Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series (29 page)

Over the years, the
Dark Realm tribes had dealt with a very few incursions from
Kelshan. Mostly small groups of hunting parties whose enthusiastic
bravado in penetrating the Barrier Ranges brought them to violent
and unmourned deaths. The Bear brought his mind back to the here
and now, and prepared to interview the four Kelshan
scouts.

Menagol went along to
his own room. He, and his father, could move amazingly lightly and
silently when they chose, and he chose to do so now, having no wish
to invite a visit from his mother in her present mood. He took down
his hunting pack from a shelf in his clothes cupboard and packed it
quickly with changes of clothes and a very light but very warm
blanket.

He went into the
passage again and along to a room further down. Sticking his head
round the door, he saw Theap lying on his bed, hands behind his
head. Theap grinned when Menagol slipped in and closed the door
without a sound.

‘Avoiding
someone?’

Menagol saw Theap’s
pack, already strapped, standing within hand’s reach.

‘She’s not pleased. And
she thinks Essa is going to be left in Karmazen.’

Theap swung his legs
over the edge of the bed and caught up his pack.

‘And she isn’t?’
Theap’s boyish face lit up.

‘No. Lemos told me on
my way in to see father. She’ll be coming with some strangers the
Dark Ones think might be helpful.’

Theap snorted. ‘We need
help? A few Kelshan guards puffing up our mountains are likely to
give us trouble?’ He pulled his pack straps over his shoulder and
trotted after Menagol.

Captain Strannik stood
for no complaints from any of the men now under his command. The
few officers who had doubts from the moment Strannik usurped
Captain Lessur, were still keeping silent. Two unit leaders had
requested speech with Strannik and had then expressed their
concerns over the willingness of their men to continue this
increasingly arduous journey. They were both flogged, Strannik
himself wielding the whip, with evident pleasure.

The murmurs of
discontent sank to the merest whispers, but still went the rounds.
The further they went from the Kelshan foothills, the bolder and
more arrogant Strannik became. There was no sign of life, animal or
human, only occasional patches of a coarse yellowish grass and a
bluish mauve lichen clinging to the base of rocks. They had not
seen another mountain cat but had heard, at dusk, the coughing roar
echoing off the cliffs surrounding them.

The fact that several
units were now handicapped by having to stretcher the two flogged
men as well as others who had suffered sprains and broken bones in
falls on scree, bothered Strannik not a jot. The horse handlers and
the mounted guards were mostly silent now. They were deeply worried
by the way flesh was melting from the horses and at every halt
poultices were applied to hot and swollen hocks.

Many older guards felt
a constant itch between their shoulder blades and found themselves
searching the rocks around them and the cliffs above for any sign
of enemy bowmen. Strannik remained utterly unaware of the
unhappiness of his men. He was filled only with visions of battle
and glory, of a victory which would be his in but a handful more
days at most.

Nine days since
entering the mountains proper. The previous day they’d had to
backtrack, to Strannik’s rage, after finding their way blocked by a
massive jumble of rocks torn away from the slopes above. But at
last the trail seemed a little smoother, a little broader, a great
deal more inviting. Strannik kicked his weary horse forward
eagerly. He realised the peaks which had dominated the sky for so
long had thinned ahead. He twisted in his saddle to urge his
mounted officers to speed on the foot guards.

Opening his mouth to
shout the order, he watched in disbelief when the leading man
toppled slowly from the saddle. Time froze. Strannik stared at the
arrow lodged in the man’s eye, penetrating deep into the brain.
Officers and men reacted far quicker than Strannik, diving to the
sides of the trail to seek what cover they could against the
rock.

Time began again, and
Strannik threw himself from his horse, glaring wildly up at the
mountainside. Brief cries came from further down the line and word
came back that four guards were hit, one of them dead. Instead of
ordering his officers to disperse amongst the foot guards and thus
maintain some sort of contact with all of his men, Strannik
dithered. This wasn’t what he’d planned. He had envisaged a place
where the land was flatter, more open, where his army could attack
the other face to face. He had presumed they would first encounter
small hamlets, like the ones on the Kelshan side, which they would
raze to the ground as a preliminary to the main battles. But this -
.

He couldn’t tell how
many men might be hidden all around. No one had seen what direction
any of the arrows had come from. Men were pushing up from the rear
of the line which had suffered no attack. After the brief silence
of shocked surprise, voices rang out, asking for orders, for
explanation. One of the officers, who privately distrusted
Strannik, hurried over to him.

‘I’ll go down the line
sir. There should be an officer near the rear.’

Strannik stared down
his nose at the man.

‘You will do no such
thing Sekran. I am in command here and I want all officers close
by.’

‘But sir,’ Sekran
stopped when Captain Strannik’s heavily gloved fist back handed
across his face.

The remaining six
officers watched Sekran straighten, blood streaming down the front
of his green uniform.

‘As you say sir.’
Sekran saluted smartly and turned away, returning to his horse. He
caught the eye of another officer who took a step back at the
blazing anger in Sekran’s damaged face.

Sekran dug a cloth out
of a saddlebag and mopped at his face. He held his horse’s rein
firmly and led it towards the foot guards who had halted on the
trail. The horse whuffled and fidgeted at the smell of fresh blood
but then walked quietly enough at Sekran’s shoulder. Men squeezed
to the sides of the trail to allow Sekran passage, then flowed back
together, watching their commander in front.

Strannik hadn’t even
noticed Sekran’s departure, his obvious intent to disregard a
direct order, and join the guards at the end of the line. Flagrant
disobedience, from an officer, didn’t even occur to Captain
Strannik.

The three warriors of
the Eagle Tribe rejoined each other beyond the shoulder of the
eastern mountain. Without a word, they jogged single file through a
maze of stone. They travelled precipitous ledges without hesitation
and eventually came to a small camp by a fast running stream. They
headed straight for a slight woman who sat on the bank, watching
them come.

‘They come through the
pass that will bring them out in Bear territory.’ One warrior
hunkered beside her. ‘Their leader is a fool.’

The woman laughed. ‘You
know that from one glance?’ she mocked.

Another warrior
crouched beside the first. ‘He is a fool,’ he insisted. ‘He could
not tell from whence our arrows came. He stood still long enough
for a child to shoot him half a dozen times.’

The woman frowned, fine
dark brows drawing towards a large hooked nose. She nodded to the
third warrior for his comment.

‘As my brothers say,
Gold Wing. And the discontent arising from their warriors is an
almost visible cloud above them.’

‘Get some food then go
out again. Do not let harm come to their horses.’ White, unfiled
teeth flashed. ‘Remember their trade value.’

The warriors returned
her grin and made for the small fire where food awaited them. Gold
Wing raised her hand. A girl of perhaps ten summers, raced to her
side, bouncing lightly from one bare foot to the other.

‘The Bear’s main
village is a long run from here.’

‘Not too long for me,’
the girl said quickly.

Gold Wing inclined her
head, accepting the girl’s own assessment of her
abilities.

‘Then run. Tell The
Bear the Kelshan are on the path we guessed. Two days perhaps, and
they will be in sight of the village’s high fields.’

The girl repeated Gold
Wing’s words, spun round, and darted across the camp. Gold Wing
bent to dabble her fingers in the rushing water beside her: within
heartbeats they were numb. She clenched and unclenched her hand
until the feeling tingled back. Gold Wing had been chief of the
Eagle Tribe for twenty years, exactly half her lifetime.

There had been
squabbles, irritations, between the neighbouring tribes which ended
in minor injuries at worst. But if what The Bear warned of was
true, thousands of warriors would be among them in days. Despite
their occasional disputes, all the Tribes who lived in the high
lands knew that they may one day need each other’s help. The land
was harsh, the seasons unpredictable – one flash flood could
destroy a village’s crop and leave them facing hardship if not
starvation through the next winter.

One year the Bears
might need assistance, another, the Stoats, or the Eagles. The
young warriors crept into villages of other Tribes to steal some
worthless item they could then boast about among their friends.
Gold Wing got to her feet smiling. She remembered Essa, The Bear’s
own daughter. The girl had not been much older than the one who’d
just set off for the Bear’s village. Essa had crept into Gold
Wing’s house in the night, sat down by the dying fire – just for a
rest before she made her way home.

Gold Wing found her
next morning, curled up fast asleep by the hearth. Essa was
mortified but somehow Gold Wing had salved her hurt pride and made
a good friend of the huge girl. Gold Wing knew Menagol and Theap
would already be in the high passes. Unknowingly, she echoed Emas.
‘Mother Dark, keep Essa away for a while longer.’

Gold Wing walked slowly
towards the fire, seeing two warriors emerge from one of the cliff
paths. They came to her, eager to report what they’d seen. Gold
Wing’s face remained impassive, but she could not hide her slight
shiver. The Eagle’s vision had shown her this young man and woman,
lying unmoving, their bodies torn and blood soaked.

One hundred Dark guards
arrived just above the tree line, in meadows used by the Bears for
wintering their herds of goats and sheep. The five squads were
brought through a gateway by two Dark Lords – one an experienced
woman, the other a student from the Karmazen Academy.

There was no immediate
danger and tutors loved to use guards for their students to
practice gateways. The guards were used to gateways, being
routinely subjected to such methods of relocation to ensure they
arrived alert and ready to fight. There were usually some good
natured groans when students arrived for their first attempt at
opening a Dark gateway. There was no risk to the guards though as
they were always supervised by an older Dark Lord.

Now the guards marched
in good order behind a Bear warrior and Sergeant Peach. For most of
the guards this was familiar ground: they were regularly sent on
training exercises to the high lands of the Tribes. Warriors took
great glee in plotting ambushes against them, stealing their
equipment and making life as difficult as they could for the Dark
guards. Reaching the boundary stones of the village – two smaller
versions of the massive bear stone on the northern edge, the
warrior left the guards to make their camp.

They had brought sturdy
tents and plentiful supplies. The First Daughter had never
permitted guards to take food from the stores of the people of the
high lands. When the camp was set up according to Sergeant Peach’s
exacting standards, he left his men and headed for the central
round house. Children peeped from walls and open doorways, but none
chased and played as they had on his many previous visits. A woman
stood at the door and he smiled.

‘Lady Emas.’

‘Sergeant Peach.’ Emas
gestured him inside. ‘I would bid you welcome as so many times
before, but this time I fear what your arrival means.’

The Sergeant nodded. ‘I
understand Lady Emas. But if all goes to plan, no harm will reach
your villages.’

Emas opened the door to
The Bear’s luxurious den and snorted. ‘I’ve yet to meet the man who
can devise a successful plan for anything Sergeant.’

‘Emas.’ The Bear
rumbled at his wife. ‘Tea for our guest.’

Emas bit back a retort.
Her husband knew better than to order her in such a way: something
was bothering him badly. She nodded and left the room. Sergeant
Peach saluted The Bear and the man at his side, Lemos.

The Bear lowered his
voice. ‘Why are they sending Essa? They promised me they would keep
her from this fight.’

Sergeant Peach sighed.
There was an awful lot to explain to this chief before he could get
back to his men. So he began.

Emas did what any wife
would and went and sat in a small cupboard. It backed onto the den
and had conveniently placed holes through which she could see and,
more importantly, hear what occurred. She waited only to make fresh
tea when the Sergeant left before entering the den.