Broken Stone 02 - Warlock's Sun Rising

by Damien Black

  Balthor frowned, scratching at his beard. Perhaps the churl had a point there. He could barely understand him – and this was a woodsman used to dealing with civilised folk.

  ‘You are offering your services as a tracker and guide then,’ said Sir Wilhelm. ‘How much?’

  ‘Five silver marks a day is all I ask,’ said the woodsman, grinning again.

  Balthor spluttered indignantly. The cheek of the man! ‘Three silver marks, and not a penny more,’ he said sternly, leaning in to emphasise his point. He was a head taller than the woodsman, and got the desired effect.

  ‘Aye, aye,’ said the churl, holding up his hands again. ‘Three silvers a day it is then. I’ll take the word o’ true knights as bond on that.’

  ‘You shall indeed,’ said Balthor, pushing past him. ‘We’ll get going right away. You’d best saddle up your horse then – what is your name?’

  ‘Ratko, sirrah,’ replied the woodsman, giving a half bow that seemed too insincere for Balthor’s liking. ‘At yer service.’

  ‘You’d bloody well better be,’ Balthor shot back, striding over to the innkeeper.

  Not even time to finish a miserable meal – knight errantry clearly wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. That settled it: when he got back to Graukolos he’d make it his next mission to oust Sir Urist. He could still see the Marshal smirking at him.

  The five of them tore up the highway, pausing at brief intervals so Ratko could double check it for hoof marks. So far things had gone according to plan. They had been in the forest for a day now. Her Ladyship and her companions had entered the forest and not deviated. Or so the churl said – there were other hoof marks too, though Ratko said those belonged to larger groups, and only one set indicated a party of three.

  This Ratko had better know what he was about – Balthor would have his head otherwise.

  It was late in the evening when they reached the first of the stockaded clearings the tracker had mentioned. Part of it was smashed in.

  ‘Woses,’ breathed Ratko, a look of fear entering his face. ‘They’ve been doin’ that more n’ more, teamin’ up and breaking down our barricades. Never seen ‘em so organised, so crafty.’

  ‘Yes, well never mind the Wadwos,’ said Balthor, taking a pull from his skin. The watered wine tasted good after another long hard ride. ‘Do your job.’

  Ratko dismounted and began to study the clearing and the trail leading to it.

  ‘They stopped ‘ere, alright,’ he said, his face buckling up as he scrutinised the ground carefully in the torchlight. ‘An’ there were others too… woodfolk, judgin’ by the footprints. We tread a lot more lightly than outsiders.’

  The woodlander continued to check around the gap and the entrance. He seemed to make up his mind about something, nodding to himself.

  ‘Well?’ Balthor asked impatiently.

  ‘Nearly done ‘ere,’ said Ratko. ‘Just need to go back and check the main road again.’

  He returned shortly. ‘Aye, they was taken from ‘ere, jus’ as I said they would be,’ he announced. ‘Their ‘oof marks dunna continue past this clearin’, an’ over ‘ere…’ he gestured beyond the breach, ‘they continue, but they’re lighter. That means they dismounted an’ led their ‘orses into the wood.’

  ‘So where will they have been taken?’

  ‘The nearest settlement’s abowt a league from ‘ere. That’s where they’ll be, most like.’

  ‘Assuming the woodlanders are still keeping them,’ put in Sir Wilhelm. ‘We’ve made up some of the time they had on us, though not all.’

  ‘Well then what are we waiting for?’ barked Sir Balthor. ‘Let’s get a move on!’

  Following Ratko, they led their horses out of the clearing and into the forest. As they did Balthor caught a sound. Not a forest sound, but something… rhythmical. He paused momentarily, training his ears on it. Were those drums he could hear? Strange…

  Shaking his head he pressed on, following Ratko deeper into the gloom-shrouded trees.

  ‘This is impossible!’ cried Adhelina, pacing up and down inside the cramped hut. ‘We’ve been here two days now – when are they going to see sense and let us go?’

  ‘These wood people are a suspicious bunch,’ said Anupe, sitting back against the wattled wall. She looked maddeningly relaxed, resting her hands on her knees. ‘I think meeting a female freesword has made them even more nervous, though I am impressed to see they teach their women to hunt. That is something at least.’

  Adhelina shot the Harijan a fierce glare. ‘Well, I’m not interested in how they treat their womenfolk just now, Anupe – I’m far more concerned with how they’re treating us!’

  ‘We have been well fed and they have not harmed us,’ replied Anupe, unruffled. ‘I am sure they will soon realise we are not a threat and let us go. They must all agree on something before they decide what to do. In the Empire they have a word for it, though I do not know it in your tongue.’

  ‘Democracy,’ sighed Adhelina. She had read about it. They had experimented with it in some parts of the Thalamian Empire, later in its history, before the Emperor had abolished it. It was still practised to some extent in the Urovian New Empire, where Anupe had served before coming to Vorstlund.

  Quite frankly, she wasn’t at all sure it was a good idea. If you let everyone have a say, how on earth did you get things done?

  ‘We could be waiting here forever until they reach a decision,’ she said, echoing her own thoughts. ‘What in the Known World has them so skittish?’

  ‘Wadwos and witches, that’s what,’ put in Hettie. At least the two days’ forced rest had done her good, the old healthy colour was back in her cheeks. Some of it drained out of her as she spoke now though. ‘I said it wasn’t a good idea, coming to the forest. If folk who’ve lived here all their lives are this scared, it can’t be without good reason.’

  ‘Yes well, we’re here now, Hettie, so there’s not much point in talking about what we should have done.’

  She was snapping now, and she hated snapping, especially at her dearest friend. But she had to admit, perhaps Hettie was right.

  ‘At least Balthor isn’t likely to find us now,’ said the heiress, trying to lighten things.

  ‘Unless he bumps into the same people as we did,’ said Anupe. ‘No – there is no point in worrying about what might happen. Best just to sit and wait.’

  The Harijan closed her eyes, relaxing more fully. Adhelina eyed her bodyguard with a mixture of envy and resentment. Hettie said nothing more and returned to peering out of a gap between the single window’s edge and the flap of deerskin covering it, trying to fathom some clue as to what their captors were up to.

  Adhelina resumed her pacing. They had not touched her things and she still had her herbs… she wished she had some Silverweed to make a tincture with, just like she used to in the old days for fun. Getting royally intoxicated on the gifts of Kaia seemed like a very good idea right now.

  Several more hours slipped by. Woodfolk acting as their gaolers brought them the evening meal, refusing to answer any questions. Adhelina was just beginning to think about sleep when the fur skin blocking the door was thrown aside. One of the village elders, Harns, stepped in. He was joint headman along with his wife, Hilda. They had both led the questioning on the first night of their stay. Adhelina had remained tight-lipped, refusing to divulge their true identities or the nature of their business. She supposed that hadn’t helped allay their suspicions, but if she told the truth there was every chance they would be escorted straight back to Dulsinor.

  She hadn’t come this far only to be thwarted by a bunch of charcoal burners and hunters.

  ‘We’ve been talkin’ ‘bout what to do wi’ you,’ began Harns. He was a shy, timorous man, clearly unused to dealing with prosperous foreigners.

  ‘I know that full well,’ replied Adhelina sternly, trying to use her status to her advantage. ‘You spent all of last night discussing us, it would have been nice to have been invited. Now a t
hird night is on us – I hope you have agreed to see sense and let us be on our way.’

  Harns looked at the earthen floor as he replied: ‘The elders ‘ave agreed to ‘ear your story again. They’re waitin’ for ye in the meeting place now.’

  Adhelina rolled her eyes. ‘Another interrogation? We have told you our story – we belong to a rich merchant family in Meerborg, and are travelling to Northalde to do trade. Yon freesword is our bodyguard, an unconventional one I’ll grant but still… You are delaying us, please let us go!’

  ‘Well, we’ll be seein’ about that,’ replied Harns, turning to leave the hut. ‘If ye’ll just follow me, beggin’ yer pardons.’

  Four armed woodfolk fell in around them as they exited. A gaggle of villagers clustered about them on the short walk to the meeting place.

  Wonderful, thought Adhelina. Another audience.

  Making their way to the meeting place they sat down on tree stumps by the fire. Hilda, Harns and the other elders joined them, along with the leader woodsman who had apprehended them. She had learned his name was Ludo.

  Impatiently she repeated her story, taking care not to deviate from the original. Harns and Hilda exchanged glances, before the headwoman spoke.

  ‘We’ve checked yer things,’ she said. ‘Lot o’ jewellery an’ fine things. Seems more like somethin’ a noblewoman would carry.’

  Adhelina felt her heart rise to her mouth as she felt Anupe’s dark eyes turn upon her. So that little deception was at an end: no more pretending her wealth was secreted away in a strongbox in Meerborg.

  ‘And not many a merchant we know would trust ‘is daughter to carry ‘is wares, even if jewellers ye be,’ put in Ludo, forestalling her next deception. ‘We dunna ken rightly what business brings ye into the forest, but clearly it ent trade.’

  Adhelina licked her lips. She was at a loss for what to say next, and the Harijan’s burning stare wasn’t helping her to concentrate.

  ‘Who goes there?’

  The call came from a sentry on the gate. All turned in its direction.

  Hilda held up her hand for silence. ‘Visitors,’ she said grimly, before lapsing into dialect and addressing the rest of the village. She spoke too quickly for Adhelina to follow, but her meaning was clear enough. The young and old began hurrying back towards their homes, while the rest of the woodfolk strung their bows and drew hunting knives.

  Their four guards closed around them. ‘Yer t’go back to yer quarters,’ said Hilda. ‘This meet’s postponed.’

  They were halfway back when a loud voice called out from the other side of the stockade.

  ‘We travel on the business of the Eorl of Dulsinor! One of your people has brought me here to make inquiries. Let us in!’

  Adhelina’s pulse quickened. Only one man in all the Eorldom had a voice that loud. Balthor Lautstimme.

  The sound of another dialect speaker came from beyond the wall. The guard nodded and motioned for the gate to open. In they strode, Sir Balthor and three other knights, one of whom looked familiar. Before them came another woodsman, a trader most likely.

  ‘Wait, bring ‘em back,’ said Hilda. ‘Looks like yon visitors might ‘ave the answer to oor riddle.’

  A minute later they were all standing in the clearing. Sir Balthor stared at her, his flame-coloured hair catching the firelight. ‘Lady Markward, I am charged by the Eorl of Dulsinor, your father, with bringing you back to your rightful home,’ he declaimed. ‘You have unlawfully fled Graukolos without his consent. This ends now.’

  ‘This man is lying,’ she tried desperately. ‘I have never seen him before in my life! Clearly he is an opportunist, seeking to spirit us away and rob us in the night. You will not release us into his charge.’

  Silence greeted her words, which hung hollow in the night air. The fire popped and crackled, wordlessly mocking her efforts.

  ‘Well,’ deadpanned Ludo. ‘I ken who I believe.’

  All eyes were on her. She felt her anxiety slip away to be replaced by despondency. Balthor was right: her escape attempt was over.

  And then they heard it, drifting through the shadowed trees. Boom-boom, boom-boom-BOOM… A simple but solid rhythm, growing stronger with every beat.

  The woodfolk flew into a flurry of panicked motion.

  ‘Woses!’ cried Ludo. ‘They’re comin’ fer us – everyone at their posts!’

  Adhelina and Balthor stood and stared in bemusement as the woodlanders left them, some dashing to take up positions on the stockade while others stood guard by the huts. The settlement was suddenly alive with wailing and shouting.

  Sir Balthor drew his sword and strode across the clearing towards Adhelina.

  ‘It seems fate puts one more obstacle in my way,’ he said pompously. ‘You’re to stay here until this business is done – you are under my protection now, and I will not let you out of my sight. Is that understood?’

  Adhelina nodded dumbly. She was normally quick-minded and resourceful, but events had happened so rapidly.

  Balthor turned to address Anupe, registering some surprise at her appearance. ‘And who might you be?’ he asked curtly.

  ‘I was guarding your mistress – until recently,’ she said, letting the last word drop venomously. Adhelina squirmed inside.

  ‘A woman bodyguard?’ scoffed Balthor. ‘That’ll be the day. Well, whoever you are, your services are no longer required.’

  ‘That may be the case, but I am still owed monies, which I intend to claim,’ replied the Harijan, a dangerous tone entering her voice. ‘But first things first…’

  Suddenly dashing over to where Hilda was yelling orders at the woodsfolk, Anupe grabbed her and hissed something in her ear. Hilda took a step back, blinked, and pointed at a nearby hut. Anupe nodded and loped off towards it.

  ‘Men, with me,’ cried Balthor. The other knights gathered about her and Hettie, drawing their swords and unslinging their shields. ‘No one moves from this spot – we protect the heiress of Dulsinor, or die trying.’

  You could say one thing for Balthor – he was brave and loyal. Arrogant and stupid, but brave and loyal nonetheless.

  Boom-boom, boom-boom-BOOM… The drums were sounding loudly now. Archers on the walls bent their bows. Was it a trick of the light or were some of them trembling? Adhelina made the sign and silently prayed they would survive the night.

  ‘They have a battering ram!’ screamed one man on the walls. ‘Shoot them down – ’ He broke off screaming as something hit him in the chest, sending him crashing into the nearest hut. He rebounded and fell to the ground in a twisted heap. The stone that had hit him thunked to the ground next to him.

  Adhelina gawped. It was the size of a large chest.

  Boom-boom, boom-boom-BOOM…

  Another volley of great stones came flying over the top, some finding targets and others crashing through thatched roofs, crushing screaming villagers inside.

  There came a great thunk – the gate shuddered backwards, spitting splinters. A few seconds passed and the same again, the stout bar holding it in place cracking. Desperate woodfolk on the walls nocked and drew… the head of one exploded as a huge log smashed into his face, sending him careening off the walkway in a shower of blood made black by night.

  Adhelina and Hettie joined hands instinctively as the gate smashed in two at the third sally, the battering ram’s iron tip puncturing through it and splitting it from head to toe. It had to be the size of a fully grown oak tree.

  Even Balthor and his knights looked scared now. One of them, the youngest, began shaking. A pungent smell pierced the air. With shock and disgust Adhelina realised he had soiled himself.

  And then they were through.

  Adhelina’s eyes widened as her dreams came flooding back to her. They were even more terrifying in the flesh: great lumpen forms standing a man and a half tall, clad in greasy black leather and clutching awful-looking weapons in two-fingered hands – giant mattocks, pick-axes, war hammers… tools to kill made with no thought for th
e skill or grace of fighting.

  Their faces were barely humanoid, devoid of all expression. Soulless black eyes peeped out from under pronounced square brows, two slits for a nose and lipless mouths that opened now, and only now, to give vent to a primal, animal scream that Adhelina hoped she would never hear again. Long thick blood-red tongues waved between broken teeth as the Wadwos caught their scent.

  She felt Hettie’s hand slip from hers as her friend fainted. Tearing her eyes away from the loathsome creatures, Adhelina knelt beside her. Pulling her head into her lap, she fumbled around in her travelling pouch, searching for some tincture of St Darrin’s Cap to revive her friend. She had a feeling they might be doing some running before too long.

  ‘Hold!’ cried Balthor as the Wadwos began laying about them, cutting an ugly red swathe through the hapless woodfolk. ‘We stay where we are until they attack us – protecting Her Ladyship is our priority.’

  He could sense his men’s fear. That was little surprise – he could sense his own too. But behind that, there was also excitement. If he survived this and lived to tell the tale, his reputation would surely be restored.

  Sir Balthor the Wadwo-Slayer. That would wipe the smile off Urist’s face for good.

  ‘Remember your bard song,’ he said to the others, trying to keep his voice even. ‘They’re hugely strong but clumsy. If we stick together in formation we can beat them.’

  ‘What about our horses?’ said Sir Wilhelm. ‘We stand a better chance if we’re mounted.’

  They had left those tethered to the wall by the gate. They were rearing and whinnying frantically now, straining at the leash and desperate to be gone.

  ‘They’re too panicked,’ Balthor barked back. ‘Nobody moves, we stand our ground I say!’

  They watched grimly as the desperate battle unfolded. There were ten beastmen, some sprouting arrows where the archers had shot them. There were about forty or fifty armed woodfolk in all, though their numbers were being whittled down fast. Of their guide there was no sign.