Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy

by Marian L Thorpe

  “So let’s give them an inglorious death,” I said. “If we burn the forge, they will be forced to choose between death by fire and death at the hands of women.”

  Gille considered. “The forge won’t burn easily. The roof is sod, and the walls are fireproofed with plaster.”

  “The plastering is on the inside, not the exterior,” I said. “If we start the fires on the outside, the boards will catch quickly.”

  “How will you set the fires?”

  “With tinder and kindling, piled along the foundations. Three of us, one for each wall, can do it quickly in the dark of night. When the men run, we will have armed women waiting to pick them off.”

  “How will you get there without being detected?” Tali asked.

  “The waterfall.”

  “In the dead of night?” my mother exclaimed. “Lena, no. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Gwen,” Tali said. “Lena is right. There is no other way.”

  “There is,” my mother said firmly. “We can simply starve them out. They will be forced to surrender, and that will be even more inglorious than death at our hands.”

  I shook my head slowly. “These men are soldiers. They will be planning tactics, as we are now. They won’t wait until they are weakened but will attack soon. I believe we would win, but not without a considerable fight. We have already lost three women. Do we wish to lose more? We can burn the forge tonight.”

  “I do not want to lose you, Lena,” she said sharply.

  “Tirvan comes first,” I reminded her, as gently as I could. I saw the tears in her eyes, but I could not let them move me. I had a job to do.

  “It will work, I think,” Gille said, considering. “They may go to the metal store, though.”

  “Then they’ll die of suffocation.” Tali said. “The fire will take all the air.”

  I briefed my cohort on the plan, and we spent some time preparing bundles of fatwood, the resin-soaked interior wood of the pines that made the best kindling. All houses had a supply. We chose the best, shredding the ends well. Then we practiced building and lighting small fires until we could—and did—do it blindfolded.

  At mid-afternoon, I called a halt. We finished wrapping our wood in greased leather pouches, with flint and tinder tucked deep inside the packages. We would carry these on our backs to keep them as dry as possible as we climbed. I had chosen Freya and Salle to climb with me. Now I bade them rest, to sleep if possible, and to eat lightly. “We’ll meet at the waterfall’s base, at dark.”

  I walked with Tice toward the cottage that Dessa and Siane had shared. My mother and Kira had washed Siane’s body, and she lay on the bed. Among several other women gathered there, I found Dessa. As my apprentice-master, she had taught me, disciplined me, and become my friend. She sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in her hands. When I put my hand on her shoulder, she reached up to take it. Dessa did not give way to outward expression of emotion, but I could feel her hand trembling. “I will miss her, too,” I said.

  “I wanted her to go to the caves, but she would not,” Dessa said. “She did not want Lara to think her mother a coward.”

  “Does Lara know?”

  “We sent the message with the horsewomen. The children are to stay at the caves until it is completely safe.” She looked up at me. “I wish you luck tonight, Lena.”

  “Thank you.”

  I stepped away. Tice spoke briefly to Dessa, the formal words of sympathy, and then we left. We made our visits to where the other victims lay. We would bury our dead in the hills tomorrow, or the next day. Outside, women dragged men’s bodies down to the rocks beyond the net sheds where we would build their pyre. The tide would take the remains. Blood and vomit dried in the sand of the paths.

  We climbed onto the porch of Tali’s house. She had guard duty at the meeting hall, so the house stood empty. Inside, I went to the sink to pour water, washing my hands and face and arms. The blood on my tunic had dried, brown and hard.

  Tice washed. I found a loaf of day-old bread and some cheese, and gave her half. I poured water. We sat at the table and ate in silence, tasting nothing, the bread dry as ashes. Tice spoke first. “How many did you kill today?”

  “Two,” I said. “One at the forge, and one at the stable.” Saying the words made me even colder inside.

  “Two for me also,” she said, “but neither was Kirthan.”

  For what do you fight? I had asked Dern. I had never asked Tice.

  At dusk, we gathered at the base of the waterfall. We wore dark clothes and had blackened our faces and hands with charcoal. Soft leather boots gave our feet protection but allowed us to use toes and arches to grip. I would climb first, then Salle, and Freya at the rear. The last report from the women keeping guard around the forge had told us what we expected: the men inside had drilled holes through the walls, on all four sides, to keep watch. Other than that, nothing had changed. Six horsewomen ranged around the forge, and as many archers and swordswomen.

  I checked my parcel of fatwood one last time before climbing onto the first boulder. The air temperature had dropped, and the water, initially warm against my skin, felt cold. I moved upward. I could hear Salle behind me, but the sound of the water obscured most of our noise.

  At the rockface, I stopped to catch my breath. The weight on my back affected my balance. I found the rope and began to climb the sheer face. My feet slipped on the wet rock. I hung by one arm from the rope, fighting back panic. My searching hand found a protrusion in the rock and grabbed it. I hung on, trying to remember what the rockface looked like as water splashed into my eyes. The knob of rock under my hand felt roughly triangular. In my mind, I saw another piece of rock jutting out, above it and a bit to the right. I reached up to the next knot in the rope and hauled myself up. My foot found the triangular hold. I pushed upward.

  I finally hauled myself onto the ledge and lay panting. The sweat of fear and exertion cooled against my skin. My injured arm ached. I counted to ten before tugging on the rope, the signal for Salle to begin climbing. My eyes had fully adjusted to the dark. In the starlight, I could just make out the movement of water. I climbed onto the next boulder.

  As I neared the top, I found a dry spot to wait. Salle arrived a few minutes later, then Freya. I felt their parcels of wood—dry. I touched both on the hand and met their eyes. Both nodded. I crawled forward, keeping to the thorn bushes, trying to move and breathe silently.

  Over the sound of the water, I could hear the horses moving. The guards rode at a slow walk around the forge, keeping out of range of a surprise attack. Their noise would help muffle ours. We reached the meadow. The forge lay about ten strides away.

  I had the right side, as we faced the building, Salle the left. Freya had the back. In open ground, now, we went at our own speeds, waiting until a horsewoman appeared to catch the attention of any watchers. I crawled a body length, stopped, waited, crawled again. It took ten minutes to cover the distance.

  Huddled against the side of the building, I unstrapped the parcel of fatwood and unwrapped it. The greased leather fell open silently. I found the flint and tinder, pushing them into the pocket of my leggings. I counted out five sticks of fatwood by feel, and built a pyramid, carefully, quietly, against the boards of the wall.

  I did this five times. I could hear movement and voices inside the forge. Whenever the footsteps or voices seemed too near, I lay still. I had no idea how long I was taking. I built the last pyramid, then took the flint and tinder from my pocket.

  I moved into a crouching position. I struck a spark, lit the tinder, then held the frayed end of a fatwood stick into the small flame. It crackled, and shrivelled, and caught.

  On my feet now, I thrust the burning fatwood stick into each pile of kindling, forcing myself to wait until I saw the flames licking upward in the pyramid. At any second someone inside would notice the flickering light through the spy-holes. As I lit the last one, a shout came from inside. I ran for the waterfall hearing the crackle of the fires beh
ind me.

  In the shelter of the bushes, I turned to look back. Through heavy smoke, I saw growing flame. Salle dropped beside me. “Where’s Freya?” I hissed.

  “Don’t know,” she gasped, coughing. She had breathed too much smoke. At the forge, the rear door swung open, and men ran out, swords drawn. I heard an arrow fly, but no one fell. The horsewomen closed in. I saw a shape crawling towards us, awkwardly: Freya. I crawled forward, grabbing her shoulders, ignoring her gasp of pain, and pulled her to the bushes. The smell of burned flesh assaulted us. “I waited too long,” she murmured. “My arm….” I pulled her to the stream’s edge and pushed her arm into the water. She moaned.

  “Leave it there,” I said.

  The crack of timber snapping shot through the night. I looked up to see the forge collapse. It fell slowly, the sod roof breaking through the burned rafters, the flaming walls spreading out. Sparks spiralled upwards. Like fireflies.

  Grainne rode over to us. “There were only four. The others may have tried to shelter in the metal store, but we won’t know until tomorrow.”

  My job—our job—was not done, then. “Freya needs help. Her arm is burned.” Grainne nodded and rode away. I sat with Salle and Freya, keeping Freya’s arm in the water. The heat from the fire had died. Freya began to shiver.

  My sister arrived with a torch and two others bearing a stretcher. We moved Freya gently onto the stretcher, covering her with a blanket. “You did well, Lena, keeping her arm in the water,” Kira said. She moved the torch closer. “Are you all right? Whose blood is that?”

  “Not mine,” I said.

  “You’re shivering. Go and get warm. There is soup at mother’s. You too, Salle,” she said authoritatively. We did not argue.

  We walked down the hill. The cut on my arm from the Lestian soldier pained me, but it would wait till morning. At my mother’s, I drank hot soup and found some dry clothes to change into. I gave Salle some of Kira’s clothes. Tice came to the door.

  “Kira told me you were here,” she said.

  “We’re not finished,” I said, trying to muster some energy.

  “I know. Grainne told me. Tonight?”

  “Later,” I said. I needed rest. “After midnight. Tell the cohort to meet me here in four hours.” After she left, I sank into a chair, holding my soup mug in both hands. I wanted to sleep, but when I closed my eyes I saw the eyes of the boy I had killed. So young, and so thin, and so scared. Had he thought to gain glory? Would his mother ever know what had befallen him, on what shore the waves had claimed his ashes? I hugged the steaming mug, staring into the night.

  At midnight, a wispy seafog gathered. Most of the women would sweep the village from the harbour upward, but Tice and I would be on lookout. We had the best eyes at night.

  “I want us in the trees,” I said. “Looking over the village and the fields. Look for movement, listen. If they have hidden in the fields, they might choose now to move.”

  “Can you climb with that arm?”

  I shrugged. It throbbed, but I could ignore it. “I climbed the waterfall. I can climb a tree.”

  She looked at me levelly for a moment then grinned. “Let’s go.”

  Our best vantage points lay about twenty strides apart, close to where the willows bridged the stream. Tice looked toward the village and the harbour while I peered outward, to the fields. Stars glittered in the cold air. Wisps of fog gathered in the lower areas. I waited, flexed my muscles to keep from stiffening, and watched.

  I could hear the occasional murmur of conversation from the guards at the meeting hall. The moon, half-full and high, gave a faint light. I heard a fox bark, high in the hills, and saw a barn owl hunting along a hedge.

  An hour passed, and another. My arm ached. I moved it, trying to keep it supple. The barn owl rose from its perch on the hedge to fly straight across the field. I could see nothing in its talons. A rustling noise came from the far side of the hedge. I stood, stiffly, and moved along the branches, trying to see beyond the bushes.

  I swung clumsily into the next tree, hearing Tice moving towards me across the bridging branch. A small field barn stood at this end of the field, partly shrouded by hanging fog. Tice crouched beside me.

  I stiffened. A figure moved toward us, hugging the wall for concealment. The clothes and the long, braided hair told of Leste, yet I hesitated. Something about the way he—or she?—moved, and the planes of the face, that sent a stab of recognition as sharp as a knife-thrust through my gut. Maya? It couldn’t be… And then I realized. I touched Tice’s arm. She followed my gaze and immediately drew her knife.

  He stepped away from the barn into the moonlight. I heard Tice’s indrawn breath, and the barely audible name she spat: “Kirthan.” She raised her arm to throw. I grabbed frantically at her arm, catching it on the downward arc. The knife veered high into the barn over his head. He froze, looking up. I dropped from the branches, hands open and empty.

  “Garth?” I said.

  Tice dropped beside me.

  “Garth?” she said, disbelievingly.

  “Garth, son of Tali, brother to Maya?”

  “How did you know?” I could see his confusion and fatigue. He seemed, at that moment, very young.

  “Your sister is my partner. You move like her, look like her, too. For a moment, I thought you were her.”

  He stared at me in the faint light.

  “I am Lena, Gwen’s daughter. Garth, we played together.”

  “I remember.”

  “Do you remember me?” Tice said fiercely. “I knew you as Kirthan.”

  He shook his head. “I have been Kirthan for so long now. Where did we meet?”

  “At Jedd’s farm. In the barn, one afternoon,” she said bluntly. He said nothing for several heartbeats.

  “In Karst. I remember,” he said. He gestured helplessly. Tice strode forward to pull the knife from the boards of the barn. She did not sheath it.

  “Have you a weapon?” I asked. He drew a small knife from his boot, handing it to me. His hand shook. I waited.

  “That’s all. I had a sword, but I left it back there,” he pointed up the hill, “in the caves.” I must have looked puzzled. “When we came ashore at dawn, I left the others—it was easy, in all the confusion—and climbed to the caves. I remembered where they were. I’ve been there ever since. The women hiding in the large one didn’t see me.” He met my eyes. I remembered the movement I had seen from the branches of the willows yesterday morning.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” I said. He did so, and I tied them, my fingers trembling. Tice stood silently, her knife still in her hand. “I am taking you to the meeting hall,” I said. “You can tell your story there, to the council, and your mother.”

  “Why not kill him?” Tice asked, coldly. “He has proved thrice a traitor, to the Empire, to Leste, to us. Why should he live?”

  “He surrendered,” I said, keeping my voice level. “And if there is retribution to be made, for deserting the Empire’s armies, that is not for us to demand.” I looked at Tice, her face in the moonlight pale, and hard with anger. “Cohort-second, continue with the patrol. There is still a man to be found. I will take Garth to the council. You may speak to them later, and privately, if you wish.”

  For a moment, I thought she would refuse, but she nodded. “Cohort-leader,” she said formally, turning back into the willows, her knife still in her hand. I looked at Garth.

  “Come,” I said, unsheathing my own knife. “You have a story to tell.” In the moonlight, I could see tears in his eyes. He swallowed hard, and at my gesture, began to walk along the path, toward the footbridge. I walked a few steps behind, watching him. We crossed the bridge, following the path uphill, toward the council hall. He stumbled more than once. At the hall, a fire burned, and lanterns lit the porch. A figure rose to meet us.

  “Tali, I bring you a prisoner.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Mother.”

  “Garth?” Tali stopped, raising her lanter
n higher. In its flickering light, her face reflected disbelief followed by a joy that was quickly quenched. Her lips trembled. “You look like Mar. Now I understand why Dann said we bred traitors.”

  Garth shook his head, a barely perceptible movement. He stood a little straighter, goaded by her words. “Are you a council leader, Mother?”

  Tali laughed, a short, sharp sound. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “I may speak of my role only to the council leaders.” He had gained some control over himself. His voice sounded clearer, more assured.

  “By whose orders?” Tali asked, her lips thin.

  “My orders come from the Empire. I report to Dern, Captain of Skua.”

  “Dern,” I scoffed, incredulous. “His orders?”

  Garth turned slightly to look at me. “I must speak to the council.”

  Suddenly I remembered the night—so long ago, it seemed—when I had demanded to know why Dern had really come to Tirvan. He had referred obliquely to new information the Empire had received about the invasion. This must be what he meant. “He tells the truth,” I said.

  “Gwen is here,” Tali said. “Gille and Sara are sleeping. I will send someone for them.” She turned to her son. Her face momentarily softened. “If what you say is true, it would be unwise to take you into the hall where you will be seen by the other prisoners. Lena, will you stay with him on the porch for a moment?” She disappeared back into the lit hall. I gestured to Garth, and we climbed the few steps onto the wide porch.

  “You may sit, if you wish,” I said. He sank down onto a bench, leaning back against one of the pillars that supported the roof of the porch. He closed his eyes. Even in the lantern light, I could see lines of fatigue deeply etched on his face. Such weariness came from a longer struggle than just a day and a night without food or sleep.

  Tali reappeared with Gwen, carrying a cup. She held it to Garth’s lips, and he drank deeply. “Thank you,” he said. Her fingers lingered on his cheek.

  My mother knelt beside him. “Are you hurt?”

  He blinked at her. “No.”