NIGHTSEED by "HECK" Copyright "Heck" 2000. All rights reserved In this saga, Brenhya encounters cult fanaticism, magic, and a demon. She has to use her head and other skills, as well as her strength and martial prowess, just to survive. Comments to heck@heckster.co.uk PROLOGUE In a hollow under the twisted roots of a gnarled old willow, light turned in on itself, became dark, and condensed into a black shape. A shape so black it seemed to suck the light into itself, so dense it formed a depression in the damp earth on which it lay. Coruscating flickers of blue lightning crackled across its surface as it fed, siphoning the life from the very tree that gave it shelter. The leaves of the willow curled up and withered on the branch, falling to the ground in shallow drifts although it was but late spring. The very wood itself dried up and turned black as the tree died, giving up its life to feed the festering evil beneath. All around the grass and wild flowers shrivelled, and the small creatures that made their living along that stretch of the riverbank became sluggish and died, their tiny corpses rapidly mummifying as the life force was drained from them. Ravenously consuming life energy from several yards around its lair, the shapeless black form grew until it was man-sized or greater, and shifted its bulk. The miniature blue electrical storm sputtered briefly, and ceased. An eyelid, black as the darkest night, black as the blackest hole, slid back to reveal the vertically slitted pupil of a malevolent yellow eye. CHAPTER ONE A hundred leagues away, on another riverbank on, it seemed, a different world, Brenhya and her friend Lon lay dozing in the afternoon sunshine. The gentle lapping of the lazy river, a skylark hanging in the air burbling his territorial song, and fluffy white clouds scudding across a clear blue sky combined to enhance the idyllic scene. It was not often that Brenhya had the opportunity to do nothing, and she intended to take full advantage of it. A trained and highly skilled warrior, schooled in the traditions of combat and physical prowess, she had found that her special talents were in high demand. Splendid heritage, in the shape of her two tall and strong parents, and training received under the tutelage of a professional strongwoman, had ensured that the young Brenhya would grow into a powerful woman. Then, from the age of ten, she had been trained by the Warrior Caste of the Sisters of Themyra, and had proved herself to be the finest warrior they had produced in two hundred years. She was also by far the strongest, and her strength had been acknowledged by the presentation to her of a mighty bow, so powerful that it could hurl its heavy arrows more than half a league. The Wheelbow had been made for a legendary warrior who had died two centuries ago. Since that day, Brenhya was the only person who had been able to string and draw the powerful weapon. Just a hair's breadth under six feet tall, she was a magnificent example of womanhood. Her sculpted flawless body caused other women to stare with envy, and men's mouths to drop open at the sight of her. She caused a stir everywhere she went, mostly because women like her were a rare sight in those regions. Sloping trapezoid muscles, sweeping down to form wide shoulders capped with rounded deltoids and solid pectoral slabs, perfectly balanced her long, long muscular legs. In between, the segmented flat plain of her narrow waisted belly and the thick twin columns of muscle that made up her lower back spoke of strength and flexibility. Golden skinned, her body appeared to be carved from smooth polished oak. Her muscles were large, full bellied, rounded, and undeniably powerful, but she was not muscle-bound. She was extremely lithe and flexible, and moved with all the grace and agility of a panther, Yet for all her shapely muscularity, Brenhya was entirely feminine. Her superb breasts, full and rounded, rode high on her chest. Waves of glossy chestnut hair, held back by a brass circlet around her high forehead, cascaded past her shoulders and framed a face of great loveliness. High cheekbones, soft, full lips, wide mouth and large piercing grey eyes showed an acute intelligence, and when she showed her even, strong white teeth in a smile, she had the ability to dazzle. Even so, and given the fact that she had first-hand experience of her devastating effect on men, she remained completely unconscious of her own beauty, and if she thought about it at all it was to categorise it as an irrelevance. Contrarily, this had the effect of heightening her desirability even further. She habitually wore her warrior's garb, consisting of hardened leather shoulder armour over a soft leather halter and short leather skirt. Thick soled sandals clad her long shapely feet, fastened with a lattice of laces about her diamond-hard calves. Shiny brass wrist guards completed her outfit. Her weaponry comprised a slim sharp knife that hid within the left wrist guard, a vicious heavy broadsword serrated along the top edge, and the mighty Wheelbow. Armour and weapons were laid aside for the moment, however, as she lazed with her head among the flowers. Large hands clasped behind her neck, biceps bigger than a big man's fist were evident even when relaxed. Her companion, Lonier Andaret Eaadras Tilluth to give him his formal name, but known as "Lon" to all and sundry, lay with his head on her belly, forming a "T" shape. Almost as tall as his friend, he was a gangly young man whose limbs seemed to be made entirely of joints. Long thin hair, already beginning to recede, and a wispy beard surrounded his narrow, sincere face with it's slightly watery eyes. He was not unattractive, but that was about as much as could be said for his looks. He was an apprentice hedge-wizard and his black jerkin, which lay on the grass beside Brenhya's gear, was covered with embroidered occult sigilli. He was well versed in the theory of magic, although his practical ability, while improving, left much to be desired. The two had met in the course of a lifelong quest Brenhya had embarked upon. His Master had been killed by a band of Black Marauders and he had been left for dead. Brenhya had found him, and had taken him with her in order to fulfill his Master's dying wish, that she find another wizard to complete the young man's training. So far, their search had been unfruitful. Since the completion of her quest, to find and destroy the evil man who had been responsible for the horrible deaths of her parents, Lon had noticed a big change in his powerful companion. Previously, whilst she had been capable of compassion and tenderness, Lon had noticed that she never allowed her emotions to show in her eyes, as if suppressing a long- held trauma. Now, however, her face openly displayed everything she felt and her eyes danced when she was happy and reflected when she was sad. She had even allowed herself a few tears, on occasion. Brenhya's quest had ended successfully, but not without cost to herself. Chained up, she had been severely beaten and tortured until close to death. It had taken several weeks for her to fully recover from her ordeal, but now the only reminder was a tiny scar on the edge of her upper lip. Lon actually thought it was cute and added to her desirability. There was no doubt that the two loved each other, although the emotions each felt were entirely different. Lon loved and admired Brenhya with a deep passion. Her adored her magnificent body and her beautiful face, and wished with all his heart that she felt the same. For her part, Brenhya loved Lon in the way one would love a faithful puppy. She enjoyed his companionship, and was fiercely protective of him, but there was not, and would never be, anything sexual between them. "That one", Lon said, pointing to an oddly shaped cloud. "That one looks like two dogs ...you know". Brenhya laughed, the contractions of her stomach muscles causing Lon's head to bounce against his "pillow". "You're right", she agreed. "All we need now is another cloud, carrying a bucket of water...". Nearby, the big black plough horse named Bentoe, and the bay gelding that Lon had acquired after Brenhya and he had routed a band of thugs some months ago, cropped the grass, the rhythmic munching sounds adding to the peace of the afternoon. During the past six months they had wandered more or less aimlessly, searching for a new Master for Lon and vaguely heading toward the North and the home of Brenhya's Sisterhood. To subsist they had taken work here and there, quite often of a menial nature although Brenhya found her skills as a warrior were in some demand. She was selective about which jobs she accepted, however, and passed over many well paid offers if they conflicted with her Warrior's Code. Much of the work was on the various farms they passed on the road. where they would exchange their labours for a meal or beds for the night, a system that had worked well for the warrior when she had travelled as a girl. At the last farm they passed, however, they were given bed and lodgings in return for a favour Brenhya performed for the farmer. They had been riding in companionable silence on a track that ran alongside the lazy, meandering river, allowing their horses to amble along at their own pace. Both were content just to let the countryside glide past and enjoy the peaceful spring days. Brenhya, riding bareback [save for a leather saddlecloth] and confident in the power of her thighs to keep her seat, reined Bentoe to a halt. Lon pulled up beside her. "What's wrong?", he asked. "Listen", she replied, holding up a hand for silence. Lon strained his ears, and in the distance thought he could he a raised human voice. "Is that a cry for help?" "Only one way to find out", the warrior woman said, heeling her big horse into a canter. "Come on!" "Nobody could ever call you indecisive", Lon said as he urged his bay to follow. Several hundred yards further upriver, the cries were clearly identifiable as desperate calls for help. From where she sat, pulling Bentoe to a halt, the voice was coming from the left and very close to her position. Her sharp eyes scanned the area. Lon drew up alongside, his gelding prancing on the dirt road. "Anything?", he asked. "It's here, somewhere", Brenhya said. She extended a finger. "There". Brenhya pointed out a place where the tall reeds on the river margin had been flattened. They dismounted and ran to the spot. The reeds were broken and crushed, and a part of the bank had been broken away. In the river, about eight or nine yards from the edge, a big, brown shaggy cow lay on her side, chest heaving as she struggled for breath. The water was almost covering her hairy flank and at her head a farmer knelt, chest deep, straining to hold her heavy head out of the river. "Hello!", Brenhya called to him. "What happened, here, and how can we help?" The man turned a stricken face to her, concern for his animal etched on his features. "Thank gods!", he cried. "This cow slipped down the bank. Must have been last night, sometime. I found her about an hour ago. She's been tryin' to get out, as you can see from the state of the bank, but she's exhausted herself and can't stand. I think she's gone numb from the cold, too. I bin keepin' her head up, but I can't hold it much longer". "I'll take over", Brenhya announced, shucking off her weapons and shoulder armour and stepping gingerly down the broken bank into the water. "Lon, fetch Bentoe, and get the rope out of his saddlebag". As Lon hurried to obey, Brenhya waded out to the farmer and his cow. The man's eyes bugged. Any doubts he had, about her being able to hold up the head, vanished as he took in the astounding musculature of the woman. Brenhya took hold of a horn, easily supporting the weight with one hand. "Get out of the water", she told the farmer. "Take a breather". Lon appeared on the bank just in time to offer a hand to help the farmer back to dry land. "Is she your best cow, then?", he asked. The farmer looked puzzled. "No", he replied. "Should that make a difference?" Lon looked sheepish. "Er ...no. I, er ..." His embarrassment was saved by a call from Brenhya. "Have you got the rope?" she asked. Lon confirmed that he had. "Tie a sliding noose in one end", she instructed. "Then throw it out to me". It took Lon three attempts to fling the rope far enough and accurate enough for Brenhya to catch it. She slipped the noose about the animal's horns and pulled it tight, while Lon fastened the other end around the neck of the big plough horse, taking care not to make a sliding knot at that end. "OK!", Brenhya called. "Lead him on, but let him take a slow, steady pull. Don't let him jerk". The heavy horse took the strain, and slowly began to drag the cow toward the bank. Brenhya waded beside her, continuing to hold her head above water. Fortunately, the river bottom was sandy and relatively free from obstruction. But as they neared the bank, another difficulty became evident. "Stop!", Brenhya shouted. "We've got a problem". The faces of the farmer and Lon appeared over the edge. "What's wrong?", Lon wanted to know. To the practical farmer, the snag was immediately apparent. "Obvious, innit?", he explained. "She isn't goin' to come out with a straight pull. Bank's too steep. We'll need to lift her, somehow". He scratched his grey head. "Don't see how, though. There's no overhangin' trees to rig a pulley to". "Lon", Brenhya said. "Can you get Bentoe to pull her just another couple of feet? Then, at least, her head'll be out of the water". The young man did so, and Brenhya laid the animal's head down. The water still wet one side of the bovine face, but at least her nostrils were clear. Brenhya knelt at the cow's back, and began to scoop away the sandy material from under her. "What's she doin'?", the farmer asked Lon. "I don't know, but trust her. She usually knows what she's doing". Having tunnelled all the way under he animal's body, Brenhya spoke to Lon. "Get Bentoe to take the strain", she said. "And Farmer, you stand away from the bank when she comes up". Lon ran to the horse's head. "Come on, big lad", he said. "Once more". As the farmer watched Brenhya sucked in a huge breath, ducked down, and disappeared under the cow. The man stood by curiously, then gaped in amazement at what happened next. With a surge and spray of water, the cow rose up from the river, its massive weight entirely supported on Brenhya's broad back. The mighty muscles in her thighs pistoned upward as she rose to her feet. The exhausted cow struggled feebly, but the woman was able to get a strong hand on a front and back leg, and held her still. With Bentoe keeping the rope taut, Brenhya edged sideways up the steeply sloping bank, balancing the hapless cow across her shoulders. Streams of water cascaded from the animal's shaggy coat, making her burden considerably lighter as she progressed. Still, the farmer thought. That cow's got to be all of fifteen hundred pounds! What kind of woman is this? Eventually, Brenhya raised the cow until she was level with the bank. "Lon!", she called, strain showing in her voice. "Lead him on!" At Lon's encouragement, Bentoe put his weight into the loop around his thick neck. As she felt the cow begin to move, Brenhya turned and braced herself against the bank, effectively turning her body into a ramp over which the cow was pulled to safety. Finally, the cow was back on dry land, flanks heaving as she panted. Brenhya held out a hand, and the farmer helped her over the back, where she stood with hands on knees, panting as heavily as the animal she had rescued. So astounded was the farmer by the incredible feat of strength he had just witnessed, that he was unable to speak. His mouth opened and closed, and he gestured confusedly at Brenhya and to Lon. "I know", said Lon, with a nonchalant, seen-it-all-before grin, although secretly he was almost as impressed as the other man. "She is pretty special, isn't she?". The reward for their assistance had been a wonderful home-cooked meal, comfortable beds for the night, and as many provisions as they could carry. And now they rested, a few leagues further along the same river bank, making cloud pictures in the afternoon sunshine. Brenhya raised herself on an elbow as the sound of rapid hoofbeats reached her ears. The staccato tattoo sounded like a horse, but in double time. A cloud of dust approached, and at its head Brenhya made out a tiny skewbald pony, its stumpy legs a blur. On its back, a small, squat figure was riding hell for leather, yelling to urge the animal to even greater efforts. "Hyaah! Hyaah!" The warrior jumped to her feet, dumping Lon unceremoniously on the grass. She ran to the road. "There's something familiar about that rider". "What?", Lon said, rubbing his head. Brenhya did not reply, but began running down the road to meet the little horseman, mouth stretched in a wide grin. "Brannagh!", she cried. "Brannagh!" The pony came to a sudden stop, it's hindquarters doubling under it to brake its momentum. As Lon watched, a stumpy figure with a fiercely bearded face jumped down. Brenhya ran up to him and scooped him up in her strong arms. "Brannagh!", she laughed. "It's good to see you!" The dwarf pretended to be disgusted by the display of affection. "Puts I down yer bloody great tarts!", he complained. Brenhya, knowing his bluster was all for show, took no notice, but planted a big, wet kiss on the end of his nose. He spluttered and made a great show of wiping his face on his sleeve as she lowered him to his feet. Lon ambled up. "Lon", Brenhya said. "May I introduce Mister Brannagh Ironheart? Brannagh was one of the people who looked after me that year I was with the Travelling Show, when I was little". "Hmph!" Brannagh snorted. "Yer weren't never 'little'" Lon looked down into the fierce face, surrounded by thick black curly hair and beard, that came just about level with Brenhya's hip. "Pleased to meet you, Mister Ironheart". Lon extended a hand, and was surprised by the strength of grip in the small hand that took it. "Charmed, I's sure", Brannagh replied. He was cordial, but gruff in his manner. "Brannagh, I can't tell you how good it is to see you!" Brenhya said. "Come and have something to eat and drink. How is everybody at the show?" The dwarf was impatient. "No times! No times fer idle chits an' chats! Yer's gots ter come with I. Now!" In the evening twilight, the willow gave a shudder. The few dried up dead leaves that still clung to their branches spiralled slowly to the ground. The tree shivered again. Brittle twigs showered around its fragile bole. The tremor extended into the earth around the gnarled roots, thin puffs of dust rising from cracks in the sterile soil. With a heaving convulsion, the willow seemed to rise in place. The tree levered out of the ground, apparently lifting itself by its own root structure, showering earth and dust in clouds. It balanced for a second, before slowly toppling, to crash to the ground in an explosion of dead wood. The dust settled, revealing a matte black crouching figure in the hole where it had been. The figure rose to stand a full eight feet in height, man-shaped and massively muscled, covered with armoured scales. Baleful yellow eyes showed in the blunt-snouted face, the head small and reptilian, almost crocodilian in shape. Between the sharp white teeth, a long, pointed, sinuous black tongue slid out, tasting the air. The beast threw back its inhuman head, letting out a long unearthly howl, and strode off purposefully. It did not know where it was going. It's mental capacity was such that it could not be said to "know" anything. But could feel a call and was compelled to respond. Brannagh climbed back on his pony. "They tells I ter find yer, an' I does", he said, more to himself than to the others. "Comes on! Comes on!" "Where?" asked Brenhya. "And why?" "No times! Hurries up!" He turned his tired pony to set off. "Brannagh", Brenhya said. "Brannagh!" The dwarf had already heeled his mount into a trot. Brenhya loped after him, her long legs letting her quickly catch up with the pony. She stretched out a long, muscular arm and grabbed him by the shoulder of his jerkin, lifting him cleanly from the animal's back. The pony trotted on a few paces, then lowered its head to graze. "Puts I down!", Brannagh said for the second time in as many minutes. "No times for pissin' abouts!" Holding him at arms length, his stubby legs kicking ineffectually, Brenhya turned the dwarf to look him in the eye. "First", she said patiently, "we need a minute to pack our things, and get our horses ready. Second, your pony is all sweated up and needs to rest. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, riding the poor little thing as hard as that". The dwarf blushed at her admonition. She put him back on his feet. "And third", she finished, "Nobody is going anywhere until you tell us what's wrong. Nothing's so bad that an hour or so will make any difference". Brannagh looked sulky for a few seconds. and then shrugged in agreement. Brenhya led him back to where she and Lon had been resting. The young wizard broke out some bread and cheese and handed them round. The warrior and the dwarf sat down on the grass. "Now", Brenhya said. "What's this all about" "Fool", the dwarf said. "Here, hang on", Lon interrupted. "That's a bit ..." He stopped as Brenhya held up a hand. "That's somebody's name, Lon", she explained. "Well, not exactly his name. He's a professional fool, and everybody just calls him Fool. What's his problem, Brannagh?" "'E's gone. And we 'as ter finds 'e". "Gone? Gone where?" "Dunno. Someb'dy abdruc... abdurc... kidnapped 'im". Brenhya's brows knitted as she became concerned. "One minutes 'e's 'ere", Brannagh continued. "Th' next 'e's gone. They takes 'e right out o' the Midway. Lotta blokeses in red capeses on 'orses. Picks 'e right off'n 'is feets, they does, an' gallops away. Jus' like thats". "Why", Brenhya asked. "Why would they?" Brannagh shrugged. Brenhya went on. "Has they're been anything unusual, lately?" "Not partickler. 'E's bin a bit off, th' last few weeks. Actin' shifty like, 's if someb'dy was after 'e". "That's not like him. What was the cause of that?" "Dunno. 'E's bin that ways since 'e finds that rings". Brenhya sighed. Getting a complete story out of Brannagh was like drawing teeth. "Ring? What ring?" "'E finds it at Brandwick, next th' well in Cocklebury Lanes. Jus' afore we leaves fer th' season. Cheap lookin' things, wi' a big flashy red stones in it. Not worth nuffin'. But 'e puts it on, and never takes it off 'e's fingers since". Lon, although struggling to keep up with Brannagh's massacre of grammar and syntax, was following the story well enough. "Any idea who they were?", he asked. Brannagh glared at him as if he was an imbecile. "I tells yer", he growled. "Lotta blokeses in red capeses". "Yes", agreed Lon. "But I mean ..." "Leave it", Brenhya advised. "How long has he been missing, Brannagh?" "It takes I four days ter finds yer. An' I left the next days", he explained. "They tells I ter finds yer, an' I does". "So you said", Lon commented. "Brenhya?" "Mm. Get packed up, Lon. This is a friend of mine that's in trouble. Of course we're going".