by Angus Watson
Still Beaver Man didn’t come, and finally Rappa Hoga had to shout, “Let’s go!”
Tansy pressed her heels into furred flanks and her beast sprang forward. Danger of an arrow in the face or no, she loved the chase.
Finnbogi the Boggy caught up finally and ran along next to Thyri Treelegs, Erik the Angry and Chogolisa Earthquake, straining against the wind and rain. It was like trying to run through a swarm of wet bumblebees flying in the other direction.
He looked over his shoulders. Thank Loakie, the cat cavalry seemed to have given up the chase, at least for now.
Paloma Pronghorn streaked past, a bow in her hand, and Finnbogi felt a rush of relief that she’d recovered. He sped up to try to follow her, but she was out of sight in a trice. He fell back to run next to Thyri Treelegs, who smiled at him in what could only be called a friendly way. Weird.
“Here they come!” yelled Freydis, looking back over Erik’s shoulder.
Thyri leapt round, sax ready.
“Keep going!” shouted Sofi behind them.
Finnbogi looked back. They were crossing a section of grassy prairie, between two clusters of pinnacled rocks. Gunnhild Kristlover and Sofi Tornado were ten paces behind Finnbogi. Two hundred paces behind them came the dagger-cat cavalry, gaining fast.
They rounded another corner and there, ahead of them, between two tumbledown pyramids of rock, was a gap with nothing but stormy sky behind it: the edge of the Badlands massif.
Standing on the rock wall either side of the gap were Sitsi Kestrel and Paloma Pronghorn, legs wide, feet planted, bows ready, wet hair whipping in the wind, wet limbs and torsos shining tautly. Finnbogi almost stopped to stare at Paloma. Instead, he kept looking at her as he ran, determined to remember the vision for ever. Had any woman ever looked that amazing before?
Sitsi nodded to Paloma and the archers sent arrows over their heads. The Badlander cat cavalry bounded for cover.
Luby Zephyr was waiting in the gap with Wulf, urging the Wootah over it.
As Finnbogi approached the edge, he could see more and more of the plain below. A long way below. How steep was their descent going to be? It looked a lot like the gap had a cliff on the other side of it.
He reached the edge and looked down. It was pretty much a cliff. Sassa, Bodil, Yoki Choppa and Keef were already out of sight. He wondered how they’d descended so fast. Gunnhild and Sofi caught up, the former panting like a dying sheep, the latter bouncing on her toes, looking happy for the first time since Finnbogi had met her.
“Luby Zephyr’s cleared a trail, you’ll be down before you know it,” said Wulf, before kicking Finnbogi’s feet out from under him and shoving him between the shoulder blades.
Finnbogi fell with a yelp. His arse hit rock, but he didn’t so much land as carry on falling, zooming down a track etched into the rain-slick slope, trying to keep some control with his hands and feet. Very shortly he was travelling faster, he was sure, than any human had travelled before, with the possible exception of Paloma Pronghorn. He zipped around curves and flew over low rises. Had he been certain that the track went all the way down, and wasn’t about to go over a cliff or whack into a boulder around the next turn, he might have enjoyed it.
Sofi Tornado stood at the edge, between the archers Sitsi Kestrel and Paloma Pronghorn. Ayanna, the baby Calnian and the rest of the Owsla were down Luby’s slide, but the last of the Wootah, Wulf and Gunnhild, were not. Gunnhild was refusing to jump.
“You’ve got to go, now,” said Sofi.
Wulf wrapped his arms around Gunnhild, lifted her, fell onto his own behind and slid down with the older woman on top of him and waving her limbs like a trapped cat.
Sofi shook her head—having people like Gunnhild and the baby Calnian along was not going to make this escape any easier—and turned to assess their pursuers.
Rappa Hoga and his dagger-tooth cavalry were creeping closer, crawling along gullies and darting between spires of rock. Every time one of them emerged from cover, Sassa and Paloma loosed an arrow. They’d hit several cats in their legs, but wounded none mortally and hit no riders, as Sofi had instructed.
The cavalry came ever closer. The dagger-tooths would be within leaping distance soon.
“I’m out of arrows!” called Paloma.
“Both of you go.”
“I’ve got loads left,” said Sitsi.
“And you’ll need them. Go.”
The two women jumped over the edge and disappeared.
Sofi Tornado stood, axe in hand. After Finnbogi’s sword the axe felt like a returned friend—a light, strong friend who was excellent at killing people. If she had to die, it would be with her own weapon in her hand.
Rappa Hoga rode his dagger-tooth out from a gully and towards her. He was huge-shouldered and dark-skinned, looking as powerful as the beast beneath him.
Sofi stood her ground as the rest of the cavalry saw that the archers had gone and followed their captain from cover.
“I beat you last time.” His voice was deeper than she remembered.
“Then it must be my turn to win.” She smiled. “Shall we?”
Rappa Hoga slipped off his dagger-tooth, obsidian-headed axe in hand.
Erik slid the last few paces with Freydis in his arms, jumped onto his feet and ran clear. Chogolisa was waiting, holding a grinning Ottar. Both of them were coated with red-yellow Badland mud, but Chogolisa’s smile shone. The sky had brightened and the rain had eased from a destructive torrent to more of a pleasant shower.
Caked in rain-streaked mud, panting and colossal, Chogolisa was a vision of beauty.
They held each other’s gaze for longer than was strictly necessary.
“Come on, Erik!” shouted Wulf. “You’re needed! So are you, Finnbogi, come on!”
Father, son and giant woman followed Wulf and the rest of them, eastwards along the base of the massif.
“Isn’t this the way back into trouble?” asked Chogolisa.
“Probably,” said Erik, “but we’ll never escape on foot. Your Luby Zephyr has another plan.”
Sitsi Kestrel and Paloma Pronghorn jumped at the same time, took more or less the same path sliding down the steep hill, but somehow Paloma disappeared down the hill at more than twice Sitsi’s speed. She wasn’t much heavier; they were both sliding on their arses, and their leggings and breechcloths were made from the same leather by the same tailor. So how, marvelled Sitsi, for the love of Innowak, was Paloma so much quicker?
The unfairness of it spoiled any joy that Sitsi might normally have taken from sliding down a mud chute.
Not only was Paloma smiling smugly when Sitsi arrived at the bottom, she was also fresh-faced and radiant, having somehow avoided the spattering mud that Sitsi could feel caking her own face. Innowak loved Paloma and he didn’t love Sitsi. It was the only possible answer.
Both women looked back up the hill. There was no sign of Sofi. They looked at each other, both realising at the same moment why Sofi had stayed behind.
“We should have—” started Sitsi.
“I’ll go back up,” Paloma made to set off but Sitsi grabbed her wrist. Paloma strained uselessly. She might have been faster in all circumstances, but Sitsi had archer’s arms.
“She would have asked if she’d wanted you to stay. Come on, the others need us more than Sofi does.”
Tansy Burna saw a few other riders head into the open without being spiked by an arrow, so she gingerly urged her mount from cover, head craned to look for the archers.
Their prey, and the archers, had gone over the edge. One captive remained; their chief, Sofi Tornado.
Rappa Hoga had dismounted and was walking towards her, great double-headed obsidian axe in one hand. He was wearing only a slight breechcloth, as usual, so she could see his muscles bulging and tussling with every step. She gripped her dagger-tooth with her thighs and it snarled.
Tansy admired the woman for making a stand and buying her people some time, but it was pointless. Rappa Hoga had taken them from
the arena to get their cats, then ordered the pursuit with less urgency than he might have done not only because he wanted to wait for Beaver Man—of whom there was still no sign—but also because there was nowhere for the escapees to escape to. The massif stretched for miles to the west and north. To the east the spires and crevices were impassable to normal humans, and to the south there was nothing but prairie pretty much for ever. The one place they could escape to was the Black Mountains, but that was two days hard walk south, then west. They could give the Calnians and Wootah a day’s head start and the cat cavalry—and whatever else Beaver Man sent—would still catch them with ease before they reached sanctuary.
“If I defeat you,” called Sofi, “you and your cats will hold back from pursuing me and mine until noon.”
“You won’t defeat me,” said Rappa Hoga, his voice deep and sure. “And you are in no position to make terms. You have to fight.”
“True. But, as you said, I’m certain to lose, so what harm could possibly come in accepting my terms?” She sounded awfully confident for a woman who was about to have her arse handed to her. Could she know something they didn’t? They were a capable lot, these Calnians and Wootah. Nobody, for example, had ever managed to remove their spider boxes before.
“Good point,” smiled Rappa Hoga. “My terms then. If I beat you and you live, you will join my warriors.”
“I accept. Do you? If I beat you, will you hold your chase until noon?”
Rappa Hoga looked at the sun. It was a long way before noon but, judging by the sky, there’d be no more rain that day. They’d be a cinch to track. The woman was brave, but she’d asked for crap terms. Not that she had a chance of winning anyway.
“There are others who will pursue you, over whom I hold no power,” said Rappa Hoga.
“We’ll take our chances against them.”
“You will have no chance against them.”
“I have no chance against you, so what have I got to lose?”
“I accept your terms.”
“Good. But before you defeat me, there’s one thing I want to know. Why destroy the Calnians? Do you mean to invade?”
Rappa Hoga looked at the Calnian Owsla’s captain for a moment, then shrugged as if he saw no harm in telling her.
“Who is left back in the Calnian empire?” he asked.
“All the Calnians, apart from the army.”
“Yes. The children, the old, administrators, scholars and those smiths, craftspeople and artists who weren’t needed by your army.”
“So you can invade with ease.”
“So there’s no need to invade. The tribes that Calnia has conquered don’t like taxes. So they will stop paying them and Calnia will starve. Or, more likely, the tribes will rise and try to take the empire for themselves. None of them are powerful enough to achieve this now, so there will be war while the Calnian empire collapses, and for years afterwards.”
“And untold misery and pain for tens of thousands of innocents.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Beaver Man believes that humans are a plague that needs culling.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“Beaver Man makes some convincing arguments.”
“He’s not an empire builder?”
“He does plan to invade when the Calnians have reduced their own numbers suitably. He will then control those numbers.”
“And this is just the Calnian empire?”
“No. He means to expand in every direction, even across the great seas.”
“I see. Tell me, Rappa Hoga, do you see the Badlanders as the force for good in this story? Or is it the Badlanders who are a plague that needs to be stopped?”
Rappa Hoga didn’t answer for an uncomfortably long time. Was he wavering? Even before the massacre of the Calnians, Tansy herself had been wondering if the Badland cause was the right cause.
“I agree with everything my leader says and does.” Rappa Hoga hefted his obsidian axe and walked towards Sofi.
“Hold.” Sofi raised a hand.
“What now?”
“We need an executor. If I win, you may be in no state to order your troops.”
Rappa Hoga nodded. “Tansy Burna?”
Thrilled, Tansy kicked her cat forwards. “Yup?”
“If Sofi Tornado wins and I am incapacitated, you are in charge. You will make no attempt to follow the Wootah and Calnian escapees until noon. Do you understand and commit?”
“As if she’d going to …” The look on Rappa Hoga’s face made her change tack. “I understand.”
“Good, let’s go then.”
Sofi Tornado stepped towards the captain of the cat cavalry, tossing her small, crappy looking stone hand axe from hand to hand.
Tansy Burna leant back on her cat. She wanted to see every single moment of Sofi’s defeat, because there weren’t going to be many.
“Ya! Ya!” shouted Keef the Berserker, waving Arse Splitter around his head and circling like a loon. The minions who’d been tending to the Plains Sprinter took one look at him, ran and didn’t look back.
Finnbogi the Boggy couldn’t help but smile.
To the north, the Badlands massif soared hundreds of feet out of the plain, darker and shiny in the sun after the rain, and beginning to steam. The road up onto the massif that they’d taken that first day was a couple of hundred paces to the east. Beyond that was the broken land where the landslide had freed the lizard kings.
Other than the fleeing minions, there were no other Badlanders in sight. Not yet, anyway.
To the south, on the open prairie, perched Beaver Man’s long, sleek, land-striding craft. Its animals were attached; thousands—more than thousands—of crowd pigeons at the pointy end and a few dozen wolves at the rear.
Nearby, the baby Calnian began to cry. Sassa Lipchewer rushed to Ayanna, but the empress waved her away, smiling thanks. She sat on the ground, opened her shirt and began to nurse.
Finnbogi looked away. He’d just seen an empress’s breast. He looked around for Bjarni, who’d appreciate the excitement, but of course Bjarni wasn’t there.
Erik was on a pace-high rock bank, staring down at the pigeons. The birds (so many of them: were there a million?) were pecking about on a vast area of grass, all attached by spider silk to the nose of the wooden vessel.
Everyone was looking at Erik. They knew from his control of Astrid the bear that he could talk to animals. But would he be able to make the pigeons fly?
Finnbogi jumped up next to his father. “How’s it going?”
“I can feel them, but I can’t connect.” He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow.
“I talked to a bird the other day,” said Finnbogi.
“With your mind?” Erik kept his eyes shut.
“No, I just spoke to it.”
“Right.”
“Of course with my mind! Why else would I tell you?”
“Well, try these then. I’m not getting anywhere.”
Finnbogi closed his eyes and willed his mind outwards, freeing and ushering his thoughts, his very being, up into the sky and then down, to spread like warm mist among the pigeons. He reduced his thoughts to everyday bird concerns. He matched the motion of his head to the rhythmic bobbing of the pigeons.
I am your friend, he told them. I am with you, we are one. We want to fly, we have to fly. All of us, beat our wings and rise, rise, rise.
“You getting anything?” asked Erik.
“I don’t think so.”
“Me neither.”
Most of the birds carried on with their pecking. Some looked up at Finnbogi and Erik on their ledge in exactly the way that pigeons might look at any two men who were standing on a ledge.
“They’re coming!” shouted Keef.
Finnbogi opened his eyes. Dozens of moose riders were galloping down the road from the Badlands massif, carrying catch poles and nets. Riding the largest moose, leading them, was Chapa Wangwa. They were still a good way away, but F
innbogi could see his grin shining out. Moose seemed much larger, Finnbogi mused, when they were charging towards you.
“Ottar, Freydis, Bodil, Sassa, Gunnhild, Yoki Choppa and Ayanna!” called Wulf the Fat, “onto the Plains Sprinter. Everyone else, to me!”
Sitsi Kestrel, Chogolisa Earthquake, Luby Zephyr and Paloma Pronghorn looked to Yoki Choppa, who nodded. Sitsi and Chogolisa followed Wulf, Keef and Thyri, jogging to meet the coming moose riders. Paloma shot ahead, overtaking the Wootah in the blink of an eye, tearing round the pinnacles and domes of rock that dotted the prairie, headed directly for the enemy.
Finnbogi forgot about the pigeons and watched her go, his mouth hanging open.
Meanwhile, the non-warrior Wootah and Calnians helped each other over the rail and onto the Plains Sprinter. The craft was a smaller version of the Plains Strider, around fifty paces nose to tail with only one open deck. The fifty wolves harnessed in two ranks at the blunt stern snarled and barked at the boarders. A couple howled, as if calling for help. In front of the prow the silk-tethered pigeons milled about and pecked the ground.
“Come on, Finn!” said Erik. “We’ve got to get these fuckers aloft! Get the pigeons going and the wolves will have to follow!”
Finnbogi shook his head, closed his eyes and refocused on the birds. I’m a bird, too, he told them. One of you. Come on, let’s all go. It’s time to fly.
There! He had it. He willed the birds upwards and he felt them rise. Higher, higher, we must go higher and then … he opened his eyes to see which direction to tell them to take.
All the birds were still on the ground, looking about as likely to take off as a field full of buffalo.
The moose cavalry thundered ever closer.
Ayanna handed Calnian to the tall Wootah woman with golden hair and a twisted mouth, climbed the rail and held out her hands to take her baby back.
“No,” said the old Wootah woman. “You will need to fight. Give the boy to Freydis, Sassa.” She thrust a wooden pole at Ayanna. “Use it to keep the moose riders at bay.”