He shrugged his shoulders and gave a wry grin. “Remembering is good. Here comes your friend.”
Rachael had taken the time to tidy her clothes and braid her hair more tightly, reminding Anneke this was a woman beautiful enough to turn heads in any company.
“I’m ready,” she said and turned deliberately to the charcoal burner. “I am in your debt. Thank you.”
“The ugly duckling no longer.” He was grinning at Rachael. “Don’t go too close to the others or I’ll get no work done this day.”
Anneke helped herself to as much food as they could carry comfortably and she gave half to Rachael. “We’d best be going,” she said and then, to the man, “be very careful near sundown. There are smugglers coming and soldiers following.”
“We will,” the man said, “Be on your way.”
Anneke led out, Rachael falling in behind her. At the edge of the clearing, she glanced back briefly but the charcoal burner had returned to his work.
* * * *
Kamran’s raised hand halted the progress of his men and they already feared him enough to remain silent when his closed fist summoned the company non-coms to his side. He smiled at the purposeful shuffle that aligned each company facing outwards in a defensive ring. They were learning.
The company sergeants, formerly his best corporals, gathered around. “We’ve fallen in behind a group of smugglers, probably half our number.” None argued, his time with the mountain tribes had given him a legendary reputation as a tracker, even if he knew himself to be an amateur compared to the missing scouts. “They’re under an hour ahead of us and must be heading for a rendezvous to be traveling by day. Give me two of your best woodsmen each and follow the trail I mark. Enforce absolute noise discipline; remind your men how tough the smugglers will be if we don’t take them by surprise. They have captives. I’ve seen their tracks. Our quarry may be among them. Do you understand my instructions?”
Nods all round. He’d trained these men personally. Provided he made allowances for the raw material swept up by the levy, he could depend on them.
“Good. Go back, and select the two men I need, and be prepared to move out in sequence, ten yards separation. The lead company will deploy scouts and the last company a rear-guard. Keep the archers in between. I’ll use your men as a tail; keep station on the last one.” He could depend on them not losing the trail in this type of country. He had to keep visual contact through a line of men between him and the lead company.
An hour later, he’d closed up within a hundred yards of the smugglers and caught glimpses of the captives. Hooded, linked by rope in a crude coffle, wrists bound in front of them, there were eight, possibly nine. Two were tall enough to be Red, but the hoods hid their hair and the rear-guard group of smugglers obscured their footprints wherever possible. The whole group bunched up as if they were about to leave the forest trail, probably to some nearby rendezvous, and their scouts were active.
Time to halt his men.
The first link in his chain of men watched from the concealment of a large bush and Kamran used hand signals to halt and laager the companies, ending with two fingers in front of his eyes and the circling of his right index finger. The first linking man signaled his understanding and sank to his haunches, waiting for the next man in the chain to join him and pass the instructions back along the line. He’d wait in concealment while Kamran reconnoitered the situation.
Satisfied with his arrangements, he moved forward cautiously. He still heard the mutter of voices, their noise discipline was atrocious, and it seemed to peak, suggesting someone was passing orders the rest felt compelled to discuss. A good indication they’d reached their turnoff. A dozen more yards and he could see them.
A handful of men created a false trail beyond the turnoff, suggesting they’d leave watchers, perhaps even an ambush for a small party, while a dozen others concealed all evidence of the main party’s diversion to the north. Kamran sank to the ground, disappearing into a stand of tall grass flourishing in the dappled light from a gap in the canopy high above him. A small gap created by a straggling stand of saplings at its edge gave him a clear view of the area.
He watched the two groups finish their tasks and fade into the forest. The rendezvous had to be a cave because the ground rose steeply a hundred yards back on that side with the tree line visible through gaps in the trees. He’d not heard of it before, but this area was off the beaten track. Now he must wait until the sentries grew tired, or betrayed themselves with movement. He must know where they hid before making his next move.
The sound of a scuffle came clearly before a woman’s voice screamed in rage, making Kamran swear under his breath as the sound ended abruptly. There was no mistaking the tone of a High Born. Whoever she was, she just signed her own death warrant and that of every smuggler. The man behind him could not have missed the sound, nor failed to recognize it. Kamran was now committed to attacking the smugglers. If he didn’t, someone would be bound to talk when they returned and sign his death warrant.
Damn the High Born.
They were all the same, the males enforced droit du seigneur on the peasant brides and the women took strong peasant men to their beds. In this case, one of them had been playing the role of a rustic, probably meeting her chosen peasant in a forest glade when she encountered the smugglers. Taken by surprise, bound and gagged with a thick stick jammed between her teeth before she could speak—smugglers knew how to keep their captives quiet on the move—she’d obviously worked it free and now she’d soon be dead. The smugglers knew the penalty for taking a High Born. They’d kill her quickly and hide the body.
Still, she wouldn’t have died entirely in vain all the sentries came out of hiding and stood on the trail, discussing the matter in hushed tones, aware that every one of them was living on borrowed time. They couldn’t hide the death of a High Born. There were too few of them.
Kamran waited until all the sentries returned to their posts and then slid backwards to his link man. “I’m going in to reconnoiter the camp. Pass the word back. As soon as I return, we’ll attack.”
“That was a High Born,” the man whispered, eyes round in amazement.
“I know,” Kamran said. “Repeat my instructions.”
“You’re going in to reconnoiter the smuggler’s camp and will lead the attack when you return.”
“Good. It’s our only chance to save her,” Kamran lied. “She’s still alive.”
The man nodded emphatically. He couldn’t imagine anyone killing a High Born. Peasant mothers still boasted their eldest sons came from the first night under jus primae noctis, the High Born’s right to the brides’ first night. Kamran watched him slide away to pass on the message and nodded grimly. He must keep everyone believing they could save the High Born. The least whisper of the truth and they’d all dance on air for not attacking immediately.
He waited until the man returned and nodded confirmation before slipping away to the right. He’d circle wide to the base of the slope and work his way toward where he thought the camp must be. The more he knew, the safer the attack would be.
His sword was a nuisance, so he shifted the belt until it lay down the middle of his back. If he had to use it, he’d fail.
Chapter Three
Rachael woke groggily when Anneke returned. The Alliance agent had stepped off the trail quite abruptly and waved Rachael into the concealment of a thick stand of trees. “Wait here. I heard something. Rest if you can,” she said, and disappeared, leaving Rachael struggling to stay awake. She failed, for the angle of the shadows had changed significantly.
“We can go. They’ve passed.” Anneke seemed amused by something. “We have a little more time now. I’ve found us a good hidey hole and we’ll have an early night.”
Rachael nodded gratefully, her feet leaden as she followed Anneke away from the trail toward a monolith of rock thrust upwards through the forest floor to create an area clear of trees. Dense shrubbery surrounded its base, taking advantage
of the light piercing the canopy and Anneke headed toward the thickest clump.
“Careful, it’s full of thorns. Lay down. I’ve cleared a tunnel by tying a branch out of the way with a vine.”
Rachael slid in through the tunnel and found herself beneath a jutting ledge of rock in an area the size of a double bed and high enough she could kneel upright. Thickly carpeted with pine needles, hedged all around with thorns, it was secure and well hidden. Anneke followed, thrusting their provisions before her and turning to lower the thorny branch like an impenetrable portcullis. Their dark clothing blended with the shadows, making them invisible to the outside world.
“This is great,” Rachael said. “I’m so damned tired.” She lay down, felt Anneke’s arms around her, and surrendered to sleep.
It was dark when she woke the first time and found they’d rolled over and she was lying half across Anneke, arms and legs entwined like lovers, her head pillowed on the girl’s shoulder. She felt warm and comfortable and sleep beckoned so she closed her eyes once more.
The dream began some time after this, impressions filtering into her mind so softly she was not aware of the transition until she seemed to open her eyes on a scene lit by flaring pine torches. Thirty men, arms bound, knelt before her on the sandy floor of a large cave open to the forest. Twice that number of men-at-arms guarded them. One man, apparently the leader of the captives, was protesting vehemently.
“There was no High Born, only those eight over there.” He nodded toward eight peasant women with torn clothes and bruised faces huddling together.
“I heard her. So did he.” It was the sergeant, although Rachael couldn’t see him, just an arm pointing at one of the men-at-arms.
“There was no High Born,” the captive repeated stubbornly, but Rachael sensed he was lying.
“Hang them.” The sergeant’s order sounded harsh, his tone remorseless. “We’re wasting time here.”
“Thank you.” The captive seemed relieved. “My boy first. He’s afraid.” His chin indicated another captive, a youth in his late teens.
Rachael felt the sergeant’s nod, and then she seemed to sense his thought. It was softer, almost ruminative, Damn it, Red. You’ve slipped through my fingers again, and the scene shifted to the charcoal burner’s camp. Thin spirals of smoke came from all the mounds. Her signal was on its way.
* * * *
Kamran watched the hangings without emotion. It was good training for his men and the smugglers were getting off more lightly than they deserved. The High Born were quite inventive when it came to punishing an attack on them. They enjoyed inflicting pain. He would have to be careful when he explained the operational necessity of hanging the smugglers immediately so captives wouldn’t hamper his men when the second group arrived.
He might not have the interrogation skills of his scouts, but winkling information out of men who knew they were doomed didn’t require them. Except for Red slipping through his fingers again, he felt pleased with the day’s work. The companies had carried out the attack with dispatch, losing less than a handful to the smuggler’s twenty. When they finished the hangings, he’d rest them to eat a meal cooked by the women, and then they could dispose of the dead while he scouted for a good ambush position. Two successful battles would bind them to him and, if Red got her signal away, it would work in his favor. He needed the Federation to know how she died for their reaction to give him the opportunity, and these men the power, to grasp it.
Not that he had any illusions about the Federation. He’d seen their methods on other planets and the difference between them and the High Born was minimal. The trick was to offer them an easy way to get what they wanted and ride their need to the top. They wanted to establish a Treaty Port. If he had to, he could give them this principality and a chance for revenge on the High Born who humiliated them and ordered their agent killed.
“Sergeant,” one of the women said. “I heard you asking about a High Born.”
“Do you know something?” He studied her appearance. Younger than the others, her clothes a little finer, she could be a servant to the High Born.
“There was one. I was with her when they caught us. She did a deal, trading me and her jewels for freedom. Half the smugglers had her by the fire before she left.”
“Her name?” He didn’t doubt the woman’s story. It was typical High Born behavior.
“Fleur d’Gracay.”
His Idiot’s sister-in-law. “You’re certain she left.”
“I heard them boasting she’d taken a young one to her bed and damn near gelded him.”
“She’ll not welcome the sight of you.” He could guess what was coming next.
“She’ll have me killed.” The woman straightened, she’d placed her life in his hands in a desperate gamble to survive, but she wouldn’t beg.
“Do any of the other women know?”
She nodded. “Our deaths were part of the deal.”
“Go back to your cooking. I want my men well fed.” He offered her a sliver of hope to buy time.
“Thank you, sergeant.” She was definitely a servant, aping the manners of a High Born, and smart enough to realize she’d set him a pretty problem.
There’d been time and opportunity for any one of the women to have told their story to a half dozen of his men and this one was smart enough to either make sure the story was spread widely or ensure her companions remained silent. His first problem was to decide which and he had no prospect of getting a truthful answer from anyone.
His safest course was to have the women hung as soon as the meal ended. Anything else put him at the mercy of the first gossipmonger who wanted to curry favor with the High Born. It would damage any personal loyalty the men might feel to him at a time when he was planning to use it for his own purpose, but it insulated him from failure. Yet, none of the women could expect to return to their homes as long as the High Born ruled—unless he was successful in deposing them.
Kamran shook his head at the folly of sharing his plans. He might just as well draw his dagger and cut his own throat. It would be less painful than what the High Born would do. No one must know until after he cut a deal with the Federation.
Peripheral vision caught the surreptitious glances from the women, proving they were aware he had a problem in dealing with them. That much of what the servant said was true. In their place, he’d poison the food, taking revenge in advance.
He smiled at the thought, knowing he’d already decided.
* * * *
Anneke stirred uneasily in her sleep, the movement waking Rachael, the vividness of her dream fading as her mind rejected the horror she’d witnessed.
Daylight was filtering into their retreat and the morning sounds of the birds nesting in clefts of the rock seem magnified against the stillness surrounding them. Rachael never realized how completely the forest absorbed sound. There were few of them on her world.
“Good morning.” Anneke’s voice sounded soft, but its tone turned Rachael in time to catch the haunted expression in her eyes before it faded. “I really needed that sleep, but we’d best eat and be on our way.” Anneke reached for the provisions and started sorting them into the immediately edible. “This bread and sausage will do. There’s a creek to cross just down the track. We’ll drink there.” She acted all business, her moment of melancholy forgotten.
“I’m hungry,” Rachael agreed, wondering what had caused it. The Alliance agent seemed indestructible, treating triumph and disaster with the same aplomb. Rachael felt she could depend on her absolutely, something she could never say about her fellow agents in the Federation.
It was an uncomfortable train of thought, smacking of disloyalty, but it was time she acknowledged her survival lay in Anneke’s capable hands. She would be dead twice over if it were not for her. Anneke’s reasons puzzled her, yet Rachael had more than a sneaking suspicion Anneke had told the truth in the beginning. The situation had offended her sense of fairness and the Alliance agent involved herself to r
edress the imbalance. A quixotic feel to it matched Anneke’s character.
Another related matter was her reaction to the intimacy of their embrace last night and in the poacher’s hut. Rachael had experimented with lesbian love and enjoyed it. Not as much as a heterosexual relationship with the right man, but enough to recognize Anneke’s embrace as asexual. She suspected the Alliance agent could swing both ways, as most agents must, but she treated Rachael more like a younger sister than a potential partner. It felt comfortable, but she was not sure she felt entirely flattered.
Anneke ate efficiently, chewing her food long enough to ensure she was satisfied by the experience and could hold hunger pangs at bay for an extended period and not wasting a morsel. Rachael had the sense an expert had trained Anneke. One proven right so many times, it was now second nature for follow his training. The fleeting memory of a strong male face passed through her mind and disappeared.
“Time to go.” Anneke had finished and was packing the food away. “There’s a junction just beyond the creek that leads toward the sea.” She perked up, smiling a secret smile about some thought.
Rachael finished the last mouthful of sausage and followed suit, folding her share of the food into her shawl and tying it diagonally across her back. “I’m ready.”
“I’ll lift the branch higher going out,” Anneke said. “You should fit.”
Rachael bit her lip in chagrin, but said nothing as she slid toward the opening, making it through without her bundle of food catching.
* * * *
Kamran felt amused when the servant girl brought him a platter of food. They were on tenterhooks to know his answer.
“Thank you,” he said, taking the platter. “What’s your name?”
“Helene.”
“A High Born name?” He raised an eyebrow.
“It amused my mistress. My parents called me Ellen.”
“Which do you prefer?”
“I’ve been Helene for so long it feels natural.” The girl gave an expressive shrug, still unconsciously aping her mistress.
The Alliance Page 4
