The scouts headed for the cook tent, saying nothing while they mingled with guards queuing for their suppers. They took their usual rations a small distance apart from other guards and squatted to eat.
‘There ain’t no other trail,’ one scout muttered through a mouthful of hard bread.
‘We know that Keff, but there’s no tellin’ those bloody officers,’ replied the eldest, a grizzled veteran whose wild clan roots were overlooked because of his quite uncanny skills at tracking.
‘So what do we do Chak?’ Keff grinned, guessing the older man’s answer.
Chak sniffed. ‘I’m going up along the rim. Come down. Then I’m heading for home.’
The man next to him hitched closer. ‘Sounds a good idea to me,’ he said. ‘But won’t them officers work it out and send after us?’
‘Weasel, they’ll just think we’ve bumped into something nasty, or fallen off a cliff. They don’t have the brains among them to work out that we’d go round ’em and home.’
Weasel, so called simply because he looked like one, nodded sagely. Then he grinned. ‘Reckon they’ll wet theirselves when they see them cliffs a few leagues on.’
‘You with us Cully?’ Keff asked the scout who’d remained silent so far.
‘Aye. Had enough of this lot. But I wouldn’t mind knowing what was past them mountains.’
Chak laughed and slapped Cully’s shoulder. ‘That’s what makes us good scouts – want to know what’s over the next hill. I’d go on if this was a trade mission, but I’ve got a bad feeling with all these guards.’
Heads nodded agreement.
‘I was told it was just a small expedition,’ said Keff. ‘No more’n a couple hundred people and no mention of guards.’
‘Me too,’ agreed Weasel. ‘I’d never have signed up for it if I’d known it was a whole bloody army.’
‘And what happened to Captain Lessur?’ Cully asked. ‘He’d not much in the way of a brain, but he was one of the Old Man’s lads, not like this bastard Strannik.’
Chak grunted. ‘Turn in lads. I’ll kick you out of your blankets well before dawn.’
There was the palest glimmer of light to their left when the four scouts rode away from the camp and headed south. They automatically let Chak take the lead. He was considered an excellent scout by the army and by traders and hunting parties, but he was a legend among other scouts. By mid morning they’d cleared the head of the valley and were riding carefully along a trail which clung precariously to the side of a cliff. Chak rode on until the trail broadened and a tiny stream splattered over the rocks, falling from somewhere on the cliff high above.
‘Those guards’ll be coming up the other side of this nice cliff wall by late afternoon,’ he said, facing the other three, hands on hips. ‘I’m going on. South. I want to know what’s over those mountains now.’
Cully grinned. ‘I’m with you then Chak.’
Keff and Weasel nodded. ‘And us,’ said Weasel.
‘I trust you lot swiped a few extra canteens and dry stores?’ Chak raised a grey eyebrow.
The three others exchanged smirks. ‘’Course we did. Think we’re idiots?’
‘I came this way yesterday,’ Chak told them. ‘If we go a little further north again, there’s a trail down to the east and then it turns back due south.’ He swung back into his saddle and led them on.
Strannik was annoyed when none of his four scouts returned, but as Chak had foretold, he assumed they’d met with accidents. This idea was reinforced when he rode out of the valley and saw the cliffs towering ahead. Then one of the guards marching immediately behind Strannik, let out a yell and pointed across and up. On a shadowed ledge stood a mountain cat. Silvery grey fur, thick around its shoulders, glinted in the lowering sun. Its mouth opened in a snarl and a barking roar echoed across to the staring men. Then it was gone. No one saw which way it moved and there appeared to be no cave opening behind it into which it could have retreated.
Because the terrain had worsened so quickly, Strannik had to order a halt earlier than he would have liked. A few of the remaining officers were increasingly concerned at the whole idea of trying to take such a large body of men through such inhospitable lands. Already there was a lot of grumbling, albeit quietly voiced, among the foot guards. The line of men was strung out badly now and many older guards, with experience of fighting the wild clans in the far north of Kelshan, told of ambushes in just such conditions.
One or two bowmen, or swordsmen, could wreak havoc on the line of Imperium guards, and most of them realised it. Strannik kept aloof. He saw no reason to mingle with common soldiery, either while they marched or when they camped at night. He’d never understood why General Whilk made such a point of learning men’s names, about their families, or even why the old man sat by campfires listening to tall stories of past campaigns.
Most guards were a superstitious lot, but none of the officers or Strannik noticed a sudden blossoming of fetishes, charms and talismans, which were definitely not part of a guard’s official uniform. Only a couple of officers were aware of the growing sullenness among the men. The unit leaders, men in charge of nine others forming a unit of ten, were deeply aware of the bad feeling lurking ever more heavily around their men.
Word spread down the long line that all four scouts had disappeared without trace. Several guards who knew one or other of the scouts did some serious thinking and ended up even more unhappy with this “expedition”. To aggravate the mood, the wind, which always rose more fiercely as darkness fell, roared its chilly way between the cliffs as if deliberately channelled by some malign god. Very few of the men missed the fact that when the moon drifted clear of the mountain, it was blood red.Strannik gave evidence of his inexperience in command, and of his basic stupidity, by not ordering a roll call. He hadn’t bothered to do so since usurping Captain Lessur. So he was quite unaware of the tail enders of the column quietly slipping away, the first of many, on this ill omened march.
Chak led his companions south, deeper, and higher. Weasel had queried the decision to continue with the horses but Chak just grinned and kept moving. Weasel shrugged his easy acceptance: Chak’s path finding skills were renowned, but only a very few fellow scouts knew Chak was mage gifted.
Five days passed while the weather stayed kind. Bright sun during the days, the cold wind from dusk to dawn. The sixth day brought low clouds swirling around the four men, fingers of icy mist poking down their necks and up their sleeves. They put on the oiled cloaks they carried behind their saddles and rode on. They had seen no caves at all but that night they came to the next best thing: a place where rock leaned out over the trail to form an overhang deep enough to shelter men and horses.
They slept soundly, accustomed to rough living all their lives, and woke to find snow a fist deep all around them. The clouds were gone and the sky bright, although the sun was still hidden from sight behind the mountain at their backs. Chak led them on. By midday they rode the narrowest trail between sheer rock faces. They could touch the walls to each side as they rode. The path twisted, seemed to double back, turned again, and began to slope downwards.
Snow still lingered where the sun had been unable to reach into the narrow defile. A piercing scream made the horses jitter, but it was only an eagle, commenting on their passage, from overhead. They cleared the claustrophobically close rock formations and found themselves on a grass covered plateau. Chak dismounted and advanced to its open side. Mountains stalked onwards but better spaced, not crowded so threateningly. He studied the view for a while, picking out different routes and trails before nodding to himself in satisfaction.
Weasel was prowling the edges of the tiny meadow while Keff built a cook fire against the eastern wall. Chak went to help Cully unsaddle the horses and rub them down.
‘Enough grain for four, five more days eh Chak? Think we’ll be through this lot by then?’
Chak grunted. ‘They can get some graze here, that’ll help. Reckon we’ll get low enough for better gr
azing before the grain runs out.’
For the first time since before they’d left the army, there was no biting wind that evening. Weasel brought two skinny mountain hares to the fire, which added flavour to the stew of dried beans Keff had cooking.
Weasel woke first next morning, their camp still in deep shadow but the sun already shining on the rock wall across the little meadow. He lay for a moment, wondering why he’d woken so suddenly. He heard a twig snap and propped himself on an elbow, expecting to see Chak kindling the fire to make a hot drink before they moved on. Weasel stared. A man stared back at him. Weasel groped for his sword and realised it wasn’t beside him. He kicked Chak and hissed at the others.
‘We’ve got company. Simert’s Balls, wake up!’
One man still sat by the fire, but he’d been joined by another by the time the other scouts struggled to sit up. They saw their own weapons neatly stacked beside the seated man, but gave them only a glance. The second man drew all their attention. He was huge. Half as tall again as Cully who was the tallest of the scouts. His shoulders were as broad as an average door, his head covered in dozens of braids which stuck out in all directions. The seated man said something in a guttural tongue, cocked his head to one side and spoke again in a thickly accented common tongue.
‘Dark bless you brothers. You have wandered far. Perhaps you are lost and we would find it a great joy to set your feet on the right path.’
Chak pushed his bedroll aside and hitched himself closer to the fire. He pulled at a leather thong round his neck to reveal a disc of obsidian, deeply incised but smoothed by long wear and handling. He was watching the seated man’s face in the shadows and relaxed slightly when he saw a flicker of recognition in the man’s eyes.
‘We are not lost,’ he said steadily. ‘We are travelling south, to the Dark Realm, from Kelshan lands. We would warn the people of an army following behind us.’
‘And why should you give warning against your own kind? Is that not betrayal?’
‘My name is Chak. I am of the Eagle Clan, far north of Kelshan lands.’
The seated man glanced up at his towering companion. ‘We are of the Bear Tribe,’ he said after a pause. ‘My name is Theap. My friend is Menagol.’
The giant squatted beside the now crackling fire and smiled. The scouts regarded the filed teeth stained bright red. They saw now that Theap’s teeth were also filed, but at least they were their natural colour. A massive hand lifted the kettle onto the fire. Chak introduced Keff and Cully, hesitating when he came to Weasel, knowing Weasel was not his true name. But Weasel looked straight at Theap and introduced himself.
‘I’m Weasel.’
They all sat by the fire, silently drinking the herbal tea the giant Menagol poured for them. Finally Menagol emptied the dregs from the kettle over the fire and stood up.
‘We’ll take you to our village,’ he said, his voice a surprisingly gentle rumble.
The four scouts gathered their gear with the speed of long practice. By the time they’d done so they found the two strangers had saddled the horses although they remained on foot. The scouts tried not to stare, but seeing Theap standing for the first time took them aback. He was small, his head barely reaching above Menagol’s belt. He had the body of a twelve year old, yet he was undoubtedly an adult, around twenty-five Chak guessed.
Theap watched them mount then trotted to the eastern edge of the plateau. The scouts followed. Chak was last in line and was briefly disconcerted to find his eyes level with Menagol’s, who strode beside him. Chak noticed the man’s eyes were a startlingly pale blue rather than brown like Theap’s. He also realised, as they rode down another narrow gully, that he had assumed Theap to be the leader of this odd pair. Yet Theap had looked to Menagol for a decision on taking the scouts to their village. Chak well knew that big didn’t always mean slow witted, but he’d nearly fallen into that trap with these two.
Throughout that day Theap guided them through the mountains. There seemed to be more water this side of the Range. They rode beside two waterfalls during the afternoon which fell from high above to far below, into fast flowing white blue rivers. In a few places Chak and his men had to dismount and lead their horses across a scree slope where footing was uncertain, and over jumbled boulders which had slipped from the face of the mountain.
They’d halted briefly at midday to let the horses drink and then they’d moved on again. It was nearing dusk and the horses were beginning to stumble when Theap brought them to a building. It was scarcely recognisable as such, even from only a few paces away. It resembled many other haphazard jumbles of rock slabs and blocks but for a gleam of light which outlined a doorway. Two slender lads stood watching their arrival, wary as young deer. Theap called to them, in the guttural language he’d first used to the scouts, and the boys leaped to a path beside the rocks and vanished.
Theap grinned as the scouts dismounted.
‘There’s always supplies left in these shelters, in case any travellers are caught by weather changes. I’ll start a meal cooking.’
The scouts set about seeing to the horses and found Menagol happy to assist.
‘Why we stopping here tonight then, if your village is close by?’ Cully asked.
Menagol gave a crimson grin. ‘The boys will not reach the village until the moon is well risen, running all the way. Do you want to risk your horses’ legs, or your necks, on those trails in the dark?’
Keff gave a grunt of laughter. ‘Point taken. But do those lads not take a risk?’
‘They’ve run these trails since they first learnt to run. Winter and summer.’
No more was said until the horses were settled and tethered for the night. All of the scouts had been pondering the skill needed to run the sort of paths they’d travelled recently in daylight, let alone in the night, or when snow lay deep or ice slicked the rocks.
They couldn’t hide their surprise when they went into the shelter. It was much larger than they would have imagined, but then they saw that a large cave lay beyond the entrance. Theap was busy by a proper hearth set far back in the cave. Turning, he saw the scouts looking round with great interest. He waved a large spoon towards the fire.
‘Chimney goes a long, long way up, so the smoke can scarce be seen.’
There were bundles of firewood stacked all around the entrance, and jars and barrels lined high shelves. Cully whistled in admiration.
‘Keep snug in here in the worst blizzard, I’d guess.’
Keff and Weasel piled their gear against a wall while Menagol pulled off his jerkin and boots and sat on the floor with a sigh of content.
The two boys reached their village just as the moon began to wane. Although there was no one to witness, they both stopped by the boundary stone. Twice as high as Menagol, roughly shaped to represent a standing bear, its face was well depicted and so were the huge claws at the end of paws larger than a man’s head. The boys touched their left thumbs to their brows, lips and chest, then reached to touch one of the claws. They took a respectful pace back then continued to jog to the round stone building in the centre of the village.
A man opened the door even as the boys climbed the steps to the deep verandah beneath the overhanging eaves. He took them down a short passage then ushered them into the large central room. To a stranger, the room would be a visual shock. Outside, the dominant colours were grey and black, the buildings constructed from the rocks of the mountain. But in here colours glowed and shone.
Scenes from the Bear Tribe’s history were painted directly onto the smooth stone walls. On the black stone floor intricately worked rugs were scattered around furniture padded and upholstered in stunning hues. Oil lamps circled the room and a fire blazed in the centre, a great bronze hood sucking the smoke out into the night. The chief of the tribe was known only as The Bear since he claimed leadership, and he sat waiting for the boys. His hair and beard were white, but his eyes, a dark honey brown, showed no sign of age.
‘The strangers come?’ he
asked mildly.
The elder boy straightened, proud to bear such urgent news. ‘Four men. Menagol brings them here tomorrow.’
‘Four?’ The Bear frowned.
‘Theap told us there are many more, but these four have abandoned those others.’
The younger boy risked a word. ‘Theap said the four were scouts, and one wears a seal.’ He blushed furiously at his temerity.
The Bear nodded, reaching into a pocket. He beckoned the boys closer and gave each a polished bear claw. ‘These are your first tokens,’ he said. ‘You ran well and true, with important tidings. You are worthy.’
The boys blushed and stammered their thanks and retreated, the claws clenched tight in their fists. A second man, unnoticed by either boy, stirred in a deep chair across from The Bear.
‘I have sent to alert the Dark Ones.’
His voice was a hoarse rasp and the reason was plain when he rose and walked closer to The Bear. A wide jagged scar ran across his throat, an old scar, pale with age. Lemos, mage to the Bear Tribe, had come into his powers in the embrace of a mountain bear when he was barely older than those two boys. He survived, his voice forever ruined, but his power immense.
‘They are sending guards even now,’ he went on. ‘And the Kelshan prince, Jemin, is among them.’
The Bear stood up and stretched, casting a vast shadow over Lemos. He stared up at the corbelled ceiling, then back at the mage.
‘The villages of our Tribe stand ready, but I trust the fighting takes place on the Kelshan side of our mountains. We are too scattered to defend these lands against a massed force.’
A woman came into the room. She was tiny – The Bear could lift her with one hand, as indeed he often had, to her intense fury. She stood with her fists on her hips and glared at both men.
‘Are either of you bothering to go to bed at all this night?’ she demanded. ‘You know you’ll both nod off all day tomorrow. Daft old fools.’
Lemos grunted but couldn’t hide his smile.
Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series Page 18