Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy

by Marian L Thorpe

  “How did either of us do that as kids?” I said to Freya, when both of us rested safely on the ledge. She grinned. “Blind luck,” she said, still panting. “And dry summers. The water makes it difficult to see. It’s not really that hard a climb.”

  “We’re not done yet,” I said, but I knew she was right. The rest of the climb repeated the lower part, jumping upward from boulder to boulder, still dangerous enough but not really difficult. When we reached the top, the cohort gave us a round of applause. Eager to try it for themselves, they moaned, arguing when I vetoed the idea.

  “None of you is tall enough except for Tice. We will have to put ropes in place. Then,” I said, “you will climb it, up and down, and so often you’ll know every rock intimately.” I looked at the sun. “Go to the baths. It’s early, but we are all wet and starting to chill.”

  Dern and I explored the caves the next day, leaving Tice with the cohort. Pel and his friend Sarr came with us. We climbed up the hillside through the sheep meadows, crossing stone walls and wading small streams.

  Gille’s apprentice spent some of her day up on these hillsides, but today there were only the younger girls. They watched the sheep with half an eye each while playing the ring-game on a flattish space, cropped flat by the sheep. They had fallen to the ground, giggling, when one of them spotted us. They sprang up. Dern spoke to the girls—two of them nine, and one eleven—respectfully, and they responded in kind.

  “The largest cave would be up there,” the older girl said, pointing higher on the hillside, “The big rock, there, in the heather—looks like a lobster pot? The opening’s just to the right. Sarr knows,” she added. I remembered he was her cousin.

  “I’ll show you,” Sarr said. “Pel hasn’t been there.” He looked doubtful, suddenly. “I don’t think,” he added. Pel shook his head.

  “Let’s go,” he said, impatiently, wanting the adventure. We thanked the girls, leaving them to their games and their sheep. There was a faint track climbing up beyond the pastures, into the rougher ground. The boys ran ahead. Far above us, a buzzard screamed. Behind me, I could hear Dern’s breathing.

  The boys waited for us at the mouth of the cave. From the opening, which was maybe as wide as I was tall, we could see the rock walls and floor sloping down and then turning. The boys hung back. I pulled the lantern from my pack, lit it, and entered.

  The floor sloped gently downward. At the sharp left-hand turn, where the natural light ended, a small lantern sat in a niche in the wall along with a metal box of flint and some tinder. I lit the second lantern, giving it to Dern. In the flickering light, we could see where the tunnel turned again, to the right. The air smelled damp. Beyond the second bend, the walls and roof opened up into a room perhaps fifteen feet wide and twice as long. Water seeped down the furthest wall, to collect in a small rock pool before trickling away. The roof curved maybe two feet over our heads. “Is this natural?” Dern asked. I shook my head. I remembered being here, with Maya, and Garth, playing at being borders scouts.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Enhanced, maybe? Dug out a bit, the seep water captured? If so, it was done before Tirvan kept records, or no one thought to write it down. The shepherds use it, always have. That’s all I know.” Dern raised his lantern, taking a few steps more into the cave. He looked around.

  “Have you gone through there?” he asked, speaking to Sarr, indicating the narrowing fissure where the walls converged again.

  “It just peters out,” Sarr answered. “Gets too narrow even for me. But,” he added, “there’s something beyond, because a candle flame gets pulled toward the back, and you can feel a breeze.”

  “Good lad,” Dern said. “That means there’s airflow,” he said to me, “so if we had to mostly block up the entrance, the air won’t go stale. What’s in the boxes?” he asked, indicating the two wooden boxes against the closest wall.

  “Hay,” Sarr answered again, “and some old blankets. In case the shepherds get caught in a storm,” he added. “The hay’s for sleeping on, and for feeding the lambs.”

  “The cave’s dry,” Dern said, “enough to store ship’s biscuit and maybe some dried fish in metal boxes to keep out the vermin.” Pel, bored by conversation he could take no part in, had wandered off to explore. Suddenly I heard his voice calling me, though the sound was faint. Dern pointed up the entranceway. Urgency made Pel’s voice shrill, but the words were clear.

  “A boat, Lena!” he cried. “A big boat!” A frisson of fear ran through me. I looked at Dern. He saw the alarm on my face and grinned.

  “Skua.”

  Chapter Eight

  In the morning, Lise, who had been working at the forge with Casyn, brought me a dozen knives and the leather belt sheaths to go with them. Neither knives nor sheaths were handsome things, but they were made well, and with care. I held one. It had the weight of our wooden practice knives, but not the feel, or the sound as it passed through air. The handle was wrapped in thin leather and bound tightly. I thanked Lise, gathered the knives into my shoulder bag, and walked up the hill toward the practice field. Light cloud webbed the sky this morning, creating a haze over the sea. Tice joined me where the paths met. She looked tired.

  “So they’re here.”

  “Lise brought them this morning,” I answered.

  She shook her head. “I meant the men.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling stupid. “Yes. The boat’s here. Nobody knows anything else.”

  “A bit of time will fix that,” she said. “Let me see the seccas.” I gave her a knife. She feinted with it. “It’s different,” she said. “It weighs the same, but the blade cuts the air—how? Faster? Everything will happen more quickly.”

  “I felt the difference,” I said, “but I couldn’t put words to it.”

  She shrugged. “It’s like clay,” she said. “My fingers, hands, know the smallest difference in the clay itself or how wet it is. I’d imagine you can tell, from the play of a line, what fish is on the other end.”

  “Usually,” I admitted. Suddenly I wanted the feel of a line in my hands, the smell of the sea, and the simplicity of wind and tide. I pushed the thought away.

  At the practice grounds, the cohort waited. They should have paired off to practice or to wrestle—the morning warm-up exercises. Instead, they stood talking in tight clusters, their voices edged with excitement.

  Skua had reached our cove in the early afternoon. Dern had excused himself immediately after Pel brought her to our attention, striding off down the hillside. I had stayed in the hills, investigating other caves, studying the hollows and outcroppings, thinking about cover. When I saw Skua anchor in the cove, and the first of the small boats being lowered, I abandoned the task to return to the village. But the small boat had held only one man; it had been sent to ferry Dern and Casyn to Skua, where they had remained.

  The conversations quieted as Tice and I approached. Aline looked ready to jump out of her skin, and even Freya’s eyes shone.

  “I don’t know anything,” I said without preamble, once everyone had moved into the shade of the oak. “Nobody yet does, not even the council leaders. And we won’t know anything until Dern and Casyn return.”

  “When will that be?” Aline asked.

  “No one knows. Now, I have the real seccas, but I won’t give them to you until I think you are all ready to concentrate. These are dangerous weapons.” I held one up, but most of the women looked only briefly before flicking their gazes back to the water. I bit back a sharp command.

  “Into the meeting hall,” I said firmly. “Clear the benches to the sides, and close the shutters on the seaward walls.” The cohort hesitated.

  “Do it now!” I snapped. Freya moved first, and the others followed, Aline and Camy trailing after. I stole one last glance at Skua before I followed them.

  The hall, lit only from the west windows, had just enough light to allow us to practice. The cohort moved the benches against the walls. I handed out the knives and sheaths.

 
“Space yourselves well apart,” Tice instructed, “and try some moves. You’ll feel a difference. And be careful!” As she finished speaking, Aline yelped. I looked over to see blood dripping from the first finger of her left hand. She stuck the finger in her mouth, speaking around it.

  “I was just feeling the edge,” she mumbled. I dug in my bag for a bandage. Even the wooden seccas had drawn blood. I had learned quickly to have supplies available. I smeared the shallow cut with a concoction of fleecefat and herbs and tied a strip of linen around it.

  “At least it’s your left hand,” I said to Aline. “Keep it clean.”

  The cohort practiced individually for a quarter of an hour with no further injuries. When I thought they had grown used to the different feel, I called a halt. Along with the sheaths, Lise had given me a leather bag with a couple of dozen balls shaped from the corks of wine flasks—Tice’s idea. We showed the cohort how to ease one onto the tip of the secca, deeply enough to keep the ball in place, but not so deeply that the knife tip protruded. “We’ll use these for a while,” I explained. “We can’t afford to injure each other. Try not to lose it, and always check it’s in place before you begin practice.”

  The women put the tip guards in place, dividing up to begin one-on-one practice. Their first hesitancy with the real knives had just begun to subside when Freya slipped on the wooden floor and fell. The knife clattered harmlessly away, but everyone stopped.

  Freya sat up and rubbed her knee. “I’m fine,” she said. She reached for her secca, but I held up a hand.

  “I hadn’t thought about the floor being slippery. You’re all used to being outside, on the field, and I don’t want you having to think about both your footing and the new knives. We’d better go back out.” Tice nodded.

  We trooped back outdoors into dazzling sunlight. A moment passed before I saw the group of six men climbing up the path with Dern leading them. He raised a hand in greeting.

  “Cohort-leader, cohort-second, good morning,” Dern said formally, when they reached us.

  “Captain,” I replied, following his lead. I met his eyes. His gaze was direct, business-like, soldierly.

  “These are men of Skua,” he said, “those with the best knife skills. I wondered if we might practice together over the next weeks.” I noted how he had worded the request, establishing that he did not command here. I looked at the men. They ranged in age, I guessed, from about eighteen to well into their thirties, perhaps older. The youngest among them looked the most apprehensive.

  “We might,” I answered, “but not today. My cohort just received their seccas, newly forged, and we haven’t yet grown used to them. But let me introduce my cohort, and perhaps we can know who our opponents will be?”

  “Of course,” Dern said.

  I had the cohort give their names, which they did with differing levels of confidence. Camy spoke her name, but stared at the ground. The men seemed surprised when she and Aline stepped forward. They must not have expected girls quite so young.

  The oldest of the men spoke first. “Anwyl,” he said, in a relaxed manner. He would have been in and out of women’s villages for Festival for many years. The other men followed suit, oldest to youngest: Ferhar, Largen, Tiernay, Danel, Satordi. I doubted I would remember who was who, at least at first.

  Men and women eyed each other. Aline and Camy giggled. None of us, I realized, knew how to proceed: This was not Festival, and we had no other customs to guide us. I needed to say something, to establish my authority, and set the tone.

  “Cohort,” I said. “Shall we show the men how we fight? Find your practice knives. We won’t use the new seccas for this. Tice, pair them, please.” I turned back to Dern. “Captain, would your men be more comfortable watching from the shade of the trees?”

  “I want each man to watch one pair, and to do that, we need to be around the edge of the field, if we may, not grouped in the shade,” he said. I nodded. “Men,” he said, his tone relaxed but unmistakably still that of command, “watch a pair practice, and look for what is different. Not for mistakes, but for moves you would not have used, holds that are unfamiliar. Understood?” The men murmured their assent. As the cohort took their places on the field, the men spread around the periphery. Dern remained beside me.

  Tice had paired the women by size for this first round. They fought confidently, used to their partners and their tactics. Camy and Aline showed off a little, but behaved after I took them aside briefly. The men watched, some squatting, others standing, speaking quietly among themselves. The oldest, Anwyl, watched with a sceptical look on his face.

  After ten minutes, Tice stopped the demonstration to pair the women again, this time by disparity of size. At the end of this round, Freya had a welt on her arm from a fast strike from Camy, and I had heard much more discussion among the men.

  “Our turn,” Dern said. He turned to me. “May we borrow your practice knives?” I agreed, and six of the cohort handed their wooden seccas over. As Tice had done, he paired the men by size for their first round.

  We watched as they circled on the field. The sun, high in the sky now, could not be used to advantage. The two youngest—Danel and Satordi—moved lightly, their mode of fighting not dissimilar from ours. The two oldest fought quite differently, using their strength and weight of muscle, striking less often but with more force. Tice focused on the youngest pair; I watched the oldest two.

  Dern re-divided them after a quarter of an hour, again following Tice’s lead to pair them by the greatest difference in size and body weight. This time Satordi fought against Anwyl. The younger man danced around the older, not landing many blows but not being hit, either. About ten minutes into the bout, Satordi landed a blow on Anwyl’s upper arm. Anwyl lunged forward, aiming for Satordi’s chest, but he stepped back and sideways. Anwyl tried to check his momentum, turning towards the younger man, but he fell, unbalanced. He tried to roll into the fall, but his left shoulder hit the ground hard. He lay still for a moment, then pulled himself up. He put a hand to his shoulder.

  “Let me see it,” Dern said.

  “It’s nothing,” the soldier said. “Just a bruise.”

  “Let me see it,” Dern said again. Anwyl grimaced but pulled his tunic off. Dern probed the shoulder. I saw Anwyl wince.

  “More than a bruise, but not a sprain,” Dern concluded. “Keep it moving, but don’t overdo it.” He looked up at the sun. “Enough for today.”

  “We’re needed in the fields,” I said. “Can we eat together this evening, all of us, to talk over the morning?” We made the arrangements, sent the injured to the baths to soak, and went to find food.

  Harvest-time would not wait, even for an invasion. Now that Skua and her men had joined us, the council leaders had decided that practice and defence work occupied the mornings, the harvest the afternoon, and a review of the morning’s work in the evenings. I ate bread and pickled fish quickly, found an apple and my hat, and went back out, this time to the grain fields. I found Tali teaching Skua’s crew how to scythe.

  “Hold the top handle in your left hand, and grasp the middle grip with your right,” she instructed. Each man did as she said, their movements awkward. I was surprised to see Anwyl holding a scythe. Perhaps his shoulder injury had been slighter than Dern had thought. “Now,” Tali continued, picking up her own scythe. “Watch.”

  Holding the mowing tool with her body twisted to the right, she positioned the blade, curved and very sharp, and as long as her arm, less than a handspan above the ground. Then, with a smooth turn to the left, she moved the scythe in an arc, keeping the blade parallel to the ground. The cut wheat fell neatly beside her.

  The men did their best to duplicate her movements. One or two made a decent job of it, but others hacked at the cereal, chopping rather than cutting.

  “Stop,” Tali said. “Watch me again. Hacking at it wastes energy, and it’s more dangerous. Dern, you weren’t bad, but keep the blade higher: you’ll need to sharpen it every stroke if you hit soil
and rocks.”

  They tried again. Inwardly, I grinned. They’d all be needing the baths tonight. Scything, for someone new to it, took a lot of effort, and left the reaper sore and aching, especially on the first day. Anwyl misjudged his sweep, digging his blade into the soil, jarring his already sore shoulder. He dropped the scythe.

  “Pah!” he spat. “This is work for women and slaves, not soldiers.” Before Tali could speak, Dern had dropped his own scythe to round on Anwyl.

  “Pick up that scythe, soldier,” he said, his voice calm and low and cold. “You asked to do this, against my recommendation. So now you will do it, until I tell you otherwise.” For a moment Anwyl stared at him. A muscle in his cheek twitched. Then he dropped his eyes.

  “Yes, Captain,” he muttered. He bent to pick up the scythe, turning back to the work.

  After ten minutes more of instruction and observation, Tali pulled two of the men—Ferhar and Danel—out of the scythe line. “We don’t have time to let you learn,” she said matter-of-factly. “Lena, show them how to tie and stook.” I looked up from my work to beckon them over.

  I straightened, taking the opportunity to press my hands against my lower back. I hated tying and stooking, but I had never learned to scythe well. “This is fairly simple,” I said to the two men, “but you have to get it right. First you gather up a cut,” I demonstrated, pulling a neat pile of cut wheat up into my left arm, “then wrap the ties around the sheaf, top and bottom, and tie it off firmly. It has to be tight enough to keep the stalks together. Use a reef knot, and tuck the ends under.”

  They tried it, making sheaves ranging from neat to ragged, but they would do. We bent to the dusty, prickly work, gathering and tying. Every twelve sheaves made a stook, a circle of sheaves leaning into each other, the heads a shaggy ring at the top. This allowed the sun and wind to dry the wheat, and if it rained before we took them into the threshing floor, the grain would not rot.