Blood Storm: The Second Book of Lharmell (15 page)

‘Could we get to Rilla by ourselves?’

‘We’ll be killed. Five harmings on brants against two with no yelbar, we don’t stand a chance.’ Rodden glanced at Uwin, and then at me. ‘He wants to help us fight them.’

‘No. These people are dancers, not fighters. And besides, it’s our fight, not theirs. We can’t ask them to put themselves in danger.’

Rodden repeated what I’d said. Uwin jutted his chin and motioned for us to follow him outside. He called out to a clutch of young men standing in the shade of an awning, and watched them, hands on hips, as they scattered, grabbing things from inside the huts. With a flick of his hand he bade us follow him to the eastern side of the oasis. Overhead I felt the birds tracking us. I called to Leap and Griffin with my mind, needing them close. Griffin alighted on my arm, wings hunched.

‘Griffin didn’t even know,’ I said to Rodden. ‘She could always sense harmings in Lharmell.’

Rodden shook his head. ‘I’m a fool. I don’t know why I thought we could outwit them. We’re harmings, just like they are. They know exactly what we’re capable of and our weaknesses too.’

I looked back and saw that the village men were following us, coils of rope and wickedly curved hooks in their hands. Their expressions were grim, and I remembered the ferocity of the sword dance in the desert.

We entered a copse of trees, the canopy so thick it blocked out the sky. The harmings wouldn’t be able to see what we were up to.

Uwin turned and called back to the men, and they jogged past us. On Uwin’s command they surrounded a dirty blob, eight feet tall, made entirely of mud.

‘What is that?’ I asked Rodden.

‘A termite mound. Stand back.’

The men swung the metal hooks over their head, faster and faster. Each hook resembled an anchor, but barbed on four sides instead of two and twice a hand-span in size. Uwin barked a command and the men swung faster, so fast that the hooks became a blur. On his word they let fly; the barbs whistled
through the air, wrapping around the mound and embedding with a dull thud. The men grasped the ropes and pulled. The mound imploded with a crack, sending up plumes of dust and termites.

I hastened back as thousands of tiny pale bodies erupted out of the shattered earth.

A whirring sound filled the air and I turned quickly, anticipating an attack from vengeful insects. Oilif stood with a half-dozen women, all whirling bolas above their heads. They were long ropes that split at the end into three cords tied with weights. I’d seen them for sale but never in action. Fascinated, I watched as Oilif cried out a command and the women flung the bolas. Six men, including Rodden and Uwin, found themselves hobbled as the ropes encircled their legs. Rodden grasped my shoulder for balance. He glanced around at the Jarbin, all straight-backed with ferocious expressions.

‘All right, then,’ he said.

‘There.’ I pointed to the eastern edge of the floodplain. ‘That’s where we surrender.’ I stood with Rodden, Uwin and Oilif on the edge of the village, hidden under the eave of a hut. ‘The trees surround
that spit on three sides. They don’t give complete cover, but it should be enough.’

Rodden turned to Uwin. ‘We might not kill them all. If a harming escapes back to Lharmell with the news the Jarbin have allied themselves with us, there will be nothing I can do to help you. Zeraphina and I must get back to Pergamia as quickly as possible.’

Uwin bade us follow him to a mud-brick building. He waved the two guards aside and ushered us in. The afternoon light barely touched the room, but my rapidly adjusting eyes saw a tell-tale orange glow. Lining the walls of the room were swords, spears and daggers, all glowing faintly orange. Yelbar weapons.

‘Stars above,’ Rodden breathed, reaching for a sword and then thinking better of it.

‘They’re very old, but they’re in perfect condition,’ Oilif said. ‘There are tales, you see, of creatures that attacked and killed our ancestors, and only a special type of weapon would work against them. This stockpile has been maintained in case we ever need them again. We listen to our old stories, you see.’

I turned to her. ‘You know how the truth about the Lharmellins has been suppressed on Brivora,’ I guessed.

‘I thought they were superstition and nonsense. But they’re not. The bennium draws them here from
time to time. They froze the mountains to the north, but they cannot stop the monsoon.’

I’d been right about the mountains. The Lharmellins had locked up all the water in the ice caps.

I noticed she made no distinction between harmings and Lharmellins: she didn’t realise that the ones who froze the mountains and the ones who had come from the north to attack the Jarbin were two different creatures. They knew enough to keep the weapons, but not more. I didn’t want to disabuse her and the rest of the village of the notion, fearing she’d discover that Rodden and I were harmings too.

She gazed at the weapons. ‘So we are not helpless after all. We have found ways of protecting ourselves.’

‘I can see that,’ Rodden said. ‘Pity there are no yelbar-tipped arrows in your armoury.’

Oilif translated for Uwin, and the man snorted. He hefted a sword from the rack. Rodden and I stepped back instinctively. Uwin gazed at the weapon, the sharp metal lit from within. A harming wouldn’t hesitate to attack a sailor who carried a cutlass, but they would think twice about coming near the bearer of such a sword. I didn’t need anyone to translate Uwin’s words.

Who needs arrows when you have this?

With our weapons concealed in our packs, Rodden and I sauntered west of the village, unhurried. I had my bow and Rodden his crossbow. We each had a yelbar dagger, gifts from Uwin, sheathed at our belts. Rodden had taken them gingerly from the man, thanking him but suggesting quietly that I fetch our gloves. We hadn’t told the Jarbin of our harming blood, nor had they asked why the brant-riders were so interested in us. We let them assume that it was because we sought yelbar for the king of Pergamia. Which was half-true.

Overhead, the brants tracked our progress. We were drawing them away from the village to give the Jarbin time to secrete themselves among the thin scrub and trees that bordered the eastern corner of the floodplain. The men had their barbed hooks and ropes and the women their bolas.

We reached the oasis and stopped. I tried not to think of the Jarbin hidden in ambush. Rodden’s foot beat the ground in an irregular tattoo.

‘I don’t like this at all,’ he muttered. ‘We’re putting these people in danger for no one’s benefit but our own.’

‘They are fully informed and helping us willingly,’ I countered. ‘You just have trouble relying on anyone but yourself.’

‘I wonder if they know what they’re getting themselves into. It’s my responsibility to get us home safely. Not theirs.’

‘Don’t I get a say in this? I’m the one the harmings are after for killing the Lharmellin leader.’

‘You know I would have that another way also, if I could.’

‘You can’t have all the glory.’

‘I don’t want glory, I want you to –’

‘Oh, shut up.’

The sun had begun its descent and the shadows were lengthening. There were three more hours until sunset. I hoped it would be enough time to lure the harmings from the sky and kill them. ‘Do you think the Jarbin are in position yet?’

‘A little longer.’

The silence stretched, punctuated by the drowsy chirps of crickets among the reeds.

I took a deep breath. ‘Oilif ran away from home.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Rodden said. His eyes darted over the surface of the oasis. He was too distracted to listen. Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to discuss the idea that had been forming in my mind since I’d spoken
to the leader’s wife.

I glanced towards the village. Not a creature stirred.

‘All right,’ Rodden said, hefting his pack higher on his shoulder. ‘Let’s go and surrender.’

Like moths to a flame, the harmings wheeled their mounts to follow our progress back through the village and out onto the plain. We dumped our bags on the dried mud.

‘Ready?’ Rodden asked.

I nodded. We looked up at our enemy. Pushing all thoughts of the Jarbin out of my mind, I let down my walls. With not a little malice I brought forth my memories of killing the Lharmellin leader, its brackish blood flowing in rivers down my arms. With the full force of my resentment, I flung these pictures at the harmings.

I did it
.
It was me
.

From their great height, I heard the harmings scream in anger. The brants dipped and wheeled violently as they sensed their masters’ turmoil.

My memories had a bigger effect than I’d expected. They actually seemed to be in pain.

‘Can you sense that?’ I whispered to Rodden.

‘Yes,’ he said, frowning. ‘Your memories seem to be hurting them. Can you do it again?’

I did, and they yelled in fury. One brant broke from the others, drew in its wings and hurtled to the ground. It landed at speed and staggered, twenty yards from where we stood. The harming rider dismounted, his body tight with anger. He approached, halting at ten paces distant. The desert sun had not been kind to him. His face and hands were a mass of angry red blisters. Breathing heavily, he snarled, ‘You! You are the traitorous one.’

‘Glory to Lharmell,’ I hissed.

‘We wish to parley,’ Rodden said. He nodded at the sky. ‘With all of you.’

The harming’s lip curled. ‘You do not order us, you traitorous wretch.’

‘Zeraphina, show them again what you did to their beloved leader.’

With all my strength I hurled my memories of the Turning at the five harmings. The screams of the dying Lharmellin. The orange light in its eyes as the yelbar coursed through its body; the screams of the crowd as they beheld their dying leader. I showed them the arrows sprouting from the other Lharmellins and their bodies crumpling and smoking. And then I showed them our escape.

There were screams of anger overhead.

‘We will come willingly,’ said Rodden, ‘as we realise
we will never make it out of this desert alive. The Jarbin refuse to help us or hide us. But we will discuss the terms of our capture with you first. We’ve killed many of your kind and my friend here would be more than pleased to share her memories with you.’ Rodden gave his most charming smile. ‘Please. Indulge us.’

The harming shot us a look of pure loathing. Silently, the brants above began their descent. One after the other, they landed with a thud on the cracked ground, encircling us. The riders slithered from their mounts.

The first harming glared at us. ‘Tell us your terms, and be quick about it.’

Rodden wet his lips. I heard a whirring sound from the bushes. Two harmings cocked their ears to the sound. The first stared at us, puzzled at our silence. Then he too heard the low humming that filled the air and realised his mistake. ‘It’s a trap!’ he screamed.

They leapt for their mounts as the Jarbin let fly. Two brants were ensnared with ropes and pulled to the ground. They screamed and lashed out with their beaks and talons. Three harmings found their legs hobbled by bolas but one was already worming herself free. She and another leapt for Rodden.

The first harming came at me.

‘You will die a thousand deaths,’ he screamed. He
was weaponless, but I saw the mad glint in his eye and didn’t doubt that he was strong enough to tear me limb from limb with his bare hands.

I whipped the yelbar dagger from its sheath and dropped into a crouch. ‘One death from you is all I require.’ My heart pounded in my chest. I wished for the certainty of a bow but the harming was too close. I’d practised knife-fighting with Rodden but this was the real thing. As the harming lunged, instinct kicked in and I dodged his attack. I slashed at his arm but he was quick to avoid me.

The screams of harmings and brants filled the air. The Jarbin were now on the floodplain and I heard the whirr of bolas again. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rodden cut the throat of a harming and let her fall to the ground. The body began to smoke and burn before her dying gurgles had faded.

I struck out with the knife, but the harming evaded my blow and kicked me in the stomach. I fell to my knees, winded, and the harming was on me, pushing me flat and trying to wrest the dagger from my grasp. His cracked and burned face was inches from my own.