Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles) (31 page)

Edokko held back his temper, aware of the pepperboxes strapped to the men’s belts. Dealing with Miernans was always tricky, and he’d found these soldiers to be ruthless. Besides, now that he’d found the go-between, they’d catch him and Edokko would get paid - and without having to take the
bhesanté
all the way to the Pass. Almost better that the idiot go-between had escaped, really. Although it was a pity to have lost his men.

He pointed over the ridge.  “They are heading towards Dandari, that way.”

The man tapped his belt thoughtfully. “Well that’s no good. We’ll have to cut them off before they get there.”

“But, Johin, if we chase them, they’ll hear us coming, won’t they?” said the other man.

“I’m not chasing anybody. We can make it to that hill over there before them and then ambush them. But remember, we need the iMahli alive.”

“
Bhesanté
,” corrected Edokko.

“Whatever.” The tall man shifted his belt and then slung himself up onto the camel behind. “Come on then, chief. Lead on. And quickly, but not too close.”

Edokko dipped his head and turned to walk away. The other man pulled himself up onto the other camel and followed along behind Johin. As soon as they were on flatter ground, Edokko picked up his pace and jogged off through the darkening night, giving their prey a wide berth.

By the time they had reached the far side of the small hill, the darkness had settled in and the temperature had fallen considerably. The only light in the sky was a sliver of amber glowing just above the horizon.

The two men dismounted and tied the camels’ reins to a stake that they drove into the ground. The gangly animals immediately settled themselves down on the sand, heads tilted back, their tongues lolling comically out of their mouths.

Edokko removed a bundle of rope from his shoulder bag and carefully unraveled it, looping it around his wrist so that the little solid weights attached to it didn’t get tangled with each other. Then, he slung it across his shoulder and armed himself with a short iMahli bow while the Miernans loaded their pepperboxes. When they were all ready, they crawled up to the crest of the small dune and peeked over.

Their eyes had become well accustomed to the dark and with the dying sunset painting the plains with a dull orange, they picked up a small dark shape moving towards them.

“Well done,” whispered Johin, patting Edokko’s shoulder. “Now let’s move. We need to be ready for them.“

They scrambled around the side of the dune and ran, stooped low, to the foot of the hill. It was
quite stony and the shorter Miernan stumbled once, eliciting a curse from Johin, but they soon came across a small slope that took them out of view of the party ahead. At the top of the slope, there were some rocks overgrown with wiry shrubs, and the three men hid themselves behind these.

“Don’t do anything until I say so,” said Johin tersely. He peered ahead. “How many can you see with the go-between, chief?”

The small man, almost hidden in the darkness, took a moment and then murmured, “Two others.”

“Perfect.” Johin turned to the other Miernan. “As soon as they pass us, I’ll take the left one, you got the right. OK?” The other nodded, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. “No mistakes. As soon as they’re down, we get the iMahli. Use that sling of yours, chief. Go for his legs. If he runs, I’ll stop him.”

They settled into their positions, weapons at the ready, and waited. The sounds of the wagon drifted closer and they could hear some muffled conversation above the hissing and stomping of the ostriches.

“Wait,” mouthed Johin, his pepperbox resting against the side of the rock. The wagon rolled closer. He held one finger up in the air. “Wait…”

The wagon turned slightly on its path and seemed to aim straight for them. Johin smirked and gently eased his pepperbox down to point forwards. Beside him, Edokko crouched low, holding the sling balanced in his throwing arm.

“Wait…”

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

Raf and Bolyai stood in the murky evening light, and watched Tiponi expectantly. The iMahli was staring up the slope of the hill, his lips moving soundlessly.

“This is too important to back out now, Tiponi. We need to find a cure,” urged Bolyai.

“Even so…” Tiponi rubbed his head with his hands.

“If you can’t take us with you, then can you at least go by yourself?” asked Raf

“But you have
seen
it,” said Tiponi. “I have betrayed the Trust.”

“Nonsense,” muttered Bolyai. “You’ve seen how bad the Forest is. And your
ishranga
is the only one I’ve heard of who might be able to help. Also, we saved you! You have a debt.” Tiponi nodded reluctantly. Bolyai turned to point at Raf, “And not only that, but he healed you! The
ishranga
will want to meet him, you know that.”

The iMahli took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, looking at Raf. He reached up in the darkness and rubbed his hand over his shoulder. “Yes…” Then, nodding more assuredly, he said, “It is so.”

He walked past them. “Come. But be careful to stay behind me; very important. And say nothing!”

Raf nodded, suddenly nervous, and filed in behind Bolyai as they made their way up the stony gravel path.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

Edokko watched the figures disappear up the hill. Beside him, Johin was motionless, his pepperbox still resting on the rock. The other Miernan was fidgeting nervously with his own weapon, eyes darting between Johin and the slope.

“Johin,” he hissed, “why didn’t we shoot? I could’ve got the small one near me easy!”

Johin held his finger up to his lips, slipping his pepperbox under his belt. Then he crawled backwards, keeping a careful eye on the hill. The other two followed him and they made their way soundlessly back to where their camels lay asleep. When they arrived, Johin stood gazing at the hill top above them, a hungry look on his face.

It was other Miernan who broke the silence. “They’ve got away again! Why did you let them escape?”

“They won’t leave without their wagon.” Johin smiled. “Besides, we’ve struck gold here.”

“Why?”

Johin rubbed his hands together absently. “Tell me, why do we want the go-between?”

“Because Captain Djennik will pay us for him?”

“But why does
he
want a go-between?”

“Who cares? All I want is the reward.”

“You’re a fool. This man knows where one of the tribe’s leaders is;
that’s
why they need him. Isn’t that right, Edokko?” The short iMahli nodded.

Johin put his arm around the other Miernan and pointed up the hill. “Well, up there, on that hill, is a leader. I’ll bet anything that’s who they were talking about.” He shook his head. “And I’m thinking the reward for a leader would be ten, maybe twenty times bigger.”

“You think so?” The other’s face lit up. “Well let’s get them now! They won’t expect us.”

Edokko grabbed Johin’s arm.

“Get your hand off me, iMahli, unless you want me to cut it off.”

Edokko obliged and then said, “They are not alone.”

“There are more people up there?”

“Very dangerous.” Edokko glanced up at the hill, the whites of his eyes showing.

Johin frowned at the iMahli’s unusual timidity. “Well, I’m not wasting this opportunity to capture a tribal leader, chief.”

“So what do we do?” asked the other Miernan.

“We wait,” replied Johin. “Then we’ll take them when they least expect it. Our pepperboxes will easily deal with any resistance these primitive fools offer.”

“T
iponi, are you sure th-”

“Shhhh!”

Raf rolled his eyes impatiently. From their vantage point, he was convinced Tiponi had got it wrong. They had reached the summit of the small hill and found themselves above a ten foot deep, round depression - but it was empty.

Dark rocky walls formed the sides and even with the pale sheen of moonlight falling on every surface, there was no sign of life of any sort anywhere. He sighed and shook his head, keeping a close eye on where he was putting his feet. Tiponi led them sideways along the outcropping rocks that formed a rough ledge curving above the pit. Ahead of them, as they inched their way around, there was a rough ramp that sloped downwards to the bottom of the pit and when they reached it, Tiponi looked back at them to make sure they followed him down.

The three of them stepped quietly down into the pit, and it was only then that Raf noticed a thin crack in the opposite wall – wide enough for a person to fit through if they stooped, and in a position that made it impossible to see it from above.

Clever,
he mused.

He lifted his waterskin to his mouth and took a deep draught - but then dropped it in fright as there was a sharp whirring sound in the air and something long and thin burst through it. Tiponi hissed and quickly threw his arms into the air, hands splayed open. A voice hidden in the rocks above cut through the night, shouting something in a language Raf didn’t understand. Tiponi responded urgently in the same language. The voice barked something else – something very unfriendly - and Tiponi waved his hands protectively in the air, rattling off a flurry of frantic responses.

Raf felt his heart pounding in his chest as he looked down at the waterskin, a flat shadow on the floor, with an arrow shaft sticking out and the glint of feathers at the end catching the light.

That almost hit me!

Tiponi cautiously lowered his arms and started to say something, stepping forward towards the voices, when there were more whirring sounds through the air. This time, they flew in from either side of them and three arrows suddenly ricocheted off the ground not a yard from them. He leapt backwards and shrieked up at them, pointing desperately in Raf’s direction.

“Tiponi, what are they saying?” hissed Bolyai, eyeing the darkness above them.

“That I should never have brought you!”

At another shout from the hidden archers, he flung his hands back in the air and yelled over his shoulder, “Get down! On your knees!”

Raf and Bolyai sank onto their knees, arms raised like Tiponi’s.

“But who are they?” urged Bolyai. “Where is the
ishranga
? Have you told them about the disease?”

“Yes!” whined Tiponi.

Bolyai looked up at the ledge above and called, “I want to speak with Shima’sidu!”

There was silence and then a terse response.

“What did he say?” The Elder nudged Tiponi’s shoulder. “What?”

“He… he wants to how you know the
ishranga
.”

Tiponi was about to say more, but flinched as there was a commotion above and six iMahlis
stepped into the pale moonlight. Each was wielding a huge body-length bow, loaded and tightly drawn. Raf tried to swallow, but found his mouth was bone-dry. At a sound behind him, he twisted nervously to watch as, from the dark crack, a shape unfolded. It was a gigantic iMahli. He was adorned in a worn leather skirt, but otherwise unclothed, exposing an enormous muscled torso and a completely bald head. The most disturbing aspect to Raf was his skin which was a pale, almost milk-white color in the moonlight.

The giant lit two small torches set on either side of the crack and then turned back. Raf flinched as a startling pair of blue eyes were illuminated in the torchlight, watching him with undisguised hostility. Between the flickering torches emerged three more of the freakish warriors. Any one of them would have stood head and shoulders above Eirdale’s Foreman, and they looked strong enough to crush the foresters with their bare hands – although they wouldn’t need to resort to that from the look of the long blades that each held out in front of them.

The four warriors spread out to flank the group; lithe and strong, every movement emanated danger. It was terrifying and Raf felt his body shaking as he took in the fearsome sight of the brutes, anticipating a charge at any moment that he’d be helpless against. But they stood patiently watching the three on the ground, and Raf registered the archers behind them who were also standing still, at the ready.

But, ready for what?

His question was answered when, from inside the crack, a piercing shout cut through the night. All the iMahlis seemed to tense up in anticipation, and Tiponi collapsed onto his knees on the ground, his head tucked down tightly on his chest. Raf felt his shoulders hunch up, convinced that something awful was about to happen, when a jingling noise issued from the crack and into the torchlight stepped the strangest looking person he’d ever seen.

It was a very thin iMahli woman with an immense bush of almost orange hair that sprouted out in all directions from her head. She was dressed in a faded brown tunic with a huge net of beads arranged in intricate patterns around her neck, and matching ankle-bracelets. She had a more normal colored skin for an iMahli – a little darker than Tiponi’s – and it was oddly young skin that seemed smooth and unwrinkled, although there was something about her that exuded age. Perhaps it was her eyes which, also sky-blue like her iMahli guards, seemed to stare right through him.