Pawn of the Omphalos by E. C. Tubb

Author:E. C. Tubb [Tubb, E. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780575107663
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2011-09-29T07:00:00+00:00

11

SMALL sounds echoed loud in the darkness, the rustle of a cloak, the tap of metal on metal, a soft curse as a stone turned beneath a boot. A man hawked and spat. Another tripped and almost fell, shingle rattling as he regained his balance. Carodyne turned and glared into the night.

“Tell those fools to be more careful. We could be walking into a trap.”

He heard the soft mutter of relayed commands, Hostig’s rumbled threats. Seyhat loomed abruptly at his side.

“I don’t like this,” he whispered. “Trapped between cliffs and the sea in a darkness fit only for the bowels of hell. Did the captain play us false?”

Carodyne doubted it. The man had seemed honest and had been open with his doubts. They were to the north of the agreed landing place but just how far north he hadn’t been able to tell.

“We should be here, my lord,” he’d said, a blunt finger resting on a promontory of land. “Cliffs edge the sea meeting the waves further to the north. They sweep westwards to join the city of Kedash, running south and then swinging to join the flanking mountains. The beach widens and, on it, the ships were to have landed.”

But they had seen no ships, no fires, not the glimmer of a torch or beacon. Carodyne had decided to land and continue on foot. The galley had pulled out to sea.

He stumbled and regained his balance, water splashing from his boots. To his left he could hear the beat of surf, to his right nothing but an eerie emptiness, not even the flutter of seabirds taking wing as the column moved over the stoney beach.

A mile further and the darkness had thickened even more, closing around them like an inky fog. Carodyne halted and sniffed at the air. It held the tang of the sea, the odors of seaweed and brine, the scent of fish common to any ocean. He frowned, sniffing harder. There was something else, the faint but unmistakable scent of wood smoke. Drawing his sword he moved cautiously into the hampering darkness.

It grew almost solid and then began to thin, showing a dull glow, the embers of a smoking fire. Carodyne ran towards it, men following close behind. Before him other men rose from the ground, weapons lifted in belated defense. Hostig’s voice roared in abrupt surprise.

“Nielagh! Carastes! Would you slay your friends?”

They had found the missing camp of the king.

Carodyne sheathed his sword as he neared the fire. Taut faces stared at him, hard and savage in the now-bright light of the flames. The faces of men who have fought and lost. Many were wounded, bound in crude bandages, blood dried on their clothing. A pot hung over the fire containing water in which floated scraps of leather and fragments of bird, fish and reptile. A thick scum covered the surface and the smell was vile.

Hostig stirred the pot with his sword. “Sheol! Is this all you have to offer hungry men?”

A soldier, his arm bound with bloodstained rags, stepped from the men assembled around the fire.

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