Chalc turned to Faral and the conversation between them resumed once more, the strange language full of sibilants and guttural stops. Arwhon yawned, tiredness encroaching and mentally checked with Duran who was contentedly munching dried grass, quite warm in his stall. The host’s wife came and made motions of sleeping, head to one side resting on her two hands. Arwhon nodded and when he and Shiri rose, everyone got up and bowed. They bowed in return and were led away to what they thought was going to be their bedroom only to be met with a bare floor.
They just stood, askance, wondering if a prank was being played on them. The headman’s wife giggled behind her hand and proceeded to a chest at one end of the room behind which was stored rolled sleeping mats. These she spread out and opening the chest, removed thick down quilts which she lofted then spread out for them both.
Bare room to bedroom in but a few moments.
Just before sleep overtook him, Krissi nudged Arwhon, requesting he remove her bandage which he quickly did, folding it up for possible further use.
Tickling. Arwhon wiped at his nose. More tickling. Opening his eyes, Arwhon was amused to see Krissi tickling him with the end feather of the once broken wing. Seeing he was awake, she flapped her wings, creating gusts of air which blew things about the room. Krissi had grown remarkably since they had found her as a wounded young gryffon.
“Stop, stop. Enough! I can see your wing is fine but take it easy for a week or two and keep it furled or it may break again.”
Shiri peered over his shoulder sleepily.
“What have we done Arwhon? Should we have taken a gryffon out of the wilds?”
As an answer, Krissi came and laid her head gently on Arwhon’s chest, idly accepting a scratch behind the ear from Shiri.
Arwhon chuckled.
“She really likes that. Do you want to try scratching behind mine?”
There was a noise at the door and instantly Krissi was up on her cat like hind legs, wings back and eagle taloned front claws raised, ready to strike. She looked menacing with her ears and crest up and already stood nearly man height on her rear legs.
Someone knocked and left. They quietened Krissi and opened the door to find a small pot of tea and two cups left for them. Deliciously aromatic and very refreshing.
The rest time was welcomed and Arwhon took the opportunity to shave with his razor sharp Dagger before joining the rest of his party in cleaning weapons, grooming horses, repairing tack and washing clothes. Relaxing after their work, Arwhon had a chance to observe the villagers at their everyday tasks. They were neatly dressed in baggy shirts and a wrap around skirt pulled up between the legs and tied, looking a bit like short trousers. The footwear was rudimentary, wooden soled clogs bound to stockinged feet. Both men and women wore the same attire but somehow the women made it seem more feminine.
The way the people moved imbued each task with an inherent grace, whatever they were about. Arwhon recognised the underlying movements from his training. People seemed to flow through their work, smoothly, with balance. It seemed quite different from the way those to the west moved, almost clumsily by comparison. Arwhon liked what he saw. If all the residents of Tarkent were similar to these people before him, he could see why Chalc had missed his country so.
Shiri and Arwhon took time to walk out from the village, discovering terraced fields, already harvested, along the slopes surrounding the hamlet. Higher up, the trees were starting to lose their leaves as autumn progressed and from a clear spot Arwhon managed to get a view south, way into the distance. The slope they were on descended gently for mile after mile until it eventually flattened out and disappeared far into the distant haze. There were fewer trees lower down on the more level ground and farmland predominated, with crops awaiting harvest. The tiny dots were farmers toiling in their fields. He saw smoke rising from chimneys, bending as it reached into the breeze from the west.
There was not one large town in sight in any direction.
Krissi delighted in bounding around and leaping into the air to glide back to the ground, taking absolutely no notice of Arwhon’s admonitions about flight. Gryffon’s obviously healed much faster than humans and taking in her present size, apparently grew much faster too. The Power was strong here in Tarkent but felt different to that in the Darkwood or Southland. Even Shiri could not explain the distinctive feeling in the Earthmagic she slowly drew and still had to top up with Power from Arwhon to keep her glamours strong.
Arwhon sighed.
Another place and time, he could be an ordinary person walking with his wife and dog but he wasn’t. There was a job to do and honour to uphold.
In answer to Arwhon’s call to arms, passed throughout the area, the response from the surrounding villages was positive. A time, four weeks in the future and the place, a largish town Chalc knew of, were set as the rendezvous area for any willing to rebel. All were well rested now, it was time to move on and after thanking their hosts the band rode out to continue recruiting and try to reach Chalc’s old village as soon as possible.
Each evening they were welcomed in a different small settlement and invited to stay for the night, riding onward the next day. The group were well on the way to Chalc’s old home village when they chanced on a Dominion patrol.
Twenty men, mailed and mounted, travelling up from the Tarkent plateau to the south, rode at a canter into the clearing of a forest crossroads, intent on taking the road to the east. Out of the corner of his eye, the leader caught a momentary glimpse of something not quite right and pulled up, his men doing likewise. He was surprised to see a mounted party heading along the road toward them, also travelling to the east. Shiri’s glamour was not disguise enough for them to avoid further examination.
The patrol leader rode toward them in front of his band and challenged the group of strangers, demanding they step down and give up their arms. The response was immediate as four of his men toppled from their saddles, each pierced by an arrow, courtesy of the Barsoomi Riders. Battle ensued, horses shoving horses and swords rising and falling. Two of the Riders used their short lances to great effect while the other two and Shiri fell back to use their bows. Arwhon quickly donned his helm when the first arrows started to fly.
As the apparent leader, Arwhon was a focus for the fighting men to take, or kill. Shiri drew her short bow from the small case attached to her saddle, along with its small quiver of arrows. She rapidly assembled and strung the little recurve bow and was soon using it with deadly accuracy, the short arrows lethal at this range. With all her attention on her targets, Shiri missed the Dominion rider coming from her blind side and found out how useful her armour really was when the rider’s Dominion blade caught her across the chest as she reached for another arrow. Although the sword blow almost drove her from Rancid’s saddle, Shiri’s armour was unmarked as the blade bounced off and its wielder was subsequently stabbed by a Rider’s lance.
It was a messy affray and during it, Conda was fatally wounded, stabbed in the back when he interceded between two Dominion soldiers and Breeta, who had her hands full with a third. Chalc was all cool precision as usual and Arwhon dealt about him with quiet, ruthless efficiency, his sword a blur of motion, sparking with a small red flash each time he struck. Arwhon hated killing but when he had to, he did it swiftly and methodically so the fighting would last for a shorter time.
Just as they were gaining control over the Dominion patrol, the leader, realising the situation was hopeless, sent one of his men off for reinforcements. The rest of the patrol guarded the narrow road as best they could while the rider sped off back downhill the way they had come. Arwhon saw him go, spurring his horse mercilessly but couldn’t get past the remaining Dominion soldiers blocking the trail. He worried; the last thing they needed was to alert the Dominion forces to their presence in Tarkent. It would result in them being mercilessly hunted down.
Someone had to stop that rider.
Not someone but something. As Arwhon defended himself, one eye on the retreating rider, h
e saw a white streak plunge from the heavens and drag the man from the horse’s back, hauling him out of the saddle, to savagely tear at his throat and face. By the time Arwhon could turn again, Krissi had devoured the parts of the rider’s body not covered by mail and was tearing more chunks off. The patrol leader, dazed and shocked, now down to just himself and two men, yielded and they were taken prisoner.
All the horses were rounded up and the three Dominion soldiers were disarmed and bound. Sixteen bodies were dragged well back from the road into the trees and the rent clothing from the escaping rider, which was about all Krissi left, apart from the chainmailed torso, was added to the pile. Conda was tied across his horse and the scene of the battle tidied up a little as arrows were retrieved and fallen weapons picked up.
The subdued group continued on their way, mourning the loss of one of their number and soon came to a small town on the eastward road. Chalc found the headman and quickly explained what had transpired a short way back down the road and why he was there with a group of foreigners. Before long, a party had been sent to bury the dead Dominion soldiers and try to erase the signs of combat. The Dominion horses were roped together and two men assigned to take them higher up into the rougher country toward the mountains. The small horses were all the strong little pony types from The Broken Lands and could be very useful for the locals but at the moment they needed to be hidden.
Arwhon, Shiri, Chalc and the remaining Riders were directed to a patch of woodland north west of the small town where they sadly buried Conda and built a small cairn over his body. Conda’s horse had been life-bonded and it fell to Chalc to deliver the killing blow rather than have it irretrievably pine away. A waste of a life but the horse would have suffered for a long time and died of starvation anyway. Life-bonding was never undertaken lightly
When they got back to the village they offered the horse’s body to the whole village for food and a small party was despatched to butcher it. It was agreed the Dominion soldiers would be handed over to the villagers and remain as their prisoners. Arwhon did not need to know their fate. It was up to the villagers to decide it, the same villagers the Dominion soldiers had held subjugated for so long. Arwhon preferred to hope the soldiers hadn’t committed any crimes against their hosts.
Krissi could hardly walk, her distended belly almost dragging on the ground and Arwhon realised she would have to be trained on menu selection. Children could be in danger if he wasn’t careful with her appetites.
Days later, Chalc’s face registered mixed emotions as the small band rode into the hamlet which was once Chalc’s birthplace. Dong Hwa he named it. A few burned buildings still remained from the time, many years ago, when the Dominion had come to enslave the area. Now they were overgrown with weeds and small trees pushed through the blackened remains of the burnt timbers, their stone fireplaces still standing, ruined monuments to the destruction.
Dong Hwa’s inhabitants scurried to find hiding places when the group reined up in the centre of the town square, observed by a few brave locals. Chalc hailed one in his own tongue and the man brightened at the sound of Chalc’s voice. Before long the townsfolk were gathering in the square, confident this wasn’t yet another trap set by the Dominion. A joyous voice called out and Chalc whirled in the saddle to see an older man approaching. He jumped down and held the man to him, tears in his eyes. Turning to Arwhon he explained.
“This is my uncle, Rani. He recognised me. Even after all this time.”
Turning back to the man Chalc quizzed him and as he talked wonderment came to his face and more tears followed. Chalc sat on a low stone wall, overcome, as villagers clustered around him. A boy was sent running, sprinting for all he was worth and Arwhon, Shiri and the three remaining Riders dismounted. Arwhon sent a mental appeal to Krissi to stay close and she obliged, remaining by his side, wings furled, appearing to be a very large dog, hidden as she was by the glamour laid over her. If her present appetite kept up she would soon be small pony size and far more difficult to conceal.
The small company clustered around Chalc, who appeared stricken but before they could ask the reason, the small boy who had run off came back leading a beautiful woman down the street. Although her clothing was poor, her loveliness was undisguised and when she reached the assemblage, the villagers parted for her until Chalc was exposed to view. He got to his feet and they studied each other for a second before Chalc opened his arms and she came to him. They embraced, heads on each others shoulders, standing silently for some time until Chalc raised his face and over her shoulder told his travelling companions the extraordinary news.
“This is my youngest daughter, Wychee. I’d thought her dead along with the rest of my family all these years past but she was visiting my uncle Rani’s house when the Dominion took me away after burning down ours. I didn’t know, as I’d only just returned from the forge and was looking through the ashes. All these years and I didn’t know.”
There was more talk and more news. Dominion soldiers were not garrisoned around the area and hadn’t been seen much in the last couple of months. At last a guard was despatched to watch the main road into the village and the horses were led away as the travellers were split between two nearby houses. Chalc chose to stay with his uncle and daughter where there was enough room for Arwhon and Shiri to stay also.
To Arwhon, the woman’s appearance was not unexpected. He’d recognised her as she followed the boy down the street earlier. It was the woman he’d seen above the pool of the Wise Ones back in the Darkwood. Some of their forecasts of the future, although fragmentary were remarkably accurate. He pondered on whether Kuiran had fought on the walls of Belvedere yet. Not knowing what was happening there was a burden but he could only do what he perceived was his duty while others did theirs.
Toward evening as the light dimmed and candles were lit, the conversation became more general. Apparently Wychee had been in hiding, as Dominion soldiers were taking young women and girls from their villages and spiriting them away, never to be seen again. It was only women up to twenty five years of age though, older women were not bothered.
Another puzzle for Arwhon.
Wychee was nearly twenty five years old now having been only five or six when Chalc was seized and she was still unmarried. She had not wanted to risk being taken from a husband and family. According to Chalc, his own teacher, well into his eighties by now, was still alive and out in the woods at the small school he ran, teaching the children of the town, schooling them in manners and lessons, self defence and observation.
Tomorrow they would visit there.
Chalc acted as translator for the group, although Arwhon found he was picking up some of the meanings of the curious singsong language and they all learned the name of the capital of Tarkent, Kyto. The King of Tarkent and his family were held prisoner in their own palace, under threat of death if any uprising took place. The Tarkent people loved their Royal Family and not wishing them harm, kept the peace. Even in the face of Dominion soldiers committing more and more outrages every day, the population managed to remain calm, drawing on a stoicism which had to be admired.
There was another piece of disconcerting news regarding the King’s daughter, Mindayo. She had been promised in marriage to one of Empress Martine’s Generals. He had visited Kyto about two months ago to see her and take away some of the garrisoned troops and twenty or so Tarkent maidens. Apparently he had lost a hand since the last time he’d visited Kyto.
Kroy! Arwhon counted back the time. It must have been soon after the episode at Gildon’s Keep. It fitted. Martine had a backup plan ready if the first failed and had implemented it almost immediately. Kroy. Arwhon felt a chill run up his spine, no husband for any decent woman let alone a princess. Cruel and thoughtless, only interested in himself and his own needs and desires.
“Chalc, they’re talking of Kroy. He keeps appearing in our lives.”
Shiri looked puzzled so Arwhon explained.
“It was Kroy who ordered the killing of Reyn
aldo and tried to have us killed in Forbidden. When his plan was thwarted, he then ambushed us on the road to Crossroads and stuck me in the heart with my own dagger. That was the first time I met the Wise Ones. Not long after he tried another ambush and I cut off his hand. He was the one at Gildon’s Keep with the silver socket over his wrist. The one with the sword blade attached. He was after the Ring for Martine.”
Shiri thought back to Gildon’s Keep and her memories of Kroy.
“Not a man I want to cross my path again. Do you expect we will?”
Arwhon shrugged.
“If Fate decrees.”
The more Chalc talked, the more Arwhon came to realise the only way to free Tarkent was to rescue the Royal Family. It seemed an impossible task. He considered the information he’d been given. The Palace Keep was surrounded by a high wall at the front, within which were garrisoned, at the best count, close to two hundred Dominion soldiers. A further two to three hundred were camped on the open space in front of the high wall surrounding the Palace Keep. The rear portion of the keep was built right on the edge of a sheer cliff, one wall of a deep ravine. It was the best defence of all.
How to get the Royal Family out? If it wasn’t for the two hundred Dominion soldiers within the Palace walls, the situation would have been relatively easy but the safety of the Royal Family was paramount and those two hundred soldiers meant a direct frontal attack would not save the Royal Family. They would be put to death immediately. It was a problem Arwhon took to bed with him but a restless night produced no solution.
The walk to Chalc’s boyhood school was a pleasant respite. The bright sun warmed their faces and the autumn morning was alive with the sounds of birds as they climbed the gently sloping hill. The building lay back under cover of the trees and as they approached the open gates they could see into a clean, raked courtyard, surrounded by verandas on three sides. An old man stood in the gateway waiting for them. He was white haired and his matching, thin, wispy beard reached his chest but he still stood erect. Not like an ancient at all, although he was surely over eighty years old if he was a day. He bowed, evincing no surprise at Krissi, glamoured as a large dog, and showed them to an open airy room with mats on the floors.
The Fall of Belvedere Page 16