The Plains of Kallanash

by Pauline M. Ross

  They marched for several hours, taking turns with the horses, although there were some who couldn’t ride at all. Hurst chose to walk, for he was still full of energy. As the sun dropped down the sky, the group split up, some going on to the compound and the rest making camp for the night. It was something of a post-battle tradition, Ainsley told them.

  “A few can’t wait to get back and get started on the ale and women, but most of us like to unwind out in the open. You know, talk through what happened, be glad we’re still alive, that sort of thing.” He nodded towards Trimon. “That was some mighty shooting. I’ll be losing him to Tersior, I expect.”

  “Tersior?”

  “Archery Captain. There are three Sword Captains, one Staves, one Archery. Anyone with any skill with a bow goes to Tersior, and your friend is certainly skilled. Do you think it would be beneath him to pin a few hares for our supper? Or a moundrat?”

  Trimon graciously agreed to it, and took his bow out into the waving grasses some distance away. For a long time he simply stood motionless, then suddenly fired off five arrows in quick succession, producing three hares and two plump moundrats. Hurst, Gantor and Walst cut turf to make a firepit, gathered brushwood, started the fire, skinned and gutted the meat and hung it over the flames, while the rest of the group sat about chatting.

  While the meat cooked, Hurst lay flat on the ground listening to the fat dripping from the moundrats sizzling into the flames, gazing up at the vast face of the moon as it dipped down the sky. By the time they ate, it was almost gone, and darkness was creeping across the plains, the fire lighting their faces with a red glow.

  Someone lifted his voice in song, and several others joined in. Then a different song, and another, more mournful, a lament for the dead. Hurst listened in silence, not knowing the words, but respectful of the sentiment. After that, gradually the talk died away, and one by one they lay down to sleep.

  Hurst sat unmoving for a while, then, when it seemed as if everyone was asleep, he got up and moved outside the circle of bodies around the fire, and crouched down, looking to the west. But he was not alone.

  “Not thinking of vanishing, my friend?” Ainsley said quietly, crouching down beside him.

  Hurst laughed and shook his head. “With my friends asleep over there? I don’t think so. But the habit of leaving one man on watch is hard to break.”

  “They never come after us, you know. Not immediately, anyway.”

  “Never before, perhaps. But we burned their fort today. They won’t forget that.” For a while they were silent, unmoving, watching and listening for the telltale signs of pursuit - the drumming of distant hooves, dust clouding the stars, a twig cracking, a nightbird’s alarm call. But there was nothing.

  Hurst stood up. “So, are you going to say what you came to say?”

  Ainsley stood up too. “I wanted to warn you.” He kept his voice low. “I don’t know who you are or where you come from or what you want from us, but you did all right for us today, and I respect that. You fought beside us, and that makes you one of us. But Bulraney doesn’t like Skirmishers. Lucky for you he doesn’t recognise a Karningholder sword or the insignia on your chest, and I don’t suppose he’s noticed that you keep your gloves on all the time, but he knows there’s something different about you. He’ll keep you close while he doesn’t know what you are, but if he suspects… be careful, that’s all. If you need to vanish in a hurry, let me know and I’ll organise a distraction. On the northern side of the outer wall, just above the fuel store, there’s a rope ladder you can use for a quick escape. You’ll not be seen at night.”

  “Thank you, but if I leave it will be through one of the main gates in daylight.”

  “If you leave? You’re planning to stay then?”

  “For a while, anyway. But thanks for the advice. How do you manage? For you’re a Skirmisher yourself, aren’t you?”

  “A lot of the Captains are, actually. Not so much here, but the other Sections. Most of the men we get are plough boys and apprentice millers and woodsmen and the like, so anyone with any training rises quickly. But it isn’t politic to make too much of it. Especially with Bulraney.”

  “I understand you,” Hurst said.

  ~~~

  There was a brief ceremony to lay the dead to rest. There was no formal religion followed, but most people had been brought up in the way of the Nine, and there was a need, even without any deep belief, for some ritual at such a time. The earth was too hard to dig, and fuel too scarce to use for burning, so those who died were left out in the open for scavengers to pick clean. A long procession carried the bodies about a mile away from the compound, and set them out in a long line on the ground. Clothes and especially battle gear were too valuable to be abandoned, so they were stripped and wrapped in old blankets. A large flagpole marked the spot. There was no formality. Everyone stood around in a big circle and anyone who wanted could speak. After that, they filed back to the compound in silence.

  By contrast, the celebrations went on for days. There was feasting and drinking each night which dragged on noisily almost until dawn, then a quiet time when most men slept. In the afternoons they rose groggily and started on the ale all over again, and long queues formed for the women. Walst joined the line of men sitting sharing flasks of ale and singing lustily on the stairs to the women’s rooms, but he returned thoughtful.

  “The one I saw was exhausted, so I just sat with her for a while, and left her the flask. But she couldn’t tell me anything about Mia or the Companions. Everyone changes their name when they arrive, apparently.”

  “That’s going to make things tricky,” Gantor murmured.

  “There’s something else,” Walst said, eyeing Hurst warily. “I asked about pregnant women, where they go, and she just said there aren’t any. But that can’t be right, can it?”

  “I suppose they take something, herbs of some sort, to prevent conception,” Hurst shrugged. “But Mia must be six or seven months along by now. They must have some way to cope with that.”

  It was Ainsley who revealed the dreadful truth, when Hurst asked very casually where all the women with babies lived.

  “No babies here,” Ainsley said cheerfully. “It’s the poison from the mark – it dries the women up inside. So no babies. Not ever.”

  “And a good thing too,” someone said, and several of the men laughed.

  “What if one was pregnant already?” Hurst said, but he felt sick inside, knowing the answer that was coming.

  “Oh, she’d lose it,” Ainsley said. “It’s better that way – this is no place for children.”

  Hurst was too stricken to ask any further, so it was Gantor who said, “So what happens to the women? They don’t fight, do they?”

  “They’re all whores,” one said.

  “That’s all they’re good for,” said another, and they laughed again, passing round the ale, inspired to tales of their own exploits in bed.

  Hurst staggered outside, and made his way up the steps to the wall, where he leaned as if drunk, his head down. Gantor found him there just as the half moon was rising.

  “We’ll find her,” Gantor said.

  “Yes, but what state will she be in?”

  “Mia’s tougher than she appears,” Gantor said firmly. “She may look like a delicate little flower, but she’s practical. She’ll survive.”

  “And how are we ever going to track her down? Even the name is gone. This is hopeless, Gantor. We shouldn’t have come. I was better off thinking her dead.”

  “Don’t ever say that! We have time, now; we’ve been accepted here, so we can investigate quietly. Even with different names, four of them arrived here together, four women, not that long ago. Someone will remember that. We’ll find her. Don’t give up!”

  ~~~

  Hurst and his friends had no heart for the relentless drinking and womanising, so the first morning saw them out training with the few other men who had stayed relatively sober. Hurst, Walst and Gantor sparred with pr
actice swords while Trimon went off to the archery targets. Hurst noticed a growing crowd gathering at the far end of the compound, and increasing amounts of cheering, but thought nothing of it, taking it for no more than an admiring audience impressed by Trimon’s prowess. He was used to it, and saw no need to investigate.

  So they were all astounded when Trimon came running over to them a short while later, grinning from ear to ear, with a small dark man in tow.

  “You’ll never guess what!” Trimon shouted across as soon as he was within earshot. “I’ve been promoted! I’m a Captain.” And with an even bigger grin aimed at Hurst, he added, “You have to call me Sir, now.”

  Hurst burst out laughing and Gantor clapped Trimon enthusiastically on the back, but Walst looked stunned. “How the fuck did you wangle that, you bastard? Gods! Call you Sir? You have to be joking! What did you do?”

  “I’m afraid that was my fault,” the dark man said. “I’ve been Archery Captain for a while now, but I’ve always hated it. I’ve been waiting for someone better than me to come along. I’m afraid I tricked your friend here into a challenge.”

  “I was just popping the target,” Trimon went on, “you know, routine stuff, and Tersior here was doing the same at the next one. So he said, ‘How about a challenge?’ Well, I just assumed he meant a quick competition type of thing, but it’s a bit more formal than that, apparently. The winner gets to be Captain.”

  “Fucking Vortices!” Walst said. “So how do I get to be a Captain? Who do I challenge? Not Archery – no one could outshoot Trimon – but there must be someone I can challenge with a sword, right?”

  Tersior laughed. “Well, you’re ambitious and no mistake! If you really want to stir things up, you can challenge Bulraney to be Commander, but – well, that’s not the way things are normally done. It’s customary to work your way up. There are three Sword Captains, and Delnor – let me see, that’s him over there, with the red hair - he’s your first target. He’s Third Sword Captain. When you beat him, you can challenge the Second – that’s Ainsley, you know him, and Heddizan’s the First. He’s not around yet, still sleeping off the ale, I expect. Then you could challenge Bulraney, if you’re brave enough. But listen – a word of advice. You’re only just out of the tunnel, a stranger here. Don’t jump in with challenges straight away. If Bulraney thinks you’re too big for your boots, he’ll send you off to Supplies for a spell and you don’t want that. I brought the challenge to Trimon because I could see he was way better than me, but you need to get to know your man before you start challenging. Besides – it’s not that great being a Captain. Bulraney’s tough to work for.”

  “Noted,” Walst said. “Hmm, Delnor, eh…?”

  ~~~

  Hurst was amused by the single-minded way Walst set about his self-appointed task. He didn’t approach Delnor himself, but he worked out who his men were and took every opportunity to get to know them – sparring with them during training, sharing ale with them in the evenings, queueing up with them to visit the women. So when the time came for them to be brought before Bulraney to be formally assigned, it seemed perfectly natural that he should ask to join Delnor. Trimon, of course, now had his own group, and Hurst and Gantor both ended up with Ainsley. There was a rather tight-lipped discussion between Ainsley and Heddizan, who thought the Sword captains should take one of the newcomers apiece, but Ainsley traded four of his best men in exchange, to Hurst’s amusement, and the matter was settled.

  As the days passed, Hurst quickly realised that Ainsley had spoken the truth – there were few men there with any skill in arms. There were close to one hundred warriors in all under the five Captains, and some ten of them showed signs of proper training, and perhaps another ten had acquired a degree of competence, but the rest were virtually unskilled. In addition, there were about twenty-five men nominally in training, and some of these were promoted to fill gaps left by those who died or were injured during the battle, but they showed no greater ability than the rest.

  Every morning was set aside for training, but it wasn’t compulsory and it was left to the individual Captains to supervise their own men, with whatever degree of encouragement they chose. Ainsley tried to give some instruction to the less experienced in his group, but Heddizan and Delnor practised with a few chosen friends and left the rest to their own devices. Gronnash, the Staves Captain, whose men employed a wide array of fearsome weaponry, not just staves, rarely appeared at all. So once his own training session was over each day, Hurst gathered together a few of the more willing of those in training, to give them at least some basic skills.

  Bulraney spent about two hours on the training grounds each day. He would choose one or another of the more skilled swordsmen to practise with, although it was more a demonstration of his ferocious aggression and strength, against which even Skirmisher-trained men like Ainsley soon crumbled. Or perhaps they felt it expedient to lose to their Commander.

  Most of the time, Bulraney stood laughing and joking with a group of cronies, or else strode about, fully mailed and helmed, with Hurst’s sword on his hip and several daggers at his waist, carrying a short wooden stick with a strip of leather at one end. From time to time he would select a hapless junior, watch his nervous efforts with sword or bow or spear for a few minutes, and then with a sigh and a flick to the cheek or wrist, he would shout his displeasure, correct the position of a shoulder or foot or finger apparently at random, then stride off elsewhere. Hurst avoided him as much as possible, and fortunately Bulraney seemed to have an equal aversion to him. It was just as well, for any attempt to correct Hurst’s swordwork would have ended badly.

  “It would be quite impressive, all that shouting and hitting and adjusting,” Gantor murmured to Hurst one day, “if the man had even the slightest idea what he was doing. As often as not, he makes them worse.”

  “He certainly makes them confused,” Hurst agreed, as they watched Bulraney accosting one of Ainsley’s pupils and undoing in an instant an hour’s patient work.

  The Commander was just as erratic over discipline. A young man who accidentally spilled horse feed when startled was dragged off to be flogged without a word of defence. Two men fighting over their ale one evening were pulled apart and one of them arbitrarily sent away to Supplies for a month, even though Hurst would have said the fault lay more with the other. But then two of Bulraney’s friends who beat up a junior for some misdemeanour were merely cuffed on the arm and admonished in amused tones. It was disquieting, and if he planned to stay there Hurst would have felt obliged to do something about it, but he rather hoped that he would soon be leaving.

  ~~~

  One morning as they were having their porridge, Trimon came rushing over, his face filled with suppressed excitement. As soon as they’d all eaten, he took them off to a quiet corner of the training grounds.

  “You’ll never guess who I’ve seen!” he said, beaming from ear to ear. “Mista! Or rather, Deena, that’s what she’s called now. She’s here, in the Commander’s House.”

  “What’s she doing there?” Walst said, and then smiled wryly. “Oh – the obvious, I suppose.”

  “Bulraney?” Hurst asked.

  “No, she just sees to the Captains, her and another woman. Bulraney has his own woman. Well, it was my turn last night to have one of them in my bed, and it turned out to be Mista. Just like home, really.”

  “Did she tell you what happened to Mia and the others?”

  “Marna and Morsha she knew nothing about, except that they’re not here. They like to split them up, apparently. Mia’s gone too. The Warlord was here that day, so she thinks maybe he took Mia.” He looked warily at Hurst.

  “Hmm. Is that good news or bad?”

  “Everyone’s terrified of him,” said Walst. “He’s a real scary bugger, so I’ve heard.”

  “He seemed all right in the battle,” Gantor said.

  “He’s very strict, it seems,” Trimon said, “but he won’t let anyone hurt the women, so Mia’s safe enough with h
im, Mista says. If she is with him. Even if he took her, he could have passed her on to one of the other Sections, or even further afield. He fell out with his last woman and traded her to another Warlord for some horses.”

  “Does she know anything about Tella or Jonnor?” Walst asked.

  “No. She was surprised when I asked. It hadn’t occurred to her that they might still be alive too. She’s going to ask around, quietly.”

  “Is she all right?” Hurst said.

  “Yes, seems to be. She was pleased to know we’re here. But she said to watch out for Bulraney. He’s a bit unpredictable, she says.”

  “Yes, we’ve noticed,” Hurst said. “I plan to keep well out of his way.”

  ~~~

  It took Walst two weeks to bring his challenge against Delnor, and even then he was pushed into it by some of the friends he’d made in the group. Once he had roundly beaten all the best swordsmen amongst them, they began to pester him to take on Delnor, so one morning over the porridge he made his challenge formally. Delnor nodded curtly, for it was not unexpected. They went straight out to the training grounds, everyone else streaming out behind them to form an excited audience. A challenge was always fun for the spectators, and numerous bets were made on the outcome.

  Once the combatants had got all their gear on, Walst saluted his opponent in the Skirmisher way, sword point raised, and the fight began. Hurst could see at once that Delnor was no match for his challenger. He had a little more height than Walst, and a certain natural ability, and he was fit enough, since he practised obsessively every day, but his swordplay was simplistic, repeating the same few moves over and over. Walst, on the other hand, was a fully trained Skirmisher and a successful tournament competitor. It was really no contest at all, but Walst cleverly made it look closer than it was. When had he grown so circumspect? Perhaps his new friends had advised him, or was he just naturally cautious in this place he knew so little about? Gradually he moved in on Delnor and with a quick motion of the wrist disarmed him, to a great cheer from the crowd.