Juliet McKenna: Northern Storm

He looked away from Zicre to the first group of scouts. ‘How wide is the path to this terrace? How many men can we send up it abreast?’

‘Four or five.’ The man got nods of agreement from his companions.

‘Is there room for them to spread out, to let more of us come up behind?’ persisted Kheda. ‘If there’s only the one way to reach this beast, we must overwhelm it as fast as we can.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ several men concurred, their faces serious.

At the rear, Zicre looked grimmer than ever. ‘There’s space, my lord.’

‘Then let’s be on our way.’ Kheda walked past him and headed for the track between the tandra trees. Seeing their warlord disappearing into the green darkness stifled the last cheers still ringing around the outskirts of the impromptu horde. The men of Chazen followed their warlord; trained swordsmen, practised hunters, fishermen relying on skills learned performing very different tasks and villagers with unwavering determination to reinforce their shaky arms. The abrupt silence was broken only by the crack of brush and vegetation mercilessly subdued by their passing and the chink and rattle of armour. Even with the cool of the night lingering here and there among the shadowy trees, the air was close and oppressive.

Kheda led the way up towards the notch in the higher ground that gave on to the valley leading up to the dragon’s lair. The taciturn Zicre slid through the swordsmen to follow close behind him, swiping unnecessarily at opportunist tangles of striol vine choking beny bushes and lilla saplings striving to claim their share of the rainy season’s bounty. Behind, the sound of hacking blades grew louder as men spilled off the narrowing trail into the thicker growth, oaths and obscenities meeting thorns or whipping twigs fighting back.

The sound of hunying feet on the bare earth and muffled protests stiffened Kheda’s spine. He glanced back over his shoulder and acknowledged Mezai and Beyau with a stern face that instantly quelled their stealthy attempts to edge past Zicre, who was still following close behind Kheda.

The forest was still and silent all around. Distant bird-song and the calls of loals were muffled by the mists, with the distorted shrieks of some unidentifiable creature reverberating off an unseen cliff face. A flash of movement caught Kheda’s eye and he saw a golden-crowned matia clinging to the wrinkled grey trunk of an ironwood. He blinked sweat out of his eyes and when he looked again, it was gone. He and his men could have been the only living creatures in the forest.

Apart from the blood-sucking flies. Feeling the burning bite of black sweat flies, Kheda scrubbed fiercely at one cheek with the back of a gloved hand. Beside him, Zicre paused and looked to the rear. Kheda did the same and was surprised to see how far up the incline they had already come. Glimpses of the dull turquoise sea were just visible through the crowded branches of the spinefruit trees overhanging the trail. Down among the trees, the men of Chazen were forcing their way forward, all sweating profusely. The forest around them was thick with mist, drifting upwards to join the unbroken cloud cover. Kheda looked up to see the thin cloud silvering as the hidden sun strengthened. The heat of the day was beginning to build. Somewhere in the pungent depths of the forest a stream chuckled and he saw thirsty men break off from the main thrust to search for the relief of its waters.

Wordlessly, Zicre unslung a battered gourd from his shoulder and drank deeply before offering it to Kheda. The warlord took it with a grateful nod. His tongue felt like damp cotton, thick in his mouth, and the oppressive heat seemed to weigh more heavily with every breath. That and the burden of Zicre’s eyes fixed on him.

What are you thinking? Why the unspoken questions in your eyes and the shadow of doubt? I was the one who brought lore from the north to join battle with the invaders and their savage sorcery coming unbidden to these waters. And I lost Daish for my pains, so that’s hardly the best endorsement of my wisdom. Is all I’ve done for Chazen enough to redress the balance? Is that what you’re wondering? Kheda handed Zicre back his gourd. ‘You’ve some herbs in there I can’t quite identify.’

Zicre smiled briefly and restoppered the gourd. ‘Yes, my lord.’

‘What can I trade for the secret?’ Kheda wondered aloud.

‘We’ll see.’ Zicre shrugged. ‘Later, if we get the chance.’

His dark gaze locked with Kheda’s.

You’ve seen the dragon, haven’t you, Zicre? You know what we’re up against, wounded or not.

‘My lord?’ As the scouting parties paused to suck greedily at their waterskins, Beyau and Mezai forced their way through to draw close to Kheda, their faces concerned.

‘Is everything all right?’ Kheda asked. The shipmaster was drenched with sweat.

Beyau granted the scouts a cursory glance. ‘Let me lead the first assault, my lord,’ he begged unexpectedly. ‘I was trained to be a warrior for Chazen.’

‘And you want to test your fate here against the guilt you still feel for surviving when so many of those warriors died?’ Kheda asked with quiet sympathy. ‘Don’t try to second-guess your destiny, Beyau, just accept it and go on with your life. As for leading this assault, no, that is my duty and I will neither shirk it nor let any other man claim it from me.’

He turned his back on the startled faces of Beyau, Mezai and the scattered scouts. As impassive as ever, Zicre walked silently beside him as they covered the last stretch of the track leading to the rocky cleft in the ridge of high ground.

Not far now, my lord,’ the hunter observed quietly. ‘We need to stick to the sides of the valley. It’s all marsh in the bottom.’

Now Kheda could see the stream he had been hearing all the way up the slope, flowing down from a peak still hidden in mist. The water of endless successive rainy seasons had carved a channel down the rock only to find its path to the sea barred by this stubborn ridge. It pooled in indecision before turning to seek another route and the reek of ancient decay fuelled afresh by recent downpours rose from the spreading bog.

Zicre smiled humourlessly at Kheda’s unguarded grimace. ‘If you think that’s bad, wait till you smell the dragon.’

Kheda didn’t answer, heading down towards the narrow path that Zicre indicated. He moved slowly, to be sure of his footing and to allow the rest of this diverse multitude of dragon slayers to keep pace with him. Not everyone was so careful on the awkward slope and the slippery, crushed vegetation was treacherous underfoot. Kheda couldn’t help but grin as startled yells were hastily stifled by splashes from the bog.

Then he caught a gust of a smell so putrid it made him retch. Recollections of revolting encounters flashed through his memory.

That spotted deer dead of an arrow to the throat and unseen in a thicket until an incautious woodcutter filled the campsite with the foetid gas from its bloated belly. The hunt when we came across a hook-toothed hog drowned in a wallow, skull picked clean by carrion birds and beetles, the rest of it disintegrated into a slough of foulness roiling with maggots. That time we found a courier dove fallen into a water cistern and realised we’d bathed in water tainted with that matted mess of slimy decay. Clapping a mail-backed glove to his mouth, Kheda fought to control his heaving stomach. ‘The dragon?’ he asked Zicre with a gasp, trying to ignore the sound of vomiting behind him.

The hunter nodded silently as he tied a rag around his mouth and nose. He handed a second strip of cloth to Kheda. The warlord caught the pungent scent of chaelor oil and pressed it gratefully to his nose. ‘How exactly do we set about attacking it, my lord?’ The other men who’d scouted out the valley drew up around Zicre as the hunter spoke, all their faces expectant. ‘Once we’re up on the terrace.’ The men of Chazen were spreading out among the trees; some were still doubled up emptying their guts but most were standing upright, faces muddy with apprehension and nausea.