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

Chapter 33

Huldarion took too long to wake.

That was his immediate thought, as he leapt up to don his clothes and a modicum of armour. Beyond the banging on the door he could hear the shrill cry of the wake-horns. He should have heard those earlier – but with his arms wrapped around Meya, his head against hers, his body luxuriating in her soft warmth, his consciousness had somehow shut the horn-cries out.

It would be easy to blame Meya for it. But also wrong.

Nonetheless his voice was sharp as he instructed her, “Get up. Get dressed. We’re under attack. Naydor here will lead you to a place of safety.”

“I’m not sure where is the safest place just now, sir,” said one of the pair of Riders who had roused him. “Something has come up the beach. It’s burning down the tents. If it’s a darkburn it’s… big.”

Huldarion buckled the straps of his leather breastplate – no time for more – and seized his swordbelt.

“Take Lady Meya to the Kelvhans,” he said brusquely.

“I do not wish to go to the Kelvhans,” Meya said. She was sitting up in bed, the blanket drawn around her, looking both furious and bewildered.

“And Lady Gaelera,” added Huldarion. “Find her and deliver her to Kelvha too. She’s their responsibility.”

“But I am my own responsibility,” said Meya. He ignored her and strode out.

Accompanied by the other Rider, Audril, he ran along the passage to the staircase, up the worn stone steps to the top floor of the monastery and thence onto the roof, where several of his Captains stood already to look out. Although so many sections of the roof had fallen in, this end was sound – he hoped. Had these shattered half-walls once been battlements? Or a lofty walkway for the monks?

Whichever it was, the narrow path inside the broken walls afforded a far-reaching view of both the sea and land. The air was warm and steamy, and though day-break was close, sea-fog dimmed the sky and obscured the distant waters. Beneath the cliff, through swirls of mist, he glimpsed a pair of fins break through the surface, moving fast. Dolphins. A second later they were gone.

He turned to view the land. Even in the dusky light the tremendous furrows ploughing up the beach were plain to see. Riders ran, scattering, away from a group of four burnt tents. There was a large black cloud of smoke enveloping a fifth… and then, as Huldarion looked on, the smoke writhed strangely before beginning to rise up like some dark, swift-growing tree. From it emerged a long black neck, the blunt head turning, as if to smell out something.

“Dear stars,” he breathed in disbelief. “Is that a darkburn?”

“Yes. A great serpent from the sea.” It was Orbrel who answered. A stolid man, not one who normally showed any fear; but now his voice was shaking slightly. The tree of smoke’s thick trunk dissolved, to reveal a heap of pulsing, tightening coils below the blindly seeking head. The thing was throttling the remains of the tent and any of its inhabitants.

“Are there Riders in there?”

“We think they got away. Nearly all. Some have already come to join us here.”

“They have their stones?”

“They should have. But that – the – the serpent – doesn’t seem to be deterred,” said Orbrel. “Perhaps it’s too big to be affected by the stones. All the tents must have contained them. Yet it does not falter.”

Huldarion was silent for a few seconds, gazing down at the smoking border of his tented city and its destroyer. The coiling creature filled him with loathing: his hatred of all darkburns was instinctive, but in those black undulations it seemed to concentrate itself into something very close to terror. He felt his stomach writhe in time with the burnt thing below.

He must not allow his hate to turn to crippling fear. He needed to think clearly, to act with decision – and to be seen to do so.

“Very well. If we cannot save the tents, so be it,” he said crisply. “Tents are expendable. Riders are not. Orbrel: go to the provision carts, and make sure that they are ready to drive further inland. Crade: take half a dozen men and tether the horses at a distance before too many panic and run off.” He knew that the horses would take flight if that monstrous darkburn came too close. “Solon: gather your company outside this building. Stay close; tell Uld to do the same – these stones at least cannot be burnt.”

Solon nodded. “And the rest?”

Huldarion tried to think. Parthenal was running towards them: a welcome cause to stop for a few seconds, gathering his whirling thoughts.

“Parthenal. Are your company all up?”

“Ready and armed,” said Parthenal.

“Good. Where’s Rothir?”

“I don’t know.”

Huldarion fought down a moment of exasperation. “Well, if you see him, tell him to go to the ruined temple in the centre of the old town. Take your own and any other companies you can find, and go there too. It needs but a few of us to stay here at the monastery: the rest of you stand further off, but be on the watch, and prepared for any action.”

Parthenal nodded and departed. Huldarion took another frowning glance towards his smoking tents: the blackened coils were now obscured by leaping flames. The smell of burning was dreadful to him but he commanded himself to pay no heed. Let the monster eat the tents. They did not matter.

“Where’s Leor?” he demanded. “Audril: go and find him. Let us all go down.”

His captains were already hurrying ahead of him, to descend the spiral stairs. Huldarion told himself not to run – indeed he felt he could not hurry, for his legs seemed to be unnaturally weak. This feebleness horrified him as much as the darkburn did. But it was out of sight for now: and as he descended, the weakness passed.

Half way down the stairs he met the Kelvhan commander Rhadlun running up.

“Did you see the linwyrm?” Rhadlun asked, breathless.

“I have seen the darkburn,” said Huldarion sternly, not pausing in his descent. “What is a linwyrm?”

Rhadlun turned to accompany him back down the staircase. “That thing on the shore. It’s a beast of Kelvhan legend, a giant serpent that lives deep beneath the sea. I never thought to see one in the flesh.”

“I doubt if that one out there has any flesh. It is a darkburn, but in a linwyrm’s shape, it seems. How are linwyrms dealt with, in your legends?”

“They aren’t,” said Rhadlun heavily. “They emerge from the depths only to pull ships back down to the seabed. They never lose their grip. Once caught, a ship is doomed.”

Huldarion felt fear grasp at him again. He turned it round and looked at it, reshaped it; it was not fear at all, but sheer annoyance. What use were superstitious old wives’ tales to him right now?

“Well, we’re not a ship,” he told the Kelvhan crisply. “Gather your men.”

They were on the first storey now; but Rhadlun stopped on the landing. Kelvhans were running out from the east wing, some crying out in panic, while others, more disciplined, were trying to organise their comrades. And all around was the smell of smoke and the muted roar of the sea.

“We need to send word to our army,” Rhadlun said. “We need to warn them of the wyrm.”

Huldarion paused. At the very word wyrm his stomach had again made its own convolutions. “It is, of course, your right to send word if you wish,” he said, although his only thought was for the here and now. “Get your troops in order. And look after the Lady Gaelera. I have ordered her to be sent to you.”

He left Rhadlun at the east wing and ran on down to the bottom of the staircase without waiting for an answer. That insolent armourer, Iajo, was lurking in the passage doing nothing. Huldarion felt repulsion and vexation: both were preferable to fear.

“Armourer,” he said curtly, “find all the men you can who are equipped to fight, and join with your commander.”

“Whatever you say.” With the sketchiest of bows he walked away, not in any hurry. Huldarion inwardly cursed the man, and Kelvhans in general. He momentarily deplored the necessity of allying himself to such people.

Then he saw little Tamu, who had been cowering underneath the stairs as if he dared not venture out while Iajo had been there. That was one Kelvhan, at any rate, that did not fit the mould.

“Master Archivist!” he snapped. “What do you know of linwyrms?” He knew he sounded fearsome and he did not care. Being fearsome was better than trembling, which was what the archivist was doing.

“I – I know the stories,” Tamu stammered, “but as to facts, I know of nothing that is, that is, that is verified–”

“Do you know how they may be destroyed?”

Tamu shook his head mutely.

“Very well. Where’s Leor?”

Tamu pointed up the stairs.

“Find him,” said Huldarion, “and send him to me by the west wall.”

“I’ll try, sir.” Tamu fled back up the stairs.

As Huldarion strode on down sand-strewn passages to the main door, he reminded himself that not all Kelvhans were arrogant layabouts. Indeed, very few were: and as if in proof, as he stepped out into the smoky haze, another Kelvhan soldier ran up and saluted. The wiry man whose prowess he had admired in the castle tournament – a long time ago that seemed, in another world than this. For an instant, while he sought his memory for the soldier’s name, he longed to have those strong impregnable walls beside him. But he was in a monastery already semi-derelict.

“Lord Huldarion,” the Kelvhan said. “I have a dozen men here waiting for command. What would you bid us do? Would you have us fight the serpent?”

Huldarion recalled the name just in time. “Captain Novesnu, is it not?”

“It is.” The man bowed.

“Let us look again upon this creature,” said Huldarion, and he strode forward. Behind him more Riders were spilling out of the building, but in good order. It was Parthenal’s company; they ran swiftly in a double line towards the temple. His own discipline must not be less than theirs.

Next he saw Ikelder and Sashel and some others hurrying from the tents – and there too, thank the stars, was Gaelera, being dragged up the broad staircase towards him by Maeneb and Ingebré, each of them gripping an arm firmly. Maeneb looked furious. She seemed eager to speak; but he did not want to hear any complaints about Gaelera’s stubbornness, not now, not in front of this Kelvhan captain.

So he said to Maeneb, to forestall her, “Take the Lady Gaelera to Commander Rhadlun, who is expecting her in the east wing.” Then he strode on down the broad stone steps – each one a long, dipping wave – until he stopped abruptly half way down the flight.

The darkburn had come into view around the far end of the building. It was perhaps four hundred yards away. Even so, a wave of repulsion and despair washed over him. It is the aura, he told himself, it is nothing but the usual aura. So strong. But it means nothing.

Above the shoreline, seven tents were burnt or burning now. Amidst the smoke, Huldarion saw thick coils wrapped snake-like round an eighth. He swallowed down his nausea and tried to think dispassionately. A shame to lose so many of the tents; but better tents, by far, than lives.

So he spoke to the man beside him with brisk authority.

“I think, Captain Novesnu, that we need not attempt to tackle this thing for the moment. If it is content to feed upon our empty camp then let it. We’ll take swift counsel on the best means of disposing of it: our wizard has been sent for and should be able to advise us. While we await him we’ll join Solon and his company under the west wall.”

He turned to walk that way. He was in command. Then, at a shout – a series of loud shouts – he started, and spun round again.

The serpent was on the move. It was untwining itself from the tent it had embraced, sinuous and hideously graceful for its vast size. Leaving behind a smoking skeleton, the darkburn lifted up its head that was not a head as if to test the air.

Then the long body rose, impossibly high – how could it balance? – before descending with increasing swiftness, thumping with a boom onto the ground. Huldarion felt the earth shudder even where he stood. A cloud of steam spread round the thing as it rose up again, its body heaving in black ripples. A snake grown to the size of a river, he thought; but a river of heat, of dark, destroying fire.

“It’s coming this way,” Novesnu muttered. Indeed, as the huge darkburn coiled and thudded down again, it was clear that it was heading directly for the monastery.

Huldarion felt paralysed. He could smell the darkburn now, that dreadful stench of burning and decay. Although he was too far away to feel its heat, his body began burning down one side, his scars remembering their genesis twelve years ago in the agony of the fight against that first horrific darkburn amidst the raging fires of Caervonn. Thus had his wounds burned, for so many months afterwards, while he had slowly healed.

The ruins of Caervonn. His last house. His first darkburn. He had learnt to fight the things since then, to overcome the dread and nausea they always brought; but this great monster, this was something different. Huge waves of horror washed over him until he feared drowning. He was aware of the sea’s irregular pulse behind him, as the creature pulsed across the juddering sand. As if from far away, he heard the voice of the man next to him.

“I think we need to move,” Novesnu said. “My Lord Huldarion.”

“Yes. Yes. To our troops under the west wall. We can escape that way.” Even as he spoke he realised that he was no longer thinking of standing strong to fight the thing. Only of escape. A darkburn of that size could not be slain by men with swords. Would it even be possible to injure it? To slow it down? His whole body rebelled from waiting there to face it. He wanted to escape now, now.

Yet his body did not want to move. The burning was growing more intense: it was verging now on agony to even stir his limbs. His legs seemed turned to blocks of red-hot stone. He saw Yaret running along the sand and up the monastery steps along with Delgeb and he thought distractedly, I wish I had two wooden legs, that would not feel this pain, that would not be transfixed with burning agony and terror.

He stood and waited. He had no choice.

“Huldarion,” panted Delgeb, “is the monastery empty?”

“Our Riders should all be out,” he answered. “The Kelvhans are still in the east wing.” He was amazed that his voice worked so well.

“They need to leave. Because if that thing attacks the building–”

“A building of stone can withstand darkburns. It will not burn.”

“But it can be crushed,” said Delgeb, “and that thing is enormously heavy, and enormously strong.”

A shock of realisation went through him. She was right – of course she was; and he had not even thought about it properly. “The Lady Gaelera,” he said. “I have sent her in there.”

“Then we need to get her out.”

“And Meya,” said Huldarion. “Meya.”

The thought of Meya in danger filled him with new and closer panic. Meya! She seemed to symbolise his future crown. Despite the pain, he found his legs were freed from immobility by this fresh terror; they carried him back up the steps and through the eastern door. Yet he hardly knew what he was doing.

Novesnu followed him. Huldarion tried to gather himself, to think what action he must take, to speak calmly. He had made the wrong choice, a possibly disastrous choice: he must repair it. But he could not show his anguish.

Long habit came to his aid. Prioritise. Be logical. As two Kelvhan soldiers came hurrying down the stairs he addressed them firmly.

“The Lady Gaelera?”

“Upstairs, my lord.”

“I’ll go there. You two, check this lower floor of the east wing,” he commanded. “Tell anyone still here to get out.”

Delgeb and Yaret had entered too; and Delgeb said, “We’ll check the dormitories, and make sure everyone has left.”

He nodded and they raced off, Yaret nimble even with her wooden foot.

Now that the darkburn was again out of sight the pain abated. Although he wondered at this, he was chiefly grateful. He ran up the stairs to the landing of the east wing, with Novesnu close behind.

On the shadowy landing he turned to Novesnu. His mind too had grown a little clearer. “Check this middle floor, please, Captain.”

“My Lord.”

No argument. On impulse Huldarion reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. “Speed well,” he said; he hardly knew why, except that he wished the man’s steadfast impassivity to rub off on himself. Then Novesnu hastened off and Huldarion was running up the worn slippery stairs towards the upper floor.

And there, thank all the stars, causing his heart to fold over itself with passionate relief, were a handful of Kelvhan soldiers and Gaelera, along with Maeneb – and the Lady Meya. She was expostulating with the Kelvhans.

“Meya,” he said, the force of his own voice surprising him. “Meya.”

She turned to him. “I want to leave this place.”

“Indeed you must,” he said, “we must all leave it, now, as quickly as we can. Do not wait.”

“Why?” asked one of the Kelvhans. “It’s as strong as any fortress. Is this not the safest place to–”

The words were interrupted by a rumble: a close and heavy thunder, directly underneath them. Huldarion’s legs shook. Something had just made the whole long building judder.