Northern Storm ac-2

by Juliet E. McKenna

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Word spread like wildfire, didn’t it?’ Kheda looked across the clouded waters of the bay, stirred by the passage of countless ships.

  ‘Despite the rains.’ Risala stood with him on the stern deck of the Gossamer Shark, fingering her necklaces.

  The trireme was drawn up on a beach almost entirely hidden by shelters hastily improvised from palm fronds and tents deftly rigged from sailcloth and spare oars. Fire pits smoked damply in the humid air. Most had already been quenched to black scars on the mottled sand. The multitude who’d slept and eaten ashore were gathered in earnest conversation or stood in silent groups considering the undulating green hills indistinct in the dense mist rising from the sodden trees. The sky above was an unrelieved pale grey.

  ‘It doesn’t seem to worry them that it wasn’t this dragon that sank the Mist Dove,’ Kheda said softly. ‘Most of the islanders never even saw the fire dragon. Some of them never even saw hide or hair of the savages. They all want to share in this, though.’

  ‘They all want to play their part in ridding Chazen of this evil.’ Risala studied the crowded shore. ‘This is their chance to fight at long last instead of running and hiding. It’s something for their children, for their future.’

  ‘Something to expiate whatever wrong choices or steps in the past led Chazen to this plight.’ Kheda nodded. ‘Something to still the dubious whispers and snide speculations behind Redigal hands or Aedis sails,’ he added more prosaically. ‘Let’s hope so, anyway.’ Away from the shore, fast and heavy triremes alike were anchored in disciplined lines while fishing skiffs clustered in haphazard companionship around the fat-bellied merchant galleys. Flat-bottomed boats toiled through the gaps, outstripped by lithe dispatch boats stirring up spray with dashing oars. Voices shouted questions and ‘instructions, answers and agreement ringing with common purpose. ‘It helps that the dragon chose to lair as near to the centre of the domain as makes no difference,’ Risala commented.

  ‘Do you think that’s significant?’ Kheda looked down the length of the ship to the prow where Velindre stood, tall and slender in her guise of a zamorin scholar.

  Can we trust her, when she grieves so openly for this base creature she created? She seems to mourn it more than Dev. But she’s shown us where it is, when she could have concealed it and let it die unseen. She really wants that ruby egg.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Risala shrugged. ‘It certainly can’t hurt to have so many hands raised against the beast. I doubt it’ll be that easy to kill, even wounded.’ She twisted the silver chain of tiny shark’s teeth around one finger. ‘But we can only go onwards.’

  Is that more wisdom in chance-heard words? Or simply a statement of the blindingly obvious? Does it matter? We’re committed now.

  The Gossamer Shark’s helmsman and shipmaster were both down on the rowing deck. Kheda lowered his voice nonetheless. ‘Has she let slip any hint that the creature could have found gems to strengthen itself?’

  Risala shook her head with complete conviction. ‘She says it’s weakening fast.’

  ‘There’s been no word of it making any attacks,’ Kheda mused quietly amid the hubbub of the anchorage. Not where it could have found sapphires for its sorcery.’

  ‘Plenty of people have seen it on the wing, though.’ Risala glanced at him. ‘She was right—you couldn’t have kept it quiet.’

  ‘Let’s hope this course of action all turns out for the best, then.’ Kheda shoved the wide belt drawing his hauberk close firmly down on to his hips. The dagged edge of his bronze-ornamented chain mail chinked softly against the gold-embossed metal plates of his leather leggings.

  A time to look every measure the warlord, I think

  ‘Your swords, my lord?’ Risala proffered two scab-barded blades and the double belt to secure them. The swords were not a matched pair: one was Kheda’s, the other had been Dev’s.

  Kheda took the weapons, face impassive. You’d make a fair body slave.’

  ‘Sorry, my lord, I’m not going up against that creature.’ Risala shuddered, and then her face betrayed a new concern. ‘Who is going to be at your shoulder?’

  ‘Mezai for one.’ Kheda nodded down into the depths of the trireme. ‘Along with Ridu, Eshai and probably the whole sail crew.’

  Down on the rowing deck, every man was abandoning his oar to don some scavenged chain mail or a thick leather jerkin. The Gossamer Shark’s contingent of trained swordsmen moved slowly among the rowers, handing out a miscellany of swords. Eshai, the helmsman, earned himself a sharp rebuke from one of the armoured warriors for trying an amateurish parry in the confined space.

  ‘I couldn’t ask you to stand at my shoulder again.’ Kheda smiled, his words soft. ‘You’ve already gone into more danger on my account than anyone should have had to face.’

  ‘I’ve been wondering where the stars stood at my birth,’ Risala remarked wryly, ‘and what the soothsayer missed, or chose not to tell my mother, for fear she’d faint dead away.’

  ‘I’ve more need of you here anyway.’ Kheda’s tone hardened as he gazed at Velindre. ‘Keep a close eye on her. She’ll regain her full strength once the creature is dead.’

  ‘What do you suppose she’ll do?’ asked Risala apprehensively.

  ‘I hope she’ll disappear in a lightning flash and leave us loudly thankful that we’re rid of such an unexpected and dangerous deceiver.’ Kheda sighed. ‘I don’t suppose she will. She’s set on having that ruby egg.’

  Is it truly dead? There’s been no new spark of life within it. Could the death of this cloud dragon give it some new power?

  ‘What can she want with it?’ Risala was as mystified as Kheda.

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t want to know,’ he said firmly. ‘And I don’t really want her revealed as anything more than a zamorin scholar.’ Kheda looked at Risala, his face grim. ‘Can you kill her if she betrays any sign of magic when the beast dies?’

  Risala nodded slowly. ‘Yes, my lord.’

  Seeing the pain in her eyes, Kheda had to fight a powerful impulse to fold her in his arms. At that moment, Shipmaster Mezai came swiftly up the ladder from the rowing deck. Kheda busied himself donning his double-looped sword belt and securing the twin scabbards on his hips.

  ‘Are we ready, my lord?’ The mariner was wearing a hauberk showing signs of rust only recently scoured away and with some fierce dents in the solid metal plates inset to protect his vitals. He gripped a heavy blade more suited to forcing a path through virgin forest than to swordplay.

  ‘We are,’ Kheda said resolutely. Mezai summoned the whole ship’s crew with a rousing shout. ‘Come on, lams, let’s have the beast! For the Mist Dove and everyone who died on her!’

  Kheda bade Risala farewell with silent eyes as he waited his turn to climb down the stern ladders as virtually the Gossamer Shark’s entire complement spilled along the side decks. As he slid down the last few rungs to the damp sand, he turned to see countless eyes fixed on him. Hunters from the hills of Boal and Esabir brandished their square-ended hacking blades. Lads with them carried bundles of the sturdy lances that could bring down a hook-toothed hog. Most sweated uncomplaining beneath the thick hide tunics they more usually wore to save themselves from a goring by some water ox, with high collars to foil the tearing neck-bite of a jungle cat springing from a tree.

  Fishermen rested on their long, barbed spears, some bare-chested, more with some attempt at armour fashioned from latticed knot-tree bark more commonly used for crab traps. Youths without either weapons or armour stood burdened with swathes of heavy net and coils of thick pitch-blackened rope. Men more used to sailing the domain in search of trade were ready to join the hunters and fishermen. Like the Gossamer Shark’s crew, they clutched a motley selection of weapons and a curious array of armour, new and old, in styles drawn from every local domain of the Archipelago and some from far beyond.

  Is that some sign, that merchants and mariners can arm and armour themselves so readily when only a
warlord’s designated warriors are supposed to carry swords in his service? Dev used to trade in forbidden weapons, didn’t he?

  Thrusting away that painful thought, Kheda picked out the bowmen lending their strength to this enterprise. A few carried their bows in hopes of seeing some weakness where a shaft might pierce the dragon. Most of those he recognised as archers from the Chazen residences carried the polearms that usually gathered dust, stored against some disaster when the untrained household would be the last line of defence.

  Slaves and servants are all the defence the residence has at the moment. I hope no opportunistic pirate thinks to attack Itrac while every eye and blade is turned against this dragon. At least that bastard Ulla Safar’s too far away to try taking such advantage, even if he did hear some rumour of what was going on. The Chazen swordsmen were drawn up in precise troops amid the milling crowds, steel hauberks bright, polished helmets gleaming even in the dull overcast. Kheda looked for Ridu but couldn’t see him. He set the thought aside resolutely and took off his own helmet so that his face could be seen more clearly and an immediate hush fell around him. Ripples of silence raced outwards until the only sound was the idle play of the sea. Every face turned to Kheda: openly anxious, taut with apprehension, all utterly deteimined.

  ‘You are here to do Chazen a great service today.’ The words sounded thin and insincere in Kheda’s ears. He cleared his throat. ‘We have a difficult and dangerous task ahead of us. We are looking to kill a creature bigger than any I have ever hunted—and if any of you have ever tried harpooning a sea serpent or a whale anywhere near as big, I’m amazed you’re here to tell the tale.’

  Nervous laughter shivered through a few people. His next words killed it.

  ‘This creature has magic to call upon as well as its size and strength. I don’t know what it may try, to confuse us or kill us, but we must expect it to wield its unnatural powers. We must not let this undermine our resolve. We must fight our way through such attacks to kill the creature itself and that will put paid to such malevolence. We will end this evil blighting Chazen.’

  He scanned the intent faces all around. Here and there he noted the uncut hair and beard of a soothsayer. The sages were nodding with approval as they clutched their baskets of prophetic stones or held augury doves dozing in little cages.

  Kheda’s voice strengthened. ‘Do not fear the stain of magic touching you. Wiser men than us, through many revolutions of the heavens, are all agreed that the innocent victims of magic are not condemned by its touch. Every portent for Chazen has been positive of late, from the blessing of the prodigious pearl harvest onwards. The domain’s future is full of hope. We are here to claim that hope for ourselves and for those we love. The rains will wash this dragon’s blood from Chazen soil to be lost in the boundless depths of the ocean.’

  A few men raised a belligerent cheer.

  Kheda spoke again, his voice louder, harsher. ‘We know these beasts can be killed. This dragon we are here to hunt fought and killed the fire-born beast that first arrived to plague us. That evil is dead and gone and scales from its hide are token of that death and talisman to protect the lives risked here today.’ He pointed to men wearing scales on thongs of leather or plaited grass, dull as gouts of blood in the muted light.

  ‘This second dragon paid heavily for its victory. I saw its terrible wounds with my own eyes. The creature is already grievously weakened.’ Kheda thrust his helmet back on to his head and drew a sword. ‘Let’s kill it for Chazen and look to the future!’

  This time a full-throated roar burst from the crowd.

  ‘Mezai! Where are the scouts who volunteered to track it down last night?’ Kheda had to raise his voice to be heard in the din.

  ‘My lord!’ Before the shipmaster could answer, Kheda saw another familiar face forcing a path through the throng.

  ‘Beyau, what brings you here?’ Cold flowed through Kheda’s heart. ‘Is my lady Itrac all right?’

  ‘She is, my lord,’ Beyau assured him at once. ‘She gave me leave to join in this hunt. She sent this for you.’ He handed Kheda a double-folded and tightly sealed letter.

  Kheda took it, aware that all eyes were suddenly fastened on him. He cracked the seals, sweat from his fingers darkening the pale reed paper. He scanned the letter and purposely smoothed an incautious frown from his forehead, replacing it with a wide smile of delight

  ‘We have another omen of blessing for Chazen.’ Kheda brandished the paper high above his head to include everyone in his shouted announcement. ‘My lady Itrac Chazen is with child! Let’s make sure she brings the new heir into a domain free from the shadow of any dragon’s wings!’

  His words were drowned out by exultant cheers raised by those standing closest to him. Kheda stood looking at the letter.

  Will you leave another fatherless child to be raised by a mother secretly relieved you are gone from her life? Will you leave Chazen with the disaster of an infant ruler prey to Daish ambition, never mind any other domain that might look to take advantage? This is all still far from over.

  ‘This won’t be such good news if we make so much noise that we frighten the dragon into flight, wounded or not.’ Kheda turned his back on the jubilation spreading across the clutter of boats in the bay, lest he inadvertently catch sight of Risala. ‘Mezai, where are those scouts?’

  ‘Here, my lord.’ Struggling for some belated restraint, the crowds parted to allow three disparate groups of men through to the warlord.

  ‘My lord.’ The leader of the first group bowed low before exchanging a glance with the man pushed forward by the second band. Each contingent showed a stamp of common blood and a harmony in their dress and weapons suggesting they were village hunting parties. The third gang was a loose collection of men whose stained gear and worn faces indicating the harder life of the solitary forest dweller. They had the darker complexions and wiry hair of hill blood rather than the coppery faces and sleeker heads of the coastal dwellers.

  ‘Where is the dragon?’ Kheda looked from the first man to the leader of the second group.

  ‘That pass leans to a narrow valley, my lord.’ The first man turned to point to a notch in the vine-choked trees cloaking the high ground rising from the shoreline. ‘The valley leads up to a broad terrace on the far side of that peak. That’s where the beast is lying up.’

  Kheda looked but couldn’t even see a peak on the distant mountain shrouded by curtains of low cloud. ‘It’s huddled in between two ridges running down from the height,’ the leader of those from the second village added dourly. ‘Trying to hide itself under a stand of iron-woods.’

  ‘Is there space to get sufficient men up to fight it on this terrace?’ Kheda looked for answers among all the men.

  ‘Space enough.’ One of the forest dwellers took a pace forward, rubbing a hand over his close-cropped beard. ‘But there’s only the one path to get up there.’

  ‘Good day to you, Zicre.’ Kheda nodded a brief greeting.

  ‘There’s nothing but bare rock and scree at its back, my lord,’ the dour hunter continued. ‘We can only come at it from the front.’

  ‘I don’t think the beast is expecting attack,’ an older man from the first village said judiciously. ‘It’s not lying up where it could keep watch for anyone starting up the slope.’

  ‘It’s certainly sorely wounded, my lord,’ volunteered one of the second contingent. ‘A blind man could find it in the dark from the stink alone.’

  ‘And get his head bitten off for his trouble,’ Zicre commented, grim-faced. ‘If it’s not lying in wait, it certainly doesn’t want to be found.’ He fixed Kheda with a questioning eye.

  Kheda looked calmly back at him. What would you ask me, if you dared? How did I know the dragon was here in the first place? Whether it would regain its strength if we left it alone? Could even so great a creature recover from the wounds you’ve seen? Why are we risking ourselves instead of just waiting to see if the dragon dies?

  Because I think Velindre
was right, mage or not, when she said this would be a form of purification for the domain. Because I have to know if I am condemned for bringing magic to this domain. What better wager than my life against this creature’s?

  He looked away from Zicre to the first group of scouts. ‘How wide is the path to this terrace? How many men can we send up it abreast?’

  ‘Four or five.’ The man got nods of agreement from his companions.

  ‘Is there room for them to spread out, to let more of us come up behind?’ persisted Kheda. ‘If there’s only the one way to reach this beast, we must overwhelm it as fast as we can.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ several men concurred, their faces serious.

  At the rear, Zicre looked grimmer than ever. ‘There’s space, my lord.’

  ‘Then let’s be on our way.’ Kheda walked past him and headed for the track between the tandra trees. Seeing their warlord disappearing into the green darkness stifled the last cheers still ringing around the outskirts of the impromptu horde. The men of Chazen followed their warlord; trained swordsmen, practised hunters, fishermen relying on skills learned performing very different tasks and villagers with unwavering determination to reinforce their shaky arms. The abrupt silence was broken only by the crack of brush and vegetation mercilessly subdued by their passing and the chink and rattle of armour. Even with the cool of the night lingering here and there among the shadowy trees, the air was close and oppressive.

  Kheda led the way up towards the notch in the higher ground that gave on to the valley leading up to the dragon’s lair. The taciturn Zicre slid through the swordsmen to follow close behind him, swiping unnecessarily at opportunist tangles of striol vine choking beny bushes and lilla saplings striving to claim their share of the rainy season’s bounty. Behind, the sound of hacking blades grew louder as men spilled off the narrowing trail into the thicker growth, oaths and obscenities meeting thorns or whipping twigs fighting back.