The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3)

by Paul Lauritsen

  Tarq gazed around the little campsite, and up at the nearest peaks. “Yes, this is home,” he agreed. “I once had ambition for other lands, as you did when you led our people to war all of those years ago. But I have also come to realize that even had we won, I likely would have kept to the mountains. To our ancestral lands, where the bones of those who went before watch over us from their resting places.”

  “If we had won,” Garnuk said gruffly, “I was planning to appoint you as a regional chieftain over a good portion of the Sthan kingdom.”

  Tarq smirked. “That would have been interesting. I wonder how long it would have been before I ran off or refused your command?”

  “We’ll never know now,” Garnuk said, glancing up at the sky. The sun had set, and twilight had stolen over the mountains while they talked. “We should rest,” he said reluctantly, “So that we are ready for tomorrow.”

  Tarq stretched out on the ground, then cast a baleful look at his general. “You won’t leave me behind in the night, will you?” he asked.

  Garnuk chuckled as he lay down as well. “I will not attempt to travel without you, Tarq, you have my word. But when morning comes, we march.”

  Chapter 34:

  March of Exiles

  As Garnuk promised, he slept through the night and into the morning. It was not until the sun was fully up that he woke and shook Tarq roughly to get his attention. The other vertag stirred, grunted, then opened his eyes blearily.

  “Morning already?” he muttered.

  Garnuk nodded. “Eat quickly. It’s time we were on the road.”

  Tarq groaned and rolled upright, stretching his arms overhead. “It’s hard to believe you’re the one who nearly died not but a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Yes, it is,” Garnuk agreed scathingly. “Get a move on, Tarq, time’s wasting.”

  The other vertag began rummaging in his pack for food, muttering unintelligibly to himself. Garnuk busied himself eating his own breakfast, gazing off towards the northwest and their eventual goal.

  When they had finished their meal, the two vertaga doused what remained of their fire with large heaps of snow, then shouldered their packs and began the day’s hike. Garnuk took the lead as usual, but did not set the same scorching pace he had tried before. This time he took things slower, knowing full well that he was not at full strength and hoping if he moved slower and conserved his strength Tarq would allow him to travel longer than the previous day.

  But, as the morning wore on, it quickly became apparent that even a half day’s travel would be difficult. Garnuk’s breathing grew ragged and labored, and his pack grew heavier by the minute. He could feel Tarq watching from behind him and firmly pushed his weariness to the side, determined not to show weakness lest his friend insist on stopping for the day.

  When the sun reached its zenith though, Tarq halted the march abruptly.

  “We should camp there,” he said, gesturing to a sheltered space under a low overhang. “It will protect us from any weather that comes overnight, and is reasonably well-hidden.”

  Garnuk did not even try to argue. He was too exhausted, and knew that Tarq was aware of his weariness and the fact he was not strong enough to continue. With a disgruntled sigh, he stumbled over to the site Tarq had indicated and threw his pack down, dragging several sticks and branches together for the beginnings of a fire.

  The next day followed a similar pattern, and the one after that. Their progress was slow, slower than Garnuk had moved in his entire life. When he had been on the run, he had covered three or four times as much distance in a single day, since to stay in one place was to risk discovery and death.

  Day after day passed. Garnuk and Tarq continued their plodding march north and west, Garnuk agonizing over the lost time and chafing at his own weakness, Tarq offering steady reason and firm control over their pace. It was not until the eighth day of their journey that Garnuk realized they were traveling a little longer and a little further every day. He could also feel his strength returning, bit by bit. His muscles no longer burned with liquid fire after the day’s exertions, and he had energy in reserve whenever they stopped. His pack no longer felt as heavy, though he suspected this was partly due to the fact that their food was starting to run low.

  On the tenth day, Garnuk was able to march from dawn until dusk. They did not move at the pace he desired, but it was progress, and a sign he was well and truly on the mend. Tarq did not argue so fiercely over stopping early, nor was he constantly asking after Garnuk’s health and watching his friend with a keen gaze for any sign of weakness. He too could see his companion’s return to strength, and Garnuk was comforted by this.

  Even though the Exile grew stronger every day, it still took Garnuk and Tarq fifteen days before they sighted the peak which was the prearranged meeting place of Shadow Squadron. Garnuk examined the slope from afar, trying to discern any signs of occupation on the mountainside. There was nothing to be seen though, even for his keen eyes. Shadow Squadron had hidden itself well.

  They camped within sight of their goal that night, though Garnuk had been in favor of pushing on. Tarq had firmly refused, and so they had stayed, waiting for daybreak to finish the journey. It was probably for the best, Garnuk reflected as he lay down to sleep. He would not want to surprise any of his warriors in the dark. That was how accidents happened, especially in his debilitated state.

  The moment the sun returned though, Garnuk was awake and shouldering his pack, planning to eat on the march. Tarq soon realized there was nothing he could do to stop his general this time, and instead of arguing followed obediently, eating on the move. They made good, but not outstanding, time on the last stretch of the trip, climbing up to a small plateau cut out of the shoulder of the mountain. From the vales and valleys surrounding the peak, the flat space was all but invisible, a perfect hiding place for any number of exiled warriors.

  As the two travelers approached the plateau, a voice rang out from the surrounding forest and two warriors appeared, weapons drawn and ready for use.

  “Who are you?” one demanded, leveling his axe at Garnuk. “What is your business in these – ?” He broke off suddenly, recognizing Garnuk. “General,” he said instead, bowing his horned head respectfully and saluting. “Welcome. We were beginning to worry.”

  “No need to worry,” Garnuk grunted. “It was a long journey, with foul weather.”

  “That is unfortunate. The weather here has been pleasant,” the warrior reported.

  In truth, the weather had been pleasant for Garnuk and Tarq as well. But the Exile, while he recognized that he was still not fully recovered, did not want his weakness to be common knowledge. Far better to blame the weather for their delay.

  “Is everyone gathered?” Tarq asked, stepping up beside Garnuk.

  “Yes, captain,” the other sentry replied, saluting. “We await your commands.”

  “Take us to camp,” Garnuk said, “Then, we will see about our next move.”

  The two sentries turned and led the way up to the plateau itself. Here, the ground abruptly leveled out and the trees all but vanished, save for a thin screen around the edges of the otherwise exposed area.

  In the center of the clearing, a small village of tents had sprung up, rough structures of canvas and wood. Some resembled lean-tos more so than tents. Vertaga were not well known for their construction skills. The clearing was also dotted by a number of cook fires. They gave off little smoke, composed as they were of long-dead wood. The thin gray-white trails rising from each burning mound would hardly be visible to any observers. Besides, the gusty mountain winds were scattering the smoke before a true plume was ever established.

  Satisfied that the camp was well organized and relatively hidden, Garnuk turned his attention to its occupants. The remaining members of Shadow Squadron were lounging about the site, some in their tents, some gathered around the fires. They looked wary, but not afraid or beaten. More importantly, they looked well-rested and ready for action. Those who no
ticed Garnuk looked up with a spark of hope in their eyes. Murmurs rippled through the camp and bowed heads rose defiantly.

  “They have had enough of waiting and watching I think,” Garnuk observed to Tarq.

  “The blood of all vertaga runs hot, general,” Tarq agreed. “And these rams desire vengeance.”

  “They shall have it,” Garnuk growled, “Or we shall die striving for that goal.”

  They continued to the far end of the camp, where the mountainside began to rise again. At this edge, which was unapproachable by an enemy force, a small pavilion had been built along with two slightly larger, more comfortable structures. The pavilion and its attendant dwellings were arranged in a rough triangle, a large fire burning in the open space between them, the flames tended by two warriors.

  At the pavilion, Garnuk stopped and looked back, nodding to himself. “Yes,” he murmured, “This will do quite well.”

  He glanced at the sentries. “Return to your posts for the time being. Captain Tarq and I need time to plan our next move and prepare our orders.”

  “Yes, general,” one of the sentries rumbled, crossing his arms across his chest briefly

  The two warriors lumbered off through the camp, back the way Garnuk and Tarq had just come. The Exile paced around under the shelter of the pavilion for a few moments then turned suddenly towards Tarq and moved towards him.

  “Were any of our former leaders here?” he said urgently. “Is there anyone who might have compiled any information which our warriors brought to the camp with them?”

  Tarq shrugged uncertainly, looking around the pavilion. “I see no notes or messages left for us,” he observed. “I can ask around though.”

  “Do that,” Garnuk said. “And report back.”

  Tarq moved off into the camp, searching for a likely warrior to question. Garnuk meanwhile toured the pavilion and tent that were now his. The pavilion was simple, a roof, three canvas walls, a flimsy, unstable table standing in the center. The wall facing the fire had been left open, and some of the heat from the flames managed to take the chill out of the small, enclosed space.

  His tent was a little better insulated, canvas wrapped around a timber frame with little headroom to speak of. The ground had been covered with furs for comfort, a luxury which did not escape Garnuk. His warriors had done well, going above and beyond to prepare things for their general. He returned to the pavilion, nodding to the rams tending the fire, and stood by the table, tapping impatiently on its surface.

  He did not have to wait long. Not ten minutes after he had dispatched Tarq, purposeful footsteps were heard crunching through the snow and frozen grass outside the pavilion. Then Tarq and another ram came around the corner of the pavilion, stooping slightly as they entered.

  “Harg!” Garnuk cried, pleased. “It is good to see you again. Has everyone been gathered?”

  “Yes,” Harg said, glancing at Tarq. “All that remains of Shadow Squadron is here, general. Thirty-four warriors, not including yourself and captain Tarq. We are at your command.”

  “Thirty-four,” Garnuk repeated. “Not a large force, but perhaps enough. Tell me, Harg, what has been happening in and around the Fells recently?”

  “I don’t know everything,” Harg warned. “The Banuk spies have not reported in since . . . well, since the disaster at Banta Kodu and the battle with the Black Hawks.”

  “We will not be hearing from them again,” Garnuk said, shaking his head. “They served us well, but they have withdrawn from the fight now. It is up to us to carry on and finish what we have started.”

  “Then we are largely blind in the Fells,” Harg reported. “Other than the two spies we put at Ishkabur and the four at Dun Carryl, we have nobody in the Fells watching enemy movements.”

  “An oversight which we will shortly correct,” Garnuk murmured. “Of course, we did not expect to lose the Banuk when we first arranged things.”

  “What about outside the Fells?” Tarq pressed eagerly. “What news?”

  “The Sthan king is marshaling his armies,” Harg replied gravely. “But it will take them a long time to march to the south. Weeks yet, I should think.”

  “Good, we need the time,” Garnuk grunted thoughtfully. “What else have you heard? Any updates on the fortresses in the Basin?”

  “The stronghold men call the East Bank is gone,” Harg said. “The Usurper’s forces raided it around the same time they attacked the other guardian fortress.”

  Garnuk thought about this, tapping the table thoughtfully, then dug in his pack for a map. When he found one, he spread it over the uneven surface, holding the edges down with his clawed hands.

  “It does not matter,” he said finally. “The Usurper cannot safely march from these lands until both fortresses have fallen. As long as one stands, it is a threat.”

  “Agreed,” Harg said. “Especially with the recent growth of the remaining stronghold.”

  “Growth? I thought that it was nearly destroyed in the raid?” Tarq asked sharply.

  Harg nodded. “It was. But since then, the remaining Sthan people in the flatlands have flocked to it as a last point of defense. Our spies report that its population has increased many times over, and that there appears to be a massive amount of construction underway. They are working on building a wall around some of the flatlands to the north, and chipping away at the hillside the fortress stands on, making it harder to approach.”

  “That is cause for concern,” Garnuk observed worriedly. “How many soldiers do you think the fortress can field now?”

  “Hundreds,” Harg said immediately. “And there are thousands of people taking refuge there. They could be called on to fight, in a desperate situation.”

  “Has the Usurper struck at them again?” Tarq asked, his chin tucked against his chest as he frowned at the map thoughtfully.

  “Not that we know of, but an attack is surely coming. The siege at Ishkabur has remained undecided for weeks now, and his forces are making no progress there. If he allows the Sthan to dig in at the West Bank, the war will surely be lost.”

  “Yes, Garnuk agreed, “It will be. What of the Usurper’s own forces? What do we know about them, besides the fact that a significant number are tied up by the coast?”

  “Precious little,” Harg admitted. “We have seen no large movements of warriors. It appears the rest of the Ramshuk’s strength is gathered at Dun Carryl for the time being. He has suffered more defeats than victories to this point, and we have been a large part of that. He is likely regrouping, trying to plot a course of action that will lead to victory.”

  “He cannot,” Tarq growled vehemently. “The Sthan armies are on their way even now.”

  “But they are not here yet,” Garnuk murmured distractedly. “There is time to create an opportunity for a stalemate. And I think I know how.”

  “Tell us,” Harg urged, “And we will see it done, general. You can count on us.”

  “It will require discretion,” Garnuk murmured, “But also swift and decisive action when the moment arises. Every single one of you must be capable of making those decisions.”

  “That’s risky,” Tarq observed. “We are not all like you, general. We do not think the way you do, as quickly as you do, and do not reach the right answer as often as you do.”

  “I agree with Tarq,” Harg said quickly. “The two of us might be able to operate fairly well in such circumstances, but there are few others who could.”

  “Then pair up,” Garnuk grunted, “Or form teams of three. Thirty four you said, not including Tarq and I? Then ten teams of three would do nicely, with the rest staying here.”

  “This is to be our new base of operations then?” Harg interjected.

  “Until events force us to move from here, yes,” Garnuk confirmed. “If we are forced to move, I will leave a message to tell everyone where to go to meet up with us.”

  “And what will these ten teams of warriors need to do?” Tarq asked, folding his thick arms across his chest.
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  Garnuk frowned, looking down at the map. “The Usurper will march from Dun Carryl at some point. When he does, he will strike at the last remaining fortress of men. That fortress must fall, and the Usurper must be forced to withdraw back to the mountains afterwards.”

  “So the battle needs to be close,” Harg observed, “With many casualties and a narrow victory.”

  “Exactly. And when the Usurper retreats, we blind both sides to the movements of the other. Kill their scouts and spies, create a dead zone between the Fells and the Sthan king’s armies which neither dares to cross without more information.”

  “Can we do that?” Tarq asked, “With just thirty warriors?”

  “I believe so,” Garnuk said. “It will not be easy. It will mean much travel and long days for everyone if we are to cover the flatlands effectively.”

  “It is difficult, but it is our best chance,” Harg observed. “When do we start?”

  “We are agreed?” Garnuk asked, glancing at Tarq.

  The captain nodded. “Aye. We will see it done.”

  Garnuk nodded solemnly. “Then we start tomorrow.”

  Chapter 35:

  The Next Stage

  Garnuk spent the remainder of the day pouring over Chief Carh’s map and others, trying to find the best locations to deploy his warriors to. It was no small task, considering the amount of land he wished to patrol effectively. Even as the Exile was working on this problem though, the thought occurred to him that the larger issue at hand might actually be keeping in contact with all ten groups and being able to give them new orders if need be.

  The others left Garnuk to his planning, knowing he was the best, and only, one suited to such a job. Tarq had posted two guards outside the pavilion when he left after the first meeting, and those warriors were under strict orders not to bother the general or let anyone else bother him. So it was that Garnuk worked for many hours in a row, skipping both lunch and dinner due to his single-minded focus on his work.