A Darkness at Sethanon (26 page)

Baru regarded
the animal, emitted a low whistle, and half whispered, “It is
not possible.”

Arutha said,
“What?”

“That
dog.”

Martin said,
“Possible or not, if that man isn’t dead already, he may
die because this monster won’t let us near him.”

Baru spoke a
strange-sounding word and the dog’s ears perked up. He turned
his head slightly and ceased growling. Slowly the dog moved forward,
and then Baru was kneeling, scratching the animal behind the ears.

Martin and
Arutha hurried to examine the man, while Roald and Laurie helped the
boys bring the horses along. When everyone was gathered, Martin said,
“He’s dead.”

The dog looked
at the dead man, and whined a bit, but allowed Baru to continue
petting him.

“Who is
this?” asked Laurie aloud. “What brings a man and a dog
to such a desolate spot?”

“And look
at those trolls,” added Roald.

Arutha nodded.
“They are armed and armoured.”

“Mountain
trolls,” said Baru. “More intelligent, cunning, and
fierce than their lowland cousins. Those are little more than beasts;
these are terrible foemen. Murmandamus has recruited allies.”

“But this
man?” said Arutha, pointing at the corpse on the ground.

Baru shrugged.
“Who he is I cannot say. But what he is I may venture a guess.”
He regarded the dog before him, who sat quietly, eyes closed in
contentment as Baru scratched behind the ears. “This dog is
like those in our villages, but greater, larger. Our dogs are
descended from his breed, a breed not seen in Yabon in a century.
This animal is called a Beasthound.

“Ages ago,
my people lived in small, scattered villages throughout these
mountains, and the hills below. We had no cities, gathering in moot
twice a year. To protect our herds from predators, we bred these, the
Beasthounds. His master was the Beasthunter. The dogs were bred to a
size to give even a cave bear pause.” He indicated the folds of
skin around the eyes. “The dog will set teeth in an opponent’s
neck, these folds channelling blood away from his eyes. And he will
not release that hold until the opponent’s dead, or his master
commands. This spiked collar prevents a larger predator from biting
it about the neck.”

Locklear looked
astonished. “Larger! That thing’s near the size of a
pony!”

Baru smiled at
the exaggeration. “They used them to hunt wyverns.”

Locky asked,
“What’s a wyvern?”

Jimmy answered.
“A small, stupid dragon - only about twelve feet high.”
Locky looked to the others to see if Jimmy was joking. Baru shook his
head, indicating he wasn’t.

Martin said,
“That man there was his master?”

“Most
likely,” agreed Baru. “See the black leather armour and
coif. In his pack you should find an iron mask, with leather bands
for the head, so he can wear it over the coif. My father had such in
his lodge, a reminder of the past handed down from our ancestors.”
He glanced about and sighted something over by the fallen trolls.
“There, fetch that.”

Locklear ran
over and came back with a giant crossbow. He handed it over to
Martin, who whistled aloud. “That’s the damnedest thing.”

“It’s
half again the size of the heaviest crossbow I’ve ever seen,”
remarked Roald.

Baru nodded in
agreement. “It is called a Bessy Mauler. Why it is named after
Bessy is not known, but it is indeed a mauler. My people used to
employ a Beasthunter at every village, to protect the herds from
lions, cave bears, griffins, and other predators. When the Kingdom
came to Yabon, and your nobles built cities and castles, and your
patrols rode out and pacified the countryside, the need for a
Beasthunter lessened, then died out. The Beasthounds were also
allowed to diminish in size, bred as pets and to hunt smaller game.”

Martin put down
the crossbow. He examined a quarrel the man had in a hip quiver. It
was steel-tipped and twice the size of a normal bolt. “This
looks like it would punch a hole through a castle wall.”

Baru smiled
slightly. “Not quite, but it will put a dent the size of your
fist in a wyvern’s scales. It might not kill the wyvern, but it
would make him think twice about raiding a herd.”

Arutha said,
“But you say there are no more Beasthunters.”

Baru patted the
dog on the head and stood. “Or so it was supposed. Yet there
lies one.” He was silent for a long moment. “When the
Kingdom came to Yabon, we were a loose association of clans, and we
were divided on our treatment of your people. Some of us welcomed
your ancestors, some did not. For the most part, we Hadati kept to
our old ways, living in the highlands and herding our sheep and
cattle. But those in the towns quickly were absorbed as your
countrymen came in increasing numbers, until there was little
difference between Yabon city men and those of the Kingdom. Laurie
and Roald are born of such stock. So Yabon became Kingdom.

“But some
resented the Kingdom, and resistance became open war. Your soldiers
came in numbers, and the rebellion was quickly crushed. But there is
a story, not well believed, that some chose neither to bow before the
King nor fight. Rather they chose to flee, going north to new homes
beyond the control of the Kingdom.”

Martin regarded
the dog. “Then it may be the story is true.”

“So it
seems,” said Baru. “I think I have distant kin out here
somewhere.”

Arutha studied
the dog for a moment. “And we find allies. These trolls were
Murmandamus’s servants, certainly, and this man was their
foeman.”

“And the
enemy of our enemy is our ally,” said Roald.

Baru shook his
head. “Remember, these people fled the Kingdom. They may have
little love yet for you, Prince. We may be exchanging one trouble for
another.” The last was added with a wry smile.

Arutha said, “We
have no choice. Until we know what lies beyond these mountains, we
must seek out whatever aid chance brings us.” He permitted a
brief pause while the body of the fallen Beasthunter was covered with
rocks, forming a rude cairn. The dog stood stoically while this was
being done. When it was finished, the dog refused to move, laying his
head upon his master’s grave.

“Do we
leave him?” asked Roald.

“No,”
answered Baru. Again he spoke in the odd tongue, and reluctantly the
dog came to his side. “The language used to command our dogs
must be still the same, for he obeys.”

“How,
then, do we proceed?” asked Arutha.

“With
caution, but I think it best to let him lead us,” answered the
hillman, indicating the dog. He spoke a single word, and the dog’s
ears perked and he began trotting up the trail, waiting at the limit
of their vision for them to follow.

Quickly they
mounted and Arutha said, “What did you say?”

Baru said, “I
said “home”. He will lead us to his people.”

T
he
wind howled.

The riders
pulled cloaks tightly about themselves. They had been following the
Beasthound for more than a week. Two days after finding the dog they
had passed over the crest of the Great Northern Mountains. Now they
moved along a narrow trail just below a high ridge, running toward
the northeast.

The dog had come
to accept Baru as his master, for he obeyed every command the Hadati
gave, while he ignored any spoken by the others. Baru called the dog
Blutark, which he said meant, in the old Hadati tongue, an old friend
rediscovered or come back from a long journey. Arutha hoped it was a
favourable omen, and that those who bred the dog would feel similarly
toward Arutha’s company.

Twice the dog
had proven useful, signalling dangers along the trail. He could smell
what even Baru and Martin’s hunters’ eyes missed. Both
times they had surprised goblins camped along the trail. It was clear
that Murmandamus controlled this route into the Northlands. Both
encounters had taken place at junctions with trails clearly heading
downward.

The trail had
run southeasterly from Inclindel, then turned east, hugging the north
side of the mountain ridges. In the distance they could see the vast
reaches of the Northlands, and they wondered. To most men of the
Kingdom, ‘the Northlands’ was a convenient label for that
unknown place the other side of the mountains, the nature of which
could only be speculated upon. But now they could see the Northlands
below them, and the reality of the place dwarfed any speculation, for
it was an immense reality. To the northwest a vast plain stretched
away into the distant mists, the Thunderhell. Few men of the Kingdom
had ever trod upon that grassy domain, and then only with the consent
of the nomads who called the Thunderhell home. At the eastern edge of
the Thunderhell a range of hills rose, and beyond were lands never
seen by men of the Kingdom. Each turn in the road, each jog in the
trail, and a new vista opened before them.

That the dog
refused to descend caused them concern, for Martin avowed they would
have more cover in the hills below than upon this open trail. Weaving
along the north ridges of the mountains, they only now and then
descended below the timberline. Upon three occasions they had noticed
indications that this trail was not entirely natural, as if someone
had once, long ago, undertaken to connect sections of it.

Not for the
first time, Roald remarked, “That hunter wandered quite a
distance from home, that’s for certain.” They were easily
a hundred miles to the east of where they had found the body.

Baru said, “Yes,
and that is a strange thing, for the Beasthunters were given the
defence of an area. Perhaps he had been pursued for some time by
those trolls.” But he knew, as did the others, that such a
pursuit would be a matter of miles, not tens of miles. No, there was
another reason that hunter had been so far from his home.

To pass the
time, Arutha, Martin, and the boys had undertaken to learn Baru’s
Hadati dialect, against the day of meeting Blutark’s owner’s
kin. Laurie and Roald spoke fluent Yabonese and a smattering of the
Hadati patois already, so it came quickly to them. Jimmy had the most
difficulty, but he was able to make simple sentences.

Then Blutark
came bounding back down the trail, his stubby tail wagging furiously.
In atypical behaviour he barked loudly, and spun in place. Baru said,
“It is strange . . .”

The dog normally
went on point when sensing danger, until he was attacked or ordered
to attack by Baru. Baru and Martin rode past the others, the Hadati
ordering the dog forward. Blutark dashed ahead, around a bend between
high walls of stone, as the trail cut downward again.

They rounded the
turn and pulled up, for in a clearing Blutark faced another
Beasthound. The two dogs sniffed at each other and wagged tails. But
behind the second dog stood a man in black leather armour, an odd
iron mask over his face. He sighted at them down a Bessy Mauler,
mounted upon a single long wooden pole. He spoke, the words made
unintelligible by the blowing wind.

Baru raised his
hands and shouted something, most of the words lost upon the others,
but his friendly intentions clear. Suddenly, from above, nets
descended, ensnaring all seven riders. A dozen brown-leather-clad
soldiers leaped down upon them, and quickly wrestled Arutha’s
party from their mounts. In short order all seven were trussed up
like game birds. The man in black armour broke down his pole, folding
it, and slung it with the crossbow across his back. He approached and
gave his own dog and Blutark both friendly pats.

The sound of
horses accompanied another detachment of men in brown, this time
riders. One of the men in brown spoke to them, in heavily accented
King’s Tongue. He said, “You will come with us. Do not
speak aloud, or we will gag you. Do not try to escape, or we will
kill you.”

Baru nodded
curtly to his companions, but Roald began to say something. Instantly
hands jammed a gag into his mouth and tied a cloth over his face,
silencing him. Arutha looked about, but only nodded to the others.
The captives were roughly placed back in their saddles, their feet
tied to their stirrups. Without further words the riders turned back
down the trail, leading Arutha and the others along.

For a day and a
night they rode. Short halts were ordered to rest the horses. While
the horses were being tended, Arutha and his companions would have
their bindings loosened to lessen the cramping they were all
experiencing. A few hours after they had set out, Roald’s gag
was removed, much to his relief, but it was clear their captors
wouldn’t permit them to speak.

After dawn they
could see they had negotiated nearly half the distance between the
trail along the crest of the mountains and the foothills below. They
passed a small herd of cattle, with three watchful and armed herdsmen
who waved, and approached a walled hill community.

The outer wall
was sturdy, heavy logs lashed together and sealed with dried mud. The
horsemen were forced to make a circular approach by deep trenches
about the wall, coming up the hill on a switchback trail. On both
sides of the trail the trenches revealed fire-hardened wooden spikes,
ready to impale any horseman who faltered. Roald looked about and
whispered, “They must have some charming neighbours.”

One of the
guards immediately rode in next to him, the gag ready, but the leader
waved him back as they approached the gate. The gate swung open, and
they discovered a second wall behind the first. There was no
barbican, but the entire area between the walls was effectively a
killing ground. As they passed through the second gate, Arutha
admired the simple craftsmanship. A modern army could take this
village quickly, but it would cost lives. Bandits and goblins would
be repulsed easily.

Inside the
walls, Arutha observed his surroundings. It was a village of no more
than a dozen huts, all of wattle-and-daub construction. In the
compound, children played, but with serious eyes. They wore gambeson
armour or, in the case of a few of the older children, leather. All
carried daggers. Even the old men were armed, and one hobbled past
using a spear instead of a walking staff. The leader of the company
said, “Now you may speak, for the rules of the trail do not
apply here.” He continued to speak King’s Tongue. His men
cut the straps binding the captives’ feet to the stirrups and
helped them dismount. He then motioned for them to enter a hut.