Chapter 10
“Veron,” said Huldarion. “Welcome back.”
The man nodded, stripping off his gloves and hooded cloak, which were heavily encrusted with snow. There was no snow at Thield, for the encampment was sheltered; but Veron had ridden hard and far from the north, through the hills and their wild weather.
You wouldn’t have guessed it, though. No sign of tiredness. His face was as alert as ever. He shook his head at Huldarion’s offer of a chair and contented himself with holding his hands out to the central brazier that warmed the tent.
Huldarion waited. You couldn’t rush Veron. Neither could you tell him what to do. The man was half wolf-hunter, and three-quarters wolf, he thought, not for the first time.
Now Veron looked over the brazier at him, his eyes glittering.
“They’ve taken over Erbulet, small fur-trading town in the far north-east,” he said. “Two thousand stonemen, give or take a dozen. About twenty-seven darkburns, stowed away in various sheds and outhouses. They’ve set one or two sheds on fire, accidentally. But they haven’t fired the place by design, not like other towns I saw.”
“Where’s Arguril?”
“Thawing out,” said Veron, “and trying to loosen up. I worked him hard. Give him a week off.”
“I will. Did he do all right?”
“Not bad, considering what he went through last year. He didn’t flinch at the sight of the darkburns.”
“How close to them did you get?”
Veron gave him one of his wolfish grins.
“Close enough.” He rubbed his hands together over the embers. “I ambushed a stray stoneman one night. He was drunk on too much ethlon or whatever they dose themselves with. They get doses twice a day after eating. I’ve watched ’em line up for it like little boys waiting for a treat. The others must have assumed this one had wandered off and got lost in the snow. No alarm bells were set ringing, anyway.”
“What did you do with the body?”
“Down a nice deep crevice over a mile distant. No chance of them finding it there with all its stones dug out of its head. I’ve got some of them in my bag.”
“Not on you?”
“I don’t like carrying them around,” said Veron without explanation. Huldarion was always intrigued by these hints of superstition in a man otherwise so level-headed, and so ruthless.
“And did you get a chance to try the stones’ effects?”
Again, the wolfish grin.
“The next night,” said Veron, “we crept into the town, to a darkburn shed. Easy to spot. All the snow round them and on the roof had melted. Tiles were steaming. And of course you feel ’em. But I’m getting used to that, and Arguril bore up.”
“Nobody saw you?”
“The stonemen hadn’t bothered setting sentries. No wariness at all. They’ll reckon they’ve no enemies up there. They’ve killed off all the locals. And who would follow them all that way up north except a crazy Rider of the Vonn like me?”
Huldarion nodded, and waited.
“So we got to the shed, no trouble. I took one of the stones. We’d managed to hammer it into pieces: so if the stonemen found a piece, it wouldn’t be obvious what it was. The darkburn got restless as soon as I crept close. I’d say ten yards, or less. By seven yards away I heard it thump against the far wall. No wooden door, of course. They’d replaced them with iron plates and grids, just like they’d replaced the rafters, or taken them out altogether.
“This shed had a large grid for a door. I got close enough to toss a piece of stone through it. A bit of the pointed end. Retreated fast, before I set myself on fire. But as I backed off, the darkburn calmed down again.”
“So the point had no effect.”
“No. Next, a piece from the other end of the stone. Part of the domed bit. Did the same thing, tossed it in through the grid. Retreated. This time the darkburn went wild.” Veron paused, and shook his head. “I almost felt sorry for the thing. Throwing itself against the walls, trying to get out of there. Made a great dint in the metal grid. Would have climbed the wall, I daresay, if it could.”
“But they can’t climb?”
“This one couldn’t. It banged and crashed around so much that four stonemen came to see what was going on. Darkburn keepers: they wore heavy leather gear. Must have weighed a ton even if they kept the heat off. They wouldn’t be able to run in those.”
“Worth knowing.” Huldarion became aware that he was adopting the same terse form of speech as Veron.
“Could be. They used iron bars to lever up the grid. Only needed to go up an inch or two and then they could lift the whole grid out towards them. Clever mechanism.”
“But the darkburn wasn’t clever enough to work it out?”
Veron shrugged. “Who knows what darkburns think? If they have minds. But if they could work it out, they’ve got no limbs to do it with. This one hadn’t, anyway. It shot out of its hole as if it was catapulted. Bowled one of the stonemen over and then rushed away from them. Didn’t come near us. Zigzagged through the town from the sound of it. Couldn’t see it in the moonlight. It probably got right away.”
“And is now roaming around the northern wastes?”
“Melting them,” said Veron.
Huldarion tapped his fingers on his leg. “So it’s not the stone itself that has the effect,” he said, “or not the whole stone, just the top. That implies it’s something on the stone. Some sort of coating, maybe.”
“I reckon so.”
“How many stones did you bring back?”
“Only four. The man we ambushed was low-ranking. We tried to get a few more on the way back. Found a troop of eight stonemen, a little out of town. Used the morilan. It works well on ’em. Catches in the stones around their heads.”
“But you didn’t manage to take any of those stones?”
“No time. Only just killed the eighth man when another company came running,” said Veron. “Won’t hurt all the same. They’ll spread the word.”
Huldarion nodded slowly. Veron’s weapon of choice, the morilan, was bloody at the best of times. No doubt the word would be duly spread.
“Anything of interest on the bodies?” he enquired.
“Nothing.”
“None of their drugs, then.”
“Seems that has to be doled out to them. It was kept in one of the houses, always guarded. The only place with sentries. Two at all times.”
“Guarded against their own men.”
Veron nodded.
“Good,” said Huldarion. “Good work, Veron. We’ll talk in more detail later, when the others are here. How’s your wife? Did you get to see her?”
“She’s all right,” replied Veron, without elucidation. Huldarion had never met his wife, who lived somewhere up in the northern wastes where Veron’s father also came from. Veron hardly ever spoke about her, except to say she was a huntress he had met up north. His mother, who was of the Vonn, had married one of the Northern hunters before being killed by wolves some years ago. Maybe that was why Veron, who seemed to understand and even love wolves like his own kin, also killed them without compunction when they were in the wrong place.
“Many wolves round there this winter?”
“They’ve been pushed north and further west,” said Veron, “like everything else when the stonemen marched through.”
“Everything except the people.” Huldarion stared into the brazier, grimly contemplating all those deaths by burning: all those devastated farms and villages.
“We couldn’t have stopped it,” Veron said. “Would have taken an army bigger than the Vonn, with all those darkburns.”
“How many burn-outs did you see on you way up there?”
“At least two dozen villages. A few farms. We met one or two survivors, wandering around looking dazed. They said the stonemen took the stock before they fired the buildings. So they didn’t get everybody. Just nearly everybody. We saw a couple of bigger towns – Byant and another one – burnt out too. No sign of life. But here and there we noticed smoke rising, long after the darkburns had done their business.”
“Much smoke?”
Veron shrugged, again. “The odd fire.”
“The odd survivor, then.” Huldarion sighed. “Those poor people.”
They were not his people, true. It was not his land. Not his job. But it pained him deeply, none the less, that he had been able to protect neither land nor people.