Across the Face of the World (61 page)

His hand swung swiftly, and the Bhrudwan fell to the ground unconscious from a blow to the head.

In a moment, the camp was in uproar, with Farr making good the loosened bonds on the Acolyte's wrists, while Kurr, Perdu, Parlevaag and Stella strove to clear their eyes of sleep and come to terms with events. The Fenni woman rushed over to where Indrett stood, dazed and in shock, with a profusely bleeding arm hanging limply by her side.

'Tie him tight!' Kurr barked, as together Farr and Perdu drew the cords so tight around the Bhrudwan that they cut into his flesh. The old farmer hustled over to where Indrett sat, with Parlevaag holding her arm aloft, above the level of the cut.

'Hal!' the old man cried. 'Here's one for you!' But the bundle of bedclothes where Hal lay did not move.

'He got Hal, he got Hal!' Indrett shrieked. 'Let me go to him!' With that she pulled her arm away from the Fenni woman, made to go to her son, stumbled, and fell in a heap beside the embers of the fire. The valiant Parlevaag struggled to raise her, but Indrett was unconscious, a dead weight.

'Help me!' Kurr called to the others as he leapt across to where Hal lay. There was a long gash in the bedclothes; impatiently, the farmer pulled them away from the body.

'Hal!' he cried. 'Are you all right?'

The body rolled away as Kurr removed the last of the shredded cloth, but made no other movement.

'There's no blood,' Perdu commented. 'But he looks to be hurt. What happened?'

'I have no idea,' Kurr replied, tension draining from his voice as he ascertained that the cripple was still breathing. 'Here, look: a bruise on the side of his head. He's been struck at with a sword - is that the weapon?' He pointed to a bloodied blade held by Farr.

'Thankfully it was Hal's sword, rusty and blunt. Even the Bhrudwan did not have enough strength to cut right through the bedclothes. But the force of the blow must have driven Hal's head against the ground.'

The others nodded their heads in relief.

Kurr sent Farr to fetch some fresh water, while Perdu and Parlevaag made up bandages for Hal and Indrett. Pale but deter¬mined, Indrett had regained her feet, and with her left arm she stemmed the bleeding from her right as she made her way to her son's side.

'How did this happen?' Kurr asked, his voice edged with anger.

'I don't know,' Farr replied contritely. 'We checked the bind¬ings late in the afternoon, and they appeared to be as tight as ever. He must have loosened them somehow. They were not cut.'

'We have been very fortunate,' the old farmer continued. 'Had Indrett not disturbed him, not one of us would be alive at this moment. Do you understand? He would have killed us all.'

Farr and Perdu nodded miserably.

'I wonder if the best plan would be to kill this Bhrudwan, after all. He is much too dangerous to take with us all the way to Instruere; it is like trying to contain a forest fire within the bowl of your hands.' Kurr shook his head. 'I'll think about it later. You two go back and recheck those cords. Make them tighter still. I don't mind if you hurt him, as long as you keep him alive - for now.'

'No,' came a voice. 'Don't hurt him. If he is to be of any use, we have to win his confidence.'

Kurr turned around to see Hal, the colour already returning to his face, sitting up with a cloth held to his temple.

'What do you mean?' Kurr asked. How did he recover so swiftly?

'What I said. Our plan depends not only on bringing him alive to the Council of Faltha, but encouraging him to testify to them of his purposes and what he knows about the Bhrudwan plans.'

'Since when did our plans include him speaking to the council?' the old man spluttered.

'Surely it will be enough for them to see him? His origins will be obvious!'

'If it was enough that they see him, you would not lie awake at night worrying about how to convince the council of the peril posed to Faltha. It is our only chance. We have to win his confi¬dence.'

'Not if I have my way,' Kurr replied angrily. 'That man is a callous killer, responsible for the deaths of many innocent people, and within moments of being responsible for mine. I refuse to take the chance. I have decided: he will be put to death.'

Hal stood on unsteady legs. 'Let me take responsibility for him,' the crippled youth said gently. 'I have seen many animals like him.

Cornered and frightened, lashing out at anyone, friend or foe. He is a man, not a beast, and will surely respond to trust and love more readily than do the beasts. Give him to me. Let me take care of him. Or kill him and abandon your quest.'

Kurr stood silent for a long time, weighing the alternatives. Surely there was no choice? The Bhrudwan had proved his danger to the Company, and now he waited for his inevitable death, a steely indifference in his eyes. And it was just and right that he should die, for the sake of the Company.

But what if Hal was right? What if he could be persuaded to testify to the "Council of Faltha?

Then surely the council would listen and take action. Hal was right in one thing: he had spent too many sleepless nights wrestling with the problem posed by the rulers of Faltha. Perhaps the Bhrudwan had to live for the sake of Faltha.

There could be no alternative. Entrust the safety of the Company to a cripple, where two able-bodied men had failed? Surely not. Yet here he was, giving Hal's suggestion serious consid¬eration. Why, when it was so patently absurd? Because Hal is so persuasive, came the answer. He can get you to consider something as ridiculous as him taking charge of the prisoner. What might he achieve with the Bhrudwan?

1 could always have a backup plan, he reasoned. Get Farr and Perdu to keep a close eye on the Bhrudwan, and at the slightest sign of trouble - whack! In with the swords. Perhaps we can give Hal's sugges' tion a try, just for a few days. To see if he can talk this Bhrudwan around.

He shook his head as if to dislodge the idea, but it remained firmly fixed in his mind. Are you sure you were not the one knocked senseless? he asked himself.

'All right,' he said to Hal. 'Take charge of the prisoner. But be warned. There will be no testifying before the council if we don't make it there alive.'

THE BATTLE OF HELIG HOLTH

THE FODHRAM SPRINTED DOWN the path towards Adunlok, all attempts at stealth forgotten in the sudden need for speed. Boot-shod feet beat against the paved road; sword-and staff-wielding men fought for breath as two weeks of pursuing the Widuz culmi¬nated in this wild charge down the narrow gut of Numen Scou. Dark and ominous cliffs reared up ahead, some hundreds of yards in front of them at the head of the valley.

Axehaft knew that his small raiding force had been seen. This was confirmed emphatically when warning bells sounded from the many-eyed fortress above them. Armed warriors began pouring from holes in the walls like borers from a burning tree, then the first of them reached the open space before the Fodhram and began running across it. For a moment, the Warden caught a glimpse of two figures dashing hand in hand along a narrow path directly below the cliffs, pursued by a third figure; then he lost them in the shadows.

The two forces came together with a shattering blow. Steel flickered dully in the grey light of the day's last stand, as the short, squat men of the northern forest exchanged furious blows with the taller, more lithe men of Clovenhill. Three able captains stood with Axehaft in the vanguard of his men, swinging their staffs in a wide arc as they tried to clear a path to the fortress. Their blows stunned rather than killed, but the men behind finished off their foes with the point of a sword.

The Widuz, who favoured woodcrafty stealth and surprise, fought valiantly, but it soon became apparent that they could not match the Fodhram man for man, which was as it always had been. However, when one Widuz was cut down, three more took his place. Warriors continued to issue from their holes, the Warden observed ruefully, and they emitted high-pitched shouts as they came.

Beside him one of his captains fell, mortally wounded by a freakish blow from a spiked club.

Axehaft turned and hacked at the huge Widuz warrior who, having spent a moment too long admiring his own skill, fell dead without knowing what had happened to him.

The open space in front of Helig Holth filled with warriors engaged in hand-to-hand combat.

Gradually the field became littered with the bodies of the dead and the dying, Widuz and Fodhram both. The last direct sunlight lifted from the limestone crags above them as they fought, and twilight descended on the battleground with the result still in doubt, but with the tide turning against the northerners.

This is no good, the Fodhram leader told himself as slowly, inex-orably, his small raiding party began to be forced back towards the dark forest eaves by the sheer weight of Widuz numbers. We cannot allow ourselves to be trapped in the forest; we will become easy prey in the darkness. Night drew near; yellow light faded from Clovenhill behind them, and still more Widuz warriors poured on to the field.

Phemanderac sped up the path towards the fortress, half pulling, half dragging Leith along behind him. Above them the bells pealed out their urgent warning. He knew he was running into danger, but the remaining guard lumbered after them only a few yards behind, gaining on them with every step.

'Come on, Leith, come on!' he cried in desperation. But Leith moved sluggishly, still under the influence of the drug. Thus would I have been, had 1 not realised there was poison in the water. Not for the first time, Phemanderac had reason to be thankful for his rigorous training.

The bells ceased their raucous clanging, but ahead, at the top of the path, the stone of the door rolled open and grim-faced warriors of Widuz began to issue from it. Behind them the guard raised his voice in a shout. The two fugitives were trapped.

At the last moment, Phemanderac threw himself off the path to the right, in the direction of Helig Holth. Above him the guard met with his fellow warriors, but his urgent shouts were ignored in the pressing need to meet the Fodhram threat in the valley below. The burly guard was swept back down the path.

Phemanderac pulled Leith close to him, trying to make both of them invisible to whatever eyes still gazed from the dark windows directly above them. They crouched on a narrow shelf some yards below the path. To their right lay the black nothingness of Mother Earth, sucking at them with her cold breath as the cooler night air rushed down the cliff face. Out of their sight now, warriors continued to run along the path, throwing themselves into the battle.

Gradually, Leith began to come to his senses. Too soon! Better he remain drugged than endanger their perilous position by move¬ment or noise. The youth, however, remained perfectly still, only moving his head slightly as with wide eyes he took in their predica¬ment.

He obviously had no idea how they had arrived in this posi¬tion, but he was going to do nothing to jeopardise it.

Eventually the sound of slapping feet died away, and was replaced with the noises of battle some distance behind them, groans and cries amplified in the natural amphitheatre of Adunlok.

'Now!' Phemanderac hissed. Are you ready?' Leith nodded, barely able to contain his fear.

'Then follow me!'

Together they scrambled up to the path. One look down to their left told them that to attempt that way would be fraught with danger; fighters stood at the bottom of the path, where it joined the carven way, and beyond them a battle was being fought, barely visible in the haze of evening.

'This way!' Phemanderac urged, and Leith followed his new friend up and to the right, still struggling to comprehend what was happening. He remembered little after the prison cell.

How had

they finished up outside? What was the fighting down in the valley? He sincerely hoped it was a rescue party.

Up the path they ran, bare feet on cold stone roots, unchecked by any foe. Then past the huge round stone, through the doorway, and into the fastness of Adunlok. For a moment, Phemanderac paused; then, deciding, he motioned Leith to help him roll the stone door shut behind them.

Down in the valley, the fighting was not going well for the Warden and his raiders. Seven of his band had fallen; the Fodhram were now a small wedge in a sea of at least a hundred Widuz, who jostled each other for a chance to strike at their enemy. The Widuz leaders, stationed at the back of the army to drive them on, could not believe their good fortune.

Everything was so perfect! Here, in the presence of Mother Earth, they were dealing a heavy blow to the hated woodsmen of the north. The gods themselves had delivered their enemy into their hands.

From behind the Warden came a cry of surprise and pain, and a shout of warning. Though he was engaged with a broad-chested brute who flailed at him with an axe, he risked a glance behind him. Disaster! A number of the enemy had found their way behind the Fodhram and were attacking from the rear. In the grey murk of this moonless evening, he could make out shadows racing down the ridges on either side, closing the trap. They were surrounded.

The leaders of the Widuz shouted in fierce delight. Their entrap¬ment had worked perfectly, and now they would finish off these foolhardy woodsmen with little further loss. Those of their men who could not join battle on the narrow field had been sent along the ridgetops, and they spilled down behind the small band of Fodhram. It was only a matter of time.

'Call out the priest!' their Chief commanded.

'The priest is gone, taken by Helig Holth, O Great One,' came the answer from beside him.

'What? How so?'

'There was a fight with one of the prisoners, my Chief, and he was lost, along with one of the guards.'

'Then get me that good-for-nothing disciple! You'll no doubt find him skulking in the living quarters. He would not be found risking his neck on a blood-night such as this! Bring him here! The slaughter cannot begin without the appropriate ceremony!'

His servant scurried away up the path. The Chief turned to his lieutenants, smiled, and said:

'This night is shaped perfectly, as one ordained by the Earth Mother herself. The death of the priest is the crowning goodness. He was old and stubborn, slow to obey me, while I have the lazy disciple in my hand.