces could go to all the rings of Hell for all she cared.
‘Hauga, the Bareskin said that his friends were half a day behind us. We should be moving off soon if we are to reach Councilmeet in time to prepare a defense.’
‘Ghrista understands,’ Hauga replied. ‘We will be moving off as soon as Ghrista passes on what has happened here.’
As Hauga spoke, Dearen felt several pairs of eyes on her. She looked to see the four Dymarki clan leaders staring at her. Dearen sniffed and adjusted her sword belt so it sat more easily on her hips. The stares were not malevolent but were more curious and friendly. Dearen felt uncomfortable as the object of their attention, especially after what Ghrista and Hauga had just told her. Being the heir to a throne that she had only known about for just over two months made Dearen feel sick to her stomach. She had no wish to face the other Dymarki leaders just yet.
‘Hauga, we better go and get our gear. Hopefully my hat hasn’t blown away in all the mayhem.’
Chapter Four
Councilmeet
The combined Dymarki force arrived at Councilmeet a few hours before dusk. They had seen no trace of the Northern Bareskin
s and for that Dearen was grateful.
Her pride had gotten the better of her and she had refused Hauga’s offer of a piggyback. Dearen had come the whole way on her own two feet in an effort to show the Dymarki new comers that she was one of them and should be treated the same as themselves. The fact that the Clan Warriors treated her the same as the others of Clan Mufista did nothing to deter her. So Dearen was utterly exhausted as she trotted the last steps to the clearing that was called Councilmeet.
Dearen collapsed in a panting heap beside a large wind scarred she-oak and rested her back and head against the toughened bark. The old tree was the only thing keeping her upright. Dearen’s lungs screamed for air and every time she took a breath, pain cut through her chest as easily as a knife through soft butter. Her raven black hair was wet with sweat and the plait that draped over her shoulder glistened with it. After the first hour of running the arrow cut along her cheek had gone beyond feeling pain and now throbbed in time with her heartbeat.
Dearen felt completely knackered and knew that for the next hour or so she would be useless for anything. Hauga on the other hand looked to be able to keep running for another half a day. The Dymarki was not even panting.
Hauga sat down next to her and uncorked his water skin and took a long swig from it before offering it to Dearen. Dearen made the effort to look at the water skin but felt as if she did not have the energy to take it and drink.
‘Hauga I have not the strength to lift it. Could you dribble it into my mouth for me?’
Hauga choked back a laugh as he lifted the skin to allow a trickle of water to fall into Dearen’s open mouth.
‘Dearen, you have a stubborn streak a league wide,’ Hauga said as he poured. ‘You should have let me carry you.’
After swallowing a couple of mouthfuls of water, Dearen waved a weak hand at Hauga to stopper his water skin.
‘Leave off Hauga. Let me die in peace.’
Dearen closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the tree. Over the pounding of the blood in her ears, Dearen heard the rest of the Dymarki force settle itself around them. Vaguely, she remembered Hauga telling her that his father and the other Clan Elders had gone on ahead to warn the members of the Council who were in residence of the approaching Bareskin threat.
