BRENHYA 12
By HECK

Comments to heck@euphony.net

CHAPTER TWELVE.

  Destitution Desert was not a desert in the accepted sense of the word. No 
majestic dunes marching steadily across the terrain with their ever-shifting sands, 
no convenient oases with shade or tall palms, no blazing hot sun.
  Instead, a flat, rocky landscape stretching for leagues and leagues in any 
direction, unsheltered by mountain ranges or even changes in elevation, created a 
bleak, hostile landscape. Blasted by a constant north wind, the occasional rainfall 
was leached from the wind-parched earth before it had a chance to do any good, 
and in the lee of the scattered boulders small, stunted plants battled the elements 
for life. A few rodents, a couple of small herds of hardy Saiga antelope, and the 
ever present wheeling buzzards comprised the only wildlife, eking out a meagre 
existence in the cold, inhospitable environment.
  Brenhya and Lon had left the fertile lands surrounding Kelstion far behind. They 
had provisioned themselves well for the desert crossing, purchasing quantities of 
dried fruit and meat as well as warm travelling cloaks and cosy bed rolls. It was 
late autumn when they left the township. They had enquired as to the safety of 
undertaking such an enterprise at that time of year; the consensus appeared to be 
that there was no safe time to cross, that it was always cold and hostile, and that 
now was as good a time as any. Several had made it plain that they thought the 
two were quite mad to even contemplate the journey.
  'Only three things happen to folks who try to cross the Destitution', they were 
told. 'They either freeze to death, die of hunger or thirst, or get eaten by the Vash 
Kansanar'.
  Lon had protested that, perhaps, it might be better to attempt to circumnavigate 
the desert, but the look on his companion's face when he suggested it persuaded 
him to withdraw his objection. Then she had treated him to one of her dazzling 
smiles.
  'Look at it this way, Lon', she explained. 'The sooner we catch up with Boulic, 
the sooner we can put an end to his murdering ways. And the sooner we can find a 
wizard to complete your training. That's what you want, isn't it'. 
  Lon had been forced to admit the truth of that but also realised that, the sooner 
they found him a new Master, the sooner he would have to part from Brenhya. 
The prospect of that filled him with sadness, and he said as much. Brenhya took 
him by the shoulders and looked deep into his slightly runny eyes.
  'We're friends, aren't we? And, as friends, we'll always be together. In here'. 
She laid a hand over his heart. 'But you know you have to finish your 
apprenticeship. You owe your old Master that much, at least'. Lon had to agree.
  'I s'pose so', he nodded.
  'Besides', Brenhya went on. 'From what Ralagant told me, there aren't very 
many, what did he call them? Hedge-wizards?' Lon gave a nod. 'There aren't 
many hedge-wizards left. So it may be a long time, years, even, before we find 
one. And then he might not be suitable. You could be stuck with me for a lot 
longer than you think!'
  Lon, wanting to tell her that he would never think of himself as being "stuck" 
with her, that his heart's desire was to stay at her side forever, in whatever way 
she wished, had nevertheless brightened at her words and continued packing. 
Rightly, he judged that this was not what Brenhya wanted to hear.
  And now they were actually doing it. Crossing Destitution Desert. Wrapped up 
in their warm cloaks, steadily putting one foot in front of the other, constantly 
battling the whistling wind. Brenhya knew her strength and stamina would be up 
to the crossing, but worried about Lon. He was by no means unfit, but had neither 
the strength nor the mass of his Warrior companion. She kept an arm about his 
shoulders, surreptitiously lending support, kept him enfolded in her voluminous 
cloak as well as his own, and as far as she could kept him in her lee to reduce the 
effects of the wind on his body, but even so every step cost him in effort.
  At night, they wrapped themselves in their bed rolls an cloaks on the leeward 
side of a big boulder, huddling together for warmth, snatching a few minutes of 
fitful sleep where they could. The wind made it impossible to light a fire, so the 
long nights were cold and miserable.
  Each night, Brenhya took their only cooking pot, and placed it in a position 
where it would be quite exposed but unlikely to be blown away by the wind. She 
stretched and fastened a piece of oilskin over the top, and placed a pebble in the 
centre so that it formed a concavity. Overnight, moisture condensed on the 
underside of the fabric, ran down to the tip of the depression, and dripped into the 
pot beneath. In this way, she collected enough water for them both to have at least 
a couple of mouthfuls each morning, eking out the meagre supplies of fluid they 
carried with them.
  Although he made no protest, after several days it became apparent to Brenhya 
that Lon was becoming exhausted. His lips, as were hers, were dry and chapped, 
and he had begun to stagger just a little. Unused to such sustained travel, his feet 
were developing blisters and it was getting painful to walk. She determined to find 
a place where they could rest up for at least a day, to allow him to recuperate.
  They came upon a group of three huge boulders deposited there, as had all the 
stones, by an ancient glaciation. This trio formed a natural windbreak, and in their 
shelter a pocket of still air would permit the lighting of a fire. Further, as they 
approached, Brenhya's keen eye detected the recent spoor of a herd of the desert 
antelope; a promise of fresh meat. 
  It was nearing dark when they gratefully stopped in the lee of the boulders. 
Because of the lack of wind in that spot, the temperature was several degrees 
warmer and a clump of spinifex bushes spoke of moisture in the ground. The still 
air meant it was merely cool, rather than icy cold, but from their perspective it was 
almost luxuriously warm. They bedded down for the night and, for once, slept 
well.
  When Lon woke next morning, Brenhya was already up and doing, slinging her 
quiver and the Wheelbow across her back, the wind whipping her hair. He rolled 
over and propped himself on an elbow.
  'What're you doing?', he asked. 'I thought we were going to stay here for a 
while?'
  'We are', Brenhya replied. 'But I thought I might see if I can get us some fresh 
meat. I'm going to follow that antelope spoor we saw yesterday. You stay here, 
keep your head down, don't make any unnecessary noise and don't, I mean it, 
don't try to light a fire until I get back. OK?' He nodded. 'Right', she continued. 
'I'm leaving my sword, just in case there are any predators about, but don't touch 
it unless you have to'.
  'Right you are', Lon yawned. He turned over and snuggled down in his bed roll 
again.
  Brenhya looked down at his recumbent body, already snoring gently, and smiled 
softly to herself. She had found a good friend in that one, she thought, and she 
enjoyed his company, even if he did have aspirations she could never fulfill. She 
turned on her heel.
  It took no more than a few minutes of casting about to pick up the spoor. The 
herd was travelling southwest, and she set off to follow it at a brisk jog, her sharp 
eyes picking up every tiny sign in the bare, hard-packed earth. She had left her 
cloak behind, reasoning that its billowing folds would spook her shy quarry, but 
her vigorous activity kept her warm. In less than an hour she had found the place 
where the animals had spent the night, and picked up their morning trail, headed 
now more to the south. 
  It was almost noon when Brenhya's keen vision spotted a movement on the 
horizon and she threw herself flat. Less than a quarter of a league away, a small 
herd of about sixteen adult saiga antelope, plus that year's crop of calves, were 
peacefully browsing on a clump of stunted shrubs. At least one adult always had 
its head up watching for danger, its bulbous nose testing the air.
  Moving at a low crouch, always watching the herd, ready to freeze in an instant 
if an animal looked her way, Brenhya circled wide around her quarry, taking 
herself downwind to avoid detection. Eventually she was in position and raised 
herself on one knee, nocking an arrow to her bowstring.
  Standing lookout a little way off from the main body of the herd, a mature buck 
stood broadside on to her position. He appeared to be staring directly at her, but 
due to the distance between them and because he could not smell her, he did not 
appreciate the danger. Brenhya drew the mighty bow and took careful aim.
  The air shrieked as it was split by her heavy arrow, propelled with the full force 
of the Wheelbow behind it. It struck its target before the herd had time to react, 
skewering the big buck through the chest, felling him where he stood. It was a 
clean kill, and he was dead before he hit the ground. The rest of the antelope took 
to their heels and quickly put distance between them and their fallen comrade. 
They stopped several hundred yards away and milled about, occasionally looking 
toward the buck, instinct telling them that, now the kill had been made, they were 
no longer in danger.
  Invigorated from the hunt, Brenhya loped up to the buck and knelt at its side. 
Taking her stiletto from its niche in her wristguard, she swiftly slit open the 
paunch and dumped out those parts of the entrails that were of no use. The 
viscera, now lying in a steaming pile at her feet, would make a welcome meal for 
the scavengers that would doubtless arrive any second. She bound the feet 
together to prevent a stray hoof hitting her face, and effortlessly slung the hundred 
and fifty pound carcase across her wide shoulders.

  She lay naked on her back, luxuriating in the soft feather bed, and smiled up at 
him. Her muscular thighs lay open invitingly, and the sunlight streaming through 
the window highlighted her flawless golden skin. He knelt between her legs and 
began to run his hands over her splendid body, appreciating the restrained power 
of her, delighting in the feel of the firm muscles. His hands found her magnificent 
breasts, firm and upright even though she was on her back, and kneaded the 
cherry-sized perfect nipples until they sprang erect.
  In her turn, she explored his body with her large, strong hands; hands that he 
knew were powerful enough to repel his advances with little trouble. Hands that 
could throw him across the room without effort. He was doubly excited by the fact 
that she was so much stronger than he, yet chose to accept him into her body as 
she did now.
  Her powerful arms pulled him down so that he lay atop her, his weight fully 
supported on her tremendous body. Their lips brushed lightly, and paused 
fractions of an inch apart.
  'Oh, Lon!', she gasped throatily.
  'Oh, Brenhya......'

  Lon came awake gradually, a goofy smile on his lips. He lay with his eyes 
closed, disappointed that his dream had come to an end. Lord, it had been a good 
one, though! They had nearly...
  He became aware that he was not alone and sat up rubbing his eyes.
  'Brenhya?' He looked up.
  Silhouetted against the grey sky, five women looked down on him. They were all 
tall and rangy, muscular in a lean way, and were completely naked, every one. 
Their teeth were filed to wicked points, and their bodies and hair were caked with 
dirt, so nearly exactly the colour of the monotonous plain that all they would have 
to do was remain still and they would have been all but invisible. Each carried a 
stout staff as their only weapon.
  Lon jumped from his bed roll and scrambled for the broadsword that lay nearby. 
He fumbled it from its scabbard and stood at bay, the three huge stones behind 
him. The sword was really too heavy for him, and he held it with both hands, its 
point wavering as he prepared to defend himself.
  'Get back!', he shouted. The women, all eerily silent, took no notice. As one, 
they took a step toward him. Then another. Then they all rushed him together.
  Lon flailed wildly with the big Broadsword, and managed to open a deep gash 
on one woman's thigh. She gave no cry, but merely stepped back out of the way 
of her companions. The other four closed rapidly and bore him down by sheer 
weight alone. One swung her staff and landed its butt on the back of his 
head, and he knew no more.

  With the wind in her face blowing her hair like a banner behind her, Brenhya 
jogged back across the featureless plain, her burden bouncing on her shoulders as 
she ran. She was feeling pretty pleased with herself, now that she was bringing 
sufficient food to see them at least to the other side of the desert.
  As she came within visual range of the three boulders, some Warrior's sixth 
sense told her something was wrong. She came to a complete halt, letting the 
antelope fall unheeded from her back, scanning their campsite with her keen eyes. 
From this distance, she was unable to make out details clearly, but could see that 
Lon was not there. Fitting an arrow to her bow as she ran, she sprinted across the 
intervening distance.
  Brenhya slowed as she neared the site, eyes darting about, approaching with 
caution. Signs of disturbance were clear to her trained sight. The overturned 
cookpot, the discarded bedding, the scattered kindling, the missing broadsword, a 
few spots of blood. Desperately she cast about, cursing herself for leaving Lon 
alone. Then her innate calm returned as she found the sign she was looking for.
  To another person,  there would have been no indication of what had happened. 
To Brenhya, it was clear that five barefoot people had approached the camp, there 
had been a brief struggle, during which one of the intruders had been injured but 
not seriously, and Lon had been carried away, rather than dragged. She inferred 
all this from the fact that, although the traces were faint on the hard ground, there 
were definite marks of five slightly different feet. The struggle was apparent from 
the disarray, and the injury from the fact that some of the blood spots coincided 
with one of the bare feet and followed the trail out of the area for a short way. The 
lack of drag marks, and the deeper indentations of two pairs of retreating 
footprints, showed that Lon had been carried.
  'Vash Kansanar'. She pronounced the words like a curse.
  At a fast jog, Brenhya followed the trail to the west.

  Lon became aware of a throbbing ache in his head, and sharper pains in his 
wrists and ankles. His body also seemed to be swaying from side to side. 
  He opened his eyes, to find himself bound and gagged, and hanging from a pole 
slung between the shoulders of two tall women. They were carrying him into a 
deep rocky defile, containing a number of mud huts. Other women were all about, 
and he seemed to be being carried through a corridor of them. All were tall, lean, 
and hard-muscled, all were plastered in the same filth as his captors, and all were 
totally silent. A few naked men were among them, but these were weedy and 
seemed to be occupied with menial tasks.
  His porters came to a halt. Lon peered round, and saw that he was being 
scrutinised by another woman who looked, at first glance, identical to the others. 
Then he noticed a scruffy necklace of human teeth about her neck and a triple 
thong around her waist, from which three fist-sized stone balls hung.
  'Mmf mf mmf, mf mf mf mmf!', Lon said against the gag. The woman looked at 
him with uncaring eyes and either would not or could not answer. She shifted her 
gaze to the bearers for a moment, then turned her back and strode away. He was 
carried a little further, and unceremoniously dumped on the ground and left.
  Lon peered about him as best he could. He was still bound and gagged. He 
appeared to have been dropped inside a tall wooden cage with thick staves for 
bars bound together with leather thongs, and left helpless.
  As night fell, the women built a large fire. The flames leapt up as they circled it, 
dancing to a hollow drumbeat but every one still weirdly silent. At the far side of 
the fire, on a throne constructed entirely of yellowed human skulls, the woman he 
took to be the leader sat watching, idly playing with her dental necklace. Between 
her feet, the point of Brenhya's broadsword stood on another skull, and the 
woman's free hand rested lightly on its pommel.
  Lon watched all this with mounting apprehension. He couldn't even get his 
hands free enough to make some gestures, not that he had much faith in his own 
magical ability, but at this stage anything was worth a try.
  'Lon!' He imagined he heard his name whispered. 'Lon! Behind you!'
  He twisted round as far as he could, just sufficient to see Brenhya's face, fingers 
to lips, outside the cage. Quickly, she cut the thongs holding one of the staves in 
place and quietly laid it aside. She reached into the cage, but with the Wheelbow 
across her back could not quite reach him.
  Lon shuffled round until he felt his foot contact her hand and her powerful grip 
on his ankle. Then he was pulled to the side of the cage, where she cut the thongs 
that bound his feet and wrists. He had to bite his lip to stop himself crying out 
from the pain, as his blood rushed back into his hands and feet. He managed to get 
to his hands and knees and crawl out of the cage but, once outside, could not stand 
due to the numbness in his legs.
  Brenhya wasted no time. She draped him over her shoulder and turned, just as 
one of the women stepped up to the cage. She did not hesitate but lashed out with 
a kick, the ball of her foot connecting just under the ribcage, stopping the 
woman's heart where she stood. She fell without a sound, but the drumming 
stopped instantly and all the women turned to look in their direction. Brenhya did 
not wait to see what would happen next, but sprinted up the defile.
  Lon, dangling over her shoulder, could see what was happening behind. As if in 
formation, they all began to give chase at the same moment. It was a strange 
feeling to be pursued by scores of silent women.
  Brenhya cursed as something she had not taken into account became apparent. 
The defile was actually a box canyon, she had run the wrong way, and very 
quickly she came to its dead end, sheer walls surrounding her on three sides to a 
height of about ten feet. 
  'Can you stand, yet?', she called to Lon.
  'I can try', he replied. She set him on his feet. He could stand, but had not yet 
regained sufficient feeling to walk.
  'Turn round', Brenhya instructed. 'Face the cliff'.
  'Why?'
  'Don't argue! Just do it!'
  Lon did her bidding. Brenhya squatted at his side and place her hand under his 
butt.
  'Grab on!', she told him, and boosted him, almost threw him vertically up the 
rocky wall. He all but cleared the top and threw himself forward, digging his still 
throbbing fingers into the earth for purchase. He turned himself round and looked 
back down into the canyon.
  'Your hand!', Brenhya called to him. He reached over the rim as far as he could. 
The woman took a couple of steps backward, and launched herself up the face to 
grasp his sore wrist in her vice-like grip. He cried out as her sudden weight almost 
wrenched his arm from his socket, but he held on, even managed to pull her up a 
little as she scrambled up the cliff.
  Below, the tribeswomen had reached the foot of the cliff. At first, they did not 
seem to know what to do, but then, as if at a given signal, one woman cupped her 
hands under the foot of another and boosted her up toward the escapees. Brenhya 
kicked out as she felt her foot grasped, but failed to dislodge her attacker straight 
away. Above, Lon gave another cry as his arm was stretched further by the added 
weight. His poor fingers had no grip in them any more, and it was Brenhya's hand 
alone that held on to his wrist. Down on the canyon floor, the women were 
preparing to launch another.
  Knowing that Lon could not bear the weight of three women without serious, 
and perhaps permanent, damage to his arm, Brenhya let go her grasp and fell to 
the ground. Lon yelled out his anguish as he felt her weight vanish. Her fall was 
broken by the three tribeswomen beneath her, and she was on her feet in an 
instant, laying about her with hands and feet.
  For the women, it was like trying to fight a speeding windmill as she felled them 
left, right, and centre. Several jaws were broken and bodies flew through the air. 
They had no tactics, but were strong and persistent, and it seemed to Brenhya that 
no sooner had she put one down than another two took her place.
  Up on the ledge, Lon yelled to her as he lobbed rocks down on the women. He 
took out several in this way, but there were always more to replace them. Fighting 
with her back to the wall, Brenhya never had to take on more than three or four at 
once, and the pile of unconscious, debilitated, or dead women around her feet was 
growing. Even so, she was beginning to tire, and knew that she could not keep this 
up much longer. She grabbed one woman by the ankles and began to use her as a 
club, swinging her body left and right, scything down her attackers.
  Suddenly, the silent women stopped fighting and stepped back. From his ledge, 
Lon called to her.
  'Brenhya, what ...' She held up a hand to quiet him. The tribeswomen had split 
away to each side, and at the end of the passage they formed their leader stood. 
She had removed the triple thong with its three stone balls from her waist and was 
twirling them above her head.
  For a person without a large shield, there is no defence against a well thrown 
bolas except to dodge. With women on both sides, Brenhya had nowhere to dodge 
to. She was aware of the twirling thing coptering towards her, then a bright light 
exploded inside her head. She fell to her knees, stunned but not unconscious. As if 
from a hundred leagues, she could hear Lon calling her name as she was roughly 
dragged away.
  
  For a long while, she was dazed and confused. She was vaguely aware of a 
distant drumbeat and a crackling heat, but not much else. Slowly, her perceptions 
cleared and she lifted her head, strands of auburn hair adhering to her sweaty face.
  The women had resumed their eerie, voiceless dance around the fire. On the far 
side, the headwoman sat on her gruesome throne, Brenhya's sword now leaning 
against it to one side of her and the Wheelbow together with its quiver on the 
other. The woman glared across the fire at her captive, watching her intently.
  She was tied to an upright stake that extended three feet above her head, about 
ten yards from the fire. Her feet were free but her arms were fastened at her back, 
behind the stake, with leather thonging. She tested their strength and found that, 
being looped several times around her wrists, they were more than capable of 
restraining her, at least long enough for her efforts to be noticed.
  Feigning weakness for the benefit of the headwoman, Brenhya let her knees sag 
a little, Behind her, she grasped the stake with both hands and awaited her chance. 
It was not long in coming. 
  'Basman! Durican! Maltifal!'
  Brenhya had the presence of mind to turn her face away as the fireball struck, 
right in the middle of the big fire. Great chunks of burning timber sprayed among 
the dancing women as the pillar of fire erupted, causing several to run, hair afire. 
The headwoman just managed to duck as a flaming missile slammed into the high 
back of her chair.
  Brenhya was not one to miss an opportunity. She seized the stake with both 
hands, exerted her tremendous strength, and heaved it from the ground in one 
movement. Leaning forward so that the timber projected forward like the prow of 
a great ship, she moved among the nearest tribeswomen, scything them down like 
summer corn.
  She threw herself flat as she heard Lon intoning once again. A second fireball, 
less powerful than the first but just as devastating in its effect, splashed down in 
the centre of a knot of women, this time incinerating several with its resultant 
pillar of flame.
  Brenhya rid herself of the stake by the simple expedient of ramming its base 
back into the ground, this time at a shallow angle, and simply walking away from 
it. Across the fire, the headwoman was on her feet, staring right and left, and 
where she stared the tribeswomen seemed to perform directed tasks. Still none of 
the women uttered a sound.
  'That's it!', Brenhya thought. 'She's controlling their minds! It's like they're all 
worker bees, and she's the queen'.
  She whirled as a hand touched her arm. Lon had made his way to her side, and 
stood there, looking pleased with himself. She raised a hand to touch his cheek. 
Without being asked, he took a small clasp knife from his pocket and cut her 
bonds.
  'That fire spell came in handy, after all', she smiled, massaging her wrists. 'Wait 
here. I know what to do'.
  Before he could speak, Brenhya sprinted the few steps to the fire. With a 
triumphant yell, she launched herself, somersaulting high over the flames to land 
like a cat on the other side. In two strides, she was up the steps and on the 
headwoman before that person knew it. She spun her round, took her head in her 
strong hands, and gave it a sharp twist. There was a loud crack as her neck 
snapped, and the headwoman slumped in a lifeless heap at Brenhya's feet.
  The effect on the tribeswomen was remarkable. A great howl went up from 
dozens of previously mute throats. Several fell to the ground, frothing at the lips, 
wracked by terrible seizures. Others ran around without direction, like headless 
chickens, barging into one another and sending each other sprawling. The 
bedlamic confusion continued for several minutes, before they all subsided, some 
falling weeping to the ground, others milling around, blank looks on their faces.
  Lon ran up to Brenhya's side.
  'What did you do?', he wanted to know.
  'You could say', answered Brenhya as she collected her sword, bow, and quiver, 
'that I cut off their head. They were like a nest of ants or a hive of bees, all 
dependent on the queen to give them direction. Take out the queen, they've got no 
purpose left. This is the result'. She donned her weaponry, handing the great bow 
to Lon. 'But now', she went on, 'I think it's time to get out of here. I don't 
suppose it'll be too long before they sort them selves out and another one takes 
her place'.
  Back on the plain, they made straight for the three boulders and the camp they 
had set up there. While Lon packed up their bed rolls and kit, Brenhya went to 
collect the antelope she had shot, and was pleased to find that it had not been too 
badly scavenged. They travelled for thirty-six hours without rest, hoping to put as 
much distance in as short a time as they could between themselves and the Vash 
Kansanar. Then they rested for a day or so. The meat of the antelope was cut into 
strips and dried in the moaning wind, while the travellers feasted on the liver and 
heart. The much needed protein made Lon, at least, feel much better. 

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