Until Dawn

by Laura Taylor

  “Who let the fucking horses out?” one of them asked dumbly, as a dozen of the terrified animals charged straight through the camp, demolishing tents and trampling slavers as they went.

  “Right! Weapons out, on your guard, stay together as a unit,” one of the men ordered, a more lively sort who assigned himself the role of leader, in the absence of more specific instructions. “Williams! Lapierre! On your feet!”

  A faint rustling sound caught his attention, and he turned to look out over the paddock to the west. In the dim light, the distant stakes and vines of the vegetable garden were emerging from the general gloom of night, but the rest of the paddock was empty.

  Without warning, a clump of grass at his feet lurched upwards, embedding a long knife in his neck before he’d registered what was happening.

  “What the fuck? Get off him! Get off him!” Williams rushed forward, tackling the lump of grass, only to be set upon by two more similar lumps, which rose out of the ground like ghosts. Or demons, perhaps.

  Some of the other men rushed to help, while a few more ran away screaming, as it seemed for a moment that the whole paddock had come to life, shaggy masses of vegetation attacking with surprisingly vicious teeth, until a dozen slavers lay dead, their blood black in the grim dawn light. The masses of vegetation, meanwhile, sank back into the grass and disappeared, as if they had never been.

  “Raiders! On your feet, you drunken bastards! We’re under attack!” A guard rushed over, sword in hand, eyes wide as he looked about in a panic. “I said on your feet!” He bent down, grabbing one of the men by the collar and tossing him over onto his back. The man’s head lolled grotesquely to the side, halfway severed from his neck. The guard stepped back, only now seeing the blood that had been overlooked in his haste. A massacre had occurred here, though there was no sign of any attackers.

  “What the hell?” Wait, was that lump of grass moving? The guard went to take a closer look…

  Inside his tent in the centre of the camp, The Wolf hurried to get dressed. “Armour!” he snapped at a nearby guard, who rushed over with a breastplate and arm guards, thick leather reinforced with metal plates, helping his chief put them on and doing up the buckles for him as quickly as possible. “What are you all gawking at?” he asked of the half a dozen guards standing around watching him. “Get outside and get this damn riot under control!” There were two hundred men in this camp, give or take. Whoever was attacking them – and he suspected it was that pesky tribe from the south – they would be greatly outnumbered and of no real threat to him. What they could do, however, was start a fire or damage their equipment, which would make an already tenuous existence even harder.

  All the guards but two rushed outside, drawing their weapons. “Get me my sword!” The Wolf ordered the one not currently helping him with his armour. The man rushed to fetch the long sword hanging on a post and handed it to The Wolf, bowing as if he were presenting it to a king.

  The Wolf snatched it from his hands and began strapping it about his waist. “Where are the horses?” he demanded next. Being on horseback would give him an advantage over any foe, and he had no intention of facing them if there was any real risk to his own life.

  “I’ll go and find out,” the guard promised, rushing out of the tent.

  A moment later, the heavy thud of hoof beats could be heard, coming rapidly closer. “Finally!” The Wolf marched towards the doorway, pleased that at least someone had had the foresight to arrange -

  Six hundred kilograms of panicked equine power slammed into the side of the tent without warning. The horse stumbled and went down, ripping one wall down with it. The roof tore under the pressure and one of the poles supporting the structure toppled over, dragging the rest of the roof down on top of The Wolf.

  Buried under the swathes of fabric that had just collapsed, Dream sat shaking until the horse finally hauled itself to its feet and charged away. Only then did she set about the painstaking business of dragging the tent fabric off herself. She’d been brought here with another woman by the name of Aria, to give The Wolf his weekly bath. Both of them were chained to a post, but she couldn’t currently see Aria amid the yards of cloth. “Aria? Are you okay?”

  “Fine. I’m not hurt. You?”

  “Just drowning in a tent…” She managed to find the edge and gave it a good yank, pulling the tent pegs out of the ground. Sucking in a great gulp of fresh air, she helped Aria pull herself free, then looked around.

  The camp was in a state of chaos, horses stampeding, dead and dying men and women littering the ground, yells, threats and calls to arms echoing across the paddocks.

  “Well, fuck me sideways and call me Steve,” Aria said. “Would you take a look at that!”

  With so many wondrous sights all around them, it took Dream a moment to work out what Aria was referring to. A guard lay dead beside them, his legs sticking out from beneath the fabric, and from the signature red streaks on his pants, it was obvious he was one of The Wolf’s personal guards.

  “Can you reach him?” Aria asked.

  Dream tried, straining at the end of her chains, and managed to snag the edge of his pants at his ankle. It was an easy job to pull his leg closer, but a huge effort, even with Aria’s help, to drag his whole body the two feet necessary to get within reach of his waist – and the set of keys that was secured there.

  Neither woman bothered disguising what they were doing. The men of their own camp were too busy killing their attackers, and the men and women of whatever tribe was attacking theirs were obviously trying to cut a path through to the women’s tents. There had been rumours that the new women who’d arrived had backup, men who were willing to fight for them, rather than over them. But they’d been quiet rumours, whispered in hushed tones in the dead of night, and neither Dream nor Aria had dared put too much faith in them.

  Until now.

  Twenty seconds later, they were both free, the guard’s keys each neatly labelled with a number, as were their own shackles. Dream stood for a moment, frozen in indecision. She could run away, secure her own freedom, and it was a fairly sure bet that none of the slavers would be aware enough of what she was doing to try and stop her, with the bloodshed and frequent screams all around her.

  Or she could head for the women’s tents and free the rest of them.

  “What are you waiting for?” Aria demanded. “We have to go free the others!”

  “Just waiting for a break in the fighting,” Dream replied, measuring the distance between herself and the entrance to the nearest marquee. A horse thundered through the gap, then two slavers ran screaming along the narrow path, three furious women racing after them, swords held high.

  “Now!” Dream commanded, and she and Aria dashed across the path and through the entrance of the first women’s tent, the cold metal of the keys biting into the fevered flesh of her hand.

  Aidan was operating almost entirely on autopilot. His gaze didn’t linger on a single target for more than a split second, taking in each one of the dozen slavers currently trying to kill him, his body moving to dodge a blow or counter a strike on pure instinct. A horse thundered past, a woman on its back, and he dived out of the way as she loosed an arrow at a slaver bearing down on him with a machete. Off to the south, he could see the grass-men fighting with a handful of slavers. To the east, a handful of women had surrounded a group of slavers and were slowly and systematically cutting them down.

  A guard rushed at him, and Aidan had learned by now that the leader of this hellhole had chosen his guards well. They were far superior fighters to most of the men, and a real threat to Aidan’s tribe, whereas many of the less well-trained slavers were merely a nuisance. He traded blows with the guard until he found an opening, then sliced through his arm, cutting straight through to the bone. The guard dropped his sword and screamed, grabbing the gushing wound, and Aidan took the opportunity to slice an equally deep gash in his neck.

  But when he’d finished dealing with the man, he looked up and found
that the women’s marquees were no closer than they had been five minutes ago, a thirty-metre gap between himself and the entrance that he couldn’t seem to close, no matter how many of these bastards he killed.

  “Whisper! The women!” he reminded the man beside him. That was their real goal, rather than killing these dogs.

  “I’m working on it!” Whisper shot back. He grabbed the wrist of the man he was fighting and cleanly and forcefully snapped his elbow.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Dusk crouched on her feet, braced for action as the thunder of hoof beats and the screams of men echoed from outside the tent. If only she could get these fucking chains off, she could go out there and join the massacre!

  The first cries of ‘Raiders’ had rung out just before dawn. Dusk had already been awake, half of her anticipating an attack, hoping for one, and the other half worrying that it would never come and weighing up the possibilities for a grim and painful future.

  But when that first shout had come, there had been no time to revel in the relief she’d expected to feel, no spare effort to expend on being grateful for her tribe’s loyalty. A spike of adrenaline had shot through her, and then her entire mind had been consumed with thoughts as to how to get these chains off her, how to get across to the other women, where she could get a weapon from – a myriad of details, each of which would give her an incrementally greater chance of surviving this day.

  For the moment, though, there was nothing she could do but wait here and hope one of the horses didn’t crash into their tent and crush them all.

  Suddenly, the tent flap was flung aside, and the women nearest the door recoiled, cowering as they expected to be killed or beaten. But the people who burst into the tent were far from the ones Dusk had been expecting. Two women came in, whom Dusk hadn’t met before, waving a bunch of keys like a trophy. “What number are you?” one of them asked the first woman, rummaging through the bundle, while the other stood guard, a sword in her hand as she protected the first woman’s back. The wait as they worked their way along the row was excruciating, death lingering in the shadows, ready to take any of them at any moment. Finally, Dusk was free, and she looked around for a weapon...

  There was nothing in the tent that could be of use, no metal pans or wooden planks, but the chains themselves would serve well enough. It took some effort to angle the shackles in the right way to get them out of the loop that held them secure, but she did it, and by the time she had, most of the other women were attempting the same thing.

  “Once you get outside, find swords or machetes if you can,” she instructed the women. “Fight back if a man attacks you, but don’t go attacking just anyone. Half the men out there are on our side.”

  A heavy body was thrown against the tent wall from the outside, and several of the women screamed, darting back to huddle in a tight group. “Steady!” Dusk encouraged them. They were terrified, weak, hungry and exhausted. She had no idea if any of them would be able to fight, but at least if they could get themselves to safety…

  “Head south,” she told them. “Into the forest. Keep going south until you get to a river that’s too deep to wade through.” That would at least get them within the general range of her village, and their scouts would be able to round them up from there.

  “I’m not running away!” one of the women snarled at her. “If there’s a battle to be had, then these bastards are going down!”

  “Sorry, but I think you’re stuck with us,” Savage said from beside her, testing the weight of the chains.

  Just then, the tent flap was once more thrust violently aside. A huge man strode inside, and Dusk was so focused on the battle to come that it took her a good three seconds to recognise him…

  She dropped her chains and launched herself at Aidan, throwing herself into his arms. He caught her in a powerful hug, his breath harsh against her skin. “I never thought I would be so fucking glad to see you,” she whispered into his ear, his embrace nearly squeezing the air right out of her lungs.

  Aidan seemed at a loss for words. After a long moment, he managed to pull away, though reluctantly. He looked her up and down. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll live. We need to get to the others.”

  “What about this lot?” he asked, surprised to see the rest of the women already free.

  “They’ll fight. But we need weapons.”

  Aidan handed her the sword from his left hand, a fearsome machete in his right hand, already polished red with blood. “One was all I could find on short notice,” he said with a wink.

  “It’ll do,” she said, taking it with relish. She pulled the tent flap aside. “Let’s get over to the other tents. We need to find the others.”

  Inside their tent, Mei-Lien helped Flame get to her feet. She was bruised and aching, but thankfully nothing was broken, so she would hopefully be able to walk out of here. Dream was still busy unlocking the last of the women along the row, while Aria stood guard with the sword she’d somehow managed to find. Mei-Lien had no idea what was going on outside, but each time she thought maybe the fighting was dying down, a new scream would startle her all over again, or a horse would thunder past, the twang of an arrow or the clang of metal indicating that the battle was far from over.

  “I found these!” A woman burst into the tent carrying an armful of swords and machetes. “Here, take them…” She dumped them on the floor, and Mei-Lien hastily made sure Flame could stand up on her own, then grabbed one. There weren’t enough for everyone, but it was a start, at least, and if they worked together, they could surely get their hands on some more.

  “Mei-Lien! Where are you?” Mei-Lien’s heart rate doubled as she recognised Torrent’s voice. He’d come! He’d survived the battle at the village!

  But before she could answer, the tent flap was thrust aside and Aidan stormed through the gap, the perfect embodiment of his name. He was ferocious, splattered with blood, the machete in his hand dripping gore, a tall and powerful god ready to part flesh from bone and to smile while he was doing it.

  But he pulled up short, recoiling as he was met with a wall of weapons. The women nearest the entrance were taking no chances, and were more than ready to protect their comrades who were not yet armed.

  “Don’t hurt him!” Mei-Lien shouted urgently. “He’s with me!”

  Aidan was pushed aside a moment later and Dusk darted into the tent. “Oh, thank God,” she said, seeing Flame and Mei-Lien. She rushed over to check on Flame.

  “Mei-Lien?” Torrent was right behind her, and Dusk quickly took over the job of supporting Flame. Mei-Lien rushed over to Torrent and threw herself into his arms.

  “It’s okay, he’s my husband,” she told the women behind her, not easing her grip on him in the slightest. “Are you all right?” she asked him, stroking his head. The cut where he’d been hit was still raw and obvious.

  “I’m supposed to be asking you that,” he told her, tears gathering in his eyes, quickly banished as they still had plenty of work to do.

  “Everyone’s free in here,” Dream announced suddenly, marching back over to the entrance. “We need to get to the third tent to get them out, too.”

  “We’ll cover you,” Aidan told her immediately. He pulled the tent flap aside and peered out. “This way. Let’s move.”

  Whisper was waiting outside the tent, ready to kill any slavers stupid enough to wander in their direction. “We’ve got Mei-Lien and Flame,” Aidan reported, as he emerged from the tent. The main bulk of the remaining slavers were now in two clusters, one gathered around a low platform south of the chief’s tent, the chief of the tribe issuing orders from atop the platform, while another group were further south near the horse yard, fending off a sizable group of women.

  There weren’t many slavers left in their immediate vicinity, and with a dozen men acting as guard to the group inside the tent, those that were around were hesitant about picking a fight with them.

  Steve, the homesteader, was among them, and Dusk was
rather surprised to see him. He wasn’t particularly young or fit, and that gave him a significant disadvantage in the fight. But he’d no doubt refused to stay behind, still grieving the loss of his family, and probably still holding a grudge about Aidan’s refusal to help. Dusk wasn’t sure how he was going to react to the decision to attack now, whether he would be grateful they were finally doing something, or angry at the perceived hypocrisy of the decision.

  “Dad!” Dusk turned around to see a young woman running towards him, and Steve turned to catch her, shock and relief on his face.

  “Chloe! Thank God… Oh, thank God. Are you all right? Oh God, my sweet girl…”

  He hugged her hard and her legs gave out, collapsing against him as she sobbed. But they were far from safe, standing here in the middle of the wrecked camp, and Steve forcibly pulled her to her feet. “Come on, Chloe. Stand up. You can do it. We’re nearly there.” He looked around, one arm around Chloe’s waist. “Where’s your mother?”

  Chloe burst into tears, her face turning paler. “They killed her,” she blurted out. “She was trying to protect me, and they killed her…”

  Dusk muttered a curse to herself at the news. But they were far from finished here, and none of them could afford the time to stand around grieving. Deliberately putting her emotions aside, she headed towards the last tent, the rest of the group falling in behind her.

  Dusk moved slowly and cautiously as she stepped into the final marquee. Some of the slavers could well have taken refuge in here, and perhaps be holding the women hostage. But thankfully, the place was clear, and the women looked relieved to see her – and particularly the sword in her hand. “We’re here to set you free,” she announced, waving Dream and Aria inside. Despite the abundance of new allies, it seemed Aria wasn’t willing to forego her place as Dream’s bodyguard, and to be honest, Dusk was rather impressed. Taking responsibility for something and seeing it through to its end was a quality that had been sadly lacking in the world, before a perfect storm of environmental and political instability had brought civilisation to its knees. Aria would do well in their village. Or in Faith’s, for that matter. She rather suspected the two tribes were going to have to redefine themselves to a certain extent, after the dust settled on this battle.