Haven of Darkness - E. C. Tubb, ebook, CALIBRE SFF 1970s, Temp 1
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Haven of Darkness
#16 in the Dumarest series
E. C Tubb
Chapter One
Delusia came unexpectedly so that she continued riding
towards the north, forgetting the passage of time in the
stimulating conversation with Charles. He looked well as he rode
easily at her side, his clothes the same as she remembered him
wearing when, shortly after they had first met, he had attended
her on a hunt. The bag had been negligible; some vermin tossed
aside on the homeward journey, but the pleasure had been great.
They had wandered, hands touching, talking of a variety of
things with a irresistible torrent of words. Normally shy she had
found a release in his presence while he, perhaps amused at her
young eager attention, had relaxed the guard he usually wore.
Now, riding close to her side, he was the same suave,
charming man she had known when little more than a girl. A
long time ago now and she had known him when he looked other
than he did at the moment. There had been lines tracing the
smooth curve of his cheek and a sagging of the flesh beneath the
chin. The old, familiar manner had become crusted with
accumulated layers of distrust and, when he had finally died,
killed in some stupid quarrel, he had resembled an old and tired
 man rather than the youth she chose to remember.
"Charles!" She lifted her whip and pointed ahead to where a
narrow cleft showed in the bleak wall of the Iron Mountains.
"That gulley, you see it? The first to reach it claims a forfeit. Go!"
A childish game and one she hadn't played for years now and
she had a moment's wonder as to why she should choose to play
it now. A return to her youth, perhaps, her childhood? The
fiction of a happier time? If so she knew better, for her childhood
had not been happy and the things it contained were best
forgotten.
Leaning forward, heels drumming, she concentrated on the
race. Beneath her she could feel the surge and pulse of muscle as
her mount sent iron-shod hooves against the bare rock of the
foothills. In her nostrils she could smell the odors of sweat and
hair, of leather and oil, catch too the sensual scent of the beast; a
mare close to seasonal heat—had that scent triggered her own
femininity?
The drumming of the hooves softened as they hit a film of
drifted soil; grains carried by the winds and trapped in the
shelter of the cleft. Dull echoes rose to be caught and reflected by
the soaring walls of either side. Before them shadows lay dense,
sombre banks of thickening darkness which hid what lay beyond
and seemed to hide the hint of movement.
Abruptly the mare came to a halt, raring, forelegs rising, eyes
rolling, foam dropping from bared teeth and muzzle. A move
which almost threw her, would have thrown her had she not
been about to check the forward motion of the animal.
"Steady, girl! Steady!"
Charles, of course, had vanished, but she thought nothing of
him as she ran her hands over the head and muzzle of the
frightened beast, soothing the animal with words and touch. And
the mare had reason to be afraid. She had ridden too long and
wandered too far and now it was dangerously close to night.
Looking up she saw the edges of the gulley framing a strip of
purple sky palely flecked with the ghosts of stars. The suns were
 invisible, coming into view only when she had left the mountains
and begun the journey home.
They were lower than she had thought and she cursed the
delusia which had robbed her of elementary caution. Already the
day was dying, the light diffused, the air holding a metallic taint,
but with luck, she decided, she could just about make it. If it
hadn't been for the stupid race with Charles she would have had
no doubt but now, literally, it was a matter of life and death.
"Go!" She snapped to the mare. "Run for your life now, girl.
Run!"
She helped, easing the stirrups, loosening the reins, placing
her weight so as to help and not to hamper the rhythm of the
animal. There was little more she could do. To have halted and
removed the saddle would have lost time and the saving of
weight was not as important as it would seem. The beast was
accustomed to the saddle and she was not skilled in bare-backed
riding.
"Move, girl! Move!"
It was no time to be gentle. The spurs she wore more for
decoration than for actual use dug into the heaving flanks, the
sting of the whip accentuating their message of urgency. Beneath
her she felt the animal bound, fresh life sent to tiring muscles,
the stride lengthening a little now they had reached flatter
ground. Behind them the bulk of the mountains began to shrink
as the ground streamed past around and below. The speed of
their passage created a wind which thrummed against her face
and caught her hair, tearing it free from the golden clasps which
held it, fanning the thick, black tresses and sending them to
stream like a silken pennant from the rounded contour of her
head.
"On!" she urged. "On, girl! On!"
The sound of her voice acted as had the whip and spurs. Foam
flew from the muzzle and the lungs strained in the barrel of the
chest. A machine, bred and trained for strength, speed and
obedience, the animal raced through the thickening darkness
 towards the haven which alone could save it. On its back the
woman, sensing its fear and terror, conscious of her own, bit at
her lower lip until blood stained her chin, the gleaming white
perfection of her teeth.
Ellman's Rest, a gnarled and oddly shaped mass of wood and
stone, the great tree surrounded by the rock which it had
shattered by the relentless fury of its growth, appeared on her
right. Wisps of night-mist wreathed it, tattered veils which
blurred detail so that for a moment she thought it was a creature
of the unknown standing with outstretched arms to snatch her
from the back of her mount, to crush her, to rend the limbs from
her body and to tear free her internal organs. A moment of
illusion, then the thing was behind and now only a few miles lay
between her and the castle.
"We're winning," she said to the laboring animal. "Keep it up,
girl. We're winning!"
The suns were behind her, the magenta and violet, their discs
blended, now both below the horizon. Night was closing in,
limiting her vision so that it was impossible to make out detail
more than a few feet to either side, a little more ahead. Before
her the trail wound like a snake, the narrow path curving
between boulders, around looming mounds, straightening only
to twist again. A bad road to take at speed even in the full light
of day. One suicidal to attempt at a gallop on the edge of night.
"On, girl! On!"
The crest lay ahead, beyond it the curve, then the slope and, at
last, a clear view of the castle. Once past the crest the road ran
downhill and, beyond the curve, it was wide and evenly smooth.
A place maintained for racing but never before had she raced
with such determination to win. She would, she thought as they
neared it, set a new record. Certainly it would be one which she
never intended to break under similar circumstances.
Then, as something moved in the dimness, the animal shied.
There had been no warning, no intimation and, lulled by the
nearing safety, she had relaxed a little. Too late she grabbed at
 the reins, felt the animal rear, and then was falling, hurtling
through the air to land with a bone-jarring thud, her vision laced
with darting flashes. As they cleared she rose and looked around.
The animal had fallen and lay, screaming, on the dirt.
"It's hurt," said Charles. He stood at her side and looked at the
stricken beast. "A broken leg, see?"
She didn't need the guidance of his pointing finger to discover
the injury.
"Something frightened it. An animal of some kind crossing
the trail." His voice was soft, even. "Nothing you need worry
about. But the animal—you'll have to kill it."
The mare was young, healthy, a magnificent specimen of her
species. She could be drugged, the leg mended with internal
splints.
"You'll have to kill her," insisted Charles. "It's too dark to do
anything else. You know that. You have no choice. At least be
kind."
To the animal and then, perhaps, to herself. She looked
around, shivering, feeling the skin crawl on her back and
shoulders. The pull and drag of her loose tresses felt like hands
tugging at her scalp. Their touch rasped dust and dirt over her
tunic, little scraping sounds which, because near, rose above the
screaming of the beast.
"Steady, girl!" She took small steps forward, talking, smiling
as she spoke, one hand behind her, the fingers lifting the
compact laser from her belt. "Steady, girl! Steady!"
The animal looked at her, eyes rolling, ears pricked, teeth
bared in fright and pain. She stepped closer, kneeled beside the
head, lifted the laser to rest its muzzle within the confines of an
ear.
"Now," said Charles firmly. "Now!"
A click and it was done, the beam drilling through flesh and
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