Jadde - The Fragile Sanctuary (20 page)

     He was aware of TrathWolf standing
over him dagger in hand. Malkrin recovered enough to assess his situation. A
voice muttered, 'thanks,' and the Wolf warrior disappeared into the gloom.

     He was a distance from the main fight.
The demon had been between them and their comrades. Another quarter-man rushed
from the moss laden trees. Malkrin stood unsteadily, gathered his returning
strength and swept Palerin. He forced the creature back in the direction of the
battle noise and his comrades. Malkrin kept his temper under firm control
lashing Palerin before him in a calculated fashion. First he severed a bone
finger, then the opposite hand. The creature danced and the point of one ankle-blade
ripped into Malkrin’s thigh. But he could still stand. In a flash he saw an
opening, thrust Palerin up into the demons throat, through its mouth and into
its brain. It collapsed in a gush of dark blood and lay on the ground
quivering.

     Malkrin extracted Palerin with a
whisper of thanks to Jadde. Then he crouched defensively, looking around and
waited for a rush of demons. Men shouted a rallying call and he staggered
toward the voices, counting the bodies of eleven quarter-men laying in various postures
of death as he did so.

The fight was over. He wiped sweat from his
forehead aware for the first time of his blood splattered clothing and throbbing
leg. Figures merged in the night in response to the rally-cry. He added his own
voice to the others. Warriors ran back to form a unified circle holding weapons
outward expecting another onslaught. Soon the last living man joined them. It
was a Wolf warrior staggering, carrying the heavy burden of a fallen comrade in
his arms. The body’s limbs hung free. Jadde had claimed the warrior for herself.

     The lifeless warrior was BerantWolf.

     The man gently laid his chief to the
ground.  A vicious slash had opened BerantWolf along his chest from neck to
stomach.

Malkrin counted the terrible cost of the
clash. Two other Wolf warriors had died and one of the Cembrie. Eighth and one
other Wolf warrior were wounded. The warrior had received a stab deep into the shoulder.
Halle was already strapping his arm in a woven ivy sling. Talgour tended Eighth
who was in a worse condition with a severed calf muscle and in great pain.
Malkrin bound his own wound.

No more demons attacked. The warriors had
somehow managed to wipe out the band of demons and survived. Malkrin drew
encouragement from the result although they had paid a heavy price. TrathWolf and
the remaining Wolf warriors scouted around to check for more quarter-men. They soon
returned with an all clear. The main host had slowed to a crawl for some
unknown reason and it gave the men a breathing space. Malkrin and Talgour sewed
Eighth's wound together. The wound was deep and blood flowed freely, but
finally Malkrin closed the wound using more cat gut. Frantically Talgour tore
strips off a jerkin from his backpack and they sealed the makeshift surgery
with the jerkin bandage. On Malkrin's instruction a Sylve and the surviving
Celembrie warrior wove masses of thick ivy around two stout willow saplings to
carry Eighth on. Malkrin lay with leg outstretched and mouth set in a rictus of
pain as Halle repeated the rough stitching on his leg.

‘You were lucky Sire, the wound is not deep.
The stitching will enable you to run without the wound reopening.’

     After a short debate it was decided
they couldn't carry the bodies of their fallen comrades. To observe the Wolf Clans
burial tradition they quickly excavated a crude grave with sharpened saplings.
They placed the bodies respectfully side by side. Then as they filled the
burial the distant crash of vegetation and hum of a multitude of demons resumed
once again.

Quickly the survivors took up the return journey,
laden with sorrow. Malkrin allowed himself to feel some satisfaction for hard
won lessons learnt from their combat and reconnaissance.

He took up the rear once more, keeping his
highsense fully alert for demons. Two Wolf warriors carried Eighth in the
improvised hammock. His leg was stiff but he found if he kept it from bending
fully he could keep up with his companions. In front of him TrathWolf paused
and then ran alongside Malkrin.

     'Before we go far, we must resolve an
urgent matter,' TrathWolf announced.

     Malkrin prepared for the worst, was TrathWolf
about to challenge him over the death of his brother?

This was not the time. He flexed his
muscles and prepared for combat. But he would not make the first move, they
needed to stay unified.

     'We must decide who shall lead our band
now my great chief has gone to Jadde-Wolf.'

     Malkrin relaxed, a confrontation could
be easily avoided. 'I believe that you TrathWolf should lead us back to Brightwater.
When we are there the elders of each tribe can debate and announce a unified council
to meet the demon threat.'

     Halle looked surprised but added his
backing. The Wolf warriors had already acknowledged TrathWolf after the demise
of their Chief. Eighth was too seriously wounded to offer his opinion. Talgour
looked from Malkrin to TrathWolf and then back to Malkrin with increased
respect. He realised Malkrin had backed down for the sake of unity. Dror and the
surviving Cembrie warrior called Mondroth agreed with the decision, too overwhelmed
by the battle to think of assuming responsibility.

     'The correct decision,' TrathWolf
acknowledged; his face a stony mask. Malkrin also hid his relief but wondered
how TrathWolf would handle leadership in the next few days.

     'We must return via the Celembrie to
warn of our experience, and then make haste to Brightwater,’ was TrathWolf’s
first decision, and Malkrin silently agreed.

     With TrathWolf and Mondroth leading
they set a steady pace. The sound of destruction behind them quickly faded,
giving a semblance of normality to the surrounding hills and valleys. They all
took turns carrying the heavy hammock and the wounded Wolf warrior was
supported when necessary.

 The return journey seemed to stretch into
an eternity of exhaustion. Malkrin noticed all the warriors peering out from
tired eyes expecting a snarling demon to launch out of the undergrowth at any
moment. Their sweat streaked faces; staring eyes and spittle lined mouths
reminded Malkrin of cornered prey after a long chase.

He supported Talgour who was again
stumbling with exhaustion by the time a group of Celembrie warriors met them.
They took Eighth in his hammock and led the band toward their village. The sun had
long set when they slowed amongst the first torch lit buildings.

     Chief Thicheal emerged from the door
of his residence and greeted the returning warriors solemnly. Malkrin stayed
with his companions as TrathWolf conversed with the Celembrie chief. He
highsensed
TrathWolf running through an account
of the reconnaissance.
Malkrin was the only one to hear the chief’s whispered
reply.

     'I believe we have a further tragedy
to recount. It relates to the corpse of an unknown stranger that we recovered earlier.
It lay on the water-carriers path leading to the Pillen river.'

     He led TrathWolf away and five minutes
later they returned and indicated Malkrin should follow.

     The three entered a hut with an open porch
and no door. Inside wooden racks were built along the walls and a strangely
clad effigy had been carved and set into a dais in the centre of the hut.
Malkrin spotted a body on one of the racks and realised this was a mortuary
hut.

TrathWolf
gestured him over
curtly, and pointed.

     On the rack lay the body of a man in
rich yet strange clothing. His face wore a transparent mask with metal
protrusions round his mouth. But his throat was disfigured with a killing gash.
On the corpses blood soaked chest were pinned three gold highsense suns.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T
he sparking fireball flew through the night
toward the frontier guard’s barracks hut. A turquoise flash and a shower of
sparks lit up the dark sky as the ball of fire burst asunder the largest timber
door. Blue lightning fizzed along the wood panelled walls beneath the brick
chimney and the thatch started flickering with hungry flames. Seconds later
shouts and the crashing of chairs and crockery came from the building. Men spewed
from the smouldering door space, and a guard ran to the stream with an empty
bucket. Another ran to the palisade for help.

Olaff flexed his fingers and smiled as more
guards rushed from their posts on the crude fortification. Seconds later they
were helping their comrades extinguish the conflagration.

     'Fools, I told you not to leave
clothes to dry near the fireplace,' screamed a Brenna frontier officer.

     More guards attended the inferno as
Olaff slipped from the stand of trees opposite the track. He climbed the palisades
most shadowed ladder. As he reached the top he crouched and looked around. He
smiled to himself; no one had seen him. He had taken care to wear black
clothing and had smeared his face and hands with thick soot. Two guards had
been left on the walkway; one was far off along the planking, another was
nearer but his attention was fixed on the excitement below.

Olaff swung himself over the sharpened
stakes of the palisade that enclosed Cyprusnia from the outside world. It was
twelve feet to the rocky ground beneath. Fearlessly he let go the top of the
stakes and dropped – to land lightly on his feet. He paused to look around and
listen. No one was alerted. Olaff crept silently into the night.

Five minutes later he put on thick leather boots
and his priest’s habit. His sharp night vision revealed the route and he ran along
the track to allow body heat to warm him. As he ran he prayed intensely, I’ve
begun the task well, thanks to you Jadde. Give me fast feet Goddess, and watch
over me please.

     After good progress he stopped at dawn
for something to eat and a nap. Refreshed he carried on running until midday and
reached a fork in the track. One was narrow and used only by animals, but the
other was wide and pounded smooth by heavy usage. This surprised him as he'd
always been taught there were but a few starving Wolf bandits beyond Cyprusnia.
Apparently these wild men hunted randomly, scraping an existence killing lizards
and eating roots. The lesser path headed toward a rocky outcrop, perhaps used
as a vantage point to observe the foothills leading further into the deadlands.
He ignored it and followed the well used path at a fast run.

During early evening he stopped to examine
the remains of a wild cat, the bones were beginning to whiten. He looked
closely at the burnt stick embedded in the skull and smiled. Malkrin could have
done that. He doubted any other hunter would have been victorious without
proper weapons. He looked uphill and spotted a cave and decided to spend the
night there.

     The cave had been recently used. Olaff
looked around in the failing light spotting the activities of three people.
Malkrin, Halle and Seara he hoped, and settled down to relight the camp fire to
heat the meat and carrots he had brought with him. He finished the meal with fruit
that had been dried and prepared by Josiath Nighthawk for his journey. He slept
soundly, only wakened by his hunters’ instinct to rebuild the fire to ward off
wild animals. At dawn he ate an oatcake and gathered his possessions into his
large and over-full backpack. Then with his bow slung ready, and quiver over
his back he set off again at a run.

     And so his routine repeated over the
next six days. On the seventh day when the mountains of Cyprusnia had
diminished to mere misty peaks he came across a line of seven strange hunters
all wearing wolf furs and headdresses. They were trudging the same route as him.
But approaching him from the deadlands over the rise of a boulder clad hill he
was about to climb.

Olaff stopped to regain his breath,
adjusted his habit and wiped the sweat from his face with a rag. He wanted to
look presentable, but prepared, should there be trouble. Apprehension gnawed at
the back of his mind lest the hunters were unfriendly warriors. He flexed his
arms and fingers preparing the highsense and letting it build should he have to
release fireballs in defence.

The Wolf hunters halted thirty paces from
him and an unusual figure detached from the group. Meanwhile from a dense copse
to his right another line of twelve Wolf warriors emerged and held spears and
stone headed hand-axes threateningly. As they drew nearer Olaff could see the wolf
skulls were still attached to pelts forming seamless cloaks over most of their
bodies and heads. Long hair flowed from beneath the headdresses adding to the
look of two legged wolves. It was a frightening sight and Olaff searched the
line of faces along the wood edge looking for a friendly face. And found none.  He
looked nervously to the approaching tall warrior on the track then back to the Wolf
warriors from the trees. Again he examined them all minutely for aggression. The
single warrior gave a flat palm sign Olaff intuitively knew meant, no need to
fear. He allowed his tingling hands to relax.

     The Wolf warrior drew nearer and Olaff
noticed he was dressed differently to the others. Instead of the usual wolf
headdress his hair flowed free and he wore his wolf-pelt cloak loosely tied
with blue cord. His hair was strung with small bones and around his waist
another line of larger bones clattered. The strange sight was finished off with
red-brown breeches tucked into dusty leather boots. Olaff stood his ground. He
lowered his cowl and clasped his hands at his waist as all priests did whilst
walking the corridors of the keep.

     The rattling-bone warrior stopped ten
feet away and repeated his palms outward sign in what he saw as a gesture of
peace. Olaff mirrored him and the warrior uttered a greeting in a strange but
recognisable dialect.

     'Greetings Cloaked One. We had feared
you to be a demon at first. But I am confused; you have the manner of a warrior
although dressed in a holy man’s habit.’

     ‘Jadde’s peace be with you Sire. I am merely
a novice priest but am honoured you consider me a warrior. I go by the name of
Olaff Deerhide.’

     '
I am
BalthWolf Bone-thrower leader of this part of the Wolf Clan.’
The
warrior gestured to his men, who had now halted in a semi-circle around Olaff.
‘We will rest awhile; I suspect there is much news to exchange with this priest.’
He turned back to Olaff. ‘For I guess you are of the secluded ones of Cyprusnia.'

Olaff put his hands together and bowed
slightly in the manner of the priesthood when greeting a stranger. ‘I see you
travel well prepared for trouble. I would speak to you about any information
concerning three friends that I seek.'

     The men of the Wolf Clan busied
themselves either side of the track, gathering wood to light fires and prepare
food. Three men returned with arrow-shot squirrels and ducks. Soon the aroma of
cooked meat accompanied the Wolf warrior’s news.

     Olaff sat with
BalthWolf Bone-thrower and listened to a huge tale of a sacred but
interrupted journey, and a creeping tide of evil. Then BalthWolf told of
Malkrin.

Olaff realised the
discredited hunter was at least two weeks journey away, even if he ran fleet-footed
through all the daylight hours.

     'My people have need
for Malkrin to return immediately. He must know by now more of the evil demons.
My elders need this vital news to inform our Seconchane rulers.’

‘I find it entirely
believable your closeted people know nothing beyond their borders.’

     ‘But those who sent
me to find Malkrin were uneasy about something. Although they could not name
the threat, they knew an evil approached Cyprusnia.’

     They exchanged more information.
Later Olaff realised these Wolf warriors would not leave their reconnaissance
to fetch Malkrin. He would just have to continue his journey and persuade him
personally. Slowly he ate a meal of duck stuffed with wild turnip and carrots
and mulled over the magnitude of the new information. He realised just how
little the Brenna cared for events beyond their borders. It was lucky the priests
of the Seconchane had some concern. He hoped that once he’d brought Malkrin
back, his priest friends could persuade the Brenna to allow Malkrin back into
Cyprusnia.

Later he took leave of BalthWolf
Bone-thrower and continued his run refreshed and now armed with a clear destination.
Bone-thrower had described the lands of the people of Brightwater and the
shortest route for Olaff to reach them.

Three days later and
wrung-out with exertion he arrived at the Lighthouse Bridge. He staggered up to
the guards and between huge sucks of breath explained his mission. Later after
official greetings and a short meeting with the Senate to state his mission he
rested. Then a Senate official
in multilayered yellow cloaks led him to his guest
accommodation. The man smiled knowingly and
surprised
him.

     ‘We have arranged for
a familiar face to instruct you further.’

     Olaff hardly dared
believe Malkrin had returned already. He was led into a low turf roofed
building when a soft melodious voice behind him said.

'Olaff, I did not expect a
novice priest to search for us. But someone from home gives me warm feelings.'
Seara stood there in the open door of the guest building. ‘Now I won’t feel so
homesick.’

     He stared in awe of
her shining eyes, lustrous long hair and delicate features. Somehow he
stammered a reply, aghast that his cheeks were feeling red hot. ‘Likewise, it
is nice to meet . . . a child I knew . . . who has developed into . . . a . . .
a . . . beautiful lady.'

     Seara spoke as if
they were lifelong friends. He realised she was doing her best to put him at
ease and had overcome the ordinary Seconchane folks suspicion of their priesthood.
But the more she spoke the more awkward and tongue tied he became.

     After an hour’s stilted
discussion of mutual acquaintances and other news from their homeland, he
managed to bring his stammering conversation to the problem of locating
Malkrin.

     'They only left three
days ago, you should have run faster and not spent time debating the merits of
the Brightwater women,' she chided him with a tinkling laugh.

     'I'm sorry Seara . .
. I . . . tried to will Jadde to increase my speed . . . and I had believed she
did so.'

     'Not a problem Olaff.
I’m sure you did your best, I’m only joking.'

     Olaff felt his cheeks
redden further and wished he could give her a gift of fine clothes or a bound
volume of Jadde’s scriptures. But instead he confided in her of his secret
highsense. She beamed and told him of her healing gifts and why she had fled
Cyprusnia with her father. At that moment he realised he had at last found
someone who had been through the same ordeals, a kindred spirit. But that was
all the priesthood would allow her to be; and the realisation saddened him.

     It was late, his
eyelids were heavy and it was hard to concentrate. Being here in Brightwater
was all so different and the onslaught of new experiences exhausted him. He brought
the conversation back on track before he said something stupid.

     'I am unsure whether
to continue from here to search for Malkrin or wait for his return. It would be
so easy to miss them . . . if I wander blindly, err . . . by not knowing the
paths and surroundings that is.’ He yawned; it was getting harder to think. 'I'm
sorry Seara . . . I can hardly stay awake . . . sorry.'

     'My fault Olaff, I'll
let you rest.' With dancing steps she breezed from Olaff's accommodation. 'See
you tomorrow,' she waved and closed the door softly behind her.

     He fell onto the
mattress and closed his eyes; then fell asleep with images of Seara floating
before him.

In her short time with the
Brightwater people Seara had increased her healing highsense. She could now
heal all non-fatal injuries and most illnesses and had gathered a small band of
helpers all hoping they could emulate her. Although she contrived many tests
all were disappointingly devoid of any highsense. But Seara constantly told
them she expected a blossoming of their healing abilities very soon. Using her developing
charms she had spent a large amount of her time with Praled the Principal
Librarian at the Light of Souls library to learn to read and write. It had
become a competition with her father to see who could learn the fastest. Being
younger, with a more subtle mind, she had won.

Praled had allowed her to
trace a map of the Brightwater lands and the surrounding topography. On the map
she had indicated in large letters the location of the neighbouring tribes and the
names of their chieftains. Growing in ability she read of the Sylva, Cembrie
and Olephate tribes. Then she read old records about the nomad Wolf Clan and
all their beliefs and the reasons behind their endless journey.

 It was not until after
her father had left on his and Malkrin’s quest that she realised just how much
they would have to learn as they travelled. She really wished she'd been
allowed to accompany them and meet all the strange tribes she had just labelled.
Finding out from the actual people about their strange beliefs would have been
fascinating.