by Steven Poore
After passing by Ecsalia entirely, she had hoped they would stop at Devrilinum for a night. Anything other than open fields. But Baum pressed onwards deep into the evening, and Cassia and her father were forced to follow.
Neither Baum nor Meredith seemed to notice that their new companions travelled in sullen silence, as though they were prisoners chained at the wrists marching behind their captors. Cassia’s feet caught in every rut in the road, and the wind gusted the cold drizzle through her bedraggled hair, which whipped around constantly into her face. Malicious spirits of the sky that bore some arcane grudge against her, spitting and laughing at her misfortune. Just like when Gelis got lost in the mountains after she was cast out from her village.
But that was only a story. This was her life. There were other parallels with Gelis, although they did not match in every way. The young heroine of the romantic tales had lived with a father who did not love her and, just like Cassia herself, she had fallen in with strange companions on the road. But while Gelis’s tale had a happy ending, with justice served by the prince who had saved her, Cassia was not so optimistic. Meredith was most likely the only noble she would ever meet, and she doubted he would have any interest in a poor storyteller’s daughter.
This morning the silent young lordling was as aloof as usual, hardly noticing that she or her father even existed. Cassia’s bold request to learn how to use a sword was not even alluded to. She had sat by the dead embers of the campfire with heat rising in her cheeks, all too aware of Norrow laughing silently at her from the shelter of his rough lean-to.
Baum seemed oblivious to the change of mood. He whistled snatches of tunes Cassia did not recognise, cursed the state of the March, pointed out overgrown shrines by the road, and chatted to both her and Norrow apparently without realising that they replied only in hesitant, subdued tones.
Cassia found her thoughts wandering again to dreams of escape and freedom. It was strange how her world had changed so much over the course of a few days. Before, she and her father had been free – in a sense – to wander between the villages and towns of this region, never tied to the land or to a contract. Farmers stared enviously at them from their fields; smiths and other craftsmen looked out from under their sheltered workshops and sighed as they passed by. They may have been hungry more often than not, but they could go where they wished.
But her father’s recent actions had disabused her of that notion. She was a property, to be bought and sold at her owner’s whim. Perhaps she had not been chained and tied like the slaves she had seen in the coastal towns to the east, but she was a captive nonetheless. There was scant consolation in the thought that though her father seemed free, his future was also ruled by Meredith and Baum.
Surely, she thought as she drew her sodden blanket closer around her shoulders, chilled to the bone by the endless drizzle, surely things could get no worse than this.
q
The clouds lifted in the early afternoon and, if nothing else, the welcome sensation of sunlight on her shoulders improved her mood. Her father, still astride the tireless mule, remained dark and foul, and Cassia avoided him as much as possible.
“Perhaps we should have stayed a while in Devrilinum,” Baum mused, almost to himself, when Cassia came alongside him. The March had crested a hill and they now faced a winding road into a vale of green orchards, surrounded by the wilder pastures common to the region. The rain had brought fresh colour to the fields, the sun reflected from glistening leaves that swayed in the breeze. The hillsides still loomed away to the west and north, but they seemed less threatening. Dormant, perhaps, was the right word.
Cassia waited for Baum to say something else, to attempt to draw conversation from her, but he remained silent as she passed him, allowing the downslope to speed her way.
Meredith caught up with her as the road levelled out, approaching at a trot. “Hold and wait a few minutes, girl. Did you not hear us call?”
She frowned and looked back. Baum had dismounted some way back, and now strode off the road toward a low, grass-covered mound. Even Norrow had stopped, stretching to relieve the aches in his limbs and his back, directing curses at the old mule.
“No, sir. I must have been lost in thought,” she said. “I’m sorry. Should I go back?”
Meredith shook his head. “No need. Baum goes to pray for success.” He stared directly down at her. “Do you also pray to Pyraete?”
“Not very often.” Cassia didn’t want to risk offending them by telling the truth. She’d heard men mutter curses and beg Pyraete to save them from the Factor’s taxes, but she never had any reason to thank the old god of the North for anything. There were enough Hellean gods to go around. It was little wonder that any remaining shrines to Pyraete were lost, hidden at the edges of fields or walled away and left to gather dust.
The old man knelt at the mound and bowed his head. Cassia saw his jaw working as he prayed aloud, but at this distance she heard nothing. He stayed there for several minutes, and she shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, aware of the aches creeping into her muscles. They had halted a little too long now, and it would be hard to coax her tired limbs back into the rhythm she had found during the morning.
Had Baum fallen asleep? She was about to start toward him when he finally raised his head and climbed back to his feet. He strode briskly to his horse, remounting with such ease and energy that Cassia thought he had lost a full score of years from his age. She told herself it was a trick of the afternoon light that Baum appeared straighter and younger than he had just a few minutes before. But as he brought his horse level with her once more, she realised she wasn’t so certain.
Baum smiled down at her. “Come along, girl. We have plenty of ground to cover before the day is over.”
The sunlight was no longer as warm or as welcoming as it had been. Cassia pulled her packs tight against her shoulders and pushed herself into motion, reluctantly following the horses down the road before her father managed to catch her up.
q
The road wound gently south and east, through lands that Cassia no longer knew well. Newer shrines, to Hellean gods, sat by the road next to the half-buried remains of camps left by the legions that had passed through the area.
She snagged fruit from untended orchards, watching carefully for the farmhands before she left the road. Baum looked amused by the theft, though he said nothing to her about it. Meredith, on the other hand, told her that theft was morally wrong, in such a loud voice that several heads popped up in the nearest field and they had to increase their pace to leave that area behind before anybody came to demand recompense.
“Why did you do that?” Cassia snapped at the lordling.
“Because you were in the wrong,” Meredith replied.
“It’s not like we have a choice,” she told him. “You might be able to afford to buy your food, but we can’t.”
“So you steal it? That does not make it right.”
“You try going hungry every night for a whole week. See if you can still lift that bloody sword after that. Sir.”
And that, she realised, was the problem: Meredith was a noble. He had been born and raised with all sorts of benefits and privileges. He’d never had to fend for himself, everything had been handed to him on a polished tray. He couldn’t possibly understand how hard and unfair her life really was, even if she told him.
Meredith’s gaze shifted away from her. He stared fixedly past, his eyes narrowed in sudden concentration.
“We are watched,” he announced.
Cassia turned, alarmed at his tone. A group of some half-dozen riders had crested the hills behind them and stood silhouetted by the afternoon light. She could see the rectangular shapes of their shields, along with the spikes of the javelins that rose from behind their helmeted heads, giving them the appearance of sinister amalgams of man and horse.
Baum did not seem surprised to see them. He squinted against the light, turning his horse on the spot, and nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, w
e are. Scout riders, unless I am mistaken. We shall have company soon.”
Cassia bit her lip, her thoughts racing. Scout riders – from the Factor’s legion? Had Rann Almoul betrayed Baum to the Factor?
She had no chance to ask. Baum motioned them onwards, and she had to hurry to keep up with the faster pace he set. She glanced back over her shoulder several times; the riders followed them down into the vale but kept well back, as if they had orders to remain at a distance. Norrow watched them too, she saw him twisting on the mule’s back to keep them in sight. She recognised the speculative cast of his expression and her heart fell. She hoped he would not do anything rash or selfish, but the odds were set against her.
And whatever you do, father, you make me answerable for.
Baum led them westward, away from the stream and doubling back up a sheep trail. The Factor’s scouts followed them still, and Cassia felt her nerves tighten with every step she took. Meredith rode out on the party’s flank, placing himself between them and the scouts. He directed his horse with one hand, his other resting at all times on the hilt of his sword, and he watched the slopes both ahead and behind as intently as he watched the riders.
As Cassia rounded a small rise, tugging the straps of her packs in a vain effort to ease the strain on her shoulders, she heard an unfamiliar voice bark an order and she stumbled to a halt, her breath catching in her throat.
Baum and Norrow had already pulled up, and Meredith was returning swiftly from the far side of the trail. Before them, arrayed in a perfect line, stood six more armed riders, each with a pair of javelins slung over their back and a squared-off cavalry shield held out before them.
A snorting from behind her announced the arrival of the other squad of scouts. They were surrounded. Whatever Baum had planned, it would never be allowed to come to fruition.
One of the soldiers looked familiar. Cassia frowned as she realised who he was. Vescar, Rann Almoul’s other son. She hadn’t seen him for several years, and he had grown into a sharp-faced, serious man, as tightly coiled and contained as Hetch was blithe and energetic.
The two soldiers dismounted and came face to face in the open.
“Baum,” Vescar said. “You’ve led us a merry dance, old man.”
The historian nodded. “Good. Your men look like they could use the exercise, sergeant.”
Vescar’s mouth thinned. “Half-captain.”
Baum shrugged. “As you wish. A bone for the native. But I don’t have time to bandy ranks with you, sir. Let us pass.”
“I don’t think so. For one thing, you have something that belongs to us.” Vescar nodded at Cassia without looking at her, as if she was a piece of baggage.
I belong to him? She clenched her fists, and only a sharp gesture from Baum kept her back.
“Ah, I see. You would be Vescar Almoul, then? I see the resemblance.” Baum smiled disarmingly at him. “Tell me, half-captain, has the Factor sanctioned this little pursuit? Does he know of your father’s agreement with me? Or is this a private enterprise?” He glanced around and raised his voice. “Do your men know the real purpose of this mission?”
Vescar’s jaw worked silently and he lifted one gloved fist into the air. The soldiers beside him drew their swords, steel rasping harshly against the scabbards. Cassia saw the other squad, javelins to hand, move in the corner of her vision, working around the small party to surround it completely. Meredith sat passively in his saddle, turning his head from side to side to watch their deployment, but he did not draw his own weapon.
Oh Ceresel, Cassia thought. Please let it be fast. I can’t go back there. I can’t. Hetch’s face flashed into her mind. No longer bright and naive, his eyes were cold and calculating, and he resembled his father more than he had ever done before. She gripped her staff tight against her chest, desperately trying to think of a way that she could avoid the volley of javelins that now seemed inevitable.
“Did your father tell you what power I represent?” Baum asked, his voice as hard as the land they stood upon.
“I know what you represent,” Vescar replied scornfully. “Sedition, unrest and revolt. The North will rise again as a power, old man, but it will do so without your warmongering.”
“Hah. You think you can fawn your way to eminence? Hellea has used you, drained you and spat you out as a dried-up husk – a small, insignificant province, where you could be as powerful as the High Kings once were.” Baum waved a dismissive hand. “No matter. It is your choice, cowards and slaves to the Empire’s coin that you are.”
Cassia flinched at the words. Surely he had sealed their fates with those insults. She felt Meredith nudge his mount away from her, and realised he had already anticipated the start of the fight.
Vescar’s face flooded with scarlet anger, and he drew the long, flat blade that hung at his side. “I’ll hear no more of this slander and cant. Let’s see if you can handle that sword as well as you throw your words, old man. The Empire and the North!”
He gestured savagely and the men behind him bucked their horses forward, their swords raised high. The contest was so uneven it could only end one way, but Cassia could not watch. She had to defend herself. She dropped to her knees and rolled away into the longer grasses at the base of the slope, hoping desperately to avoid the first flight of javelins that would have been aimed at her by the other squad.
“Caenthell and the North!” Baum gave a fearsome roar as the battle was joined.
Horses screamed, men cursed and shouted warnings and incoherent orders, and the sound of steel upon steel shook Cassia’s bones. Abruptly she realised that she was not safe here, especially if she could not see what was happening. She levered herself into a crouch with her staff, muscles tensed to run or fight, and stared in horror at the carnage before her.
The lead squad had dispersed, no longer a tight and well-drilled formation. Two soldiers slumped in their saddles, clutching wounds that bled freely over their hands. A third struggled on the ground, one leg pinned under his fallen horse. The remaining scouts had galloped clear and wheeled about, tugging free their javelins instead. Baum stood firm in the centre of the field, his blade stained dark red and his cloak and sleeves torn, his left shoulder dipped as he faced Vescar. Rann’s son had halted his charge, and now he looked less sure of himself.
Several yards away Meredith easily held his own against the second squad. Broken javelins littered the ground around him and as Cassia watched he swung his weapon in a precise arc to batter another javelin from the air. Having seen Baum’s success against their companions, the scouts had clearly decided against attempting to charge Meredith, even though he was only one man, but they were fast running out of javelins.
Not a single weapon had landed near her, and she realised that Vescar wanted her alive. She wondered if that was Hetch’s idea. It certainly wasn’t what Rann Almoul would want.
“Yield,” Meredith barked. He sounded so authoritative that some of the scouts hesitated before drawing their swords, but that moment of hesitation was all the lordling needed. He spurred his horse forward, smashing one rider to the ground with a backhanded stroke that echoed across the small vale. He hauled his weapon around to chop down a second before the man could react. The next nearest scout managed to aim his last javelin at the lordling, but he was too close to throw with any force. Meredith plucked the javelin from mid-air with his free hand and returned it to him, thrusting it into the man’s stomach and driving him from his saddle.
Another charged at him, sword and shield at the ready, and this time Meredith had to defend himself with a flurry of blows so quick Cassia could hardly follow. The other two members of the squad edged around the fight, searching for a weakness in Meredith’s defence. But, as she watched, Cassia recognised one or two of the moves the lordling made. These were movements she had seen for the last three mornings. When his blade arced over his left shoulder and then down as Meredith ducked to dodge a wild slash from his right, Cassia knew exactly where he would strike next.
> Sure enough, one of the flanking scouts had got too close. Meredith hacked down at his arm so hard the crack of bone was audible even over the nearby fighting. The man fell from his horse with a scream of raw pain, blood spraying from the severed arteries of his forearm.
The last two men threw down their weapons and disengaged, hunched low over their reins as they fled. Meredith held his own horse in check and watched them, unsmiling. He was not at all out of breath, in fact, he wasn’t even breathing hard.
A shout of alarm and frustration brought her attention back to Baum’s duel with Vescar Almoul. Vescar was also retreating, but he was cut off from his men by Baum’s relentless attacks. Vescar had clearly underestimated his opponent, too confident of his own skills. As Cassia was learning, there was much more to Baum than first met the eye.
Vescar made a desperate lunge at Baum, and his blade met thin air. The older man had seen it coming and side-stepped easily, hacking into Vescar’s unprotected leg. The half-captain collapsed with a howl, and Baum kicked him into unconscious silence before turning to calmly survey the rest of the field.
Of the dozen Imperial scouts that had set upon them, only three were still on their feet or mounted, and all three were fleeing back towards Devrilinum. Cassia wondered how long it would be before they brought reinforcements to try once more.
Baum frowned after the men, muttering under his breath. Curses, most likely. He had been a soldier, after all, so he must know plenty of curses. Cassia struggled to her feet to watch the retreating scouts, her limbs wobbly and disobedient, as though they belonged to somebody else.
Blood. There’s so much blood . . .
Baum gestured sharply at the scouts. A flash of light seared Cassia’s vision and she dropped to the ground with a squeal of terror, echoed from further away by agonised screams.
Silence flooded back over the field. Cassia realised the sobbing breaths she heard were her own, and she peeled her hands away from her head, raising herself on tremulous arms to see what had happened.
