Dave Duncan - Mother of Lies

Frath gaped. Then his training asserted itself and he vanished down the stairs, leaving the door wide.

“You’ll have company in a moment,” Heth told the sentry. “Meanwhile, keep your eyes skinned. We may be under attack.” He headed for the door.

“My lord is kind. Two more mammoths following, my lord. Just coming into view.”

Heth’s eyes were watering too much for him to see such detail at that distance in that light. Baffled, he stared into the night. “You sure?”

“Not certain, my lord. Think so.”

“Well done! You understand that either those are not our mammoths, or the wrong people are riding them?”

“My lord is kind. Rear flank is all dead, my lord, you mean?”

“We must assume so.” If Flankleader Verinkar was not, Heth would have to kill him.

When the sun’s edge blazed up over the horizon and the sky abruptly turned indigo, every Hero in the Nardalborg Hunt was at battle stations, meaning that most of them were lining the walls. The men of Caravan Six, under Acting Huntleader Zarpan, were on standby. Heth had ordered two more mammoths sent out, but they had not yet left the pens. Lacking time to evacuate the town, he had sent right flank of gold pack over there to misinform the civilians that the alert was merely a drill.

In fact, it was obviously a false alarm. If a horde of warbeasts were to come racing in over the snow it would have done so before now, but Heth was not about to order the recall sounded until he understood what was going on. No problem that required him to put a man to death could be dismissed as trivial.

Perversely, the wind had dropped as suddenly as it had arisen. Heth stood on the wall and watched the three mammoths approaching, one in front, two a long way behind. He could recognize Rosebud, the bull in the lead, and the Nastrarian mahout astride its neck, but mammoths’ backs sloped so steeply that the howdahs were not visible. However, the scouts he had sent out had identified Rosebud’s passengers as Rear Flankleader Verinkar and two of his men, plus an unknown man heavily wrapped in furs. Heth spoke a prayer to Weru that it be Satrap Therek, the only man with authority to override his standing orders.

And now another scout was returning, streaking across the snow with sunlight flashing on his brass collar. He skirted the bull at a safe distance and stopped directly below the great gate. He shimmered and stood up as a naked young man with his face screwed up in the agony of retroforming.

Frath, his packleader, glanced at Heth for permission and then shouted, “Come on up, Tukrin.”

Extruded talons on his hands and feet, the lad scrambled up the timber gate, sending splinters flying. He worked his way over the overhang of the lintel, and then up the stonework above it. A moment later he was on the battlements, fully human again, puffing and sweating. He would have had an easier climb if he had bypassed the gate and climbed straight up the vertical wall, but it had been a good chance to show off.

“Report, warrior.” Frath handed him back his pall, so he could wrap up.

“My lord is kind. The rest of rear flank is riding on Strident. Dungheap carries seven men I do not recognize. I saw three brass collars and assume the other four are Werists also, because none of them have any clothes on. They are sort of heaped, my lord. For warmth?”

Frath said, “My lord?”

Heth nodded. “Well done, Hero. Anything else?”

“I do think the strangers are in a bad way, unconscious.”

Hardly surprising if they had traveled far in battleform.

More diffidently, the boy added, “My lord is kind…”

“Yes?”

“I saw the civilian aboard Rosebud, my lord. She looked at me as I was coming back and I think I know her.”

Her? Heth said, “Go on,” but he had guessed the answer.

“I believe it is the lady Saltaja, my lord. I saw her some years ago when she visited Tryfors.”

She had been pointed out to Heth there too, perhaps on the same occasion. She had visited her brother in the city three or four times in the last fifteen years, but had never come on to Nardalborg. What was she fleeing now that she would run men to death to outdistance pursuit? Had she fled all the way from Skjar? From Kosord? Or just from Tryfors? Therek had not mentioned that she was coming. Where was Therek now? Was he besieged in Tryfors? Or perhaps falling back on Nardalborg?

Heth said, “Very well done. Frath, you and your men may stand down, but you remain on alert.” He beckoned his other packleaders forward and addressed Ruthur, who had first day watch. “Sound the recall.”

“My lord is-”

“We remain on high alert. Put your men and black pack on extended perimeter patrol. Concentrate on the Tryfors road, but don’t neglect other approaches. If they see anything unusual, anything at all, they are to report by warbeasts in pairs. I’ll have Caravan Six men take over battlement watch. Blue pack will evacuate the town. Move all the people into the fort, and as much livestock as you can. Irig, red pack is to stand down but remain on call. This is not a drill! Dismissed.”

The officers ran to obey. Eldritch howls announced the recall. Heth turned to stare at the mammoth lumbering up the road to the gate. He was tempted to leave it shut and send his aunt away. Hostleader Therek rarely confided in his last surviving son, but sometimes when seriously drunk he mumbled and maundered about Saltaja and his childhood. He feared her more than Weru. He muttered darkly that she was a Chosen and his mother, not his sister, although sometimes he said she was both. He thought she had murdered Hrag, his father, and the only reason he refused to acknowledge Heth was to keep him out of her clutches. So he said.

Alas, Therek was not the man he had been.

“She got Hrag, Stralg, and Nars,” he would say, naming his three dead sons. “You stay away from her!”

The two relief mammoths had left the pens at last and were striding over the snow toward Dungheap and Strident. Soon there would be a patrol out on the perimeter again, and that was a relief. Heth trotted down the stairs. He must warn Femund that she would have company to entertain. He must have meat and blankets made ready for the Queen of Shadows’ escort, those that had survived their ordeal.

The thought of dealing with Flankleader Verinkar made him feel ill. The lad was not stupid enough to think that his huntleader’s standing orders could be ignored to satisfy some whim of the satrap’s sister. He had taken an appalling risk when he broke up the string with only one Nastrarian on his patrol. So far the two cows were following their bull home out of habit, but they might easily change their stupid minds before the replacement Nastrarians reached them. Then they would make a run for freedom. Heth had seen it happen, and sooner or later the brutes would roll to get rid of their howdahs. That also disposed of the passengers.

Verinkar was guilty of flagrant dereliction of duty. If he were crazy enough to enter the fort, he must be put under arrest, but no Werist would submit to that on a capital charge. There would have to be a bloodbath.

needed only a few seconds to dress-tie one loin cloth, grab two sandals-before he could wriggle out the door of the tent to see who was dismantling it and who was doing all the shouting. The sun was just rising in a narrow streak of sky between mountains and a roof of cloud. The island camp was in chaos.

“Wait a moment!” he shouted at the two sailors pulling up the tent pegs. “My wife isn’t-”

But she was, if only just. The tent was whisked away and there was Ingeld, kneeling while wriggling into a dress, her copper head just emerging from the top of it. People were yelling and running in all directions. Benard dropped to his knees and began stuffing things in the clothes bag. Even a dumb Hand could guess that the boat was about to leave.