Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy

by Marian L Thorpe

  “Is there a place upriver, not too far, where reinforcements could wait?” Sorley asked. I saw the spark of realization in Cillian's eyes.

  “The Battle of the Tabha,” he said. He turned to the Emperor and Casyn. “It was the battle between Linrathe and the Marai, many years ago, that resulted in the long peace between them, fought on a river in Linrathe. The Marai should have prevailed, because they had reinforcements hidden not far away, but the river flooded, men on both sides died, and the truce was called. It is an interesting idea, Sorley.”

  “Will not the Marai know this too?” the Emperor asked.

  “They will. They have a song about it, as does Linrathe. But Fritjof thinks of songs as entertainment, not instruction, or believes himself to be above their instruction. Geiri might know more.” He explained who Geiri was.

  “Send the cadet to find him,” Callan said to the room. I stepped away to obey the order.

  “Do we have enough troops, even with the Casilani, to keep some in reserve?” Casyn was asking when I returned.

  “Perhaps,” Turlo said. “How many horses do we have? Han-trained horses, mind.”

  “Many,” Callan said. “I cannot give you an exact count. Why?”

  “If mounted archers headed that reserve force, even a few dozen would be able to wreak much havoc in a short time. The Marai would not expect them at all, and were a mounted force able to cause fear and confusion, it would give a momentary advantage.”

  “There is a piece of high ground overlooking the river, on the south side,” Callan said. His eyes held the same distance as Cillian's did, when he was thinking. “It is where I plan to direct the battle. Behind it is a coombe opening onto the river, completely hidden from sight. As the tide ebbs, horses could be ridden along the sands. But we do not have mounted archers.”

  “Aye,” Turlo said. “But we can. I will tell you in a moment, Callan. But first, what about the island in the middle?”

  “Fritjof will direct the battle from his ship,” Callan said. “We know that, by now. But he will use that island for his first attack, across the causeway, almost certainly.”

  “A shield wall, then, at the causeway's end?” Cillian asked.

  “Or can we take it first, with men who can pass for Marai, to confuse?” Turlo suggested.

  “I can pass as Marai,” Sorley said.

  “We could take the island first, but I think it would be certain death for the men we sent; Fritjof's men would massacre them. Better the shield wall,” the Emperor said. “I have another task for you, Lord Sorley. Key to this plan is engaging the Marai who hold the coast between the Wall and the Taiva. That engagement must come from the troops on the Wall, who will need to leave the Wall and move south. Many of the troops on the Wall are Linrathan, and they will be reluctant, I think, to stop their harrying of the Marai within Linrathe. I need you to ride north, along the Durrains, to Linrathe, and convince them to support this plan. And to do that, I believe, you will need to take Ruar with you.”

  “That is a long and dangerous journey, for one man and a boy,” Casyn objected. “Five or six days, at the quickest, with extra horses and travelling every hour of daylight and some of dark. Does Ruar need to go?”

  “He does, I believe,” Cillian said slowly. “My countrymen will need their Teannasach's son, to be convinced. We—they, I should say—are sworn to the man, not the country. Sorley, you would agree?”

  “I would. May I take one guard as well, Emperor? Ruar will be better protected by two than by me alone.”

  “Yes,” Callan replied. “Choose whom you will. Now, Turlo, explain to me about these mounted archers.”

  “They are used in the East,” he said, “and they are a women's cohort. Lena spent much time learning the techniques, while we were there, and one of their officers returned with us. If we have enough women from Han and Rigg, or others—men or women—who are good archers and good riders, I believe that between Lena and Junia and your daughter, Casyn, we can create the force we need.”

  “Their bows are different from ours, Emperor,” I said. “Smaller, but stronger. We have two dozen.”

  Callan nodded. “Do it,” he said. “Yours to organize, Cohort-Leader.” He scribbled a note. “This will give you the authority to requisition horses and troops, and anything else you need. Begin tomorrow.” He thought for a moment. “Your daughter's rank, Casyn, is also Cohort-Leader, is it not?”

  “It is.”

  “Lieutenant, then, Lena. You have no objection, Turlo?” He shook his head.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, as required. I supposed the promotion had been necessary.

  The cadet returned with Geiri. The steersman took three steps into the room and dropped to a knee. Cillian spoke to him. Geiri shook his head, remaining as he was.

  “He wants to offer you fealty, Emperor,” Cillian said. “As do the men with him.”

  The Emperor crossed the room, taking Geiri's hands in his. “Tell him I accept,” he said. Cillian translated. Geiri kissed the Emperor's hand. “Now tell him,” Callan said, “he is not to kneel to me again.” He helped Geiri to his feet, the man's face reflecting his surprise.

  “Irmgard told him what the Empress expected in Casil,” Sorley told me. “I didn't think to let him know the protocols were less formal here.”

  Cillian and Geiri spoke for several minutes. I heard Fritjof's name, more than once. “He says,” Cillian relayed, “that Fritjof is a coward at heart. He boasts, and reminds men of past glories, but he uses fear and punishment to make them do what he wants, once he has convinced them to join him. He kills his own with impunity, for the smallest transgression, but not consistently. It depends on his mood. Sometimes he rewards handsomely, too. He believes himself above any laws, and does what he wants.”

  “That fits with what we have seen,” the Emperor said. “And it explains why he never leaves his ship. He sends his men out, but directs the fighting from a distance. His son commands on the field.”

  “Leik?” I asked.

  “Yes. What do you know of him, Lieutenant?”

  “Fritjof had promised me to him,” I said. “I met him only once. Cruel, is my assessment.”

  “Again, that fits. Do you have any particular grudge against him, Lieutenant?”

  “No. He spoke to me the one time, at a banquet. That was all.” Although he had been a large part of why I had fled Fritjof's hall, I reflected, beginning the sequence of events that had led us—all of us—here. But I would not seek him out on the field in revenge.

  No opportunity for private speech came until late. Sorley had arranged the fiction of where I slept with Junia, while I had had a quick word with Birel. He had greeted me with a quiet “Good to see you again, Lieutenant,” as he showed us to the room assigned to Cillian. It was not large, but Birel had managed to find us a bed big enough for us both. How he had known of the need, and of my promotion, remained, as always, a mystery.

  “Birel,” I had said to him, “the Lord Sorley will also need a larger bed, although he will only be with us for a night or two. Can you arrange that?”

  “Of course, Lieutenant,” had been his only reply. Druisius was a low-ranked soldier; if Sorley chose to have him share his bed, no one would comment. I was glad Druisius would be riding north, too.

  Finally, we were alone. One lamp only burned; I could not ask Birel for more, with the shortages. I would cope, I told myself. I closed the door, and turned to Cillian.

  “I know we have to talk,” I said, “but I have not held you for over a month, not properly. That first, please?” I went into his arms.

  “Käresta,” he said, bending his head to kiss me, a kiss that quickly deepened, threatening to end all chance of talking. Reluctantly, I pulled away.

  “Soon,” I murmured.

  “What we have to talk about might be better considered after love,” he said, his voice thick. His desire fed mine, pushing other thoughts away.

  “Mmm,” I murmured. “You may be right, at that.”
Perhaps it would. I raised my mouth to his, feeling his hands travelling on my body. He broke away, suddenly.

  “There is only one lamp. Will you be all right?”

  “I should be. We know what to do, by now.”

  “Now,” I said, curled against him, one finger tracing circles on his chest, “we need to stay awake long enough to talk.”

  “Yes.” He put his hand over mine. “You are distracting me,” he said gently, “and I should have my mind on what we need to discuss, not—other things.”

  “Sorry. Where do we start, Cillian? Callan's question took you completely by surprise, I could see that.”

  “It did. I have been thinking about why. I suppose it is because I have always thought of fathering a child as something to be avoided, not something I might welcome.”

  “And would you?” I asked. “Would you welcome it?”

  “The idea terrifies me,” he said simply. “I accepted the possibility once we were together. But I have no idea how to be a father, for obvious reasons.”

  “You had no idea how to love me, either,” I pointed out, trying to stay calm.

  “True. But you are an adult, Lena, able to tell me what you need, and when I misstep. A child cannot do that, or by the time they can, it is too late.”

  “What do you remember of the years with your grandparents? Not details, necessarily, but how you felt.”

  He considered. “Snatches of scenes, around the farmyard, riding on the cart. But how I felt, before the attack? Safe. Sheltered.”

  “Then you do know what a child needs, kärestan.”

  “It cannot be that simple.”

  “No,” I agreed, “but it is a large part of it. Enough to begin with, I believe.”

  “And what about you, käresta? Would you welcome a child?”

  A question too late in the asking. “Not just to be Princip,” I said. “Not just for the Empire. But for us, yes.”

  “Truly?” His fingers smoothed my hair, rhythmically. “I will need some time to get used to the idea. It is too new for me to respond to quickly. But that is not what we must decide for tomorrow.” He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at me. “Should a theoretical child of ours be heir to the Western Empire, or not?”

  But this was not a theoretical child. Should I tell him? But he had just said he needed time to adjust to the idea of fatherhood, and my chances of miscarriage were still high. And war waited.

  “How do we make that choice, for a child?” I asked. “If we say yes, we bind her to an enormous responsibility, and one she may not want any more than you do. What about her freedom?”

  “We are not necessarily binding her, or him, if the succession for Princip follows the rules of succession of the Eastern Empire. They are not so different from the way the Teannasach is determined: the best candidate from a house. So Casyn's daughters, or their children, would always be contenders. It is what allows me to ask to be overlooked. The question is this: do we ask that our children also be removed from consideration?”

  “So if we had several children—not necessarily the oldest, or any of them?”

  “Correct.”

  “There is something you should know,” I said. “Casyn does not want to be Princip, either. He told me years ago that he had not wanted to be a general, and last year, at the White Fort, I asked him about it. He told me he had done it all for Callan, to keep his impulsive, ill-disciplined brother safe. And then Turlo told me much the same not very long ago. You are asking a very great deal indeed of Casyn.”

  “Impulsive and ill-disciplined? Callan?”

  “Apparently. Until he passed thirty-five, Turlo told me.”

  “So I am ahead of him by a year?” Cillian murmured. “Lena, are you telling me I should not refuse the succession?”

  “I think you need to talk to Casyn before that decision is made, and perhaps even his daughter, the three of you together. I cannot see how this can be an individual decision.”

  He lay silent. “I did not look for this, when I gave Callan my oath,” he said finally. His fingers flexed against my hair.

  “How could you have?

  “Am I being unfair, käresta?”

  “No. You had some good arguments, yesterday, about why you should be passed over, and I think they are meaningful. You are being cautious, and perhaps a little impulsive. You do still tend towards making decisions without proper consultation, do you not?”

  He smiled, ruefully. “I suppose I do. Perhaps I cannot claim a year's lead on my father, after all, in a race towards maturity. I will talk to Casyn. But we have still not decided what to do about our speculative children and the succession.”

  “If it is not binding, on the oldest or any,” I said, “then would we not be limiting their choices, if we say no?” He thought for some time. I waited.

  “We will be honest with them, Lena, about the—weight of such a position, and the sacrifices?” Will, I noted. Not would. Cillian was never imprecise. I felt one tension fade, just a bit.

  “We will.”

  “We may all be dead in a month, and none of this will matter. What do I tell the Emperor tomorrow?”

  Little one, I thought, is this the right decision? Perhaps I will tell you of this conversation, some day, and ask.

  His eyes were very dark in the flickering light of the lamp, and troubled. I wanted so much to take his hand, to place it on my belly, to tell him. But the time was not right. “Kärestan, I have always told you I did not care that you were the Emperor's son.” I said. “And that is still true, in that it has nothing to do with loving you. But it seems we cannot escape its consequences. I do not think we have the right to refuse the succession for our children.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Work began in earnest, the next morning. I met my captain, who told me I had his full permission to do whatever the Emperor required. That done, and Callan's note in hand, I went in search of the stables and paddocks, picking up Junia on the way. She grinned at me, walking beside me through the rows of tents, looking around much as I had in Casil. I wondered what she thought.

  At the stables, a tall, dark-haired woman groomed a mare, clearly, even to my inexpert eyes, a Han-bred horse. She turned at our approach. “Lieutenant,” she said. “I am Cohort-Leader Talyn. How can I help?”

  She had Casyn's eyes, and something of his gravity. A strong stamp, Turlo had said. “Cohort-Leader,” I said. “How did you know who I was?”

  “I had seen neither of you before and you fit Casyn's description,” she said. “And this is?”

  “Junia, from Casil. Junia, Talyn. She does not speak our language,” I explained, “but she is an excellent trainer. She has taught me everything I know. Did Casyn explain what we are to do?”

  “He did. We know something of archery from horseback; the horses are accustomed to it, as part of their training, but it is rarely done. I am curious about it.”

  A shout, from along the stable block, and then a woman was running towards me, calling my name. “Grainne!” I threw my arms around her, hugging her close. I had not seen her since Tirvan, three years previously.

  “Oh, Lena, it is so good to see you,” she said, tears running down her cheeks. “Do you have word of anyone else?”

  “I just arrived yesterday,” I said.

  “With the ships? You went East, with General Turlo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Guard,” Talyn said, “you are allowed the reunion, but be aware this is our new lieutenant.”

  “Are you? Oh! I am sorry.”

  “Don't be,” I said. “I am so glad to see you, Grainne. Who else is here?”

  “Rasa, and Dian. Dian is Cohort-Second. Most women from the grassland villages went to the Wall. I don't know where anyone from Tirvan is. Maybe the Wall, or Casilla. Or—” She stopped talking. “You do know what has happened, Len—Lieutenant?”

  “Yes. We have work to do, Guard.” Grainne, I remembered, had always been prone to emotion. “Cohort-Leader, we br
ought twenty-four bows of a type new to me, and perhaps to you. Are there three women who can go with Junia to the ship, to bring them back here?”

  “Certainly. Grainne, fetch Rasa, and another, please.”

  “Junia,” I said. She had gone to the mare, and was bending to examine its feet and hocks. She straightened. I mimed drawing a bow, and pointed at the ships. She nodded. As we waited for Grainne to return, she indicated the mare.

  “Bêne,” she said.

  “Itá,” I agreed. “Yes. Good horse. Bêne ecus.”

  “Good horse,” she echoed. Grainne returned, with two other women, one smiling broadly.

  “Lieutenant,” she greeted me. I offered her the formal soldier's embrace, and then tightened my hold. “Rasa,” I said. “I am so glad you are safe, and Dian too.”

  “As safe as any of us are,” she said. I stepped back. Talyn introduced the third woman, from Rigg, before they went to fetch the bows.

  “Dian is leading a patrol,” she told me. “Cadets, mostly. She won't be back for a couple of hours. I have been alerted that I will be needed this morning, or possibly later, for a discussion with the Emperor, so my time is yours until then. Where should we start?”

  We walked and talked, looking at horses and equipment. The women came back with the bows. Talyn sent the three horseguards back to work, and she and I and Junia examined them, looking for damage. Two needed the sinew regluing, but the rest were unharmed.

  I strung one, and handed it to Talyn. “Its draw weight is greater than you will expect,” I told her. She raised it, drawing expertly. Her face reflected astonishment.

  “That is surprising,” she said. “With the right arrows, this will be lethal. You can shoot this?”

  “Fairly well,” I said.

  “Show us?”