Pagan Siege (Tribes of Britain Book 5), Sam Taw [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

Head Hunters at the rear. Tallack spun about in his saddle and caught sight of Ren and me. His opened mouth of shock transformed into a seething pucker.

“What is she doing here? Ren you had no right to put my aunt in danger.” Tallack hissed.

“I couldn’t stop her, Chief. She worries about you,” he half-whispered, half-shouted back.

It was comforting to know that he cared about me enough to be angry with his old friend. I had wondered just how far I’d fallen from his grace. The admonishment didn’t last long, there were more pressing concerns for us all. We were deep in enemy territory with warriors who were unfamiliar with the terrain. If ever there was a good time to knock us all off the side of the gorge with a sizable rockfall, now would be the time.

I kept a weather eye on the overhanging cliffs, the canopies of the trees and shrubs ahead, looking for shifting shadows and rustling bushes, anything to indicate that we were riding into a trap. Tallack must have sensed it too, for he yanked on his horse’s reins until he’d fallen back in line with us.

“I don’t like this, Ren.” My nephew declared. We were surrounded by warriors, yet I had never felt as vulnerable as I did then. Kitto sent one man through the gap in the fallen rocks ahead. He galloped through and disappeared into the trees beyond. A single whistle came from the other side, indicating that all was well. The scout had passed without danger or challenge.

That was when we heard the screams from below us; a mixture of howls from our men and the agonised squeals from the horses. Those sent on the lower path were under attack. The men looked to Kitto for guidance, halting their ponies and exchanging looks of panic.

“We go on!” Kitto bellowed. “There’s nothing we can do to help them. By the time we double back to reach them, they could all be slaughtered.” I understood his decision, even if the men balked at his callous disregard of the men’s welfare. The gorge was simply too steep to ride down to the lower path and we couldn’t go back.

The great man saw that they were losing their confidence in him. “Send your prayers to the Morrighan, men. She will choose the worthy among us to sit with the gods in the Summerlands, but not before we have that kyjyan, Kenver’s head on a spike first.” He roared, unsheathing his short sword and waving it about as he kicked the ribs of his horse into a gallop.

I peered over the edge of the path, down to the dark and misty valley floor. Our young men faced almost certain death down there, or worse still, maimed and captured. Their cries and moans echoed across the gorge, until it was all we could hear. A haunting wail of death surrounded us and turned my stomach. Blydh would never have let his men go on such a dangerous path alone, but then he would never have insisted on this foolish raid into unknown territory. Why hadn’t Tallack taken over control? He was the Chief when all was said and done. All our people were at his command, and yet, he hung back to allow Kitto’s lead. Was this part of his plan? I couldn’t see that it was working terribly well if it was.

Two by two, we slipped through the narrow gap and out into a wider section lined with sturdy oak and ash. The thick layer of leaves blocked out most of the light. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust. When they did, I realised why Tallack gasped at my side. Ahead of us, suspended from a thick overhanging branch, hung a blood drenched body.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It wasn’t hard to figure out which of our men was hanging from the tree above us. Treeve’s body showed all the signs of vicious and unnecessary torture; his skin flayed on his chest, arms and legs, his fingertips and manhood severed and missing. Flies swarmed about the open flesh, laying their eggs in the warmth of the morning and feasting on his open eyes. Kenver had placed all blame for his daughter’s death on the boy, taking out his vengeance without any proof to back up the claim. I knew for a fact, that Treeve was only responsible for disposing of Kerensa’s body at Tallack’s request. It was my nephew who had taken her life; that I heard from his own mouth.

Tallack buckled in the middle. His shock kept him silent and struggling for breath. I reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him from sliding from the saddle onto the ground. Ren steered us close enough to clamp his leg between the sides of our ponies.

“Steady on, Chief. Keep your head.” I muttered, trying to rouse him from the spiral of despair he’d begun. “We will make Kenver suffer, you can be sure of that. There will be a time to grieve, but that time is not now.” I patted his shoulder, then gave it a good shake. The tears welled in his reddening eyelids and looked set to spill down his cheeks. I couldn’t have him fall apart now. This was exactly what Kenver wanted. All the men could see him losing his composure. Young Treeve may not have been popular with the Hunters, but he was still one of us. My nephew’s partiality for the lad was common knowledge. That alone made him a target for ridicule and cruelty.

“Tallack!” I snapped. “You have to lead.”

He snorted, his breathing was laboured and fast. He shot me a pained look before coming to his senses. Winding the reins around his clenched fists, he kicked his horse and galloped off at speed. Ren took chase, but the bay mare was no match for the horse he rode. The dusty track plumed up behind him as he and Kitto were neck and neck on the trail,