Frostgrave: Ghost Archipelago: Destiny's Call by Mark Latham

Author:Mark Latham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2018-12-06T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

The moon was at its height when the exhausted travellers staggered down the hillside into the village. Ahead of them was a large clearing, in which perhaps twenty squat, round huts of mud and coarse stone were huddled in a broad circle. Around them, smaller huts jutted from the surrounding trees, growing almost organically from the jungle, connected by walkways of wood and vines. In the centre of the village, a large fire-pit glowed deep red, the embers sending a plume of grey smoke drifting lazily into the indigo sky.

Makeno had advised caution on the approach. The Savaisal had ever been a peaceful tribe, Makeno had said. They had lived in this place, in the same way, for many hundreds of years, and it seemed reasonable to assume that little had changed since the Lost Isles had last appeared. And yet the tribe were not without warriors, and magical protection. It was well past midnight now, and most of the Savaisal would be asleep in their huts – Makeno had instructed everyone to walk slowly, with weapons away, out into the open, so that the lookouts would see them and know that they were no threat.

‘And what if they don’t like the look of us?’ Emilio had asked.

‘Then we shall probably fall prey to a poison dart before we even see who fired it,’ Makeno had replied, and that had ended the conversation abruptly.

Now they drew near to the village, walking in single file beside a narrow, burbling stream, towards the smouldering fire. The jungle rose up high on three sides, forming dark, natural walls, and sheltering the little village from the elements so that there was barely a breath of wind to be felt.

A distant, shrill whistle sounded. Perhaps the call of some foreign night-bird. Seconds later, it was answered by another call, nearer.

Yana Selishe reached for her crossbow, but Makeno sensed her intent and signalled for her to stop. She slowly, reluctantly, pulled her hand away, and carried on walking.

A final shrill whistle sounded, and it was clear now that it was no bird, or any other creature but a man. The shadows moved all around. Sam turned to whisper something to Dagomir, and found himself staring into a dark face, with unfamiliar eyes. He jumped out of his skin, and the party came to a halt.

Five men stood around them, impossibly close, brandishing spears threateningly. They were dark-skinned, like Makeno, wearing scraps of hide, fur and makeshift metal armour doubtless salvaged from some vanquished enemy. Each man was lean and muscular, faces dotted with paint, hair tousled and threaded with feathers and small bones. They had approached without a sound, across almost open ground, as if they were one with the landscape. Even Yana Selishe had been surprised, and Sam had always thought that no one could creep up on her.

Makeno said something in his own tongue, with its strange clicks and throaty, rolling verbs that sounded like thunder over the mountains. Whatever message he conveyed caused the five warriors to look at each other uncertainly.

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