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Age of Iron

Page 24

by Angus Watson


  “Kill him!” someone shouted.

  “No,” said Ula. “Let’s see what Lowa has to say first.”

  Ah yes, there was the flaw in his plan. And he’d been doing so well.

  Chapter 22

  Lowa sprang back out of the ditch, arrow nocked. The woman who’d swung at her was down. No riders remained seated. The girls were among them, launching larger short-range stones from a few paces, then moving in with knives.

  “Lowaaaa!” came a distressed wail. She looked for its source. Bel! How had that happened? Spring was clasped to a rider’s chest, looking over his shoulder as he galloped away. Lowa raised her bow and steadied for the shot.

  The rider was the earless Ogre. If she shot, it would probably go through him and into Spring. She could reduce her pull so the arrow didn’t penetrate all the way, but the shot would still have to be powerful enough to go through his mail. It was too chancy. A head shot would do it, but the way their heads were bouncing she’d as likely hit Spring. If she took the horse out, Spring might be killed in the fall. Shit.

  She slung her bow across her shoulders, raced for the nearest horse and leaped onto it. By the time she’d gathered the reins and turned the animal, Ogre and Spring were over the ridge and out of sight.

  When she crested the valley top, they were perhaps four hundred paces away. Ogre had stopped and dismounted to change onto one of the scattered horses. He must know which are freshest, thought Lowa. Spring, still clutched to his chest, was whirling fists and feet like an enraged wildcat. The selected horse bucked, Ogre had to leap to avoid its crashing hooves, and Spring broke free. She spotted Lowa and started towards her, but Ogre picked up a spear and flung it. Spring staggered for a few steps, looked down at the spearhead protruding from her chest, then toppled forward.

  “No!” screamed Lowa.

  Ogre ran to Spring, put a foot on her back and pulled the spear out. He scooped her up, slung her light, limp body over a shoulder, clambered onto the horse and sped off.

  Rage boiled from Lowa’s stomach. She dug her heels in and her mount sped up. He had a two-hundred-pace head start, but Lowa’s mount had a lighter load. Two miles later she was a hundred and fifty paces behind. A mile after that the gap was a hundred paces. With fifty paces between them, her horse was panting more than she’d heard a horse pant before. Spring was lifeless over Ogre’s shoulder. Blood ran down her back and dripped from her hair. Lowa could have shot Ogre without harming Spring from here a hundred times out of a hundred, even with the longbow being so cumbersome on horseback. Bringing down the horse would have been even easier. But shoot Ogre or the horse and it meant Spring hitting the ground hard, and she dared not risk further injury to the girl, in case she’d somehow survived a spear through the chest. It was a ridiculous hope, but Lowa was clinging to it.

  Twenty paces. She could hear Ogre’s horse panting. Spring’s blood had run down its flank. Too much blood.

  Ten paces.

  “I’ll be on you in moments!” Lowa shouted above the drumming of the hooves on the metalled road. “Stop now, give me the girl, and I’ll let you live!”

  Ogre ignored her. Five paces. She bent low in the saddle, squeezing her thighs to urge on her tired horse. The horse, perhaps sensing an end to its exertions, sped up. Without turning, Ogre reached back and stabbed a knife into his horse’s rump. His mount screamed and bounded forward, but Lowa was still gaining.

  Four paces. She could smell his rank odour. Three paces. Spring’s body was bouncing on his shoulder. Two paces.

  “I’m here!” she said. “This is your last chance!”

  Still he ignored her.

  She took an arrow from her quiver. She’d grab Spring and stab Ogre in the neck in the same movement. She reached out. Her fingers brushed through Spring’s hair. The girl’s eyes were glassy.

  As if he sensed Lowa’s momentary distraction, Ogre turned and threw his knife. Lowa gasped as the blade sank to the hilt in her horse’s right eye. The animal’s front legs buckled, its head hit the road and Lowa was catapulted. She landed hard on a shoulder, a pace behind the hooves of Ogre’s horse. She rolled twice and was back on her feet to see Ogre twist round again, this time to wave goodbye.

  Her bow had landed further along the road, undamaged, thank Danu. She unslung her quiver. A couple of shafts were broken, but it was the heads that mattered. She picked out three good arrows, stashed the quiver in an old badger hole a few paces from the road and covered it with a leafy branch. Not perfect, but hopefully she’d be back soon. She slashed a tree with her knife as a marker for her quiver in case somebody took the horse for meat. She picked up her bow and arrows and set off at a jog along the road after Ogre. She didn’t know why, but she very much wanted to retrieve Spring’s body.

  Chapter 23

  “Run me through it again.” Queen Ula stood, hands on hips, looking down at Weylin. Six men and women in black leather stood around her, throwing spears ready.

  There were javelins everywhere, many sticking out of dead bodies. He could have grabbed one and hurled it at Ula, but he’d probably miss, and her guards would kill him with their spears if he tried anyway. Brains, he thought. That’s what I’m going to need to get out of this. I’m definitely fucked.

  Surrounded by corpses, he told his tale again, hoping it was the same as the first time. He was just following orders. Lowa was a criminal who’d murdered his wife, brother and best friend. He’d been given the task of chasing her down and meant no harm to the good people of Kanawan. He’d been stunned when they slaughtered his troops, and very confused, particularly given how Zadar would respond.

  To his surprise it looked like Ula might be believing him, or at least not totally rejecting his tale. She was biting her lip and looking around, presumably waiting for Lowa. She’d sent several people out of the arena and they’d all come back shaking their heads. If they couldn’t find Lowa – or Dug or the girl for that matter – then … He decided to risk it.

  “She’s disappeared, hasn’t she?” he said, trying to sound conciliatory rather than triumphant.

  Ula looked uncertain.

  “I don’t know what she’s told you, but that Lowa Flynn, she knows how to talk. Much better than me. I guess if I were her, looking for sanctuary with decent people, I’d say Zadar had killed some of mine and I’d escaped. I think that’s how she got that guy – Dug, is it? – to go along with her. He killed a couple of ours when she escaped before. That’s why Zadar wants him too. No doubt he thought he was doing the right thing but, well, he’s in trouble.” Weylin sucked air through his teeth. “And you, Queen Ula, have a very similar problem. You’ve helped somebody who’s wronged Zadar.”

  Ula wouldn’t meet his eye. Weylin took this as a good sign. He looked about at his dead comrades and shook his head theatrically.

  “You sent the shout, you see? Zadar knew we were coming here. And when we don’t come back? It won’t be so easy to trick the next soldiers he sends. And there’ll be many, many more of them. Zadar’ll probably come himself. You heard what happened to Cowton? I was there. I tried to hold our people back, but Cowton had wronged Zadar. So he killed everyone. Children, dogs, chickens – every living thing. And most of them not quickly. Some of the things I saw…” Weylin thought back to that day at Cowton and managed to muster a shudder, even though he’d been one of Zadar’s most enthusiastic sadists.

  “Find Lowa!” Ula ordered one of the troops in black out of the arena. At the same moment one of the women whom she’d sent out earlier appeared over the top of the arena wall. She tripped down the steps to Ula and whispered something.

  “Fuck. Well, go after her,” said Ula. She glanced at Weylin then raised her eyes to the sky as if looking for answers up there.

  Weylin smiled. So Lowa had done a runner. He wondered why.

  Lowa ran, tripping along lightly at her keep-going-for-ever pace. Her breath was even, her head bobbing gently and regularly. The road was through woods, shaded from the sun, which made things ea
sier. Pipits and tits flew from tree to tree alongside her, chirruping aimlessly. She couldn’t work out if it was the same few birds following her or loads of them lining her route.

  She’d seen Ogre once, near the start when the road crossed a broad, open valley. She’d hidden by a tree until he was out of sight. He’d certainly be able to outrun her on a horse if he pushed it, but if he didn’t know she was following she had a good chance of catching him. He didn’t know that she’d been running long distances for pleasure since she was a girl so hopefully he’d decide that she couldn’t still be after him.

  She felt good, happy even. That was strange given the last few days and given that she was chasing a child’s corpse, but that was what running did for her. It delivered a sweeter, cleaner euphoria than any alcohol or mushroom.

  Why, she thought as she ran, had Ogre taken Spring? His gang must have been after Spring all along. Had she met Spring before? Something had nagged at her about the girl – a look, a mannerism, a way of speaking that she recognised perhaps. Maybe she’d just seen her somewhere? Lowa had travelled a lot with the army and seen a lot of people, so it was more than possible.

  She ran on, clutching at and failing to grab any memories of Spring. What she didn’t wonder for a moment was why she was running back in the direction of all her troubles to rescue a dead girl.

  “I might be able to help you,” said Weylin.

  “How?” said Ula eventually.

  “I could talk to Zadar. He listens to me.”

  “Go on,” said Ula.

  “Well, it depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Where are the rest of my troop? The ones I left at the top of the hill.”

  Ula turned to the woman who’d returned with news of Lowa. They spoke quietly so he couldn’t hear, but he saw the woman draw her finger across her throat.

  Ula looked at him.

  “Are they all dead?”

  She shook her pretty face from side to side as if wondering what to tell him.

  “Tell me the truth. If none of them got away, I might be able to help you.”

  The two women spoke again. Ula straightened. She narrowed her blue eyes, beat her fingers against the back of the bench in front of her, then said, “One got away. He took Spring. Lowa went after him. So she didn’t just run off. Everyone’s saying that Lowa’s trying to rescue the girl. That’s hardly the behaviour of a murderer saving herself.”

  Bel’s balls, thought Weylin. By Kornonus he hated lying. Not because there was anything wrong with it, he just wasn’t very good at it. Then it came to him. He ran a hand through the knot of hair on the back of his head and chuckled.

  “Oh she’s good. Covering up her flight like that … She’s not coming back. She’s used you and she’s off. That’s what she does. Now, if you let me go, I’ll go to Maidun, talk to Zadar—”

  “No.” Ula looked like someone who’d made up their mind. Shit, thought Weylin. “Perhaps you’re telling the truth about her, but—”

  “I am telling the truth.”

  “Fine. Will your story still be true tomorrow?”

  “Yes…”

  “And the next day?”

  “Yes, by Fenn, of course.”

  “Then you’ll stay here until Lowa comes back. Then we can test your stories against one another’s.”

  “You let me go now, and I’ll stop Zadar from killing all of you.”

  “No. You’ll wait.”

  “He’ll kill every fucking one of you! And worse!”

  “If Lowa comes back, and you’re right, then we’ll take her captive, and Zadar will be grateful. Surely that would be better for you too? Unless of course you’re not telling the truth.”

  Fuck. This was why he hated lying.

  “All right, all right, but she’s not coming back.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Chapter 24

  Drustan woke in the early afternoon. He scorned Ragnall’s litter, stood up and collapsed. Ragnall dashed forward and knelt next to him, holding his head as his body pulsed with racking coughs.

  “Ah,” Drustan said when he’d recovered. “Perhaps the litter is not such a bad idea. Since you’ve already made it.” He coughed again.

  Ragnall dragged the litter over to him.

  “I am sorry,” said Drustan.

  “I’m sorry you’re ill. I just want you to get better.”

  “Yes. Well. I have to be kept warm.”

  “But you’re—”

  “Sweating, yes. Still, need to be kept warm. I bought some barberry jam in Bladonfort. Find that and I will try to eat some.”

  “OK, I’ll get—”

  “Wait.” Drustan coughed up sputum. It was more light grey than yellow now. “There is more. It is possible my mind might … slip. Important that I keep drinking boiled water and eating barberry jam. And warm. Use all the blankets on the litter, as many below as on top. And I will need boiled water to drink.”

  “Right.” Ragnall stood and began to unstrap the packs that he’d just strapped to the sullen little packhorse. “And if,” he said over his shoulder, “well if … Where are we going?”

  “South-west. Place called Mearhold.”

  “Right.”

  “But you can’t get there … Swamp … Head for Gutrin Tor. It is the highest place for miles around, with a square tower on the top. Ask for Maggot – Mearhold’s druid. He’ll help. For now barberry jam, water, rest … is what I need.”

  “OK. One more thing.”

  Ragnall paused. Drustan nodded weakly.

  “Why don’t you use magic? To cure yourself?”

  The druid shook his head and muttered incoherently. Ragnall layered wool blankets on the litter and rolled Drustan onto it, piled more blankets on top, then secured him with hemp ropes. Shortly afterwards Ragnall led the three-horse procession up the road: the two mounts with the litter first, then the packhorse. He’d decided to walk next to the horses rather than ride to keep the pace calm and slow. As they passed the hole in the hedge that led to the henge, Ragnall found himself silently asking the ancient gods to restore Drustan to health.

  Chapter 25

  At sunset, Lowa was still running but she was immeasurably less chipper. To begin with she’d pumped her arms, arrows in one hand, bow in the other. Now the wooden weapons felt heavy as granite, and it felt like her hip bones were grating directly on her pelvis. Her underarms were chafing painfully and the insides of her leather boots were slick with what she hoped was sweat, could be blister fluid, but was probably blood.

  Judging by where the sun had been when she left and her normal speed, she’d come around thirty miles, a good ten miles further than she’d run before and a good fifteen more, she’d decided, than was pleasant. She’d stopped briefly only to gulp water from streams and four other times, three times at villages and once to talk to a man driving an ox cart. People at two of the villages and the carter had seen Ogre. At the last village, about a mile back, a woman had said that an earless man riding with a pack slung over the back of his horse was half an hour ahead of her. None of the villages had had horses for her to borrow, or at least they’d said they hadn’t, and she hadn’t seen any. They had, however, given her food, for which she was grateful.

  She wanted to stop, a lot. The girl means nothing to you, said a weaselly internal voice. Just think how nice it would be to stop, it said for the thousandth time. How about a lovely sit-down on the grass? You could rest a while, wander back to Kanawan and get on with avenging Aithne and the girls. This is not helping. The girl is dead. You’re following nothing. That bundle on the horse isn’t Spring, he dumped her body in the woods miles back. You’re running for no reason. Just stop. Rest.

  But another voice, a stronger voice, told her to keep going. She ran on, fording streams, speeding down hills and schlepping thigh-burningly up them.

  It was dark when she finally slowed to a walk, cloud cover blocking the stars and moon. She told herself that Ogre would camp for the night to r
est the horse, and she didn’t want to overtake them. Her relief at stopping was short-lived. Spasms cramped through her legs. She leaned on a tree stump and pulled a foot up to her bottom to stretch her aching leg muscles, but it didn’t help. She walked on, the pain in her thighs so intense that it made her giggle. She jogged for a few paces, but that was sore in a different way and she soon stopped. She had to walk. She didn’t want to miss …

  Something told her to stop and listen. She did, holding her breath. Nothing. But then …

  A horse’s whinny, faint, off the track and back a few paces. She stopped, closed her eyes and strained her ears. Nothing. She walked back in stealth gait – feet wide, hands splayed, palms facing down – the pain in her legs ignored. There wasn’t much point trying to be stealthy though. It was so dark that she couldn’t see where the road stopped and the woods began, let alone spot snappable twigs or other potential alarm raisers. For all she could see, she might have been approaching a precarious stack of bronze cymbals.

  She held her breath. She heard only the swish of bats taking advantage of the cleared track to swoop for insects, the skittering of timorous beasts in the undergrowth and the far-off scream of a fox.

  And then, there! Definitely a horse’s gentle nicker. She walked slowly back along the track, cursing silently when she kicked a stone and it clicked lightly into another one. Yes, there it was. A flickering light a hundred paces away through the trees. She looked away, but the fire still flickered on her retina. It couldn’t be them, could it? Surely Ogre wouldn’t light a fire?

  She crouched and closed her eyes for a hundred heartbeats to optimise her night vision. She opened them. Better. She crept along the road, trying to pierce the night with her eyes and find a path into the woods. She looked at the trackside, resisting the temptation to glance at the fire and ruin her night vision again.

  She found the gap, a blacker circle in the black vegetation. In a perfect world she’d have waited there until dawn, or at least until the clouds cleared, rather than stumble blind towards a possible enemy camp. But that was the point, annoyingly. It was only a possible enemy camp. It might be any other traveller or forest dweller, and Ogre might be making good his escape, or even bedded down for the night just a few hundred paces further up the road. She had to check.

 

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