Invasion (Tales of the Empire Book 5)

by S. J. A. Turney

  It took three attempts to stand, and even then he had to drop back into a crouch for a moment. The prince had similar difficulties when he appeared a few moments later, though Cantex was surprised at the speed and the agility the two former prisoners showed as they emerged from the hole in the rampart. But then they had spent years in cramped darkness. To them, there had been so much less to fear and debilitate in the culvert.

  ‘What now, sir?’ whispered the first soldier to crawl from the hole.

  Cantex threw his finger up to his lips to shush the man. His heart in his throat, he stepped gingerly a few paces away from the grassy bulk of the rampart. His hearing, finally re-attuning itself to the outside world, picked up above the general hum of the Albante town the sound of furious argument and activity on the far side of the rampart, back in the enclosure.

  Another few paces back, and Cantex breathed his first sigh of relief. Most of the figures on the wall top had gone, presumably called down to search the enclosure. The few who remained had their attention solidly locked into the interior, facing the other way.

  Good. The eight of them would have to move fast, though.

  Cantex peered at the outer region of the fortress. From the left, sweeping all the way round to almost directly ahead, lay the town. Streets and buildings, crowded in an unplanned fashion, all timber and thatch and daubed wattle, many issuing clouds of grey through smoke holes in the roof. From the right, the rampart of the animal enclosure, then an orchard.

  And between, separating fruit trees from housing: the stream. Running in a sizeable gulley all the way to Steinvic’s west rampart, the stream was the only feasible method of egress and the one upon which their plan of escape had centred.

  ‘Ready?’ Cantex whispered. The others nodded, even the bleary, frightened, confused ambassadors. The tribune pointed at the stream. ‘Follow me.’

  Chapter 26

  The next hundred paces the escaping party took were the longest hundred in Cantex’s life. In the queen’s house they had been enclosed in darkened rooms. The risk of discovery had still been high, but would have required them to be physically sought. The flight from the house had been through a garden studded with fruit trees in late spring blossom and through heavy rain, which had helped obscure them from potential observers.

  They had hardly been likely to meet anyone in the drainage culvert, either. But now, outside the nobles’ enclosure and in the main open area of Steinvic, they were dreadfully exposed. The terrain was far too open for comfort, a simple grass slope running down from the rampart to the stream’s gulley with no trees or undergrowth for cover. Their only hope lay in the lack of attention being paid to the area as the men on the walls behind them were busy with the shouting inside as the queen’s men searched for the fugitives.

  The town, with its muddy streets and even muddier houses, was subdued, idle and motionless in the downpour. On a clear day, Cantex could imagine women hanging out their washing, men chopping wood, children playing and dogs running around, all of whom would have had the most glorious view of eight men running down the slope to the stream. Not in the torrential rain, though.

  The eight men pelted across the grass in the pounding rain, their legs pumping and screaming in pain after the immobility and constriction of the tunnel. Just over half way to the stream one of the ambassadors collapsed, his legs weak from his long incarceration. He fell with a brief, low squawk, rolled down the slope for some distance and slid to a halt on the wet grass. His companion and one of the soldiers paused, bending, to help him up and run on. Cantex’s heart hammered in his chest at the ever-present danger and the fear of losing these men for whom they had inadvertently sacrificed Convocus.

  He turned, looking over his shoulder. Still, miraculously, there was no sign of the men on the compound wall turning to look at them. The level of noise from inside was impressive and he could imagine the queen bellowing her rage and swatting her warriors as they failed repeatedly to locate the prince.

  Then they were at the bottom of the slope and slithering down the overgrown side of the gulley into the stream. As the tribune had noted on their initial journey through the town, the water was shallow, though the rainfall they were experiencing must have come to them from the same hills that fed the stream, as it was already deeper than he’d seen earlier, and it seemed to be increasing in flow and power even as he watched.

  Since this was very much his plan and therefore his responsibility, Cantex dropped first into the shallowest edge of the stream. Even through his boots he immediately felt the chill of the icy flow. He turned, looking back.

  The figures on the noble compound’s wall top were starting to move.

  Were Cantex and his men still vulnerable, or had they managed to cross the dangerous stretch by fluke while the enemy’s attention was devoted elsewhere? The fact that he could see that rampart top, of course, meant that anyone on there could also spot him, and Cantex ducked slowly until he could no longer see them.

  It was an uncomfortable position, bent double like this in the icy water, but better to be safe than to risk being seen. He gestured to the others to follow suit and began to make his way slowly, cold and uncomfortable, westwards, against the current.

  As they moved, Cantex began to count in his head, not that it would be any use in measuring distance or movement, since he had no idea of the distances they would have to travel. But something so mundane and repetitive left him no room to brood on failures and losses, while being basic enough not to distract him from the importance of every step and every iota of his surroundings.

  Slowly, tensely, the fugitives made their way along the gulley, past the animal enclosure, ducking so low as they passed the orchard and the inhabited area that their backs strained and cried out in pain. But gradually the treeline passed, and the muffled sounds of town life faded, and they began to straighten a little as they neared the edge of the place.

  The gulley and the stream babbling and cackling along it straightened from the curve and there, not more than two hundred paces away, was the outer rampart of Steinvic. Unlike the walls of the noble enclosure at Steinvic’s heart, which were perhaps forty feet thick at the base, the outer ramparts were more like sixty feet thick, with a ditch beyond.

  Despite that, their intended means of egress was still easier in principle than the culvert they had already endured. While half as long again as the previous tunnel, this one was nearer three feet in height and the same wide, formed of the gulley itself passing beneath the wall. Heavy timbers had been laid crosswise over the beck decades or more previously to carry the immense earth bank across the gap.

  The defence of this obvious weak point was a simple set of vertical wooden posts in a line, blocking the gap. Intelligence from the scouts said the same would be found on the rampart’s outer edge. Realistically, the defence could hardly be expected to stop a few determined men, but access for the army had been ruled out as the time it would take to get enough men through to do any damage would be far too great and the enemy would easily catch wind of what they were doing and move to cut them off.

  Cantex looked up, his heart punching a staccato rhythm in his chest as they closed on the rampart. There were a number of figures atop the parapet even here, far from the southern stretch that faced the imperial forces, but they were facing the other way, their gaze scouring the countryside for potential aggressors, unaware of the trouble that was causing so much furious activity at the heart of the place.

  Soon the fugitives’ pile of equipment would be found, the culvert would be noted, and all activity would move to the main area of the camp, where it would focus on the stream and quickly catch up with the eight escapees.

  They had to be outside Steinvic when that happened.

  The downside was that those men looking the other way would, though natural logic, be looking out over the area from which the fugitives would emerge if they were successful.

  He had to hope that the imperial scouts were awake and alert and, most of
all, in position.

  Praying that the men atop the wall did not turn and spot them, Cantex held his breath as he lightly danced the last twenty paces to the rampart base. The stream’s ditch cut a ‘V’ into the earth bank for a short way, then disappeared beneath the timber bearings. Without delay, Cantex ducked inside and approached the blockage. The others filtered in behind him, and he gestured to two of the soldiers to push their way forward and join him.

  The noise in the cutting was dreadful. Though they were just under cover, beneath the bulk of the walls, the hiss of the rain hitting the stream water on both sides of the rampart seemed to be amplified and echoed along the tunnel, creating an ear-splitting din. The two ambassadors had their hands to their ears – they had probably heard few loud noises in recent years – but to Cantex it was a balm. Surely such a racket would cover most noises the fugitives might make. Still, he eyed the two pale, drawn imperial survivors warily, aware that both men were being subjected to experiences and conditions for which they were ill-prepared, following their lengthy internment. If one of them should panic…

  Hoping that the two men would remain quiet, despite their rolling eyes and sharp breaths, and that the soldiers with them would keep them calm, Cantex prayed that the battering hiss of the rain would continue to mask their efforts and bent to his task.

  He grasped one of the wooden uprights in both hands, forcing himself to grip hard despite the chill that had set into his fingers and knuckles. The wood was decades old if not more and, while sturdy, had become slimy, worn, and somewhat rotten at the waterline. Taking a deep breath, he pulled.

  He had expected it to be solid and resist him. Instead, the wood simply snapped at the rotten end in the water and came away in his hands as he fell back into the water in surprise. Even as he landed, his eyes rolled up to the hundred tons of rock and soil above them as there was a distressing creak and the ceiling of the tunnel visibly shuddered. Surely these uprights were not helping support the wall?

  It was not a theory he felt like testing too forcefully, given that they crouched beneath that very rampart. There were seven uprights, blocking the whole passage, the outer two driven in solidly at floor and ceiling and not touching the water. They would be much more solid than the water-weakened ones. He turned and scanned the other seven men.

  Only two of the soldiers were any bigger than Cantex, and even then not by a huge margin. He turned sideways and measured himself against the bars. If he removed two more he could fit through sideways, and so would everyone else.

  He waved the soldiers back again – the timbers were far more fragile than he’d assumed, and it appeared he would not require their brute strength after all. Taking yet another steadying breath, he grasped the next timber. Rather than yanking it forcefully this time, he pulled back from the bottom first, slowly but with constant pressure. He felt the rotten wood snap beneath the stream’s surface and kept pulling it upwards until the top sheared off with a ligneous yelp.

  The ceiling shivered very slightly, sending a crawling sensation all across the tribune’s flesh with the notion of being trapped under a hundred tons of collapsing rampart. His appreciation for the work of the army’s sappers and engineers, who routinely engaged in undermining walls, grew with every passing moment.

  The third timber put up a little more resistance, and when it came away there was a deep groan from above and earth cascaded down into the water from between the timber beams that formed the roof.

  ‘I think we need to move quick, just in case,’ he hissed, his gaze once more dancing across the wild, wide eyes of the two nervous ambassadors in their care. The two men were watching the ceiling as though it might open a dark maw and swallow them up.

  The prince, close behind, nodded his agreement with nervous eyes and followed Cantex as he slipped between the posts without touching them and waded on through the water. Ahead, as he sloshed towards freedom, he could see the uprights forming the outer barrier of the walls, like wooden fangs.

  He waited at the posts until the others had caught up once more, and then grasped one of them and repeated the procedure, pulling at the bottom first, slowly. It came away with relative ease, as did the second. The third caused a slight but noticeable sag in the tunnel’s roof, and the tribune’s heart began to race.

  ‘Alright,’ he said to the others in a low voice, loud enough for them to hear, but which should not carry out into the open through the heavy rain.

  ‘Beyond this barrier, they’ve dug their ditch. Clearly, at this point it has flooded and created a small pond or lake. We don’t know how deep it is. It could be just the three or four feet of the gulley, or it could be ten feet or more like the dry ditch in other places. What we’re going to do is take a really deep breath – deepest you’ve ever taken – then duck under the water and swim as fast as you can and as far as you can straight ahead. Beyond the pond, there’s a copse of trees and, if everything is going according to plan, there will be scouts there with horses.’

  One of the two men in the ragged prisoner’s clothes had begun to shake uncontrollably, his eyes locked on the dark oppressive weight above them. Cantex gestured to the soldier beside him, who grasped the ambassador’s arm, startling him, but bringing his attention back to their situation. The tribune took a deep breath.

  ‘But we will be in danger from above the moment we leave this tunnel, and constantly until we’re on horseback and riding south for the camp. There are three critical people here: the prince and the ambassadors. I will go first, with the prince right behind me, then one of my men. Then the first ambassador, then another soldier. Then the second ambassador, and then the others. Help them if you have to. Give your life for them if you must. None of us need to survive this like these three. Alright?’

  The soldiers, grim at the orders yet professional in their calm acceptance, nodded.

  ‘Very well.’ Somewhere back across Steinvic a series of deep horn blasts sounded. ‘I think we’re about to be in even greater danger, so let’s get out of here before the walls are packed with men looking for us.’

  Turning his back on the others and trusting that they would follow appropriately, Cantex squeezed between the timbers and moved to the edge of the tunnel. Breathing deeply three times, he threw himself forward into the stream and began to swim. Even after the downpour, the culvert, and wading the stream, nothing had prepared him for the shock of the cold water all around him, but with an eye constantly on what was at stake he pushed on through the pool.

  His toes touched the murky bed once or twice and brushed weed repeatedly, so the whole pond could not be more than four or five feet deep. Once, his foot broke the surface and he could only hope that from the high walls it would be invisible in the battering of the rain on the water, or at least that it might pass as the activity of an excitable fish.

  He was almost out of breath, and had been unable to count or even think straight during the swim, and finally he broke the surface and heaved in a breath just as he reached shallower water, where the defensive ditch ended and the torrent became naught but a stream once more.

  Cantex rose from the pool, blinking and brushing away water from his eyes, turned and looked back. There was no flurry of movement on the wall. Could it have been so easy? The prince burst from the water three feet from him and choked down air in shuddering breaths. Good. One objective complete.

  As the man blinked away the water and turned to Cantex, the tribune gestured at the trees some twenty feet to the west. The prince nodded and walked off just as a soldier emerged from the pool, choking and spitting out water.

  ‘Fuck me,’ coughed the soldier, pounding himself on the chest.

  There was a worrying pause as nothing more happened but heavy raindrops speckling the now-settling water’s surface.

  No. Not the ambassadors. If they didn’t make it this whole thing had been for nothing and Convocus had wasted his life. His relief was palpable when three figures burst from the water simultaneously; two ambassadors and a sol
dier. One of the ambassadors was bleeding above the eye and looked dazed, but another man emerged and helped him up onto the grass.

  ‘Nice one, sir,’ grinned the soldier, and then stiffened suddenly as an arrow punched into his back, throwing him forward onto the grass beside the water.

  A second arrow whipped past Cantex’s face, a third struck the prince in the shoulder, eliciting a hiss of pain, and a fourth slammed into and through the neck of the ambassador with the bloodied head. Cantex’s heart froze at the sight of the shocked, agonised former prisoner, his throat pierced and crimson spraying from around the shaft as he tried to speak through pink frothy bubbles. No. Not after all this!

  A curse in a gargling, deep tone reminded him that there was still one ambassador among them, and the man was struggling out of the pool even now.

  ‘Run!’ Cantex barked.

  And they did. Another soldier fell as they pounded away from the water and into the relative safety of the trees. The scouts came running from their secure clearing a little to the west, grabbed the injured prince, who brushed them irritably aside, and escorted the remains of the fugitive party to the horses. As the prince, the ambassador and the soldiers disappeared into the copse Cantex peered back at the rampart. Dozens of men had now gathered there. An arrow thudded into the bole of a tree just behind him, announcing quite clearly that he was still in range.

  ‘Rest well, Convocus. We’ll take the bitch down for you.’

  Turning his back on Steinvic, he ran for his horse.

  Chapter 27

  Bellacon felt hollow, but clearly not as hollow as his friend. Cantex had drunk an entire skin of wine without a hint of water in just the time it had taken to change into dry clothes and attend the briefing in the command tent. Now, the usually light-spirited tribune sat slouched in a campaign chair, his morose features locked apparently on a rug on the floor before him.