As they got closer, Belwynn got a clearer look at the settlement. She had never seen anything quite like it. Each building was constructed from a variety of the timber materials that surrounded them. They had their choice of tree around here: tall, thin birch grew alongside sprawling ash; mighty oaks shared the land with squat maples. In addition, each building had a completely different design. There was a sunken hut with four wings, laid out in the shape of a cross. There was a U-shaped construction with a garden in the open courtyard. A tall, thin building, which from the outside looked as if it must have had at least four storeys, had a spiral staircase on the outside, leading to the roof. At the far end was a huge building which most closely resembled a warehouse and was the size of all the others put together. There were almost a dozen of these oddities in all. It looked to Belwynn like everyone had taken part in a building competition. And that they had all got steaming drunk beforehand.
There was no central courtyard or anywhere to head to, so Gyrmund stopped outside the U-shaped house and dismounted. The others followed suit. Belwynn could see how stiffly Elana moved as she tried to dismount, and she gave her a hand down.
‘Sore legs?’ asked Belwynn.
‘I’ve never ridden so much in my life,’ said Elana.
The priestess rubbed at her hamstrings and her lower back. She eased up and stretched, visibly looser.
‘Magical powers?’ asked Belwynn.
‘Healing powers.’
Belwynn wasn’t about to be converted by watching someone stretch their back out.
‘Mmm. Excuse me if I’m sceptical.’
She looked around her. Slowly, and silently, the residents of Hallaf’s Home emerged. Some from their homes, some from the forest around them. Adult males for the most part, teenagers through to older men. Many clutched axes, no doubt ready to use them as weapons if necessary, but not in a threatening manner. Not yet, anyway.
A few children came out as well, followed by one older woman with straggly, matted grey hair and eyes that wandered about independently of one another.
The men all had the same kind of look to them, so it was easy to believe they were mostly related in some way. They had big, powerful shoulders, slightly hunched forwards; prominent brows and foreheads, with big bushy beards covering the rest of their faces. No-one in Hallaf’s Home seemed to worry too much about their appearance, with worn and mismatched clothing the norm, where there was any. Most of the men went bare chested; their body hair was apparently all they needed to keep them warm.
Hold me back, Belwynn said to Soren, unable to resist. I think I’ve finally found a flock of suitors.
The people of Hallaf’s Home gathered around the house, not too close, saying nothing, neither to Belwynn’s group nor to each other. Perhaps they’re mute, thought Belwynn.
Then the door of the U- shaped house opened, and an elderly man appeared and slowly walked towards them. He was grey and balding on top, with a straggly grey beard. As he approached them, Belwynn saw that he had a patch of raw, red, mottled skin on his face, centred around the left side of his forehead and spreading outwards in an irregular pattern, down to his cheek and the top of his nose. It was an infection of some kind which was eating into the man’s face, stopping the wounds from healing over. And whatever little creatures were doing it, they were really messy eaters.
‘Hallaf,’ said Gyrmund, nodding in greeting. ‘I am Gyrmund. I have visited with you before, you may remember.’
‘Yeffin, reckon y’hav,’ said the old man. His dialect, if that was the issue, made his words virtually unintelligible.
‘This is Soren,’ Gyrmund explained.
‘Greetings, Hallaf,’ Soren began. ‘We are heading into the Wilderness and have come to sell you our six horses. As you can see, they are all healthy and strong.’
Hallaf shuffled over and made a show of inspecting each one, though it was clear as day that they were all fine horses in excellent condition.
‘Yeffin,’ he muttered, presumably in confirmation.
Belwynn raised her eyebrows at Clarin, and he just shrugged back, equally bemused.
‘Here is my offer,’ continued Soren. ‘You will pay us only sixty crowns for the horses—’
‘Yeffin!’ screeched the old woman, shooting one arm up into the air in apparent celebration.
‘But,’ continued Soren, giving the woman a stern look, which made her lower her arm again, ‘you will keep them in as good a condition as you have received them, for half a year. Should we return at any time in that period, we are entitled to buy them back from you, at a total cost of one hundred and eighty crowns. If we do not return before half a year has passed, they are yours to do with as you please. Do you understand my terms?’
‘Aye, yeffin I do,’ said old Hallaf, and he spat onto his palm before holding it out to Soren.
Belwynn could see Soren look from the wet palm to the sticky red face.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ he informed Hallaf. ‘One more thing that you all should know—’ Soren addressed the whole community formally, raising his voice. ‘I am a spell-caster, and I wreak dire vengeance on anyone who doesn’t uphold their side of a bargain.’
Soren held out one hand, concentrating. Hallaf’s people watched.
Then, his hand burst into flame, orange and yellow light flickering. With a twist of his wrist the flame went out. His hand was unharmed.
The old woman let out a blood-curdling scream, while the men who had gathered around took a step or two back, suitably intimidated, it seemed. All except one of the children, who politely clapped.
Gyrmund turned and looked up the hill they had come down.
‘Anyone hear that?’
Belwynn listened. She couldn’t hear anything, and neither could anyone else.
‘Riders,’ he said, sounding sure.
That was enough for Clarin, who drew his sword and moved to face the threat. Gyrmund strung his bow. Hallaf’s people followed suit, handling axes and clubs and looking in that direction.
Then Belwynn heard it—horses coming their way at quite a pace, faster than they had come down. Then they burst into view atop the hill, slowing as their mounts picked their way down through the trees.
‘Herin!’ called Clarin, waving up at his brother.
The old woman gave another blood curdling scream, for no apparent reason.
There were three other riders with him: Kaved and Moneva, their new recruits from Vincente’s town, and a second Krykker. At first, Belwynn assumed it was a friend of Kaved’s—then she recognised him.
‘Is that Rabigar? The smith from Bidcote?’ she asked Soren out loud.
Soren peered up. His eyesight wasn’t as sharp as hers after his years squinting at books in bad light.
‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed as they approached. ‘Looks like he’s brought half his merchandise with him, as well.’
Indeed, Belwynn could see various weapons poking out of their saddlebags. She knew that Herin had a silver tongue, but she was surprised to see he’d persuaded Rabigar to come along. Still, she had little doubt that he was a resourceful man to have along.
The arrivals immediately brought a new energy and volume to Hallaf’s Home.
‘More women!’ exclaimed Kaved as he approached, leering unpleasantly at Belwynn and Elana.
‘I’ve been trying to understand why he thinks anyone would be interested in an ugly, lecherous, foul-smelling Krykker for over a day now, but I’m still none the wiser,’ Moneva said, smoothly sliding from her mount to the ground. ‘No offence, Rabigar.’
Rabigar rolled his eyes, as if he had had enough already. ‘I must be mad to have agreed to this,’ he said, without much humour in his voice.
Unlike Moneva, he struggled to dismount, dropping to the ground with a clank.
He
rin was already down, clasping arms with his brother.
‘Did you get my directions?’ Clarin asked.
‘Yes, and each time I saw one, I thought to myself, ‘more pissing about’. I thought you lot would have made better time than this!’
‘Did you get my note?’ asked Soren, looking a bit put out.
‘Erm, yes. I had a read of it while we were following Clarin’s directions.’
Clarin gave a self-satisfied smile.
‘At least we treated our horses well. Look at these poor creatures!’ said Belwynn.
Each of the four horses was in a lather and blowing hard.
‘We’re in a rush, aren’t we?’ demanded Herin. ‘What’s the story here?’
‘I’ve just sold our horses to Hallaf, here,’ explained Soren, gesturing to the old man who was looking on with interest.
‘Ours too!’ Herin said, barging over to Hallaf. ‘How much are we getting?’
‘We want you to buy these at the same price,’ explained Soren. ‘That makes it one hundred crowns for the ten horses.’
‘Nah, nuffin doin’ on that,’ replied Hallaf. ‘Sixty for the ten, it be.’
‘Nuffin!’ shouted the old woman in support.
‘We’re offering ten prime horses for a hundred crowns and he’s saying no!’ demanded Herin. ‘Fine, we’ll leave and take the lot with us.’
Herin made a play of walking off with his horse, which soon changed Hallaf’s mind. The old man was getting a bargain, and everyone knew it.
‘Eh, eh, not too fast,’ he got out, panicking that he might lose the whole deal. ‘Money’s coming. Hallaf’s good as his word.’
Hallaf went back in to his house and, after some time, re-emerged with a bag of money. When Gyrmund checked it, he was some crowns short of the hundred, and he was sent back in to get the right amount.
‘What in hell are we doing messing about with these inbreds?’ demanded Herin, chafing to get moving. They had all unloaded their packs from the horses and were standing about, ready to go. ‘We’re losing time here!’
‘Shhh!’ hissed Belwynn. She really didn’t want to get into a fight with Hallaf’s sons, who were still standing around, weapons in hand.
Eventually the old man re-emerged and handed over the money.
‘Right, let’s get moving,’ said Herin.
‘One more thing, before we go,’ said Elana.
She approached Hallaf.
‘You have helped us today, Hallaf. The Goddess Madria would bestow a blessing on you, to ease your suffering.’
The priestess reached out to the old man. He took a step back at first but, looking at her curiously, allowed her to place both hands on his face. Belwynn cringed at the thought of touching those weeping injuries.
Elana held her hands in position for some time, and then withdrew them.
There was an obvious visible difference. The redness was gone, as if the infection had been drawn out. The damage to the skin was still visible, but it looked like an old wound that would scar over, and heal.
Elana stepped away.
Hallaf blinked with wide eyes, touching his hands to his face as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. The men of the settlement, presumably many of whom were his sons, walked over to him, equally astounded, peering and prodding at the old man. The old woman tottered over, squinting up at him. She drew in a breath, and Belwynn thought that she was going to let out another scream, but instead a tight breath escaped from her throat and that was it.
‘Thanking you, lady. Thanking you,’ said Hallaf, his voice wavering and tears in his eyes.
It was a moving sight. Toric only knew how much irritation and suffering the man had endured. His family was gathered around him, clearly happy for the father of their community.
Elana held up her hands.
‘Please. Thank Madria; she healed you. I am just her channel.’
She turned around and returned to the group.
‘Still sceptical, Belwynn?’ she asked.
Elana had a funny expression on her face, like a young girl’s I told you so. It made Belwynn smile.
‘That was really impressive, Elana,’ said Soren.
‘Yep, you don’t see that every day,’ added Moneva.
‘Well,’ said Elana, ‘as I said, Madria has given me these powers.’
‘Good for Madria,’ snapped Herin. ‘But are we going to leave now?’
‘Yeffin,’ said Belwynn.
‘What?’ demanded Herin, as everyone started to leave Hallaf’s Home, Gyrmund in the lead. ‘What, by Toric’s hairy arse, does that mean?’
Clarin slapped his brother on the back, chuckling. ‘Herin, you had to be there.’
VII
Creatures that Come Out at Night
They travelled on foot in a south-easterly direction to reconnect them to the route taken by the Brasingians, and it didn’t take long to find it. The trail they had left was now so obvious that Belwynn could have followed it by herself. Twenty horsemen in single file had thrashed through the forest floor, churning the ground and ripping plants, not to mention horse dung here and there. After a while there were footprints as well as hoof prints, meaning they had decided to stop riding and walk their mounts. This was hardly surprising; it was difficult terrain now.
The trees closed in on them and blocked the sunlight, making it much cooler. Thorns, sprouting from the forest floor, scratched them and got stuck in clothing. The ground underfoot was uneven and sloped up and down, tiring out Belwynn’s thigh muscles as she pushed up and straining her ankles as she manoeuvred down. She was fearful of turning an ankle, but Gyrmund kept up a severe pace as he tried to make up time on his quarry. He knew which direction they were going in, and would take them on a shorter or easier route when possible to make up time, always keeping in touch with the trail they had left. As he went he gave warnings about this or that hazard, and they got passed down the line. Other than that, there was no talking—just the sound of breathing from the exertion.
It didn’t help that, thanks to Rabigar, they had become a walking weapons arsenal. Belwynn presumed that he and Herin had organised the weapons for everyone, and she had no doubt they might be needed, but in this environment they made the going even tougher.
Belwynn had a light sword that allowed her to swing and thrust without losing balance. She was no fighter, but she had sparred plenty of times with Clarin and Herin, who had taught her the basics. Herin’s sword was much bigger; he used it two-handed and liked to fight with speed. He also carried a seax in his belt and had a bow, coloured black with charcoal. His brother Clarin preferred to use sword and shield. His size and power, however, meant that he could use a sword that was almost the same weight as Herin’s with only one arm. Rabigar was the other member of the group who favoured fighting with a sword and shield. Kaved had a sword and hand axe. Both Krykkers wore metal armour on their arms and legs, complementing the hard scales that grew on their torsos. Moneva wore a short sword on each hip. Gyrmund carried sword and bow. Dirk carried a mace, a favourite weapon of the Order of Toric. Soren and Elana carried no visible weapons and were not expected to fight.
They looked the part, and there were some very experienced fighters in the group. But they had never fought as a unit, and Belwynn knew that they would struggle to face up to Salvinus and his twenty veterans. In that situation, they’d have to hope that Soren could tip the odds in their favour.
Gyrmund called a halt, and Belwynn peered forwards from her position in the line. It looked like they had come to a clearing, and Gyrmund seemed to be looking around, perhaps fearful of an ambush. Signalling for them to stay where they were, he moved into the clearing, studying the ground, walking a circuit around it. He walked off into the trees on the other side for a small distance, then came back again, gesturing for e
veryone to enter the clearing.
‘We’ll have a brief rest here,’ he said.
‘Thank the gods,’ said Moneva, dumping her pack on the ground. ‘I hate this place. Why did you bring me here?’ she asked Herin accusingly.
‘It’ll do you good to get some fresh air,’ he suggested. ‘How are we doing then, Gyrmund?’
Their guide made a face. ‘I don’t like it. This is where our friends said goodbye to their horses. Vossi tracks come from that direction, to the east. They came here and took the horses, but they were handed over to them.’
‘Handed over?’ asked Soren.
‘I mean that both groups were here at the same time. The vossi didn’t arrive later. It can’t have been an accident; it all looks pre-arranged. Which is worrying.’
‘Why?’ demanded Herin.
‘If Salvinus has some kind of arrangement with a vossi tribe, they could be hostile towards us.’
‘What would the vossi do with the horses?’ asked Belwynn.
Gyrmund shrugged. ‘Eat them, probably. Or sacrifice them.’
‘Sacrifice, then eat them,’ said Soren.
‘Better than riding on the fucking things,’ said Kaved.
‘Could they have a vossi guide?’ asked Rabigar.
Gyrmund shrugged. ‘It’s possible. I’ve never heard of vossi doing that before.’
‘Any good news?’ asked Moneva petulantly.
‘Well, they spent some time here, maybe waiting for the rendezvous. We’ve made up a bit of time on them now. We’re three to four hours behind, I would say. They set off in that direction, to the north-east; as we would expect, they’re heading for the Empire. They’ll be spending the night in the Wilderness. We need to move on a bit more and then find somewhere to make camp ourselves.’
Gyrmund kept them going in the half-light, keen to use his knowledge of the terrain to keep moving after the Brasingians had most likely stopped for the day.
By the time he decided to call a halt, Belwynn was exhausted. All she wanted to do was set her blankets out and go straight to sleep, and most of the others seemed set on the same idea. However, as she got ready, she realised how hungry she was, and she lay there, exhausted, watching Gyrmund and the others get a fire going and then put some pans on it. Eventually, he handed out bowls of stew, and she sat up, spooning the hot food into her mouth with her fingers as quickly as she could.
Toric's Dagger: Book One of The Weapon Takers Saga Page 8
