by Jude Fisher
Erno leant forward eagerly and the lamplight behind him made a silver-gold halo of his hair. ‘Tell us at short length, for Sur’s sake,’ he said. ‘Is Katla still alive? Have you seen her?’
Persoa held up his hands as if to ward off the northman’s words. In the flickering light, his hands were delicate, as elegant as a woman’s. You could see why Dogo made fun of him. Even if it was behind his back.
‘Patience, my friend. They say it is a virtue, but although mercenaries are not known as virtuous folk, it is still a useful tool in our chosen trade.’
‘I never chose to be a sellsword,’ Erno huffed. ‘I’m only with you to find Katla Aransen, so tell me: is she still alive?’
Persoa looked around at his companions – at Dogo and Doc snoring off a cask of ale in the stern, their arms around the two Istrian whores they had rescued from the island; at Joz Bearhand’s still figure at watch; at Mam picking at those fearsomely pointed teeth, and finally at the light-eyed Eyran lad whose heart was burning up inside him – and shrugged.
‘They took a dozen or so women from the island. He did not know their names, but he was most graphic in the way he described them, and one in particular. It seems she was a firebrand, and not just from the colour of her hair. Apparently she instigated a riot during which their captain met an unfortunate end—’
Mam laughed. ‘That’s our Katla. Good girl, she is: a proper scrapper. I always said she should join the company: she’d make a fine sellsword, and that’s the god’s truth.’
‘Then the ship came upon heavy weather, or some other ill luck – he was somewhat hazy about the details – and they were forced to abandon it before it foundered—’
Erno clutched at the hillman’s wet shirt. ‘Please tell me she didn’t drown. Not Katla, surely? I could not bear for her to drown, chained in a slaveship—’
Persoa shook his head. ‘She did not drown, my friend.’ There was a gleam in his eye: he would not speed his narrative, for he enjoyed a good story and this one was particularly entertaining. ‘Though for a long time the raiders thought she had. The last he saw of her she was tied to the mast, and in the panic as they abandoned the vessel, no one thought to unchain her, or any of the women below decks—’
‘Bastards!’ Erno exploded, beside himself with rage and anxiety.
Mam patted him absently on the knee.‘Hush, lad, I suspect this tale has a better ending than you may think.’
Persoa dropped her a lazy wink.‘The raider laughed about this, said they were not such a valuable cargo that his men were willing to risk their own necks by going down into the flooded hold while the ship was sinking so fast, but that bad coins get washed up where you least expect them. He and the survivors returned to the wreck the next day to salvage what they could, for there are Istrian chirurgeons who will pay decent money for a foreign woman’s corpse; but they were astonished to find that the women had somehow managed to get clear of the ship and swim to the mainland. They recaptured some of the women on the strand there; but the last time he saw the flame-haired one, she’d scaled the cliff and was headed away into the Istrian countryside with a pretty blonde girl, a fat girl, a thin girl and a girl with a face like the back end of a horse—’
Erno snorted, a clear picture in his mind.‘That’ll be Kitten Soronsen, Thin Hildi, Fat Breta and Magla Felinsen.’ He shook his head despondently. ‘Katla could be anywhere by now.’
‘How now, Erno? A moment ago you feared Katla Aransen drowned, and now Persoa tells us she got away. Let the man tell his tale and you may find you have less cause for despair than you think,’ came a gruff voice out of the darkness. Joz Bearhand, while maintaining his careful watch at the steer-board gunwale, had been listening to the hillman’s narrative with absolute concentration.
‘This is not the end of it,’ Persoa said softly, his voice falling a note so that the hairs prickled on the back of Erno’s neck. ‘After I had followed the man around the corner of the inn to take a piss, we fell into talk with another of his company who’d apparently forayed as far up the coast from Forent. It seems the talk of the town is of how the Lord of Forent has a number of Eyran women in his keep. They were not happy to have lost their booty to his lordship, I can tell you.’
‘That’ll be the others,’ Erno said morosely. ‘The ones who got taken on the beach. Not Katla.’
‘Think again, my friend. They say one of them has hair the colour of Falla’s fires—’
Erno looked up, startled. ‘Katla, a prisoner at Forent Castle?’ He leapt to his feet. ‘We must set sail at once!’
Mam laughed. ‘If you think six of us are going to storm Rui Finco’s keep, you’d better think again, my lad.’
Persoa took one of her hands between his own. ‘How much did the Rockfall folk pay us to bring back their women?’ he asked guilelessly.
The mercenary leader regarded him with sudden suspicion. ‘Why?’
‘How much?’
Mam cast a hard look at Erno, then leaned across and whispered something in the hillman’s ear and he sat back, grinning delightedly. ‘Easy!’ He gabbled away at the mercenary leader in his outlandish tongue for a time, during which she nodded and laughed and made assessing faces. Then she jumped to her feet.‘Weigh the anchor!’ she cried. She clapped Persoa on the back. ‘Set a course up the coast for Forent!’
It was a clear night: and with an eldianna at the helm sensing the underlying rocks and the movement of the currents, they’d be safe from shipwreck. There was, however, considerable rebellious muttering from Doc and Dogo when they were dragged from their sodden sleep and told to man the lines, though Mam would not tell them precisely why they were required to do so at such an ungodly hour. Nor would she tell Erno what was going on, either. The boy was a hothead, and a potential liability, especially now that he was in possession of a powerful sword. And that silver-blonde hair would be hard to disguise, but she suspected she’d have a hard time persuading him to be left behind on the ship while they went to take care of business.
Stymied by the mercenary leader at every turn, Erno gave up and went after the hillman.
‘What’s the plan?’ he demanded; but Persoa just tapped his nose enigmatically. ‘It is best you do not know till the time presents itself,’ he returned unhelpfully, and would say nothing else until Erno asked him again about the blood. ‘Ah.’ He put his hand up to his close-shorn hair, felt the sticky patch at the back and, bringing his fingers away, examined them closely before wiping them on his tunic. Persoa smiled, and for the first time since he had known him, Erno suddenly saw the assassin in the hillman, steely and dangerous behind that finely drawn face and gleaming brown eyes.
‘After what they did at Rockfall, how could I suffer such men to live?’ He spread his hands. ‘I cut their throats in the alley. The first I was forced to kill quickly; but the other I killed slowly so that he would feel every second of his death and have time to ponder the reason for it, which I told him, softly, as I did the deed. He could not scream, of course: if you cut in a certain way, the blood spurts, but they can make no sound. Baranguet’s boasts will not sit well with my lady Falla: she does not smile upon those who rape and murder defenceless women. I know she will set her great cat upon him as he enters her fires and that it will rend his soul from him and swallow it down like a rat!’
He spat hard and deliberately on the deck beside Erno’s feet, then bent over the gunwale, scooped up a handful of seawater and rinsed the last traces of blood away.
Forent Town was alive with activity. They found it hard to get lodgings, for what decent rooms there were for hire had been commandeered by order of the Ruling Council to provide billets for the troops and crews which had been mustered there, and the workmen who laboured under Morten Danson’s eye to create the fleet which would storm the North. Eventually they found themselves down by the dockside where hundreds of makeshift shelters had been erected out of old canvas and sailcloth. The whole place stank of mildew and ale and piss: they would have had better condit
ions on board their own vessel except that, as Mam pointed out, if the Lord of Forent were to recognise the ship they’d nicked from him the last time they’d been down this way, he’d have them all drawn and quartered and not bother with the hanging at all.
As it was, only Persoa had the luxury of being able to walk the streets undisguised, for to be an Eyran in this town – even an Eyran sellsword – was liable to land you at the least in unnecessary fights, and at worst spitted by an overzealous patriot looking to earn a bounty. Feeling as if even after the hillman’s best ministrations he still stuck out like a fox in a hencoop, Erno readjusted his hat and squinted ahead of him out of the eye which didn’t bear a patch (which Persoa had made him wear, saying that a pair of blue eyes would mark him out as a foreigner at once; but the patch would draw an observer’s notice before they had a chance to look at the other eye). His hair had been hastily dyed (‘Not again!’ he had protested. The squid ink smelled foul as they dunked his head; still did – he moved through a fishy miasma all his own; in crowded places people quite subconsciously moved away from him) and he had exchanged his homespun Eyran tunic for a richer southern version nabbed by Persoa from a market stall. Mam – whose weird braids, sharpened teeth and belligerent demeanour were impossible to disguise – had gone the whole hog in a vast black sabatka, while Joz Bearhand had, after much grumbling, been made to shave off his beard, rub dirt into the pale skin thus revealed and dress as a rich Gilan merchant; Dogo and Doc meanwhile made a remarkably convincing chirurgeon and his apothecary in shabby black robes and square hats. Sur only knew where the hillman had laid hands on these costumes, but there appeared to be no sign of blood on them.
The only weapons Mam would allow them were small and concealed amidst their clothing, though Erno happened to know Mam had a full length sword strapped to one thigh under the Istrian robe: she walked with a curiously stiff gait. The red sword he had reluctantly left wrapped in sacking in their ship, which lay demasted, beached and camouflaged three coves east of here.
Erno watched nonplussed as Mam reached into her voluminous robe and came out with three leather pouches of coins, which she quickly distributed to Joz, Persoa and Doc with the instruction to use them only if absolutely necessary, and they stashed the money away hurriedly before it attracted attention. ‘What about me?’ Erno demanded, thrusting out his hand.
From behind the thick veil Mam gave a hollow laugh. ‘You just stick with Persoa and do what he tells you.’
And before he could remonstrate with her, she fell into step behind the giant figure of Joz Bearhand and disappeared into the crowd.
‘Come along, my friend,’ the hillman said, taking Erno by the shoulder. ‘We go this way.’
‘Where? And why the money?’
But all he got for answer was one of the eldianna’s enigmatic grins.
Erno followed Persoa into the maze of back streets away from the harbour. Despite the pretence of being a hardened Istrian freebooter, it was hard not to gaze in bumpkin wonder at every vista that presented itself. Forent was the largest Istrian town he had ever visited and its style of architecture was quite different to the rough-hewn simplicity of Halbo or the low turfed dwellings of the Westman Islands. Here, the houses were tall and crammed together so they seemed to loom into the sky. They had many windows, all paned with glass, shutters, intricate iron balconies, turrets and tall chimneys which belched smoke into the thick morning air. Gutters ran down the sides of the paved streets and stank to high heaven. And over them all towered the massive granite walls surrounding the castle and the great keep itself.
Erno had thought they would be heading directly for this impressive building, but Persoa veered off suddenly to the right.
‘I thought you said she was being held prisoner in the castle!’ Erno protested loudly.
Persoa frowned. ‘Keep your voice down,’ he hissed.
He turned down another alley, past a bakehouse whose lush scents reminded Erno about his growling belly, past a winery and a costermonger’s, past a tavern where two men were wrestling barrels down a ramp into the cellars, past a potter’s and the shop of a ceramic artist whose own work was all in tans and terracottas, but whose display boasted a fine selection of expensive Jetran blueware in order to hedge his bets and ensure he could equip the tables of even Forent’s most houseproud nobility; past a lacemaker and a glassblower and an outfitter’s offering a tailoring service. The next alley took them past leatherworkers turning out piles of jerkins and boots and greaves and vambraces, all seemingly cut to a single size and pattern. Cutting right, they found motley squads of soldiers queueing all the way down a street which resounded with the fall of hammer on anvil. Through the gaps in this crowd Erno could spy thousands of swords and spears stacked against the walls and two men in official uniforms doling them out. He stared and stared as the implications of this mass-production struck home.
Persoa turned to find his companion transfixed and had to double back. ‘Not that way, my friend,’ he said, drawing the Eyran away before they were noticed. ‘Not unless you want to enlist as an Empire man.’
‘It really is war, then,’ Erno said unhappily. ‘I never really believed it would happen.’ He paused, thinking. ‘But how will they carry the fight to the North? They have no ships—’ He stopped suddenly. Larger events had abruptly come into focus.
The hillman grimaced. ‘Now you know why Rockfall was raided,’ he said softly. ‘It was not just for the women, however remarkable they may be.’
Erno clenched his jaw. ‘I should be in Halbo to defend my people.’ There was a wild look in his eye. ‘Except that . . . the only person I really care about is here in Forent, and without her there is nothing in the world worth saving.’
Persoa patted him on the shoulder. ‘Then stop gawping at the sights like a farmboy and follow me.’ His grip tightened so that for a moment Erno felt the tips of the hillman’s steely fingers through the sturdy cloth of his cloak. ‘And do exactly what I say. We must not draw attention to ourselves until the time is right; and then you must do exactly what I say. Do you understand me?’
Erno had no idea what the eldianna meant by this, but he nodded impatiently. ‘Yes, yes, all right – now let’s find Katla!’
Down more alleys they went at such a pace that Erno had soon lost his bearings. And then, quite without warning, the warren of packed streets debouched into sunlit space and they found themselves standing in Forent’s central market square.
It was packed with people. Or rather, as Erno corrected himself instantly, it was packed with men. All sorts of men, rich and poor, soldiers and merchants, beggars and farmers, labourers and journeymen. Many appeared to be looking rather than buying, and the majority of them were gathered in a huge knot in the far left-hand corner of the market, with those at the back of the crowd desperately craning for a view.
Erno was taller than most Istrian men by half a head but even he could not see what it was that was drawing the attention of the crowd so. Matters became no clearer the nearer they got, for the throng became more closely knit with every step they took. Erno trod of someone’s foot and was elbowed hard in the ribs as another man jostled past him, and a moment later all forward momentum ceased. Persoa tapped the man in front of him on the shoulder and they spoke rapidly for a while in Istrian, before the man pulled away and himself tried to push further into the crowd.
Erno had picked up more than a word or two of this foreign language in his time. He grabbed Persoa by the arm. ‘The women!’ he cried, his eyes wide with fear. Without thought, in a sudden access of panic, he used his native tongue. ‘They’re selling the Rockfall women!’
‘For Elda’s sake, shut up!’ the hillman hissed. He dragged Erno off to one side, apologising all the way to those he stepped upon or banged into. For a small man, he had extraordinary strength: there was little Erno could do to free himself without turning it into a fight.
And all the way, he heard the voices:
‘—so white their skin—’
‘—I never saw hair like it—’
‘—she must be Falla’s own—’
‘—I don’t much fancy the fat one—’
‘—ah, but think of the novelty value—’
‘—take a heathen to your bed—’
‘—said to be as wild as beasts—’
‘—bite and claw and beg you to give her more—’
and one, deeper and disapproving, ‘It is not Falla’s way to show off the flesh of women thus. It is an abomination—’
At the edge of the crowd, Persoa hauled Erno into a less frequented sidestreet. ‘Now then,’ he said, and Erno, feeling a sharp prick at his waist, found that the assassin had drawn a small dagger upon him. He stared at it, aghast, then transferred his gaze to the eldianna’s furious face.
‘Wha—?’ he started, only to have the blade jabbed against his gut.
‘You,’ said Persoa, ‘are going to wait for me here. You are not to move one step from this doorway—’ He indicated a faded wooden door beneath a signboard offering fortune-telling and crystal-reading. With each enunciation, the daggerpoint prodded harder. ‘I will return in a short while. No matter what happens, you will wait here. Understand?’
‘But why?’ Erno was infuriated in his turn. A shadow of suspicion clouded his mind. ‘You’re going to take the money and make a run for it!’ he cried angrily, grabbing the assassin’s knife hand. ‘What care you about Katla Aransen, or any of them? You’re just a rootless, faithless sellsword!’
Persoa unpeeled Erno’s fingers from his arm as if they belonged to a small child. ‘Erno Hamson, I am neither rootless nor faithless: I honour my people, who belong to the hills; and my faith is in Elda and its deities. Finna asked me to carry out this task, and for her I would do anything. It is only because I know she cares for you that I do not stick you where you stand and leave you to expire in a pool of your own blood. Now stay here: you are both too conspicuous and too headstrong to do what must be done. I will bring your woman back to you if it is humanly possible. Now, hear me again: stay here and await my return!’ When Erno opened his mouth to protest, he added, ‘And do not delay me further, or all will anyway be lost!’
