Heart of Shadows

by Martin Ash

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘North.’

  The soldier at the roadside eyed her over his dustguard. He shook his head. ‘It’s not safe.’

  ‘I know. Fagmar. But I have to.’

  ‘You’re alone?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Come with me.’

  Meglan dismounted and, leading the roan, followed the soldier. Further along the road, close beside the intersection, was a Darch encampment. Sentries eyed her with interest as she passed between them. She stared straight ahead, ignoring coarse calls and whistles. The trooper led her to a large tent in the centre of the camp, outside of which stood two guards. ‘Wait here.’

  He entered the tent, and after a few moments reappeared and held aside the flap. ‘Please enter. I’ll take your horse.’

  With little option, Meglan did as asked. Inside the tent she was received by a Darch officer, apparently the commander of the detachment. He was a tall man, aged about thirty, with dark, receding hair and smooth burnished skin uncommon for a soldier, even on of aristocratic breeding. He received her politely, offering wine and fruit, which she declined.

  ‘Where precisely is your destination?’

  ‘Garsh, in Tulmua.’

  The commander raised an eyebrow. ‘Garsh?’

  ‘I’m following the royal party which rode there earlier today. They did, did they not?’

  He did not answer her directly. ‘What’s your purpose?’

  ‘I’m looking for someone who rides in that company.’

  He surveyed her quizzically. ‘Who?’

  ‘My brother.’

  ‘Your brother? What’s his name?’

  ‘Sildemund. Sildemund Frano, of Volm.’

  She could not tell from the man’s expression whether the name meant anything to him. He appraised her a moment longer, then said, ‘You can’t advance beyond this point.’

  ‘I have to! It’s vital I catch them!’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m detailed to police this region and rid Darch of the brigand, Fagmar. Until that’s done the road is not safe. I can’t allow you to advance.’

  ‘Do you have legal authority to prevent me?’

  The commander smiled. ‘You’re a young woman, travelling alone. I require no legal authority.’

  Meglan bristled. The commander watched her with interest. ‘Evening’s drawing in. You’d be unable to continue on before daybreak, anyway. So rest here overnight, in the safety of my camp.’

  ‘And tomorrow?’

  ‘You can return. To Dharsoul.’

  ‘No! I can’t!’

  ‘Why? Are you a fugitive?’

  She shook her head. ‘I have to find my brother and the royal company. It’s imperative. You must escort me to them.’

  The officer gave a grunt of amusement. ‘Of course. I’ll abandon my duties here, disobeying my liege, leaving innocent wayfarers to the mercy of the brigand, and escort you wherever you wish. Should we depart now, do you think, or after we’ve dined? Which would suit you best?’

  Meglan’s cheeks burned. ‘Thank you, but I must decline your offer.’

  She turned briskly to leave.

  The officer stepped across with three quick strides and put himself between her and the tent-flap. ‘You have not understood, or perhaps you are simply obstinate. I can’t let you leave here tonight. But come…’ he extended an arm to embrace her lightly. ‘There’s room enough in my tent for two. I’ll have food and more wine brought. We can while away the evening in pleasurable diversion.’

  His arm had tightened a little, shifting from her shoulder to her waist. He steered her towards the rear of the tent where a light mattress with cushions and a blanket lay.

  ‘Sir,’ said Meglan, resisting. ‘Thank you, but I would rather be alone, beneath the stars.’

  ‘Then by all means do so – later.’

  With easy strength, without force, he pushed her down onto the mattress. He unbuckled his belt, then knelt, easing her back until they lay side by side.’

  ‘Sir, I don’t want this!’

  ‘Ah, but you will. You will.’

  He was leaning over her, gently but firmly pinning her down. His lips sought hers. She turned her head away. His mouth travelled on, over her cheek, neck, shoulder…

  Meglan protested. She strained against him but he ignored her. One hand loosened her tunic, moved to her breast. He pressed himself upon her and she felt his excitement against her belly.

  ‘No! Please! I don’t want this!’ She tried to push him off but was powerless against his strength. Though not rough he overpowered her effortlessly, and her anger mounted that she should be obliged by the mere fact of brute strength to submit to him.

  He was fumbling at her belt. She ran her hand down and drew out the dagger that was still sheathed at her waist. She pushed her other hand between the two of them and he, misinterpreting the gesture, rolled back, smiling.

  ‘You see? I told you you would want it.’

  Meglan nodded and unfastened his trousers to expose his swollen manhood. The officer leaned back and cradled his head with his hands, lifting his hips for her. Meglan rose to kneeling and slipped the dagger between his thighs.

  A small frown formed on his brow at the pressure of cold steel. Meglan prodded hard.

  ‘Make no move or you’ll lose your most precious possession.’

  His face registered shock, then a fire lit his eyes. She prodded again and drew the blade across the sensitive flesh. ‘Believe me, the blade is keen. I can take the joy from your life with a single stroke. Keep your hands as they are!’

  His body was tense, uneasiness in his gaze.

  ‘I could have you killed,’ he said.

  ‘Before your men reach me you will be deprived. Can you contemplate a life without these? Or this?’ She pressed the flat of the blade against his rapidly detumescing organ.

  ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘I’ve told you. Simply, the right to continue my journey unmolested.’

  His lips curled, but he gave a single curt nod. ‘Go, then.’

  ‘I’m not so easily fooled. When I remove this blade you’ll grab me, or have me arrested.’

  The officer said nothing. She maintained the pressure of the blade. ‘Let’s talk a moment. It’s plain that you place little credit in the tale I’ve told you. But what if it’s true? What if I have a crucial message to take to Prince Enlos, via my brother, and you actively prevent me? How would that look when the truth is told? What effect would it have on your future? It’s a long shot, of course, but can you really afford to take that chance?’

  ‘There’s sense in what you say,’ the commander replied. ‘But I acted in your best interests. The way ahead is not safe.’

  ‘My best interests, as I tried to make very clear to you, do not include sharing your bed.’

  ‘I sought to enliven an otherwise cheerless evening, for us both. Nothing more.’

  ‘And I made it plain that my choice lay elsewhere.’

  ‘Then I ask that you accept my apology. You’re a beautiful young woman, and I’m a man. Now, please, take that weapon away. I’ll not hurt you.’

  Meglan hesitated, then shifted the knife from his groin. She saw his muscles slacken. Keeping the weapon before her, pointed at him, she said, ‘If you really wish to serve my best interests, and those of your liege, you’ll provide me with an armed escort, at least as far as the border.’

  ‘That I can’t do. I’m tasked with patrolling this area, and I command a limited force. I can’t spare any men.’

  ‘Do you know the exact location of the brigand?’

  ‘No. He’s too wily to stay in one place.’

  ‘Doesn’t your area of patrol include the north road?’

  ‘To some extent.’ He raised himself cautiously to take his weight on his elbows. ‘May I cover myself?’

  Meglan suppressed a wry grin. ‘Aye. It looks silly like that.’

  ‘You’re an untypical young woman
.’

  ‘Perhaps. Now, what of it? Can you take me?’

  ‘I must consider. Now, rest. You can stay here in my tent if you wish. You won’t be touched.’ He looked at her long and hard.

  She shook her head and stood. ‘Outside is my preference.’

  ‘Very well.’ He had fastened his trousers and put his sabre-belt back on. ‘I’ll have someone escort you to a suitable spot.’ He grinned and motioned with both hands towards his groin. ‘And thank you for sparing this. It is indeed precious to me.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it. You’d do well in future to teach it some manners, or you might find your next visitor less forgiving.’ She sheathed her dagger, aware that he might strike.

  He did not. A trooper entered and in the gathering dusk she was taken to a spot more or less of her own choosing, not far from the perimeter of the camp. She was brought food: a warped tin platter of steaming goat’s meat stew ladled from a pot that hung over a campfire. She ate contemplatively, discovering her hunger now, and drank a little of the watered wine that was also brought.

  The camp was settling for the night. Off-duty soldiers gathered in groups to sit and eat their meal. She saw their glances, even from a distance, but there were no more calls or whistles. With the exception of the trooper who brought her food, none approached her.

  She saw the commander emerge from his tent and stand, hand on hips, gazing across the encampment towards her. For a moment she thought he was going to come over, but instead he turned around, bent, and went back inside.

  A bright half-moon was up, strewing the landscape with a shadowed pallor as the sun vanished behind the heights. Meglan considered her position, thinking of escape. She did not believe the Darch commander would escort her along the northern road in the morning, nor that he would permit her to continue alone. In fact, she wondered what tonight might bring, for she half-expected some kind of retaliation for her actions in the tent. Though plainly not a brutal man, the commander’s pride had been wounded and his intention thwarted. And he would surely be considering what she had said about her mission, and wondering how best to deal with possible complications.

  Meglan had deliberately chosen this spot to bed down. Not far off was the makeshift corral where the soldiers’ horses were. She had spotted her own roan mare among them. Her thoughts had been on releasing the mare and making off. She saw now how difficult it would be to reach the horses undetected. Guards patrolled the perimeter, and her horse was without saddle or harness.

  She wondered briefly about stealing a saddle, hiding it out in the scrub then returning for a horse. But she was dreaming. She had no hope of success, and even with a mount it would be foolhardy to continue on alone at night.

  Meglan spread her blanket and lay down, her head resting on her pack. The sky had turned to deepest indigo, peppered with stars. Some distance off a pair of sentries stood beside massive boulders. She could barely make them out now. As the night encroached they had become vague blotches, fusing with the land. Sher heard brief male laughter from within the camp, and the cry of a desert owl. Before she knew it she was asleep.

  XXIV

  Something woke her. She was not sure what it was but a sixth sense warned her of danger. She lay still, peering into the dark, her heart thumping in her breast.

  All was silent. For long moments she watched, her eyes straining in the dark, fearful, striving to discover what it was that had alarmed her, then wondering whether it was just her imagination. She realized she could no longer see the two sentries. Had they left their station or were they simply out of sight among the rocks? She was about to sit up when a brief scuffling sound caught her ear.

  It was ahead of her, between her and the spot where the sentries had been. She peered into the gloom and saw a movement. A blotch, close to the ground. A figure crept forward, crouched low, moving stealthily towards where she lay. Then she spied another, a little off to one side, scrambling forward on elbows and knees. Meglan caught a glint of moonlight on metal, and knew they had weapons drawn.

  Swine! Son of a demon!

  She scarcely believed it, but it made sense, of course. The commander had made his choice. What better way to ensure there was no trouble for him than to have her disappear, as if she had never been here, with no one the wiser? He knew she had come this way unaccompanied, of her own volition. Nobody was aware she had come, with the possible exception of Professor Ractoban at the university, and he would have no interest.

  So now the two sentries crept towards her, intent on taking her life. For the briefest instant she wondered what bonus they had been promised for this task, then her thoughts were on self-preservation.

  Silently Meglan drew her sabre and dagger. She rolled onto her belly, away from the blanket, keeping her eye on the two furtive figures. They seemed to be coming at her obliquely, which seemed odd. There was hardly the need for such stealth. Whether or not they believed her asleep, they might have made a direct approach. She had no reason to protest, and a single dagger or sabre-strike would have taken her life before she had time to understand what was happening, or to cry out.

  She frowned. She could barely see the second man now. He had gone off to one side, as though to steal completely around her. The first was a matter of just five or six paces away, crouching. He peered ahead, but not at her.

  She lay motionless, her mind racing. She was in low scrub, possibly out of sight to her assailants, yet they knew precisely where she had bedded down. Why were they circling around her?

  The first man moved again – three swift, low paces forward. Now he was almost past her. She could hear his breathing, and saw that he gripped a knife between his teeth and that in his fists he held a length of garrotting wire.

  And then she knew.

  They were not making for her. They were not even aware that she was there!

  As if to confirm her feelings, the horses in the corral stirred restively. Meglan, glancing across that way, thought to glimpse a darting figure move up close beside the fence. The sentry at this end of the corral was not visible.

  Away again to the other side. Another movement. Yes! Two more figures, sliding forwards on their bellies – and a third!

  Meglan leapt suddenly to her feet, yelling at the top of her voice. ‘Bandits! We are attacked! Bandits! Bandits!’

  She threw herself at the nearest man. Taken by surprise, he swung around at her outburst, but he was crouching and off-balance. Meglan slashed down with her sabre. The blade sliced deep into his neck. She lunged with her dagger and he fell back with a soft sigh.

  She wheeled to face the second. He was half-standing, seemingly thrown by her calls. She saw the moonlight glint in his eyes. She leapt away, shouting again, aware that she was facing these raiders alone.

  And suddenly all was pandemonium. From all around the camp came whoops and cries. The night was filled with charging, moon-illumined forms.

  Aroused by her cries, Darch soldiers were coming from their beds. The sentries – those who had not already been cut down – raced to tackle the brigands rushing upon them.

  A tocsin sounded. Meglan ran on, making for the centre of the camp. A figure loomed suddenly before her and swung at her. She dodged the blow, then saw that this was a Darch soldier.

  ‘Not me, you fool!’ she cried. ‘The brigands!’

  She raced away into the dark, and the soldier wheeled to tackle a whooping bandit at her back.

  But the soldier’s error brought home her full peril. In the dark she was as much at risk from Darch troops, many half-asleep, as from the brigands. The situation was too confused. She swerved away, suddenly not knowing which way to go. Somebody came at her, shrieking. She darted to the side, slashing with her sabre, not knowing or caring whether he was friend or foe. Her blade sank into something, then slid free. Her assailant gave a gargled groan. She rushed on.

  The night now was a cacophony of battle. Meglan could no longer tell in which direction she was heading. Her foot struck a root and she sprawled h
eadlong. As she did so, two or three figures rushed past, just feet away.

  She rose to a crouch. Someone cried out nearby. She ran, away from the voice. As she did so she heard another sound, one she recognized and which filled her with cold, crawling horror.

  It was an inhuman sound, a frenzied growl, filled with lust, fury and a perversity of joy. Skalatin was here! He was among the soldiers, his presence signalled by screams and yells.

  Meglan ran on, panting for breath, filled with a new fear, her lungs burning. She dared not look behind her even though she knew that in the moon’s sparse light she would see little. She ducked into a clump of rocks, scrambled through. The din of battle was receding somewhat but she ran on, impelled by panic. Two men fought desperately close by. She smelled their sweat. She darted away.

  Suddenly something huge reared out of the dark in front of her. She had no time to see what it was, or to avoid it. Before she could react the thing cannoned into her with the force of a battering ram. She was sent spinning to the side and slammed sickeningly into the hard ground. The air was forced from her lungs. The world spiralled in a haze of roaring, splintering dark, and her senses left her.

  ~

  There was a sound more deafening than thunder. She gasped to draw air into her wheezing, tortured lungs. Her body had abandoned her. Everything slowly reeled, her ears rang, and she knew nothing but terror and a colossal pain ramming across her senses. After what seemed an eternity she realized that she had sight. But she was paralyzed, feeling only the pain, the thunder drowning everything. Huge, blotted forms rushed by overhead. She was choking, even as she struggled to breathe. She was drawing in a pall of dust. It clogged her throat and nose, stung her eyes and skin.

  Little by little sensation returned to her limbs. The pain still dominated everything but she was aware of the hardness of the ground against her spine, was able to move an arm, flex her fingers, draw up a leg. And she breathed, even through the choking dust.

  Her first instinct was to move away from the rushing, thundering goliaths that crowded by so close. She knew now what they were. The horses, released by the brigands from their corral, were stampeding out of the camp. It was a panicked horse that had rammed into her. Now she was in danger of being trampled to death by the others.