Darkfall

by Isobelle Carmody

  She turned and retraced her path, only to find she was at another dead end. She cursed, wishing the clouds would let even one of the moons shine for a moment so that she could get her bearings. If only she had a torch!

  All at once, she heard footsteps. Someone was coming along softly and speedily behind her. She turned swiftly, hands rising instinctively into defensive positions.

  Over-reacting again, she mocked herself – and suddenly found herself confronted by three dark shapes. Now the clouds chose to part and she wished they hadn’t, because all three were men, and from the looks on their faces, they were not just out for an evening stroll.

  ‘Greetings, myrmidon,’ said the one in the centre. He was long and slim with pale drooping fingers which he rubbed together as if washing soap from his hands.

  ‘I am not a myrmidon,’ Glynn said, wondering if she was to be beaten up for the colour of her hair and her height.

  ‘Pretty,’ slurred the man on his left, a great hulking fellow with a face that sloped down on one side as if he had been partially paralysed by stroke. She might have pitied him, except his eyes were blank and brutish.

  The third man had chilly, light-grey eyes and an elegantly sculpted beard. ‘A good catch for the pleasure gardens,’ he observed. He made a sign and the long man in the middle instantly sprang forward like a big, pale spider.

  Glynn yelped and stepped sideways, whirling and aiming a sharp heel at his knee. He grunted in pain and stepped back warily, rubbing his leg.

  The hulk lumbered forward with a growl and again Glynn stepped aside, striking his paws away with a sweeping jujitsu movement that used his weight against him.

  Good, Wind said in her mind.

  But there are three of them! Glynn thought, knowing she would not stand a chance if they all rushed her at once. The moonlight faded and brightened as clouds regrouped and shifted.

  ‘Myrmidons fight good!’ the hulk grunted appreciatively, making another lumbering grab. Glynn whirled and aimed a hard kick to the back of his knee. It was like kicking a tree stump, and the impact jarred her whole body. But his hand caught her face and she tasted blood.

  ‘Do not damage her,’ the bearded man cautioned as the pale spider man crept forward, swaying lightly from the ball of one foot to the other.

  Glynn felt herself tense up. She forced herself to breathe steadily, knowing that if she started thinking too much it would slow her reactions. Thank heavens she had been exercising and stretching her muscles since her enforced stay in the Acanthan haven.

  The bearded man, who was clearly the leader of the trio, had ordered them not to bloody her, which meant they would not use full strength. She had no qualms about using anything and everything. When it came to survival, there were no rules and no quarter given. She had a chance, as long as they came at her one at a time.

  ‘Nice meat. We will not hurt you too much,’ the spider man whispered, baring yellowed teeth. His eyes shone, small and spiteful, and Glynn shuddered inwardly, though she took care not to let it show on her face. Wind had taught her that a calm expression unnerved an opponent, who would not be able to use it to gauge the effect of his blows, nor to get any advance warning of her intent to attack.

  Even so, she was frightened because, unless she could get past them somehow, they could just keep at her until she had tired herself out.

  The thin man lifted a knife from his belt and her heart leapt into her mouth.

  A split second too late, she understood the knife had been a distraction, as the big man rushed her again. Glynn twisted awkwardly away, kicking hard, but her balance was wrong and although the blow connected, it did so weakly. She blundered sideways and fell.

  With a hiss of triumph the pale man stepped forward, his knife glinting in the moonlight.

  Glynn rolled and found her feet, but she was too close to the bearded man, who lashed out, striking the side of her head. The blow rattled her teeth and she fell, landing hard on the sandy ground again.

  Looking up through a painful shower of stars, Glynn saw the thin man’s smile widen.

  A flash of terror, and she wondered what they intended to do to her. Kill her? No, the bearded one had not wanted her bloodied. Slavery? Some sort of flesh trade?

  With a cry, half of fright and half of anger, she got to her feet, the calm look doggedly in place.

  What had Wind told her to do in a no-win situation where she was outclassed? she asked herself, again twisting and turning to evade the hulk. This time the spider man’s knife flashed and she felt his blade graze her ribs.

  ‘Cede the game when you are completely outclassed,’ Wind had said. ‘In a tournament, there is no shame in that.’

  Only this was no tournament, Glynn thought in despair. Distracted for a moment, she did not see the bearded man lunge and his fist caught her in the stomach.

  She staggered, gasping and trying to force air into her lungs.

  ‘Enough,’ the bearded man said calmly. ‘We do not wish you damaged and neither do the Iridomi. Submit and you will not be harmed further.’

  Glynn felt like bursting into tears again, but instead she took a deep breath and spat the slimy blood out on the ground at the bearded man’s feet.

  ‘Go to hell!’ She abandoned her pretence of calmness, and let anger run through her veins in a molten tide.

  The bearded man’s face had grown motionless when she spat, but now he smiled humourlessly. ‘Take her,’ he snarled.

  The three moved forward as one but Glynn refused to be afraid. She dropped into a crouch, trying not to anticipate, allowing her mind to be fluid and uncommitted.

  ‘I must say, this does look somewhat uneven,’ drawled a female voice.

  ‘It does indeed,’ a second woman agreed in a lazy voice.

  ‘Shall we repair the odds?’ asked a deep-voiced third.

  The three men had whirled the moment the first woman had spoken, being sure to keep Glynn in their sight, and when she saw both the hulk and the bearded man draw out knives, she dared to look as well.

  Beyond her would-be abductors stood four lean, well-muscled women wearing short pale tunics belted at the waist, and lace-up sandals. All had elaborate jewelled dreadlocks and all but one carried long poles in harnesses across their backs. Glynn’s heart sank. The women looked strong and there were five of them counting herself, but the men were much bigger and they had knives.

  Two of the amazons threw off their short capes with practised flicks and began to advance, drawing out their poles and positioning them point-forward. They were, Glynn was horrified to realise, the smallest of the four. The other two just stood there. Maybe they did not know the men had knives.

  She opened her mouth to say so, and left it open.

  Glynn had won her share of tournaments and had even sometimes given the champions she had come up against a run for their money. But what she saw next left her gasping. The two women were like dervishes on their feet, swift and lethal, yet eerily graceful, their poles flickering and flashing like laser lights. In less than three minutes, the men lay on the ground, out cold.

  Glynn discovered that her mouth was hanging open, closed it, and wet her dry tongue so she could speak. ‘Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you had not come,’ she stammered.

  ‘You would not have done too badly. You had a rare style there and some footwork I have not seen before, little sister,’ said the biggest of the women, pounding her on the back with ferocious friendliness. She was one of the ugliest women Glynn had ever seen, but her smile was warm and Glynn found herself smiling back.

  ‘I am Silfa.’ The woman held out her hand. Glynn took it, though it was like shaking hands with a bear.

  ‘Named so because of her deadly resemblance to those marine serpents,’ said the tallest and leanest of the women. She handed their capes to the other two, and held out her own hand to Glynn.

  ‘I am Duran,’ she added. ‘For better or worse, the leader of this rabble. And these two who have given you a demon
stration on myrmidon pole technique are Dolf and Gorick.’

  ‘I am Glynn,’ Glynn said, shaking their hands, amazed to find her voice was steady. ‘Uh, Glynn Roseberry Flandryfire.’

  Dolf laughed. ‘See, she is not even troubled enough by the scrap to forget her manners. She is probably annoyed with us for interrupting her evening’s exercise.’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ Glynn said shakily.

  Duran squeezed her shoulder and glanced down at Glynn’s unconscious assailants. ‘What do we do with these mudslugs? I do not feel like facing the Fomhikan legion tonight to explain the fracas. Your pardon, Glynn, for I know they are your septfolk, but Fomhikans are tediously slow when it comes to matters of officialdom.’

  ‘We should cut their throats,’ said big Silfa, a flash of anger in her eyes as she looked down at the men.

  ‘Ah, but think of the mess,’ Duran said. ‘No. Silfa, you and the others take these aspi-dung down to the water and drop them into the waves. Perhaps your namesakes will enjoy a bite to eat. I will meet you back at the nightshelter.’

  Glynn was startled to see that Duran, with her grey eyes and pale dreadlocks trimmed in silver, was beautiful. Strangely, it was not the first thing one noticed about her.

  Duran slung a sinewy arm around Glynn’s shoulders, directing her back down the lane, and leaving the others behind. ‘You’d better come back to our nightshelter and rest for a bit. You look fine but sometimes shock comes afterwards. We are about to sup, so you can join us. It is but a step away and, though the nightshelter is small, I promise it is reputable enough, and well-favoured by those who know where to find the best meals in every sept.’

  Glynn tried to explain she had eaten already, but in no time Duran was hammering on a door. ‘This is the back way in to our nightshelter. This place has a respectable exterior to present to the main road, but there are eyes that watch front doors, even here.’

  When no one answered she hammered again, just as Silfa and the other two amazons trotted up.

  ‘That was quick,’ Duran said mildly.

  ‘We gave them a free ride in the Nivian,’ Silfa said gleefully.

  Duran burst out laughing. ‘They’ll be lucky to get to the mouth without breaking their heads.’

  ‘Tsk, tsk,’ Gorick said. ‘What are a few broken bones between spar-mates?’

  ‘What is taking so long?’ Dolf said impatiently, and reached forward to thump on the door again. This time a strand of creeper fell across the door, dislodged by her assault. ‘Look at that. Lanalor damn me, but this whole isle needs trimming.’ Dolf pulled the tangle of leaves aside, then apologised to Glynn for insulting the Fomhikan’s reverence for plant life.

  ‘I am not offended,’ Glynn said honestly.

  ‘Just as well,’ Duran said. ‘We do not have so many friends these days that we can afford to go about insulting them.’ There was an unexpected grim note in her voice.

  The door opened and a little wizened man with a wrinkled face and anxious eyes peered out, blinking into the darkness. ‘Who is out there? What business do you have thundering at my back door like legionnaires setting for a raid!’

  ‘Without are weary travellers who seek a warm fire and good food away from prying eyes. And a song from the best plantsinger on all Fomhika,’ Duran said, laughter in her voice.

  The old man’s face split into a welcoming grin and he flung the door open wide. ‘Daughters! I have expected you for days now!’

  Glynn blinked at the thought that this dried-up old man could have fathered such a brood, before she understood that it was probably just an expression.

  ‘Our ship was delayed by a storming just outside Iridom port. It blew us days out of our way,’ Duran said, drawing Glynn with her through the door and into a warm atmosphere, redolent with the smell of food and filled with the sound of clanging pots and pans. They had come into the kitchen and it was alive with cooks and harried servitors scurrying in and out wherever they could find a gap. The old man led them past stoves laden with tureens of boiling soup and sauces bubbling in pots, and spitted meats and fishes hissing in their juices over grills.

  Glynn’s mouth watered and she marvelled that she could feel hungry again so soon.

  They came out of the kitchen into a narrow entrance, and the old man turned to hug Duran and tell her again how glad he was she had come safely to his establishment.

  ‘You worry too much and work too hard, little father,’ Duran said gently. ‘There is nothing of you but skin and bone.’

  ‘I would die of boredom without the work of twenty men to fill my time,’ he said, beaming.

  ‘Or the work of three women,’ Silfa added.

  The old man reached up to tweak the amazon’s formidable muscles, and pretended to hurt his fingers. ‘Aghh. You grow harder every time I see you, daughter. Soon you will be made of stone.’

  ‘I am already stone in spirit, little father, and spirit is stronger than flesh as anyone knows. Especially the spirit of a myrmidon,’ she laughed, giving him an arch look.

  Glynn realised what she had been blind not to have known instantly. These were myrmidons. Sworn protectors of the Darkfall soulweavers. She could tell them she was a stranger and ask for asylum! But her delight curdled as she remembered who she was travelling with, and her binding to the feinna, which was in turn bonded deeply to a devout follower of the Draaka!

  It was a mess.

  ‘Bospho Tumrush Norma, this is our friend Glynn Roseberry Flandryfire. A sept comrade of your own. Mayhap you know her or her family?’ Duran asked the old man.

  Glynn grew cold as he squinted at her and shook his head.

  ‘I … I am from Riversong Leeuwald,’ Glynn said, stumbling over the unfamiliar words, hoping she had not remembered them wrongly.

  But Bospho wagged his head. ‘Come down because of the trade fair?’

  Glynn nodded, speechless with relief, and tried to think how to leave gracefully, but the old man had already turned aside and was ushering them all into a side room. It was empty but for stools, a scrubbed wood table and a crackling fire. ‘I kept this in readiness though you did not come when you sent word you would,’ he said, looking pleased with himself. ‘Now sit and I will organise your meal.’

  ‘I will get some mugs of cirul,’ Silfa announced, and went out banging the door behind her.

  Glynn approached the fire to warm her hands, caught between her longing to ask these women for help and the fear that they would kill her if she told them she was with the Draaka. None of the talk she had heard about the myrmidon women had prepared her for this warmth and camaraderie. They were strong and maybe rough and ready, but they were not like a crowd of men, all competitive and shaping up to one another. They liked each other and they seemed to have no pretensions or affectations.

  ‘Do not look so serious, Glynn,’ Duran said, just as Silfa burst through the door balancing a jug and a pile of mugs on a tray.

  ‘Maybe we should have gone to Poverin’s little party after all. Guess who was his guest?’ Silfa boomed.

  Glynn felt sick, knowing what the big woman was going to say.

  ‘The Draaka! She arrived today and leaves tomorrow. The rumour is that she is on her way to the citadel palace at Tarsin’s invitation.’

  The whole room fell so silent that Glynn wondered none of them could hear the thundering of her heart. Then she feared they had heard, or that she had given herself away, for they were all looking at her. No one spoke, but finally Duran took two of the mugs from Silfa and filled them. Very deliberately, she sat down on one of the stools, leaning her javelin to one side, and handed one of the mugs to Glynn with a searching look.

  ‘Tell me, Glynn Roseberry Flandryfire, are you up to keeping secrets?’

  Glynn swallowed uneasily. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d just as soon not hear any because they are slippery things to keep hold of.’

  Gorick gave a startled bark of laughter and slapped her leg, and immediately the other three relaxed, collecting mug
s and pouring themselves drinks.

  ‘Sensible girl,’ Dolf observed wryly.

  Glynn’s mouth was dry enough to spit chips, but she drank sparingly. Whatever was in the drink was potent but smooth and it steadied her. They don’t know I’m with the Draaka. All I have to do is keep my mouth shut and get out of here, she told herself.

  ‘I think we may trust one who is so reluctant to be told anything,’ Duran was saying, smiling again. ‘Never did I hear of a sneak refusing to hear secrets.’ She turned to Silfa. ‘Is this reliable rumour-mongering you heard?’

  ‘It is.’ She drained her own mug in one gulp, and Glynn thought of Lev with a fleeting regret.

  ‘Well, maybe we should have gone but sometimes Poverin’s hunger for his son to rule Keltor is more than I can stomach. Though we should have gone for Maeve’s sake,’ Duran said. ‘I must send word to Feyt that the Draaka was received by Poverin. Strange times these are. First Argon journeys after all these years, and now this. I expect if the Draaka is saying Tarsin asked her, it will have been Coralyn’s idea. She will have her eye on an alliance.’

  Hell’s bells, Glynn thought desperately. Any minute they’re going to start planning to assassinate the Draaka. I have to get out of here!

  ‘You look pale, Glynn,’ Dolf said. ‘That cut on your rib, mayhap. Those men had Iridomi knives and maybe the blades were fouled.’

  Duran frowned in concern. ‘See if the white cloak bides in his room. He can look at the wound and tell us if it is poisoned …’

  ‘I doubt this one needs your help, Duran,’ said a familiar voice. ‘Poison runs in her veins.’

  Glynn rose to face a cold-eyed Hella with a sense that time had just run out for her.

  ‘What are you saying, Hella?’ Duran demanded.

  ‘Ah. You mean Glynn has not told you yet about her friends?’ the Acanthan girl replied icily, trembling with fury. ‘No, of course she has not. She has told you some wondrous other tale, for you to have brought her here. I am sure that she neglected to tell you she is in the pay of the Draaka and even now journeys with her.’