Altaica

by Tracy M. Joyce

  * * *

  Ratilal’s scouts had headed off at what the younger of the two, Jabr, thought was a sedate pace.

  ‘Mas’ud, should we not be pursuing the enemy with more vigour?’ he whispered hesitantly.

  Mas’ud replied in disgust, ‘That, boy, will just get you killed quick. We’re not a two-man assault team. We are scouts … and we’re scouting.’ Jabr looked as if he was about to speak again when Mas’ud hawked up a great gob of mucus and spat. ‘Enough, boy. Do you want to run headlong into the next trap? Wind up like those poor bastards back there?’ Jabr shook his head vigorously. ‘Right, just watch and learn.’

  ‘They’ll be long gone.’

  ‘The only way home for them is The Four Ways. Their horses will need to rest somewhere. We’ll scout them out—if we’re lucky we’ll get ahead of them. If that happens, you go to the crossing to warn the guard as fast as you can and I’ll head to Faros for more men. Got it?’ The boy nodded eagerly. ‘Stay behind me now, I don’t want you fouling up any tracks. It’s bloody well hard enough to see as it is. And tie down your loose gear. You make enough noise for ten.’

  Quickly Jabr realised that the irascible Mas’ud did, in fact, know what he was doing. The passing riders had sprayed water from the rain-filled potholes across the surrounding road and left clear hoof imprints, even in the moonlight. At times, the road grew rocky and Mas’ud had to dismount to look for signs of their passing. Jabr suddenly realised that Mas’ud had increased their pace. He urged his gelding along to keep up; it trotted along obediently.

  Mas’ud glared at him. ‘Quietly, boy. You should be able to get that nag to stretch out in a walk; to stride so fast it’s like another’s trot. Don’t they teach you anything?’ he derided.

  Jabr felt like a child—a dimwitted one at that, yet he persevered and soon had his horse keeping the ground-eating pace Mas’ud had set. A myriad of questions entered Jabr’s mind, yet he was reluctant to voice them, not wanting to receive the sharp end of Mas’ud’s tongue. He noticed that the older man’s attitude was changing. Mas’ud was becoming more intent, like a hound with a scent.

  Abruptly he turned his horse off the road, away from the river and into the undulating fields beyond. Mas’ud paused, holding his finger to his lips. ‘Follow,’ he mouthed. The boy, wide-eyed and suddenly nervous, nodded. They moved cautiously amongst the low hills, slowly doubling back in the direction of Parlan. Mas’ud dismounted and left Jabr holding the horses while he scouted on foot. Sitting alone in the darkness, the boy felt his courage slipping. All he could think of were childhood tales of terror and murder. He nearly screamed when Mas’ud, unbeknown to him, returned and touched his leg.

  Mas’ud remounted, looked at the boy’s terrified face, and took pity on him long enough to explain in a thin whisper, ‘We lost their trail on the road a short while ago. I kept going for a while to make it look as if we thought they had continued.’ Jabr appeared mystified. ‘Do you understand? They did not travel further on the road—they are hiding somewhere about. Now we find them. There are not many places to hide so many riders. These low hills were the most obvious choice, but I think too obvious.’

  They continued cautiously scouting the hills before veering in the direction of the road again. Mas’ud left Jabr minding the horses behind a copse of trees between several hillocks and he wove his way cautiously back to the road.

  Mas’ud crouched down in long grass, surveying the road dissecting the terrain before him. By his reckoning, he was very close to where the tracks of the fleeing horsemen stopped. He had seen no sign that they were among the small hills behind him and noticed no tracks through the vegetation or soft soil showing they had departed this side of the road at all. That only left the river side of the road. Somewhere rocky, maybe. He slunk through the undergrowth, peering intently at the other side of the road as he went. Trees lined the far roadside, too dense for the passage of horses.

  He was about to give up his inspection and backtrack, but the thought of facing Ratilal without success made him persevere. He moved slowly, patiently, waiting. Then he saw it. He was peering at what looked like a solid wall of trees when viewed from the front, except that there was a gap. A wild cherry, with its cypress-like weeping fronds, stood to the rear of the other trees, creating a gap between them. There was a narrow, rocky track between the trees, which they had overlooked in the dark. Mas’ud knew the gods were smiling on him, for moonlight shone on the spot now. He saw a branch move, yet there was no wind. Sentry. Thanks be. If we had noticed and investigated earlier we’d be dead. As it is they must think we passed them by.

  Mas’ud retreated and travelled away from the entrance toward Faros, hopeful that he could cross the road undetected to spy on the enemy. First I’d better check on the boy—make sure he stays put.

  Jabr was proud of himself—this time he realised Mas’ud was approaching. Although, he thought despondently, that was probably because Mas’ud wanted him to know and not scream like a girl in fright.

  ‘I think I’ve found them. Stay here, boy.’

  Boy! Jabr knew he was inexperienced, but how was he to learn anything stuck here holding the horses like a child. I should tie the horses up and follow, he thought rebelliously. He debated the idea for a while, then, frustrated by his own weakness, he tied the horses to the trees and followed Mas’ud.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  MAS’UD PRESSED AGAINST a tree trunk and peered down on an angle at the riverside. The enemy were below him on the riverbank, partially hidden by an overhang in the embankment. Although they were cautious, he could still hear the tell-tale movements of men and horses. He moved to a better vantage point. Careful now, old man. It looked to be the full force, but as yet he had not seen lords Baldev or Karan. High Lord Ratilal had said to scout and report back, but he had his bow with him—one well placed shot could end this war. He just had to be certain of his target. Surely he would be rewarded for initiative?

  Mas’ud lay flat, carefully easing himself under the dense undergrowth and peering down the steep bank to his left. He could see Baldev’s mountainous form standing next to Karan’s cloaked one. They were partially under the overhang. No room to shoot. They did not speak as the horses rested and drank. Ready to leave, Mas’ud paused as he watched Karan lead Mirza forward. He frowned, noting the easy body language between horse and rider was absent. As Karan stepped fully from cover, a gnarly tree root protruding from the roof of the cavern caught on his hood and pulled it from his head. It’s not Karan! Mas’ud watched as he quickly pulled the hood back up. Where the blazes is he?

  Despite the sense of urgency flooding his mind, he inched his way backward slowly and quietly, coming to a crouch at the edge of cover. A hand shot over his mouth and yanked him back. He felt the cold steel of a knife pressed against his neck. It pierced his skin. Blood welled and ran down his neck, then—nothing. The hand across his mouth became lax. The knife at his throat fell quietly into the grass. Mas’ud turned his head quickly to see young Jabr, eyes wide, with his knife firmly planted in the neck of the enemy sentry and his hand clamped tightly over his mouth.

  Jabr looked as if he might throw up or pass out at any point. Mas’ud held his finger up against his lips, then gestured that he should lower the body slowly to the ground. Jabr nodded, collecting himself. They rolled the body quietly under the bushes. Jabr made to rise. Mas’ud’s hand on his shoulder stopped him, while he looked for signs of another sentry. Nothing. Mas’ud nodded and they cautiously made their way back to the horses.

  ‘Well done, lad!’ Jabr was silent. ‘First time, eh?’ Jabr nodded. ‘You did the right thing.’

  ‘I disobeyed orders.’

  ‘Thank the gods for that—this time.’ The boy seemed in a slight daze. ‘No harm done lad, you saved my life.’ Mas’ud patted him on the back. ‘Come on, mount up. Good lad. Now you are going to ride through these fields and avoid the road until you’re well past the enemy and get back to High Lord Ratilal. Look at me now, boy. Lis
ten well. Tell him Karan is not with Baldev.’

  Jabr straightened, alarmed at this news. ‘Where is he?’ he squeaked.

  ‘Buggered if I know, and that’s the problem. Just tell Ratilal. I’m off to warn the crossing and get more men from Faros.’

  * * *

  The terrain grew increasingly steep. The path they followed was, at times, only a narrow track—barely wide enough for one person to walk on, yet at others it vanished completely. Elena had remained silent the entire journey. She clung to Curro, terrified, now that the track continued along the side of a precipice. She turned her head away from the sheer drop and closed her eyes tightly. Curro had one hand on the reins, while the other was entwined with one of her hands around his middle, his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand.

  Lucia had given up feeling scared after the first few steep descents and climbs out of slippery gullies with burbling little creeks running down them. Her stomach had been in knots and she had begun to feel ill. She thought of Umniga giving her the knife in the wagon. Of the three of them, this old wise woman had trusted her to be courageous enough to use it. Umniga had seen something in her that she had not thought existed.

  Recalling this woman’s faith in her made her feel that perhaps she could live up to that—perhaps she should. It was clear that these people had taken a huge risk to extract them from Ratilal’s control. To save them. The thought of his heartless eyes staring at her still made her shudder. Her spine had straightened. Look at what you have survived so far. She had found herself grinning. Since then her fear had slipped away and she now sat loosely behind Nicanor, trying to pay attention in the fleeting moonlight to their surroundings.

  Lucia thought that in daylight this terrain would probably be picturesque; in the blue gloom it was beautiful and mysterious. When they set out through the forest, it had been very quiet, even the horse’s hoof beats were deadened by the pine needles. It was as if the world were holding its breath. As they moved deeper into the forest, the noises had returned; the horse’s hoof beats were louder. The variety of terrain had surprised her. At times it was boggy in the gullies; though she could not see in detail, she could hear the horse’s feet squelch in the mud. Then they would climb a ridge and it would be rocky with little undergrowth between the trees. When the moonlight shone through the trees here, she gasped, for amongst the darker trunks were tall straight white ones that seemed to reflect the moonlight, almost glowing.

  They were departing from one such ridge as the narrow track followed the contours of the hillside and wove its way downward. The sound of a river had been flitting in and out of their hearing for some time. It became louder as they began to reach the base of the hillside; a veil of mist had begun to creep amongst the trees. The towering sentinels were thinning, smaller trees and bushes were taking their place, and the moonlight flooded in. Lucia noticed the leaves on these trees appeared, in the moonlight, to be varying shades of grey. They must be turning. What will this look like with the dawn? The noise of the river grew to a dull roar. Then over the tops of some low lying shrubs she spied a massive set of rapids. Water rushed amongst and over huge boulders as the river dropped. Their trail veered away from it, twisting and turning, around its own set of boulders for some way before opening to a wide clear expanse beside the now quiet river. Before them lay Hunters’ Ford.

  ‘The water has risen again, my lord,’ said the warrior next to Karan.

  ‘It matters not; I never intended for the horses to cross. Get the boats ready.’

  Men disappeared into the undergrowth and carried out canoes that they had used to cross the river earlier in order to rendezvous with Karan. Those remaining urged the strangers to get off their horses.

  Asha dismounted and helped Pio down. She had been trying not to think about this moment. Quickly, she removed her shield and quivers from Honey’s saddle, tempted as she did so to run her hand affectionately over her neck and murmur to her, but she did not—she could not. Asha unsaddled her and removed her bridle, placing them next to her gear. She turned her back upon her horse, then walked over to Karan.

  ‘My Lord Karan,’ Asha said. She had resorted to formality to give her fortitude.

  ‘Mistress Asha,’ Karan responded. He could hear the strain in her voice.

  ‘My saddle, my weapons … may I bring them?’ The words rushed forth. ‘They were gifts.’ She stumbled over her next words. ‘I know I must … Honey … but can I take them … is there room?’ Karan wished he could comfort her, but he could sense her hold over her emotions was tenuous and believed if he did they would overwhelm her. He knew Asha—she would feel weak if she succumbed to them before the men.

  ‘There is room. Come, I’ll help you.’ Honey was waiting patiently beside Asha’s tack. Asha could not look at her. She could not think. She picked up her saddle and followed Karan in a daze. She passed it to be stowed in the boat, turned and immediately walked straight into a soft muzzle—Honey had followed her. Karan gripped the mare’s mane and led her and Asha away from the shore to the tree line, where he left them without a word.

  Next he approached Umniga, who was swearing as she stretched her legs one by one.

  ‘I am too old for this!’ She leaned on Nasir’s back and peered in Asha’s direction. Asha was standing with Honey’s forehead resting against her chest as she stroked down the sides of her face. ‘How is she?’

  ‘How do you think?’ Karan was abrupt. ‘How are you, old one?’

  ‘Stiff and sore. I can’t remember the last time I spent this long on a horse, let alone bareback. I ache in places I’d forgotten about and my legs feel like jelly. Damn you and Baldev, and your wagon. You’ve made me soft.’ Here she paused. ‘And you gave me Nasir. You know his name means “Helper”, don’t you?’ With this she rubbed his neck affectionately. ‘Bah! I’m soft in the head too now, thanks to you!’ She lowered her forehead down against Nasir’s side. ‘Take his bridle off for me.’

  Karan removed the bridle, and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. His men had loaded everyone into the boats. The first few had begun to head across the river. The last two waited only for Asha, Umniga and himself.

  ‘Asha, Umniga!’ He felt cruel as they obeyed him and headed to the canoes. Five more minutes won’t make it any easier. The horses were all unbridled and had wandered off to pick at greenery along the shore line. He snapped a thin branch off a nearby sapling and walked up to the one nearest the trail entrance. He gave it a good firm switch, driving it back through the trail. The others took off after it in their efforts to escape him. He had hoped that Honey and Nasir would follow. Honey, ears forward, watched the others disappear, but did not move. She snorted warily as Karan approached her; he gave her a good switch and she bolted to stand trembling beside Nasir. Gods, damn it! He walked briskly up to Nasir, but before he could use the switch Nasir kicked it from his hand and spun to face him. ‘Some helper you are!’ he muttered. Nasir flattened his ears at him. ‘Fine.’ Karan turned and stomped to the canoes, feeling like a complete bastard. Reaching the canoes, he muttered, ‘Let’s go.’

  Asha sat unmoving, staring ahead at the opposite bank. It did not matter that in the mist and moonlight she could not see that far, she was unable to look elsewhere.

  ‘It’s so wide!’ Pio whispered awestruck.

  On the bank, Honey paced the shore. Nasir stood between her and the water, matching her movements, blocking her. She tried to dash past him and plunge into the water, but he cut her off. Honey emitted a panicked neigh as the boats disappeared across the water.

  Asha gripped the side of the canoe in a bid to stop trembling. The last canoe travelled gracefully and swiftly, yet as it approached the middle of the river the men paddled more strongly, fighting the current to get to the other side, and spurred on to escape Honey’s desperate calls. Their brows were beaded with sweat, despite the chill night air. They knew they were slowly being forced sideways away from their landing point. As the current eased, they angled upstream and prayed
that they had not drifted further in the mist than they had planned. The mist parted to reveal the other canoes beached on the shore before them. Jaime was on the bank waving at them, before helping lift and carry a canoe away. Curro and Nicanor grinned, pulling their paddles with renewed vigour. It felt good to be doing something helpful.

  Honey neighed piteously, and darted toward the water. Nasir blocked her yet again, tossing his head and attempting to bite her. She pivoted on her hind legs, spraying pebbles in his direction as she escaped him, then stood quivering on the shore. He had driven her further away from the water. Nasir closed on her, his eyes never leaving her. She snorted, pawing the ground and shaking her head at him. Her sides were becoming slick with sweat. She sprang sideways, trying to gallop past him. She almost made it, but he cut her off just before the water’s edge. Nasir snaked his neck out and bit her. She squealed and backed up. He advanced on her again, eyeballing her as he did.

  Honey returned his gaze, her head held high. Nasir snorted and reared toward her, pawing the air and striking out in her direction, forcing her back. When he landed, he spun and kicked just beyond her nose. He had now herded Honey further along the shore, upstream from where the canoes had disembarked. Honey found herself trapped in a natural cul-de-sac formed by the narrowing of the beach, an overhang and a fallen tree. Nasir stopped, his long ears forward, and continued to stare at her. Slowly, Honey began to lower her head.

  Karan’s canoe pulled into shore and they quickly disembarked. The beach was pebbly, as on the other side of the river, but shorter, meeting the root-encrusted riverbank that towered some six feet higher. Along this bank were more of Karan’s warriors, men and women.

  Asha began to unload her gear. Karan quietly took some of it up the riverbank. She stoically carried what was left up the short pebbly beach, then staggered as she tried to heft it up the steep and, thanks to the others, now slippery path to the top. Tree roots formed some natural footholds and at some point some large square rocks had been strategically placed behind roots to form more lasting steps, but the crossing was little used and damage from previous rains and floods had taken its toll. She paused, frustrated, miserable and angry. A hand reached down and took her load from her. Asha looked gratefully into Āsim’s face. He gave her a sad smile and a wink, and hauled her up.