Shadow (Scavenger Trilogy Book 1)

by K. J. Parker

  I’m sorry, Poldarn repeated, but I honestly don’t remember. I don’t know your name, even.

  She grinned at him unpleasantly. I like that, she said. My name’s Faleris, and we were married for seven years. We have a son, who’s five, and a daughter who’s just turned three. At least, that’s how old they were when I died. You have no way of knowing when that was, and I’m damned if I’m going to tell you. I’ll leave you to think about that in the early hours of the morning, that time when you’ve woken up and you can’t seem to be able to get back to sleep. That’ll give you something to think about other than wars and fighting and plundering, assuming you’re capable of doing that.

  He reached out a hand towards her, to see if she was real; but she seemed to melt and soak away into the ground, leaving behind nothing but a noise in his head that was somewhat like her voice. He looked directly overhead, trying to see the crow in the branches that would reassure him it was all just a dream—

  ‘I said wake up,’ Halder repeated. ‘Or we’ll go without you.’

  He sat up. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I think I fell asleep.’

  ‘You were always doing that,’ Halder told him, reaching out a hand and pulling him to his feet. ‘Leave you alone for ten minutes, come back and there you’d be, dead to the world. God only knows how anyone could sleep at a time like this, but if anybody could, it’d be you.’

  It turned out that they’d decided there was nothing for it but to walk alongside the river and look for somewhere to cross. Nobody was happy about it; the pace of the march dwindled away into a slow trudge, that of weary men with half a day’s work still to be done. No one spoke. Poldarn’s foot and arm were both hurting, but he felt he couldn’t say anything.

  Late in the afternoon they came over a blind ridge. For some reason they hadn’t sent out scouts (nobody had wanted to go), so the first they knew about the army in the valley was when they cleared the ridge and looked down at them.

  ‘Who the hell are they?’ somebody asked.

  The soldiers down below were looking up at them, plainly stunned; this wasn’t an ambush, Poldarn realised, just a chance meeting that nobody had planned. Of course, there was no reason why they should fight each other.

  ‘Well, just standing here isn’t going to do any good,’ someone said, and a moment later they were charging down the hill, sabres drawn and swung above the head, ready for the downstroke. Damn, Poldarn thought, and he started running as well so as not to be left behind. He carried on running until he crashed into something; the something turned out to be a man, one of the enemy, who’d dodged sideways to get out of the way of someone else. Both of them hit the ground and rolled; Poldarn was the first on his feet, and his bad arm screamed with pain as he swung the sabre, a fraction of a second quicker than the man he’d just collided with could snatch his sword up from the damp grass and thrust at him. Poldarn was quicker, but he botched the cut. Instead of connecting with the junction of shoulder and neck, he cut through just above the elbow joint. The man opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. It was at that moment that Poldarn recognised him, even recalling his name – Captain Muno, the man he’d rescued from the old women who were robbing the bodies, after the battle by the river; the man he’d carried back to camp, and been given a horse in exchange for.

  Captain Muno sank to his knees, his mouth still open, like a fish drowning in air. Poldarn swung again, this time getting the cut in exactly the right place; he felt the jar as the blade hacked into bone, running up his arms and filling him with pain. Muno fell forward, making the backsabre twist; Poldarn yelped and let go, but not before he felt something tearing in his bad arm. Trying to ignore it, he reached down with his other hand and picked up the sword, which wasn’t his and therefore couldn’t just be abandoned.

  He’d been left behind, of course. He tried to run, but could only hobble along behind the great, splendid surge of the raiders’ charge, like a very old, grey-nosed dog pottering along behind a cart. More than once he tripped over a dead body or a stone.

  Whoever these people were, they were fighting to the last man (ridiculous, Poldarn thought; this is an accident), as if something vital was at stake. A bunch of them had drawn back to guard a line of carts. They’d formed a circle around them, but at least a third of them were facing inwards, as if they were expecting to be attacked from both sides. Prisoners, Poldarn guessed, they’ve got prisoners in those carts and they daren’t let them get away. But he didn’t have the mental resources to spare for mere curiosity. The main thing was to get out of the way of this pointless fighting before it ruined everything. He had an unpleasant vision of his newly acquired grandfather coming in a trifle too late with his guard, or failing to notice the man immediately behind him. The way his luck had been running, for himself and everybody he’d been in contact with, he reckoned he had cause to be apprehensive.

  But he couldn’t see the old man, or Raffen or Scaptey-the-lovable-rogue. They weren’t hampered by infuriatingly inconvenient injuries, and had rushed off down the hill and merged in with the rest of the battle scene, flying back towards the trees and dissolving into the mob. For a brief moment they’d been individuals, with names and histories, but now they were part of the wave, and he couldn’t make out their faces at this distance, not even to watch them die.

  He stumbled on as best he could, but the pain in both his foot and his arm was reaching the point where he couldn’t just shove it out of his mind; it was insistent enough to control him, the way a baby’s crying controls its mother. Long before he reached the bottom of the slope and the battle, he gave in to it and sat down, letting it sweep through him simply because he couldn’t resist it any longer. This isn’t right, he thought, being separate, not being in there with them. He felt ashamed, but there was more to it than that. He felt lonely, sitting by himself on the wet ground surrounded by dead bodies; and he thought, Well, that suggests I’ve come a certain distance from the place where I woke up first. It’s probably better to belong somewhere, on balance.

  ‘There you are,’ said a voice behind him.

  He looked round. How the hell did they manage that trick of sneaking up behind him? ‘Eyvind?’ he said.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Eyvind said.

  Poldarn shook his head. ‘Did you come back just to look for me?’ he asked.

  ‘Sort of,’ Eyvind replied. ‘Actually, Halder sent me. He couldn’t see you, wondered where you’d got to.’ He smiled. ‘I guess he’s scared to let you out of his sight now he’s found you again.’

  ‘That’s nice of him,’ Poldarn said. ‘You’ll have to help me up, I’m afraid my foot’s gone useless again.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Eyvind said, pulling him up by his good arm and taking his weight across his shoulders. ‘It’s pretty well all over anyway. What we can’t figure out is why they’re making such a big deal about those carts. Must be something worth having in there, which means,’ he added with a grin, ‘that once we’ve shooed off those few, we might end up with something nice to take home with us after all. Nearly broke our hearts, having to dump the proceeds of all that hard work.’

  Poldarn shook his head. ‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ he said. ‘I have an idea it’s people in the carts, not things. Here, look; can you see the inner ring of soldiers?’

  Eyvind looked, then sighed. ‘I see what you mean,’ he said. ‘But that can’t be their own people they’re guarding.’

  ‘Prisoners,’ Poldarn replied. ‘Probably they’ve got it into their heads that we’re here to rescue them.’

  Eyvind looked thoughtful. ‘Think about it,’ he said. ‘Who would we go out of our way to rescue? Our own, of course. Maybe they’ve got some of our people down there. Survivors from the battle, maybe.’

  Poldarn frowned. ‘Unlikely,’ he said. ‘Why bring them all the way up here, north-west? I’d have thought that if they’d caught any of us, they’d either kill them out of hand or ship them off to Torcea as quickly as possible.’

>   Eyvind considered that. ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘Ship them off, by sea. Maybe they’ve got ships of their own waiting up the coast a way, and that’s where they were taking them.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Poldarn conceded, though he wasn’t convinced. ‘Anyway,’ he added, ‘it won’t matter, will it? Like you said, it’ll be all over pretty soon. Almost certainly by the time I could get there.’

  ‘Damn.’ Eyvind looked troubled. ‘That’s awkward. I think I should get down there, just in case I was right about them having some of our people, but I promised Halder I’d look after you.’ He shrugged. ‘Can’t be helped,’ he said. ‘Besides, you and I won’t be the only ones who’ve drawn that particular conclusion. Still, we’ll get down there as quickly as we can, I think. Who knows, they may manage to spin the fighting out for long enough.’

  It was a painful walk, and Eyvind’s impatience didn’t make it any easier or noticeably faster. But they got there in the end, just in time to see the circle of soldiers breached and crushed, like the man who draws a little too slowly. After that it was like watching the sea rush in through a hole in the wall: quick, efficient, rather depressing.

  ‘There’s Halder, look,’ Eyvind called out. That was a relief, though Poldarn hadn’t been thinking much about him at that particular moment. He followed the line Eyvind was showing him, and saw the top of the old man’s head; beside him he saw Raffen, so that was all right. He couldn’t see Scaptey, but he wasn’t really bothered about him.

  The fighting petered out quite quickly after that; here and there Poldarn could see rapid scuffling movement, an arm upraised for a moment as some leftover enemy was disposed of, but mostly the raiders were standing about or sitting on the ground, resting sociably for a moment or so before moving on to the next job of work that needed to be done. Two men were pulling down the tailgate of the nearest cart. The prisoners, Poldarn thought, assuming there are any, of course.

  One of the men took a step backwards and raised his sabre. ‘Hold it,’ Poldarn called out; the man hesitated and looked round to see who’d spoken. Poldarn hobbled over as quickly as he could.

  ‘There’s some more of them in there,’ the man explained. ‘I saw something move under that pile of old blankets.’

  ‘I thought there might be,’ Poldarn replied, and he explained his prisoners theory.

  ‘It’s possible,’ the man admitted. ‘All right, let’s shift the blankets and have a look. Though if it was one of us, surely he’d have called out as soon as he heard our voices.’

  Nobody else was paying them any attention; mostly they were wandering round the battlefield picking up weapons and pieces of armour, anything made of metal. Poldarn eased in front of the man he’d just been talking to, picked up a spear and used its point to flick away the blankets, revealing a man’s head. The face was familiar.

  ‘I know you,’ he said. ‘You’re Tazencius.’

  The man under the blankets sneezed, then stood up. Poldarn had been right; it was the same man he’d picked up off the road, on his first trip out for Falx Roisin. He looked very sad; there was dried mud in his hair, and he had a black eye. His left leg was tightly wrapped in cloth, with two splints to keep it straight. ‘That’s right,’ Tazencius replied. ‘What happened?’

  Poldarn frowned. ‘You tell me,’ he said.

  Tazencius sat down on the edge of the cart, his bad leg stuck out straight in front of him. ‘After the battle at Vistock, you mean?’ he said. ‘I thought you’d have figured that out for yourself. The Amathy house sold me to the imperials; no idea what the price was, I was in no position to ask.’ He frowned. ‘But you should know that,’ he said. ‘After all, if you didn’t know I’d been captured, how’d you know to rescue me?’

  Poldarn grinned. ‘What makes you think you’ve been rescued? ’ he replied.

  ‘Hey,’ asked the man who’d discovered him, ‘what are you talking about?’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Poldarn replied without turning round. ‘It so happens that this is a very important man. The emperor’s cousin, I think.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Tazencius said.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ the raider broke in. ‘You know the rules: no survivors, no witnesses. Now, are you going to deal with him, or shall I do it?’

  ‘Just hold your horses, will you?’ Poldarn said. ‘Or doesn’t the concept of ransom mean anything to you?’

  ‘The what?’ the man asked, and Poldarn realised that he’d used the imperial word for ransom, since there wasn’t an obvious equivalent in his own language. Anyway, that answered the question fairly well.

  ‘I know him,’ Poldarn said, not really sure how this was supposed to justify breaking what was presumably a cardinal rule by sparing a witness. ‘It’s all right,’ he added.

  ‘Please yourself.’ The man slid his sabre back on to his belt. ‘All yours,’ he added, then turned away, having apparently lost all interest in the matter. His colleague had already wandered away, and was trying on a dead soldier’s boots.

  ‘Thank you,’ Tazencius said. ‘I couldn’t understand what you were saying to that man, but I could guess pretty well.’

  ‘He wanted to kill you,’ Poldarn replied.

  Tazencius sighed. ‘I have an idea that puts him in with the majority of the human race. Are you in charge of these people?’

  Poldarn frowned. ‘Good God, no. They’re taking me along for the ride. Apparently, some of them are my relatives.’

  Tazencius was looking at him oddly, as though what he was saying didn’t make any sense. ‘Whatever you say,’ he replied. ‘Anyway, I owe you another favour. That makes it twice in a matter of weeks you’ve saved my skin. It’s good to know there’s someone on my side.’

  ‘Am I?’ Poldarn asked. ‘Not that it matters particularly, since I’m getting out of here. Which is what I’d do if I were you,’ he added.

  Tazencius grinned and patted his broken leg. ‘I agree with you,’ he said. ‘If you could just explain how I’m supposed to go about it—’

  ‘Your problem,’ Poldarn replied.

  For some reason Tazencius looked as if he’d expected rather more. ‘If that’s the way you want to play it, fine,’ he said. ‘Like I said, I owe you my life, and I don’t want to make things difficult for you with your friends here. The fact remains, if I’m left hobbling about the place, there’s a better than even chance I’ll get picked up by the imperials pretty quickly – or the Amathy house, which amounts to the same thing, apparently – and then everything we’ve both been working for these past few years’ll have been a waste of time and energy. I really don’t want to be a burden to you, but it’s in your interests just as much as mine. And there’s Lysalis to consider, just in case you’d forgotten. We’ve had our differences, sure, but I don’t suppose she’d be pleased if she found out you’d left her dear old dad out on the battlefield to die.’

  Poldarn thought for a moment; then he hauled himself up on to the cart and sat down opposite Tazencius. ‘I haven’t got a lot of time,’ he said. ‘They’ll be wanting to move out soon and I don’t want to be left behind. Do you know who I am?’

  Tazencius scowled at him. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he said. ‘It’s all right, there’s nobody watching. And even if there was, they can’t understand what we’re saying. Can they?’

  Poldarn leaned forward quickly and grabbed Tazencius by the throat before he could get out of the way. ‘That name you just said.’

  ‘What? Oh, you mean Lysalis. My daughter. Your wife.’

  ‘My wife,’ Poldarn repeated. ‘Prove to me that she’s my wife. Prove she even exists.’

  ‘But I don’t need to. You know . . .’ Tazencius tried to shake himself free, but Poldarn was too strong for him. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘what the hell’s come over you? Everything was going so well. First you led these people of yours into an ambush, just as we’d planned, so I’d have my victory. Then you managed to catch Cronan and kill him – and I’m really grateful to you for that, you don’t know h
ow much it means to me. And now you’ve saved me again, just like you did that other time; it’s like having my own personal guardian angel, it’s wonderful. Best thing I ever did, letting you marry Lysalis. And now you’re acting like you’ve gone mad. What’s got into you?’

  ‘Don’t you understand?’ Poldarn said. ‘I’ve forgotten everything. I can’t even remember who I am. I only know who you are because I heard someone mention your name—’

  He stopped. Tazencius was grinning. ‘Is that right?’ he said. ‘You know, I believe you. What, you can’t remember anything? Anything at all?’

  ‘No. For God’s sake, you’ve got to tell me.’

  Tazencius was laughing. ‘I don’t think so,’ he replied. ‘My God, talk about a stroke of luck,’ and as he spoke he leaned back a little, picked up a long knife that was lying on the bed of the cart, and poked Poldarn quite hard in the ribs with it. It was very quickly and neatly done. ‘Now let go,’ he said. ‘Gently, that’s right. Thank you. Now I suggest that you find a way to get me out of here. Otherwise, we’ll die together.’

  Quickly, Poldarn assessed the position. One very slight movement, and he’d be dead; it doesn’t take much to push a sharp, thin knife up under the ribcage and into the heart. ‘Why won’t you tell me who I am?’ he asked.

  Tazencius smiled maliciously. ‘Mostly,’ he said, ‘because I don’t like you very much. To be perfectly honest – and there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be, not any more – I never could stand the sight of you; the thought of you with my daughter, it’s enough to make me sick. Actually, I’m doing you a favour, because if I was you, I really wouldn’t want to know who I was, if you see what I mean. Ignorance is bliss, as the poet says. So what happened? Bash on the head, was it?’