Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series

by Blake Hausladen

  Uncertain of Leger’s whereabouts, I walked a course around the battlement. I found him standing atop the southern arm of the keep’s curtain wall talking to a huge crowd of men and women from town, training them, it seemed, how to defend the palisade. He had one of Erom’s broad-shouldered quarrymen upon a ladder as an attacker would be, just below the top of the wall. Around him was a trio of men from town. It looked as though he had already demonstrated a number of tactics—the battlement was cluttered with buckets and a coil of rope tied with a yellowtail hook.

  “No, you must stay low at all times,” he said to one man who had stood up straight. “Their archers will be looking for such a target.”

  The man crouched low, Leger stepped aside, and the men lined up to face the ladder.

  “Come up,” Leger said to the quarryman, and halted the man as his hands were at the top of the ladder. “Now, what do you see?”

  “Nothing but the ladder and the wall,” the man said nervously.

  Leger pointed at the quarryman’s forward hand. “That is your target. No matter if you have sword or axe or bucket of hot coals or boiling water. Aim for that forward hand and arm.”

  Leger handed the quarryman a shield and helped him get situated so that he was almost level with the spearmen upon the wall.

  Leger took hold of a spear. “But even after we spill boiling water on them and crush the knuckles of Tracians until they are piled below our wall, they will keep coming. Some will have shields and will try to fight from atop the ladders—get over the top. Do not indulge them. See how he stands? If he has hold of a weapon, he cannot hold onto the ladder. You do not need to stab this man or bash through his shield. Our spears are longer than theirs. You need only to push.” Leger’s demonstration of this from a well-crouched position had the quarryman swearing and leaning forward into the shield to keep his balance.

  “This is where you want to work together,” Leger said to the men crouched around him. “One or two men face him straight, pushing on that shield. The others try to put the tip of their spears into something softer.”

  The townsmen saw then what I could from my high angle. The entire right side of the quarryman’s body was exposed. The man realized it as the spearmen approached and he shifted his shield. This put his balance off, and Leger’s simple push nearly spun him around and off of the ladder.

  “And that was while he was holding on with one hand,” Leger said, and helped the man right himself.

  “Eyes north,” the call sounded from the other side of town.

  The men around Leger started moving.

  “Steady now. Stand your ground,” he called with the same even tone. “Come back here, son … Yes, you. Get back over here. Never go rushing off. When we are done here, I will be posting you by the north tower and you are not to move from that spot unless you hear an officer make a rally call for militia. Is that understood?”

  How could he be so calm? The men standing around him nodded, and he looked ready to get back to his demonstration. I could not stand still and ran across to the north side of the keep to get a look for myself.

  I did not see what I expected. Tracian archers in groups of three and four had crossed the surrounds to the barricade and were setting up behind it. The town’s archers were already exchanging fire with them.

  “Eyes west,” came the next call.

  Followed quickly by, “Eyes southeast.”

  I raced around but saw only more of the same. Several hundred of the enemy had moved up to harass our boys atop the walls. Our archers already knew to keep low, however, so were only exposed when they took a shot. Marksmanship became the measure, and the Tracians were found lacking. They crouched behind the logs, got themselves covered in stinging nettles, and one after another were struck.

  I began to hear the noise of construction in the trees.

  Gern and Leger appeared beside me and scanned the eastern surrounds. Behind them two troops of greencoat archers filed up the stairs and took up positions with Selt’s men.

  Gern turned to one of the sergeants and ordered, “Get down there and remind everyone to slow down. They are still firing too quickly.”

  The man went, and I said to Leger, pointing at the sound in the trees, “I think they are making ladders.”

  He seemed already to know this. He pulled me and my bodyguards aside. “We won’t make it to the morning. We have a dozen Fells waiting by the well. You need to be ready to flee if the time comes.”

  “What? How can you be so sure?”

  “Our position is fixed. They’ll attack half the wall at once with hundreds of ladders. The Hessier need only scare us back for a moment, and it will be over.”

  “I don’t understand. Why all of this effort if we are only to flee?”

  “I still hope that Geart can be roused. Avin said he will be able to try once more this afternoon to wake him. I am holding onto hope we can fight them off long enough for him to try. If he fails, the Chaukai have orders to take you and Geart out of here.”

  “Abandon the town? Lose everyone here?”

  “I am not built for running, either, but we must if it is to save you. Perhaps the Mother Yew can wake him.”

  “Flee to the yew? History argues against it.”

  Leger knew that, too, but said only, “Be ready.” He left Gern behind and made his way down.

  90

  Madam Dia Yentif

  Furstundish the Senior

  “We will be too late,” Thell said again. “We will have to hope they can hold on until we arrive.”

  “No. We cannot leave it to hope,” I said angrily but shivered from worry and the chill of the dark gray dawn. I could not think of a way for us to get back to Urnedi any faster.

  Gern’s father was stone-faced—his fists clenched. Saying nothing, he paced beyond the tents and around the ready line of tacked Akals and pack ponies. We followed and looked west with him through the low fog rolling off the lake. The road that hugged its long north shore would take us into the rough hills that ran from Hippoli all the way south to Ojesti. It was a rolling, twisted road that had been badly mangled by all the heavy traffic that season. The garrison and I could perhaps make it to Urnedi in one day atop the Akals, but for the rest it was a two-day ride at best.

  But then Sergeant Furstundish looked south across the scrubby pastures on the vast hill toward the murky swamps that were only just discernible. I remembered the view well from the census ride. The swamps covered a large triangle of ground from the south shore of Lake Almond, southeast to the coast, and south to the banks of Urnedi’s wide river. In the full light of day, we would even be able to see the dark green patch of the yew on the far side—they were that close.

  “Sergeant,” I asked suddenly. “Is there a way—”

  “There is, but only at very low tide,” he said quietly, and then asked of no one in particular, “Where is the moon?”

  No one answered his odd question, and he looked down as if searching for it in the grass. The greencoats looked as confused as I was.

  “Where are you?” he whispered to himself. His brow creased fiercely as he thought through whatever it was that troubled him. He slowly raised his fists up toward the horizon—as if they were the sun and moon, perhaps? I worried for his sanity for a moment but realized the Chaukai must know something about the tides Zoviya did not.

  He stood there for a very long moment, staring at his raised fists until a wild smile stretched across his face. Then he spun toward his men and cried, “Order—break camp. We ride now.”

  The men leapt to it, and in moments all eight tents were collapsing as the greencoats yanked out the stakes and kicked in the posts. Their quick action did not go unnoticed by the thousands camped around them. A hundred Burties had seen them up and fed, and everywhere upon the hill the people of Enhedu began to move.

  Thell and I were left beside the old sergeant. “Ride where?” I asked. “How would a low tide get us through the swamps?”

  “We are
not going to go through it. We’re going around. When the tide is very low, the sea withdraws enough to reveal a wide beach and makes the river delta wide enough it can be forded. It’s messy, it’s foul, and it’s dangerous, but if we can race the length of the beach before the tide comes in, we can be across the river by midday.”

  “And you know how to predict the tide?” Thell questioned.

  The sergeant’s nod was short and unconvincing, but the man was Chaukai, and in this, he risked both his son and his king. Riding west around the lake was also not an option.

  “Come, Thell, help me check the horses so the sergeant can see to his men,” I said, and after a moment the old man was beside me, checking shoes and halters. The greencoats, meanwhile, had finished packing up their tents and started loading their gear onto the pack ponies. The villagers had little to pack so most were already to their horses.

  I grabbed Clever’s reins and jumped into the saddle. He trumpeted a fine hello, and I gave him a good scratch.

  Sergeant Furstundish joined us. “How many are we?” I asked him, unable to judge our number in the commotion.

  “Just over 3,000. And they came much better armed than I had hoped. Most every local has a bow and many of the Zoviyans too. There are many capable archers in your army, Milady. It is a fit force.”

  My army? This pronouncement did not sink in until he handed me a helmet and a pennant-adorned spear and the Akal-mounted greencoats formed up behind me. The long black and green triangle snapped in the breeze. My heart began to pound, and my limbs began to warm.

  It was the dark streets of Almidi all over again. The distractions of anger and fear were many, but all of them needed to be set aside. Before us was our deaths if we were not careful.

  I spun and pointed the spear south, my great black friend screamed with delight and charged down the meadow. I gave him his head briefly to cure me of my nervousness before I pulled him up and turned to get a look back at the thousands.

  “Today we race,” I said to them. “We race against the tide, and we race to save this home we love so dearly. But you must be quick, and you must not falter. The way is open to us only as long as the tide is out. If you cannot keep to a canter from now until midday, do not come, or the swamp will be your death. Give your bow or good spear to another man and take the road through Hippoli. But if you’re fit for it, strap down your bow and your spear. Stow your helmet and your cowl. Get that rock out of your shoe, and that bur out of your sleeve. Check the length of your stirrups, and the shoes of your horse. Check it all now and do the same for the man next to you because once we start, we will not stop.”

  They jumped down and made themselves ready. I started to do the same, putting the tall spear into the holster behind the stirrups and the helmet into a saddlebag, and was heartened to see the greencoats taking my advice as well.

  A small group began to gather apart from the rest, older men, and young women, a few upon weak horses, and a lad who looked too sick to stand, much less ride. Furstundish ordered the greencoat messenger who had ridden through the night to lead them the long way around through Hippoli.

  The cool, damp air felt good to me then. It was perfect weather for such a ride, and the moment Enhedu had climbed back into the saddle, we began it. Sergeant Furstundish at my side, we cantered southeast along Mount Thumb’s skirt heading toward the coast. The thick blanket of clouds brightened only slightly as we rode down. It was a long ride. The dry meadows slowly became crowded with low ferns and small clumps of thin trees, and our route curved between ponds and around a small lake. By the time we could see the ocean, the swamps were only a stone’s throw away.

  “You know this land well,” I said to our sergeant.

  “Gern caught his first amberjack right there,” he said with the first smile I had seen from him, and pointed a bit up the coast to a large rock at the end of a brief peninsula. The wide beach beneath the spot was conspicuous. The tide was out.

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  He pointed at the blanket of clouds just above the horizon. “The sun is there, the moon is there. The water chases them both. When they are together, the tide moves much farther. But we must hurry now. We are later than I would like.”

  We reached the beach then but found a wide river at the edge of the swamp. Water poured wildly into the sea and I was confused where it had come from. I slowed but he urged me forward. “It’s not a river. That’s the tide.”

  I understood him as I looked along the edge of the swamp. In a number of places water poured out of the thick trees. Its dark color swirled like ink poured down into the calm waves. The long beaches were black and weedy near the swamp, but near the water’s edge, the thick mud gave way to rolls of rocky brown sand.

  To a pair of his men, Furstundish ordered, “You stay here. Keep them moving. The rest of you, forward.”

  And so, the mad ride began. We splashed through the murky water pouring from the swamp and out onto the wet sands between it and the sea. The air was filled with the heavy decayed scent of the swamp, and the mud flung from hooves made us all filthy. Behind us we could hear for some time the shouts of the two greencoats who urged the riders on.

  It was easy to think we were safe—the beach was easy to ride. The grim expression upon our sergeant’s face did not let us forget, however, nor did the pace he made the ponies keep.

  The beach widened a bit more but then seemed to have reached its lowest point. Furstundish stood in the saddle and looked behind us. “Rot. The last are just starting down the beach now.”

  “Will they make it?”

  “When was the last time it rained at Urnedi?” he asked. “Any storms up upon the mountain?”

  “The last weather I know of is the snow that fell on the peaks after Leger crossed the mountains—around the time we left the cottage. Why?”

  “The problem is the river. When the tide comes back in, the river will be too deep to ford. During the spring thaw, this ride would be impossible no matter how long the tide stayed out.”

  He was making me worry, and I frowned at him.

  “We’ll be okay,” he added and tried to soften his expression. “The river will be very low just now. We’ll be okay.”

  We kept up the same canter all the way south until the view changed. Before us was the river, and it did not look like something that could be crossed. Water poured in every direction across the vast space, and I could not judge where it was shallow or deep. North of the river’s mouth, the swamp was thick, and brackish water still spilled in sheets down the beach. South of the river the land rose onto forest-covered hills.

  Furstundish took the lead then and, like a madman, splashed across one fast-running channel after another. Three times his Akal was knee-deep in the water and once almost up to his belly. But then we were across. The rise of forest beyond was a welcoming sight, full of friendly trees. A pair of raccoons watched us from the branch of an oak.

  We rode up onto dry earth, and behind us the army raced to achieve the same. But as I watched, the width of the beach began to narrow.

  “Oh, no,” I said and turned Clever around. “Sergeant,” I shouted, “what do we do?”

  But there was nothing we could do. The men riding the beach could see the same thing we did: the ocean reached farther up the beach with each wave. But those ponies were the right breed for that day. They were calm, their ears forward, and their tails up, even as their riders yelled, their faces sour as they searched the edge of the fast-rising tide. Ahead of them, the river crossing looked more and more treacherous, the waves closing in.

  Furstundish rode back down then, and again like a mad man, he crashed across the river much farther upstream and redirected the line of Fells along a safer route.

  Around me the army crowded upon the hill and cheered them on. By the time we could see the pair of greencoats bringing up the rear, the waves had pushed them up the beach and into the black mud that edged the swamps. It wasn’t long before each man who made it across
was caked in the filth of the swamp—the river crossing was barely able to wash it from the legs and bellies of the ponies. The smell they brought up the hill was terrible, but we did not care.

  Through it all Furstundish stood on the north side of the river, urging them across. Each man was loud, shouting on those last few below. The waves reached the horses’ hooves, and then were lapping at their knees. Furstundish stayed until he was the last, sending even his greencoats ahead as the waves got higher and the river’s channels began to merge.

  The twenty Fells at the end of the line had to swim across the last bit of river, their riders clinging to the saddles. And with them, my worries were no more. The three tall Akals waded into the churning surf and pouring river, swimming with heads held high.

  We had made it. Every man and every horse. My face was warm, and I felt light in the saddle. The army whooped and clapped for our sergeant. The triumph was great, and the feeling turned me south—made me want more. I dreamt of what hurts we might do to our enemies. An idea made me grin.

  “Thell,” I shouted and motioned him and the greencoats closer. “Thell, lead them to the north bridge. The Fells will need a rest between here and Urnedi. The clearing around the bridge is the best spot for it. Get them watered, and the men fed as you can.”

  “Where do we ride to, milady?” Furstundish asked with alarm.

  “To Kuren’s timber camp. Your men all ride Akal-Tak. They have a lot of run left in them. I say we detour south and burn their ships—leave Kuren no escape.”

  The greencoats growled their agreement, but Furstundish asked, “Thirty men destroy Trace’s entire fleet of ships? There could be hundreds guarding them.”