‘So be it. I am sorry, my brother, but they cannot bring fire to my realm.’
Riark thought of death and he became it. He felt the living pulse of the Mother Tree and turned its sap to poison even as it flowed. He decayed the bark, rotted the wood and caused the branches to break. With that, Ashrider fell silent and diminished. Riark could barely stand the loss, but he remembered how many saplings had died in the shadow of his own Mother Tree’s growing branches. He stepped out of what had been the Mother Tree as the last of the life left her. Her trunk split up the middle and her roots hitched up, causing her to ride high. All moisture within her turned to steam, and she toppled against her daughters amidst an ever thickening fog emitting from within her. The wood creaked, cracked and finally sighed.
All was silent – even the axes of the coming men had ceased to chop, disturbed by the sound of Ashrider’s frenzied run. Riark allowed his eyes to fade into the surface of his face and unseeing, he stood with his head hanging. He mourned the Mother Tree, and he lamented the passing of Ashrider.
After a time it began to rain, and the moisture soaking into him broke his reverie. He turned to face Nayr, but she was gone.
Riark set out in search of the next Mother Tree in the humans’ path.
Chapter Four
The site of the Field of the Scarlet Grass had been farmland in the days before Awgren came to power; insignificant lowlands that stretched out between encircling mountain ranges not far north of Tayne’s second city; Brodack.
Over the centuries a tenuous peace had been established between Tayne in the south and two other countries, Crinan and Culrain. The northern borders of Tayne were marked by the river Kenna which flowed southwest from the mountains and the river Marsh which flowed southeast. Crinan was to the northwest of the Kenna and Culrain to the northeast of the Marsh. These three kingdoms flourished and their houses traded across the rivers.
Parties from Crinan traversed the lakes in the north of their country and crossed the Blade Mountains. They established the Hinterland in the bare lands between Crinan and Culrain’s northern borders and the forest. The province prospered in its own fashion although it was never considered as more than a frontier between three mountain ranges, most densely populated at the point where the Whiteflow emerged from the Impassable Forest. The trees engulfed the narrowing continent for thousands of miles northward, filling it from west to east. Many considered it impenetrable, so thick were the trees, and so few expeditions ever attempted to cross it. None succeeded.
The nations were strong by sea, and outposts were established to the north of the forest by those who sailed the treacherous coast towards where the air grew bitter, worse even than the climate of the Hinterland.
Sudden war arose from the Wastes which lay to the east of the Hinterland and the north of Culrain. A cult grew up around a figure known as Awgren, and raids along the border with Culrain led to all-out conflict. King Cormac, the ruler of the largest and strongest of the countries, Culrain, sent his armies north into the Wastes, but none returned; at least none who returned were recognisable. This was the beginning of the time of the Devising, when evil began to spill from the Wastes and march south. The forces left to hold Culrain could not match their foe’s numbers, and before a year had passed, the country had fallen under Awgren’s command. No living person in Tayne, Culrain, Crinan or the Hinterland had ever seen him, but rumour had it that he stood some twenty-feet tall with the upper body of a man, a featureless face and the tail of a giant snake.
Tayne fortified the border along the Marsh and so in the spirit of mutual defence, armies from Crinan left their own country and reinforced their neighbour’s positions, confident that their kin in the Hinterland could prevent Awgren’s westward progress, preventing their encirclement.
But in the north the thegns of the Hinterland sent envoys into the Wastes to sue for peace, acutely aware of their proximity to him and their lack of resources.
Battle came to the banks of the Marsh and a long stalemate ensued, but then came the great betrayal.
Creatures of the Devising were given safe passage across the Hinterland on the condition that the lands remained untouched; for the thegns had heard that Culrain had been razed. Awgren’s forces swept over the northern defences of Crinan and the country was overrun, as were the few troops posted in reserve along the Kenna.
Ere long, Crinan and northern Tayne too had been razed, and King Abernath of Tayne retreated southward from Brodack while the way was still open. Week after week the few survivors of the Taynish and Crinish armies, along with refuges from Culrain, marched day and night, all the time attacked at the rear.
At the southernmost shore of Tayne, the Arduan Peninsula stretched southwest; a fang of land piercing a churning sea. The approach to the peninsula was known as the Maw; unforgiving rock flanked by high mountain jaws that followed the coasts as the land narrowed towards the point where the mainland joined the peninsula.
Making a fighting retreat, the humans retreated through the Maw until they could see the Maw Keep, with its curtain-wall spanning the gap between the mountains. Here was their last hope for survival, or so Abernath believed. The entire Arduan Peninsula was surrounded by a wall as deep as it was high, a work so great in its undertaking and construction, so driven by paranoia, that it was thought it had taken hundreds of years to complete. The name of whoever had first conceived of it had long been forgotten. This fortress city was simply known as the Folly. Its great gate was dwarfed by spurs of the main wall and the sheer flanks of the mountains. Once the beaten force was inside, the enemy was foiled.
From the Folly, King Abernath and his people hunkered down, looked to their walls and set about recovering. The fleets of Crinan, Tayne and Culrain gradually gathered at the Folly unopposed, as Awgren never took to the seas, inexpert at all things which required skill and craft.
King Abernath sat upon his throne high up in the Maw Keep from where he could only look on helpless as the Devised burned the continent. He set about uniting the remnants of mankind. Though there were some survivors of the royal lines of both Crinan and Culrain, Abernath’s claim to their thrones was the greater, as all of the great houses had inter-married to secure peace. However, he appointed lords from among the survivors and tasked them with establishing strong colonies on the continent north of the Impassable Forest and in the islands away to the west. The lords of Culrain abandoned the Folly to make their new home on the rocky, pine-covered mountains of the Isles while the lords of Crinan sailed for the north of the continent.
In the coming months, the Lord of the Isles took up his seat on Long Isle and began to build simple but effective strongholds from the trees that grew there. Gone were the days of quarrying and elaborate architecture. The Islanders, as they became known, lived simply and trained hard in preparation for renewed offences on the old continent. Clans formed on the various islands, led by hunters and warriors.
The Crinish voyage did not fare well and many of their ships foundered on the shoals near to the southernmost bay of the lands north of the forest. So many bodies washed up on that shore that it became known as Strewn Men Bay. The straggling vessels that avoided such a fate learned from their speedier counterparts’ mistakes, avoiding the shoals. They made it ashore and established what was to become the strongest province in the lands north of the Impassable Forest. At first the land was named Stragglers’ Drift in the mockery of the lords of the Folly, but the Crinish exiles took the name for their own and their highest lord took up his seat in the new city of Stragglers’ End. The Stragglers, as the Crinish became known, set about finding resources and unlike the Islanders, they once more quarried and sought for deeper resource so that in time they became strong and the most numerous of the Combined People.
At Oystercatcher Bay on the northwest coast of what had been Crinan, a palisade was constructed and manned so that raiders might land there. The same was achieved in Culrain. Long they were under siege, but well supplied. Yet the Folly was the o
nly true foothold on the Old Continent, which burned far and wide.
Of the lands south of the forest, the Hinterland alone remained unscathed and though the people therein always feared the day when Awgren would renege on his word and the thegns long mused upon the wisdom of their betrayal, it prospered under occupation.
The Combined People started again, readying themselves for a time when they could return.
Many centuries passed and the Combined People triumphed over their new lands, but never did they cease from raiding the coasts of the Old Continent. However, it was only in the time of Queen Cathryn that strength of arms and leadership allowed for ground to be gained.
In her youth, Queen Cathryn was courted by Lord Aldwyn, descended from the houses of both Tayne and Culrain, yet he was injured in battle and could no longer sire children. Despite her affection for him, Queen Cathryn turned him away and wed Lachlan, the Lord of the Isles who was considered the mightiest of all the warriors of the Combined People. He came to live in the Maw Keep, and together they assembled an army at the Folly which, when the time came, burst forth from the Maw Gate to retake Tayne. Lord Lachlan’s brother, Hadwyn and his general, Belman, made incursions on the south coast of Culrain and Lord Linwood of Stragglers’ End landed with an army on the west coast of Crinan, accompanied by the fearsome heavy cavalry that would later break Awgren’s army.
Gradually a hard won victory drew near until upon the plains of Tayne, north of the ruined city of Brodack, the battle of the Field of the Scarlet Grass began. The Combined People trapped Awgren and his grand army then crushed them, as has already been told.
When Morrick awoke, he did not know what had happened to him. He was warm and wrapped in blankets, lying upon a cot. His head ached, and when he reached up, his fingertips touched damp material, bound tightly around his head. Bands of muscle encasing his torso cried out at him as he attempted to push up on his hands to look round. At first, he sagged in compliance, but exerted effort again and turned on the cot. He was in a tent not dissimilar to his own crushed affair, but directly beside him another three cots were crammed together, and another ran across their ends horizontally. Each bore their own wounded man in various states of bandaging and consciousness. Morrick sat and looked for anyone he recognised; he knew every one of them.
At least four of us have survived then.
But where was he?
He tried to call out, but his throat was dry, and he sputtered dust on his first attempt.
‘In here,’ he called, hoarse but audible.
A hand drew back the tent flap, and a face came into view.
‘Back with us, Sergeant?’ The man grinned. Morrick felt a little guilty for not remembering the man's name. But then, there was the head wound.
‘Just about. Get me off here. What's happening out there?’ His whole body seemed to strain in anticipation of the news. He could feel his heart palpitating, whether the sensation was real or imagined.
Were they free?
The man ducked inside, and Morrick was surprised to see him out of his red tunic and, worse, out of armour. The lad caught the look and the frown.
‘Uniforms and armour all gone, Sarge,’ he said as he shifted the bunk from the end of Morrick’s bed.
‘Tell me,’ said Morrick as he managed to shuffle down to meet him. He sat at the end, his head still swimming. The lad looked back at him. He seemed to be searching for something to say.
‘Take a breath and start from the beginning. Where are we?’
‘A camp - with what’s left of the regiment.’
Morrick struggled to restrain his temper at the boy’s inarticulateness.
‘You said they took our uniform and armour. Who? Are we prisoners?’ he said, softly and slowly. The boy was about to speak, but suddenly Morrick started and looked about him. As quickly as he lost his composure he seemed to regain it. The boy raised both eyebrows, seeming expectant of an explanation.
‘It’s nothing. Just lost my bloody axe, is all; the one thing I’d managed to keep hold of throughout the whole damn campaign. Last bit of home.’ He forced a one-sided smile.
‘Oh well, it’s gone now. Go on, boy. Tell me.’
The boy squatted and sat at the foot of the other bunk.
‘We held off the cavalry, but when their infantry moved up…’
Morrick did not need telling. The long pikes were effective against horses but unwieldy hand-to-hand. Short swords and daggers were all that his men had carried.
‘The officers led a charge. All dead. Someone gave the order to surrender and throw down weapons.’
Smart man, thought Morrick. It’s really over then.
‘They rounded us up and had us set up a camp. There’s a guarded palisade fencing us in now. That’s all I know.’
Morrick nodded.
‘How many are left? Who’s in command?’
‘About fifty.’
‘Fifty?’ Morrick shot back at him.
The boy nodded. Morrick looked at his feet as anger rose in him. He fought it. A year ago, nigh on a thousand men had been force-marched out of the Hinterland by Awgren’s Devised to combat the threat in the south. Cathryn’s army had broken out of the Folly, fighting through the wastelands of the Maw and northwards onto the razed plains of Tayne. Morrick had heard word that as Devised forces were drawn away from the coasts to fight the main column, more of the Combined People had landed on the shores of Crinan and Culrain.
‘What about the Creatures of the Devising?’
‘Hard to say. Most of the Devised were brought down by Linwood’s heavy cavalry. Hordes of footmen were trampled or slain. Thousands survived though and, who’d have thought it, one of their generals ordered them to throw down.’
‘The Devised surrendered?’ asked Morrick.
This was unthinkable. They were mindless and evil to the core, or so he had been taught to believe. They surely had no sense of self-preservation; no higher cognition beyond base animal drives?
‘I know it’s hard to believe, but I saw it with my own eyes. They’re in another camp a short distance from here. The word is that they’re suing for peace, offering to work for the queen.’
Morrick simply stared at the boy.
‘Cathryn is considering working with the Creatures of the Devising?’ he whispered. He felt as though all his hopes had come to nothing, were it true. Liberation was near at hand for the Hinterland. The lords of the Combined People had overthrown Awgren and had an opportunity to cast their light across the lands, banishing evil forever… and the queen was considering this?
‘What else can they do? There are thousands of them,’ said the boy.
It was a fair question.
Morrick got to his feet.
‘That’s enough to be going on with. Who’s senior in the regiment?’
‘You are, Sarge.’
Morrick nodded, but did not look back again as he made for the entrance to the tent.
‘Come with me lad, and find something to write on.’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
‘We’re going to take a census. Write our names at the top and meet me outside in five minutes.’
The boy scuttled off, and Morrick followed him out, ducking under the tent flaps. The sun was low in the western sky and puddles of pink cloud stretched out above the horizon. The tents were spread out in a haphazard fashion with the occasional clearing in-between, where campfires blazed and cooking pots hung on their cast iron tripods. There seemed to be no order to the layout. Morrick was still musing on this when the boy reappeared and handed him a piece of parchment. Morrick checked it to remind himself of the boy’s name and then smiled up at him.
‘Right, Varney, let’s muster the men. What’s the biggest space available?’
They picked their way over the guide ropes that formed webs across the ground of the narrow, winding passageways between the tents. Once they had found the clearing, Morrick hollered.
‘Muster! On me! Muster.’
He turned
to Varney.
‘Make the rounds and muster the men, Pikeman.’
‘Yes, Sarge,’ the boy replied and set off at a jog.
Morrick settled on a log next to the clearing’s campfire and passed the time of day with the men there whilst the others began to congregate. Soon enough everyone was present, excluding the injured, and Morrick got to his feet.
‘All right, listen up. Those of you who know me will be glad to hear, I’m back on my feet; those of you who don’t know me… ask the rest if I’m right about that!’
Some muffled laughter rippled around the circle, but not as much as he had expected. Faces ordinarily sullen at musters were looking at him with something approximating kind regard. Little did he know that his attempt to save his men during the final battle had become something of a minor legend with the remains of the regiment.
‘So,’ Morrick continued, ‘what do we know about what’s going on? Anyone spoken to someone in charge from the other side?’
A general murmur was the only reply until one man called out,
‘Only when they bring the food. And there are a few guards who’ll talk around the fence.’
‘All right – any of them said anything interesting?’
There were a few snippets of information, but as expected, the rank-and-file of the Combined People’s army knew little more of the broader strokes of battle than did those of Awgren’s.
‘How often do they bring the food and how are you dividing it up?’
Silence.
‘I see. Free-for-all?’
Some nods and the murmur again.
Morrick coughed and his hand fell to where the head of his axe should have hung at his belt. He tucked his hair behind his ears instead.
‘Listen up. I’m going to be frank with you, lads, and I want a frank reply. Understood?’
Silence.
‘Understood?’ he called, a little louder looking around the circle of men.
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