Reaper's Gale

Alas, he would have to disappoint them. ‘Masarch,’ he now said, ‘remain here with the others. Accept no challenges.’

‘No-one has come close enough to see your mask,’ the youth said. ‘No-one suspects what you seek, War Leader. As soon as they do, we shall be under siege.’

‘Do you fear, Masarch?’

‘Dying? No, not any more.’

‘Then you are a child no longer. Wait, do nothing.’ Redmask nudged his horse onto the slope, gathering it into a collected canter as he approached the Ganetok encampment. Eyes fixed on him, then held, as shouts rose, the voices more angry than shocked. Until the nearer warriors made note of his weapons. All at once a hush fell over the encampment, rippling in a wave, and in its wake rose a murmuring, the anger he had first heard only now with a deeper timbre.

Dray dogs caught the burgeoning rage and drew closer, fangs bared and hackles stiff.

Redmask reined in. His Letherii horse tossed its head and stamped, snorting to warn off the huge dogs.

Someone was coming through the gathered crowd, like the prow of an unseen ship pushing through tall reeds. Settling back on the foreign saddle, Redmask waited.

Hadralt, firstborn son to Capalah, walked with his father’s swagger but not his physical authority. He was short and lean, reputedly very fast with the hook-bladed shortswords cross-strapped beneath each arm. Surrounding him were a dozen of his favoured warriors, huge, hulking men whose faces had been painted in a simulacrum of scales, copper in tone yet clearly intended to echo Redmask’s own. The expressions beneath that paint were now ones of chagrin.

His hands restless around the fetishes lining his belt, Hadralt glowered up at Redmask. ‘If you are who you claim to be, then you do not belong here. Leave, or your blood will feed the dry earth.’

Redmask let his impassive gaze slide over the copper-faced warriors. ‘You mouth the echoes, yet quail from the source.’ He looked once more upon the war leader. ‘I am before you now, Hadralt son of Capalah. Redmask, war leader of the Renfayar clan, and on this day I will kill you.’

The dark eyes widened, then Hadralt sneered. ‘Your life was a curse, Redmask. You have not yet earned the right to challenge me. Tell me, will your pathetically few pups fight for you? Your ambition will see them all killed, and my warriors shall take the Renfayar herds. And the Renfayar women-but only of bearing age. The children and elders will die, for they are burdens we will not abide. The Renfayar shall cease to be.’

‘For your warriors to gain the right to challenge my kin, Hadralt, they must first defeat my own champions.’

‘And where are they hiding, Redmask? Unless you mean that scarred dray that followed you in.’

The laughter at that jest was overloud.

Redmask glanced back at the lone beast. Lying on the ground just to the right of the horse, it had faced down all the other dogs in the area without even rising. The dray lifted its head and met Redmask’s eyes, as if the animal not only comprehended the words that had been spoken, but also welcomed the opportunity to face every challenger. He felt something stir in his chest. ‘This beast-understands courage,’ he said, facing Hadralt once more. ‘Would that I had ten thousand warriors to match it. Yet all I see before me is you, Hadralt, war leader of ten thousand cowards.’

The clamour that erupted then seemed to blister the air. Weapons flashed into sunlight, the massed crowd edging in. A sea of faces twisted with rage.

Hadralt had gone pale. Then he raised his arms and held them high until the outcry fell away. ‘Every warrior here,’ he said in a trembling voice, ‘shall take a piece of your hide, Redmask. They deserve no less in answer to your words. You seek to take my place? You seek to lead? Lead… these cowards? You have learned nothing in your exile. Not a warrior here will follow you now, Redmask. Not one.’

‘You hired an army,’ Redmask said, unable to keep the contempt from his tone. ‘You marched at their sides against the Letherii. And then, when the battle was offered and your new-found allies were engaged-fighting for you-you all fled. Cowards? That is too kind a word. In my eyes, Hadralt, you and your people are not Awl, not any more, for no true Awl warrior would do such a thing. I came upon rheir bodies. I was witness to your betrayal. The truth is this. When I am war leader here, before this day’s sun touches the horizon, it will fall to every warrior present to prove his worth, to earn the right to follow me. And I shall not be easy to convince. Copper paint on the faces of cowards-no greater insult could you have delivered to me.’

‘Climb down,’ Hadralt said in a rasp. ‘Down off that Letherii nag. Climb down, Redmask, to meet your end.’

Instead he drew out a hollowed rodara horn and lifted it to his lips. The piercing blast silenced all in the encampment except for the dogs, which began a mournful howling in answer. Redmask replaced the horn at his belt. ‘It is the way of time,’ he said, loud enough for his voice to carry, ‘for old enemies to find peace in the passing of ages. We have fought many wars, yet it was the first that holds still in the memory of the Awl, here in this very earth.’ He paused, for he could feel the reverberation beneath him-as did others now-as the two K’Chain Che’Malle approached in answer to his call. ‘Hadralt, son of Capalah, you are about to stand alone, and you and I shall draw our weapons. Prepare yourself.’

From the ridge, where stood the modest line of Renfayar warriors, six in all, two other shapes loomed into view, huge, towering. Then, in liquid motion, the pair flowed down the slope.

Silence hung heavy, beyond the thump of taloned feet, and hands that had rested on the grips and pommels of weapons slowly fell away.

‘My champions,’ said Redmask. ‘They are ready for your challengers, Hadralt. For your copper-faces.’

The war leader said nothing, and Redmask could see in the warrior’s expression that he would not risk losing the force of his words, when his commands were disobeyed-as they would be, a truth of which all who were present were now aware. Destiny awaited, then, in this solitary clash of wills.

Hadralt licked his lips. ‘Redmask, when I have killed you, what then of these Kechra?’

Making no reply, Redmask dismounted, walking to halt six paces in front of Hadralt. He unlimbered the rygtha crescent axe and centred his grip on the hafted weapon. ‘Your father is gone. You must now let go of his hand and stand alone, Hadralt. The first and last time. You have failed as war leader. You led Awl warriors to battle, then led them in flight. You betrayed allies. And now, you hide here on the very edge of the wastelands, rather than meet the invading Letherii blade to blade, teeth to throat. You will now step aside, or die.’

‘Step aside?’ Hadralt tilted his head, then managed a rictus smile. ‘That choice is not offered to an Awl warrior.’

‘True,’ Redmask said. ‘Only to elders who can no longer defend themselves, or to those too broken by wounds.’

Hadralt bared his teeth. ‘I am neither.’

‘Nor are you an Awl warrior. Did your father step aside? No, I see that he did not. He looked into your soul, and knew you, Hadralt. And so, old as he was, he fought you. For his tribe. For his honour.’

Hadralt unsheathed his hook-blades. He was trembling once more.

One of the copper-faces then spoke. ‘Capalah ate in the hut of his son. In a single night he sickened and died. In the morning, his face was the colour of blue lichen.’

Trenys’galah?’ Redmask’s eyes narrowed in the mask’s slits. ‘You poisoned your father, Hadralt? Rather than meet his blades? How is it you stand here at all?’

‘Poison has no name,’ muttered the same copper-face.

Hadralt said, ‘I am the reason the Awl still live! You will lead them to slaughter, Redmask! We are not yet ready to face the Letherii. I have been trading for weapons-yes, there are Letherii who believe our cause is just. We give up poor land, and receive fine iron weapons-and now you come, to undo all my plans!’