"Quiet?” I asked. He nodded, concentrating on pulling his tunic over his head.
"Very.” His red hair, streaked with rain, stood up in clumps. He sniffed the air. “I hear rumours of venison stew,” he said. Caro, on servery duty, spoke up.
"More like thick soup,” she said, “but, yes, it's venison. With some root vegetables and barley in with it. Sit down, and I'll bring it over.” We did as directed, and soon enough two bowls of food stood in front of us, with a loaf of dark, hard bread. Darel cut the loaf in half with his belt knife, passing one piece to me. I ripped off a chunk, and dipped it in the soup, eating hungrily.
Caro brought over two mugs of thin beer, and for a space of some minutes we did nothing but eat. Others had come in as we ate, and the smell of damp wool began to overpower the scent of venison stew in the tent. No one said much; another day of rain and cold and mud dampened spirits as much as it did hide and stone. I’m sick of rain, I thought, listening to its ceaseless drum on the tent. If the sun would come out, I’d feel better.
Caro put more fuel in the brazier and then slipped onto the bench beside me. We had ridden north together, from Casilla, half a year earlier, when Dian had come south to requisition food and horses and other supplies for the army. I hadn't really known her. She had worked at one of the small food stalls near Casilla’s harbours, and sometimes on my way to or from my work on the boats I had bought something from her.
"How's the soup?” she asked.
"Fine,” I said. It was; thick enough to be satisfying, and reasonably spiced.
"It was only a yearling,” she said. “Not enough meat to go around, really, so we had to make soup.”
Food, I knew, was becoming a problem. At the end of the winter, with almost all the army ranged along the length of the Wall, game within a day or two's hunting was scarce. Sending men—or more likely women—south to the villages for provisions meant fewer of us to defend the Wall if another raid occurred. The truce, called ten days ago, could end at any moment; the Emperor and his advisors spent their days at the White Fort, east of our camp, negotiating with the leaders of the northmen. Fifteen months of war: eight to drive the invaders back beyond the wall; another seven, now, keeping them there, until the ravages of winter, little food, and the deaths of so many, on both sides, had led to the request, and agreement, to parley.
"Who brought it in?” I asked idly.
"Dian,” Caro replied. “They got two, both yearlings, but one went to the White Fort. Have you had enough to eat?”
I shrugged. “Enough,” I said. Food was for energy, nothing more, and what I’d eaten would suffice. “Is there any tea?” Darel looked up.
"I could eat more,” he said, “if there is any?” Darel was so young, and growing, and thin as a starveling cat. All the cadets looked the same.
"There's a bit,” Caro said judiciously. “Give me your bowl, and I'll bring it back, and your tea, Lena.” She slid off the bench to return to the servery. Darel stretched. “Dice?” he suggested. “After we're done eating?”
I shook my head. “Not tonight,” I said. “My tunic needs repairing. One of the shoulder seams is splitting.” Caro came back, and Darel fell on his bowl as if he hadn't eaten the first helping. I curved my hands around the mug of tea. It smelled of fruit: rosehip, I thought.
I sat, sipping the tea. It warmed me, as much as anything did, these days. Darel finished his soup, wiping every trace of liquid from the bowl with the last piece of bread, and pushed his bench back. He took his beer and joined a pair of cadets at another table, pulling out his dice. They would sit here, playing, all the rest of the evening, if Caro let them. The servery tent was warmer than the barracks, and there was always the chance of some scraps of food.
I finished the tea, idly watching the dice game. “Minging dice,” one of the cadets growled.
“Language!” Caro warned. She allowed no obscenities in the kitchen tent: another slip and she’d make the cadets leave, and they knew it. I’d got used to the casual swearing among the troops; ‘minging’, a lewd term for urination, was one of the most frequently heard. I even said it myself, now. I stood to take the mug back to Caro, along with Darel's forgotten bowl. Suddenly, the clatter of hooves on the cobbles rang out in the night. “Who?” Caro breathed. The cadets dropped the dice, standing. The tent flap parted, and Turlo—General Turlo, now, and advisor to the Emperor—strode in. Darel straightened even more: the presence of his father always made him conscious of his decorum.
Turlo blinked briefly in the light of the tent. “General?” Caro said. “Would you like food, or drink?”
He smiled at her. “We ate well enough at the Fort,” he said, “but thank you. No, I came in search of two soldiers, and I've found them. Guard Lena, Cadet Darel, please go to your barracks, pack your possessions and come back here as quickly as you can. You two—he nodded to the other dice players—go to the horse lines, please, and bring back two mounts. And then retire to your barracks,” he added. “Go!” he said, not unkindly; the cadets scurried to do his bidding.
Darel had not moved, but looked over at me. “General?” I said. “What is happening?”
"I will tell you,” he said, “when you return with your packs. Bring anything you cannot live without, and your warmest clothes and boots, if you are not already wearing them. Quickly, mind!” It was mildly said, but still an order. I glanced at Darel; he had already turned to put on his outdoor clothes.
We dressed hurriedly and went out into the night. The cadet barracks lay in the opposite direction to mine—the Guards being the women who had come to support the army of the Empire—but Darel hesitated. “Lena,” he whispered, “what do you think is going on?”
"No idea,” I said. “But we have orders to follow, and very little time to do it in. Be quick, Darel!”
I half-ran to the Guards' barracks, trying not to slip on the slick path. I was in luck; the three women I shared my room with were somewhere else. Halle, at least, was on duty; I wasn't sure about the other two. No questions to slow me down. I pulled my pack from under my cot, looking inside: spare underclothes and socks, another pair of breeches and a shirt lay folded. The pack doubled as storage in this small space. I picked up my indoor slippers, putting them in the pack. From the small wooden chest beside the cot I took a few other things: my comb, my sewing kit, the soft absorbent cloths I used every month during my bleeding, the small supply of anash from which I brewed a tea to lessen the cramps that came with the bleeding, my pen and ink. Then I picked up the last two items that lay inside: two books. One was the history of the Empire, given to me by Colm, the Emperor's advisor and castrate twin; one was my own journal. I stuffed them down inside the pack, buckling it closed.
Outside the servery tent two horses—my Clio, I noticed, was not one of them—stood saddled and bridled beside Turlo's horse. Inside the General sat alone, a mug of beer on the table. Caro had gone. Turlo looked up at me without smiling, nodding for me to sit. Darel came in a minute or two later.
"Now,” Turlo said, “I will be brief. The talks have been fruitful: there is a truce that both the Emperor and the Northmen's leader, Donnalch, can agree to. Teannasach of the North, he styles himself; so be it. I remember when he was a stripling leading raiding parties for sheep, but no doubt he remembers when I was a stripling too, scouting up their glens. If you do this long enough, old adversaries are almost friends.” He grinned. Nothing, ever, seemed to keep Turlo's spirits down. “But the treaty, my lad, and lassie,” he added, “requires hostages. Donnalch's son, and another, to us, and two children of our leaders, to them.”
Darel found his voice first. “We are to be hostages? Sir?” he remembered to add.
"But I am not a child of our leaders,” I protested, not understanding.
"Aye,” Turlo said. I wasn't sure which one of us he answered. He looked at Darel. “You are my son,” he said, “and therefore must stand as hostage. And you, Lena,” he said, switching his gaze to me, “Casyn asked for you to stand as his
surrogate daughter. His own daughters are in Han, with their own children, and the Emperor has fathered no sons, or daughters, for that matter, in all his years.”
Casyn had asked for me. The words echoed in my head. I had met my own father only once; he served at one of the easternmost postings on the Wall. In the almost two years I had known and worked with and served the General Casyn, I had come to regard him, and to love him, I had acknowledged, as I might have my own father, had I known him. I had had no conception that he might have thought of me in a similar light. Something pushed through the dullness of my spirit. This time, I thought, you will not fail him. This time, you will go.
"What does it mean, to be a hostage?” I asked. I saw something flicker in Turlo's eyes. He grinned again.
“Exchanging the children of high rank as hostages is an old and honoured tradition,” he answered, “although not one we have respected, in some generations, and in truth needed to be reminded of. We'll treat Donnalch's son, and the other boy they are sending—his brother's son—with every courtesy. They will lodge in the White Fort for now, and then be sent south to the Eastern Fort when the weather improves, to learn with our senior cadets. Darel, you will basically live the life that Donnalch's son would have, whatever the education, in arms and tactics and books, they deem appropriate. That is the gist of it: we exchange our heirs, in surety for each side's good behaviour. You will not be mistreated, but, understand, neither will you be truly free.”
"And me?” I asked. “I cannot see the northerners teaching me arms. And I am not a child.”
"You are right, of course,” he said, his voice graver. “I must be honest and say I do not really know. We have not concerned ourselves, over the years, in gathering much intelligence on how the women of the north folk live their lives, except to know they live with their men, and perhaps divide the responsibilities of daily life much as we did here once in the Empire, before Partition. But,” he said, his voice brightening, “you will bring us back much valuable information, as a result.”
"Am I to spy, then?” I tried to keep the exasperation out of my voice.
"Of course,” he said simply. “Both of you. Do you not think that the northern boys will be doing the same?”
I realized the truth of what he said. “Why must we go so quickly?”
"I will tell you as we ride,” he said, standing as he spoke. “Mount up, now.”
Once we had ridden past the tents of the camp Turlo spoke again, his voice raised slightly against the wind and rain. “You asked about the need for haste,” he said. “Donnalch would brook no delay. The exchange had to be done tonight, before he would sign the papers of truce. Callan had little choice but to agree, since Donnalch's son and nephew were already at their camp, close to the Fort on the northern side.”
"I wonder,” I said thoughtfully, “how long those two boys have known they would be part of the truce?”
“And what their instructions have been?” Turlo said. “As always, you are quick, Lena. If Colm had been here,” he said, a trace of grief in his voice, “he would have seen the probability that an exchange of hostages would be part of any agreement, I believe, and we could have prepared the two of you too. But we did not see it, until earlier today, and there was no way to let you know.”
"Is the truce fair?” Darel asked.
"It is,” Turlo answered. “I cannot tell you much tonight; the proclamation will be tomorrow at mid-day, at the White Fort. You'll be there, front and centre, by the bye, as proof to all the good will between our two sides, so hold your heads up and be proud ambassadors for the Empire, when all the eyes are on you.”
"I hope they let us have baths, then,” I said.
Turlo laughed. “No doubt they will.”
We rode through the gates of the White Fort, stopping outside a large stone building. Soldiers—cadets, really—stepped forward to take our horses. We dismounted, shouldering our packs. The horses were led away. I glanced at Darel: he looked as nervous as I felt.
"General,” I said. “How long are we to be hostages?”
He looked from me to his son. “Half a year,” he replied. That long? I thought. But Turlo still spoke. “Half a year, from now till harvest, to give the northerners a chance to plant and harvest: food runs short on both sides of the Wall. Time for us to hold Festival, and let the villages know our needs for food and supplies. And in that time Callan and Donnalch—and advisors on both sides—will hammer out the terms of a final peace, or not.”
"But this is an order, and my duty,” Darel said, his voice steady. “I understand, General.”
"Good lad,” he said. “And you, Guardswoman?”
A mix of emotions roiled through me: a thread of pride, fear, reluctance. When I had ridden north to the Wall the previous autumn, I had sworn fealty and service to Callan, the Emperor, for the duration of the conflict with the northmen. He had not released me from this, and therefore I too had an order and a duty to follow. I had thought I might die as a Guard, so why was I of two minds about this? But when was the last time I had really wanted to do anything?
"General,” I said, “will it be known, that I shall be a hostage to the northmen?”
Turlo's eyes softened. “You are thinking of your mother, and your sister?”
I nodded. “Yes,” I said.
He understood. “My belief is you will be allowed letters,” he said, “at least to your family and other women. I will find a way to send word, to Tirvan. Will my word suffice?”
"Of course,” I said, grateful for his comprehension and compassion.
"Is there anything else?” I hesitated. “Tell me,” he insisted.
"Well, if I could, if it's allowed—could I have my mare? Clio?” At least she would be something familiar. My stomach roiled. Why had Casyn asked this of me?
He laughed. “Is that all? Of course you can; you'll need a horse, no doubt. I'll have someone bring her over in the morning, and her tack. Darel, is there a particular horse you would like?”
Darel grinned, his teeth bright in the moonlight. I saw the resemblance to Turlo in that grin. “I rather like the skewbald with the white eye,” he said, “but so does Rikter. Still, I don't suppose he'll have much chance of revenge, if I'm away with the northmen.”
Turlo reached out to cuff his son lightly on the shoulder. If he had heard the fear behind the bravado, he didn't acknowledge it. “Good man,” he said. “The skewbald it will be. Now, they are waiting for us, and we can delay no longer.” He pulled open the great wooden door, beckoning us inside.
We walked into a hall. Torches in black iron sconces gusted high in the rush of air from the open door, and then subsided to flickers against the grey stone. Turlo led the way to another pair of doors, his boots loud to my ears on the stone flagged floor. Apprehension knotted my stomach. He knocked, but, not awaiting an answer, pulled the doors open and strode inside.
I stopped, Darel beside me, just inside the door. Like the hall, stone blocks formed the walls, but the ceiling curved above us, twice the height of the hall, huge beams supporting it. Fireplaces burned at both ends of the room, and torches, this time in gleaming bronze sconces, lined the walls. But the floor! It was flagged, around the periphery, but otherwise an intricate picture, in tiny fragments of stone and ceramic and glass, made up the rest of the surface. The colours gleamed in the firelight. Faces and sea creatures and designs—and under my booted feet I could feel warmth. Into my dazzled mind the words carved on the stone gates of Casilla came unbidden: ‘Casil e imitaran ne’. ‘There is only one Casilla’ was the common understanding of the words, which were in no language of the Empire, but a very old woman I had met in the marketplace had told me a different translation: ‘Casil this is not’. I had puzzled over those words, but something about this room resonated with them. It did not look as if it belonged to the Empire I knew, but to something older, perhaps greater.
I forced myself to look up at the men seated at a long table. I saw the familiar face of Casyn, and beside
him his brother, the Emperor Callan. Beyond Casyn, the empty chair that should have been Colm's: it was Turlo's, now. On the other side of Callan sat a man, tall but slight, with greying dark hair and no beard, dressed in a woven, woollen tunic and breeches, a cloak, also of wool, over one shoulder. The cloak was pinned to his shoulder with an intricate, enamelled pin, and around his neck he wore a twisted gold ring. Like the floor, the brooch and the gold of the torc glittered in the firelight. Two more men sat beside him, one clearly a close relation; the other, younger and light-haired, and stockier. And beside them, two young men, bracketing, I thought, Darel in age. My heart beat hard against my chest. I willed my breathing to slow.
Callan stood. “Thank you for your speed, General,” he said. “Guardswoman Lena, Cadet Darel of the third, welcome to the Council of the White Fort, where after long days we have agreed to a truce between the Empire and the Northmen. Has the General Turlo explained your roles?”
Callan had named me, the elder, first. “He has, Emperor,” I replied, hoping my voice was steady. He nodded.
"Yes, Emperor,” Darel answered. He had served at the Emperor's winter camp, in the time before the invasion, and was less in awe of his Emperor as a result than some of his fellow cadets might have been. Darel shared many traits with his father, I was beginning to realize, and Turlo rarely stood on ceremony.
The slight man spoke, his voice surprisingly musical, and conversational. “This is your son, Turlo, then? Not that I need to ask: I can see it in his face. Who is his mother?”
“Arey, her name is, from Berge,” Turlo replied. “And before you ask, Donnalch, her hair is brown and Berge's records say her forbears, for as many generations as they have records, are from south of the Wall.” Donnalch grinned.
"Aye, but who would tell of a child got by a northman who had slipped over the Wall?” he said. Then his voice became serious. “And the woman, Casyn? You ask for her to stand surrogate for your own daughters?” My breath caught in my throat. I swallowed.
Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy Page 37
