“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Stefan said, his hackles now rising. Alexei pulled a face that was half-derision, half-disbelief. “Gods’ breath!” he exclaimed “Haven’t you had enough yet of this infernal tangle of trees?”
Stefan took a deep breath. He would keep his temper under control. “Andreas gave us clear advice,” he said. “He was no fool, no more than Otto. I’m going to stand by his judgment.”
“Oh, come on!” Alexei looked to the others, seeking support for his cause. “Through the mountains we can save two, three days’ travel—maybe more. Who knows how long it would take us to pick our way through yet another vast, impenetrable wood!”
Stefan looked away, his eyes kept fastened upon the path to the east. Bruno and Tomas hung back, but Elena started to move towards Alexei.
“Maybe Stefan’s right,” she told him. “The priest must have had good reason.”
“I know the mountains,” Alexei countered. “Know them as well as any. What’s the problem, anyway?” he asked of Stefan. “Afraid of a few bandits?”
“I’m afraid of no man,” Stefan replied, evenly.
“Have it as you will then,” Alexei said, contemptuously. He gathered up his reins. “You can do what you want. I’m headed for the mountains.”
“No,” Stefan said quietly but firmly, his tolerance exhausted. “No, you’re not.”
As Alexei turned and headed on, Stefan spurred his horse to the gallop, pulling round in front of Zucharov and blocking his path. The adrenalin was pumping through him, his heart hammering in his chest. He was not going to take this.
“I made a decision,” he told Alexei. “If it proves the wrong one, then that’s my responsibility. But it’s my decision and I’m staying with it.”
“Suit yourself,” Alexei replied, his lip curling in a half-sneer. “I’ll see you at the gates of Erengrad. If you ever make it.”
“Turn your horse about,” Stefan ordered. “We ride together, through the forest.”
Alexei seemed to beckon with his hand, a gesture that might have signaled either compliance or disregard. Stefan drew his horse in closer. As he came within arm’s length of the other man, Alexei struck him, hard, on the side of the face.
The blow knocked Stefan clean from the saddle and sent him sprawling upon the flint-strewn ground. He lay there dazed for a moment, blood running from his mouth. As he looked up he saw Alexei upon his horse, towering, imperious, above him.
“I made a few decisions, too,” Alexei said. “One of them was not to put up with any more half-baked nonsense from anyone, including you. You call yourself a leader, and you think that gives you the right to treat me like some errand boy, running at your beck and call.”
Without waiting for any reply, Zucharov tugged back on the reins and turned his horse about. As Stefan regained his feet, Alexei was already pulling away from him, heading for the mountain road. In a few seconds he would be out of reach. Stefan launched himself forward and caught hold of a buckle trailing loose from the saddle. The horse bucked but did not slow as Alexei Zucharov kicked in with his spurs, urging the animal on.
Stefan gripped hold of the leather strap with both hands but it was going to be impossible to hold the powerful hunter. For a second time he was on the ground, now being dragged along behind the horse. Somewhere in the background he could see Elena running towards them, but it was too late. The horse was gathering speed.
The stony ground was punishing Stefan, bruising him and cutting into his flesh. He wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer. He put all his energy into one final lunge, taking one hand from the harness and grabbing a hold on Alexei’s booted foot. Alexei turned and looked down, and pulled his foot free of the stirrup to kick himself free of Stefan, much as he might shoo off a chasing dog. For a moment he was off balance in the saddle; Stefan gripped his flailing leg with both arms and bore down with all his weight. Alexei Zucharov rocked sideways, then toppled out of the saddle and onto the ground beside Stefan.
Now it was Stefan’s turn to make a point with his fists. As Zucharov got up, Stefan punched him hard upon the jaw, the blow connecting with a satisfying crack. Alexei flinched under the unexpected force of the blow, but managed to stay on his feet. Stefan hit him again, knocking him back, but by the time he’d closed in on his opponent, Alexei had recovered. Stefan felt a heavy blow to his stomach, then more blows raining down on his face and shoulders. Within moments Zucharov had worked himself into a fighting frenzy, not far removed from the killing machine that had destroyed the orc in the arena.
Stefan knew his greater speed was his best weapon, and he had to use it. He darted around Alexei, dodging and parrying the other man’s assaults so that at least half his punches met only empty air.
At last the opportunity came. Frustrated, Alexei lashed out carelessly, leaving his guard open. Stefan avoided the blow easily and kicked out at Alexei, knocking his legs from under him. As he fell, Stefan was on top of him. Running on pure instinct, he pulled the short knife from his belt as he dropped to the ground.
Alexei’s stare widened as he saw the knife. Time missed a heartbeat as the blade flashed in the air, then bit into the hard ground inches from Alexei Zucharov’s face.
Someone pulled him back. Elena pushed her way between the two men.
“Enough!” she shouted. “In Taal’s name, end this now!”
Stefan stood for a moment, his breath coming fast and short. “It’s all right,” he said at last. “It’s all right.”
Alexei looked from the knife to Stefan, standing over him, sweat pouring off his face.
“You make your point well, Stefan Kumansky,” he said, smiling now. His rage seemed entirely spent, forgotten. Alexei clambered to his feet, taking hold of his opponent’s arm for support. He gave Stefan a wry smile.
“You win, this time,” he said.
Stefan was in no mood to make a joke of what had happened. “Nurgle’s breath!” he spat, half at Zucharov and half at himself. “I could have killed you.”
Alexei gazed at Stefan and grinned, slowly. “No,” he said, confidently. “You’d never do that.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Into The Darkness
It was the cold that Stefan noticed first. The day had begun much the same as many that preceded it: close, and humid as the sun burned away the morning mists. But less than an hour into their morning journey they had passed across the western edge of the great forest that bounded the realms of the Empire and of Kislev. As they entered the Forest of Shadows the temperature had dropped, and kept on dropping. Eventually they had been forced to stop and put on extra layers of clothing, and still nothing seemed to keep out the cold. Even the tombs of Morr had not chilled like this.
Few travelled here. The stories told of the forest were not those of seasoned travelers passing through its midst, but of lost wayfarers or the survivors of foolhardy errands. It was a dark, secret place, where the powers of the old gods were said to dwarf those of mortal man, or even his enemies. Those who travelled its tangled paths and returned counted themselves lucky to have done so with their lives and sanity intact.
These were the stories Stefan had in mind as they began their voyage into the dark interior. For all that, the Forest of Shadows was not, at first, what Stefan had expected. For a start, although nothing that could be called a road ran beyond the very fringe of the trees, the way into the woods was surprisingly open. The horses were able to find a path with ease, and, at times, it was possible to ride two or even three abreast.
Stefan looked around as the forest closed in behind them. Up above, the sun still burned, a bright disc in a now cloudless sky. Beams of dust-flecked gold played amongst the shadows and the towering pines. He had no exact idea how broad the forest was, but, with three or four hours of good daylight left to them, they would at this rate be well into their journey before night fell. The only sounds were the muffled clutter of the hooves in the soft, loamy soil, and the occasional conversation that passed bet
ween them. Stefan began to feel the forest lulling him into a cold but not unpleasant reverie, as he nudged his mount forward at a gentle pace.
It was just after they had stopped to gather extra clothes that Tomas commented on something strange. “I must have lost account of time,” he said, puzzled. “Is it near nightfall already?”
Stefan looked around him. Over the course of time his eyes had adjusted to the diminishing light. But now that he looked he found that the surrounding forest was slowly melting into a dimming twilight, something he would not have expected for another two or three hours.
Bruno turned his gaze skywards. The sun was still clearly visible overhead, barely below the highest point in the sky. “By the mark of the sun I’d say it was close on four,” he said, “But certainly no more.”
Elena rode huddled in her winter cloak. “Yet down here it’s all but night,” she said. “This is not a welcoming place!”
“True,” Stefan acknowledged. “But we knew well enough that this wasn’t going to be easy.” He looked back up at the roof of the forest, struggling to reconcile the clear, sunlit sky with the gathering gloom around them. That the sun was penetrating into the forest was beyond dispute; the thick, oil-dark shadows that sprang from the trees and gave the forest its name bore testament to that. It was as though the forest was working some alchemy upon the sun’s rays, leeching away the light and warmth, turning day into night. At this rate of decay it would be effectively dark within the hour.
“We’ll keep on,” Stefan concluded. “At least while we can. We may have to go more slowly, and stop once the forest has drawn night down.”
Alexei Zucharov emerged through the screen of grey, pulling his horse close alongside Stefan’s. “If we light torches we can still ride on, dark or no dark,” he said. “This place is vast. We have a great distance to cover.”
“I know that,” Stefan replied. “But we could lame a horse or worse in this. It’s not worth the risk.”
He held Alexei’s stare and scrutinised it, looking for any hint of their recent quarrel. Somewhat to his surprise, Alexei simply shrugged and turned away. “Wouldn’t want to lose one of the horses,” was all he said.
The paths were narrowing now. Almost without their noticing, the forest had taken on a breathtaking intensity; the woods far darker and denser than anything they had experienced in the Drakwald. The trees crowded in around them, and the ground had become overgrown with a tangle of roots and fallen branches.
They rode one by one, a tense, single file. In the fast vanishing light their progress had slowed to less than walking pace. Still the sun burned mockingly up above, but, down in the forest, its force was spent. Soon Stefan would have to admit defeat. His instincts told him to treat the mighty forest with respect, and to learn to live within the boundaries it imposed. That way, they might all yet feel the sun on their backs once again.
With what remained of the poor light he found a clearing amongst the trees. It was tight, barely large enough to accommodate their camp. He drew his horse up, bringing the other riders to a halt.
“This is it,” he called back to them. “As far as we go this night, if night is what we can call it.”
Together they dismounted and set about pitching their camp with the quiet ease that comes with practice. When they had done, Bruno kindled a fire in the centre of the clearing, and Stefan and the others gathered round, trying to draw what warmth they could. By now the sun had vanished below the tree-line, and all above was dark as below, save for the feeble light from the twin moons like dull coins set in the early night sky.
The flames licked the night air as the fire caught quickly on the dry wood, but what heat or light escaped seemed to be drawn quickly into the forest’s sombre embrace.
For all that, they took heart from the fire. It was good to be resting after the day’s riding. Before long they were making lively conversation. Stefan joined with them, but kept a good part of his senses trained upon the alien world that had enveloped them.
They might be safe, for now, but this was not a safe place. Every so often the curtain of darkness encircling the camp was pierced by a momentary flicker of light, or low prowling eyes that glinted before disappearing as suddenly as they had come. Stefan supposed the forest was home to all manner of animal life, some harmless, some otherwise. For the moment, the curious amongst them were keeping their distance.
Alexei produced a flask and passed it round. Tomas took the flask at arm’s length and passed it deliberately to his left. Stefan accepted it gladly; it was too cold and too soon to think of sleep, and any way of warding off the cold was welcome. The talk around the fire became more animated as the liquor warmed bodies and minds alike.
Amongst the competing voices around him, Stefan now heard something else; distant, but distinct. He strained to listen more closely, over the babble of conversation.
“Hold up a moment!” he urged. He rose swiftly, and, with two fast sweeps of his feet, extinguished the remains of the fire.
“What are you doing?” Bruno demanded, slightly drunk and very annoyed. “I didn’t build that for fun, you know!” The others stared at Stefan, waiting for an explanation.
“Shut up a moment,” Stefan told them. “Stay quiet and just listen.”
The flames expired with a few last gasps and crackling of twigs. Now all they had for company was the eerie sound of the wind caressing the trees above. Almost, but not quite. As the fire died, another sound carried towards them from somewhere in the depths of the forest. All were silent now, barely able to make each other out in the darkness, each alone with the wind and the strange, distant sound. A sound like…
“Like shouting,” Elena said at last, a hushed voice across the clearing. Stefan assented, silently. It sounded like shouting to him too, but not from the throats of men.
“Can anyone make out what it is?” Tomas whispered.
“Could be animals of some sort,” Bruno suggested. He was known for his keen hearing, and his tone was chastened and sober now. “But I don’t like the sound of it.”
“Neither do I,” Stefan agreed. “We’ll assume it’s not friendly, until proved otherwise.”
“The question is,” Alexei said quietly, “what do we do about it?”
Stefan thought for a moment. He doubted whether they would be able to track the sounds through the wood in the pitch black. By the same token he hoped that whoever—or whatever—else was camped in the forest would be similarly unable to track them.
“We do nothing, for now,” he said at last. “But as soon as whatever passes here for dawn has broken, we’re going to find out.”
“Do you think they know we’re here?” Elena asked, struggling to keep the note of anxiety from her voice.
“I doubt it,” Stefan said. “They’d be keeping quiet if they had.”
This time the cold saw to it that no one fell asleep on watch. Stefan saw out the last duty, taking over from an exhausted Tomas, who immediately curled himself into a ball inside his cloak upon the forest floor. The night passed, slow but uninterrupted. Stefan was almost glad to abandon the pretense of sleep. It felt as though the cold had penetrated the very marrow of his bones, a deep chill that no amount of massaging of his tired limbs would relieve.
From time to time he heard again the sound of men or beasts, twisted upon the wind. But finally that, too, had ceased. Stefan kept his vigil with only the broken whistle of the wind, high in the trees, for company. Eventually the sky lifted to a dull metalled grey, and a new day struggled through the thick canopy of trees into the forest.
Stefan roused his comrades from their fitful rest, and the five of them ate a quick, cheerless breakfast of salted meat.
“Nothing further in the night?” Alexei asked, addressing the question to Stefan.
“Not a sound for two hours or more,” Stefan told him.
“What do you think they’re doing?” Tomas asked. Bruno spat a knot of gristle onto the hard frosted earth in front of him. “The same as us
, I expect,” he said. “Sitting out the night under cover, trying to keep body and soul alive in this infernal cold.”
Elena gave up on the leathery wafer, tossing the remnant into the trees. “More to the point,” she said, “who or what do we think they might be?”
Stefan stood up and brushed himself down. “That,” he said, “I intend to find out.”
Tomas guided them deeper into the forest, the position of the sound etched clear in his scout’s memory. It soon became apparent the sounds they had heard had come from somewhere almost exactly upon the line they had plotted to take them through the forest. It seemed, one way or another, that the paths of the two parties were destined to cross.
After a short while the sun came up, a rose-pink orb shrouded in the fog that clung to the treetops. The feeble light gained a little strength until they were at last able to pick out a path through the woods ahead of them. If it got warmer at all, it was only relative to the dead chill of night.
“Make the most of it,” Stefan advised. “I have a feeling that this is as good as it gets.” They trekked further into the forest, the trees growing leaner and more tightly clustered, almost forcing each other aside in the struggle for what little air and light remained. Before long, Tomas had dismounted and was leading his mare by the bridle. One by one, the others followed his example.
They continued in this way for almost an hour, until, emerging through a tangle of briar standing almost head-high, they found the way ahead blocked.
“Taal’s breath!” Bruno exclaimed. “That was a mighty tree before it fell.” He made to lead his horse off the path, seeking a way round the obstacle.
“Wait a moment.” Stefan stepped past him and joined Alexei at the point where the huge creeper-covered object lay blocking the path. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I’m not so sure this was a tree at all.” He drew out his knife and hacked away at the outer layer of leafy vines clinging to the cylindrical shape in front of him. After a minute or so of cutting back, his blade struck against something hard, and sprang free with an almost metallic ring.
[Stefan Kumansky 01] - Star of Erengrad Page 22
