by Aaron Hodges
Turning to the city guards, she nodded for them to open the gates. They said nothing, and she did not miss the disdain in their eyes. But after a moment they turned and set to removing the locking bar.
There was no sign of the general, though Erika had to admit, she was pleased at his absence. She wasn’t certain she could contain her rage if forced to face him again. Though no doubt it was a sign of disrespect to the Perfugians that he had not come.
Taking the reins of her horse, Erika started towards the gates as her regiment drew near.
“Not bringing a weapon, Archivist?”
She looked around as the Calafe drew alongside her. He too led a horse, though they would be the only two mounted on this expedition. Yet another factor that would slow their journey. She caught his gaze on her empty belt strap, and smiled.
“I don’t need one,” she replied, flashing her gauntlet.
He nodded, though doubt still lurked behind his eyes. The demonstration earlier had not been enough to convince the general of her power; why would it be any different with this man? Regardless, she started towards the gates, then noticed the Calafe had stopped and was looking back into the city.
“Forgotten something, Calafe?” she asked.
“What?” he replied, glancing at her. Then he shook his head. “No, let’s get going. The sun will be up soon.”
Erika frowned at the man, confused by his reactions. Had she missed a madness in the warrior that might jeopardise her mission? If so, it was too late now—they would not make it far on the other side without a guide. Together they walked through the open gates.
Below, a galley now bobbed against the riverbanks, gangplank already in place to see them aboard. It was larger than the burnt-out husk that lay downriver, and had probably once been used to trade goods up and down the Illmoor. Those days were long gone; now such vessels were used for the defence of the frontier.
Leading her horse down the winding path to the river, Erika noted that the stakes the general had been planting now sprouted in four or five rows along much of the riverbank. The enemy would not be able to charge the palisade so quickly if they came again, though there was still a good eighty yards of open ground left to stake.
Five minutes later, Erika stood at the railings of the galley, watching as the Perfugian recruits made their careful way up the gangplank. She took the chance to examine them more closely, and found herself pleasantly surprised. Each wore full chainmail and carried shield and spear. They looked impressive in their full kit, almost like real soldiers, and she found herself hoping the general’s assessment of them might yet be proven wrong.
The ship quickly became crowded as the Perfugians struggled to find space where they would not be in the way of the sailors. They were almost all aboard when shouts carried down from the city walls. Spinning, Erika scanned the currents swirling around them, thinking the guards must be shouting a warning. But the waters were empty, and a second later the pounding of horse hooves carried to her ears.
Looking towards the city, she watched as a rider erupted through the gates. The young woman, Cara, appeared on the back of a black gelding. Riding at full gallop, she directed the horse down the path towards the last of the Perfugians on the banks. Just as she was nearing the shore, more shouts carried down from the fort, then a fresh group of men came running through the gates.
On the shore below, Cara leapt from the horse’s back, and taking it by the reins, led it through the last few recruits still on the shore. Only as she started up the gangplank did Erika realise what the woman intended. Suddenly suspicious, she pushed her way through the crowd on the deck, while the last of the Perfugians followed Cara aboard.
“Looks like that’s all of us!” Cara was saying as Erika reached her. The young woman wore an easy grin and her injured arm was no longer bandaged. “Think we’d better get on our way?”
“What The Fall are you doing here?” Erika gasped, looking from the woman to the men still racing down the path towards them. Something was very wrong here. Why would this woman want to get on a ship heading into enemy territory? Not unless…she was a spy!
She spotted Romaine standing nearby. “Calafe, get your blasted daughter—or whoever she is—off my ship!”
The smile fell from Cara’s face at her words. Romaine stepped forward, his lips dawn tight, frown lines marking his forehead. Drawing herself up, Cara swung to face him, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts. A strained silence stretched out between them.
“Didn’t know you could ride,” Romaine grunted finally. “How’s the arm?”
Cara’s shoulders sagged, as though in relief, and the hint of a smile returned to her face. “Better,” she said with a nod, then: “And I’m a fast learner.”
“Good.” Romaine nodded. “You can help me scout the way.”
“Scout…” Erika pushed forward to stand between them. “What in the Gods is going on here?”
“Archivist,” Romaine said, “Cara is not my daughter, but she is of Calafe. We found her on our last scouting trip south of the Illmoor. She was injured in a Tangata attack, so we brought her back, but…she did express to me her wish to return.”
“Oh…what?” Erika exclaimed, too shocked by this new piece of information to form a response. She managed to shake her head. “But…even so…we cannot afford…any liabilities on this journey. I cannot have an untrained woman slowing us down.”
“She survived for months alone in enemy territory,” Romaine replied, speaking slowly. “I think you’ll find she’s anything but a liability.”
Erika glanced from the young woman to the men still racing down the slope. It didn’t look as though Cara had asked permission to take her horse. If the soldiers came aboard, there would be yet more delays. Grinding her teeth, she turned on the ship captain.
“Push off, Captain!” she ordered. “Time we got underway.”
The man hesitated, his eyes flicking to the approaching soldiers, but a bellow from the Calafe warrior sent him into action.
“Heave hoe!” he bellowed, moving to the tiller at the rear of the ship. “Get that gangplank aboard!”
The half-dozen sailors raced to obey, taking hold of ropes attached to the plank. As it lifted from the mud, the ship immediately began to turn, the currents taking hold. The sailors stowed the plank alongside the railing then turned to their oars. Sixty tonnes of wood and metal surged out into the currents as the captain called the timing.
Shouts chased after them as the soldiers reached the shore, but they faded quickly as the river drew the galley downstream. The Perfugian recruits clung to whatever they could as the ship lurched, swinging to the south, before turning more slowly to face upriver. Groans came from the sailors as they began to row against the current.
Erika nodded her satisfaction. She had told no one the exact location of her ancient site, but the captain knew to drop them several leagues upstream. Still unsure whether she’d done the right thing, she looked back at Cara. Finally, the full weight of Romaine’s words struck her. This woman had been alone in Calafe?
The new information forced a reappraisal of the woman. Anyone who could survive a winter in the wilderness, let alone in Tangata territory, was surely a force to be reckoned with. Her heartbeat quickened as she realised the woman could be an asset. Perhaps Cara even knew something of their destination.
Erika was already reaching for the map in her satchel before she thought better of it. It would not be prudent to speak of their destination in front of the captain and his sailors—who knew where else Gemaho might have agents? Better to wait and talk with Cara and the Calafe warrior privately.
Moving to the bow of the ship, she eyed the way ahead. The waters of the Illmoor raced past, the galley surging with each beat of the sailors’ oars. There was a mist today, a heavy, clinging cloud that tasted of winter, and ahead the river vanished into the white. There was no seeing what lay beyond; all she could do was trust the captain knew where to go.
“Nervous?�
��
Erika started as the Calafe warrior appeared alongside her. His eyes were distant, focused as hers had been on the drifting mist, as though he could already see the lands that awaited them. A scowl crossed her face.
“None of your business, Calafe.”
“My name is Romaine,” he replied, though his gaze did not flicker.
“What?”
This time he turned towards her. Their eyes met and Erika swallowed despite herself. There was a darkness in those steel-blue orbs, a silent grief, an awful anger that promised retribution.
“It is traditional to call a man by his name,” he said, voice not rising above a murmur.
Erika opened her mouth but the retort died on her tongue. He was right. Alone of all the soldiers in Fogmore, this man had volunteered to join her expedition. He was risking his life to help her—the least she could do was treat him with respect. She let out a long breath, swallowing her pride.
“My apologies, Romaine,” she said, inclining her head. “I am thankful for your help.”
A grim smile appeared on the warrior’s face. “Thank me when we make it safely back to Flumeer. For now, I’d be happier to know what exactly that gauntlet of yours can do.”
It was Erika’s turn to smile. “On that, you will have to trust me, Romaine,” she replied. “Let it be enough to know its effects are…unpleasant for those who cross me.”
Romaine raised an eyebrow at that, but to her surprise he did not press the matter. His eyes returned to the mist. “Can’t say I trust such magic,” he murmured, “but after that last attack…I have a feeling we’re going to need every weapon we can get on the other side.”
Instinctively, Erika followed his gaze. The brave words of a few moments before turned to dust on her tongue as the mists began to lift. Dark trees appeared to the starboard of the ship, fog still clinging to their twisted branches.
Calafe waited.
21
The Warrior
The forest was silent as Romaine guided his horse carefully between the trees, taking care to avoid the deep drifts beneath the trunks. There was no path here and with the tall pines stretching up around them, Romaine was navigating by instinct. At least the Archivist’s map had been detailed—they were making for a plateau in the foothills. The area was beyond their usual scouting routes, but Romaine hoped it might be far enough east to avoid any Tangatan forces marching north.
He marked a tree with a cross as he rode past, then glanced back to check on Travis. They had decided it would be best if he and Cara did not scout together. Someone needed to ride ahead to check for ambushes and ensure the way was passable, but not the both of them. This way if the worst happened, the main party would still have a guide to get them back to Flumeer. Romaine had asked Travis to join him on Cara’s horse instead, to be a runner between the groups should they encounter the Tangata.
The recruit offered a nod and Romaine returned his gaze to the way ahead. If the horses were struggling with the snow, he didn’t like to think how Lukys and the other recruits were managing. Marching through the snow, in the dead of winter, was not an enviable task.
At least there had been no sign of Tangata tracks so far. That could not last. A party of forty men and women could not go unnoticed forever. The Archivist was bargaining on their force being too large for a Tangata pair to challenge. The beasts would need time to gather more of their fellows to tackle the Perfugians. With luck, they would be long gone from Calafe before then.
At least, that was the hope.
The thump of snow falling came from off to their right. The hiss of inhaled breath followed from Travis, and even Romaine tensed, gaze sweeping the undergrowth. After a moment he shook himself and shared a grin with Travis. The recruit smiled back, though it did not reach his eyes. Romaine couldn’t blame him. The Perfugian was in unknown territory now.
Even Romaine was struggling to find the usual peace he felt at returning to his homeland. The heady scent of pines was all around and the familiar trees stretched above, untouched by the axes of man. Gone was the cloying stench of smoke and human waste, the incessant pounding of hammers and clashing of practice weapons. This was his home, heavy with the silence of winter…
And yet…he felt something had changed. There was an edge to the air now, one Romaine had not felt before, not even when fleeing the Tangata on his last visit.
The two rode on, what little they could see of the sun through the canopy stretching higher into the sky, but still the source of Romaine’s anxiety escaped him. Finally the trees began to thin, pines giving way to spruce and hemlock, and eventually beech. As the sun dipped back towards the horizon, clouds appeared to obscure the sky, and Romaine guessed it would snow again that night.
Thankfully he knew of an abandoned village slightly higher in the foothills. Now that the trees had thinned, he could use the mountain peaks for navigation, and tugging on his reins, he adjusted their path. The village would not be as far as the Archivist had wished to reach on their first day, but with the snow growing thicker, Romaine doubted the recruits could keep pace with her schedule anyway.
He and Travis reached the village several hours before dusk. Here the forest had been cleared to make way for stone cottages. Though there were only a dozen in total, each had been built from rocks of different sizes, likely taken from a nearby stream. The stones had been placed together like a jigsaw to form a whole, and mortar added later to make them whole.
The place had been abandoned less than a year before, but already signs of deterioration had set in. The thatched roofs of several had collapsed beneath the weight of snow, and saplings now grew amongst the stones, as the forest sought to reclaim what had been taken.
With Lukys and the others still some hours away, they dismounted and set about making the place ready. In the end, eight of the cottages were habitable, though Romaine had Travis climb up and dislodge the snow from atop several. Then they set about collecting firewood. They would not risk the smoke during the day, but once the sun set, the flames could be hidden inside one of the buildings.
“It’s strange,” Travis said when they finally stopped to rest.
They were seated on a stone bench outside one of the cottages, and rummaging in his saddlebag for the beef jerky, Romaine almost missed what the recruit had said. Finally finding the right package, he drew it out and tossed Travis a piece before claiming a strip of his own. He took a bite before looking at his companion, one eyebrow raised.
“What’s strange?”
Travis shrugged, then grinned. “It’s just this place,” he replied, “it almost looks…normal. I thought the Calafe were nomadic.”
Romaine snorted. “That’s what the Flumeerens think as well,” he grunted, then tore another bite from his jerky. “It was always more a general dislike of cities,” he answered at last. “Places like Fogmore and Charcity and Mildeth, they fight to keep nature out, to separate humanity from the land that bore us. Though, there are many of us who prefer a life in the forests.”
“And this?” Travis asked, gesturing to the cottages.
Romaine snorted. “Winter houses,” he replied. “Even for us, the winter is no time to be walking around in the forest.”
“Oh really?” the recruit asked sarcastically. “You should have said something earlier—I never would have come had I known.”
Despite himself, Romaine chuckled. “This is nothing yet,” he said, gesturing to the nearby trees. “Once we get onto the plateaus, the winds blow straight off the mountains. There’ll be no shelter our last night, not unless we get lucky and find the Archivist’s ancient site quickly.” He paused. “Which seems unlikely, given it hasn’t been discovered in a millennia.”
“Half a millennia,” Travis replied absently, then when Romaine raised his eyebrows, continued: “At least, that’s what they teach us in the academy: that The Fall took place five centuries ago.”
“Useful,” Romaine said wryly.
“It would make the Gods slightly les
s ancient than some would have us believe,” he replied, though his tone made it clear he was sceptical. He paused, then glanced his way, eyes shining. “Have you ever seen them?”
“Who, a God?”
Travis nodded, though given his nature, Romaine still wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t joking.
“Where would I have a seen a God, lad?”
“Up there!” he exclaimed, pointing. Through the treetops Romaine could still make out the highest peaks of the mountains. “That’s where they’re meant to live, right? I always thought the Calafe must have some secret knowledge of them, living so close.”
“Afraid not,” Romaine replied, though Travis’s words sent a tremor racing down his spine. “The Mountains of the Gods are forbidden, even to the Flumeeren and Gemahan. No one goes there—or at least, no one that does ever returns.” He frowned. “Isn’t it the same way, with the ancient sites you’ve found in Perfugia?”
Travis shrugged. “Yeah, but those are different. The Gods left those. Besides, we fear those places…we’re taught that the Gods didn’t want to cause The Fall. It was an aftereffect of their magic, when they tried to destroy the Tangata.”
“They failed,” Romaine replied, then shrugged. “Though I suppose the reason hardly matters, after all this time.”
“It matters to me,” Travis murmured, his tone changing, becoming serious. His eyes drifted to the mountains. “I’ve always been fascinated in them.”
Romaine grunted. “Perhaps you should talk with the Archivist.”
“Perhaps I will,” he replied, “though…I think Erika is only interested in their magic, rather than the Gods themselves.” He fell silent.
“There are rumours,” Romaine offered after a moment, “legends, from those who claim to have seen the Gods.”
“Really?” Travis asked quickly. “What do they look like?”
