Insurgency (Tales of the Empire Book 4)

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘Well, I’m going back.’

  ‘I’ll be along in a moment,’ called the one with the head wound. ‘I’m just going to check the stream edge just in case.’

  The empress felt her heart begin to race as the first man turned and disappeared into the woods again, but the second made almost straight for the cave, close to the stream. Jala held her breath once more, and could hear the whispered sounds of Nisha praying beside her. Outside their tiny haven the rain continued to lash down between the trees, accompanied by the sound of the guard tramping through the undergrowth and then sloshing into the stream in search of their tracks. There was something else, too – a louder noise, but further away, something she couldn’t quite identify.

  The guard stopped at the edge of the stream and leaned over, peering at the wet stones. Surely not? How could he know someone had passed that way? Even if she’d left mud, surely the water would have washed it away? The strange, unidentifiable noise was getting louder. It was a rumbling, like thunder, muffled by the forest. The empress felt a chill through her veins as she watched, in seeming slow-motion, the guard with the bloodied, matted hair slowly straighten, his eyes following some kind of trail until they came up to the level of the cave. The knuckles clutching the spear at his side whitened and his eyes gleamed as he spotted the two figures hunched in the cave.

  The thunder reached a cacophonous climax as the guard began to change his grip and level his spear, his mouth twisting into a triumphant leer and opening to shout a warning.

  And the boar hit him.

  The crescendo of thunder must have been the huge beast running towards them along the forest floor above the cave. The guard screamed as he fell back, the protruding massive canines ripping twin gory lines across his belly. Jala could do nothing but try and shrink ever further back into the darkness, her horrified eyes locked on the bloody conflict mere paces away.

  There was no hope of the guard bringing his spear to bear. The usual defence against the charge of these creatures, Jala knew from dull hunting talk at court, was to prepare with a braced spear that took the creature in the heart as it ran. The noise of the water had disguised the monster’s approach, though, such that the guard had not been aware of the danger until it was upon him. Now he cast his spear away, trying to draw his sword despite the agony in his midriff, his other hand questing for the dagger at his belt.

  The boar was merciless. With the man down and pinned beneath it, it began to ruin him, its powerful hooves pounding ribs into splinters. Then, as the desperate, agonized guard finally managed to get his dagger free, the animal finished it. Lowering its head, it dropped its tusk-like teeth to the man’s chest and ripped up as though shovelling dirt, the huge, powerful muscles in its neck and shoulders driving those awful teeth through bone and muscle as it carved a huge ravine along the man’s body from heart to nose, smashing the collarbones, shredding the neck and ripping away the lower jaw. The man went from guard to ravaged meat in moments. Blood sprayed the trees and undergrowth and bits of meat and bone catapulted up into the air as the monster raised its head. A keening sound was all that was left of the guard who she’d thumped earlier, and even that faded as the vocal chords were crunched and eaten.

  The other guard, drawn hurriedly by the din, emerged from the trees opposite, his eyes wide and white.

  ‘Fuck!’

  The commotion caught the attention of the boar, which looked up at the newcomer, its pink eyes filled with rage and hunger. But this man was prepared. He levelled his spear, stepping to the side by a tree, even as the boar ran at him. At the last moment, the man ducked behind the tree and held the spear firm as the monster hit it. It was not a proper boar-spear, with a cross bar, so the creature ran on, impaling itself more and more in a frenzied effort to get at the wielder, and it almost reached the tree, close enough to gouge the man, before its brain brought it the message that it was dying.

  The second guard stayed behind the tree, his boot still anchoring the butt of the spear little more than a foot from the animal’s head, even after the boar stopped convulsing and lay still. Finally, shaking like a leaf, the guard stepped out, staring at the animal who’d almost had him. Had it had a good run at him, it would have slid all the way along the spear and now there would be one dead animal and two dead men here. Only the fact that it had already killed the other man had saved him, by removing all the momentum.

  ‘Aulus you poor, unlucky bastard,’ the man muttered, his eyes still rolling wildly, chest still heaving as though he’d run a race. He never once looked at the cave, where two women watched on in horror. Finally, the man gathered up his friend’s fallen spear, stripped him of sword, dagger and money pouch, then turned and left.

  Jala continued to stare in shock at the bodies so close to her. Man and pig, both deceased mere paces away. At length, she turned to see Nisha with a matching expression and, deciding that the man was far enough away to risk noise, she breathed deeply.

  ‘I think we’re safe here for now.’

  ‘S…safe?’ wheezed Nisha, staring at the dead boar, which was still transfixed with a spear.

  ‘Safer than out there, anyway. You heard the man: they’re heading back to the camp. They’ll start to look for our trail in the morning, but I have no intention of accidentally bumping into another of those things in the dark. We stay here until it begins to get light, then we start to move east. Hopefully we can get an hour or so on them and be gone before they locate our trail. I have a feeling we’re going to be tracked doggedly for some time. They’re good at it, and Halfdan cannot go back to his master without me.’

  ‘I wish we’d never left Velutio, mistress.’

  ‘I’ll second that, Nisha. But in the morning we’ll begin the journey back.’

  Chapter XIX

  Of Pursuit and Safe Havens

  Jala and Nisha struggled up the hill in the golden light of the descending sun. They had been running now for more than 12 hours with only infrequent breaks to gather their breath. They had emerged from the forest perhaps two hours after dawn having found a viewpoint at first light that gave them a clear picture of what lay ahead.

  The first task of the day had been to deal with Nisha’s hands. At the maid’s suggestion, they laid her ruined hand flat on a rock and with a great deal of whimpering and tears, tried to arrange it such that the fingers were in the correct position and might stand some chance of knitting together once more. They then tucked the hand into her side and bound it to her with a strip of material torn from the empress’s over-tunic, so that it would be as comfortable as possible and safe for the journey. Then Jala found a stick and honed it on a rock to a point, which she used to prize the gravel out of the maid’s wounded other hand. Once this was done and the scrapes had been thoroughly washed, the empress bound that hand tight too. Nisha was dismissive of that damage, claiming it would be workable in a day or two. The other would never be usable again, and they both knew it.

  But they were alive and free and moving.

  Beyond the forest, the landscape had changed. It had become scrubland and hills and valleys with odd yellow-brown strata lines everywhere, so that it looked as though the world had been laid down by the gods one thin layer at a time. Only the bottom of the valleys were green, where rivers and streams meandered, and even some of these were seasonal and had now dried up after the spring thaw. To some extent, it was more comfortable terrain for the pair than the forest or the rolling green of the northwest, as it more closely resembled the hot, brown lands of their home.

  Still, it seemed to go on forever, yet somewhere beyond lay the shore of the Nymphaean Sea and the hope of home; that knowledge drove them on.

  Thus far, they had seen only two settlements and they had avoided both carefully. Nothing left a trail more readily visible than interaction with other people. Had they come across a farmstead or such, Jala would have contemplated stealing a horse or other rideable animal to help them along, but the only farms they had seen were on the edge of the two vi
llages, and she’d not risk being seen by those who could report to pursuers. Other than that, only olive groves and vineyards showed signs of life. Jala had been surprised. She knew they cultivated olives and made wine down in the south of the western provinces, near the Vinceia Peninsula, but she’d have thought it to stop before this latitude. Still, it was warm, even in spring – now that the rain had stopped, anyway.

  They had passed through an orchard unexpectedly just after noon, just as their bellies began to complain over lack of fulfilment. With no sign of the orchard’s cultivators in sight, they had fashioned a bag from Nisha’s over-tunic and filled it with oranges, plums, pears and peaches.

  Nisha had complained at the relentless pace her mistress set, and Jala was sympathetic enough not to push as hard as she’d like, given how the maid’s hands must be paining her, but while Nisha felt they must be safe now, and that no one could have followed them through that woodland, Jala remembered how easily they’d been tracked to the cave and she knew Halfdan’s mind. He would have been mere hours behind them by noon, she was sure. And once they had picked up the trail on this side of the forest, which she was convinced they would do, they would move fast, mounted as they were.

  Consequently, she had chosen their route carefully. They had not travelled directly east during the day, but had meandered, crossing rivers where they could, avoiding soft, impressionable ground, climbing valley sides, and dropping back down, keeping away from well-used trails wherever possible.

  Finally, as the sun was beginning to sink towards the western horizon, Jala and her friend made for an old tower atop a high hill. Shelter out here seemed to be particularly sparse, and they would need somewhere to hole up for the night. The tower had a crumbled top and was accompanied by the ruined shell of a low building, clearly derelict. To be sure they left as sparse a trail as possible, they had skirted around the south of the hill, far from the path that ran along the north side, and climbed the slope in a zigzag.

  Now, weary, they neared the crest, sweating and huffing. The place had been some kind of watchtower, rather than a windmill, which had been Jala’s first thought. It appeared that the fallen outbuilding had been the main edifice, including living area, storeroom and stables, while the tower had been little more than an observation structure. A careful, slow investigation in the fading light confirmed the place to be deserted, and both women heaved a sigh of relief at the discovery.

  The main structure was too ruinous. Not only did it lack any form of roof, but the walls crumbled to the touch, mortar blowing away like dust, and even a gentle prod had brought down an entire section of wall, so they had ruled the place out as a potential refuge. The tower may be crumbled at the top, but it was more solidly constructed than the outbuilding, and two floors remained intact, smelling only of dust and the urine of some wild animal that had recently used the place as a home.

  Best of all, some other wayward traveller had recently been in the place and had left a small pile of blankets in a corner. They were a little dusty and threadbare, but intact and warm enough to help them make it through the night. Moreover, a water butt outside still functioned and had gathered fresh rain during the night, so they had plentiful drinking water. In the upper room, windows overlooked the dusty hillside road in both directions, and so they decided to make this their home for the night. Greedily, they tucked into the last of the fruit Jala had carried all afternoon, Nisha’s hands not being up to the task.

  Finally, they settled in for the duration. Neither of them had slept more than a few winks the previous night in their cave, still terrified by their ordeal and the sudden appearance of the boar. Both women were exhausted, but Jala insisted on taking the first watch, knowing that the maid with her wounds had suffered much more over the past day than her.

  And so it was that Nisha was fast asleep beneath her blankets when Jala first noticed the riders. It was still only evening, the world was a glowing violet fading to black in the east, and the low level of light meant that she heard them before she saw them – 9 horses made a lot of noise on a track of stones and hard-packed earth.

  The empress dropped from her place at the window, her heart racing, so that just the top of her head would show, allowing her to peer over the stonework and out at the hillside trail. It was almost certainly dark enough that she’d not be seen, and they had had no way to light a fire in the tower, but eyes would be drawn to the ruined structure and she didn’t want to take chances. Tense, she watched, unsure, but her worst fears were soon realized as one figure in the middle of the riders pulled back his hood to reveal silvery white hair.

  Halfdan.

  The man was like a bad smell, turning up unexpectedly and unwanted, and far too often. His trackers must be good. As the small party walked their horses along the track, Jala quickly padded across to the other window to keep them in view. She contemplated waking Nisha, but to do so would take precious time, and she didn’t want to take her eyes off the riders.

  The other window looked east along the valley, but a little stretching and craning revealed the dirt road below. With no sign of Halfdan’s horsemen! Her heart lurching in her chest, Jala scurried as quietly as possible back to the first window. The riders had reined in below the tower just out of sight of either aperture. How had she been so stupid as to choose an obvious landmark in which to pass the night? Of course it would attract other attentions too. Willing her heart to slow and quiet a little, she leaned closer. The men were talking.

  ‘…could be anywhere by now. We don’t even know for certain she’s heading east.’ It was a voice she didn’t recognize, but the reply came from a very familiar one in a snarl.

  ‘She came this way. And she is going east, though she meanders in an attempt to obfuscate. She fails. Gierbert and I could track a bird across the sky if we set our minds to it. They crossed the stream an hour back, certainly, and though the trail is scant at best in these rocks, unless she decides to double back and go the wrong way – which she will not, as it would cost her precious days and she knows time is of the essence – then she will have to cross either the Duria or Urbanus River, and there is no way she can do so without leaving some mark I can pick up. Besides, most of this land is loyal to Aldegund and no one will help her. Within a day, two at the most, she will be ours again. Stop wasting your breath fretting over nothing. Concentrate on the task at hand.’

  There was a tense silence, and then finally Halfdan spoke again. ‘Very well, ahead is the village of Raetis. I can secure comfortable lodgings there for the night and move on to cover the rivers in the morning. Gierbert? Take three men back to that last crossing and stay at that farmhouse. In the morning, see if you can pick up any more signs we might have missed in the failing light, and meet me at Corbas by lunchtime. Rief? Take three and scour this valley for signs, then come down to Raetis after full dark.’

  ‘We’ll not find anything in this light, Halfdan,’ complained the petulant voice she had first heard.

  ‘There is always a chance, even for the mindless and unobservant,’ snapped Halfdan. ‘Just do it. I’m certain she passed through this valley, and quite recently. There will be signs. I will take the rest on to Raetis and arrange rooms. You all know your tasks?’

  There was an affirmative chorus. ‘Good. To work.’

  A murmur of low conversation was given counterpoint by the sound of riders departing. From the window Jala could see four men riding off back into the dim glow of post-sunset evening. More horses were leaving for the east. She listened intently, her heart racing again.

  ‘How in shit do we search in this light? I could fall over the Pelasian bitch and not notice her.’

  ‘Halfdan is punishing us,’ another man grumbled.

  ‘Well, shit on him. I’m not picking through rocks and falling over in the dark looking for something that might not even be there,’ the petulant leader grunted. ‘I’ll take Burrus and Erlend down to the end of the valley. We can stop at the shrine there and rest for an hour, then head down in
to Raetis and tell the arsehole that there was nothing to find.’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘You get to the top of that tower and have a look. If there is anything to be found in this valley, our best chance of spotting it now is from there. Once you’ve had a quick scan of the place, follow on east and meet us at the shrine. Halfdan’s gone far enough now that he won’t see us following.’

  The sound of three men clattering off across the stone was a welcome one, but the knowledge that a fourth was to climb their tower forestalled any joy. Jala crossed the room and crouched by Nisha. Outside she could just hear grumbling and the sounds of someone dismounting and tying up their horse. With her heart in her throat, she gently shook the maid. Nisha’s eye shot wide and her mouth opened, but the empress pressed a finger to her lips in warning, then pointed to the stairs and held one finger up. Nisha nodded, nerves showing in her face. Grabbing the blanket, Jala crossed the room again to one side and dropped to a crouch, beckoning. Nisha joined her and together they pulled the ragged blankets over them, trying to look like nothing more than a heap of refuse. Given the extremely dim light in the tower and the fact that the disgruntled soldier was making for the top, he might well just pass them and not notice.

  Still, just in case, Jala slid the spiked iron piton she carried from the makeshift sheath in her over-tunic. Moments later she heard the sound of footsteps approaching in the stairwell. The empress wished she could see, but had no desire to attract attention with movement. The footsteps paused, clearly at the doorway to this room, and then began once more, echoing as they ascended to the top. Jala let out a gentle, slow breath and shivered with tension. It was pitch black under the blanket, but she could feel Nisha’s nervous one-eyed gaze upon her. She listened as carefully as she could and caught brief snatches of sound from above where the man moved about amid the rubble-strewn top, peering into the gloomy valley for any sign of the two women who were, unbeknownst to him, mere paces away on the next floor.