by Tim Stead
“One at a time,” Tilian called back. “Allow the horse to find its own pace. Don’t hesitate.” He watched as Jackan led his mount across, walking at a commendably steady pace with firm, confident steps. Tilian made room for him. “Watch the others across,” he said. He turned and examined the path ahead. It rose steadily, and now the camber was inwards. That meant a safer fall, but also that the path was covered in broken stone, so he moved slowly but steadily upwards.
At the top he paused for a second before leaving the path. It was grazed flat up here, no trees, but there was a lot of tall grass – the brown tops that the sheep didn’t like to eat – waving in the evening light. He half expected to see the Seth Yarra column marching towards him, but there was nothing, just the flat plateau, the waving grass, and several large boulders. The only feature was a rocky outcrop about a hundred paces back from the edge, and from this the boulders had come, rolling towards or over the cliff, Tilian guessed, as the weather broke them from the rocky mass, according to their shape.
There was no point in taking the men further than this, he thought. The obvious strategy to defend Berrit Bay was the break the bridge. He had seen that at once. They could not cross the gap without it and would be forced to retreat, swing inland and come at the Bay via the southing road. That would fulfil the letter of his orders, and in truth it was more than he had expected to be able to do.
But now that he was here he remembered the map. There were three small villages on the loop around to that road, and Seth Yarra would destroy them. A hundred people might die, dozens of animals, children. He didn’t doubt that Berrit Bay was the prize. Over two thousand people lived there. It had some small commercial importance. Two of the villages on the map had been marked without a name, just the anonymous word village and a dot. But Tilian had been on the march that ended at Henfray. He had seen what Seth Yarra did to such tiny hamlets.
Anyway, he had a plan.
He only realised this as his men began to trickle from the top of the cliff path. The plan, a wild one, had come into his mind fully formed, a simple picture of victory, and he looked around him for the detail.
“What now, Captain?” It was Jackan. The sergeant was himself looking around the bleak plateau uneasily. He wasn’t seeing what Tilian had seen.
“Is everyone here?”
“Aye, Captain. None lost on the path, though it seems a miracle.”
“Choose five men and have them string the horses. Take them north and east a mile and find a hidden place to picket them. Two men to stay with the horses, the rest to come back. All due stealth, Jackan, we don’t know where the Seth Yarra are.”
“As you say, Captain,” Jackan turned to go.
“One more thing,” Tilian said. “Keep two horses here, and have two men ride west a few miles. Wait there and watch for Seth Yarra, warn us when they approach.”
“Aye, Captain.” Jackan ran off and Tilian looked at the broken outcrop. It looked a little like a castle, but Tilian wasn’t deceived. They could not defend it with thirty men. His plan was more brutal.
He called the men around him as the horses were taken away, and they looked at him with expectation in their eyes. He was their commander. He smiled.
“Now we’ll show them what Ghosts can do,” he said.
Twenty - Sara
Sara had been methodical. She had started with the hiding place, or places, because there were so many books. Then the method. She had devised a way of wrapping the books, first in cotton, then wool, then greased cotton, which would keep anything out. It was only for a short time, anyway.
Once those issues had been dealt with she sat down with her catalogue and methodically rated each book by its importance, or value. A few months ago she would not have attempted such a task, but now she was quite confident. She knew the books that the scholars valued, and could judge each volume’s age and content.
She regretted her methodical approach.
It was a bright afternoon, and she had shifted about two thirds of the books to their hiding places, and she was collecting the next two dozen volumes with Lira, who had taken to the work unwillingly at first, but seemed to like it better when she saw it gave her status among the other servants. Brodan came into the library without knocking.
“My Lady, you must go to the woods,” he said.
“The woods?” She stared at him, not understanding.
“Seth Yarra soldiers are burning the south village, My Lady. They will be here within an hour.”
She put a hand to her mouth and a book dropped from her arms onto the floor. She ignored it. “And the villagers? Are they safe?”
“Most. We had good warning, but two men who were out in the fields were killed. The rest are hidden.”
“An hour, you say?”
“At most. You should leave now.”
“I think we have time for a few more books,” she said. “Surely an hour is enough time to take these and the next load?”
“An hour is a guess, My Lady,” Brodan said. “They may come at any time.”
“Yet they are in the village, and that is over a mile, and Seth Yarra travel on foot, do they not? I think we have time.” She picked up the book she had dropped. “Come, Lira, we must be quick.”
Brodan half moved to block her path. “My Lady, it is not safe,” he said.
“Then you may guard me,” she said.
Brodan shook his head. “I must go and fight,” he said.
“Fight? How many of them are there?”
“Two hundred, maybe three.”
“You will be killed, Brodan,” she said. She was shocked that he would consider such a course. It seemed suicide.
“You will allow that I know the business of war better that you, My Lady,” he said, and smiled.
“I will indeed,” she replied. “But three hundred…”
“Every tree is a soldier on our side, My Lady,” Brodan said. “And if you look on it like that then it is Seth Yarra who should be afeared, not Henn’s Ghosts.”
She thought he must be right, because she could see no fear in Brodan’s face, just a grim set to his jaw and a sort of slow burning in his eyes. “You will take care, Brodan,” she said. “And so will I, but I will save what I can from here. It is my duty, just as the fighting is yours.”
Brodan gave in. She could see that he was anxious to be elsewhere, and her stubborn stance had won her another twenty four books. He nodded. “Do not delay, My Lady,” he said. “The other servants have already left the house. You are alone.”
With that he was gone, out the door and running down the corridor. She stood for a moment. “Come Lira, let us hurry.” Lira didn’t look too happy. She would rather have taken Brodan’s advice at once, Sara guessed, but she wanted to save the books, as many as she could.
They ran together down to the kitchens where a stone flag had been lifted and a cavity excavated beneath. There were already books here, but room for so many more. She packed in the ones that she carried, wrapping each carefully in three layers, and then took Lira’s.
Lira was looking increasingly alarmed. The maid was clearly scared, but Sara would not release her, and when the books were wrapped and packed she went back to the library. There were so many books left, and the thought that some of these might burn horrified her. Yet she stuck to her plan. She knew where each of the next twelve books lay, and picked them one by one, putting the first six into Lira’s reluctant arms, and the next six into her own.
They went back down to the kitchens again. This was the last load. She had told Brodan two more, and she would keep her word. She was more angry than afraid, but she did not want to die here. She packed the books carefully, and when it was done she and Lira shifted the paving slab again so that it covered the books, settling it in place with a mixture of sand and ash so that it did not look newly laid.
“Now we can go,” she said, to Lira’s obvious relief. They went back up the passageway, turned left and came to the main door. She knew where Brod
an wanted her to hide. He had shown her the place quite soon after the threat had become real, and shown it to her two more times for good measure. He had made her find it herself more than once. So she strode out of the door knowing her direction. She spared one glance up the road that led to the south village, and saw nothing. So there had been enough time after all.
They passed the duck pond and took to the lawn. She guessed that the ducks would be safe. Surely the Seth Yarra must have ducks in their homeland and not see them as the enemy, but then you couldn’t be sure with Seth Yarra. She had read so many opinions on so many aspects of them that she might have considered herself an expert, and might have done had the opinions formed any sort of consensus.
As they neared the woods she felt something tug at her dress, and turned to see what Lira wanted. She nearly tripped over the arrow that had embedded itself in the ground just ahead of her.
They were there. She could see men on the road. They seemed impossibly distant, but even as she looked she saw more arrows released and leap across the sky towards her.
“Run, Lira,” she cried, and seized the maid’s hand, dragging her as quickly as she could towards the shelter of the forest. The distance was too great, or their archery was too poor, because the arrows fell harmlessly around them, none coming as close as that first surprising shaft.
After that they were among the pines, and still running. No more arrows came, and Sara followed the twists and turns through the forest that Brodan had shown her, and quickly came to their hiding place.
It was no more than a hole in a bank, scooped out and surrounded by the typical rubbish of the pine forest – broken branches, brown needles, cones. They crawled in and Sara pulled the string as she had been shown. A mat of woven branches fell down over the hole, further concealing them. It wasn’t perfect. Sara could still see out into the forest through the gaps in their cover, and she supposed that a careful man might still see in if he knew where to look.
Lira was whimpering with fear. The girl was quite white, scared half to death, but Sara couldn’t allow her to make a noise. It was the one sure traitor that would surrender their position. She gripped Lira’s hand hard and put a finger to the maid’s lips.
“Hush, we are safe now,” she whispered.
She did not know if it was true or not. The men with the bows had seen them enter the forest, and might well come after them. It seemed impossible that in all this forest they might stumble upon the hiding place, but Sara knew that there were many hiding places, and she worried that she had led them in among the trees where they might find some other hiding servant.
It was quiet for a long time, but eventually she heard footfalls. More than one man, but not a great number. The sounds came from one side, so that she could not see whose feet made them, but there was no doubt that they were coming this way. She wished that she had brought a knife with her, and that thought surprised her. She did not think of herself as a warrior, or even a person who might fight, not even after killing Elejine. Now she felt that a blade of some kind would have been a comfort, even if she did not have any skill to use it.
The feet came closer, and now she could see movement, a figure stepping carefully on the bed of pine needles, hardly making a sound. It was one of the Seth Yarra. She could see a bow in his hand, an arrow ready on the string, a sword hanging from his belt. He spoke quietly in a language she could not understand, and a voice answered from a few paces away. She couldn’t see the other man. He must be standing close, though. They seemed to be having a conversation, a discussion. The man with the bow turned towards where they were hidden, though he was looking back towards his comrade. Now Sara could see that he was a young man, dark hair, brown eyes, a couple of day’s growth of beard on his chin. He looked scared. That surprised her.
The bowman gestured with his bow back towards the road. The other man, the one she couldn’t see said something that sounded negative.
A moment later both men were dead. The arrows made a rushing, angry sound, quickly louder, then a thud, and both men fell. She saw one, heard the other – a sort of grunt and after that a thump as his body hit the ground. Sara sat open mouthed and stared at the corpse of the young man. It twitched a couple of times, and then was still, an arrow standing out of his neck and another out of his back. His eyes were still open.
The forest became quiet again. A few birds called in the distance.
“Are you all right, My Lady?” The voice spoke from a few feet away, but she couldn’t see anything. She recognised the voice as belonging to Welcart, the groundskeeper.
“We’re fine,” she said, adopting the same hushed but clear speech.
“Wait here,” Welcart said. “I’ll fetch you when it’s safe.”
She didn’t hear him move away. There were no footfalls, no whisper of trodden pine needles, but she was certain he had moved off. She looked at the dead man again. She wondered how many Seth Yarra had made the terrible mistake of coming into the woods with men like Welcart and Brodan waiting for them.
Twenty One - Tilian
It took longer than Tilian expected. Night fell and the sky was full of stars before the men came back from picketing the horses, and they had made a camp of sorts behind the rocky outcrop while they waited for news.
He was outnumbered ten to one, but that didn’t worry him. He didn’t intend to engage the enemy face to face. That would be stupid. What resources he had he must spend with great care, and he had made all the preparations that he dared. They camped without fire, but the men did not complain. They were used to it now. They were Henn’s Ghosts. They were invisible.
He heard the horsemen before he saw them. There was a constant noise from the surf pounding against the foot of the cliff, and the night wind in the grass all around them, but the horses made a distinct drumming noise on the beaten surface of the coast road. He stood up and watched them approach.
They were the two men he had sent west to scout for Seth Yarra so that they would have warning. Starlight was enough to recognise them. The men dismounted by the top of the cliff path and Tilian went to meet them.
“You found them,” he said. They would not have returned otherwise.
“We did, Captain,” one of the men said. “They’ve camped for the night five miles from here. If they break camp at dawn they will be here three hours after that.”
“Three hours? Perhaps, but we must be sure. Go back and watch them,” he said. “When they move come back here and let me know. Do not be seen.”
The men nodded, and without hesitation or complaint remounted their horses and rode away to the west again. Tilian watched them go. These were different men from the ones he’d picked in Bas Erinor. Now they were keen, confident, and proud. Those men would have no sleep tonight, and he was certain they would not fail him.
“Three hours, eh?” It was Jackan who had come quietly up beside him. The city man seemed to have taken upon himself the role of second, and was doing it well enough that Tilian didn’t mind.
“Almost too much time,” he said.
They walked back to the camp together in silence. He had explained his plans to Jackan and the others after the sun had set, and every man knew what it was they had to do in the morning. Three hours was rather more time than they needed.
He rolled himself in his blanket and folded an arm under his head. It seemed remarkable to him that he’d done it. He’d come up with a plan in spite of the odds, and everything was going to be all right. He wondered if this was how Colonel Arbak felt, knowing that there was always a way.
He fell asleep easily to the sound of the waves, and dreamed of fire and snow.
* * * *
The morning was an easy time. He let the men laze around. One or two of them read books. Several sharpened their blades. He noted that Jackan sat on a rock with a view to the west and watched for the scouts. He’d set men to do this already, but it pleased him that Jackan seemed to be keen, wanted to be the first to know.
He knew they
were coming when he saw Jackan stand, his body leaning forwards, his hand shielding his eyes from the light. He hadn’t even heard the horses’ hooves. He walked down to the head of the cliff path again, signalling to his men to follow him. They quickly put aside whatever they had been doing and gathered around.
“They have broken camp, Captain,” one of the riders reported. “They’re marching at an easy pace, about two hours, probably more, behind us.”
“Taking their time,” Jackan said.
It was true. There seemed to be no rush in it for the Seth Yarra. They broke camp late, marched at a steady but unhurried pace, almost as if they were inviting attack. Well, he was certainly going to enliven their day. He pointed to one of the men.
“You, take these horses north and east until you find the picket. Stay there and wait for us. Keep the horses ready to go at short notice,” just in case something went wrong. He turned to the others, picked another two men. “You two, go back down the cliff road, cut the bridge, wait for us in Berrit Bay. If Colonel Arbak or anyone else comes, tell them what we’ve done. Tell them to expect us by the southing road.”
