Knight's Dawn (19 page)

Chapter Eighteen

The two horsemen continued their journey through the snowy wastes leading into the fastnesses of the west. Wrapped in warm furs they were bent in their saddles against the fierce winds which came from between the distant mountains. During the day they were cold. A blood-red sun occasionally appeared through the misty regions of the upper sky, but there was no warmth in it. At night they were colder, sleeping under an indigo moon beneath trees from which icicles hung in glittering clusters, some a full three feet in length. There were freezing mists curling around them when they rested and the air hurt their lungs when they were active. The chests of their horses creaked with the effort of plodding through the snow. Water was hard to find: most of it lay under six feet of surface ice. Unlike the march to fight the beast-people, where the landscape had been studded with farmhouses and isolated crofts, there were no dwellings to the west. It was cold, lonely country, with little comfort to offer. If I was a god, grumbled Spagg, I would set the world on fire, open a few chasms in the ground, let off one or two volcanoes anythin to get rid of this winter. If you were a god, replied Soldier, the world would be in a tangled mess. His encounter with the witch had left Soldier feeling morose and uncertain. It seemed now like a dark dream, unreal, and there were occasions when he wondered if he had either dreamt it or had been subject to one of natures apothecary tricks. There were plants and fungi which, when ingested, invented such tales in ones head. Or perhaps he had breathed some marsh gas which had a similar effect on the mind? Certainly, when he came to consider it carefully, he could not in all truth decide whether it had actually come to pass. It was as if he had been through some illness which caused a high fever, and his state of mind as well as his body had been affected. Good compny, you are, Spagg told him in sarcasm. Youre a miserable toad much of the time. Soldier could not help but agree with this observation. One morning they came to a low valley with steaming springs and places where hot mud had bubbled through cracks in the earths surface to warm the ground. Here, for a change, they could see green grass and wildf lowers which seemed to thrive on sulphur fumes. Here they stopped to camp for a while, thankful to be able to wash in hot water. They collected birds eggs and boiled them in the mud. After the freezing reaches of the foothills, this valley was a blessing. The deeper into the country of the gods they ventured, the stranger the sights became. In this shallow rift valley Soldier witnessed a similar phenomenon to the sight he had seen while with the red pavilions. Birds whose camouflage had developed beyond simply melting into their backgrounds. They became the vegetation they hid amongst. These were colourful creatures, about the size of a thrush, which actually changed into flowers when they sensed danger. Once the danger had passed, they transformed back into birds again. He saw some of these birds amongst some red flamboyant flowers with tall, sharp petals. When Soldier walked slowly towards the birds, pecking at the moss on the edge of a hot beck at the time, they changed instantly into the same short scarlet blooms amongst which they were feeding. Their legs became the stem and their bodies and heads the flower itself. Again, when those same birds were wading between yellow flag lilies at the edge of a pool, a similar approach had them blossoming into yellow flags. On inspection they proved to be real flowers, not just birds pretending to have petals where they had wings, and stalks where they had legs. Once Soldier was at a safe distance they reformed into birds again and flew into some stunted trees at the end of the valley. Soldier was fascinated by the process, several times walking up to a group of these feathered creatures, only to witness them folding like paper into themselves, their feathers becoming petals, their beaks opening into glorious, coloured bells or trumpets, their yellow tongues becoming pollen-budded stamens, and their legs turning into green-leaved stalks. Any wildcat or eagle would be left tripping amongst the daisies, wondering where their quarry had disappeared to just like that. So real were these flowers transfigured from birds, the bees and other insects instantly descended on the blooms and found rich harvest. The strangenesses of this hinterland did not confine itself to witches and bird-blooms. Soldier saw a mammal - something like a cross between a mole and a badger whose whole family fitted into her like boxes of decreasing size. The female - he knew her by her milk teats - opened her back. Her spine parted from neck to the base of her tail. The male then climbed inside her. His back then opened and the largest of the brood climbed inside him, and so on, until all six of this family of mammals were one. The mother then proceeded to produce a huge array of weapons: teeth and claws. An impressive forest of thick spikes with a ferocious attitude to go with them. Far from running, she then stood her ground ready to fight off any attack, be it from human, from predator, or from an enemy amongst her own species. The whole process took less than two or three seconds to perform. Soldier had to see it happen several times, before he could see into the speed of the action. You goin to spend your life watchin nature, are you? asked Spagg, who refused to be captivated or intrigued by these wonders. I cant be bothered with nature and such. Its there and its there. Cant do anythin with it, cant do anythin about it. Just forget it, thats what I say. Your philosophy never fails to absorb me, Soldier said, drily. It was noon and they were boiling some greens in a vessel over the fire, when Soldiers scabbard sang out. He spent precious minutes searching the skyline and eventually saw some riders in the east. They came over the misty-white horizon like five ghost horsemen, all in a line. At first the snow-haze distorted their shapes, made them ripple like a mirage, until they hit a patch of cold, clear air. At the same time as the horsemen themselves became visible enough to be perceived as a real threat, they themselves saw the pair of travellers. The riders then came on at such a pace there was no time for Spagg and Soldier to mount, let alone escape. Soldier had time to draw his sword, put his back against a friendly rock, and wait for any attack that was likely to come. Spagg rushed to his side, drew a dagger from his leggings, and uttered one fearful word. Hannacks! There were five of them: big, brutish fellows. Because it was cold they were wearing animal furs, instead of their preferred skirts, jackets and cloaks of human skin. Only one of them wore anything on his head: the jawbone of some luckless bearded man whose body had relinquished its mandible to become the adornment of a Hannack. Spagg pronounced this person to be the warlord. The man had fearsome features. His own jaw, plus his cheekbone, had been crushed on the right, so that his face looked lopsided. Part of his lip had been torn away, revealing teeth to their roots. That he had actually survived after receiving such a terrible blow testified to his strength. Now he was faced by a definite danger, Soldier felt he had been rather rash in giving Spagg the enchanted brigandine. Here they come, muttered Soldier. Are you wearing that brigandine? The one thats supposed to be enchanted and will protect a man from death? No. Im wearing my jack. I forgot about the magic brigandine. Its over there, on the mule. Soldier thought about it for a moment, then decided against running for the brigandine. He too had on only a jack: a quilted coat with protective padding. His chain-mail vest was draped over the front of his saddle. It was too heavy to wear all the time and his fingers stuck to the iron links out in the frozen air of the countryside. The pair of them would have to face the Hannacks in their jacks and nothing else. The Hannacks arrived in a thumping of hooves. They crashed through the camp-fire, the hooves of the warlord scattering the pot and its contents. Soldiers and Spaggs mounts were tethered to a sapling nearby. They reared and whinnied when the small, stocky Hannack ponies -painted with ochre colours on face and flanks stamped around them. Big-boned faces stared silently at the two men with their backs against a granite cliff. The warlord went forward first, walking his mount slowly, and Soldier went into a crouched position, making his intent of defending himself obvious. The Hannack warlord said something in very loud harsh tones to his accompanying warriors. There was a coarse laugh from one of them. The others smiled. These were not the smiles of a mother for her child, or that given by friend to friend. They were smiles overlaid with ugly, vicious sneers. They yelled at one another as they kicked over the objects around the camp. Why are they shouting? hissed Soldier to Spagg. Spagg muttered, They have very small ears. Soldier stared. It was true. Their ears were like tiny cockleshells. When the warlord was within range Spagg suddenly threw his knife. Soldier was amazed at how quick Spagg was. The arm flashed up and down, the dagger sped through the air as a spinning wheel of light. It was next seen transfixed in the Hannacks throat. The leader of the group had a wide-eyed expression on his face, as if he had been surprised by an audacious act. Then his hands flew to his throat. He whipped out the knife. Blood spurted and gushed from the wound. When he reached for his sword he was already weak. Finally, in view of the silent audience, he slipped from the back of his horse and crashed down onto the smouldering remains of the fire. There he lay dying, his fur cloak burning crisply in the midday air, exuding the horrible stench of singed hair. There was havoc amongst his followers, who prepared to ride at the pair against the rockface, once they had ceased shouting at one another and at the foe. Now youve done it, muttered Soldier. I was about to bargain with them. With what? asked Spagg, producing another dagger from somewhere in the folds of his clothing and testing its balance in his right hand. They can take anythin weve got, after theyve done us in. With something I have in my saddle bags. I brought them specially. No good now. Weve killed one of their number. They wont leave until theyve revenged him. Huh, you dont know Hannacks. They probably hate the bastard. Theyre not like us. Revenge aint their first priority. Rape and pillage is what theyre most fond of plunderin, lootin, all that sort of stuff. But theyre vain too, arent they? Its their finest sin. He produced yet another knife from a hidden pocket and balanced it in his left hand. How many more of those have you got? asked Soldier, glancing down. As many as I need, came the reply. The Hannacks began to come forward, but Soldier held up his hand. Do you speak their language? he hissed at Spagg. A bit. Well, tell them I have a bargain for them. Spagg shrugged and croaked something at the Hannacks. The horsemen still came forward, swinging warhammers and maces as if they were itching to use them. Tell them their hairless scalps will never be seen bare again, if they allow us to go on our way. Spagg sighed and shrugged but passed the message on. The four horsemen stopped now and looked intrigued. All right, Spagg said, youve got their attention. Tell them I will cure their baldness, but they have to promise to let us live. Spagg whispered, You better be tellin the truth, otherwise theyll cut us up into little pieces and eat us. What are you, a wizard? But he did as he was told and conveyed the information to the raiders. There was some discussion amongst them now. It was not conducted with any reserve. The Hannacks shouted and yelled at one another, waved their weapons in each others faces, pointed at the two men they had trapped, spat on the ground. Finally, one of them screamed at Spagg with great menace in his tone. Spagg smiled and nodded. He wants to do business. But he says if youre lyin hell cut you open slowly, make you a scarf of your own guts and walk you till you drop. Fair enough, replied Soldier. Can we trust them to let us go? I dunno. We aint got much choice, have we? No. Soldier sheathed Xanandra and walked slowly towards his horse. The Hannacks studied him closely, warily, ready for any trick. Soldier undid his saddle-bag and began pulling out hairy objects he had purchased just before leaving the castle. The Hannacks watched, their interest growing. When Soldier had four of these items he went to the Hannacks. Wigs! cried Spagg. Thats what youve bin carryin, is it? There were four wigs, two of black hair, two of brown. The Hannacks looked at them curiously. One of them took a wig and put it the wrong way round on his head, so the long hair hung over his eyes. Soldier indicated that he should bend down. His friends shouted at him. He did so. Soldier then straightened the wig for him. Then Soldier held up a mirror he had taken from the same saddle-bag. The Hannack stared at himself in the glass, then hooted with delight. He preened himself before his friends, rode up and down with the wig hair lifting gently in the valley breeze, and generally paraded himself. The other three quickly demanded their wigs and were given them. They pointed at each other, hooted and yelled, walked their ponies back and forth. Already they were arguing over the colours. It seemed that they like the brown hair wigs better than the black hair, though the quarrel did not seem serious. There was just a slight preference as they each tried on the others wigs and murmured in satisfaction at the results. While this show was going on, Soldier and Spagg quietly gathered together their stuff and made ready to depart. Soldier was still painfully aware that there was a dead man amongst them, still lying on the embers of the fire. It was true that the warlords warriors had taken little notice of him, except that one of them had bent down and lifted up the decorative jawbone and hooked it into his horses bridle. This did not mean that they were not considering avenging their leaders death. It just meant they were preoccupied for the moment. When their horses were ready Soldier and Spagg mounted and began to quietly ride away from the camp. The Hannacks took no notice of them. They were still enthralled with their new hairpieces. When Soldier and Spagg were about fifty yards away, one of the Hannacks yelled and pointed at them with his mace. The other three stared hard for a moment. Then all four them re-engaged each other in a shouting match, seemingly forgetting all about the two men who had killed their warlord. Soldier was pleased to get away so easily, but he was appalled by the Hannacks lack of regard for their leader. Its almost as if he were just a