Return of the Temujai

by John Flanagan

  “They’re moving again,” Stig said. “Looks like they’re satisfied there’s nothing here.”

  “What makes you say that?” Thorn asked.

  The big warrior shrugged. “Well, if they saw something, or thought they saw something, they would have come to investigate, wouldn’t they?”

  Thorn stroked his shaggy beard. He had grown up distrusting the Temujai. Everything he knew about them told him they were a cunning and devious enemy. “Maybe,” he said now. “Or maybe they plan to come back later.”

  * * *

  • • • • •

  “We’ll come back after dark,” En’tak told his deputy. “That way we can take a closer look.”

  “What are you expecting to see?” Ka’zhak asked.

  The patrol commander shrugged uncertainly. “That strange shape could have been a ship. And something caught the light at the front of it. I believe the Skandians often have bird or animal carvings on the front of their ships. It could have been one of those.”

  “So, you think Skandians were there?” Ka’zhak asked.

  “I don’t see who else they could be. And if there are, I don’t plan to make another mistake.”

  En’tak had been an Ulan commander at the recent battle at the pass into Skandia. It was his Ulan of sixty riders that had been so badly mauled by the Skandian defenders. As a result, the Sha’shan had stripped him of his rank. Now he commanded a lowly patrol of ten men. Ka’zhak had been his deputy commander then and had been reduced in rank accordingly. Both men were still smarting from the shame of their demotion and were looking for a way to win their way back into the Sha’shan’s good graces.

  “But how would they get a ship up here to the lake?” Ka’zhak wondered.

  His commander regarded him for a few moments before speaking. In truth, he didn’t know. But he knew Skandians were a clever and resourceful people who often managed feats that had been deemed impossible.

  “That’s what I plan to find out.”

  chapter nineteen

  The sun was low in the western sky. And still the monotonous grass plains rolled on and on—featureless and unchanging—as Hal and Lydia trudged on toward the east.

  They had stopped twice more to hide from Temujai patrols, their hearts in their mouths each time as silent files of riders appeared over the horizon. But neither of the patrols had come close to where they crouched, concealed in the long grass. Now they crested yet another low ridge and surveyed the terrain beyond.

  There was no change. The waving grasslands stretched ahead of them to yet another low crest in the distance. They could see several large rock outcrops and a scattering of low trees and shrubs dotted about the plain. But for the most part, the ground was unremarkable and unvarying.

  “Better keep an eye out for those patrols heading home,” Lydia said, conscious that there was barely an hour’s daylight left. Hal glanced nervously over his shoulder. This rolling and dipping ground, which allowed the riders to appear suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, was grating on his nerves. He never knew when the monotony of trudging through the long, clinging stalks of grass would be shattered by the unheralded appearance of a file of silent riders—usually a lot closer than either Lydia or he expected them to be.

  “Looks as if we’ll be spending the night out here,” Lydia said. She looked around, assessing the surrounding long grass. “Could be worse. If we trample down the grass we can form a kind of nest for ourselves. And at least it’ll be soft to sleep on.”

  Hal indicated a small outcrop of rocks about fifty meters away. “Why don’t we head for those rocks. We could get a fire going there before the light goes, and have a hot drink. Once the sun’s down, we’ll douse the fire.”

  Lydia nodded agreement. In the dark, any small light on the plain would stand out like a beacon. But in daylight, if they used dry, hot-burning wood, there was only a small chance that they’d be spotted. She doubled her pace and set out for the rocks. They were carrying a small supply of firewood with them and Hal quickly set a fire among the rocks, where there was no chance of its spreading to the long grass surrounding them.

  They boiled water for coffee and then stamped the fire out, making sure no trace of a spark remained. Hal sat in the long grass, which Lydia had stamped down in a semicircle around the rocks. He cradled a mug of hot, sweet coffee and sighed contentedly as he sipped at it.

  “That’s better,” he said as he felt the invigorating effect of the hot drink flowing through his legs and body. “I don’t mind a cold meal, but a cup of coffee does wonders for my spirits.”

  Lydia grinned. “It’s a bad habit I’ve picked up from you and your crew,” she admitted. “But I must say I enjoy it too. And it’s just as well you don’t mind a cold meal, because that’s what you’ll be getting.”

  Hal rose to his feet and peered around at the surrounding horizon. “No sign of those patrols,” he said. “I would have thought they’d be heading home by now.”

  “Maybe they took a different route back,” Lydia said. “Or maybe they’re like us and they’re camping out for the night.”

  * * *

  • • • • •

  Most of the patrols they had seen that day had returned by a more circuitous route. But the first patrol was still out on the plain and doubling back to the spot where they had observed the strange shape on the shore of the lake.

  En’tak led his men back northwest. They had explored to the south, reaching as far as the mouth of the river that ran out of the lake and down through the mountains. Now he called a halt as they reached a low ridge half a kilometer from the spot where they had seen the concealed and camouflaged shape of the Heron.

  He ordered his men to set up a camp, cautioning them not to light a fire. Then he and Ka’zhak continued on foot, crouching as they crossed the ridge, then staying low as they made their way through the long grass toward the promontory and the strange, irregular shape beside it.

  They found a small rise less than a hundred meters from the site, where they could lie on their bellies and keep watch on it. They lay silently for almost an hour before their patience was rewarded and they saw signs of movement on the bank.

  * * *

  • • • • •

  Thorn had ordered the crew to remain concealed throughout the hours of daylight. Most of them remained on board the Heron, under the cover of the nets draped over the ship. A few had stayed onshore, concealed behind the low rampart they had built, keeping watch for any sign of the enemy.

  Once night fell, however, he decided he could let them relax a little. They had seen no sign of the Temujai operating by night, and he was reasonably confident that they could move about within their small camp without being observed.

  Within reason, of course. He still insisted that all movement should be kept to a minimum. Edvin could prepare the evening meal—without a fire, naturally—and the sentries at the rampart could be relieved. But that was the limit of the movement he allowed.

  It was enough, however, to attract the attention of the two silent Temujai lying in the long grass.

  * * *

  • • • • •

  “There are definitely people there,” En’tak breathed, his face close to his companion’s ear.

  Ka’zhak nodded. “I heard them speaking a few minutes ago. They sound like Skandians.”

  The patrol commander looked at his friend in some surprise. “I didn’t know you spoke Skandian.”

  But Ka’zhak shook his head. “Only a few words,” he admitted. “It’s more the way they speak—sort of abrupt and sharp-sounding.”

  In contrast to the more staccato tones of the Skandians, the Temujai language was a smooth-flowing tongue.

  “How many do you think there are?” Ka’zhak asked now.

  His commander shrugged. “Not many. Half a dozen, maybe? Any more than that and they’d make noi
se. Skandians find it hard to stay silent.”

  As Thorn had commented, the Temujai tended to underestimate their enemies, treating them with disdain and expecting them to be undisciplined and unruly.

  The fact was, they had little experience of a well-trained and disciplined force like the Herons or any of the other Skandian brotherbands.

  That was En’tak’s first mistake.

  “So, what do we do now?” Ka’zhak whispered.

  En’tak began to wriggle backward through the grass, looking for the cover of the low rise they had crested some time ago.

  “Back to camp,” he said. “We’ll hit them first thing in the morning.”

  Ka’zhak mimicked his movement, moving back through the long grass to a point where he could rise to his feet without being seen.

  “Maybe we should report back to the main camp and let the Sha’shan know they’re here,” he said.

  But En’tak shook his head forcefully. “This is our chance to win back the Sha’shan’s respect—and our former positions,” he said. “If we go whining back now to tell him there are half a dozen Skandians on the lake, he’ll think we’re spineless cowards. On the other hand, if we go back and report that we’ve wiped out a Skandian war party—and maybe take a prisoner or two along with us—we’ll win his respect again. And maybe we’ll be reinstated to our former positions.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Ka’zhak said uncertainly. “So, will we attack on horseback?”

  En’tak shook his head. “We’ll creep in on foot. They’d see us coming too soon if we rode in. If we can get close without being seen, we’ll catch them sleeping and unawares before dawn.”

  And that was his second mistake.

  * * *

  • • • • •

  As the sun eventually set, stars began to twinkle in the sky above the massive grass plain. Lydia chewed on a piece of smoked beef wrapped in flatbread. Hal was eating a handful of dried fruit. He took a sip of cold water from his canteen, wishing he had some way of keeping coffee hot after he had made it.

  His thighs and calves ached from the hours of pushing through the long, clinging grass. Now that the sun was gone, the night was chilly and he pulled his sheepskin vest tighter around his body and settled back. There was nothing to do but rest, he thought—and after the long day of trudging across the plain, he’d have no trouble sleeping. As he had that thought, he began to nod off.

  “Look,” said Lydia quietly.

  She had risen to her knees and was pointing to the sky in the east. Hal struggled up to a sitting position resentfully. He had been on the point of falling asleep and had found himself a comfortable position in the bed of long grass underneath him.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She made no answer but continued to point to the eastern sky. And now he saw it too. With the passing of daylight, and with the moon hours away from rising, he could see a glow of light reflecting from the clouds. It stretched for almost a quarter of the horizon to the east—the reflected light of campfires, hundreds of them.

  “It’s the Temujai camp,” Lydia said. “And it’s a big one.”

  They gathered their equipment and possessions together and rose to their feet. Neither of them spoke but both were driven by a sense of urgency. The Temujai camp must be close by, and they set off through the night toward that glow of light.

  If the long grass made walking difficult by daylight, it was twice as hard in the dark. Hal slipped and stumbled repeatedly as he walked into dips and irregularities under the grass. Lydia seemed to have no trouble, he noticed. She seemed to glide across the terrain without any sign of awkwardness. He stumbled and fell to his knees for the fifth time and let out a soft curse.

  “Sontod’s bad breath!”

  Lydia reached back to give him a hand up. “And who might Sontod be?” she asked, with a half smile. The pantheon of gods and demigods that Skandians observed was a constant source of amusement to her. Not, she noticed, that they actually seemed to worship them. They seemed to keep them handy just so they could use them in curses. “And does he have bad breath?”

  Hal eyed her balefully. “He’s a she. She’s the demigod of dance and movement,” he told her.

  She raised an eyebrow. “You could definitely use a little help from her, then,” she said. “Judging by the way you keep blundering around.”

  Hal drew breath to make a cutting reply. Her earlier remark about his “tripping over his own big feet” sprang to mind. Then a tangle of grass wound around his ankle and he went over again. Lydia waited, all too patiently, he thought, while he regained his feet and moved off again. He decided not to counter her comment about his tripping.

  “To answer your question, yes. She does have bad breath. Most demigods and demons do. It goes with their big yellow fangs.”

  “What attractive gods you have in Skandia,” Lydia said. She was yet to hear of one who wasn’t ferocious, festooned with long hair and toenails, deceptive or just plain bad-tempered. “Don’t you have any who are attractive, pleasant-natured or light on their feet?”

  “Sontod is light on her feet. I told you, she’d the goddess of dance.”

  “But by the sound of her, she’s not the sort of dance partner anyone would choose. Not with those big yellow fangs and bad breath.”

  “Partners don’t choose her. She chooses them,” Hal pointed out. “And with those big yellow fangs, you don’t refuse her when you’re chosen.”

  “I suppose not. Still . . .” Whatever Lydia was going to say next was left unsaid as they finally made their way to the crest of the next rise. Both of them fell silent for a few seconds at the sight of hundreds of campfires on the plain below them, stretching as far as the eye could see.

  And now the acrid, harsh smell that Lydia had noted at the pass was obvious once more. But this time, the camp she was looking at was bigger—much, much bigger—than the one she had seen in the mountains. This wasn’t a raiding party or even a war party.

  This was the Temujai nation on the move.

  chapter twenty

  An hour before first light, as was his custom when they were in enemy territory, Thorn quietly woke the crew of the Heron, moving along the sleeping line of warriors and shaking each one by the shoulder.

  Their long training ensured that they woke without any noise, and without speaking. Thorn leaned close to each man’s ear and said softly.

  “Stand to. Dawn in an hour.”

  Edvin was the first he woke and he followed Thorn down the line, handing out cups of cold coffee to the defenders. He had brewed a pot the day before, before he had doused the fire at sunset. It would have been better if he had been able to keep it hot. But even cold, the caffeine served to help them wake up. They sipped it gratefully, nodding their thanks.

  Dawn was traditionally the time for surprise attacks, which was why Thorn acted as he did. Jesper had been on lookout during the final hours of darkness. Thorn paused beside him, his eyes just above the earth rampart behind which they were sheltering. When the crew had bedded down for the night, he had ordered those who had been on board the ship to take their places at the earthworks. That way, they were all in position, ready to repel any attack that might eventuate. Their shields were beside them, leaning against the inner wall of the rampart. Each warrior also had a spear standing ready and his own personal choice of close-quarters weapon—either a sword or a long-handled ax. Thorn, of course, had his massive club-hand.

  “Anything happening?” Thorn breathed, his voice only just audible.

  Jesper glanced at him, then looked back at the long grass that lay before them, beginning to wave gently now in the predawn breeze coming off the lake.

  “Not sure,” he said. “I thought I saw movement out there”—he nodded to his right front—“a few minutes ago.”

  “The grass moving in the wind, maybe?”

&n
bsp; Jesper shook his head. “It was before the wind came up,” he told the battlemaster, who considered the report for a moment or two. Jesper was prone to playing silly practical jokes when he was bored. But he was a superlative lookout. In a situation like this, Thorn knew his judgment could be relied on.

  “How far out?” he asked now.

  “Maybe fifty, sixty meters,” Jesper replied. “I’ve seen nothing since, although I have been watching.”

  “So, if there is someone there, they haven’t moved forward?” Thorn asked.

  Jesper shook his head definitely. “No. I’ve been scanning along that line ever since I thought I saw movement. There’s been nothing else.”

  “All right. I’ll warn the others,” Thorn said. Better to assume there was an attack in the offing and be ready for it than to dismiss Jesper’s uneasy feeling as a false alarm. “Keep scanning that line. Don’t fixate on any one spot,” he said. He saw Jesper’s quick, irritated glance. He hadn’t needed to add that last warning. Jesper knew what he was doing. Thorn patted his shoulder apologetically.

  “Sorry,” he said. Staying in a crouch, he moved back down the line of waiting defenders, warning them that there was a possible enemy in the long grass ahead of them.

  “Shields ready,” he said, and the Herons slipped their left arms into the straps of their big round shields, ready to raise them and lock them into a defensive wall if required. Thorn took up his own shield and joined the line crouching behind the earth barricade. He considered sending someone—Edvin possibly—back to the ship to man the Mangler, but discarded the idea. Edvin would need help loading the machine after the first shot and that would mean two men out of the shield wall. Thorn couldn’t afford to weaken the defenses so severely.