Duran surprised the lone soldier who had pushed ahead of his leader, by rearing and striking him out of the saddle with a vicious swipe of a forelimb and the remainder of the Dominion platoon slowed, warned. The horses could fight too. Arwhon drew his blade and felt a thrumming in his body, vibrating in time to the blade in his hand. This had never occurred before but he had no time to wonder at it as the platoon surrounded them and they engaged. A blade cut at Arwhon’s side and he moved to block it forcibly. There was a red flash as his sword cut through his opponents steel blade as if it was butter, leaving just a stump of a sword. The man was flung out of the saddle and lay dazed on the ground.
Chalc was in the thick of it, fighting three of the enemy at once, as no more could get closer on horseback. He had already hacked a sizeable portion off one shield and fatally wounded another rider. The Dominion soldiers were at a disadvantage due to the disparity in the size of the mounts and Darla was an old hand at protecting her rider. The soldiers circled Arwhon carefully, trying to split him away from Chalc but Duran, aware of their intent, stayed close to Darla. Suddenly Arwhon noticed the platoon leader aiming a small crossbow at Chalc. He shouted a warning and without thinking, pointed his sword at the man. A thin jet of red flame left the point of his blade and caught the bowman in the centre of the chest. It burnt a hole straight through the man and seared a rock behind him. The leader toppled out of the saddle, smoking.
Instantly dead.
There was a stunned silence as everyone, including Arwhon and Chalc, tried to digest what they had just seen. A sword and shield clattered to the ground, quickly followed by another and another as the Dominion soldiers dismounted from their ponies and assembled on the side of the road anxiously muttering amongst themselves and pointing toward the still smoking dead leader.
Swords in hand, Arwhon and Chalc dismounted and walked toward the huddled group who drew back from Arwhon fearfully.
“Who’s in charge?” he asked.
They looked one to the other until an older man edged forward and stood silently, head bowed.
Arwhon addressed them all.
“Although you may not believe me, I don’t like killing. I want you to take every weapon off your persons and also your boots. If you have supplies on those ponies, get them and start walking south, back to the Dominion. If you see Barsoomi Riders, tell them you have met Arwhon. If I hear of any of you terrorising Broken Landers between here and the Border, you will be killed. Remember, it’s better to be hungry than dead.”
There was grumbling of course but in a very short time the eight surviving soldiers were gingerly heading south on stockinged feet. As they disappeared around a bend down the road, Strotton rode from behind another boulder a little way off.
“You got magic then?”
Arwhon stared at the sword in his hand, puzzled.
“I guess I must have,” was all he said before resheathing his sword.
They collected up the discarded weapons and tied them to the ponies’ saddles before roping the ponies into two lines of five and leading them. The next town they came to, Trikind, was quite large and the base for the platoon they had just defeated. The ponies were returned to the original owners from whom they had been taken. The shields were burned and the weapons hidden away for their worth in steel, which in turn could be recast into implements for peaceful use.
The three travellers stayed the night, guests of Trikind’s mayor, giving Arwhon and Chalc time to go through the Dominion soldier’s meagre possessions to look for any useful information. There was none, so the articles; blankets, pots and pans and a few personal items were passed to the Mayor for distribution to the citizens of Trikind. Arwhon, Chalc and Strotton left after breakfast, taking the road east, the spare space in their saddlebags packed with still-warm pies and pasties. Small brown people, now dressed in more colourful clothes than the day before, lined the street to see them off, waving and whispering among themselves, pointing at Arwhon who rode bareheaded. This was the largest gathering of Broken Landers Arwhon had seen at one time. Strotton led from behind and waved back happily to his people. He played a small part in a Legend now.
Sihron’del had ridden hard after leaving Arwhon and had finally reached Al’hera and her home the same day Arwhon and Chalc engaged the Dominion platoon. The M’Herindar she conversed with in Al’hera were surprised to see her there and somewhat concerned about what was occurring in the wider world. She quickly allayed their fears but others who had seen her arrive passed the word around and soon a large crowd gathered in the clear area before her parent’s tree home. There were close to one hundred and fifty M’Herindar standing there, waiting for Sihron’del to speak to them.
She told them of the flames consuming the Barsoom Plains and the Tribes of Barsoom, united and riding as one, to take the Broken Lands back for the little people. She did not mention her mission, merely talking of being a message bearer. After she’d answered a few more questions from the crowd, the assembled M’Herindar began to drift back to their homes and Shiri went in to hers.
Later, sitting on an outside platform formed from a huge flattened branch, drinking Ch’ron ‘wine’, Vehrin’del turned to Shiri.
“My dear, why are you really here?”
“Mother, where is Jahron’dal?”
“Back out on patrol. Are you going to answer my question?”
“Yes, I just didn’t want to be overheard. I need to see the Eldest Wise One as soon as possible.”
“You have to see all three or none.”
“Very well, I need to see the Wise Ones at the earliest opportunity. It is extremely important and has direct bearing on the mission which Arwhon and I are undertaking.”
“Which is?”
For the next hour, as they sat outside under the leafy canopy, Sihron’del outlined what they hoped to achieve. She did not tell her mother of the possible danger to herself, nor about the Eldest of the Wise Ones knowing a spell to load life essence into an inanimate object. She did, however, talk of her love for Arwhon and how honourable he was. The Queen was not entirely happy to hear her daughter praise Arwhon. He was Man. No matter how he appeared.
Sihron’del descended into the cavern of the Wise Ones alone, a little unsure how to deal with the situation confronting her. She had no idea of how to accomplish what she was about to undertake. By the pool she drew breath and paused, looking deep into its inky depths.
“Not all answers are in the pool, Child.”
Shiri looked over to the Wise Ones. How could she ever convince them?
“I may only be a little over seventy years old but I’m not a child. As a Shield for the Ring wearer, I’ve protected him and Shielded him, and even saved his life once. I’ve come to love him. Not because he’s a Man but because he’s so heedlessly honest and naive. He speaks Truth and seeks to aid but asks for nothing. Extraordinary things seem to come to him, unbidden, but he’s had to suffer for it. He bears all with equanimity. He’s like a rock in the stream of life.”
Shiri paused and turned to the Wise Ones. The Eldest, Mahlin’del nodded.
“Continue child.”
“A seeress of the Black River Tribe said she had seen me beaten and tortured to death in a vision. She recommended a certain procedure. At this point, Eldest One, I must ask to speak to you alone, as what I have to say should be heard by no other ear than yours.”
At this, the Wise Ones conversed among themselves before the two old M’Herindar flanking Mahlin’del rose and walked away down the cavern in the near darkness. A light preceded them, floating on the air.
“They will not hear, I’ve cloaked us in silence.”
“Thank you. The seeress told me you knew how to transfer life essence into say, a jewel and only you know the spell.”
Mahlin’del lips curled into a small smile.
“At some future time, when your Mother comes down here to become a Wise One, I’ll have to leave. It will be my turn to go into the forest, find a certain standing stone and
put my life essence into it, company to all the previous Wise Ones of the M’Herindar. My empty body will quickly be drawn into Ch’ron. The spell is always handed down to the next eldest, so as not to become widely known. However, times are dire and we cannot rigidly hold to tradition. Where necessary we must make small changes to help protect Man. It will take training. Do you have something to put your life essence into?”
Sihron’del nodded and grasping the thong around her neck, withdrew the little black stone from beneath her armour. Mahlin’del beckoned her forward, fingering the stone gently.
“Yes, a good choice, its crystal structure is very clear. We’ll begin this afternoon. Join me for a bite to eat first?”
Sihron’del nodded dumbly. It had all been so unexpectedly easy.
The training wasn’t. Learning the theory and the necessary state of mind to accomplish the transfer of life essence into crystal was fairly straightforward, an afternoons study but Sihron’del found at each attempt to accomplish the transfer, her life essence refused to leave her body. Resisting being pushed, it wouldn’t totally part from her. Always, after loading most of her being into the stone, a tiny spiderweb of connection would not let go.
It was frustrating.
After many, many attempts, one day the thread finally snapped and she fell to the floor as though dead. Mahlin’del quickly went to her, picking up the stone and holding it to Sihron’del’s lips. Her lifeless body quivered then suddenly gasped and Sihron’del revived, dazed.
“I just blacked out for a second I guess,” she mumbled as she found her feet.
Mahlin’del shook her head and thrust her chin forward.
“No you didn’t, you succeeded. Your essence went into the stone and you effectively ‘died’. You’ve finished with the training now. We don’t practice that which is fraught with danger. Warn your travelling companions as to the effects of the transfer. Be sure to tell them to place the stone on your lips within two hours of your apparent death, or you’ll really start to die, slowly. The body cannot survive long without its essence.”
Sihron’del regained her composure.
“Thank you Mahlin’del. I hope one day to tell you I never had cause to use it.”
“I’d be happy just to see you again Sihron’del. Take care.”
Then Mahlin’del grasped Shiri’s head between her hands and kissed the top of her head.
“Great, great grandchild.”
Sihron’del put two and two together. She was related to all three of the Wise Ones. One day she too would be Queen and after handing on to her daughter, spend many years here in the cave before finally ending up in a chunk of rock.
Duty. When Mahlin’del eventually went to the Rock, she would have lived for over fifteen hundred Man years.
Sihron’del took her leave. Running lightly across the cave floor, up the steps and out into the shade of the forest.
She could return to Arwhon now.
Arwhon and Chalc had nearly reached the Capital of the Broken Lands when Strotton suddenly spoke up.
“Did I mention that the main Dominion garrison was here in Wodderel?”
“No, I should’ve thought of that.” Chalc muttered to himself.
Arwhon was cheery.
“No real problem Chalc. You have an amulet and I have a Ranger cloak. We’ll enter the city after dark. Strotton can go ahead now after he gives us directions where to meet him during the evening. He can warn the King we’re coming.”
Later, after dark, Arwhon and Chalc found themselves sitting with the Ruler of the Broken Lands in a small room off a large hall, large for Broken Landers that is. The table seemed low and the chairs they sat in barely accommodated their size. The King was a giant of a man for those parts, about five feet in height and wore a circlet of gold on his head. He nodded in response to Arwhon’s explanation.
“We’re pleased the Barsoom King is trying to remove this yoke from around our necks but still I don’t want any of my people killed.”
“How many Dominion soldiers are stationed in Wodderel Your Majesty?”
“About fifty now, half the garrison left a month ago. There are always five at a time on guard at night and the rest sleep in four separate rooms at the back of what used to be our grandest inn. Some of their horses are in the stables there too. I’m told it’s quietest at about two in the morning.”
Chalc spoke. “If we open the front door of the inn, will your people come to bind them if the soldiers are unconscious?”
“I would come myself,” the King replied.
Chalc smiled an inward smile. “Who does the cooking for the soldiers? he asked.
The King’s reply pleased Chalc immensely.
“They expect us to provide the food they eat and our people are made to prepare it for them.”
Chalc nodded. “As I suspected. Do you know of Dreamweed? I saw some on the way here, close to the outskirts of Wodderel”
The King smiled broadly at the implication.
“Yes I know of it. Your plan could work but it will take a day or two to prepare enough Dreamweed for all the soldiers garrisoned here. I suggest you return to Trikind and stay the night there before coming back. Strotton will guide you.”
The King stood and reached up to clasp hands with them before Master and Servant stole off into the night.
The first nodding guard dropped noiselessly, as did the second, lowered to the ground after being knocked out by a blow to the temple with the butt end of a dagger. It was hard to make out the two shadows flitting toward the next two guards, propped against the outside of the stable yard wall. They dropped also and the shadows flowed up the wall of the stable yard and over, to land silently on the other side. The fifth guard was leant against the inn wall beside the rear door, dozing, and was quickly overcome in turn.
The two dark figures paused, before turning stealthily toward the rear entry of the large inn housing the Dominion soldiers. The only means of access, because the large and sturdy front door, which let onto the street from the tap room, could only be opened from inside the inn and had been securely locked for the night. Carefully opening the rear door, to avoid squeaking from the hinges, Chalc held his breath as the passageway leading to the rooms used as dormitories was revealed. It was very dim, being lit by a single candle in a lantern, hanging at the far end. Arwhon could make out the four doors, two each side, leading to the dormitories. At the far end of the passageway was a door leading off to the kitchens and the taproom with its heavy, bolted front door.
Arwhon and Chalc entered together, swords drawn and moved soundlessly to the first two doors, opposite each other in the passageway. They eased them open to the accompaniment of loud snores and entered quietly. This was the moment of truth, when they would discover if Chalc’s plan had worked.
A lamp burned in each of the rooms, trimmed low but enough to see the men arrayed on the floor, sleeping on pallets with straw mattresses. Arwhon nudged the nearest one with his foot but the soldier kept snoring. He went around the room, gently shaking each sleeping man. Only one roused and he was briskly tapped in the centre of the forehead with the butt end of a sword. There was a risk of someone raising the alarm but neither Arwhon nor Chalc wanted any unnecessary deaths, even of Dominion soldiers. They met again in the passageway and entered the next two rooms to find the same situation. Before too long, one dark shadowy shape ran out to open the main doors onto the street.
Arwhon returned, followed by a horde of little brown people, running silently, each holding a couple of pieces of cord. In less than half an hour, every soldier had been accounted for and all were tied hand and foot and searched for weapons. It was amazing how many of the soldiers had knives strapped to their legs or wrists while asleep in bed.
After all the Dominion soldiers were secured, Chalc and Arwhon thanked the Broken Landers who had come to help and made themselves a drink of tea while they looked for food. Chalc grinned as he noticed the remains of the fragrant stew in the big pot over the now dead cook
ing fire. He would certainly not be eating any of that Dreamweed contaminated fare.
They found a bit of stale bread and cheese. It would do, their efforts had made them hungry.
After eating, they went searching for the Captain of the Dominion garrison and found him, simply by looking for a decorated jacket. He lay snoring in a corner of a room. A jug of cold water emptied over his head, soon brought the Captain around enough for Chalc and Arwhon to converse with. Recognising his bargaining position was untenable, sitting in a chair bound hand and foot, the Captain sensibly surrendered and accepted the fact he and his men would soon be walking home, weaponless and bootless, with whatever food they could carry.
“Your men will be untied and free to move around inside this building but you will remain here until an armed escort arrives to conduct you out of the Broken Lands. Anyone trying to escape will be killed. No mercy.”
Arwhon’s emerald eyes blazed as he spoke, contrasting with the brown of his now tanned face. Before the rest of the Dominion soldiers were untied, the inn was searched top to bottom and anything which could possibly be used for a weapon was removed, including chairs and tables. Arwhon and Chalc had the Broken Landers nail and bolt every door and window of the inn shut, apart from those leading to the stable yard out the back.
Even prisoners needed to use the privy.
The Broken Land’s King was persuaded as to the urgency of the situation and agreed to send two messengers south on horseback to the King of the Barsoom, with a letter requesting about thirty Riders come as quickly as possible to accompany the Dominion prisoners out of the Broken Lands.
Arwhon and Chalc took shifts, watching the prisoners from the roof of the stables which overlooked the inn’s yard. They foiled two escapes and left the bodies where they lay.
Five in all.
A grim reminder to the other prisoners.
On the fourth day of the Dominion soldier’s incarceration a request was made to bury the bodies. Arwhon allowed it and a detail of the bootless Dominion soldiers buried their dead beside the stable building.
The Fall of Belvedere Page 10