The woman frowned, fine dark brows drawing towards a large hooked nose. She nodded to the third warrior for his comment.
‘As my brothers say, Gold Wing. And the discontent arising from their warriors is an almost visible cloud above them.’
‘Get some food then go out again. Do not let harm come to their horses.’ White, unfiled teeth flashed. ‘Remember their trade value.’
The warriors returned her grin and made for the small fire where food awaited them. Gold Wing raised her hand. A girl of perhaps ten summers, raced to her side, bouncing lightly from one bare foot to the other.
‘The Bear’s main village is a long run from here.’
‘Not too long for me,’ the girl said quickly.
Gold Wing inclined her head, accepting the girl’s own assessment of her abilities.
‘Then run. Tell The Bear the Kelshan are on the path we guessed. Two days perhaps, and they will be in sight of the village’s high fields.’
The girl repeated Gold Wing’s words, spun round, and darted across the camp. Gold Wing bent to dabble her fingers in the rushing water beside her: within heartbeats they were numb. She clenched and unclenched her hand until the feeling tingled back. Gold Wing had been chief of the Eagle Tribe for twenty years, exactly half her lifetime.
There had been squabbles, irritations, between the neighbouring tribes which ended in minor injuries at worst. But if what The Bear warned of was true, thousands of warriors would be among them in days. Despite their occasional disputes, all the Tribes who lived in the high lands knew that they may one day need each other’s help. The land was harsh, the seasons unpredictable – one flash flood could destroy a village’s crop and leave them facing hardship if not starvation through the next winter.
One year the Bears might need assistance, another, the Stoats, or the Eagles. The young warriors crept into villages of other Tribes to steal some worthless item they could then boast about among their friends. Gold Wing got to her feet smiling. She remembered Essa, The Bear’s own daughter. The girl had not been much older than the one who’d just set off for the Bear’s village. Essa had crept into Gold Wing’s house in the night, sat down by the dying fire – just for a rest before she made her way home.
Gold Wing found her next morning, curled up fast asleep by the hearth. Essa was mortified but somehow Gold Wing had salved her hurt pride and made a good friend of the huge girl. Gold Wing knew Menagol and Theap would already be in the high passes. Unknowingly, she echoed Emas. ‘Mother Dark, keep Essa away for a while longer.’
Gold Wing walked slowly towards the fire, seeing two warriors emerge from one of the cliff paths. They came to her, eager to report what they’d seen. Gold Wing’s face remained impassive, but she could not hide her slight shiver. The Eagle’s vision had shown her this young man and woman, lying unmoving, their bodies torn and blood soaked.
One hundred Dark guards arrived just above the tree line, in meadows used by the Bears for wintering their herds of goats and sheep. The five squads were brought through a gateway by two Dark Lords – one an experienced woman, the other a student from the Karmazen Academy.
There was no immediate danger and tutors loved to use guards for their students to practice gateways. The guards were used to gateways, being routinely subjected to such methods of relocation to ensure they arrived alert and ready to fight. There were usually some good natured groans when students arrived for their first attempt at opening a Dark gateway. There was no risk to the guards though as they were always supervised by an older Dark Lord.
Now the guards marched in good order behind a Bear warrior and Sergeant Peach. For most of the guards this was familiar ground: they were regularly sent on training exercises to the high lands of the Tribes. Warriors took great glee in plotting ambushes against them, stealing their equipment and making life as difficult as they could for the Dark guards. Reaching the boundary stones of the village – two smaller versions of the massive bear stone on the northern edge, the warrior left the guards to make their camp.
They had brought sturdy tents and plentiful supplies. The First Daughter had never permitted guards to take food from the stores of the people of the high lands. When the camp was set up according to Sergeant Peach’s exacting standards, he left his men and headed for the central round house. Children peeped from walls and open doorways, but none chased and played as they had on his many previous visits. A woman stood at the door and he smiled.
‘Lady Emas.’
‘Sergeant Peach.’ Emas gestured him inside. ‘I would bid you welcome as so many times before, but this time I fear what your arrival means.’
The Sergeant nodded. ‘I understand Lady Emas. But if all goes to plan, no harm will reach your villages.’
Emas opened the door to The Bear’s luxurious den and snorted. ‘I’ve yet to meet the man who can devise a successful plan for anything Sergeant.’
‘Emas.’ The Bear rumbled at his wife. ‘Tea for our guest.’
Emas bit back a retort. Her husband knew better than to order her in such a way: something was bothering him badly. She nodded and left the room. Sergeant Peach saluted The Bear and the man at his side, Lemos.
The Bear lowered his voice. ‘Why are they sending Essa? They promised me they would keep her from this fight.’
Sergeant Peach sighed. There was an awful lot to explain to this chief before he could get back to his men. So he began.
Emas did what any wife would and went and sat in a small cupboard. It backed onto the den and had conveniently placed holes through which she could see and, more importantly, hear what occurred. She waited only to make fresh tea when the Sergeant left before entering the den.
The Bear raised an eyebrow. ‘You heard of course?’
‘Of course.’
‘Dragons,’ murmured Lemos in bemused wonder.
But Emas had left the men to pour their own tea and was prowling round the wall.
‘There,’ she exclaimed. ‘Isn’t that a Dragon?’
Both men joined her and looked where she pointed. Lemos frowned then shrugged and returned to his chair.
‘The oldest tales speak of a Dragon Tribe, but if they ever truly existed, they vanished long ago.’ His voice was even more of a croak than usual and he reached for his tea bowl.
Emas curled into another armchair. ‘So our Essa is a friend to these Dragons and their friends. And they are not the same kind of Dragons as the Dark Ones?’
The Bear growled. ‘I understood as little as you wife.’
The three sat late into the night, thinking over what Sergeant Peach had told them.
Early next morning, with low cloud draping itself over the village and obscuring the heights, Sergeant Peach led his squads upwards. He knew the other groups were also climbing, forming a hand with long fingers, groping towards the high passes.
Menagol and Theap followed a trail far above Strannik’s course. Once, Theap dropped a rock, watching thoughtfully when it hit a mounted guard’s shoulder. Menagol was leaning in a shadowed cleft watching as well. They both grinned at the ensuing panic, heads turning in all directions, eyes checking around and up. But not looking high enough. They listened to the urgent shouts, the questions and the curses as horses barged into each other, affected by their riders’ nervousness.
‘Noisy lot,’ Menagol murmured. Mountain bred, he knew all too well how sounds carried: he’d lost enough game as a boy because of one careless move. Any warrior in the area would be aware of just where the Kelshans were by now.
Menagol squeezed his bulk through the slit of rock and withdrew to the hollow where they’d left their packs. They both carried short bows and long knives, and had already noted the Kelshan guards carried long swords as their main weapon. Theap slid down beside Menagol.
‘Jemin should be with the Eagles by now, if Lemos’s news was right.’ He passed a water flask to his friend.
Menagol took a sparing sip and passed the flask back. His huge hand smoothed the dust beneath them.
‘If the Dark guards come through these gullies and Bear warriors are already in place here, the Eagles would do best going higher, to drop from above.’ He studied the lines he’d drawn.
‘So we’d do best to hit them here.’ Theap’s tiny finger stabbed a point just inside the converging lines.
Menagol nodded. He gave Theap a sly look. ‘Did Lemos give you a message stone?’
Theap fidgeted. ‘Well, yes, he did. You think I should use it to tell them this? He said I could only use it twice, not being mage trained.’
Menagol sighed. This was an old argument between them. ‘Theap, you could train. You should train. We’d still be friends.’
Theap scowled. ‘I’d have to spend much more time in the village. I couldn’t hunt whenever I wanted.’
Menagol’s hand rested on Theap’s back. ‘And father wants me to marry this winter. Life changes for us all.’
Theap’s scowl changed to a grin. ‘Just think of you married! And then a father!’ He rolled onto his side in silent mirth.
Menagol nudged him with his foot. ‘Use the stone Theap. Tell Lemos we recommend the Ghost Falls for the attack. Then we can make our own way there.’
The Ghost Falls was the longest cascade of water in the Bears’ territory. It was at full flood now with the melting snow from the upper peaks. In the brief spring and summer, it was enveloped in misty clouds of spray, which drifted back and forth across its face. In the long winters it froze and when sunlight and clouds passed over, shapes shifted and moved within the ice, giving rise to the belief that it was inhabited by ghosts.
Behind the crashing water, deep caves extended back into the mountain and supplies were cached there for any to use in emergencies. The water fell into a round basin where it churned and swirled before surging south through a sheer sided ravine. It only slowed its wild rush when it widened, several leagues to the east of The Bear’s village.
Sergeant Peach’s five squads had arrived half a league west of the Falls. After reconnoitring the site with two Bear warriors he had a good idea of where to place half his men. Peach returned to collect those men and left them in readiness. The remaining men he brought closer, the thunder of the Falls covering any sound they might make. He positioned them close enough to reinforce their comrades at speed if necessary. As the sky darkened, his men wrapped their cloaks around themselves. It would be a long cold night’s wait without the comfort of hot food or a camp fire.
In fact it was worse than cold: it was wet. Half way through the night, there was a torrent of rain which felt more like ice as it drove down necks and slowly soaked into clothes. The oiled cloaks kept some parts dry but the guards’ lower legs were soon numb and heavy. Sergeant Peach gritted his teeth and endured, and, apart from an occasional grumble, his men did the same.
The deluge had drenched Strannik’s men earlier, compounding their misery. The horses were in serious trouble and many of the men not much better. Whoever had organised this expedition had obviously assumed that the army would be able to supply itself en route, not realising perhaps what a width of barren mountain had to be travelled. The only man still insisting on riding was, of course, Captain Strannik. And they all, officers and men, knew they had come too far to be able to turn back now. Their only hope was to get out of these accursed mountains and resupply, and perhaps be told of a kinder route home.
Strannik thought of no such thing. For him, only glory lay ahead.
Chapter Seventeen
In Kelshan City and within the Citadel, very little seemed to have changed. Few of the ordinary citizens even knew of the despatch of a large armed force into the Dark Realm. The villages and farming communities through which Captain Lessur had taken his men took little notice – such things were of no interest to them. Trade went on as usual, the markets bustled and life went on its way.
In the Artisan Quarter, in Gossamer Tewk’s house, Drengle List was quite cheerful. He’d been horribly lonely when Gossamer first disappeared but then he had the idea of inviting the ghosts in. Four came in from the orchard and swirled around in apparent excitement. More arrived each day. Some were barely visible, others were more substantial. Although they made no sound, they did seem to understand when Drengle spoke to them. They could nod and wave their arms, but that was the limit of their ability to communicate.
Drengle remembered Gossamer saying he should take the ghosts out for a treat, but so far he hadn’t tried to. They were much happier at dusk, whereas Drengle didn’t like dark nights. This evening there were a dozen or so ghosts wafting up and down the stairs while Drengle sat on the landing regaling them with stories of various brave exploits from his past.
A sudden draught buffeted several ghosts against the wall. Drengle’s mouth dropped open. A woman stood in the hall, smiling up at him. She was beautiful, long dark red hair curling over the shoulders of an equally dark red dress. He scrambled to his feet, back straight, bare chest stuck out to let her appreciate the musculature.
‘Erm, can I help you lady?’
The woman fluttered her long lashes. ‘I don’t think so, but I feel sure I could help you darling.’
‘Oh. Are you a friend of Gossamer’s?’
‘Gossamer? Oh yes, Gossamer Tewk. She is an interesting creature, isn’t she? But I’m not here about her. I am Ferag.’ She beamed at him, but the beam disappeared in the face of Drengle’s blank reaction. ‘Ferag dear boy. Mistress of Death.’
Drengle sat down again, peering at her through the banisters. ‘Then what do you want me for? I’m already dead.’
Ferag sighed. ‘That’s the point darling. Dear me, not too blessed with brains, are we. You seem to have an affinity with ghosts, of which there are a plentiful number in this strange land.’
Drengle’s jaw jutted. ‘I don’t have nothin’ with the ghosts. We’re all just good friends.’
The ghosts themselves were frozen, imprints against the walls. Ferag studied them.
‘Wouldn’t you like a bit of fun, you poor things?’
The ghosts edged fractionally closer. Ferag smiled. ‘Well my dears. You know the Citadel – of course you do. I thought you might investigate a few things for me?’ She glanced at Drengle List with a hint of irritation. ‘Is there somewhere I could sit, dear boy, and discuss things in a more civilised manner with your friends?’
Drengle waved towards the sitting room but stayed where he was on the landing. The ghosts streamed around Ferag, who wasn’t impressed by the undusted state of Gossamer’s furnishings. It wasn’t long before Ferag returned to the hall looking pleased with herself.
‘I’ll be back before dawn darling, I’m so terribly busy these days.’ She paused. ‘You should try to be more cheerful you know. I’m sure you’d have a lovely smile.’
Drengle did actually smile at those kind words. Ferag cleared her throat.
‘Yes, well, perhaps not. Never mind. Till dawn then my dear.’
Drengle stared down at the empty hall. Bloody woman. He so hated people disappearing like that. He got up and went to his room. He’d rattle his chain for a bit, that usually cheered him up.
Most of the ghosts raced towards the Citadel, a few waited mournfully in Gossamer’s garden, too timid to venture out. The ghosts were able to communicate among themselves and took delight in exchanging rude comments about the few people still wandering the City. A party of drunks stopped singing their way down a street and shivered as the ghosts swept past unseen. Suddenly sobered, they hurried on to their homes and dosed themselves with various concoctions to ward off fevers.
The ghosts passed through the western gate into the Citadel then milled around until one who had worked as a scribe to the Imperator, led the way up the main staircases. They passed guards stationed at the entrances to the corridors of government officials. Most guards noticed nothing, but one or two had a shivery feeling, or thought something flickered at the corner of their vision.
The leading ghost took them to the very door of Veranta’s office, which wa
s closed. The ghosts thronged in momentary agitation until one saw the gap under the door, and they were in. Papers stacked on the desk tumbled to the floor in the slight breeze the ghosts generated and while some worked to force a lamp alight, the others hovered over the papers. They had just finished examining what they could when they all stilled. The lamp extinguished and one after the other they slid out of Veranta’s office.
They moved far more cautiously now, huddled suddenly at a corner. They heard a woman’s voice, Veranta’s but none of them knew it. It was the other presence which sent the ghosts up towards the ceiling and racing towards the stairs. They all knew that Something behind them was alerted to their presence just as they were aware of it. The ghosts fled, in near hysterical panic. Whatever had been in that corridor with the woman was filthy, was an oozing horror, was evil beyond comprehension.
Rushing back across the City they stopped in Gossamer’s garden. Tremendously disturbed and agitated, they fluttered to and fro beneath the twisted old apple trees. Drengle sat on the kitchen doorstep and watched them. He recognised their distress but wasn’t sure he wanted to try to find out what had caused it.
A hand brushed over his bald head and he flinched. Ferag sat cosily beside him, her thigh pressed against his. She too watched the ghosts.
‘Poor darlings. Something’s frightened them badly, don’t you think?’
Drengle nodded and sat tight. She could go and talk to them herself: he was staying in the house. Ferag sighed, patted his knee and strolled down the garden. Bloody woman. But she was so very lovely. And his knee tingled from her caress.
Chindar’s rooms weren’t far from the First Daughter’s. Several meetings had been held there since Lerran’s descent into the Dark, meetings which included the Lady Emla, Tika and Captain Soran. Shield Master Garrol was always present as was Corman. If Lerran had confided in Chindar before her descent, he didn’t mention it. In fact, Corman was fairly certain Chindar knew no more than he did himself.
Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series Page 21
