by Mark McCabe
Kell raised his hand to the bandage across his cheek, flinching as his fingers gently brushed the thin gauze. The left side of his face had been badly burned by the same bolt that had wounded Thyfur. Unlike the gryphon, however, his wound was still badly in need of attention. Though he had made a perfunctory attempt to dress and clean it while Thyfur slept, he couldn’t see that it had been to much avail. His face still felt as if it was on fire, and it was taking a fair measure of his mental control just to handle the intense pain he was still experiencing. He guessed that the injury required more attention than he had been able to give it. Tarak, or even Nim, would have known how to treat such a wound, but he didn’t, least of all with the limited supplies he had available to him here in their hideaway. What he needed most, though, was time to rest, and time wasn’t a luxury he had at his disposal right now.
That Golkar would be looking for him, he was certain of. How long he would take to find him, though, he had no idea. His knowledge of his fellow Guardian’s powers could no longer be relied upon. Who knows what new sources of power may now be available to Golkar. Nor did he know whether the wizard had acquired additional skills, or spells, or if his mysterious ally had become the more immediate threat.
Tactically, Kell knew that he had only a few options available to him, and all of those seemed marred. He could either keep moving in a bid to ensure that Golkar would find it difficult to locate him, or he could stay put and try to regain his strength. The latter option seemed to have more merit. He had drained a considerable portion of his power in the recent battle and it was clear he would be in no shape to attempt anything dramatic again until he got some much-needed rest. Whether Golkar was in similar shape remained unknown.
The other option, that of keeping on the move, was, he knew, dependent on his ability to secure effective transport. Thyfur was his best option, though it would grieve him if he had to further endanger his friend. Without the gryphon’s aid, however, and with his own magical powers at such a low ebb, he wouldn’t be able to move far or with much speed, and that was a serious limitation. To be caught by Golkar or his ally in the open could prove fatal.
To stay put and rest then was the more attractive option, though its risks were also higher. That Golkar would find him eventually if he stayed put was certain. Were their positions reversed, Kell knew that he could find Golkar anywhere in Ilythia given sufficient time. His timing would need to be finely judged then. He would need to stay where he was long enough to recoup his powers, but not long enough for his adversary to discover his location.
There was a third option, mused Kell, though it wasn’t one he relished. That would be to take the battle to Golkar again, as soon as Thyfur was rested. Golkar had been wounded in the recent battle too, and though he had won the day, who knows what the cost had been to his powers. There had been no sign of his ally in the recently completed battle and there was a chance that Golkar may not currently be in a position to enlist the mysterious stranger’s aid, for whatever reason. There might, in fact, never be a better time to try and bring an end to both his colleague and his ruinous plans. The support of Thyfur again, especially if he had recovered as much as he seemed to have, and assuming he was still willing to take the risk, might just swing the day in Kell’s favour.
Kell knew that this was a choice he wouldn’t normally have considered. He wasn’t usually one for gambling all on one throw of the dice. It was that very fact that could make it the best of all his options, however. Golkar knew him well. A bold move like that wasn’t what he would expect from Kell, and the chances were he hadn’t planned for such an eventuality. Maybe, for once in his life, Kell should act out of character. It could be just what was needed to bring an end to this whole conflagration.
Kell wondered if it was the surroundings he now found himself in that had inspired such a stratagem. Was Mishra guiding his thoughts?
That was an interesting thought. Perhaps this was her way of intervening. If a choice had to be made, then why not this one? At least it would end this madness, if not for Golkar, then for him.
But not right now, thought Kell. Right now I must rest. Such a choice will wait till Thyfur awakes. Until then, I need sleep too.
~~~
Mardur groaned as she collapsed onto the scaly chest of her lover. “That was good Norag,” she gasped between breaths, “very good. How can I ever give you up?”
“Don’t.”
“If only it were that easy,” she sighed, smiling contentedly as she stretched out her legs on either side of Norag’s, luxuriating in the feel of his thick leg muscles rubbing against the smooth skin of her inner thighs.
It had to end, though, and she knew it. And she knew that Norag knew it as well. They were both simply delaying the inevitable, playing that dangerous game lovers sometimes do, ignoring the consequences while they wallowed in their lust.
They had both agreed that tonight would be their last tryst, one last night together before they took a more sensible path and brought their affair to the end they should already have given it. Mardur was determined to stick to the plan. They had already pushed their luck to the limits. Any more of this foolishness, delicious though it was, and they would both end up spitted on the end of Grartok’s spear.
Mardur didn’t kid herself that the lad was in love with her. She knew the attraction for him was purely a physical one. She had known it would be thus right from the start and she had made sure she had shown him things few if any of the inexperienced young women of the tribe could emulate. She knew she would need to do so to maintain his interest, this was a serious business for her, after all. She had needed more than a one night stand.
The level of her success had surprised even her, however. The lad had just kept coming back for more and more and it had taken some effort on her part to keep up with the pace he had set, though she had to admit to enjoying the challenge. Too much so, it seemed, for now, she was ensnared herself, hooked on the power she had come to hold over the young warrior.
And why not? thought Mardur. Norag was a young warrior of barely sixteen summers. He was a fine specimen of slig manhood. He could have any of the pretty young things around the camp; and yet he spurned them all, night after night, in favour of her. She knew that it was foolish but she couldn’t help feeling proud of the attention he paid her. She hadn’t lost her power over men yet, not by a long shot.
Mardur knew just how jealous the other women must be. First Hrothgar, Second Warrior of the Sagath, had chosen her as tent-mate. That alone was an achievement of some significance. Then she had borne him an heir, and a male heir at that. Sons were of the utmost importance to slig warriors. Many sligs, both warriors and their tent-mates, reckoned their worth by the number of their sons. That Grartok had risen to be leader of the tribe without a son and heir was testament to his unmatched skill in battle. He’d had to fight long and hard before the rest of the warriors realised it was foolish to challenge him in open combat. His childlessness still gnawed at him though, as Mardur well knew.
Hrothgar had been proud of her. She knew it even though he would never admit it to her openly. Maybe a large part of his pride was due to the advantage she had given him over his childless brother, but that didn’t matter to Mardur. She had held her head high nonetheless. With Grartok unable to find a suitable mate, there had been no other woman of higher standing in the whole of the tribe.
Then Grartok had cast his eye on her. Though her path since then had been a perilous one, now she was tent-mate to the First Warrior of the Sagath, a position that couldn’t be surpassed within the tribe. And soon the Sagath would take their position as foremost tribe in the slig nation. Where would that leave her? Tent-mate to the leader of the slig nation, that’s where.
Mardur felt the beat of her heart quicken within her breast. It was hard not to wonder at the speed of her rise. Maybe she had underestimated herself for too long. Men were easy to manipulate, after all, she thought, smiling to herself as Norag began to snore beneath her. They
were all captives to their lust. As long as you gave them what they wanted, as often as they wanted it, and with as much variety as possible, and as long as they thought that they were the ones in charge, you had them in the palm of your hand. It was as easy as that. They simply had to believe that you wanted them even more than they wanted you. It didn’t matter whether it was true or not; all that mattered was that they believed it. If only the young ones knew, thought Mardur, chuckling to herself.
Norag stirred beneath her. That’s right, little one, she thought, get your rest. Soon I will wake you and we shall do it one last time.
Mardur knew she would have to return to her own tent soon, certainly before the change of the watch. Grartok had kindly arranged for a guard on her tent, to protect her in the event that Hrothgar returned unannounced and tried something foolish. He would think twice about attacking one of the First Warrior’s guards. It wasn’t that he couldn’t best them. To kill one was to sign one’s own death warrant; only the First Warrior himself could challenge their authority. Such was the custom of the sligs.
Mardur had made a point of befriending the guards that Grartok had chosen. Glok was the one that usually took the early watch and tonight she had put enough sleeping draught into his ale to ensure he wouldn’t awaken before she returned. It wasn’t the first time she had done it, either. She would need to wake him before the guard was changed though. Glok didn’t like sentry duty, for all its authority. He thought it was soft, especially when others were off at the front, taking Algarian heads as trophies of war. That was fine by Mardur. It made him all the easier to handle. It wouldn’t do, though, for him to be replaced by a less tractable sentry. And being caught sleeping on duty in front of the First Warrior’s tent wasn’t something she would wish on her worst enemy. Then again, she thought, smiling to herself and thinking of Hrothgar, maybe it was.
She was in a good mood tonight, and it wasn’t what they had just done that was the only source of her happiness. That very afternoon she had visited Urtok, the tribe’s midwife. The old woman had given her the very news she had been so desperate to hear. She was pregnant. Her courses were well overdue and Urtok’s examination had confirmed her hopes. Whether the child was Norag’s or Grartok’s meant nothing to her. She was with child!
If that wasn’t enough, Urtok had then proceeded with a reading of the bones. Mardur had never been sure what to think about that little ritual. She had become an instant believer after today’s reading though. From the moment the seer had lifted the small cloth bag into her hands and pulled its drawstring apart, an eerie atmosphere had descended on the confines of the tent. Even the smells had changed. She hadn’t been able to put her finger on the feeling at the time, but now, with some time to have absorbed the whole experience, Mardur knew what it had felt like. It had been as if, suddenly, there had been others with them there in the tent. It had made her skin crawl, she remembered that quite clearly.
Urtok had shown no sign of any reaction to the change, however. The old crone had scattered her assortment of teeth, knuckles and shards of bone across the floor of her tent. Then she had thrown some nameless but pungent herbs onto the fire of her small brazier and begun to chant, closing her eyes and rocking back and forth on her spindly legs as she did so. Mardur had looked on nervously, uncertain as to what to expect.
Urtok had to have seen close on to a hundred summers and Mardur had wondered if she were about to finally depart this world. She remembered having the strange feeling that the old woman was going to keel over right in the middle of the ritual. It was silly really, but the thought had just popped into her head, along with a very vivid image of that actually occurring. Mardur had gasped involuntarily when, just as that thought was passing through her head, Urtok’s eyes had suddenly snapped open and she had begun to speak in a thin reedy voice that didn’t really seem to belong to her.
“I see a warrior,” she had said. Mardur felt a shudder go through her just at the memory of it. She had never liked the seer. It wasn’t right for someone to be able to see things that hadn’t happened yet. It was unnatural in her view. “And a male child,” Urtok had continued, causing Mardur to gasp yet again. “I see the child on a horse. I see you beside him. The child is yours, the one growing inside you. I see a mass of warriors spread out on the plains before him, more than I have ever seen gathered in one place. The sky behind them is aglow with flames.” With that the old woman had abruptly slumped forward, almost knocking over the brazier as she did so.
Well, that had been the end of the reading, and not soon enough, Mardur had thought. She had heard enough for her liking and she didn’t want to tempt fate by hearing any more. As soon as Urtok had recovered, Mardur had returned to her own tent, exultant at the news. What she had prayed and hoped for had finally happened. Now she would be safe.
She had been on a high ever since. Now the lie that she’d told Grartok was no longer a lie. All of her troubles were over. Well, almost all of her troubles. Mardur was far too happy to let her few remaining difficulties intrude on her good mood.
Hrothgar remained to be dealt with, of course; though, as far as she was concerned, that was Grartok’s problem now. She had little doubt he would deal with it in his normal efficient manner. She doubted if Hrothgar would ever get the chance to call for the Shüglac he longed for. Grartok was too wily for that. He would probably have his brother despatched long before he even returned to the tribe.
Then there was the matter of Hrothgar’s son. Mardur didn’t allow her mind to dwell on that little problem either. She had already begun to prepare herself for the inevitable. The child was being looked after by one of the younger women at this very moment, and had been for days. Mardur had feigned illness and her position as Grartok’s tent-mate wasn’t without its perks. She was distancing herself from the babe, knowing deep within her that there was nothing she could do to save it in her current situation. She had already begun to tell herself that the child was bound to be trouble anyway. It was Hrothgar’s spawn after all.
No, she wouldn’t allow anything to put a blot on her mood now. This was a good day and she meant to keep it that way.
“Wake up you,” she cried, sitting up and shaking Norag as she spoke. “I’m ready for more boy. What’s the matter? Can’t you keep up?”
~~~
“Where’s that son of a putok Larnük? What kind of a mess can the cur have possibly gotten himself into?”
It wasn’t the first time Hrothgar had asked the questions and, just like on all of the other occasions, he could feel his anger rising steadily as he spat out his words. “I can’t wait in this stinking wilderness forever. If we don’t get away from here soon, there’ll be nothing left of those Algarian dogs for us to feast on but ash and bones.”
Though there were more than a dozen warriors within earshot of Hrothgar when he spoke, not one of them dared to answer his question. Not that Hrothgar minded. He hadn’t expected an answer, he was just venting his frustration and they knew it as well as he did. He and what was left of his small group of warriors had pitched their camp in a small clearing beside the ford that had been their pre-arranged meeting point. Of the twenty men he had set out with, thirteen of them were here with him, waiting. Seven were missing.
Like everyone else, Larnük and the three warriors he had taken with him had been due at the camp three days earlier. Only, they hadn’t turned up when they’d been due. When they still hadn’t shown up by the next morning, Hrothgar had sent out another four warriors to find them. Now it wasn’t only Larnük and his men that were missing. Three of the second group hadn’t returned either. They had been due back at high-sun the previous day.
Hrothgar was beginning to wonder if his mission was cursed. There was simply no explanation for what had happened to any of the missing men. The only firm conclusion he had been able to reach was that to send any more of his warriors out on search parties would be foolhardy in the extreme. If the missing members of his hunt didn’t turn up soon, he would just have
to leave without them.
Rhontar, the one warrior who had returned, had seen no sign of any of their comrades. The last he had seen of the three that had gone with him to look for Larnük had been when they had split up to widen their search area. Of Larnük and his group, there had been no sign at all. Rhontar said that he had found a campfire of theirs that seemed to have been disturbed in some way, but he could find no clear indication of either what might have happened to them or where they had gone. And Rhontar was one of his best trackers!
The whole thing was a complete and utter mystery and Hrothgar could feel his frustration growing. He also knew that his mood was rapidly turning to anger. If only one of his men would give him the excuse he was looking for. He watched with contempt as they averted their look from his as he cast his eyes over the group assembled about him. Not one of them dared to meet his gaze. A few of them were taking the time to clean and sharpen their weapons; others were attending to long overdue repairs to their gear. Most of them simply stood around, leaning casually on the shafts of their spears or their long-handled axes, idly chatting with their companions. They knew their place, he thought to himself. They were capable warriors, but there wasn’t one of them that would dare to challenge their hunt leader.
Hrothgar liked to run his hunt with an iron fist. ‘Keep ‘em scared and keep ‘em on the edge’, was what his father had always said to him and his brother, and experience had taught him his father was right. It made for better warriors and it kept them in line. He’d seen how some of the other hunts operated, like a pack of dogs, each one waiting for the next one up the line to make a mistake so they could feast on his carcass. Not an ounce of loyalty in the whole of the hunt. Hrothgar had nothing but contempt for those hunt leaders.
His failure to find Larnük and his men bothered him though, and the seeming loss of three more warriors searching for them was nothing short of a disaster. It wasn’t just that Hrothgar was itching to get away to join the battle against the Algarians; it rankled to lose good men with nothing to show for their loss. He prided himself on his prowess as a leader. Good leaders didn’t waste their resources needlessly.