by Greg Curtis
And after him Tenir had two more daughters who needed work as well. Soon if he cast his fate stones truly, the entire family would be engaged in the running of Greenlands, and the people would be getting to know them.
Duties. Good for those who performed them. Good for those who received them. Good for Greenlands.
Chapter Eighty Five.
Dura was sore. After a week in the saddle riding hard she hurt. They all did. But that didn’t change things as they slowly approached what could be a large battle. The thirty of them against only the Mother knew how many abominations.
Already they had killed several score of the foul creatures. Weeks spent practicing every evening had improved their aim immensely, and now all of them could hit a head at fifty paces, even when it was bobbing about. The captain had thought it good training as they’d started making themselves a new house in Greenlands, and she had to admit he’d been right. Shooting actual abominations wasn’t quite the same as shooting straw targets that swayed about in the wind, but close enough.
Having the two elders with them from the Wildflower Grove helped as well, as each of them seemed to have the power to disrupt the creature’s terrible hunger for a bit. Or at least confuse them. Or something.
In sooth she wasn’t completely sure what the elders were doing as they waved their hands and muttered their prayers, but what she did know was that it seemed to do something to the creatures as they stopped whatever they were doing and shuffled around chaotically on the spot, waiting for an arrow to find their heads. But still that was only one or two of the creatures at a time. How much use would they be if they ran into a horde? And that she knew from her schooling was ultimately what they would be facing. If this was the Reaver, then the land would soon be awash with abominations. Did they even have enough arrows?
The land didn’t help either. She craved the comfort and protection of the forests and trees. She’d learned to adapt to the wide open green farmlands of their new home, and enjoyed the freedom of being able to gallop in any direction. But this was neither.
It was some sort of tussock grassland, but the grass was yellow and red like rust stained wheat, stood as tall as a man, and was impossibly thick as it blanketed the land for as far as the eye could see. The only things that broke up the gently rolling sea of red and yellow were a few lonely trees covered in ribbons of moss and creepers standing out like drowning swimmers. Worse was the fact that some of the tussock was still in bloom, and many of the heads were heavy with tufts of white fluff. When the wind blew, even a gentle breeze, the fluff flew everywhere. It got in your eyes, in your face, and in your mouth.
As if that wasn’t enough there was also no trail. No solid ground underfoot for the horses to gallop on. The ground was soft and the tussock thick. It would slow them down if they had to run. It slowed them even walking. Riding through it Dura felt as though she was already stepping into the teeth of a trap. And the trap was slowly closing.
It could have closed more quickly she supposed. The teeth could have been sharper. The abominations could have been completely hidden in the grasses if they had only been clever enough to duck a little. To creep about like the foxes and rabbits that abounded among the grasses. Luckily they weren’t, and thus far every time they’d attacked, it was easy to spot them as they screeched their hideous war cry, and pushed the grasses aside like the wakes in front of boats at sea. From horseback they could just make out the tops of their heads as they shuffled furiously for them. Thus far.
The animals weren’t so lucky. Being closer to the ground they couldn’t spot the abominations until they were right on them. But they could smell them, and whatever it was that they smelled of, the animals didn’t like it. So the horses were nervous, needing constant reassurance that things were alright, while the wolves constantly scented the air and growled quietly among themselves as they circled the party. They hated this place. She did too.
With good reason.
Abruptly the captain held up his hand once more, a gesture that everyone knew by heart, and they came to an immediate halt. They didn’t need to ask why, when they could suddenly make out the sound of unholy things screeching in the distance. The enemy was upon them again. After days in the tussock facing these things, it wasn’t even a surprise. Just another chance to fret. To hope that none of them could get through.
Dura drew her longbow with the rest, notched an arrow, and pointed it towards the distant sound as she waited for the creatures to show themselves.
It felt like an eternity passing as she waited. Far longer than the time it actually took the abominations to cover however many hundreds of paces they needed to reach them. But that was normal. Even after days of riding slowly through this horrid land and facing the enemy, she still wasn’t used to the battle. She wasn’t ready for it. None of them were. In the great forests, against a normal enemy, brigands or dire wolves perhaps, she would have been ready. She would have known what to do almost without thinking. But against these things it was always new.
None of them were sleeping either. The most they could do was nap a little through the night while half of them kept watch. There was never any lack of volunteers to keep watch. But even if they did manage to sleep, the slightest sound woke them. So she was tired. That didn’t help.
Then the first of the abominations came into view and it didn’t matter how tired she was. The only thing that mattered was that the strange wake moving through the long tussock told her that the creature was heading for them. Soon there were many more wakes heading their way and she was anything but tired. Her mouth was dry and the bow was surprisingly light in her hands as she waited for the battle to begin again.
The nearest of the creatures approached to within fifty paces of them, and the elders cast their spell as they had so many times before. She knew the spell had taken effect when the creatures stopped shuffling towards them, and instead started bobbing around on the spot like drunken dancers. Without the elders she knew that things would have been much worse. Dura took aim.
Captain Maydan dropped his hand, the signal they were all waiting for, and she loosed her arrow. Thirty arrows flew at the abominations, and all of them hit. But she knew that not all of them would hit them squarely between the eyes, the only place that they knew for certain would kill them. They never did. Between their bobbing about and the tall tussock it was an almost impossible shot. And as always there was only one way to find out how many had survived.
Dura notched her next arrow with all the others, and waited nervously for the elders to release their spell. This was the part she hated. Waiting to find out how many of those they’d fired at would be dead and how many would charge them once more. And of course how close they’d come to them before the elders could stop them again. Whatever their spell was, and it was powerful, it still took time to cast. The battles were always the same. A game of nerves.
Captain Maydan gave the next signal, the elder’s dropped their spell, and nearly a dozen of the creatures suddenly broke from their positions in the long grass and started rushing them again. Ten, twenty, thirty paces they covered in their shuffling dash, all while the elders rushed to recast their spell, and they had to sit there and wait, arrows drawn. It was the only way. If the elders couldn’t stop them in time they would have only one chance to fell them. There could be no wasted arrows.
Dura could almost feel their teeth biting into her flesh as she waited. They were so close. Even the wolves were nervous, though they were being deliberately kept out of the fight. This was a battle best fought with bows. Not hand to hand. But just before they reached them, the elders succeeded again, and she knew a huge wash of relief flowing through her as the things stopped running for them.
This time when the captain gave the signal she didn’t have to aim so carefully. The nearest of them were barely more than ten paces from her, well within sight.
She put her arrow straight through the head of the one closest to her, and watched with pleasure as the arrow hit hom
e and the thing crashed to the ground, dead. Others were doing the same, and all around them she could see abominations falling down, knocking aside huge circles of grass as they collapsed into it. That was good, even if a few of them kept writhing on the ground. A couple more arrows stopped that quickly enough. But at the same time she knew, more were coming. More were always coming. She could hear them screeching in the distance. And it sounded like even more than the one or two dozen or so they’d just killed. And that was more than they’d faced before.
It sounded like a lot more.
Dura tried hard to keep her focus, but it wasn’t easy. Her heart was racing, sweat was making her palms clammy, and everything she knew was telling her to run. To kick her mare in the flanks and just fly like the wind. The others surely knew the same fear. With a dozen or two of the creatures down and possibly another two score or more of them heading for them as fast as they could shuffle, the rangers were already outnumbered. And that was before she asked herself how many more of them there were further away. She could see the distant wakes they were making as they pushed their way through the long tussock, so many of them, almost like a wave rolling in. But still she held her bow straight before her, arrow notched and string taught, waiting for the first of them to come into range.
Then the wave stopped. The elders she knew had cast their magic once more, and the creatures had been held. Maybe a tiny bit further from them than was good, she could barely make out the tops of their hairless heads bobbing among the grasses, but still close enough.
The captain gave the signal and she loosed her arrow, aiming just a few inches below the tiny scrap of skin she could see, and she knew her aim was good. She heard her arrow slam home into something solid. She heard all of their arrows do the same. But was that enough? How many were down? How many would still be coming for them? A hit wasn’t enough. With these things it had to be a perfect shot to the head to bring them down. But still she couldn’t see a lot of movement.
Dura notched her next arrow and waited nervously for the captain to give the elders the command to release their spell.
But before the captain could give the order, something happened. Something unexpected.
The air all around them began glowing. Glowing brighter and brighter with some sort of brilliant white light. A light that somehow made everything seem pale and washed out. A light that was so bright that it blinded her, and yet didn’t hurt the eyes or even make her want to close them.
Then as quickly as it had come it was gone, and she could see perfectly. There were no greens and reds blotting her vision. Nothing at all save the field of tall yellow tussock waving gently in the breeze, and of course the abominations lurking somewhere within it. That and a strange feeling of peace. As if their troubles had ended.
Dura looked around her at the others, and saw them doing the same. All of them confused, wondering what had happened. And then she looked at the elders riding in the tail, and saw them smiling as they spoke quietly with one another. They seemed relaxed at least, although she was sure they hadn’t cast whatever spell it was. It didn’t seem like anything she’d ever seen of the Mother’s magic. Besides, they didn’t seem to be casting any magic just then.
“Look!” Someone called out and she swiftly turned her attention back to the long grass and the enemy, only to realise that there were no more enemies. What there were were small funnels of light grey smoke rising from all around them, lots and lots of them, just like the smoke given off from a dying campfire. Though she had no evidence for it, Dura was somehow certain that each one of those fires was one of the abominations. That they’d been cremated where they stood.
But how could that be?”
“Could I suggest a halt here captain.”
The words came out of nowhere, causing them all to jump. Among the rangers almost no one spoke unless it was necessary. Not while they were out riding. Silence and hand signals were the norm. And besides, they didn’t know the voice. Dura looked around frantically, they all did, trying to spot the speaker. But the voice had come from somewhere in their midst, and there was no one there who shouldn’t be.
And then there was. There was no sound, no flash of light or movement, nothing at all, and then suddenly a stranger appeared between two riders. Both of them started, almost jumping out of their saddles in fright, but the stranger just rode calmly past them as if nothing had happened.
“The land ahead is filled with these soulless things.” The stranger was right of course but they’d already known that.
“And who are you?” At least the captain seemed calm as he sat there waiting for the man to reach him. He always seemed calm. But he surely couldn’t have known. And even if he had somehow realised that another was lurking among them, he couldn’t have guessed what he was. Even staring at him, Dura didn’t know what he was. A priest, a wizard, maybe even a warspell?
He was a big man dressed in white from head to toe, riding a huge white horse with a tail, fetlocks and mane so white that they almost seemed to sparkle. He was carrying a quarterstaff of something even whiter than the rest, something that twisted the eyes a little with its magic. And then he had simply appeared among them. Surely that meant he was a wizard of some sort. She had never seen anyone like him before, but it was the only thing that made sense. But wizards from what little she knew of them, were slightly built and often with poor posture. They spent too much of their time bent over tables studying, to develop muscles or even a healthy tan. This man though, he looked as powerful as a fell ox, and at least as dangerous.
“Ericus of the Light. Sent by my Lady to aid you.”
A priest! That seemed wrong to Dura somehow. Priests weren’t known for their sturdy frames either, and he certainly wasn’t dressed as a priest. Canvas leggings, a thick cotton vest and a heavy brocade jacket. Where were the robes? The vestments of the faith? Still, it explained the magic. And the white. Silene, the goddess of goodness and grace was also the mistress of light, and that was the magic that her servants carried. And that was the magic he had used on the abominations, and also the illusion that had let him remain hidden among them. Still, they weren’t warriors. Which made Dura wonder why the priest had intervened. For these weren’t warrior priests. They stood against war. Against violence of any form.
“And we thank you for your aid.” If the captain was confused by him, he showed no sign of it. “But our journey is set to take us further on.”
“I know. When we arrived in Greenlands the word of your mission was everywhere. Winterford, home of an ancient, nameless evil, and maybe a few brigands as well.” The stranger smiled easily, something that Dura liked a lot. In such a place and surrounded by danger, a good smile was a precious thing. It made everything else seem so much less frightening.
“Lord Iros sent you?”
“No.” The man shook his head as he pulled up beside the captain. “We had barely arrived in the town when we heard of your mission and had to leave again. And as it was you still had a day’s head start on us and we had to ride hard to catch up.”
“We?”
“Of course, forgive me.” The priest waved his hand gently in the air, and suddenly they were no longer alone. They were surrounded by soldiers in steel plate, riding horses of striking size. Completely surrounded.
“May I present to you the fifty first dragoons out of Tendarin.”
Men in steel. Steel flat top helms. Steel cuirasses. Steel shields. Steel swords. And steel chain. So much steel, all of it shining in the sunlight, surrounding them. Almost dwarfing them. But then a dragoon as she remembered, normally consisted of a hundred riders. But even with the priest’s magic she couldn’t understand how so many riders had managed to sneak up on them. At the very least they had to make some noise. Horses hooves on the ground, steel armour clattering. Yet she’d heard nothing. None of them had. She understood one thing though, why the horses were so large. They had to be if they were to carry all that weight.
Captain Maydan said nothing for a
bit, perhaps still coming to terms with the sight of so many riders suddenly appearing out of nothing, or maybe considering what their arrival meant for the expedition. Then again, maybe he was simply waiting for the captain of the dragoons to join him. He, she assumed it was a him but under his armour he could have been a woman, was riding past them on a huge black steed, heading slowly for the front Nothing more was said by anyone until he reached the captain. Then the priest began the introductions, while the rangers looked on in wonder. At least the rangers were wondering what was happening. It was hard to tell what the dragoons might be thinking with their faces covered in steel.
The priest began by introducing Captain Harrigan and then had to stop in a hurry as he was abruptly sent back to join the others by his own commander. He didn’t do quite as he was told though. He left the two captains as ordered, but instead of joining the other dragoons visited with the elders. That was something Dura would never do. If Captain Maydan gave her an order she obeyed it exactly. Experience had taught her that to do anything else was a mistake, and she was tired of chores. On the other hand she wasn’t a priest.
