Darkburn Book 4: The Haunt of Ternss by Tayin Machrie - HTML preview

Chapter 17

Maeneb sat up abruptly. What had happened?

Delgeb was instantly awake and sitting up as well. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s in trouble,” said Maeneb curtly, and grabbing her long knife which she kept by her side even in sleep, she scrambled to her feet. Clad in her shirt and underbreeches, she shoved her feet into her boots and made for the entrance. No sooner had she dived out of the tent than she heard the scream.

It was almost instantly cut off. But now the whole camp was awake. Men and women began to pour out from the tents into the feeble moonlight; despite their varying degrees of undress, all were armed.

And after a very few bewildered seconds those arms were needed. At first Maeneb could not make out what was happening in the mottled darkness. Then something leapt at her out of the shadow: she swiped at it instinctively with her knife, before realising that it was a man and that her blade had sliced across his chest.

He staggered back a step. His sword-blow missed her and slashed through the tent’s wall with a harsh rip. A second afterwards, the longer sword of Delgeb found his throat.

The attacker slumped to the ground. Only then could Maeneb see the moonlight glimmer of his head and its four stones.

“Stoneman,” rasped Delgeb, and she roared out – quite unnecessarily in Maeneb’s opinion – “Battle stations!”

Someone produced a lamp, creating a confusion of leaping shadows. Riders were running everywhere, swords in their hands. Then the flame was blown out by the wind. From every side came warning shouts and the metallic clash of blade on blade. Maeneb, peering into the shadows between the tents, saw them writhe and then boil over, turning into the dark figures of more stonemen, charging.

Wit a furious yell Delgeb thrust her sword into the foremost, who crumpled. While she struggled to withdraw the blade, Yaret and Hilbré between them dispatched the next one neatly, their swords slicing from either side like a pair of giant scissors across his throat.

Maeneb lunged out to stab the third attacker with her knife. When she felt it grind past the man’s ribs to the heart, there was no consciousness of pain in him. Nothing but a kind of unfocussed fury. So strange, that lack of agony or fear. So inhuman.

But it made the job easier, she thought, as she swivelled rapidly to defend herself against another knot of stonemen who rushed in, shouting, from her right. As she stabbed one in the neck she became aware of Gaelera, standing motionless and watching at the entrance to the tent.

“Get back in!” she yelled. For although Gaelera held a sword – Maeneb’s own – Maeneb had no faith that she would know how to use it. She feared, not so much for Gaelera, but for the consequences if she should be injured.

Gaelera did not move. She gazed steadily upon the scene as three more stonemen waved their axes clumsily – almost haphazardly – before being felled.

No more attackers followed. Elsewhere in the camp too the assault seemed to have diminished. The shouts and clashes faded, and Maeneb realised that this had been a most uneven contest: for the enemy had been outnumbered and easily overcome. She saw Rothir fell two last stonemen with sure, successive strokes; as they collapsed, no others charged in from the dark to take their places.

She found that she was panting, but more from agitation than from effort. Around her, Riders lowered their swords and looked at each other in the unworldly moonshine.

“Everyone all right?” said Delgeb.

“Yes. That was too simple,” commented Parba.

“It was just a test,” said Yaret. “Or possibly a distraction, designed to keep us sitting up awake all night in case they might attack again. They did that repeatedly in Melmet. It worked, as well.”

Delgeb kicked the limp body of the nearest stoneman. “Well, I’m not losing any sleep on their account,” she declared. “There were only a handful of them and poor fighters at that.”

“True.” Yaret bent down to look at the nearest body that lay distorted in the shadows. She straightened up with a grimace. “Three stones.”

“So? What does that have to do with anything?” demanded Delgeb.

“Nothing,” said Yaret. A pool of lamplight swayed its way over to them, held aloft by Uld.

“Is anyone here hurt?”

“No. Not even scratched. What news do you have, Uld?” said Hilbré. “Where did they come from?”

“The south-east,” said the oldest of Huldarion’s counsellors, who in the shuddering lamplight looked older still, and tired. “They killed the sentries on that side. Crept up in the dark and ambushed both at the same time. They strangled them.”

Delgeb made a noise of disgust. “So what was this, Uld? Just a suicide mission, or did it have some deeper purpose? Yaret here thinks they simply want to make us worry.”

“They’ve certainly succeeded,” Uld answered sombrely. “Our sentries should not have been so easily overcome. It’s as if these men came out of nowhere. I don’t think there can be many others in the area, because our scouts surely would have found them. But it only takes a few to cause a lot of trouble. Do you know where the Lady Gaelera is?”

“I am here.” Gaelera stepped forward, the bloodless sword held in her grasp.

Uld bowed. “The Lady Meya is most concerned for your well-being, and begs you to stay the remainder of the night within her carriage.” Gaelera did not immediately respond. “My lady?” said Uld.

“No. I shall stay here,” replied Gaelera. “I have been well-protected.”

“You are sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“If you change your mind…”

“I shall not.”

Uld hesitated, bowed again, and left them. Gaelera raised the sword with an effort, and offered it to Maeneb, point up.

“For stars’ sake, don’t hold the thing like that. Just put it on the ground,” said Maeneb.

She was immediately conscious of her own rudeness. However, Gaelera obeyed her without comment. Meanwhile the others began to drag away the bodies. Rothir and Landel came over to assist them; Gaelera made no attempt to help.

“Three of my wishes have now been fulfilled, and all in one night,” she announced thoughtfully.

“And what are those?” said Yaret, pausing beside a corpse.

“I have held a sword: an ambition of long standing. I have slept inside a tent, if only for a curtailed period of sleep. And now I have seen stonemen.”

“Dead ones,” Delgeb grunted. “The best kind.”

“I am fortunate,” Gaelera said. “I feel it is a good omen.” Maeneb sensed a faint haze of pleasure, before it was shut down.

Rothir was gazing at Gaelera in astonishment. “Stonemen are never a good omen,” he said. “This just means more attacks can be expected. It means they have been watching us.”

“Good omens can be chosen,” said Gaelera. She stepped aside to avoid the carriers of the corpses, and re-entered the tent.

Maeneb, picking up her sword, muttered, “Well, at least the stonemen have given us a warning. From now on we’ll be on our guard.”

Yaret looked at Rothir. “It does mean that if they’re here, they’re less likely to be near your farm.”

“I hope you’re right,” he answered grimly.

“The farm? Why would stonemen be interested in that?” said Delgeb. “There’s nothing there worth their bothering with. We practically emptied the provision stores.”

Yaret shrugged. “I was just thinking of Rothir’s sister and her baby. And the others in the household, and of course Veron. But if the stonemen are focusing on us, at least the farmstead should be safe.”