Daughter of Independence

by Simon Brown

  And at the end of the army’s third day of heavy marching out from Kydan, a third party crossed them on the banks of the Frey, this time from Velan Lymok, and the news was not all that Gos had hoped.

  *

  As hard as it had been to leave Arden behind in Sayenna, for Heriot Fleetwood it had been almost as hard not to break down and beg Gos Linsedd to take her with him back east. But she was with Sookie and Berrat and there was no one else she would entrust them to except Arden and Poloma, so she said her farewells to Gos on the banks of the Frey and silently wished the army luck as she and her escort continued riding west.

  The last section of their journey, riding parallel with the river, was almost peaceful. The Frey swept along, still chill with melt from the highest peaks, sighing along the banks. The sky was almost clear of the monsoon and only a few bedraggled clouds were left hanging in the northwest. The air was clear and sharp with heat as summer proper took over the land, and soon the plains would shade from green to beaten gold. Heriot wished there could be a real and final peace so her children could grow up without the threat of losing their home or their father or other-father, or better, without the threat of the terrible Kevlerens hanging over them.

  And Heriot Fleetwood, who wanted to be home with her Poloma at the same time she wanted to be fighting with her Arden, just wished the whole world would start making some kind of sense so she could sort it out and put everything in its place. Which was a cruel joke, she admitted to herself, since she did not even know where her place was.

  ‘Home?’ Sookie asked for the hundredth time that morning.

  ‘Almost there, sweeting,’ Heriot said, and checked Berrat suspended in a sling around her shoulder. He was asleep again. He liked it when Heriot rode, although she did it badly and her thighs were bruised purple from groin to knee.

  Sookie, riding in front of her, enjoyed leaning over the pommel and patting the horse on the neck, which the horse seemed to like, or pulling at its mane, which the horse decidedly did not like. ‘Daddy?’ she asked, again for the hundredth time that morning.

  ‘Almost there, sweeting,’ Heriot said automatically.

  ‘No. Daddy.’ Sookie was pointing now.

  Heriot looked up and saw nothing.

  ‘Boat!’ squealed Sookie, and then Heriot saw the river boat being poled up the river, and sitting on the middle thwart, beaming across at his family, was Poloma Malvara.

  Heriot, to her surprise more than anyone else’s, burst into tears.

  *

  ‘I think you are unwise to stay here,’ Quenion told Rodin, trying to recapture the tone she had once used when she was a faithful Beloved. It had been harder than she could have imagined to find the right level of combined obeisance and authority, the voice that offered a Kevleren subservient companionship and at the same time ensured everyone else obeyed.

  ‘Sayenna is our lifeline to the empire,’ Rodin argued. ‘It is our base for future operations.’

  ‘I agree,’ Quenion said. ‘But while you waste time here your enemies gather their strength.’

  Rodin nodded while studying the map showing Sayenna’s position at the base of a complex river system that started in the Walking Mountains, the same mountains that gave rise to the Frey, the river that ran west to Kydan. The map made obvious that the Frey and The Wash, Kydan and Sayenna, described a huge triangle of the New Land, an area almost as large as the original Hamilay, and just as rich in resources. The two cities were the anchors that controlled all the territory in between them. Quenion understood what Rodin was seeing, and believed she understood what his brain was telling him. This was an opportunity no Kevleren had had since Ember descended from the ancestral mountains between Hamewald and Kuttle. All that stood between Rodin and a new empire was a single city, Kydan, and the handful of Sayenna militia that had barely escaped his grasp. Oh, and the Empress Lerena; Quenion could see the moment that thought crossed his mind. His nose pinched, his eyes narrowed and his skin paled slightly.

  ‘Strike quickly so that victory is yours,’ she said. ‘By tarrying in Sayenna to make it better protected you risk losing everything.’

  ‘It would be better protected if you had not destroyed its Ionggons,’ Rodin said, if not vindictively then with some sourness.

  ‘I told you I served the old governor diligently. You know the level of service I was raised to, and cannot break the habit. Your family made me this way.’

  Rodin regarded her warily, but did not contradict what she said.

  ‘Well, thank you for your contribution,’ he said.

  Quenion understood she was being dismissed. She bowed and left to go to her own room. As she climbed the stairs she heard Rodin’s voice answer a question from the arrogant Hamilayan captain who always seemed to be present in the keep rather than in his ship. If she was right, between Quenion and Captain Ainchell, and possibly his fear of disappointing the empress, the Kevleren would end up doing exactly what he should not.

  *

  ‘You would follow that woman’s advice?’ Ainchell asked Rodin.

  Rodin grimaced. He did not want to have to defend his every action to this upstart, but he knew he needed to keep Ainchell on side; not only was he the key to keeping communications open with the empire, he was also the most senior commander after himself.

  ‘Why do you think I keep her around me?’

  ‘I have no idea. She is overbearing.’

  ‘She is an Axkevleren; once a Beloved. They are always overbearing, take my word for it.’

  ‘And she is opinionated.’

  ‘Let me put the question another way. Why do you think she was left behind?’

  ‘Because she talks too much,’ Ainchell scoffed.

  ‘No. She was left behind because the previous governor –’ he consulted a slip of paper listing all the names of his senior enemies as accounted by Quenion ‘– Arden Hassouly of all things – knows she is an Axkevleren, and I am a Kevleren.’

  ‘The governor knew you would be in charge?’

  ‘It was an educated guess a Kevleren would hold the post.’

  ‘Then she is here to deceive you?’

  ‘Not intentionally, and there is the genius in this governor’s plan. He is double-guessing me. He wants me to stay in Sayenna. He thinks I will believe Quenion was left behind to lure me out of the city, and so I will do the opposite. His forces are too small to take us on, but he is hoping I assume the worst and play it safe.’

  ‘You mean they want you to stay?’

  ‘Of course. The more time they have, the more they can build up their forces. The stronger their forces, the less chance we have of moving on Kydan at a time of our choosing.’

  ‘So the best course is for you to leave now?’

  ‘Yes. Our supplies are almost all unloaded, the horses that survived the journey, and then survived the bugger-up in the stables, have their land legs again. We are ready. Tomorrow I will march out with our army.’

  Ainchell was quiet for a moment, and then said, ‘And here in Sayenna?’

  ‘I will rely on you, Captain,’ Rodin said, giving the biggest gift he could, an independent command. ‘You will be responsible for Sayenna’s safety while I am gone. I leave a thousand men to protect the landward approach. Your fleet can protect the seaward.’

  ‘You expect Kydan to attack the city by sea?’

  ‘Only a stinging raid. I do not seriously consider they have the capacity to take the city from you.’

  ‘I am honoured, your Highness,’ Ainchell said, and meant it.

  ‘Good,’ Rodin replied.

  *

  Gos Linsedd left the column under the command of Ames Westaway and rode back to Orin with Velan’s messengers. They arrived two days later, much to the relief of Velan, who immediately offered control of the combined militia from Sayenna and the river communities.

  ‘I accept them, Velan,’ Gos said, shaking his junior’s hand. ‘And take great pleasure in giving them back to you.’

  ‘Si
r?’

  Gos laughed. ‘I need a commander of this detachment. That’s you. I have young Ames Westaway in charge of the dragoons, if you don’t mind him seconding your half-troop as well.’ He turned to Lannel Thorey then, and both men studied each other with guarded scepticism. Eventually Gos sighed and said, ‘And I will need someone to take charge of the militia I am bringing. What do you say?’

  Lannel’s face split in the broadest grin Gos had ever seen. ‘It will be my great pleasure.’

  ‘Well and good. Now, where’s Arden?’

  Velan led him to the hut where Arden still lay feverish and incoherent. ‘I must warn you he is in a bad way.’

  ‘He has not improved?’

  ‘Not that any of us can tell, Commander. I have never met anyone as strong as he, and have never known anyone to last a fever as long as he has. I do not know whether he will survive, however, or if he will just take much longer to die.’

  Gos went into the hut and saw Arden as he had never expected to find him: utterly helpless. He heard Arden mutter someone’s name, he thought it might have been ‘Heriot’, but there was no recognition of Gos in his face, no sense he had any wits about him.

  He left the hut and asked Velan when this had happened. ‘During our attack on the first enemy landing.’

  Gos smiled. ‘Your messengers told me about that. It was well done. So Heriot does not know of his condition?’

  ‘I do not see how.’

  Gos took a deep breath. ‘I hope he survives the move.’

  ‘Move, sir?’ Velan asked, surprised.

  ‘We cannot stay here. We endanger Orin. No, we will wait to see what our enemy does and move to meet him.’

  ‘In open battle?’ Velan sounded doubtful.

  ‘Of a sort, but not the open battle the Hamilayans want to fight. Have we had any report of enemy movements?’

  ‘Up to now they have not budged, which is not how we figured it would be.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Arden wanted them out of Sayenna. I think he hoped we could move behind them and retake it and destroy his supply line, or something. That’s why we left Quenion behind.’

  Gos looked shocked. ‘You what?’

  ‘We left her behind in Sayenna to convince the enemy to come out.’

  ‘What made you think they would not kill her outright?’

  ‘Two things. First, she is an Axkevleren. Second, she has the treasury to give them.’

  ‘The treasury!’ If Gos was shocked before, he was decidedly upset now.

  ‘It’s all right, sir, not all of it. Just enough to convince the Hamilayans that she is on their side. She was going to pretend we tried to hide it and hand it over to them. Anyway, we figured if we win we get it back in the end, and if we lose the treasury’s no good to us anyway.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Gos said. ‘And I hope Quenion is safe.’

  *

  She tried not to smile when she heard the Hamilayan army moving out of the city. She did not want to give the whole thing away in a moment of unbridled joy. At last the enemy was moving out, leaving only a minor portion of their force behind.

  And the fleet, she reminded herself. They could be a problem. She was sure the arrogant Captain Ainchell would not hesitate to use his ships’ longgons to batter any attacker into submission. But that was not her problem. She was not soldier nor strategos. She was Quenion of Sayenna, and she had done her part, fully confident that when the time came her friends and allies would do theirs.

  32

  ‘I don’t like this at all,’ Kadburn said.

  ‘Just pretend you belong,’ Galys told him. ‘And whatever you do, don’t walk like a Beloved.’

  They were near the main entrance into the palace precinct; near enough to see in but not yet to be objects of interest for the Royal Guards on duty outside. Just behind the precinct walls were the alcazars of minor Kevlerens, which appeared deserted, and government offices, which appeared mostly occupied. In between were pens holding Lerena’s cull, disconsolate and distressed people from all over the empire and of all ages. Beyond the pens was the old palace, and behind that the empress’s old quarters, the barracks for the Royal Guards and the crimson-painted War Office. From where they were they could not quite make out the Duchess Yunara’s alcazar, but they could see the very top of her aviary. Across the courtyard to the palace were more government buildings, including the entrance to the chancellery.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ Kadburn asked. ‘I thought you wanted to go to the university.’

  ‘I do, but later we can get into the precinct from the chancellery; I just wanted to make sure it was still there as I remember it. And we can get to the chancellery through the university to avoid having to use the main entrance and walking by the guards.’

  ‘It’s a pity no one uses sedans any more. We could hide in one of those and nobody would know we were there.’

  ‘There are no more sedans, Kadburn. Get used to it. Come on, I’ve seen everything I need to. Let’s get to the university.’

  They stayed in the shadow of buildings as often as they could, but there were not really enough people on the streets outside of the precinct to make them feel threatened. When they saw their first horse-drawn wagon they stopped in wonder. Except for animals that could not be stopped, such as birds, rodents and insects, no animals had ever been allowed in Omeralt that did not belong to the Kevlerens’ own menageries. If they needed proof that the empire, and the capital in particular, had changed irrevocably, this was it. When they reached the ornate archway that served as entrance to the university they walked in as if they belonged there. No one challenged them, and again, as with most of the city, it seemed seriously depopulated. There were some students around, but they seemed almost outnumbered by the masters, most of whom kept each other company in the courtyards and gardens that separated the faculties from each other.

  Galys knew where she was going, and very quickly they were inside the chancellery. One secretary eyed them suspiciously as they entered, but Galys then led the way up to the top of the chancellery and into the belfry. Kadburn patted the bronze bell that hung there. ‘How often does this go off?’

  ‘It marks the break between lessons,’ Galys said.

  ‘When’s that?’ He was starting to look worried.

  ‘I haven’t heard it for a while, so probably soon. But don’t worry, we’re not staying here.’

  So saying, she leaned out the belfry, looked down and then left and right. ‘Come on,’ she said, and started climbing onto an external ledge.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Finding a hidey-hole for us until night falls.’

  Kadburn leaned out and saw how far it was down to the courtyard below.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights,’ Galys said.

  ‘Not until I fall from them,’ he said, following her, but holding on to the wall so tightly his knuckles turned white.

  They scrambled along the ledge, stopping only when someone passed beneath them, until they came to the chancellery’s roofline, then moved along the roof at a crouch until they came to the tower on the opposite side of the courtyard. With a little dexterous wriggling they were able to lift themselves onto the tower’s open roof. When he landed on a solid floor again, Kadburn realised it was like the top of a real military tower, an enclosed open space with high walls.

  ‘This is the observatory tower,’ Galys said. ‘It’s usually deserted during the day, and only sometimes visited at night by astronomy students, so we’ll be safe at least until the sun goes down.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘We go back to the chancellery.’

  ‘At night? Along the roof again?’

  ‘No need to. Most everyone will be in quarters or in their homes by then. We just walk down a level, and then across to the chancellery.’

  ‘And then, according to your plan, we ambush Chancellor Malus Mycom and force him to get us into Yunara’s
aviary.’ He sounded sceptical about the whole thing. ‘We don’t even know if Mycom is still alive, let alone in contact with the empress.’

  ‘You have a better plan?’ she asked. He shook his head. ‘Any inkling of any plan at all?’ He shook his head again. ‘So, sit down and shut up.’

  *

  Paimer and his entourage had been riding for so long, so recklessly, that whenever they stopped they did three things. They ate, they slept and they changed horses. There had been no time for anything else, no time to rest and think and consider a plan. They simply had to get to Omeralt.

  Riding like that did strange things to your sense of place, Paimer thought. Once he thought he had known the geography of Hamilay, had travelled over most of it in his long lifetime, and had an abiding affection for its shape and seasons even though he no longer considered it his home, but now geography was his enemy. Every hill was a challenge, every valley a trial, every forest skirted was time lost. As they got closer to the capital their anxiety increased, as if their instincts shouted at them to be in Omeralt but their brains wanted them to stop and go back. But they were Kevlerens, and Kevlerens almost always followed their instincts.

  Their sleep was so deep and so dreamless that it seemed to them there was no break between one day and the next, and their lives were filled with a sun that never rose and never set and a sky that never knew the stars.

  Eventually the time came when the land started to rise all the time, from plains to plateau, and then in the distance they could see the Vardars and knew they were only days from their destination. That was when Bayer started shouting at them, with a voice filled with anger and vitriol, but only one word, and always the same word.