As it turned out, the Marshes were wider than they thought; and beyond the line of trees there was only more of the same, and a wide horizon. But the disappointment was made up for by a change in the weather. The mists dispersed, the clouds showed some sign of breaking, the weather grew warmer and the wind fresher. And best of all, throughout all the flat land they could see, there was no sign of pursuit. Another day, and they found the land changing beneath them as they walked, from morn to evening. The streamlets spread less, and ran in clearer channels; the pools ran deeper, and the reeds and sedges grew chiefly around their margins. The bushes became thicker, and the trees taller, the stands thicker and less windswept. Patches of blue sky appeared, and a bright sun eased their aches and pains, as warm as a gentle Northland summer. Breezes brought them strange scents and odours, and the flowers that grew up around their feet were often new to them, bigger and brighter. Here and there berries grew, and Gille brought down another goose. They roasted it over a real wood fire that evening, among a stand of strange trees, and used the fat on their feet once again. They were almost out of bread, but that hardly worried them now. This looked like a kindly land, and they could surely make shift to live until they found some help. Their news about the corsairs should ensure them a welcome, at least.
They dozed off around the fire, exhausted as they were; nobody could blame another. But it was nearly the end of them, for that. It was Kunrad who rose first the next morning at first light, and found the fire still alight but low, and the smoke from an over-green branch coiling up through the leaves to catch the first sun. Biting his lip, he turned and stared back along the way they had come. Then he prodded Olvar awake, and pointed; and Olvar’s face confirmed his own fears. Gille rose sleepily, then sprang up in his turn, kicking out the fire and trampling the embers. With hardly a word spoken they gathered up their ragged gear. The specks on the horizon looked remote and tiny, but they were hardly a league distant, and they were moving with a purpose. They would have seen that smoke. They were coming.
The three smiths did not bother to look back again. They shouldered their gear and limped on, for the last stage of the race they thought to have won. They turned away under the trees, and towards the sunrise.
CHAPTER SIX
The Hill of the Winds
BEFORE LONG, THOUGH, THEY realised that the reeds were growing thicker again, yet only to the left side. The ground to the right was firmer. Trees grew in taller, closer thickets, and between them wide grass-meadows that no beast grazed. Towards the middle of the day, Olvar pointed towards the horizon, where Kunrad could make out only a blue line, and Gille little at all. ‘Mountains!’ he said. ‘Hills, anyway, but with peaks behind them, or I’m a bat!’
‘I can just see you hanging in the eaves!’ said Gille. ‘All right, they’re mountains. The Shield-Range?’
‘I’d guess so, from the maps,’ said Kunrad. ‘And that fits the lie of the land. We’re a long way inland, lads. Somewhere off to our left over there must be the great river that feeds the Marshes. But we’re out of them.’ He drew a deep breath of the clean air, and half laughed, unable to quite believe it. ‘Really out, at long last. This is the Southlands! And out of the corsairs’ grip.’
‘Splendid!’ said Gille heavily. ‘But don’t tell me – tell them!’
The figures were coming on less swiftly than he had feared, but they moved like hunters close on the trail. Probably they had not seen the fugitives yet, but they would have found their tracks even without the smoke, for there had been no way to hide them in the marsh. ‘Any more than there is in this soft ground!’ said Kunrad irritably. He looked around.’If we make for the trees over there, we might lose ’em in the brush. Or find enough cover to let us thin out the odds a bit with our bows.’
Olvar looked at him quizzically. ‘Getting good at this kind of thing, aren’t you?’
Kunrad glared at him. ‘Just trying to keep my promises, that’s all! Are you feeling strong enough to run a bit?’
Olvar grinned. ‘Those geese didn’t die in vain. All I have to do is imagine a loaf of fresh-baked bread out there, and—’
He was off at his stumping trot. Gille grinned as they fell in behind him. ‘Now, I – well, you can guess, I suppose. But what makes you run, revered Mastersmith?’
Kunrad was taken aback. ‘I … Well, the armour – I suppose – yes, of course, the armour! Surely!’
‘You don’t sound too sure!’ puffed Gille, grabbing his bouncing pack. ‘And I don’t think so! Sure, Olvar wants his dinner, I want anyone female, under thirty and still alive, and I’ll stretch a point or two! But that armour’s just an obsession, you’d be rid of it if you could!’ The young man’s intelligent eyes scanned Kunrad intently. ‘So what do you really want?’
‘I want?’ Kunrad’s feet pounded the meadow stalks, and clouds of weed seeds flew about his boots, like his thoughts flying out on the wind. ‘I want my home back, my forge, my town! The green, and the gate, and the tower, and the sun over my bed in the morning, the starry evenings, the young folk walking out and the old women gossiping, the Guildhall, the pale roads and the mountains at the edge of the world! I want my old life, my old certainties – Damn you, boy!’
‘Sorry, master!’ muttered Gille, astonished at the strength of the reaction. Kunrad sped on ahead, past him, past Olvar, fleeing for the forest’s rim. It was not only the hunt he ran from.
When they caught up with him he was pale and composed, already scouting out likely paths. It was an old oak-wood of a kind they had never seen in the North, its trunks so huge and gnarled they might have stood here since before the Ice came. Over their heads the leaves spread in one great interlacing canopy, and little enough grew beneath its shadow save light bushes and low groundweeds. A rich leafmould carpet, still light brown in patches from the previous autumn, whispered and rustled where small things ran, and the living leaves sighed like the sea.
‘Less shelter than I hoped!’ he said. ‘We’ve got to get deeper in!’ He glanced back, and was shocked. ‘Are they really that much closer, Olvar?’
The big man squinted. ‘’Fraid so! Looks like they’ve got horses, a couple of them! Maybe eighteen, twenty of the bastards, all told!’
Gille groaned. ‘Well, what’re we waiting for?’
They ran, and the leafmould muffled their footsteps; but it soon became clear that Olvar was weakening. Gille was already weary, and Kunrad, though he still had strength, knew he would soon falter. And it seemed to him that through the roaring in his ears he already heard hooves, and a horse whinnying. ‘Just through that brake ahead there!’ he panted. ‘We’ll make a stand in the next bushes and pick ’em off as they come through!’
It was the best he could think of; but against twenty men, two mounted, it was hardly likely to be enough. Two shots each, at best, before it was hand-to-hand. Death, probably, or killing slavery; almost as bad if they did somehow survive. Blood, either way. Getting good at such things? He couldn’t think of a word foul enough. He’d never wanted anything less.
‘They’re not moving too fast, either!’ wheezed Olvar, fighting to talk. ‘Look as ragged as we!’
That was something; but Kunrad did not bother to look for himself. Here was the brake, a leap would carry him through.
He stopped dead; and as the others came through, they too stared at what they saw. A hundred strides ahead of them the forest opened to the sun once again, a wide clearing framed for them by two old oaks. Through its centre ran a wide open space where grass and brush were trodden low. Not a well-used road, maybe, but a road nonetheless. And it was in use now, for horses were pacing slowly along it, huge ridden horses, ten or fifteen maybe, gathered around two heavy carts of some kind, drawn by even larger teams. Armour gleamed in the sunshine, on horse and rider, mail and tall helms of a kind they knew only from books, an old Southland pattern. The spear-points above their heads flashed a warning as they sank quickly to the defence.
‘Help!’ Kunrad shouted, and stumbled
down towards the road. No reason to hesitate. Whatever these sothrans were like, they had to be better than what was on their heels.
‘Help us!’ added Gille. ‘We’ve escaped from corsairs! And they’re chasing us!’
A tall rider wheeled his horse, staring down at them. His face looked hard and weathered as the old oaks around, his nose badly broken and his chin jutting. White eyebrows bushed out beneath the coif of his mail, shadowing cold grey eyes. ‘Northerners, anyway, by your tongues! Escaped, you say?’
‘Yes,’ panted Kunrad, falling to his knees. ‘Across the Marshes!’
‘Across the Marshes?’ Another horse turned to them; but this was a woman’s voice, very clear and very doubtful. ‘On foot?’
Gille, of course, responded. ‘Yes! They kept us, we’re smiths, and we escaped!’
The older man frowned, and his mouth twisted. ‘That’s as may be. But if they’re on your heels, I can’t help you!’
‘Captain!’ exclaimed the woman. She was wearing some kind of breeches, Kunrad saw, and riding like a man.
The captain shook his head firmly. ‘No, my lady! I’ll not risk my care and duty for any man. More than my honour’s worth, and my head too! Ride on, fast!’
‘Stay!’ snapped the woman. ‘Is it honourable to run?’
‘My lady, my lady!’ croaked a voice from one of the carts – or carriages, rather, Kunrad realised, such as rich merchants and their wives used sometimes in the North. These, though, looked a good deal heavier and richer. The voice was an old woman’s. ‘Never be risking yourself, my dear! What would the poor Lord Warden say? And your father?’
‘Never you worry, Nanny!’ The woman’s voice softened considerably, but the next moment it was steel again. ‘Captain, I place these men under my protection and I order you to defend us and them!’
The older man drew a deep breath. But just then, with a loud crashing and a shout that faltered, the corsairs burst through the trees.
They looked haggard and fell, hardly used by the Marshes, perhaps; but they were fresher and fiercer, and their faces twisted with savage satisfaction as they saw their quarry. Kunrad recognised the mounted leader from the crew that had captured them, and the man also gave a fierce half-laugh, half-gasp of recognition.
‘Well! There’s neatly taken for you!’ He weighed up the other party, the carriages, the woman. ‘No need you should fear for yourselves, good folk! We’ve no quarrel with you – only with these here runagate slaves! Leave ’em to us, and you may go your way in peace!’
He had chosen the wrong line with the captain. The older man’s face seemed to swell, and purple rose in his cheeks. ‘And just who in Raven’s name d’you think you are to be telling us what we may and may not do? Who’re you to give us leave?’
‘A stronger bunch than yours, Grandpa!’ rapped the corsair. ‘So you just fuck along off and look to your precious lordlings! Or we’ll add them to the bag and your head for a makeweight, savvy?’
‘My lady!’ came the creaking voice from within the cart. ‘Take care! Take care, leave these awful people while you can!’
The corsairs laughed. ‘Better listen!’ they jeered. ‘While you’ve ears!’
‘Only one hand rules here, and one justice!’ rasped the captain. He jerked his head, and the escort wheeled over to his side, forming a line in front of the carriages. ‘I command you, lay down your arms and submit, in the name of the Lord Kermorvan!’
That name made Kunrad look around, and startled the corsairs also, momentarily. But the leader angrily waved his men forward. ‘Take ’em!’
The captain drew his sword. Kunrad sprang up and drew his also, and the captain shot him a surprised glance. The inlaid metals flamed in the southern sun. Olvar drew his, the spears dipped and as the corsairs sprang forward Gille’s bow leaped to his shoulder. The first man saw it and tried to duck. The bolt sang and took him in the throat, the two behind fell over him, and then the line was upon them.
Gille fired again and missed, then parried a corsair sword with the stock, slammed the man in the face and jumped back to draw his own sword. Olvar felled another with a great slash, and found himself hewing at a man his own size. Kunrad crossed blades with a first-comer, but as he parried one of the spearmen thrust over his shoulder and stabbed the corsair in the breast. The man behind closed with Kunrad, the other corsairs were among the horses, slashing wildly about to make them scatter, and a fearful mill developed. There was no room for proper swordplay; Kunrad knocked down his man by main force and drove his sword down through the corsair’s mail with both hands and killing weight. Olvar bounded by him, slashing wildly, scattering friend and foe alike as he backed off from his opponent. Kunrad ducked and glimpsed Gille briefly, rolling in the dust with his adversary among the steel-shod hooves; then one of the horses collided with him as it wheeled, sending him staggering. Its rider, dragged from his saddle, crashed down on the other side, and two corsairs fell upon him, their slashes landing with harsh dull thumps.
Kunrad had been thrown back out of the ruck; and the mounted corsairs, circling it, saw him and spurred forward. The leader was on top of him, waving a great clumsy sabre overarm, like a mill-sail. Kunrad dived aside, only to find himself sprawling helpless in the path of the other, who jabbed down a short heavy hunting spear as if sticking a pig. Kunrad had scarcely enough time to panic; the moment the spear struck the earth at his side was the same that the other spear, with a sickening thump, took the corsair in the stomach. The shaft bent, snapped, and he lolled in the saddle a moment, then, as his horse bolted, toppled sideways into a bush. The other rider threw the bloody truncheon after him, then checked as Kunrad scrambled up. He stared, startled. It was the woman. Her eyes widened, and she yelled, ‘Look out!’
The corsair leader had reined in and was wheeling back, swinging that sword again. Kunrad jumped into his path.
Years before a customer had shown him a trick he had thought he would never need in earnest. He held his place, braced lightly on his toes, and as the corsair bore down on him he shifted his balance suddenly, and pivoted aside on one foot. A searing cramp in his tired legs almost betrayed him, but he was swift enough to escape the cut and aim his own blow as the horseman plunged by. There was a thump, heat sprayed his hand and the corsair screamed shrilly. His great sword wheeled into the bushes, still held in half his lower arm. Then the scream was cut off as the captain, riding to the woman’s side, hewed him from his saddle. The other corsair, clutching the spearshaft, staggered to his feet. Another rider slashed at his back, a sickening sight Kunrad turned from, only to see that all was already over. Most of the corsairs lay stretched out across the road in streaks of dusty blood, while the mailed riders cantered this way and that, cutting off the last few wounded stragglers. Screams, groans, frantic pleas they ignored; the spearheads pinned them to earth, lifted and passed on.
Two riders also lay still; and Kunrad looked anxiously around for the prentices. They were seeking him, Olvar with a few cuts and Gille with a nosebleed and a chewed ear – literally, he said. ‘One of the spearmen got him, lifted him up six feet with the thump. No more trouble. Olvar wounded his man, and then they got that one too.’
‘Two spears as he stood, left and right. Dead before he fell – catmeat!’ grunted the prentice. ‘Strong lad, too. But these sothrans don’t mess about, eh?’
‘No,’ said Kunrad thoughtfully, ‘they don’t. They’re formidable warriors. If they’re all like these, it’s one more reason not to have a war. If we needed one!’
The captain reined in before the woman. ‘Your orders are carried out, lady. All eighteen dead, and two of my men. Are you satisfied, then? You should not have exposed yourself to danger, and endangered my trust when your orders prevented me—’
She cut him off. ‘Yes, captain! I’m sorry, but there was nothing else to be done. There was a gap, and one of the fugitives in danger. You’ve done very well, all of you. Two dead, you said?’
‘Two, alas; and one slashed in the leg
, so he may never ride again.’
‘He and their families will be taken care of,’ said the woman wearily. She turned and smiled at the Northerners. Kunrad saw in some surprise that she was quite young – no! Really young, and quite striking, if you liked this sothran pale skin and flame-coloured hair. He rather felt he did. ‘And these men did bravely enough, also, for their weakness.’
The captain nodded. ‘That they did. They’re finely armed, too. Did you take those blades from the corsairs, man?’
Kunrad laughed, a little hysterically. ‘No! We made them – for the corsairs, as they thought, who greedily supplied us the makings.’ That raised a general chuckle, and he gathered his wits. ‘I should present myself, captain and lady, and offer my thanks to you all. I am Kunrad of Athalby, Mastersmith of the Northlands, and these my prentices Olvar and Gille. I apologise for setting you all at risk, but there was naught else we could do. You have saved our lives, and we are under great obligation to you.’
‘Mastersmith, eh?’ commented the captain. ‘You fight well, for tradesmen. But as to obligation, you’ll needs account for your presence here—’
‘Later, captain!’ said the woman. ‘They need rest, and we have a road ahead. They have a tale to tell, I think, and they can explain to the Marchwarden when they are recovered.’
Kunrad bowed deeply. ‘Happily, lady. And I have some tidings which may save lives, to compensate for those spent in defending ours. The presence of a really powerful corsair fortress deep in the Marshes, and its ambitions to move against the world beyond.’
The captain was suddenly alert. ‘And that you’ve escaped from? So your father was right, lady! That’ll be news for the Lord Warden, and a half!’
The Castle of the Winds Page 19
