BRENHYA 14
By HECK


Comments to heck@euphony.net

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Like a carpet of silence, broken only by the steady crunch of the big horse's 
hooves as they compacted the powdery surface, the deep snow muffled the 
countryside. No birds sang in the naked trees, and the wind had dropped to a quiet 
murmur that was hardly noticeable in the winter sunshine that reflected a glare 
from the pristine whiteness.
  The road was visible only as a passage through the trees that lined it, and they 
stayed to the middle to avoid unseen ditches. Brenhya and Lon were grateful for 
the great, powerful animal that ploughed his way through the drifts almost as if 
they were not there, hardly noticing the burden of the two humans on his broad 
back. Wrapped up in their heavy hooded cloaks, Lon sat behind Brenhya and 
behind him, laid across the horse's rump, were their saddlebags with the 
Wheelbow and the Warrior's quiver of arrows strapped to it. The woman was 
wide awake and alert, but Lon rested against her strong back dozing fitfully. His 
arms were wrapped around her neat waist, ostensibly holding on, but his hands 
had surreptitiously crept upwards until they just touched the lower curve of her 
fantastic breasts. 
  They had been travelling in silence for half the morning, when Brenhya reined 
Bentoe to a halt. Lon opened his eyes.
  'Wassup?', he asked. 'Trouble?'
  'Don't think so. Not for us, anyway'. She swung her leg over the horse's great 
arch of a neck and dropped lightly to the snow. She walked forward several paces, 
lifting her feet high to clear it,
stopping to point out a line of imprints and a corresponding row of red splashes. 
'See these tracks, here? And the blood? Something's been injured'.
  'I see', Lon said. 'What is it? An animal?'
  'Yes. Bear, I think'. She moved off, starting to follow the tracks. 'You stay with 
the horse'. Lon was incredulous.
  'Brenhya, wait', he called after her. 'You think it's a bear, you think it's 
wounded, and you're going after it? Are you crazy?'
  'It might be dead. We could do with the skin, in this weather. Not to mention the 
meat'.
  'It might be dead? What happens if it's not? You're going to pass the time of day 
with it?' Brenhya sighed, and turned to him with hands on hips.
  'If it's not dead, it's injured and probably in pain', she explained. 'I can't just 
leave it to suffer, can I?' Lon rolled his eyes. 'Besides', she went on, 'for a bear to 
be out and about at this time of year, when it should be hibernating, means it's had 
a pretty tough time of it and hasn't been able to put on enough fat to keep it going 
through the winter. It'll be pretty weak in any case, I should think'.
  'Brenhya', he said, as if explaining to a small child. 'Read my lips. It's a bear!' 
Brenhya flapped a hand at him, and turned away. 'Well, at least take your bow!', 
he called. She disappeared into the trees, following the trail of blood. Lon folded 
his arms and snorted.
  'Oh, yes. Typical!', he told the horse, leaning forward to pat the massive neck. 
'Mighty warrior! Great tracker! Goes off to get eaten by a bear, leaves us here at 
the mercy of Gods know what, and what does she leave for protection? A huge 
great bow that I can't even bend the string on!'
  The horse turned his great head to look at him, and whickered softly.
  'That's easy for you to say', Lon said. 'You're so big, I doubt the bears would 
even look at you, but what about me? A tasty morsel, if ever there was one!'
  Time passed. For Lon, it seemed like hours. He kept up his conversation with 
Bentoe, as much to keep his own spirits up as anything. After an eternity, he heard 
a movement in the trees.
  'What's that?', he asked the horse, looking disappointed when the animal failed 
to reply. He looked around wildly and raised his voice. 'Who's there? Brenhya?'
  No answer was immediately forthcoming. Lon was in a threefold dilemma. 
Should he go and see if he could save Brenhya from the jaws and claws of death, 
try to summon up some magical protection, or turn the horse and ride away as fast 
as he could?  
  He was still undecided when Brenhya stepped through the trees and back onto 
the road. The carcase of a huge black bear was slung over her shoulders, yet she 
walked calmly and steadily with the high-stepping, snow-avoiding gait, showing 
little sign of effort. Lon jumped down from the horse and floundered toward her.
  'Where've you been?', he demanded. 'I've been waiting forever! And, how're 
you doing that?'
  'I've only been twenty minutes or so', she replied. 'How am I doing what?'
  'Carrying the bear!'
  'Ach', she dismissed his query. 'She's in very poor condition. Only about half 
the weight she should be at this time of year'.
  'Even so', her companion complained. 'It must be about three hundred pounds or 
more!' Under the bear Brenhya gave a little shrug, and dropped her burden at his 
feet. Bentoe laid back his ears and rolled his eyes at the smell of blood. Lon 
skipped backwards, almost tumbling into the snow. "I take it was already dead?', 
he asked.
  'All but. I had to help her on her way, a little'. Brenhya indicated a deep wound 
in the centre of the broad skull where a downward blow from her heavy 
broadsword had ended the suffering of the poor, emaciated creature. 'Looks like 
she was so desperate for food, she tried to take on a bull elk'. She showed him the 
deep penetrating gashes in the bear's belly where it had been laid open by 
savagely swung antlers. 'And look here'. Brenhya peeled back the flaccid lips. 
'Her teeth and claws are so worn down with age, she probably wouldn't have 
made it through another winter, anyway. Poor old girl'. She took her sharp knife 
from her wristband and began to make an incision around the bear's neck.
  'What're you doing now?', Lon wanted to know.
  'Well, she doesn't need this pelt any more, and we could do with the extra 
warmth it will provide. Could you get that rope out of the saddlebag?'
  Seeing her logic, Lon rummaged in the saddlebag and found a long length of 
strong rope, although he was not sure what she wanted it for. When he returned, 
Brenhya had turned the bear over, and had slit it's belly from throat to crotch. She 
made joining cuts down the insides of front and back legs, and above the big, 
padded paws, encircling the wrists and hocks. Turning the bear back onto its 
belly, she peeled back the skin around the thick neck and tied the rope securely 
around the exposed flesh, handing the other end to Lon.
  'Tie that round Bentoe's neck, will you, and then get on his back. But don't kick 
him on until I tell you'.
  The youth quickly obeyed, and sat on the horse, twisting to watch his friend. 
Straddling the carcase, Brenhya took a firm grip on the loosened neck skin and 
planted her feet to brace herself. Every muscle in her stupendous body turned hard 
as steel as they tensed.
  'Now!'
  Lon applied his heels to the plough horse's flanks. The animal started forward, 
but stopped as her felt the resistance. Lon heeled him again and, putting his head 
down, he threw his weight and strength against the rope. For an instant, he was 
restrained; then there came a rustling, tearing noised as the hide began to be 
stripped from the dead bear.
  Still twisted round to watch, Lon half expected Brenhya to tumble backwards as 
the carcase was torn from her grasp. Mouth agape, he observed as the carcase was 
pulled forward between her wide-splayed legs, leaving the skin behind in her 
hands. The incredible strength required for this feat left him completely agog.
  Brenhya had to lift her feet to allow the hind legs of the bear to pass and finally, 
with a jerk, the pelt came free. She staggered back a couple of steps, and sat down 
in the snow. Lon jumped down from the horse and stumbled to her side, offering a 
hand to help her up. She was only slightly out of breath, he noticed.
  'Close your mouth', she told him. 'You'll catch flies in there'.
  'Yes, but you ...and the bear ...and you pulled ...and the horse ...you're 
incredible!' Brenhya furrowed her brow.
  'What makes you say that?', she enquired, hunkering down to fold the fur. 'It's a 
simple thing. Two forces pulling in opposite directions was bound to strip the skin 
off more quickly than flaying it off with a knife. I don't see what's so incredible 
about it'.
  'Hah!' Lon threw his hands in the air in exasperation. 'You were pulling against 
him!' He waved a hand at the great horse. 'That's what's so incredible!' Brenhya 
picked up the folded pelt and handed it to Lon. She walked up to the horse and 
stood under his arched neck, rubbing his flat cheek.
  'I wasn't, actually', she said. 'All I had to do was brace myself. Bentoe did all 
the pulling. Didn't you, big lad?'
  'Same thing! Same thing!'
  Brenhya stepped back and laid a kiss on the horse's muzzle. The big animal 
nickered softly, and Lon cursed himself silently for being jealous.
  'Come on', she said. 'Come and help me butcher this carcase. There's not much 
meat on her poor old bones, but enough in the haunches for one of your good, hot 
stews tonight'.

  They journeyed four more days before they found any further sign of the raiders. 
Well-fed on bear stew, they had covered seventeen leagues in that time; they 
would not have covered half that distance on foot, and were grateful for Bentoe's 
tireless pace.
  In the morning of the fifth day they came across more tracks in the snow, where 
fresh falls had not yet covered the signs of passage. The tracks were faint, but 
Brenhya was able to discern the spoor of fifteen men on foot, and one on 
horseback. She pulled the big horse to a halt and studied the trail intently.
  Taking the opportunity to stretch his legs, Lon jumped down from his seat. 
Looking up at his companion, he noticed a hard set to her mouth.
  'Raiders?', he asked. She nodded.
  'Think so. And in a hurry, too, by the signs'.
  'How many?'
  'Sixteen, including the one on the horse'.
  'Can we cope with sixteen?' At his use of the word "we", Brenhya raised an 
eyebrow. Lon noticed. 'Oh, come on!', he protested. 'I can be of some use. Even 
if just to provide a diversion again'.
  'You can', Brenhya relented. 'If you can think of something. And I'd prefer it 
not to be more fireballs. They're a bit random, for my liking'.
  'I'll think of something', he said sulkily. 
  The tracks led to a small village. The situation was one Brenhya had seen many 
times before; burnt buildings, slaughtered villagers, violated women and girls. 
Since the sacking of his own tiny hamlet, however, after which he was not in a fit 
state to take in much of the destruction, this was the first such scene Lon had 
come across, and he was visibly moved by the experience. Brenhya, having 
dismounted, looked up to see rivulets of silent tears coursing down his stricken 
features. She placed a strong, comforting hand on his thigh and gave it a gentle 
squeeze.
  'You'll get used to it, Lon'. Her voice was gentle and calming. 'This is what 
these animals do. It's why we're tracking them, and why I'm going to put an end 
to the monster that's behind it all'.
  'Animals?' Lon gulped. 'I know of no animals that would do this to their own 
kind'. He jumped down beside her. 'This is sheer barbarism!' Brenhya draped an 
arm over his shoulder.
  'I know', she agreed. 'And you're right about the animals. But feeling sorry isn't 
going to help. Come on. We have to see if anybody's left alive'.
  They split up to search in and between the cottages and outhouses. Not a single 
building, this time, had been left unscathed, not even the Inn, although Brenhya 
was sure the Raiders would have taken as much wine and ale as they could carry 
before putting it to the torch. She had been hunting fruitlessly for signs of life for 
about twenty minutes, when she heard Lon calling her and hurried to the sound of 
his voice.
  'Down here', he told her, pointing to a gap between two houses. She was at his 
side in seconds, and followed him into the opening.
  Lon led the woman between the dwellings to a barn at the rear which, probably 
more by luck than judgment, had missed the attention of the Raiders. Close by, a 
man lay prone, a cruel gash in his side. Snow on the front of his garments and a 
disturbance in the drifts around him told Brenhya that Lon had turned him over. 
At first glance he looked dead, but on closer inspection she saw that he was still 
breathing, shallow and rapid.
  At Brenhya's instruction, Lon went into the barn to see if he could find some 
straw to make the victim more comfortable. He was lucky enough to find a couple 
of horse blankets, and formed a soft bed from straw and draped one of the 
blankets on top. He completed his task in time to hold open one of the big double 
doors while Brenhya brought the man in, cradled in her arms. She laid him on the 
pad of straw, and Lon covered him with the other blanket.
  'Can you do anything for him?', she asked, recognising that as a hedge-wizard, 
albeit an apprentice, Lon probably had the greater ability in this field. He shook 
his head.
  'No', he said grimly. 'By making him comfortable, we've done all we can. 
Internal bleeding, see? That's what's killing him. Had we got here a few hours 
ago ...well, even then I don't think we'd've been able to save him'.
  'What about the pain?' 
  'He's beyond pain, by now', Lon informed her. She looked thoughtful for a 
minute, then seemed to come to a decision.
  'Is there any way', she said slowly. 'Any way at all, that you can bring him 
awake long enough for me to talk to him? We've got to find out how far ahead 
they are, and if we can catch up'.
  It was Lon's turn to look thoughtful for a minute. He nodded.
  'I think so. Can you find me some feathers? There's bound to have been a 
chicken coop round here somewhere. I've just got a few preparations to make'.
  Brenhya gave him a thankful smile, and trotted lightly from the barn. Within a 
few minutes, she found a coop, the chickens long gone, probably gleaned as 
provisions by the raiders. Not knowing how many were needed, she gathered as 
many feathers as she could fit into two hands and returned to her friend.
  'Got them', she announced. 'I didn't know how many you needed, so ...' She 
held up her prize. Lon looked up from what he was doing. He had cleared a wide 
circle in the straw covering the floor of the barn, and in it's exact centre had 
carefully arranged a small pile of straw over which he was striking Brenhya's 
flint. He had appeared to have been muttering an incantation when she spoke.
  'Oh, just two or three will be fine', he said. 'But it's good to have a few spares'. 
He struck the flint again, and the resultant spark landed on his miniature bonfire. 
He blew it into life, and a tiny orange flame danced at his fingertips. He held out 
his hand and Brenhya, careful to keep out of the circle, handed him three feathers. 
  'Now', he said, 'give me a long hair from your head, and then sit him up. Quick, 
now, because this fire's not going to last long'.
  Brenhya did as she was instructed, feeling just a smidgeon of awe at being part 
of the ritual. She hauled the man into a sitting position and propped him up by 
kneeling behind him. Lon used the hair to tie the feathers into a bundle, and held 
them in the flame until they began to smoulder.
  'Ready?', he asked in a solemn voice.
  'Yes', Brenhya affirmed.
  Carefully, shielding the burning feathers with his cupped hand, Lon approached 
the dying man. He held the feathers under his nose, so that he was forced to 
breathe the acrid fumes. After a couple of breaths, his nose curled and he tried to 
move his head out of the way, and his eyes fluttered open. Brenhya was indignant.
  'Is that it?', she demanded to know. 'Burn feathers under his nose? Where's the 
magic in that? I could have done that!'
  'You never said you wanted magic', Lon protested. 'My old Master used to say, 
never use magic when a mundane method will do. It only complicates things. And 
you better hurry up, before you lose him again'. The man's eyes were already 
beginning to close. Brenhya shook him gently.
  'Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?' The man grunted, and Brenhya took that as a 
yes. 'I need to know when this happened, when the Raiders were here?'
  'W'd'd'zit'
 'What? Say again? What did he say, Lon?'
  'I think he said, "what day is it". Can't be sure, though'. She did a quick 
calculation.
  'It's the third, isn't it', she asked Lon. He gave a brief nod, and she spoke right 
in the man's ear. 'The third'. He made no response. 'Today is the third', she 
repeated.
  'D'b'fr'yzt'dy', he mumbled. She looked expectantly at Lon.
  'Day before yesterday? I think'.
   They stayed with the man until he peacefully died, which was not long, and 
easily picked up the trail on the far side of the village. Brenhya was in good 
spirits, knowing that the two of them could travel much more quickly than the 
sixteen Raiders, especially since the latter would most likely have consumed 
most, if not all, of the wine they had, in all probability, taken from the inn.
   If pressed, Lon would have admitted to being extremely apprehensive. He had 
never before deliberately out himself in a position where he might be hurt, and the 
fact that he might soon be called upon to do so filled him with self doubt. He had 
been thinking of a plan for a diversion, but had little faith in it so far.
   It was obvious, from the unhidden tracks and the debris that littered the path, that 
the Raiders were not expecting to be followed even though, by now, word of 
Brenhya must have reached their ears. While it is true that nothing travels faster 
than light, the second fastest thing in the universe is rumour and, Goddess knew, 
she had dropped enough hints. But if they had heard, they either disregarded the 
tales or failed to believe them.
   Toward sunset on the second day, Brenhya guided their horse to the roadside and 
dismounted. Lon, who had been daydreaming with his arms about her waist, 
wanted to know what was going on.
   'I smell smoke', Brenhya told him. Lon looked worried.
   'Not another one?'
   'No', she reassured him. 'It's a camp fire. You get Bentoe off the road and feed 
him, while I go and scout it out. Don't worry', she said as his mouth began to 
open. 'I'll be back soon. I won't start anything without you'.
   He watched her move off through the trees, her graceful movements reminding 
him of a big cat on the prowl, and kept watching until see was out of sight. Then 
he got down from the big horse and, leading him by the plaited twine reins, 
moved into the forest and well clear of the road. He wondered why, as he walked, 
his footsteps made a crunching noise in the deep snow, while Brenhya's were as 
silent as a ghost. 
   'Ah, big feller', he said to the horse as he prepared a nosebag. 'Just you and me 
again, eh? Still, she knows what she's doing. After all, she's a Warrior, and you 
and me? Well, we're just her faithful sidekicks'. He looped the bag over the 
animal's great head. 'There you go. Enjoy'. His soliloquy was now accompanied 
by the restful and rhythmic sound of equine munching. 'I love her, you know. I 
know you do, too, but that's different, OK. You probably don't find her desirable. 
I do. I think she's the most desirable woman I ever met, or ever likely to. That 
face! That body! Those muscles! And strong? She must be just about as strong as 
it's possible for a woman to get'. He sighed as he patted the horse's neck. 'And 
it's not just that she's so beautiful. Oh, no. She's so determined, she's got such 
fire in her belly, she's like a lioness, but at the same time she can be as soft as a 
kitten and as playful as a puppy. And she can be so caring. It's just a shame she 
never lets her feelings show in her eyes'.
   Bentoe lowered his head to glean the last crumbs from the bottom of the 
nosebag. Lon walked around to lean against his great flank, where he stood in 
silent contemplation. After about ten minutes, he continued.
   'So, there you have it. I love her. You love her. And we both show it in our own 
ways. I would even tell her if I had the nerve, if I thought it would do any good. 
But does she know it? Does she heck as like! She thinks I'm just a piece of 
furniture. Nice to have around, useful as far as it goes, but that's it'. He gave a 
heavier sigh. The horse swung his head round to look at him. Lon removed the 
nosebag and stroked the long face.
   'Yes, you're right', he said, replying as if the animal had spoken. 'She is our 
friend. And the friendship of Brenhya is worth more than a ton of gold. Two tons! 
Three! And I would rather be her sidekick than anything else, up to and including 
being a wizard. Even a Great One, if there were any left. But, the fact remains that 
she doesn't love me. Not love me, love me. Gods, she shows you more affection 
than she does me! I love her, and I always will, but she can't see it. Or won't. You 
can see it, can't you, big guy? I just wish she could see it!'
   'Wish she could see what?'. Lon spun so fast he almost drilled himself into the 
snow. His heart pounded in his chest as he stumbled. Brenhya stood not three 
paces away, holding two long, straight poles cut from young pine trees.
   'Gods!', Lon gasped. 'You nearly gave me heart failure! How long have you 
been there?'
   'I just got here. What do you wish I could see?'
   'Oh, er ...nothing. How do you move so quietly?'
   'Experience'. She smiled at him. 'Anyway, you would have heard me coming, if 
you hadn't've been talking to yourself'. Lon drew himself up to his full height. 
The top of his head was level with her eyes.
   'Talking to myself?', he said indignantly. 'I'll have you know, Bentoe and I were 
having a meaningful discussion on ...matters philosophical that you wouldn't 
understand. Weren't we, boy?' The horse gave a whicker as if in agreement. 
'There you are. How'd you get on?'
   'They're camped in a clearing, about fifty yards off the road. They've pitched 
tents, and have been eating and drinking a fair bit, so they'll be off guard. They've 
only posted two sentries, but they're at opposite sides of the camp, so that might 
be a bit of a problem. I reckon there'll be seven to a tent, and the commander, 
whoever he is, has a tent to himself. Our job is to take out as many as we can, as 
quickly as we can. In the first few seconds, if possible'.
   'I have an idea about that', Lon interrupted. 'Do the tents have sewn-in 
groundsheets?'
   'Yes, they do. What's your idea?'
   'Tell you later. Go on'.
   'Well, the first thing is to neutralise the guards, but quietly. I'll take care of that'. 
She gave her two poles a meaningful pat. 'Have you got an idea for a diversion 
yet?'
   'Not so much a diversion as a confusing tactic. I ...'
   'Tell me later'. She took out her sharp knife and began carving a deep notch 
about eighteen inches from the end of one of the poles. She gave the other pole to 
Lon, and instructed him to do the same. 'When we've finished this, we better get 
some rest. I want them to be well asleep when we hit them. Now, let's make a 
plan'.
 
   It was close to the full moon, that night, and big, soft flakes of snow drifted 
ghostly through the still air. There was an occasional tiny hiss as one landed on 
the dying embers of the campfire. The guard walked just close enough to feel the 
fading warmth, idling away the time until he would be relieved, occasionally 
glancing across the clearing to where his opposite number was patrolling. In the 
way of night watchmen everywhere, his mind wandered at random whilst keeping 
an eye open for trouble. All at once, he spun in place, scanning the trees for 
danger.
   'What's up?', his mate stage-whispered.
   'Dunno', he replied. 'Thought I heard something ...nah. Must be imagining 
things. All quiet'.
   The guards began patrolling again. The very next time the first guard passed the 
same place, he heard the noise again.
   'There it is again', he told his comrade. 'I'm going to have a look'.
   'You be careful', the second guard cautioned. He waved his hand for silence, and 
stealthily walked to the edge of the clearing. He listened carefully - there it was. A 
tiny noise, like somebody whispering or whistling very softly. He took a step into 
the trees, pike at the ready. Nothing.
   He took another step. Still nothing.
   He took a third, and a fourth, stopping each pace to listen intently.
   He took another five steps, to stand between two straight and slender saplings ...
   ...and found himself sailing into the air as a strong hand grasped his collar and 
hauled him from the ground. Too shocked to cry out, he found himself dangling at 
the end of a muscular arm, staring at the wicked grin on a beautiful woman's face. 
   Before he had time to think, Brenhya gave a little shrug as if to say "bad luck", 
and drove her slim knife under his chin right up into his brain. His body jerked a 
couple of times in her grip, before relaxing in death. Maintaining her balance on 
the stilts that were lashed to her calves with thongs, she heaved him up, draped his 
body over her shoulder, and stood waiting. The only sound had been that of the 
pike falling on the cushioning snow.
   She did not have to wait long. Within a few minutes the other guard, suspicious 
now, came to see what had happened to his friend. Creeping through the trees, 
following the footprints in the snow, he stepped into Brenhya's view, calling out 
softly from time to time. Noiselessly, she shifted her grip on the body so that it 
was held in front of her chest, balanced across her hands.
   'Gedric! You all right?'
   He approached with care, until he found Gedric's pike lying in the snow. He 
hurried forward, bending low to retrieve the weapon.
   With great force, Brenhya thrust the carcase of the unfortunate Gedric from her. 
It flew through the air, to land squarely on top of the second guard, bearing him to 
the ground. The reciprocal effect of her thrust was to cause the stilts, with 
Brenhya on topple backwards. She was ready for this, though, and even as she lost 
contact with the body, her hands flew to the quick-release knots in the thongs, so 
that by the time the stilts actually hit the ground she was free of them and landed 
catlike on her feet.
   In one stride she was beside the two fallen guards. Quickly, she flung the dead 
raider to one side, and straddled the body of the other. As a result of being 
flattened by one hundred and eighty pounds of dead comrade, he was dazed, but 
not out altogether, and put up his arms to protect himself. Brenhya brushed them 
aside and, just as he was about to call out, clamped her hands about his throat 
cutting off his air and, consequently, his voice. She adjusted her grip so both of 
her thumbs were under his jaw and, with the strength of these digits only, began to 
force his head back.
   Unable to speak, unable to breathe, and realising he was about to die, the guard 
began to buck and thrust in the vain hope of throwing this terrible woman off. But 
his hopes were unfounded as his head was inexorably forced back under the 
horrible [to him] strength of her thumbs, He actually heard the pop as his neck 
dislocated and, bereft of control, his body ceased its thrashing. He felt no pain, 
and in a few seconds a curtain of dark shrouded his vision.
   Brenhya waited a few seconds, to be sure he was dead, before regaining her feet. 
Cupping her hands round her mouth, she gave a passable impression of an owl 
hoot, repeating it twice.
   That was the signal Lon had been waiting for. As the plan required, he threw a 
loop of their long strong rope around one of the tents containing sleeping Raiders. 
He ran with the rope, pulling the loop tight around the tent. The middle section 
was draped over a stout tree limb, the other end was fastened to Bentoe, and Lon 
now ran up behind the horse and slapped him on the rump.
   'Go on, boy!', he yelled. 'Pull!'
   Seeming to know what was needed of him, Bentoe surged forward. The rope 
tightened even further around the tentful of sleeping men. The guy ropes pulled 
the pegs cleanly from the packed snow, and the whole thing was hoisted high into 
the air. The night was filled with curses and groans, and the arms and legs of the 
men could be seen struggling within the thick canvas, like a poacher's sack full of 
rabbits.
   Brenhya came to heave on the rope and take the strain from Bentoe, while Lon 
untied the rope from his neck and secured the end to a thick trunk. Then it was 
time for Lon's second contribution to the confusion. He picked up the bearskin, 
and disappeared from Brenhya's sight.
   The noise made by the men in the flying tent had, naturally enough, wakened the 
men in the other, and they now poured out of the flaps with cries of "what's going 
on", some with swords drawn, others making for the stack of pikes.
   They all whirled as a crashing racket came from the trees. With a terrible roar 
and howl, a huge, furry animal bounded into the clearing, right in among the 
frightened raiders. It sprang at one, then another, as they scattered out of its way, 
and as quickly as it came, it vanished out the other side.
   Unnerved, in fact, scared witless, the men began to gather in the centre of the 
clearing close to the remains of their fire. At a tap on his shoulder one man, a little 
slower than the rest, turned to meet a large, knuckly fist driven by a powerful 
feminine arm. He went down like a sack of potatoes and Brenhya, the owner of 
the fist, bent to grab his ankles and heave him from the ground.
   Twirling his inert body around her head, rather like a hammer-thrower during the 
wind-up, she waded among the Raiders. Wielding her human club in this fashion, 
she felled three men before she let her weapon go, sending him sailing twelve feet 
through the air to bring down a fourth. The last two were dispatched with a double 
kick to their heads.
   A great deal of fumbling was going on at the toggles of the one-person tent. 
Brenhya stood with hands on hips, watching. Eventually, the flaps opened and a 
effete young officer, still in his underwear, crawled out. He stood to reveal 
himself a tall, lean young man, very erect in his bearing if somewhat foppish, and 
from a certain twist to his mouth Brenhya could tell that this was a man who 
would quite happily inflict the most sadistic cruelty. Provided he could order 
someone to hold his victim down.
   'I say!', he said in an aristocratic voice. 'What's going on here? Look here, I ...'
   'You!' Brenhya's shout stopped him in his tracks. He visibly wilted. Her finger 
jabbed toward her feet. 'Here! Now!'
   The officer turned to run. A savage-looking pike, held by a happily smiling Lon, 
served to dissuade him.
   'I should do as she asks', Lon said in a friendly tone. 'If I was you'.
   Pike at his back, the officer sidled up to her. She had turned her back, and was 
watching the struggling bag up in the tree. He began to speak, but she held up a 
hand to silence him and spoke to Lon.
   'Not long, now', she said, blowing a snowflake from her nose.
   'No', Lon agreed. 'You could be right'.
   'I am right. You'll see'.
   A few seconds later, a rasping tearing noise filled the still air. The bottom of the 
tent split open, and seven raiders spilled out, falling fifteen feet to land in a heap 
on the ground.
   'Told you', Brenhya said, vindicated. 'I knew it wouldn't be long before some 
bright spark got his hands on a knife and decided to cut his way out'. She gestured 
to the officer. 'Keep him here. I want to talk to him'. She sprinted across to the 
pile of bodies under the tree.
   'Stay very still', Lon told his captive. 'She can talk to you just as well with a 
pike through your leg as without'.
   'Wouldn't dream of it, old man'. The officer spoke over his shoulder. 'But let me 
tell you that there's a sack full of taxes in my tent. I can make it well worth your 
while to, oh, what shall we say, lose concentration for a minute, doncher know? 
Ow! I say, old man, steady with that pike. Can't blame a chap for trying, what?' 
At his back, Lon stifled a laugh and tried to sound stern.
   'Just you stand still. When Brenhya ...' He could have bitten his tongue out. 'I 
mean, when her Ladyship wants you to stay, you stay'.
   After a minute or so, Brenhya returned. She gave Lon a questioning look, 
wondering why he seemed rueful. He just shrugged.
   'They won't be any trouble. Two of them were killed by the fall, two others were 
killed by others landing on them, and the other three won't be gathering taxes or 
raiding villages for a long time. Has he been any trouble?' Lon shook his head. 
'Good. Now then, chummy'. Brenhya put a hard edge into her voice, one that Lon 
hoped was never directed at him. 'You'll be on your way, now. I'm not going to 
kill you. You're not worth the bother. But I want you to take a message with you. 
On the off chance that you get to Pallandry before I do. I want you to go to 
Boulic, and tell that slime-sucking, mucous-eating, dog-breath pond-life you call a 
Magister that Brenhya is coming'. Lon relaxed visibly at these words. 'And she's 
going to put an end to his foul life. Tell him, I've seen enough of his putrid ways 
to make it my business to see that he burns in hell. Got that?' The officer, now 
shivering and not only from the cold, vigorously nodded agreement. 'Good. Now 
go'.
   The terrified man turned back to his tent, Brenhya's heavy hand fell on his 
shoulder.
   'That's not the way to Pallandry', she said reasonably.
   'I know', the man said. 'But my trousers ...my coat'.
   'On your way'. Brenhya pointed out the route. 'Now!'
   The fearful soldier scurried off like a frightened rabbit. The two watched him out 
of sight.
   'He'll freeze to death, you know?' Lon said.
   'No. He'll come back for his things when he thinks we aren't watching. He'll be 
all right'.
   The tension of the last half hour left Lon as if someone had unblocked a drain.
   'Woo-hoo!', he yodelled. 'We did it! We really kicked their butts!' He began 
jumping up and down in the snow. 'You were fabulous! Fantastic! Those stilts - 
what an idea! And I was ...well, I was good, too!' Brenhya caught his shoulders 
with restraining hands.
   'Lon', she said. 'Listen to me. Listen to me'. He stopped bobbing. She looked 
deep into his eyes. 'Yes, we did well. And yes, you were good. But killing or 
injuring people is never a good thing, not something to be proud of or to celebrate. 
We do it because we must, to put an end to this madness, not because we like it. 
Do you understand? Because if I thought for one minute that you were doing it 
because you enjoyed it, I'd drop you like a hot coal. Is that clear?' Her words had 
a sobering effect, and he looked regretful.
   'Yes, Brenhya. I'm sorry. I just got carried away for a moment'.
   'I know', she said kindly. 'It happens to us all, the first time. You get this big 
rush from the excitement, and it takes a little while to come down. But just bear in 
mind what I say. OK?'
   'OK'.
   They gathered their belongings together, and loaded them on the horse.
   'Looks like you've got a ride of your own, Lon', Brenhya said, as the officer's 
horse wandered back into the clearing. 'Complete with saddle and everything'.
   Lon caught the horse, a bay gelding about fifteen hands high, with mixed 
feelings. He was glad that they now had another horse to share the load and thus 
shorten their travelling time, but sad that he would no longer ride behind Brenhya, 
holding on to her muscular waist.
   'I think I'll keep this, too', he said, holding up a pike for her approval. She 
nodded her agreement.
   'Good idea. It's a weapon that you can use without much training, and it has the 
advantage of keeping your opponent at least six feet away'.
   Beaming at her approval, Lon mounted the horse. It was a bit skittish, but not 
more than he could handle. Brenhya mounted Bentoe, and they rode from the 
clearing and back to the road.
 
   They were several more weeks on the road, and four more encampments of 
Raiders suffered at the hands of Brenhya and Lon. By now, news of the Chestnut-
haired Warrior was definitely being taken seriously, and they found that each 
camp was better guarded and more alert than the last.
   As the snow melted and Winter moved into Spring, they found themselves well 
within the boundaries of the city-state of Pallandry. And then, they came upon a 
village where a raid was still in progress ...


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