bites and screams couldn’t stop him.
The rest was hazy. Tall women dressed in black with white veils over their faces, her mother crying, a beating that she knew was unjust. She didn’t want to remember that time. She knew from what Didier had told her that Wolf Madraga’s liege lord, Alexi Scarvan, had taken them prisoner, that he had raped and beaten her mother and that he had had Alyx beaten to make her mother more co-operative.
She also remembered a tall cold-eyed Tari woman, who must have been Jindabyne, taking her away from the black and white ladies to a small cosy wooden room which proved to be on a boat. A nice man had played ball with her and spoken to her in halting Mori. She had asked him where her mother was and he had told her that she would see her soon. He’d kept his promise too. He had such kind blue eyes, just like that Mirayan boy, Serge, and she had really liked him. Later she learned that he was Wolf Madraga, her father’s murderer.
She was still shaking with emotion, when she charged blindly into camp and almost knocked over a messenger crouching on the path gasping for breath while a woman splashed water on his face.
The woman turned to Alyx. “The Mirayans have come into the forest with their mages and are heading this way. You mother wishes your attendance.”
Everywhere people were seizing weapons, gathering up belongings and loading supplies into packs. Being semi-nomadic the Mori were used to moving camp. They were just doing it faster than usual.
Alyx raced into the enclosure where she found her mother hooded and ready to travel.
Her mother seized and hugged her. “You found the boy?”
“He was no trouble. But the Mirayans - where do you want me? I don’t want to hide this time.”
“I have an important mission for you, Alyx.
Alyx knew what was coming.
“No!” she hissed. Having lived most of her life in tents, Alyx had learnt long ago to argue with her mother in a soft voice to prevent the whole camp from knowing their business, but this didn’t mean she wasn’t furious. “You’re sending me away again, aren’t you? How am I to learn...?”
“Alyx! Please listen! The Mirayans are not much danger. We will just melt into the undergrowth and pick them off as we usually do. The river is the true danger.” Elena put her hand on her daughter’s cheek. “I have discussed the situation with the shamans. They all agree that the best plan is to take that Tari Woman to the source of the river where the sickness begins.”
“Mother!” wailed Alyx, forgetting about possible eavesdroppers. “Please!”
Her mother pulled off her hood. “Do as you are bid Alyx! I order it! Select your warriors and go.” Her face softened. “Please! My dear, this is the most important task. The only vital task. If we can cleanse the river we have little else to fear. The forest can protect us as it always does. But one of us should go with That Woman to see that she does not weave a spell over the Mori. You know how much they revere we Tari.”
Alyx scowled, knowing her mother was right. Elena kissed her brow.
“Alyx, it would be irresponsible for my heir to risk herself against the Mirayans. We should separate so that we are not captured or killed together. We are the last of the royal Verdeys.”
Alyx nodded and bent her head. She was the heir, and must be responsible. Always responsible.
Chapter 6
Yani
Yani had cut off the skirt of the gown she’d been wearing when she been captured and now, axe in hand, ready to fight, she travelled through the forest at scout’s pace - ten paces walking, ten jogging. Shut up in Daria’s carriage, she had no idea the direction they had taken from the coast so she headed for the nearby mountains hoping to find a hiding place and perhaps even some kind of border over which she might be safe. With any luck she would be able to find someone who knew whether the coast was north-east or south-east from here, so that she could reach a harbour and try and find some way to meet up with Marigoth.
For now the most important thing was to get as far away from Daria as possible. After the savage way Daria had treated her, she must have left lots of bits of hair and skin behind which were exactly the things Mirayan mages used to find a person nearby. Hunting dogs might be a danger, too. Yani had no idea how experienced Daria was in tracking escaped prisoners or if she even had hunting dogs, but it was best to err on the side of caution. When she came upon a large stream flowing from the mountains, she followed up its course walking in the stream bed wherever it was shallow enough so as to foil anyone who might follow her.
The landscape here was utterly different from the scented forests and Mangiri trees of Yarmar. This forest was made up of low green bushes and large leafed spreading trees, which were almost as wide as they were tall. The smells were mostly of good earth and rotting leaves. Everywhere she saw signs that people used the forest for wood and food collecting, but there was not a soul to be found.
Around midday she rounded a bend in the stream and saw a village ahead. She stopped to take stock of her situation. She couldn’t just walk into that village and ask them to take her manacle off. If they were Daria’s peasants, they might well be too loyal or too afraid to help and even if they were not, in a country where death mages roamed free, it made sense to be cautious of a strange person wearing witch manacles.
What she needed was a smithy with useful tools and a fire. Yani climbed into a tree and took a good look at the village. Scanning over the buildings, she was surprised to see no smoke coming from any of the houses. Even on a sunny day like this there should be cooking fires. What was going on here? The village looked poor but too well-kept to be abandoned. Climbing down from the tree, she circled the entire settlement, creeping along under the cover of the forest.
The place seemed deserted, but she could make out a building that looked like a smithy. The only way to find a trap is to spring it, and if she could only get these damned manacles off everything would be so much simpler. She slipped in among the little houses made of mud and thatched with grey mouldy-looking straw. A hunk of bread lay on a table in one of the huts. Hungrily Yani slid inside, ripped a piece off the loaf and stuffed it into her mouth. It was hard and stale, but it was food. Signs of hurried flight were everywhere. A pot full of stewed vegetables hung in the fire showing that people had been here in the last day. They had taken their animals too. Fleeing from what? Daria Symina perhaps?
She slid out of the cottage and crept carefully between the houses into the dark smithy. The fire was out. A smith never lets his fire go out! In the dim light she felt around on the benches. A file. She could file through the manacle clasp. It would take forever, but it was her best choice so far.
Standing fumbling round among the tools, she chanced to glance out of the window at the little sandy clearing between the houses and saw blood and flesh on the ground. Sweet life! Some kind of large animal had been killed here. A goat or sheep had been torn apart here - it bloody carcass lay there, its white ribs like a cage, and guts and limbs were strewn everywhere. Pray she didn’t meet whatever had done that!
A couple of sacks hung by the door. Yani shoved several files into one and, in the spirit of groundless optimism, added a hammer and chisel in case she met someone she could trust enough to use it. Then she crept back down the street and into the forest again. Safely back under cover she straightened, leaned back against a tree-trunk and relaxed.
Crack! A terrible pain on the side of her head and briefly things went blank. She staggered, saw stars, hit out blindly. Then they were on her, too many of them to fight off and in a moment she was on the ground, a man kneeling on her arm and another holding a knife to her throat.
A wrinkled face glared down in hers and a constellation of dirty faces hung behind him. A mouth full of blackened and broken teeth said something in a language she couldn’t understand. A stubby hand tugged at her neck manacle. The question was repeated louder. Yani still couldn’t understand a word.
“Mirayan? Trade Talk?” she asked.
Another