The Plains of Kallanash

by Pauline M. Ross

  He pointed through the gate. She looked but saw nothing, only the gate on the other side. It was Hurst who saw it first.

  “The writing over the tunnel on the far side, Mia.”

  She adjusted her eyes to the new distance and the burning pattern over the tunnel came into focus, strong enough to be readable even through both gates.

  “Ha!” she cried. “So obvious, of course. Easier to copy without turning round.” She quickly set the pattern and turned the knob. With the tiniest clink, the door opened.

  ~~~

  It took some time for Tanist to collect everyone together, but eventually they were all gathered in the space beneath the tower. By that time, Gantor had already worked out from the other gates how to open and close them from the inside – the same type of pattern, and again taken from the tunnel directly in view.

  “So – we’re in,” Hurst said, surprised. “Up the stairs then.”

  There was no other way. The staircase started in the exact middle of the space with a step broad enough for six warriors at least to walk abreast and spiralled gracefully upwards, narrowing as it went, until it disappeared through the ceiling directly above one of the gates. The steps were made of the usual glowing stone, edged each side with railings of the same wrought metal as the gates.

  “That’s odd,” Mia said.

  Tanist eyed her with interest. “Go on.”

  “Everything else is perfectly symmetrical, but the staircase isn’t. I wonder why?”

  “It’s designed to ensure we enter whatever’s above one at a time, that’s all,” Tanist said. “That’s good defensive strategy. We must be careful, obviously. I’ll go first…”

  “No,” said Hurst. “You’re the leader, you shouldn’t be the one most at risk to whatever’s up ahead. I’ll lead and…”

  “Actually, I think this might be Walst’s moment to shine, don’t you?”

  “With respect, Sir…” It was Mannigor who spoke. “Walst has Tenya to think about. The first in should be someone with no one to grieve over them. I should like to volunteer, Sir.”

  “Not sure your father would agree with the ‘no one to grieve’ part, but I think you may be right. So – Mannigor, Krennish, Gurnallon, then me, Hurst, Gantor…”

  As Tanist made his dispositions, they formed into a snaking line.

  “Trimon at the back, to guard our rear. Not that there seems to be anyone else about, but have an arrow nocked, just in case. Right, Commander Mannigor, you have the lead. Take it steady, and once you get out of sight report down the line everything you see. Ahead, single file.”

  Mia was in the middle of the group, with Dethin in front and Tenya behind. They trod slowly from step to step, rising up and up. Mia began by counting the steps, but lost track at a little over a hundred when they were still not even half way, so it seemed. But gradually they rose and drew nearer to the gap in the ceiling where the stair passed through.

  Mannigor vanished from view and murmured words were passed from man to man – “A large open hall”, “Well lit”, “No people or furnishings”, “One exit visible across the floor”.

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Dethin muttered. “Just one exit? And nothing there at all?”

  They were almost at the top when sudden cries broke out ahead, with the clash of swords and shields, the grunts of men in battle and a terrifying shriek. The few remaining men ahead of them dashed forward, drawing their swords. Those behind would have pushed past to help out too, but Dethin stopped them.

  “No! Wait until we can see what the situation is before we rush into anything,” he said, and those behind subsided and nodded in acknowledgement.

  They crept up the last few stairs and stepped into a shallow archway. Beyond was the open hall, the full width of the tower, for the tapered struts could be seen protruding from the walls. There was a strangely patterned floor, grey marble inlaid with long curves and short straight sections in black. A short distance away was a melee, warriors engaged in heavy fighting with men armed only with batons. Nor did they wear armour or any kind of protective clothing, just loose silken trousers and nothing else. They were solidly muscular and clearly very skilled, for they wielded their weapons with astonishing speed. They were so fast that arms and batons were no more than a blur. The warriors, by contrast, were strangely slow, as if the very air around them were thick, like mud. Nearby Ainsley stood, almost nose to nose with a baton wielder, both of them motionless.

  “Ainsley?” Dethin said.

  “Dethin? Stay where you are. If you come out here, another one will pop up.”

  “What? Pop up from where?”

  “Out of nowhere. They just appeared.”

  Another shriek, and a warrior went down. Three were on the ground now, one motionless. Mia saw Tanist curled up, clutching his leg.

  “Why does that one not attack you?” Dethin asked.

  “Don’t know. As long as I don’t move, neither does he.”

  “Gurnallon is doing the same thing over there,” Mia said. “Tell them to stop moving.”

  “What? Oh.” And he turned and bellowed across the noise of the battle. “STOP MOVING! STAND STILL! EVERYONE STAND!”

  It took a long time to make them understand. Standing motionless when under attack was not something that came naturally to warriors. But one by one people heard and obeyed. Someone turned round quickly and was clouted in the back, falling like a stone, but eventually they understood and became motionless. And the baton wielders stopped too. It was a scene frozen in time, swords held ready to thrust and shields to parry, batons held in mid-swing. Only the heavy breathing of the warriors and the muted groans of the fallen disturbed the illusion.

  “Right,” said Dethin, loud enough to be heard. “Now all we have to do is get past these bastards.”

  48: Splints (Hurst)

  Hurst held his position. His legs were wide apart, sword low, shield held in front of his face to ward off the imminent blow from his opponent, which never came. The baton was poised, inches from his arm, but the man was motionless. If it really was a man, of course, and not some illusion of the mind. They had appeared out of nowhere. One minute they were all filing along behind Mannigor across an empty hall, the next they were in the middle of chaos. But no, it wasn’t quite like that. It was Mannigor who had started it. One of the stick men had popped up in front of him, and then everyone had raced to help and there were stick men everywhere, and no way to fight them. They were so fast. Inhumanly fast, perhaps. Very odd.

  From where he stood, Hurst could just see the entrance archway out of the corner of his eye. Mia was peeping out from behind Dethin, her face white and anxious. At least she hadn’t been drawn into the battle, that was one mercy. What quick thinking by Dethin, though, realising that they were safe if they stopped moving. Safe for now, anyway. How could they escape these strange beings without moving? It was a puzzle. He had never felt so helpless. For one appalled moment, he wondered whether there would be some kind of trial like this on every floor of the tower.

  They had injuries to deal with, too. Hurst could see Tanist nearby, writhing in pain, one leg at an odd angle. A little further away Mannigor was unconscious. There were others down, he was sure, but they must be behind him, out of sight.

  Moving was impossible, but everyone was breathing raggedly and Tanist was rolling about without attracting the attentions of his opponent – and that was another oddity, there was one stick man for every warrior, neatly paired. Was that coincidence? So many unanswerable questions. If only he could talk to Gantor about it, or Mia. They always had good ideas.

  Experimentally, he tried his voice.

  “Dethin?” No response from his stick man. So talking was safe. “Dethin, how many down?”

  “On the ground? Four, two injuries and two lying low for now. There are others injured, too. What happened?”

  Hurst told him as best he could.

  “There’s thirteen of them,” Dethin said. “In theory we ought to be ab
le to take them easily, but…”

  “They’re too fast. Wait… thirteen stick men?” Hurst counted up in his head. Mia had been sixteenth in line, so Dethin was fifteenth. There should be fourteen warriors and fourteen stick men. “Is that right? Are there only thirteen of us, then?”

  Gantor’s voice came from behind him. “Fourteen. I appear not to have a stick man of my very own.”

  Hurst half turned in surprise, and instantly a baton connected with his shield, pushing him to one knee. With difficulty he froze again.

  “Shit! You’ve really got to be careful. And these guys pack a real punch. Gantor what did you do – or not do?”

  “I didn’t move. When the first one appeared in front of Mannigor, everyone else ran about but I stayed put.”

  “Can you move now?” Mia called out.

  From his new position, Hurst could just see Gantor take a step backwards, and then forwards again. He raised and lowered his arms, spun right round and then shrugged.

  “I’m fine here, but if I tear about, I’ll be sure to be attacked.”

  “Is it speed, then?” Mia asked.

  “Good point. No, because Mannigor wasn’t moving fast when the first one appeared. I think…” Long pause. “I suspect it’s because I stayed on the black.”

  “On the black?” Hurst said. “What does that mean?”

  “The black part of the floor. From the entrance there’s this black section, then it veers off to the right. I think Mannigor was hit when he stepped off the black part onto the grey.”

  “Right, let’s try that,” Hurst said. “Gantor, walk slowly forwards on the black and follow it to the right. And freeze if a stick man appears.”

  Step by cautious step Gantor moved. Hurst didn’t dare move his head to watch, so he called out, “Progress report!”

  “Nearing the end of the black… turning right… still nothing… still going…” His voice got fainter as he got further away. “Hmm, now this is a problem. I need to get to the other door over there, but the black strip takes me away again.”

  “Stay on the black!” Hurst and Dethin shouted, almost in unison.

  Before long Gantor reappeared in Hurst’s sight range, weaving his way carefully between warriors and baton wielders, but never leaving the black path. Back and forth he went, first nearer, then further away and eventually Hurst heard an exultant shout.

  “Made it!”

  “Well, that’s interesting,” Dethin said.

  “So it’s safe for us to cross,” Mia said and stepped onto the black.

  Dethin and Hurst’s voices were united. “NO!”

  Hurst was so agitated he leapt up and was immediately flattened by a baton in the small of his back. With a yelp as his nose hit marble, he found himself stretched full-length on the ground. But he was now half onto the black, and the first thing he saw was Mia’s boot.

  “Go back,” he said, puffing, for the fall had knocked all the breath out of him. “Not safe.”

  “It’s safe for me,” she said, and although he couldn’t see her face, he heard the laughter in her tone.

  “No it’s not. If I move and that thing lashes out, you’ll be hit too.”

  “No. Those who are on the ground can move about. Just don’t try to get up.”

  He made her move well back before he tried it, but he found she was right – he could roll over and back, and could even push himself along with hands and feet, but raising his body off the ground earned him another painful blow.

  It was Ainsley who made the next obvious logical jump. He threw himself to the ground, and although he caught a vicious blow to the head, it rang off his helmet and he was safely on the ground. Within moments he had rolled right away from his stick man, who stayed where he was. He rolled out to an empty section of hall, not easy for a man in full battle gear with a pack on his back, and then, foot by foot, he half rolled and half crawled all the way across to Gantor, waiting in the opposite archway to help him up. The instant he set foot on the white stone of the archway, his stick man vanished.

  After that it was a tediously slow business to shuffle everyone across the hall. The two injured were the most difficult, for they had to be manoeuvred onto the black path first, where they could be pulled onto a cloak and dragged along the path, Tanist screaming in pain, by those still free from the threat of batons. One of the unaffected men inadvertently stepped onto the grey and triggered a new stick man and a flurry of fighting, until everyone remembered to freeze. But after what seemed an interminable time, they all reached the safety of the far archway, and the last baton wielder disappeared. Apart from a scattering of abandoned helmets, swords and shields, the hall was as empty as if the battle had never been.

  “That was interesting,” Hurst murmured to Gantor. “No such thing as magic, eh?”

  Gantor grunted. “Whatever those things were, let’s hope we don’t meet any more of them.”

  “Yes, they were just too fast,” Walst said despondently, stretching his sword arm gingerly and wincing.

  “But magnificent,” Trimon said, eyes glowing. The others looked at him in bemusement.

  “Not so magnificent if you were fighting them,” Walst snapped. “It’s all right for you, arriving late for the battle.”

  Beyond the archway was another staircase, wider this time, and the warriors sat, two to a step, exhausted and dispirited. Many of them were bruised and beaten, a few had cuts from contact with swords, and they had two serious injuries to deal with. Up the stairs was another level of the tower and who knew what they might find there? Hurst had taken charge, following his father’s injury. Tanist was silent now, grey with pain, barely conscious. Hurst gave him some of his own lozenges to help with the pain, but he knew the broken leg needed to be properly set, and quickly, not something they could attempt crowded into the tiny space now available to them.

  “We have to go on up,” he said in a low voice to Dethin, who nodded.

  “Why not take a small group up the stairs, and see what’s ahead of us? Walst, maybe. Ainsley. Gantor. Or if you want to stay with Mia…”

  “No, you seem to be looking after her very well,” Hurst said, trying to smile and not quite managing it. He had always been the one to take care of Mia, yet now Dethin was doing a fine job of it, and he himself felt obliged to take the lead in Tanist’s place. It had always been understood that he was the second in command, but there were consequences to that.

  Hurst chose a few men, leaving Dethin in charge of the rest. “See if you can retrieve some of the gear,” he said. “We might need it yet.”

  He squeezed past the men resting on the stairs, and plodded on upwards. He had always preferred to be in charge on the skirmishes, but there he knew the rules. Here there were no rules, no way to anticipate what might be coming and he was feeling the full weight of responsibility.

  The stairs wound upwards, keeping the same width. The stone was the same as in the tunnel below, warm and softly lit. Before long they came to a large anteroom, empty apart from a bench down either side. Across on the other side was a large double door made of gleaming sandwood.

  “Well, I don’t see anything here…” Hurst murmured.

  “Shall I go first?” Walst said. “It must be my turn for some weird creatures.”

  The others all laughed, and Hurst smiled too. It felt good to joke about it, somehow. It didn’t remove the anxiety but Walst’s irrepressible humour made it seem more like a normal event, even though it was anything but normal in reality.

  “I agree,” he said briskly. “Try not to get eaten or flattened.”

  No one could ever say of Walst that he was overcautious. Without waiting, he strode out into the room, twirled round ostentatiously in the centre and then crossed the remaining distance in a few paces. “There you are!” he gloated, with an ironic bow. Ainsley followed, in more sensible style, then Hurst himself, Gantor and Trimon.

  “Well, that was easy,” Hurst muttered. “But there’s still the door…”

&nb
sp; Before the words were fully out of his mouth, Gantor had turned the knob and the door opened. Gantor opened it a crack and peered through. Almost at once he shut it again.

  “People,” he hissed. “I can hear voices.”

  Hurst wanted to see for himself, but he could do no more than confirm Gantor’s observations. There were voices audible, although all that could be seen was an empty hall, larger than the anteroom but much smaller than the ones they had already travelled through that day.

  Hurst was torn. Everyone was exhausted, many of the warriors were suffering the effects of repeated battering by the baton wielders and common sense told him that they should rest for a while, perhaps eat something, and recover their strength. But they had two seriously injured men who could not wait until it was convenient for the next move forward.

  “Let’s bring everyone up here,” he said. “The room’s big enough. Mannigor and Tanist can stay here with the women and the worst affected of the men, and the rest of us must carry on. We’ll just have to hope we can find what we need for the injured in the tower.”

  “I suppose we could go back to that big camp cave,” Gantor said dubiously. “There were good medical supplies there.”

  “It’s two days away,” Hurst said, “and we’d have to get two immobile men across that floor without arousing the stick men, and then down the stairs. Besides, we’ve already got a lot of things from there, and we can improvise splints, if we need to. No, this is our best option. If people live here, they must have some sort of medical arrangements. If not, we’ll send someone to get what we need.”

  The two injured men were brought up first, and laid on the benches. Several men had some battlefield medical skill, and Tenya set to work too, examining the injuries.

  “I’ve been baggage for long enough,” she said firmly. “I’m glad to be useful again.”

  Trondior and Lukast, Tanist’s Companions, gently uncovered the broken leg, and with a couple of spade handles and bandages bound it into position as best they could. Mannigor’s Mentors showed Hurst where his helmet was bent inwards by the force of a baton.