Western Shore ac-3

by Juliet E. McKenna

  The white-haired old man shook his head, his face oddly troubled as he reminded them all that the tallest stranger wore something wrought of the same stuff as his knives and some kind of scale or shell around his neck. However strange their customs in whatever strange land they had come from, these were all still painted men as far as he could see. Only painted men could protect the unpainted from the beasts. He restated his conviction that it was simply the custom of these strangers only to feed their less powerful rivals to the beasts.

  The scarred hunter had no answer to this. He stared into the fire, eloquent in his frustration at being unable to understand a word the tall stranger said.

  The old man with the clouded eyes spoke up with a new

  concern. Surely they were all agreed that these strangers offered more protection for the village at less cost in lives and even in lizard meat than the painted man with the skull mask and his feather-crowned women. That could only be a good thing. But there were those among them who had not yet dared to claim paint or feathers as earnest of their abilities. They would see the tall stranger's forbearance as weakness, and sooner or later would contemplate challenging the red stranger or the golden one. If these strangers were taken unawares by some attack, if their customs for such challenges were different, disaster might befall them and thus the rest of the village. None of those who wished them well would be able to warn them, not given that no one knew any common tongue with them.

  The toothless man was similarly perturbed. Word of the death of the painted man who had worn the skull was soon going to spread among all the villages that he had ruled with the blue beast's connivance. Who knew how far beyond the river the news would reach? Sooner or later, some painted one who coveted this land and its people's blood and sweat would come to challenge the red stranger with the curious leg, or the golden-headed one. How could they stop such a thing happening, however much they might want to?

  If any such challengers came, they would go to the painted cave first of all, the scarred spearman said slowly, whoever they were and wherever they came from. He fell silent and sat staring into the fire, unblinking even when a passing youth threw on a fresh bundle of twigs to strike bright sparks from the embers. Finally he got up and walked away without even a word to his father. The old woman watched him go to join a group of hunters sitting some distance from the strangers. After a short while, the men got up and one by one retreated into the darkness.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Kheda realised he was awake, but this time it was nowhere near dawn. What had woken him? There was no sound to prompt instant alarm and he breathed a little easier.

  He could hear the regular rhythm of Naldeth's exhausted sleep and the rasping that was usually a prelude to Velindre's penetrating snores. Then he heard movement: bare feet stealthy on the beaten earth. He opened his eyes and saw only blackness. Rolling onto his side, he raised himself up on one elbow. The darkness was barely relieved by the dying firelight slipping between the twisted sticks that made up the rudimentary walls of the dead mage's hut. A shadow slid across the bands of black and red, moving towards the doorway. It was Risala.

  'What is it?' whispered Kheda. The bedding beneath him rustled as he made sure his sword and hacking blade lay ready to hand.

  'I don't know,' Risala replied quietly.

  Kheda rose and went to stand beside her. 'I thought they had all gone to sleep.'

  I wouldn't have allowed myself to sleep otherwise.

  'Not everyone.' Risala hugged herself against the chill of the night. The mage's hut was well beyond whatever warmth might still linger around the hearth's embers.

  Kheda moved, partly to see more clearly, mostly to stand behind Risala and fold her in his arms. She leaned back against him. Kheda glanced upwards and noted the positions of the stars. 'It's not long till dawn.'

  K

  'Is there anything in the stars to help us?' Risala queried.

  'Not that I can see.' Kheda looked out across the open ground.

  We reached that outlying drowned island little more than a handful of days ago. The stars and heavenly jewels have barely moved. How could they possibly reflect this headlong run of startling events?

  There was definitely movement out in the shadowy expanse. The savages' huts were blots of denser darkness in the night. The dim red glow lit on figures moving from one hut to another, crouching low. Stifled noises crept across the encampment. It was impossible to see what was going on, with the Lesser Moon still too new to make up for the loss of light now that the Greater Moon was definitely past full.

  / don't need the Diamond riding with the Winged Snake in the arc of death to tell me I must find a way to evade these dragons or die. If the Spear in the arc of travel is telling me I came here to find a fight on my hands, that's hardly a surprise. I don't need the Amethyst to counsel calm and caution, nor the Opal in the same arc of the sky to promise that clear thinking will protect me and mine from the beasts.

  All the same, a faint tremor stiffened his spine as stubborn recollection suggested more pertinent conjunctions in the heavenly compass.

  The Ruby for friendship and talisman against fire rides with the Bowl that is symbol of sharing in the arc where we look for signs of wider brotherhood as well as with those born of our blood.

  But I'd already concluded that these savages and we people of the Archipelago share a common humanity before I looked up at the sky just now. I don't need the Pearl as emblem of fertility combined with the stars of the Vizail Blossom in the arc of home and family to remind me of Itrac so far away.

  Why should I cling to a fool's hope that the Pearl might truly be a talisman against dragons of air and water? It's talisman against sharks and I don't see any of those here.

  The wizards stirred behind him and Velindre began snoring. Kheda tried to concentrate on the mysterious goings-on around the ramshackle huts. Unbidden thoughts persisted, disconcerting.

  It was a shark that took Naldeth 's leg. Time was when I would have spent long hours finding some significance in that. And wondering what new ideas the Topaz might validate as it rode in the arc of self and life with the Canthira Tree, whose seeds must suffer fire to sprout anew. No, this is just weariness distracting me.

  Risala stood straighter, her body pressing back against his. 'Look, over there.'

  Dark figures were dragging something from a hut. Hurrying, they headed for the thorny barrier. As two began ripping a hole in the spiny weave, the rest shouldered their limp, unresisting burden. It looked uncomfortably like a body, hard to say whether dead or unconscious.

  'Stay here.' Kheda reluctantly let her out of his arms and quickly retrieved his scabbarded sword from beside his crude bed. As fast as he dared, he ran across the enclosure, trusting that it was as empty at night as it had been in the day. Nevertheless, by the time he had reached the void in the woven thorns, the dark shapes were through the barricade. Kheda drew his sword with a steely whisper. 'Who's there?'

  Not that they'11 understand, but their reactions might tell me something. Are they from this village or interlopers come to wreak havoc in the night?

  He took a pace forward, his ready blade shining like blood in the fading light of the embers.

  The group halted, indecisive, half-lost against the shadowy backdrop of the thickets of spiny fingers. A

  man stepped forward to stand tall in the fragile moonlight. Kheda recognised the scarred spearman. He walked towards Kheda, his expression sad yet implacably resolved. Moonlight silvered wetness on the wild man's arm and on his hand holding a knife of glossy black stone.

  Who have they killed and why? Is this justice or revenge? How can I possibly tell? Can I trust this man who's proved himself in battle at my side? Do I have any other choice?

  Kheda took a pace backwards and lowered his sword. The spearman nodded slowly and retreated into the darkness. Two other men crept forward, shooting nervous glances at Kheda as they dragged the spiky branches back together, securing the huts' defences. Kh
eda watched the dim figures disappear utterly into the impenetrable night, faint sounds of movement soon lost among the breeze-stirred rustles of thistly plants.

  Where are they going? What are they doing? How could I hope to ask them?

  Sliding his sword back into its scabbard, he walked slowly back to the dead mage's hut. As he passed the black entrances to the rickety huts, he caught the faint gleam of watchful eyes here and there. From one of the wretched dwellings he thought he heard stifled weeping.

  Unfriendly silence fell over the enclosure like a pall. There were no sounds of night birds beyond the thorns, or any discreetly foraging animals. The air was cold and the ground beneath his bare feet damp with dew. The acrid taint of the embers in the hearth was overlaid with strange scents from unfamiliar plants. Something scuttling around the stones ringing the fire caught his eye. Long black beetles with twisted feelers scurried over and around the rank remnants of the lizard meat and the broken bones.

  A faint breeze fingered his naked shoulders and Kheda felt dreadfully exposed standing all alone beneath the uncaring moons.

  Do dragons come out at night?

  Shivering, and not just from the pre-dawn chill, he broke into a half-run. Entering the dead mage's hut, he was breathing hard from more than exertion.

  'What's going on?' Risala's urgent hands gripped his arms.

  He slid his hands around her waist and drew her close. 'I don't know.' His soft words were muffled by her hair. 'It was men from the village, but I don't know what they were doing.'

  Risala turned her face up to his. Kheda thought she was going say something, but she changed her mind and kissed him instead. He kissed her back and held her so close that he could feel her hip bones pressing into him. Her breath came faster, with a shudder of urgency as her kisses became more insistent, more demanding. He felt her fingertips digging into his shoulder blades.

  Does this mean things are right between us? No, but this isn't a time for words. There are some things that need no words. We still have that understanding.

  He matched her fierce kisses. There was a desperation in her passion and he recognised the same need in himself. Still embracing Risala and guiding her backwards, he walked step by slow step towards the rough heap of grass and skins where he had been sleeping. As the exhausted wizards slept on unseen in the darkness, he laid Risala gently down. He heard her wriggle free of her cotton trousers as he unknotted his own drawstring. Kneeling, he slid her tunic up over her stomach and her ribs, kissing her smooth, warm skin. He tarried over the yielding softness of her breasts as her breath came faster beneath his fingers and mouth and her hands roamed around his head and shoulders. Neither of them let slip any sound.

  Risala shifted beneath him and Kheda rose above her

  for a moment before claiming her lips with his own. Her hands slid up beneath his tunic and her fingers dug into the broad muscles of his back as she guided him to her. Holding tight, she drove him on with insistent hands, her back arching.

  Kheda let go all the questions of these violent few days and the puzzles of this malevolent night. He abandoned himself to pure sensation, to the touch of skin on skin, the brush of lips on willing flesh. All his thoughts turned to riding the building swell of ecstasy sweeping them both along until he felt Risala break beneath him. As her body was rocked by waves of bliss transcending time or place, he let loose his own ardour and plunged on into the velvet darkness. Now it was Risala who matched her moves to, his, willing him on. He threw himself into the endless instant where all consciousness was swept away.

  Heart pounding, he came back to himself lying with Risala's arms cradling his head to her breasts. He could hear her heartbeat beneath her ribs, gradually slowing. Kissing her soft skin, he tasted salt and felt his sweat slowly mingle with hers. The cool of the night gradually asserted itself over the warmth between them but Kheda didn't want to leave her. Risala made no movement apart from gently stroking his hair.

  Velindre exhaled noisily in her sleep and began snoring more loudly than ever. Beneath Kheda, Risala shook with suppressed giggles. He stifled her laughter and his own with a long fond kiss before withdrawing from her embrace. As he adjusted his clothing, Risala slipped back into her trousers. As they lay down together again, Kheda slipped one arm beneath her head and tucked the other around her waist, her thighs resting against his. After a soft kiss in the angle between her neck and shoulder, he gave himself up to the oblivion of dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  She had gone when he awoke. He blinked and realised the daylight outside was once more striping the gloomy interior of the hut. Even in the shade, the night's chill had long since been driven out by the harsh dry heat of this unfriendly land. Outside he could hear muted voices and a strange drumming sound.

  Where's my body slave? I'll take a long bath with scented soap before I breakfast. Send word to the kitchens that I fancy honeyed sailer bread stuffed with rustlenuts coated in tarit seed, and just a little fresh goat curd to cut the sweetness.

  Kheda sat up on his crude bed, rubbing a hand over his hair and beard and feeling uncomfortably frowsty. His blood-stained trousers repelled him but he had nothing else to wear. Then he saw the lengths of wood that he had bidden the wild men gather the previous day, along with the heaps of grass and lengths of well-cured leather.

  Do the task before you.

  'You're awake.' Naldeth appeared in the doorway. The blood staining his eyes was beginning to discolour like bruises, but other than that he looked well rested.

  'Let's get to work.' Kheda nodded at the grass and the leather strips as he got to his feet and dressed.

  'I'm intrigued,' the young mage said dryly. 'Just what is it you have in mind?'

  'Where's Risala?' Kheda scanned the scatter of huts as he emerged, blinking, into the punishing sunlight. 'And Velindre?'

  'Risala's making sure we all get a share of breakfast.' Naldeth pointed towards the hearth circle where the wild women were clustered.

  Kheda saw they were raising sturdy sticks to pound down on something, making the muffled thumping sound he had noted. 'Where's Velindre?'

  'Keeping watch for dragons,' Naldeth said succinctly.

  'And as far as I can tell, the wild men have sent scouts to stand sentry by the river.'

  'I take it she's recovered from yesterday.' Kheda saw the magewoman's golden hair, bright in the sunlight beyond the crude huts. She was standing still as a statue, her face turned to the sky, her eyes closed, her hands hanging loosely at her sides. 'She's not scrying?'

  'We don't want to draw any dragon with magic, not just yet. We're not complete fools.' Naldeth's words were mild enough.

  Kheda couldn't help gazing up at the cloudless blue. 'Can she alert us to any dragon approaching? Or just those of the sky?'

  'She'll sense a dragon riding the air at the greatest distance and probably one manipulating water not far short of that.' Naldeth looked contemplatively at Velindre. 'But she'll know if the black dragon comes anywhere near.'

  'Are you ready to tackle the creature and its mage, if we go across the river?' Kheda asked the youthful wizard.

  Which is another task there's no benefit in delaying.

  Naldeth squared his shoulders defiantly. 'Velindre and I have discussed how to stifle his magic rather than killing him outright.'

  'As long as he's not killing our people, do as you see fit.' Kheda saw Risala emerge from the knot of women by the hearth. As they parted to let her pass, he saw they were pounding something in the hollow curve of an old tree trunk.

  'What do you suppose is for breakfast today?' the mage wondered.

  Risala was carrying crude bowls salvaged from old, cracked gourds. As she smiled at Kheda, reserve nevertheless shadowed her eyes.

  So there's still distance between us, despite the closeness of last night. How can I put things right? I'm not going to lie to you and tell you the omens predict our safe return to Chazen, with our lives going back to the way they were.

  He
saw the bowls were full of the fluffy white pulp they had eaten before. 'Just what is this?'

  Risala shrugged. 'They're beating it out of shoots that they cut from the bases of those spiny finger trees.'

  Kheda wished for a spoon as he ate with his dirty fingers.

  What wouldn 't I give for that bath I was dreaming of? We had better find some way of washing before we all fall ill with some filth-borne disease.

  'There are a lot more spearmen here this morning.' Risala looked discreetly around the enclosure. 'They've been coming in since first light, with their women and children.'

  Kheda had already noted the increased numbers sitting around the ashy circle of the central hearth. 'It looks as if they intend to stay.' A group of men was breaking holes in the hard dry earth with the points of their wooden spears. Youths and young women stood ready with rough lattices of twisted tree branch and arms full of freshly cut fronds. 'Do you think we can persuade them to fight?'

  'The more spears we have to call on, the better,' Naldeth said reluctantly. 'We have to get that ruby egg from the Zaise. Nexus magic is our only hope of driving away that black dragon.'

  'Or any other beast that flies over and sees so much prey for the taking.' Risala looked up apprehensively.

  Kheda felt the weight of the task before him descend on his shoulders. 'Then let's get these people ready to fight with some new tricks that will hopefully send more of the cave dwellers and tree dwellers running than will be willing to stand and fight.' He scraped up the last of the fluffy pulp and handed the rough bowl back to Risala.

  'What tricks?' Naldeth followed the warlord back into the dead mage's hut.

  'The cave dwellers aren't between us and the Zaise? Risala protested.

  'No,' Kheda agreed regretfully as he sorted through the most promising lengths of wood. 'But if they owe fealty to that mage over the river, they'll stab us in the back if we don't take them out of the balance. I told you, we've started a war here, whether these people realise that or not. The quickest way to end a war is to wage it without mercy.' He found a suitable length of worn leather and gathered up a handful of long, dry grasses.