BRENHYA 16 By HECK In this chapter, the saga comes full circle. You need to have read Chapter One, at least, for it to make sense. Comments to heck@euphony.net CHAPTER SIXTEEN Sleep. Deep, restful, dreamless sleep. Restorative to the mind and the body, allowing the muscles to recuperate from the long months of travel and many hard-fought battles. Luxuriating in the warmth of a proper, comfortable bed, with crisp, clean sheets and real pillows. Even when she's asleep, Lon thought, sitting on his own bed and watching the movement of the coverlet as her wonderful breasts rose and fell to the rhythm of her breathing. Even when she's asleep, there's a strength about her. Even under the covers, her body hidden from the neck down, you can tell she's a powerful woman. And so lovely. The way her hair spills across the pillow. The relaxed, serene look on her beautiful face. He moved to sit on the edge of her bed, the better to gaze at the face that he wished would see him as more than just a sidekick. He reached out a hand to gently brush away a stray lock of glossy auburn hair from her cheek. A long, muscular arm shot out from under the covers, and Lon found his throat held in a iron grip that nearly throttled the life out of him. Brenhya, her Warrior's instinct in action even though she was not quite awake, opened one eye. 'Brenhya!', he croaked, batting ineffectually at the hard arm that held him immobile. 'It's me! Leggo!' 'Lon?' She rubbed her eyes with her free hand. 'Goddess, you ought to know better than to sneak up on me when I'm sleeping. I could have killed you!' 'Yeah. I know. Urk. Can you let go now? Please?' Brenhya released him and sat up. She had an almost infallible internal clock, which gave her the gift of accurately knowing the time of day to within a few minutes. She did not need to look out the window to know it was early morning, about an hour after dawn, and she had slept through the entire previous day and night. Pushing Lon out of the way she swung her legs off the bed, stood up, and stretched. The Mayoress had kindly lent her a nightdress, the first such garment she had slept in since leaving the Hall. It was a flowery, sleeveless affair, tailored to the dimensions of its owner. Which meant, on Brenhya, it fitted snugly across her wide back and glorious breasts, and draped fetchingly down her front to end just above the knee, riding up to mid-thigh as she stretched. Lon could not tear his eyes away. The sleeveless design showed off her wonderfully muscled arms and shoulders to great advantage, and made her look even more feminine and, if such a thing were possible, even more desirable. Lon reached over and pulled a pillow across his lap before standing. 'I'll, er, I'll just go and tell them you're up', he said, sidling toward the door. Brenhya grinned, guessing the reason for the pillow. 'I expect they'll give us a good breakfast before we leave'. 'Lon', she called him back, laying her hands on his shoulders to look him in the eye. 'Not "we". Just me. I'm going alone'. 'What d'you mean? You're not serious, right?' He looked crestfallen. Brenhya searched her mind for a gentle way to tell him. Lon did not have much of an ego, but he had one, nonetheless. She did not want to say it would be too dangerous, and perhaps alienate him, although that was what she felt. Where she was going was no place for an untrained fighter. He was, at the end of the day, an apprentice wizard, and a fairly inept one at that, and if all wizards were of his stamp, she thought, then they were a scholarly, bookish lot, entirely unsuited to violence. His reaction after the Raider ran onto his pike the other night had been sufficient confirmation of that. 'I need you to stay here', she told him. 'These people need help to rebuild their lives, someone to give them direction. The way you organised them to put out the fires showed that you can do that. You can help me best by staying behind. Something the matter with your eye?' 'Speck of dust', he answered, dashing moisture from his eye. 'You don't have to dress it up for me, Brenhya. You think I'd get in the way. No'. He held up a hand to quell her protests, and sighed. 'You're right. I would. I'm no warrior, and I'll be the first to admit it. I know that this part of the quest is yours, what you set out for all those years ago. I don't know the whole of it, and I'm sure you'll tell me in time. But you're probably going to do stuff that you think I won't approve of, and anything less than another Warrior of your ability would just hinder you'. He spoke as if their parting was his decision. 'You'd be better off on your own. Just promise me one thing?' She laid her hand against his cheek, the nearest she had come to showing him real affection. 'Anything'. 'Just come back safe?', he pleaded. 'OK?' She enfolded him in her arms and hugged him fiercely. He did not mind the constriction at all. 'You bet!' She held him at arm's length. 'But I was serious about you looking after these people. There must be a few Raiders hiding in the woods. You'll need to organise watches, and signals, so that if there's any sign of them you can get the folk to safety. All right?' Lon nodded wordlessly, his mouth in a firm line. They hugged once again, before he had to make a hurried exit. By midmorning, she had breakfasted, packed up her few belongings, and was standing in the town square, holding Bentoe by the reins. Lon, together with the Mayor, his wife, and a few townspeople were there to see her off. She handed him the Wheelbow, which he took with a surprised expression. 'No arrows', she explained. 'I'm sure we could rustle up a few', the Mayor offered. 'Old Jep usually has plenty. Poaching, you know'. Brenhya shook her head. 'That's very kind, but this bow needs special ammunition. Ordinary arrows would be shattered by the forces it develops'. 'Why don't you gather up a few from ...' Lon was hesitant, waving his hand at the area in which the dead Raiders had been collected. 'You know'. 'Nice idea', she said. 'But I've tried that before. Trouble is, they impact with such speed and power that the heads are ruined nearly every time. I'd rather leave it in your safe keeping. Here', she added, unbuckling her sword from about her waist. 'I want you to hold on to this, too. I don't want to think of you left defenceless'. 'But what about you?' Lon demanded. 'You're leaving yourself defenceless!' The look she gave him reminded him who he was talking to. 'Well, perhaps not. But weaponless, anyway. And I've got my pike'. 'You can hardly carry that around with you all the time', she said, fastening the scabbard about his narrow middle. 'This, you can. It'll be a bit heavy for you, but you can use both hands'. Brenhya shook hands all round and gave Lon another big hug before vaulting onto Bentoe's broad back. They were all treated to her dazzling smile, and she heeled the big horse into a trot. Moisture glistening in his eye and a big lump in his throat, Lon watched helplessly as she rode out of town without once looking back ....... ......until she had allowed her mind to drift back over her life, recalling the events that had brought her here, to this crotch in this tall, stately oak, overlooking the city of Pallandry. While part of her mind had been wandering, the part that housed her sharp, Warrior's intelligence had been taking in every aspect of the city. Never having seen such a community before she had to admit she was impressed, by the sheer size of the place, if nothing else. The sprawling conurbation, entirely surrounded by high walls and stretching nearly as far as she could see, appeared to have been built specifically to deter attack. Inside the walls, without any apparent planning, although she could see that in reality it had been most astutely designed, the winding streets were a convoluted labyrinth of streets, avenues, and cul-de-sacs, all of which appeared to lead the traveller away from the tall, brooding palace at the very centre. That, in itself, was surrounded by four walls forming concentric circles, each patrolled by bowmen who, due to their disciplined positioning, were never out of sight of each other. In addition, the great gates to the city were protected by a deep dry moat, a drawbridge, and portcullis, and none of the secondary gates, in the walls around the palace, were in alignment with each other. Any attacking force lucky enough to pass through the main gates would be in great difficulty to proceed any further. Pallandry, for all its size and the opulence of the great, ugly palace at the centre, was a festering sore on the face of the earth and Brenhya, able to see right inside from her vantage point, was amazed that people actually chose to live there. The streets were filthy, the houses dingy and squalid, and the population was vastly outnumbered by pestilence ridden rats. Early death, due to disease and squalor, was common, and a constant pall of dark smoke from the perpetually burning crematoria hung overhead like a cloud of doom. Even from her position, some quarter of a league distant, the foul stench of immolated flesh reached her sensitive nostrils. Her Warrior's brain had taken in every detail, from the patrol and shift patterns of the guards on the various walls to every visible detail of the city itself, and while she appreciated that the city had been marvellously constructed to repel an attacking army, she could see that it might be vulnerable to a single, determined venturer. She had noticed, low down on the wall and well away from the main gate, a small door above a stinking midden in the moat, and guessed that, after dark, the nightsoil man would come there to dump his noxious gleanings. She settled back in her tree to await nightfall. At night, the streets of Pallandry were no fit place for a law abiding citizen to be. Gangs of thieves prowled the lanes, ready to pounce on any unwary traveller, willing to relieve him of his purse, his valuables, and his life. The dark, foreboding shadows and the sparse lighting gave the place an eerie quality that would deter the stoutest of heart from wandering after dark. None of this meant anything to Pudh, the Nightsoil operative. In his filthy clothes and bearing the nauseating stink of his occupation, he could roam the nighttime city without fear that anyone would even come close enough to rob him, let alone lay hands on him. Puffing happily on a foul pipe, bits of the debris of his profession adhering to the bowl, he drove his cart through the city, his benighted donkey plodding on between the shafts. 'Whoa, Buttercup!' He drew up the cart close to a small door in the city wall, just big enough to allow his cart to pass. Fumbling in the depths of his cavernous pockets, he produced a large key with which he opened the portal. He and Buttercup had been doing this for so long, now, that it took them a matter of just a few minutes to back the cart up to the exit, shovel off the load onto the midden, drive back inside, and lock the door again. Sucking noisily on his nasty pipe as he re-lit it, Pudh drove back into the city to gather another consignment. Clinging like a starfish with strong hands and feet to the underside of the cart, Brenhya found herself carried within the walls. Some of the matter had leaked between the planking and had accreted on the bottom, forming tiny faecoliths all over. Brenhya bit down to stem her rising gorge at the awful stench an inch from her nose. She waited until there were well inside and in a dark alley, before she judged it safe to forsake her transportation. With blessed relief, she let herself drop to the cobbles. The cart passed over her unheeding. She lay still and silent for several minutes, until she was sure she had not attracted any unwanted attention before getting to her feet, convinced it would take a thousand baths before she would rid herself of the appalling stench. Keeping well to the shadows, she stole through the city, silent as a cat, navigating her way to the centre. The Magister's office was a wide, high ceilinged room, centrally placed on the top floor of the palace. Expensively but functionally furnished, with deep-pile rugs and elaborate wall hangings, it was lit by a number of tall candles in strategically placed sconces around the walls, so that the occupant of the big, overstuffed chair behind the leather-topped desk was in shadow until he leant forward. The desk and chair were raised slightly on a platform, and the legs of the chair opposite were slightly shortened, automatically putting a the visitor in a subordinate position. The current visitor, however, chose not to sit. A tall, heavily built, coarse featured woman with greasy black hair and dressed in the uniform of a Captain, she elected instead to stand erect facing the Magister. Strong and well muscled, she had brought her Warrior's talents to Boulic a little over three years ago and, thus far, had given him no cause to regret her arrival. Boulic sat with elbows on his desk, fingers steepled as he listened to the Captain's report. His weaselly face with its sharp, bright eyes was a mask of concentration. 'Thank you, Captain Jarris', he said as she concluded her report. 'I am pleased to see that you have things in order, as usual. Now, on to other matters. What do you know about this woman, Brenhya?' At the mention of the name, to Boulic's interest, Jarris's brows knitted and a look of hatred flashed across her face. 'I know her, my Lord', she said. 'And I know she's reported to be on her way here'. 'You know her? How do you know her?' Jarris cleared her throat and drew herself up. 'In another country', she said, 'me and her were members of the same ...army. You could say I was instrumental in her training'. She looked as if she could spit. 'I always knew, always hoped our paths would cross again'. 'Hmm', said the Magister, getting up and walking round the desk. 'Sounds to me that there's a touch of, what shall I call it? Bad blood between you, perhaps?' 'You could say so, sir. There's some unfinished business between us'. Her mouth stretched in a predatory smile. 'If she is coming here, I would appreciate the opportunity to "meet" her.' 'Sooner that you think, Captain. I have it on good authority that she is less than a couple of days away. Might even be here already. Her, and whatever band of outlaws she is consorting with'. Jarris licked her lips and her eyes flashed with anticipation. 'Oh, there'll be no outlaws, sir. Whatever she's coming for, she'll be on some sort of personal quest, or what she thinks is personal. She won't risk anyone else getting hurt. She's got this stupid sense of honour and ethics. She'll come alone'. 'Will she, now? What else can you tell me about her?' 'My Lord, I can only tell you what I knew of her in that earlier time. She was exceptionally strong, perhaps the strongest Warrior I've ever known. Very fast, too, and an expert in hand to hand combat. She was also very proficient with the bow and Broadsword. In a one-on-one situation, I'd back her against anyone'. 'Except yourself, of course', Boulic smiled, massaging his officer's ego. 'Of course, sir', she replied arrogantly. 'In addition, she is trained to handle herself in situations where the odds are against her'. 'My word!' You Warrior types are truly formidable women. Well, we'd better just ensure that she never gets here'. 'With respect, my Lord, I think we should do what we can to ensure that she does get here'. Boulic eyed her curiously. He returned to his seat. 'I suspect, Captain', he said interestedly, 'that you have a plan. Do go on'. 'Well, supposing she's already here ...' Slinking through the stinking streets, ducking into doorways, keeping to the shadows, Brenhya made her noiseless way through the dark city, unseen by any save a few cats and the rats that hid from them. She was aware that she was no less odiferous herself, having picked up the aroma of ordure from her less than dignified entrance, but that was irrelevant now. Her goal, the objective of, it seemed, her entire life so far, was almost within her grasp. The convoluted byways of the labyrinthine city were difficult to navigate, and she found herself walking in circles and having to retrace her steps on several occasions. Then, with almost shocking suddenness, she came abruptly to the first of the four high walls that encircled the palace. Hiding in shadow, she carefully considered her options. Such had been the paranoia of the mind that designed the citadel, that the walls were almost impossible to climb. Their outer surfaces were rendered with smooth mortar in their entirety, offering no hand or foothold whatsoever, and about two feet from the top a deep overhang topped by broken glass would have thwarted anyone who had managed it. Narrow slots at six foot intervals gave archers an easy and safe place to fire upon any attacker with a ladder, and the surrounding streets were far too narrow for any siege engines to be brought into play. The street that led to the first gate was built at an angle, so that no run-up for a battering ram was possible. Brenhya shinned up a drainpipe, and perched on the apex of a roof where she could overlook the walls. She saw that each wall was about fifteen feet high, and about the same distance from the wall behind it. Each was wide across the top, with plenty of room for a guard to patrol behind a low parapet, and the top of each parapet was embedded with evil-looking shards of broken glass. As she observed, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle. Something was not right. Something was different from the scrutiny she had made earlier in the day, from her vantage point in the oak overlooking the city. She scoured her mind to determine what it could be. The guards! That was it, there was something wrong with the guards! Well, not with the guards individually, but with the way they were patrolling. Earlier, they had been sensibly stationed so that, wherever in their patrol they were, they were never out of line-of-sight with each other. Moreover, the guard on one wall was always within sight of the guards on the neighbouring wall. But now, there was never more than one guard in sight at any time. Whether the sentry duties changed at night, because whoever was in charge did not feel there was the same level of threat as during the day, Brenhya could not say. But, from what she knew or had learned of Boulic, she thought it highly unlikely that he would let his defences slip for an instant. It was all highly suspicious, and Brenhya began to smell a trap. But, she had come too far to give up at this stage, and she would worry about traps and suchlike once she was inside. There had to be a way to get over those walls. A memory of something she had seen years ago, during the time she spent with the Travelling Show, came to her mind. That would do it, if she could think of a way. Recalling her circuitous route through the city, Brenhya climbed down from her rooftop perch and retraced her steps until she came to a small square, some several blocks away from the walls. In the exact centre was a tall flagpole, about twenty feet high. It was not sunk into the ground, but rather fastened by two bolts to a pivot arrangement that allowed it to be laid flat for maintenance purposes. The nuts that secured the bolts had been screwed down tight with a big spanner. Beginning with the lower bolt, Brenhya took the nut in her strong fingers, the whipcord muscles of her forearm swelling and standing out in deep cut relief as she applied twisting force. Face contorted and teeth clenched with effort, she kept up the pressure for a full two minutes before, with a groan, the nut began to give. Then it became increasingly easy, and she quickly spun the nut from the thread. Bracing the heavy pole with one hand, she slid the bolt free and lowered the mast to the ground, careful not to make a sound. She repeated the process with the second nut and bolt, and her tool was hers. Balancing the pole as if about to toss it like a caber, she bore it back through the streets and leaned it against the eaves of the same roof, and quickly clambered aloft. The fact that she had exerted incredible strength in not only loosening the bolts, but in carrying what was, in effect, a twenty foot tree trunk through the streets, was not lost on Brenhya, and she sat very still for a long minute, resting and thinking about the exertions to come. The mast was about as thick around, at the bottom, as her body, and the next time she manhandled it she would be levering it from the upper, narrower end, herself being both the fulcrum and force used to move the load. Brenhya watched the movement of the guards until none were in direct sight. She took the pole under her right arm, levering against her left forearm, and swung the lower end out into the middle of the street. Then she pushed hard off the roof with her powerful legs and, clinging to the pole, swung across to land atop the wall, taking care that the thick soles of her sandals came into contact with as few shards of glass as possible. Several of them crunched underfoot as she alighted, and she hopped down behind the parapet, watching for the guard. He was still walking away from her as she pulled her pole up. The next three walls were simply a question of repetition, and by the time she had reached the top of the final, inner, wall, without once attracting the attention of the guards, who always seemed to be studiously walking the other way whenever she saw one, she had become convinced that her suspicions that she was walking into a trap were correct. There was no way, she reasoned, that she could have come this far without encountering any resistance, unless she was being allowed to do so. Still, in for a farthing, in for a groat. Leaning the mast against the inside of the last wall, Brenhya slid down its length into a large, open courtyard. Again, this seemed to be the product of a strategic mind. Any attacker who managed to get this far would now be an open target, with no place to find cover. And yet, very few guards were about. Two were surreptitiously sharing a smoke in one corner, and two were stationed on the steps in front of the building, but that was it. Brenhya could only hope that, when she reached her objective, her speed, strength and capability for the instantaneous release of violence would carry her through. There was no longer any doubt in her mind that she was expected. She was almost tempted to walk casually up to the guards at the front door and pass the time of day with them before walking in, but such an action would let Boulic know that she knew, and it was prudent to let him think she remained unsuspecting. Still keeping to the shadows, she edged round to the rear of the palace. A ground floor window stood wide open. Oh, come on!, she thought. Why didn't you just send me an invitation and have done with it? This is too obvious. Maybe you're not as clever as I thought. Still ... Taking a few steps as a run-up, Brenhya dived in through the window, hitting the floor in a somersault to come to her feet in a fighting stance. But no-one was in the room. You want me to come all the way to you, don't you? she thought. OK, then, we'll play it your way, for now. Inside her, the rage that had been bubbling within, contained by her indomitable will, crept up a couple of notches. Not only was this bastard a scum-sucking, murdering pig, but he had the audacity to think she would fall for such an obvious trap! But then, she thought with a wry smile, I am falling for it, aren't ? Quickly and quietly, she made her way through the dimly lit palace. Midnight had come and gone hours ago, and she would have expected the place to be quiet. Even so, there should have been sentries about the place, but she found only one, standing in the vestibule determinedly watching the front door to the exclusion of all else. To make it look as if she suspected nothing, as much as for any other reason, she crept up behind him, spun him round, and landed a powerhouse punch to the point of his jaw which knocked him cold. She caught him in her arms and lowered him gently to the floor. She deduced that Boulic's apartments would be on the top floor, the safest from attack, and quickly ascended five flights of the wide, sweeping, balustraded staircase. On the topmost landing, she flattened herself against a wall and listened carefully. The occasional cough and bursts of whispered conversation were coming from the corridor to her left. She edged her way to the corner and risked a glance round it with one eye. Six soldiers armed with pikes and swords stood on guard, positioned at intervals down each side of the passageway. This had to be it. The only guarded doorway she had seen had to be the entrance to Boulic's apartment. Shucking off her shoulder armour and her halter, leaving herself naked to the waist, Brenhya stepped around the corner into the full view of the guards. The sight of her glorious, muscular body and her proud breasts nailed them all to the spot for a few seconds. That few seconds was all she needed. While they stood agape, she waded among them, demolishing them with lightning kicks and strikes, and leaving them all unconscious in the time it took her to run the length of the corridor. She allowed her momentum to carry her right up to the big mahogany doors, where a mighty kick splintered the lock and burst them inwards. The hinges of the left hand door parted company with the frame, and the whole thing fell slowly and majestically into the room. Sitting calmly at his desk, Boulic took in the sight of Brenhya, spectacular in the candlelight that reflected from the fine sheen of sweat on her body, framed in the doorway like a beautiful angel of death. 'Ah!', the Magister said as if greeting guests. 'Brenhya, I believe? I've been expecting you. My word, but you're a magnificent specimen. I can see all I've heard about you is true. Do come in'. Brenhya, wondering when the trap was supposed to close, glanced around the room but saw nothing. A murderous glint in her eye, she took two steps toward Boulic. In a dark alcove, out of Brenhya's line-of-sight, Captain Jarris let go of the rope she had been holding. A weighted net made of thick hemp rope fell upon Brenhya. It did not bear her to the ground, she was too strong for that, but her instinctive reaction to struggle tangled it around her and she fell. As soon as she hit the floor, a hidden door in one corner flew opened and twelve men poured into the room. They surrounded and piled on top of the thrashing Brenhya, their attack making her redouble her efforts which, of course, made her entanglement worse. Even so, she managed to break three noses and snap at least one of the ropes that bound her. Boulic gestured to the Captain. She stepped forward and, taking a weighted cosh from her belt, sapped Brenhya across the back of her head. Which effectively put paid to her struggles as unconsciousness enfolded her.