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    Beyond the Black River Again
    Beyond the Black River Again
    Beyond the Black River Again
    Ebook92 pages1 hour

    Beyond the Black River Again

    By Roberta E. Howard

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A Conyn the Barbarian story.

    Conyn signs up as a scout in Pictish territory, and gets involved with his partner in a border war against the wizard Zogara Sag and her cult of followers.

    A Gender Switch Adventure.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJekkara Press
    Release dateJul 3, 2010
    Beyond the Black River Again

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      Book preview

      Beyond the Black River Again - Roberta E. Howard

      Beyond the Black River Again

      By Roberta E. Howard

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2010 Roberta E. Howard

      A Conyn the Barbarian story.

      A Gender Switch Adventure.

      Chapter 1. Conyn Loses Her Ax

      The stillness of the forest trail was so primeval that the tread of a soft-booted foot was a startling disturbance. At least it seemed so to the ears of the wayfarer, though she was moving along the path with the caution that must be practised by any woman who ventures beyond Thunder River. She was a young woman of medium height, with an open countenance and a mop of tousled tawny hair unconfined by cap or helmet. Her garb was common enough for that country--a coarse tunic, belted at the waist, short leather breeches beneath, and soft buckskin boots that came short of the knee. A knife-hilt jutted from one boot-top. The broad leather belt supported a short, heavy sword and a buckskin pouch. There was no perturbation in the wide eyes that scanned the green walls which fringed the trail. Though not tall, she was well built, and the arms that the short wide sleeves of the tunic left bare were thick with corded muscle.

      She tramped imperturbably along, although the last settler's cabin lay miles behind her, and each step was carrying her nearer the grim peril that hung like a brooding shadow over the ancient forest.

      She was not making as much noise as it seemed to her, though she well knew that the faint tread of her booted feet would be like a tocsin of alarm to the fierce ears that might be lurking in the treacherous green fastness. Her careless attitude was not genuine; her eyes and ears were keenly alert, especially her ears, for no gaze could penetrate the leafy tangle for more than a few feet in either direction.

      But it was instinct more than any warning by the external senses which brought her up suddenly, her hand on her hilt. She stood stock-still in the middle of the trail, unconsciously holding her breath, wondering what she had heard, and wondering if indeed she had heard anything. The silence seemed absolute. Not a squirrel chattered or bird chirped. Then her gaze fixed itself on a mass of bushes beside the trail a few yards ahead of her. There was no breeze, yet she had seen a branch quiver. The short hairs on her scalp prickled, and she stood for an instant undecided, certain that a move in either direction would bring death streaking at her from the bushes.

      A heavy chopping crunch sounded behind the leaves. The bushes were shaken violently, and simultaneously with the sound, an arrow arched erratically from among them and vanished among the trees along the trail. The wayfarer glimpsed its flight as she sprang frantically to cover.

      Crouching behind a thick stem, her sword quivering in her fingers, she saw the bushes part, and a tall figure stepped leisurely into the trail. The traveller stared in surprise. The stranger was clad like herself in regard to boots and breeks, though the latter were of silk instead of leather. But she wore a sleeveless hauberk of dark mesh-mail in place of a tunic, and a helmet perched on her black mane. That helmet held the other's gaze; it was without a crest, but adorned by short bull's horns. No civilized hand ever forged that head-piece. Nor was the face below it that of a civilized woman: dark, scarred, with smoldering blue eyes, it was a face as untamed as the primordial forest which formed its background. The woman held a broad-sword in her right hand, and the edge was smeared with crimson.

      Come on out, she called, in an accent unfamiliar to the wayfarer. All's safe now. There was only one of the dogs. Come on out.

      The other emerged dubiously and stared at the stranger. She felt curiously helpless and futile as she gazed on the proportions of the forest man--the massive iron-clad breast, and the arm that bore the reddened sword, burned dark by the sun and ridged and corded with muscles. She moved with the dangerous ease of a panther; she was too fiercely supple to be a product of civilization, even of that fringe of civilization which composed the outer frontiers.

      Turning, she stepped back to the hushes and pulled them apart. Still not certain just what had happened, the wayfarer from the east advanced and stared down into the bushes. A woman lay there, a short, dark, thickly-muscled woman, naked except for a loin-cloth, a necklace of human teeth and a brass armlet. A short sword was thrust into the girdle of the loin-cloth, and one hand still gripped a heavy black bow. The woman had long black hair; that was about all the wayfarer could tell about her head, for her features were a mask of blood and brains. Her skull had been split to the teeth.

      A Pict, by the gods! exclaimed the wayfarer.

      The burning blue eyes turned upon her.

      Are you surprised?

      Why, they told me at Velitrium, and again at the settlers' cabins along the road, that these devils sometimes sneaked across the border, but I didn't expect to meet one this far in the interior.

      You're only four miles east of Black River, the stranger informed her. They've been shot within a mile of Velitrium. No settler between Thunder River and Fort Tuscelan is really safe. I picked up this dog's trail three miles south of the fort this morning, and I've been following her ever since. I came up behind her just as she was drawing an arrow on you. Another instant and there'd have been a stranger in Hell. But I spoiled her aim for her.

      The wayfarer was staring wide eyed at the larger woman, dumbfounded by the realization that the woman had actually tracked down one of the forest devils and slain her unsuspected. That implied woodsmanship of a quality undreamed, even for Conajohara.

      You are one of the fort's garrison? she asked.

      I'm no soldier. I draw the pay and rations of an officer of the line, but I do my work in the woods. Valannus knows I'm of more use ranging along the river than cooped up in the fort.

      Casually the slayer shoved the body deeper into the thickets with her foot, pulled the bushes together and turned away down the trail. The other followed her.

      My name is Balthusa, she offered. "I was at Velitrium last night. I haven't decided whether I'll take up

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