by Alex Janaway
‘And, if you want, when we are back in the Empire, you can all head off on your own sweet way. I don’t care. But until then, we back each other up and support each other,’ said Cade.
‘I’d rather we stay together,’ said Devlin. ‘We’re stronger that way.’
‘Maybe so. But I’ll tell no one how to live their lives when we are free of this place.’
Over a few appreciative murmurs Cade walked over to Vidar’s cabinet, the one that stored the liquor, and pulled out a bottle. She uncorked it and took a sniff. She really wasn’t sure what it was. But she took a swig anyway. Her throat burst into fire.
‘Emperor!’ she declared. She heard Miriam snigger. Turning, she looked at the gathering. ‘We are leaving tomorrow. Devlin has already put together how it will work and has written out a bunch of orders. No good me doing it, I can’t write!’
More smiles.
She handed the bottle to Winders. He took a pull, gasped a little and passed it on to Rope, as his face flushed.
‘Whoever stays, I wish you the best of luck. As for the rest of you, we’ll make our own luck.’
Devlin stood. ‘I’ll be hosting a briefing downstairs in one hour. Thank you for giving me a list of your people and what they can do. I have already assigned them into works companies according to their skills. That work starts now. Go back and tell your folk. They will be reporting to their company leaders from here on in.’
The group stood and began to file out. Sent joined Cade. ‘We have injured and we have sick,’ he stated.
Cade nodded. ‘I know. I am keeping six wagons back for them. That’s as much as we can spare. If we find more, all the better. But we can’t afford any dead weight. We can’t afford to go slow.’
‘Are you going to get better?’ asked Sent, indicating her injury.
‘What, this? You should see the state I used to get in after a wild night out in Aberpool. This ain’t nothing.’
Sent smiled. ‘Then I’ll see you on the road.’
She tipped him a salute and he left the office. Devlin joined her and handed her back the bottle.
‘What is that shit?’ he asked.
Cade shrugged. ‘Dunno. Could be medicine.’
‘Could be poison.’
She took another sip. ‘Now wouldn’t that be a thing?’ she declared.
‘Good speech,’ he said, taking the bottle back and having another pull.
‘You think? It wasn’t planned or anything.’
‘Oh, I know that. Either way, you gave it to them straight.’
‘Looks like most of them bought it.’
Devlin screwed his mouth to one side. ‘Like they really had a choice. They’ll fall into line. Our people are behind you. That’ll help keep things together. As you said, when we get across the border, it’ll be down to everyone to choose their own fates.’
‘You know what I’d like to do?’ Cade asked.
Devlin smiled.
‘Open a tavern.’
Cade formed an O with her mouth.
‘How did you know?’
Devlin laughed.
‘Because in the absence of any left standing in the Empire, you’d be forced to build your own.’
‘Damn it,’ Cade said. ‘You know me too well.’
Devlin shook his head.
‘No, it wasn’t that. Meghan told me.’
‘Ah.’ She hadn’t thought about Meghan for a while. Hadn’t wanted to.
‘It’s okay,’ said Devlin. ‘There’ll be a time to mourn.’
Cade nodded. Sure. Mourning. She had never done that before. Wouldn’t know where to start.
‘You got everything you need?’ she asked.
‘I’ve got people taking charge, and found some others who have military experience. Divvied up our arsenal as best we can. Issar is organising some scouts. They are heading out tonight.’
‘Wish I was,’ said Cade. That sounded like the best job. Space to move, freedom.
‘Not yet. Not even if you were fit,’ said Devlin. ‘We need you in one piece. Best I can offer is a place at the vanguard. But any fighting, you leave to me, for the moment at least.’
‘Happy to!’ she said, raising her bottle.
Devlin saluted and sauntered out.
Damn but he was loving this. Devlin had his own little army to play with at last. And what did she have? She wasn’t sure. But it came with alcohol. So, all things considered, it could be worse.
Four days later she stood with her back to a waystation looking on to a canal. Behind her the noisy herd of Tissans were still streaming along the track leading from the mountains and joining the sloping trail down to the town below. Although some distance away, black smoke was rising from it, a pall fed by multiple sources. It climbed high into the sky, higher than Cade’s position at the top of the ascending series of locks. Barges, now empty of crews, waited purposelessly along the canal. Their cargoes would not be reaching their destinations any time soon. All the mules had been taken, added to their growing herd. Tissan scouts ranged all over the surrounding territory, making sure no one could get away to carry word. She glanced back along the canal path, watching the procession. Twenty-five thousand souls. Who knew? Who could have thought the dwarves had saved so many? She surrendered to a brief moment of panic before she shook her head. ‘Shit.’ This was way bigger than she’d had in mind. How were they supposed to keep this rabble together? And then she looked back at the smoke. She chewed her lip. If that didn’t announce their presence, she didn’t know what would. But they needed the supplies. So instead of taking the route they had used a year ago to take them into the mountain, they detoured to hit this place. It was a risk. A big one. Devlin assured her that in a way, this would put the dwarves on the back foot, that their reaction to the breakout would be more chaotic as they tried to make sense of what was happening. She hoped so. They still needed to put some serious distance between themselves and whoever was coming after them.
She turned as Krste emerged from the building, his crossbow in one hand and a knife in the other. He was wiping it against the side of his trousers, leaving a red smear.
‘You find anything?’ she asked.
‘They got food. They got drink,’ he replied.
It’s a tavern? Praise all the bloody gods. ‘What are you waiting for? Get loading it on the wagon.’
‘Yes, boss.’
She would have given him a hand but, well, she couldn’t. Doctor’s orders. When they camped for the night, she’d make sure the food was handed over to the quartermaster crew, now headed up by Sent. He’d worked out a neat little spot for himself, turned out to be quite the businessman. As for the booze, she’d keep hold of that. It was good currency. She walked back to the wagon and climbed aboard.
‘Looks like a mess down there,’ said Evan, who had been promoted to her driver.
‘Looks like,’ she agreed.
‘Hey, boss!’ called Krste, his head appearing from round the waystation door.
‘What?’
‘They got barrels in here!’
Cade pushed Evan.
‘Ow!’
‘You heard the man. They got barrels. Go help him.’
‘Fine. Alright.’
She watched him jump off the wagon and jog into the building. Barrels. That meant ale. She looked down at the burning settlement again. The fighters would be thirsty. Bet they’d appreciate a refreshing drink when they got back.
She nodded, pleased with herself. Just keep the right folk sweet and the rest would follow. She looked back at the line of Tissans. What would you call them? Refugees? Escapees? An army? Damn. But there were a lot of them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – KILLEN
Killen had been dreaming of a feather bed. The sheets had been soft, the pillows yielding; his head had sunk into them and he had felt like he was supported on air. There had been a soft breeze on his face and he was pretty sure the frame had four posts, with a screen of suspended thin linen, rippling gently. And th
e smell. Fragrances long forgotten, odours of a life, of lovers.
Of a time before his bloody camel.
‘Major?’
He opened his eyes.
It was dark, and the night sky was obscured by a screen of pine branches. A light wind rolled along the ground and with it a range of earthy odours. His pillow was his cloak, rolled up into a ball. He had picked a spot a little away from everyone else, wanting to enjoy a little privacy. Damn but if it hadn’t been the best night’s sleep he’d had for years.
‘Major?’
‘Hmm?’
‘It is time.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Major?’
‘Yes, Hassan. I am coming.’
The shadow that loomed over him bobbed its head and hurried off. Did that lad ever lose his enthusiasm? Honestly, he was exhausted just looking at him.
Killen pushed himself off the ground and adjusted his clothing, brushing off the collected burrs, twigs and soil. He picked up his cloak and shook it out before shrugging it on. Finally, he gathered up his sword and put the belt and scabbard over his shoulder to carry it in the manner of his soldiers when they moved while dismounted.
He took a moment to orientate himself before he stepped off towards the edge of the treeline. More cloaked figures were ahead of him, humped shapes resting on the ground or leaning against the trees.
‘Major,’ Rashad whispered from the right.
He turned towards the voice and saw an arm beckoning him over. Moving next to the speaker, he rested one knee in the soil.
‘Captain. All is well?’
‘I believe so. Our people took up position two hours ago. There was a change of watch ten minutes later. They sent out a small sweeper party that did little more than walk the edge of the ridge and back.’
‘How many on the wall?’
‘Five that we could count from here. The same as last night.’
‘Very good.’
Killen had insisted on Rashad’s reconnoitre even though it had delayed their assault and had taken much of the previous night, it had returned a clearer picture of the increased security arrangements within the settlement.
‘Our infiltrators?’
‘They are in place.’
‘And your assessment on tonight’s adventure?’
Rashad grinned. ‘We are all looking forward to it.’
Killen shook his head. ‘We are trying to avoid bloodshed, Captain.’
‘Of course, Major. But you must forgive the soldiers. It has been some time since they have seen action.’
Killen had spent most of his army career behind a desk, and had never seen action, but this wasn’t the moment to own to it. It was just like his scouts to be so excited. Killen supposed he couldn’t blame them. And, in truth, he envied them their love of their work, their love of life. They accepted what they had and rejoiced in it. He might rejoice a little more if he had a vineyard in his life.
He lay his sword on the ground. They had but a short time to wait. Almost seventy men and women were gathered in the woods around him, and yet he would never know it. He marvelled how quiet the night was. A gentle wind rustling the trees and an occasional cry of some night creature only added to the effect.
‘There,’ said Rashad. He pointed to the moon called Mercid. At this time of year it rose in the north; a bright white orb, it had only just started to wane. A dark shape passed across it. Slow, steady and then it was gone. That was the signal.
‘Five minutes,’ he said.
Killen felt a thrill of anticipation build. No, not a thrill, a knot of tension, in the pit of his stomach.
Owen let Arno guide himself towards the stone cairn at the end of the long spit of land projecting out from the settlement. The eagle landed lightly on the path and drew its wings in tight to its body. Owen climbed off and collected his gear. A spear and crossbow, both borrowed, the spear a little longer than he was used to, the point heavier. And the bow was larger. It would have been a pig to use in an aerial battle.
He looked into Arno’s eyes.
‘Go fly, Arno. I’ll call you if I need you.’
Arno cocked his head and blinked. Owen stepped back and the eagle spread its wings once more, made one powerful sweep and launched off the edge, swooping out into sky below the spit.
Owen used the crude leather strap he’d attached to the spear to shrug it over his back, then taking the crossbow in both hands, he started to walk along the path. It meandered along the spit, besieged on both sides by hardy mountain grass and flowers. It was a testament to how little it had been used of late.
Aside from himself, few of the other Highlanders visited the stone cairn at the end. He had never asked them, but perhaps they felt it was not their place of remembrance. That only those born here should have the right to have a marker. He understood, but had always intended to assure them that they were all part of the Rest. Now it was too late. But when all of this was done, he would put a stone down for each of those killed. Unbidden, a voice entered his mind, his old comrade, Bryce. ‘That’s gonna be a big shitting pile o’ rocks, Owen. It’ll probably collapse and roll right off the edge.’ Owen smiled in spite of himself. Yeah, Bryce was probably right. How he missed his old comrade-in-arms.
The path was leading him into the settlement. He had walked the whole way unchallenged, just as he had expected. Gerat was no fool, but why would he expect anyone to come from this direction? A smart man might have given pause – this was the home of Eagle Riders, after all. The back of the hall was ahead, and he took the route around to the left of it, passing the smithy and on to the central square. The place glowed with light. Two flaming braziers stood sentinel at the top of the steps leading to the hall entrance. Another was sited right in the centre of the square. That was as good a place as any, so he made for the central fire. He walked easily, taking his time. He had already spotted the two sentries at the top of the steps and they had, at first, ignored him. He heard one shout out, but he chose to ignore the challenge. His gaze travelled down towards the gate. Unlike the square, there was no light. Why had Gerat not thought to put the braziers down there? Placed outside the gates they could have lit up the whole ridge path. Perhaps he had decided that the watchers’ night vision would suffice. He turned his back to the central brazier, facing the steps. One of the watchers had disappeared inside. The other looked agitated, rocking from one foot to another, his spear describing a wide circle as he held it in a guard position. What were they expecting? That Owen was going to charge up the steps? He was more concerned about those behind him on the gate. It would be easy for one of them to take a shot. But that wasn’t his problem to worry about.
He continued to wait. More people were appearing at the top of the steps, men and women awakened and keen to find out what was going on. Owen got a sense they were all on edge. Many were armed. Yet none came forward, content to point and whisper to themselves. Were they afraid of him? Finally Gerat emerged from the hall. In the light it was obvious. He was flanked by the guard and two others. One of them was Bedwyr.
Gerat came to the front and walked down the steps. Owen kept his crossbow lowered, but his grip was tight. He gently released his breath, easing his own tension. There was no need to make any silly mistakes now.
‘Surprised to see you back, Owen.’
Gerat had his arms crossed, a sword was tucked into his belt, and he wore nothing but britches and a loose shirt.
‘Sorry to have to wake you, Gerat. But I guess you were expecting me, what with all of this light.’
‘Not necessarily expecting you, maybe your friends.’ Gerat looked beyond Owen to the gate squinting a little. ‘You come alone?’
‘Only room for me on my eagle.’
‘Yet I don’t see it,’ said Gerat, looking up and around.
‘I came round the back way.’
‘Ah. I should have thought of that. What do you want?’
‘To give you a chance.’
‘Didn’t know we needed one,
’ replied Gerat. ‘If I recall it was me giving you a chance. And you ended up killing one of my people. Now that’s just ungrateful.’
Owen cocked his head. The gall of the man was truly unbelievable.
‘We do what we have to do. You taught me that, Gerat.’
‘Oh no, it wasn’t me, it was the world, Owen.’ Gerat looked back at his people, then smiled. ‘What’s this chance you’re offering?’
Owen locked eyes with Gerat. Here we go. ‘You sacrifice yourself and I let your people live.’
The smile disappeared from Gerat’s face.
‘That’s fucking stupid of you, Owen. I seem to recall I have plenty of your people.’
Owen shrugged. ‘The offer still stands. You come down here and face me in a straight fight. If win, I will spare your people,’ Owen paused for a moment. ‘Most of them.’
Gerat barked a short, ugly, laugh. Owen turned his gaze to those gathered near him, reading faces. Some looked fearful, some angry. ‘Cover him,’ commanded Gerat, walking down the steps. ‘You want me to fight you?’
‘You made it personal,’ replied Owen.
‘I do–’ Gerat stopped and squinted, looking past Owen’s shoulder.
Owen could hear muted sounds coming from the gate. A soft cry. That was the cue. He raised his crossbow and fired.
‘Look!’ whispered Rashad.
Killen saw the same shape as before flit across the face of the moon.
That was the signal.
There was subtle shift in the tension. He placed his hand on the pommel of his blade. They needed to move fast. In that respect, the light armour of the scouts worked in their favour. They had shed their usual layers of cloth and were wearing little more than trousers and tunics. He had grown used to not wearing his armour, especially in the Jebel, but now he wished he’d at least kept his breastplate. The kufeya was the only protection granted for his head. It felt thin and worthless right now.
