by Erron Adams
She had moved close behind him and slid her arms around his waist, her nipples pressed into his back through both layers of shirt. It made his body go rigid with embarrassment, then excitement, and then further embarrassment at that.
“A romantic story, isn't it.” It was a statement, not a question, and as her hand drifted below his belt he was glad to not have to reply. Her breathing on his neck was light, even, unhurried, in direct contrast to his. As her fingers coiled around their quarry and squeezed, she kissed him lightly on the nape and snorted a gentle laugh in his ear. “Well, this doesn't seem to need a cast!”
He certainly wasn't going to reply to that.
With a long sigh, her arms withdrew and she moved around to his front, taking up her bow as she did. “Come, time to go back.” Sensing his disappointment, she smiled and said, “not tonight John Bowman. Before a battle, you understand?”
Realizing the look on his face, Bowman blurted, “That's not what I mean! It's just that, well, what the hell were you doing then?”
“Perhaps I'm just trying to spark a little feeling in you, since that marks the beginning of healing for a deadened man.”
“Your concern is touching, Yalnita, but I'm not dead.” He spluttered, and, in a desperate deflection said, “What about Circling the Moon? What does that mean?”
Now the shock was her's. “Who told you that?”
“Caylen.”
Gradually, the frown faded as she put the pieces together. Then she stepped back onto the high rock and held the bow out from her. “It’s part of a spell, the most powerful magic we Rory know. But only part of it, you understand. When something is desired with the whole soul but seems out of reach, it is like the moon that hasn't yet formed to fullness or has passed the high point of its glory. By doing this, we draw her silver skin from one side of the circle to the other. Watch.”
Drawing the string back beyond her ear she pushed the bow out in front with the other hand, as though testing the extent of the weapon's draw. Then she raised it above her head, holding its curve along one edge of the moon's glare. As Bowman manoeuvred to get a better view the monstrous effort of holding the powerful bow at full draw began to tell on Yalnita. Her musculature bulged and knotted from wrist to wrist, shaking and sheening sweat where it pinched at the base of the neck.
“Do you see?” she pleaded, her body quaking.
And suddenly, yes, he could see it. As he moved a little closer to her and bobbed from side to side it came into view like focusing binoculars, blurring back and forth until the image clarified and settled.
The arc of the bow melted onto one edge of the silver backdrop, and where she’d drawn the string beyond the normal anchor point on her head, its pinched 'V' met the opposite curve of the near-full moon, almost exactly.
“Yes,” he said.
She let down the bow and her breath rushed out. “The Kasina have read many strange things into this secret and deprived it of its power. That is the way of their religion. In time, you might learn the whole spell from its source, the Rory. It will serve you well.”
***
Chapter 10
Ambush
Twice they were woken in the night by a solitary rider on the path from Burnt Pines Garrison. The first time the rider trotted past them, heading North, Rain Dog and Challa scuttled down from their camp to observe. Challa had little to report when he returned, gliding silently between the shadows of the forest.
“Too hard to tell at that range, probably Kasina, lightly armed from what we could see.”
“Too noisy for a scout. Must be a messenger.” Roop speculated.
Yalnita seemed unperturbed by the development. “It makes sense. The Tohubuho who took her would have sent word to the fort that they were on the way. Go back and tell Rain Dog to keep watch by the road, Challa. We'll all do our turn keeping guard there tonight.”
They'd only just settled under their frost-cheating blankets when the messenger came back down the path at full gallop. Such was the noise from his haste that they were at first unsure of the number of riders. All the Rory ran to the watch post by the road's edge, bows strung and arrows drawn.
Yalnita squatted by Rain Dog. “Did you get a good look this time?”
He nodded, still looking at the receding figure through clouds of moon-glinting dust. Then he turned to her, his face grim.
“Kasina. Palace Guard.”
She sat back on her haunches, her eyes searching his face. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Full dress.” Rain Dog said, his hands turned back towards his shoulders, fingers splayed and quickly moving up and down to indicate the rider's garments. The Rory were suddenly pensive. Bowman broke through their thoughts.
“What's the problem?”
Oyen turned to explain. “Palace soldiers don't usually show up this far from Kasina Nabir. Something is wrong.”
Roop was more expansive. “This is just an outpost to the Kasina, a buffer between the land that interests them and we Rory. It's where they send the dregs of their army, no one willingly seeks a posting out here. Which suits us fine. The Kasina at the garrison are poorly trained, badly equipped and led. All of which means they're too disorganized to be a serious threat. They keep to their patrol paths; we do as we like. Palace Guards are a different matter. They're tough, they're trained, disciplined, well armed. But worst of all, they're fanatical. They've been raised from childhood to believe the greatest honour is to die in battle.” He watched Bowman ingest the idea, then added, “To them, it’s a religion!”
“But he's only one man! A problem that can be solved with one well-placed shot, Roop,” said Oyen.
It was Yalnita's turn to speak and tie the thing together. “Guards from the Palace Regiments never travel alone. There's bound to be more. Especially since someone has seen fit to use an elite soldier as a lowly messenger. And he came back in a hurry. Obviously Caylen's captors aren't far away; he's met with them and gone thundering back to the Fort to break the good news.
“I don't understand why she deserves such special treatment, and maybe she's not the reason for Palace Guards being here at all. But they are, and I don't like to think how many are back in the nest he's flown to.” She took a deep breath “No sleep tonight. We have to act fast, and take the fight to the Tohubuho who've got Caylen. Rain Dog, Challa, top and tail us like before. And remember, the call is Grey Owl.”
***
Too anxious for sleep, too exhausted for work, Bowman shuffled along behind Roop, Yalnita, Lowery and Oyen. When the others suddenly froze, his bowed head thudded into Oyen's back. The big man turned and shook him.
“Stay awake, John Bowman. Your life is in this!” he said, then cocked an ear at the night.
Shortly the sound that had halted their party returned. 'Weeyah weeyah weeyah' several times, both in front and to their rear. They leapt into the woods. Seconds later, Rain Dog's running figure loomed. As he drew abreast of them Yalnita leant out from cover and hissed his name.
He joined them. “They're coming. Big group. Only two on horseback; they're in no great hurry.”
Roop scratched his arm nervously and spoke. “That's to the good. But why are they moving at night?”
Challa had slipped in behind unnoticed. “Something big's underway,” the tail scout said, startling them. He looked at Yalnita, “I had to come. We've got company coming from behind, too. From the fort. And they're regiment, all right. About a dozen of them. All on horseback; they'd have overrun me, but one of the leaders called a halt and they went into a huddle to talk on something. I couldn’t make out what they said, and I didn’t wait around. They'll be here any minute.”
Even as his speech trailed, the night began to grow noise. They heard first the light thunder of hooves, followed by the metallic clanging of weaponry, jinking of saddles, and voices, sometimes muffled, sometimes strident as they barked orders above the clamour.
The column drew level with the Rory, billowing dust around them. When its tail had just
passed, the one who rode in front raised a hand and brought the riders to a shuddering halt.
Bowman counted thirteen. Each wore heavy leather garments on their upper body, so thick and stiff it had been fashioned in segments that were joined by metal rivets. Their legs were similarly protected, above and below the knee, which had its own leather covering plate. At first, the moonlight made them appear completely armoured, but then Bowman saw the even brighter silver of the three leaders’ chain mail shoulder mantles and headgear. After a moment of foot tamping and snuffling, the horses froze. The Guards looked ahead like statues.
Soon, sounds of talk and laughter swelled on the path before them. The party of Tohubuho came out of the dark. When they sighted the relief party from the garrison the night air rang with their cheers.
As the two groups came head to head, their leaders dismounted. Caylen's foot-soldier captors milled around the other Kasina Guards, talking behind their hands and snorting. Their dark skin and bunched muscles gleamed where improvised clothing gaped. Their stench carried on the night air.
The three armoured Kasina formed a circle with the two Tohubuho who'd been mounted. A Tohubuho spoke first, his smirk and tone conveying what he meant.
“Great Masters from Kasina Nabir, we bring you a plaything who has caused us all sore worry in recent times. We know how busy you all are down there by the lovely Bay of Kasina Harbour, but - ”
“Quiet!” The tall Kasina looked over the head of the Tohubuho, whose face now flushed.
“I am Denaren, Captain of the 22nd Regiment, Palace Guards. Where is the prisoner?”
The Tohubuho angled his body to one side and barked an order over his shoulder. “Bring her!” But his eyes never left Denaren.
They brought Caylen forward. Her arms were bound behind her back. Bowman's heart jumped as he saw the changes in her body, and her face, a woman's face that now glared up at Denaren.
The Kasina leant his great frame forward to inspect her. This time his tone was lower, denoting the respect that even a strong man reserves for the dangerously mad. “Who are you?”
The hardness faded from Caylen’s face and she mocked him. “Who wants to know?”
In a bound the Tohubuho leader was alongside her. He flung his thick arm at her head, the knuckles of his hand connecting below the cheekbone. The force lifted her to tiptoe and flung her lengthways on the path.
In one movement, Bowman's working hand gripped his sword and his body launched. He was saved, and educated, by Lowery, whose shoulder grip paralyzed him in mid-leap even as the warrior's other hand clapped over Bowman’s mouth and drew him back down.
“Risk us like that again and I'll kill you.” he purred in the Outlander's ear. Bowman looked behind at the Rory, who was waiting for a sign. All Bowman could do was close his eyes in shame and nod. The hands released him.
By now Caylen had regained her feet, and her defiance. “What bravery you Tohubuho show to prisoners; it's no wonder unarmed civilians are no match for you!”
The Tohubuho started for her again, but Denaren froze him with a shout. “Enough!” The roar of it rang through the trees. “Olrin, secure the prisoner.”
Another mail-clad Kasina stepped forward and led Caylen to the rear of the column of Palace Guards. Denaren turned to the fuming Tohubuho.
“My congratulations and gratitude on this capture, Corporal. You may now return with your men to your post.”
“But, the garrison... We…. I had hoped to accompany you there!”
“That won't be necessary. I already know the way.”
A hard light came into the Tohubuho's eyes as he put his hand on his sword hilt. “Don't try to cheat me out of victory, Denaren. I want recognition for this capture, and I'll be damned if I see it go to some Palace dandy who never spends a night in the wild!” The other Tohubuho began to group around their leader, drawing aside their garments to uncover swords.
Denaren attempted humour. “If it's sleepless nights and danger you seek my friend, I suggest you chance Palace political intrigue for a while.” But his smile faded as he recognized his failure. His next words were crisp orders to the mounted contingent at his rear.
“Arms before! Redan formation!”
Instantly the line of Guards spread left and right. Five fanned to either side of the track so that they formed a long 'V' with the still dismounted figure of Denaren at its apex. Each had drawn a long sword with the hand that held the reins; in the other hand a crossbow with its bolt sprung ready had materialized.
“Now, as I was saying, Corporal, we are indebted to you, and be assured I will inform the Palace itself of your strenuous efforts to assist me. I believe your post lies in the foothills behind you.”
A few moments of glowering ensued, then Denaren half turned to his troops and opened his mouth to speak. As he did, the Tohubuho turned on their heels and made off with the tattered remains of their dignity.
“Olrin.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“We'll camp here, I want to question the prisoner before we return to Burnt Pines. Post a guard on all points and send one man to follow those vermin to ensure they don't double back and pay us a visit in the night.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Oh, and bring the Rory to me, I burn with curiosity about her!”
“Is that all that burns in you for her, Denaren?”
There was hearty laughter from both questioner and questioned, and Denaren turned to clasp a hand on the shoulder of a man in shadow. In such poor light Bowman could only make out the half of him. Tall. Solid. That was about all, except he wasn’t sporting the military apparel of the other Kasina.
“Ah, orders are orders, my friend, though she’s certainly pretty enough, and I've heard so many stories about these Rory whores. Apparently, they're quite insatiable. But I'll leave the research to you, Keemon. I will return to a more agreeable young lady in Kasina Nabir with my vow to her intact, like her own virtue, I trust!”
The ensuing laughter covered the Pack’s withdrawal. As they flitted between shadows, the sounds of Kasina mirth faded; the Rory stopped just far enough away to speak in whispers. The rest of the Kasina went to work setting up camp.
“This may be the only chance we get,” said Yalnita.
“Who’s this Keemon fellow?” Lowery wanted to know.
Roop had got a better view of the stranger than the others “Outlander, by the look and sound of him.”
“Damn him, damn them all; my sister is down there!” Oyen jerked his head in the direction of the camp. “Let's just get her and go like the wind!”
Rain Dog didn't look at them as he spoke; his eyes searched the forest for the guards Denaren had posted. “Oyen's right. Doesn’t matter what Caylen knows or doesn’t know, once they find it out, she’s dead.”
“All right. Let's put it together,” said Yalnita. “One's gone North after the Tohubuho, one guard on each point, that makes five away from camp, which leaves eight, plus Caylen. Any suggestions?”
Challa spoke. It was the first time Bowman remembered him doing so since they'd put ashore below the fort. “We can't spirit her away from eight of them, that's going to be a fight. And there's no getting past the sentries, these are Palace Guards, it's the work they were born to. But that’s obviously where we should start. We'll have to kill them all, one by one, then ambush the camp. We may be able to bargain with them after that, if we can fool them into believing they're outnumbered.”
Yalnita smiled. “That’s smart thinking! Challa, go South. Once you've finished the sentry there, give the Owl call. Rain Dog, Roop, go North, do the same, then one of you continue to the Western sentry. I'll take care of this one.” She nodded in the direction of the Kasina closest to them, settled with his back to a tree, crossbow loaded and levelled at the night. “Lowery, Oyen, come behind us with the Outlander. If he does anything stupid, break more of him.” She flickered a smile at Bowman, but he knew exactly what she meant. “The fourth Owl call will be the signal to move
in, but no one shoots unless and until I've given the word. Understood?”
They nodded, even Bowman, who thought it politic. Then she silently drew a long-bladed knife and slung her bow diagonally across her back, with the string cutting down between her breasts in front. “Silent work for the sentries,” she said, and they followed suit.
***
Oyen, Lowery and Bowman lay on their stomachs, watching Yalnita go about her task. Bowman's eyes strained to pick out her figure, sometimes crouched in bracken, sometimes upright as it moulded to the trunk of a tree and slipped around it like water flowing over a boulder, silky and silent and swift. She was a shadow changing shape as it glided between things, a spectre that came out of the Void, flickered for a moment or two, and melted back.
If the moonlight put extra demands on the arts of concealment, it was the stillness of the air that was her real enemy. In this frozen silhouette world, when something moved in the sentries' line of sight, they would notice it, but any misplaced foot would pinpoint her by sound even if she remained invisible. Her mouth was dry as she slipped the blade from between her teeth and gripped it in the sweating palm of her death hand.
Her eyes set on the man whose life she was about to end, whose name she would never know. She fluttered a quick prayer for him; this was not the Rory way to fight. This war that was so impersonal, so unwished-for by its combatants.
This man whose only crime was to have been placed between her and a relative, this man would die. As quickly as her prayer, but not before he knew that he was dying. This man, whose sleepy eyes saw the night forest, and a soft bed in Kasina Nabir, but not the death that crouched feet away, coiled for the leap.
It was over almost before Bowman noticed it begin. From his vantage point, he saw a shadow flow up behind the sentry, then the picture shook slightly as though a tremor passed through the startled earth between him and what he saw. A low, curtailed sound, like someone clamping down a vicious sneeze would make, and then fluids running quietly out. The two figures curled to earth in a balletic swoon.