Rivers Run Red (The Morhudrim Cycle Book 1)
Page 37
Jacob had his command well drilled and it wasn’t long before they rolled out onto the plains to the north. They rode in column, two wide and a hundred deep cantering easily forward. They wore light armour, leather mostly and their horses were fresh and eager. The north walls were packed with soldiers and a loud cheer rose up to greet them as they rode out.
Lutico focused his view on Jacob. The young fool was riding without his helm on, his long hair loose and flowing in the wind. A glance at his Lord told him the matter had not gone unnoticed, no doubt Richard would have words with him later.
Lutico twisted, focusing now on the three horsemen. The gap to the urak behind looked wider than before, an illusion of distance he knew.
Seeing their quarry escaping the war dogs had been loosed and streaked after the horses. They were fast but the riders must have seen them coming because they seemed to lift their pace.
The gap between Jacob and the urak narrowed quickly with the three horsemen riding just ahead of their pursuit. Jacob’s line drew close before parting suddenly, splitting down the middle. Turning their horses expertly left and right the horsemen raised their bows. With a stuttering, staggered release two hundred arrows lifted into the air.
It was well timed; the three horsemen riding beneath the hail of arrows which cleared them to fall on the ground to their rear. Most missed but some found a mark and a dozen war dogs collapsed, pierced and tumbling in a heap. The rest carried on undaunted.
The chasing urak drew to a halt and began unlimbering their bows whilst a few ran on, heedless. Another flight lifted from Jacob’s men.
The riders were much closer now and the arrows cleared them easily. Then they were safely through the hole Jacobs’s horsemen had left.
A final flight of arrows was loosed, before the company turned as one back to Thorsten. It was well judged, as by the time the urak returned fire their own arrows fell short, the horsemen out of range and riding for safety. It was neatly done and Richard felt pride in his son.
The few urak that ran on had all been struck down barring one that shook its weapon in defiance, howling. It was soundless to Richard stood as he was on the keep’s tower but he felt its anger through Lutico’s magical window.
“Erm, my Lord,” said a timid voice. Richard looked over and saw Junip with a worried frown marring her plain features.
“Look to the distance,” she said holding her arms up.
Junip had struggled to repeat Master Lutico’s magic window trick at first but as Richard looked between her palms he saw she had clearly mastered it now.
He swore. The horizon was dotted with war bands, each a hundred hands strong at least. They were spaced out but as Junip panned her hands he saw there were many of them.
Richard observed for some time, assessing their movements before he was sure. They moved with purpose and at a steady, easy pace. One they looked like they could maintain indefinitely.
Most of the scouts Richard sent out hadn’t returned and those few that did all reported urak moving south. Some had seen villages razed and pillaged but none reported seeing more than one or two war bands. So he knew the urak were coming and leaving destruction in their wake. He had even toyed with the idea of sending his soldiers out to meet them.
But what Richard saw now was at least twenty war bands and he felt relief that he’d not followed up on his whim. Still if that were it there was hope for them, they could surely hold the walls against ten thousand urak. Trouble was his gut had that sinking feeling in it. A clenched twist he hadn’t felt in many years, not until the boat from Redford had turned up a few days back. Now it churned, warning him again that this was just the start of things.
His mouth was dry and it was suddenly hard to swallow. If he read their intent right they were enveloping the town. Their circle would be closed by day's end.
Chapter 53
: Fallston
Zoller’s arse hurt from riding. He was a bad horseman, had never really taken to it and his horse sensed his unease. The mare was skittish and kept pulling her head down almost toppling him from his saddle every time she did. Riding in his cassock hadn’t help matters either. In the end Holt tied a lead rope to his mare's bridle and pulled him along like he was a child.
The blame for his uncomfortable seat lay with the blacksmith. His carriage had broken an axle, the same that broke travelling on the way up. The sleeve made to fix the repair had obviously been shoddy workmanship. Hiding his irritation as well as he could Zoller resolved to have the blacksmith at Greenholme flogged.
Zoller had intended to stay with the carriage whilst repairs were affected but Tuko had taken him aside and spoken with him.
“Think we should carry on to Fallston Father,” Tuko said, eyes nervously surveying the thick scrub off to the side of the road.
“What is it?” Zoller said picking up on Tuko’s guarded tone. “You see something?”
“Nope, but I don’t hear nothin neither. No birds, no nothin. It’s just a feelin’ Father,” Tuko stated, resting his hand casually on his sword hilt, eyes continuously scanning. “That itch ya get when ya feel you’s bein watched, I got it.”
Zoller glanced across at the bushes following where Tuko’s eyes tracked, but saw nothing. Oh how he loathed the wild. He didn’t understand the rules, if there were any. Zoller’s paranoia didn’t need much stoking and his nerves jangled at both Tuko’s words and his own imagination.
Tuko’s lip quirked, enjoying the Father’s discomfort and the worry that leeched from him. That the hulking man mountain and simpleton Holt glared at him over the Father’s shoulder only served to broaden his grin.
Zoller, having learned over the years to trust Tuko where matters of his safety were concerned, resolved to carry on to Fallston. After all it wasn’t far, just a few leagues. He’d left two of his Red Cloaks to guard the carriage and mind his belongings, telling them he would send a blacksmith back from Fallston. Now his arse hurt and they’d barely gone a league.
“Boat on the river Father,” Holt called out breaking into Zoller’s sullen reverie. He turned to look.
A large flat bottomed barge was immediately obvious on the Oust. It looked slow and ponderous as it meandered down river but it was faster than it appeared, the current pulling the boat along until it gradually caught them.
Zoller saw it was packed to the gunnels with people; women, children and old folk mostly. They’d seen a few of the barges and some of the smaller faster boats on the river since leaving Thorsten. All headed south and all packed with people. In his carriage he’d given them no mind. Now though he had a thought.
“Holt, go flag it down,” Zoller said. “Order them to draw into the bank.”
Holt immediately pulled his horse round and with a kick cantered across the strip of long grass and shojo bushes to the river bank.
Zoller heard Holt shouting to the tiller man who stood in the barge hollering back but they were too distant for him to make out what was said. Zoller saw though from the tiller man’s stance he wasn’t having a bar of Holt.
Holt gestured wildly and a hint of shouted invective reached Zoller on the breeze. Then the barge was by and moving down river. Holt rode back, face red with fury.
“Cunt wouldn’t pull over,” Holt spat then, realising he'd sworn, stammered an apology.
“I can see that Holt. What did he say?” Zoller asked calmly.
“That he won’t dock till Fallston and his boat’s already overburdened. Says too the Black Crow paid him to take that rabble on-board to Fallston and that he don’t get paid if he don’t deliver.”
“He said a lot of things. What did you say? It certainly wasn’t polite conversation from where I was sat,” Zoller asked, arching his brow. He could see Tuko smirking at Holt out of the corner of his eye.
“I ordered him to the side. Told him you had a need to speak to him,” Holt replied looking agitated. “Told him if he didn’t pull that barge into the bank like you asked I’d cut his…” he stopped himself and t
hought a moment. “…his manhood off Father and feed it to him.”
“I think your negotiating skills need a little work Holt,” Zoller responded dryly. It was his fault, he should have known better than to send Holt. Indeed, he should have gone himself but the thought of riding off road on horseback had not appealed to him at all. His vanity would not survive the bruising if he should fall.
They rode on until Fallston finally hove into view. The roaring of the falls was a distant thing at first but grew steadily louder as they approached.
The falls was where the Oust plunged twenty paces into the long narrow lake known as the Reach. The lake stretched ten leagues eastward and in reality was little more than a fat bloat of the river, a league at its widest. The lake had a gentle current as the river continued on its way from its eastern most point pulling the waters from the Reach after it.
The Reach’s southern bank was indiscriminate and hard to discern, disappearing in reeds and long clumps of water grass that morphed into the fringes of the Grim marsh.
Atop the falls, a good distance from its drop, was the Uppers, as locals called it; a small settlement of houses and ramshackle huts that dotted the surrounding land. From the docks and warehouses on the river’s edge to the cliff top, the Uppers extended round following the road as it swept away from the river and down an embankment to Fallston proper which sat on the northern most point of the Reach.
The Uppers docks extended far out into the river and, as they neared, Zoller saw a flotilla of boats tied to them. They all looked more or less the same to him and Zoller couldn’t discern which might be the boat they’d hailed earlier. Clearly it had already unloaded it’s cargo of people for they were nowhere to be seen.
Passing into the Uppers they approached a palisade surrounding the docks and warehouses. An old grizzled guard sat upon a stool watching with tired eyes as they drew to a halt.
Taking the opportunity to dismount and stretch his legs Zoller slid cautiously off his mare. His legs almost collapsed as they took his weight and he’d have fallen flat on his backside if not for the hand still clasping the saddle horn. He waited a moment for the quivering ache in his thighs to subside, gathering himself.
“You alright Father?” Holt asked, concerned.
“Perfectly,” Zoller snapped, vexed. His thighs were chaffed red raw and ached beyond measure. And listening to Holt’s gravelly obsequious voice irritated him beyond reason. With a grunt of effort Zoller pushed himself away from the saddle and hobbled slowly to the guard who watched with a clear look of amusement on his face.
“You man!” Zoller growled. “Why do you sit like a buffoon? Do you not follow the trinity? Can’t you see I am a priest of Kildare?” By the third hell he was sore.
“Oh aye your worship, all god fearing folk follow the trinity.” The guard grinned, unperturbed it seemed.
Zoller grimaced. The man was missing most of his teeth and those few left were stained yellow, the reason evident as the guard hoicked, spitting a globe of tabacc onto the ground.
Zoller heard Holt muttering behind followed by a heavy thump as he dismounted. Holding his hand up he signalled Holt to wait.
The gap toothed guard continued unfazed. “Now I is sat ‘ere doin me job by order of Sir Menzies, Lord of Fallston. That job be asking people what their business be and I would ask it of you your holiness only I expect you be running south same as all these other folk.” He smiled, face crinkling like scrunched parchment. “Tell me I ain’t wrong?”
Zoller rankled at the man’s irreverence. If his legs and buttocks didn’t pain him so much he’d teach the inbred some piety and manners. Instead all his thoughts were on finding an inn where he could close the door for a bit and rest his aching body.
“Where is your best hostelry? And I'll need directions for a blacksmith?” Zoller demanded. The old guard laughed out loud and slapped his thigh like he’d just heard the funniest thing. Zoller was starting to think the man was touched. In all his days he had never been laughed at like this. Zoller raised his hand waving Holt forward.
Holt’s mass loomed up behind him, his sour breath washing over him. “Yes Father?”
“I’m heading into Fallston. Have this man send a blacksmith back for the carriage,” he ordered, thinking it so much easier to get someone else to deal with the old man, someone on his level.
An hour and an extortionate gold gilder later Zoller had secured lodgings at the Angler’s Reach; two rooms and one of the common rooms for him and his men. He passed two disgruntled families, recently evicted, coming down the stairs as he ascended to his room.
Earlier, when Holt had been persuading the old guard, another had stepped out of a little hut just inside the palisade. Clearly more intelligent than his older comrade he took a moment to size matters up, their numbers, their red cloaks and Holt holding his fellow by the throat. He gave swift directions to a blacksmith and recommended the Angler’s Reach. On account, he said, of the landlord being open to making room where none existed, for the right money of course.
Zoller settled himself in his room and cursed his luck. All his cases were secured on the carriage and the liniments and lotions which may have soothed his aching thighs were packed with them. He had just the robes he was stood in and they were dusty and stained from riding.
Feeling unclean he ordered a bath and later as he lay soaking in it he thought on matters.
His immediate goal was getting to Rivercross and he had decided the best way of getting there would be by river barge. If he could get his carriage on one he would take the river down to Greenholme. There were rapids just south of Greenholme so he would have to take the road from there but barging downriver should save him a day at least.
Course plotted, Zoller lay back in the warmth of the bath and resolved to find Lord Menzies and broker passage south.
Chapter 54
: Movement
It’s strange sharing my head with someone, Nihm thought. She should be upset about it but wasn’t and that bothered her. The thing was it felt quite natural having Sai with her. She knew without Sai she would have died. Was that why she wasn’t bothered? It didn’t feel quite the right answer. She would have to think on it some more.
Thinking, Nihm had plenty of time for that. She’d always been active, always on the go. Marron always complained that she never sat still unless she had a book in her hand and they only had a handful of those.
Still, laying helpless hadn’t been so bad. Sure she was frustrated to seven hells at her incapacity, but it had actually been kind of peaceful. Playing out her memories had been strangely grounding and self-reflective. Besides she had Sai to talk to. Sai was always there when she woke. Full of strange words and sayings she didn’t understand but always listening to her, always answering her and, she realised suddenly, never judging her. That felt important somehow, made her feel at ease with herself.
It would have been hard to understand what had happened and how to deal with it without Sai. In truth she wasn’t sure how she would have coped without his steadying influence and calm demeanour.
Nihm tried to move. Her arm swung up and over as she went to roll onto her side. Pain ebbed down her spine, little more than an ache that was quickly dampened. She could feel it still, was discomforted by it, but it was a distant thing.
Grunting in effort Nihm’s left shoulder lifted from the bedding. She tried pulling her left knee up and twisting her hips. Pain washed up her body and she grimaced before flopping back down. I should be used to the pain by now, she thought.
It was so frustrating. She’d never really had to think about moving before. She just did it. Not now. Now every move required concentration and focus. Do or do not she could hear Darion telling her.
Ignoring Sai she tried again, this time bringing her knee up and arm over together. With a groan she managed to twist her hips and pivot onto her side. The pain was there through her midriff, but she waited gritting her teeth. If Sai said calibrating one more time she would… well she didn’t know what she would do… but it would not be pleasant.
Moments later the pain subsided and she smiled, right before teetering slowly over onto her face. She tensed trying to stop herself but it was too late and she rolled off the makeshift bed and onto the wagon floor, her face mashing up against the boards. Agonising jolts fired from her face, chest and abdomen where they lay against the wagon as it moved, rattling and bumping down the road. Even her knees hurt.
She lay a while waiting for the pain to subside. Lying face down on wooden boards though wasn’t a pleasant experience. Get up Nihm it isn’t that bad she cajoled herself.