Leiyatel's Embrace (Dica Series Book 1)

by Clive S. Johnson

  Instead of trying to explain further, Phaylan led Pettar up the steps until he could see for himself. There, he saw strips of daylight streaming in between the door’s boards. When he crouched down and put an eye to one, all Pettar could see was the side of a crate. He moved to another, and then another, but finally stopped and let out a soft sigh.

  “Ah. Now that’s better,” he whispered as he turned his head this way and that. He soon turned back to Phaylan. “Seems we’re in a corner of the quadrangle, and from the smell of it, I’d reckon we’re at the entrance to their mess, or thereabouts.”

  Phaylan squeezed past Pettar and peered through the same gap himself, sniffed the same air and nodded. “I reckon you’re right, Pettar.” Pettar told him to stay there whilst he let the others know.

  Although Drax was disappointed about the trapdoor being locked, he was otherwise greatly cheered. The first thing he asked was if they’d managed to hear any voices. Pettar told him they’d not, not as yet, but that Phaylan was still there listening. “Good,” Drax said, half to himself, but then to Pettar, “I suggest, whilst it’s light, we keep watch there in turns, at least for an hour or so. There’s nothing else we can do after all, not in full daylight and so close in to the sconce.”

  So, for a couple of hours or more they took turns at the trapdoor, but it was when Drax was there that footsteps could be heard approaching. They all quickly drew nearer the door, as best they could in the tight squeeze, as its slits briefly winked. Somebody had passed by, with a break in their stride suggesting a low step.

  Not long after, the same thing happened again, and before long there was a steady passage of feet. “Of course,” Drax quietly said. “It must be coming up to midday and mealtime.” However, other than the sound of feet and the brief glimpse of a robe or armour, there was nothing else of note, no conversation, no hailing of one to another, just a repetition of unspeaking passers-by.

  When the activity began to die down, Drax whispered, “They’re more likely to be talkative once they’ve had their fill, after all, even Galgaverrans enjoy their gossip and tittle-tattle, even the engers.” So they waited, but their hopes seemed destined to be dashed, the priests’ eventual exit just as mute as their entry. Pettar wondered if it were their unusual circumstances that had subdued them, or maybe their strange new duties.

  He was beginning to despair of hearing anything at all, never mind something useful, when a voice called out, “Draconor? You got a moment?” Footsteps came to a halt close by the trapdoor, the light through the gaps dimming. They heard more footsteps approaching and they too stopped nearby, as the same voice said, “Hello, Draconor. How goes it?”

  Draconor replied evasively and with some reluctance. “I’m well, Staymer, and you?”

  Staymer grunted. “Mustn’t grumble. Not allowed to, eh?” and then let out a very short but nervous laugh. “Your lot managed to sort out that gate yet?”

  There was a pregnant pause before Draconor admitted, “No, no we haven’t. Seems we’ve a bigger problem than rotten ropes.” He sighed. “Between you and me, I’d say we stand as much chance of getting them working as we do swimming to the moon.”

  “But you’ve got that fresh lot of rope, the stuff we found in those storerooms up the hill. Was that no good?”

  The trapdoor creaked as the two men leant against it, out of the way of others who were leaving the mess. With the passing footsteps dying away, Draconor answered, “Nothing wrong with your rope, Staymer. No, but there does seem to be something wrong with that large gearwheel, you know, the one on top of the main shaft.”

  “What? You mean that really big one under the gallery?”

  “Yes. The sentinar reckons the bugger’s seized, seized solid.”

  Staymer let out a long whistle. “If that’s so then, as you say, it’ll take ages to get them open.”

  “I’m not at all sure, Staymer, we might never get them open, though the Sentinar thinks it could be freed if we can find enough grease or fat, and get enough of it into the bearing, but I don’t know, and I don’t really think he does.”

  Staymer cursed, mildly. “And he wanted it open today … for this morning wasn’t it?”

  “Huh! No chance, and you should’ve seen him when he was told. Thought he was going to burst into flames, we did. Had to change his plans, though. No idea what he’s planning now, but I know it’s all changed.”

  There was a short lull before Staymer asked, “You alright? You look deadbeat.”

  “Been up all night. No sleep you see. That’s all. Doesn’t help being in this blasted place, what with all the cold and damp. Even when I get to bed, I don’t sleep well. Not used to being on cold, hard floors you see.”

  “I think we’re all suffering the same, Draconor. We’re all just that bit pissed off I suppose, but don’t mention I said it.” He sounded cautious. “Must do our duty of course, come what may,” but then dropped his voice and added, “Doesn’t mean we have to enjoy it, though, now does it? Good luck with the gates anyway, and see you around.”

  They could hear him walking away, but Draconor called after him, “Hey! Staymer?” The footsteps stopped a short way off, and Draconor said, “Let me know of anything you find out, when the Sentinar gets back from his parley, if you would. Forewarned is forearmed as they say.” They finally bade each other a good day and their footsteps quickly receded.

  None of Pettar’s party spoke for some time, the silence only distantly disturbed by the sound of the kitchen priests clearing up. It was Drax who eventually spoke first. “What are they, eh, five hundred is it?” Pettar affirmed so. “Then, how many would you guess we’ve heard pass by?” They all came up with wildly different estimates. “Well, either there’s another mess or they’re staggering their meals. Is it worth staying any longer do you reckon, in case there’s more to be heard? If not, then what do we do next?”

  Pettar reasoned aloud. “If we stay we’ll probably only hear more of the same. The gate’s obviously going to be the topic of the day, and I think we now know what’s going on there. No, to get anything more useful I reckon we’d need to get closer to Storbanther, and that’ll likely mean breaking through this damned trapdoor, something we could only do under the cover of dark.”

  Drax whistled very softly, then smacked his forehead more noisily with the palm of his hand. “Why didn’t I think of that before? We’ve missed something very important, something that would’ve no doubt decided us against today’s venture in the first place.” They only stared at him. “If Storbanther’s getting all friendly with this alien army, then we need to include them in our considerations. We’ve been blithely assuming them to pose no direct threat within the castle, but that’s now all changed. If he can call upon new friends, very effectual ones, then our position could well be dangerous, very dangerous indeed.” They all looked at him with dawning realisation, then with growing alarm.

  Pettar was plainly stunned. “I do believe you’re right, Drax. We’ve been assuming they were always going to be out of the way until the gates could be opened, but enough of them could still be brought in through the side doors, the way Storbanther’s lot have been coming and going.”

  Suddenly, they felt very exposed. It only took Pettar a moment to decide. “Right, we leave now, but as stealthily as we can. Come on, everyone, back to the tunnel, and for Leiyatel’s sake, no noise.”

  36 A Soldier’s Glory

  It’s an odd effect watching an extremely irate man trying to vent his spleen in a low and subdued voice, trying to impart venom and acid without advantage of a full range of tone and volume. Breadgrinder wasn’t built for such constrictions, so his face was gradually turning puce and his frame becoming fixed and rigid.

  On the other hand, Leadernac was thankful they had nothing more substantial than canvas between themselves and their men. It forced caution, and consequent restraint, for which he was eternally grateful. Had it not, then he knew he’d have been buried beneath an almighty haranguing, one he was only too a
ware was richly deserved.

  Within his own mind, he found some refuge in knowing he had at least his success to throw back. However, Breadgrinder was having none of it. He wouldn’t for a minute accept Leadernac’s foolhardy risk to be justified, not so simply, not merely by virtue of its result.

  Leadernac could, though, see a vein of curiosity and maybe even a touch of admiration peeping out from between Breadgrinder’s bluster and outrage. There was still plenty of ground to be travelled, clearly, before Breadgrinder exhausted his affronted umbrage, so Leadernac gritted his teeth and parried the attacks whilst biding his time.

  In the meantime, Breadgrinder was going to wring every ounce of advantage from the occasion. “I can’t believe thee would gamble all on such a weak pretence, that thee would take ‘is word for owt more than a lump o’ shit. What were thee thinking of, eh? Were thee still pissed from t’night before, or what?”

  Leadernac squirmed under the unfamiliar weight of the barrage, yet his adopted abstract frame of mind found some interest in Breadgrinder’s refusal to look him in the eye. There was, of course, still their notional difference in rank, but it seemed more than just that. It was almost as though Breadgrinder was only going through the motions, doing nothing more than defending accepted wisdom.

  There’d been many times in the past when similar stances had been enacted, but never as vehemently. They’d always managed to find a mutually agreeable outcome and come away with newfound respect on both sides. This time it was certainly more intense, and so Leadernac really feared it might prove the exception.

  He took advantage of a lull in Breadgrinder’s vitriol to poor some much needed oil on their troubled waters. “You’re the military man, Bread’, I know and accept that fully, but…”

  “But nowt! Thee say thee accept summat then immediately try and naysay it. Thee can’t ‘ave it both ways.”

  “I appreciate that, Bread’, and I do value your far greater knowledge and experience in military matters, but this morning wasn’t just military, far from it. It was politic, Bread’, judge of man and moment, and in that area, I’m afraid, I have the greater experience. You must accept that, man?”

  Breadgrinder only grunted, fell into a sullen silence and then commented, largely to himself, “Not only left me in a pretty dangerous predicament but also put me through an embarrassing time yer did, left me stuck wi’ a load o’ dickheads.” He returned to addressing Leadernac, but with more volume. “D’ya know what it were like ‘aving to put up with trying to make polite chitter-chatter with those lumps o’ wood? Eh, do thee? They seemed to ‘ave nowt between their ears, said nowt of interest and ‘ad no sense o’ humour.”

  Leadernac started to understand the real cause of Breadgrinder’s anger, and also began to feel some genuine guilt. “I’m sorry, Bread’, I really am, and I know it was a huge risk, but I also knew what I was dealing with. You may not be able to read Storbanther but I can, and I knew we’d be safe, knew he’d not double-cross us.”

  Breadgrinder did seem to be becoming somewhat more mollified, but wasn’t yet ready to give in fully, even when Leadernac added. “Think of the gains, Bread’, think of them, eh, the whole of this spectacular place to be a part of Nouwelm. Just think, we could be turning the whole legend on its head. What do you say to that then, eh?”

  Despite himself, Breadgrinder couldn’t but wallow in the prospect of such rewards, although it tasted sour for want of being won in battle. The thought of his name, though, forever being associated with such an historic and momentous change in Nouwelm’s fortunes sorely tempted him, and he began to edge closer to Leadernac’s side.

  “Well. I suppose I can see enormity o’ t’gain thee’ve come away wi’, but that don’t mean I’m goin’ to be lauding thee just yet.”

  Leadernac grinned. “Oh come on, Bread’. Surely you can give me some credit, eh?” Before Breadgrinder could answer, Leadernac slipped in his final shot. “After all, it’s going to be your name written against this triumph forevermore. You do know that, don’t you?”

  Breadgrinder’s face became a picture. All of a sudden it lost its fixed countenance of haughty disgust to be replaced with one of cunning guile, the kind more in keeping with a soldier. “What d’ya mean my name?” Leadernac leant back, away from the table between them, and idly flicked breadcrumbs from its top. He looked at Breadgrinder, innocently, but with a conspiratorial smile.

  The intrigue had finally removed any last trace of Breadgrinder’s fury, made it but a distant memory when Leadernac confided, “I’ve got my own purpose on this expedition, Bread’, and it’s not military, no, that doesn’t interest me in the least. I’m not only more than happy for you to take all the glory, but in fact, I’ll be insisting on it.”

  “What d’ya mean, me take all t’glory? Does that mean ya want me to do all t’parleying and everything?” Breadgrinder was beginning to look worried.

  “Nay, Bread’, don’t worry so. I won’t be leaving you to do everything on your own, no, I’ll still be fully occupied with all the negotiations. What I’ll be wanting you to do is handle the running of it. You know, look after all the practical things, be captain to your men without day to day deference to me. Do you see what I’m after?”

  Breadgrinder’s face relaxed, noticeably, and even managed a smile of sorts, but Leadernac could still see worries clouding his face. “I’ll arrange things directly with Storbanther, then pass on my needs to you, so you can carry them through. Of course, it’ll involve you returning to Nouwelm to arrange things at that end.”

  Leadernac stood, wandered to the tent’s entrance and looked out at the Gray Mountains. He could feel Bread’s intense stare at his back, but made him wait just a few more moments. “You see, that’s when your name’s going to become forevermore associated with this most historic event.”

  Leadernac turned to him. “You’ll be the first to return, the one to bring the momentous and joyous tidings, and coming from your very own lips, Bread’, from you as the mighty victor.” He then fell silent to let his words sink in to Breadgrinder’s prosaic, military mind, and when they did, Leadernac could see inner pride almost explode there. He knew then that he’d won the day.

  37 Retreat to Encounter

  As they came out through the shattered grate they felt very exposed. They were wary of moving further into the open, in view of the wall, but Drax gave them some reassurance. He’d insisted it was unlikely Storbanther had even thought to post sentries, and so it turned out.

  They’d managed to tumble their way, dishevelled but unseen, back to the riverbank, and once more up the path to the gateway at the road. The tension, had begun to make itself felt, Drax already looking drawn.

  Cresmol peered low down around the gatepost and reported the road and bridge to be clear. Pettar had also been checking the buildings around and found them to be same. It was whilst he described how they were to continue that it became apparent Drax was in some way reluctant.

  Pettar crept over and quietly asked, “You alright, Drax?” Drax looked at him with startled eyes, like a fox-cornered rabbit. “Are you going to be alright, Drax, you know, crossing the bridge?” Again he wouldn’t speak but only looked down at his knees, drawn up before him.

  Pettar was getting worried and so dropped his voice even lower. “Drax? I know you’re not used to … well … it has to be said, with fear, Drax.” There was still no response. “A simple thing, but something Galgaverrans have never encountered. But, Drax, it is only fear. It might be freezing your legs now but it needn’t.”

  Drax was plainly terrified, but also embarrassed, so Pettar tried calming him. “It’s effects aren’t rational, my friend, so don’t try to understand them, just keep your mind on me and what I do, eh, just keep close and go exactly where I do and you’ll be fine, I assure you. Trust me.”

  Drax turned sheepishly to face Pettar, a very thin voice seeping out. “I’ve never felt like this before, Pettar, never. I don’t know what to do!”

  “All you
have to do is put your trust in me. Can you do that?”

  Drax stammered at first, but then seemed to gather some of his wits. “I’ll try, Pettar, I’ll try.”

  Pettar smiled, reassuringly. “Remember, just go where I go when I do, and think of nothing else. Alright?” Drax nodded, swallowed hard and looked a little more confident.

  They checked the way was still clear and then Pettar tapped Drax on the leg. “Follow me. Drax then Cresmol and then you, Phaylan, bring up the rear. Alright, let’s go!”

  He slipped through the gateway, close in to the wall beside the road and towards the bridge, a quick check behind that Drax was following on. He was relieved to find him almost on his back. Keeping low along the wall, they ran to the first of the bridge’s tower recesses and slipped in.

  It was a tight squeeze but they weren’t there long. Another check and they were out once more, close along the parapet to the next. ‘Only another one,’ Pettar thought before repeating it all over again, to the relative safety of the next recess. So far, he was relieved to find Drax had stayed close behind, very close indeed.

  At the next check, Phaylan warned that two figures had appeared on the far side of the road, just below the sconce. Pettar glanced back and saw two enger priests step out into the road, but then cross and walk out of sight. He checked Drax again but was appalled to find him shaking, his eyes fixed on the ground. He tapped him on the knee, making him jump.

  Cresmol peeped around the recess for another check and reported that the enger priests were now walking towards the gateway, the one they’d only just left, but that they seemed deep in conversation. Pettar carefully judged the moment and quickly ordered them on, making sure Drax kept with them.