Altaica

by Tracy M. Joyce

  The high lord was hot, sweaty and disgruntled. Between the still healing lash marks on his back and the injuries from his fall he was in agony. He was using the shadebell tea sparingly—he did not want to run out and he did not want his men to see him taking it.

  Niaz sat down beside him, offering him a water skin as he did so. ‘We should burn the horses.’

  ‘We’ve not enough fuel to do so. We’d need oil and timber. All we’ll do is stink up the place quicker.’

  Niaz nodded, saying nothing but staring at the bodies of men lined beside the road. Besides, we’ll have our fill of cremations before we’re done—thanks to you.

  * * *

  ‘My lord, one of the sentries is dead,’ one of Baldev’s captains said breathlessly as he approached the clan lord.

  ‘Damn! Who?’

  ‘Ramesh.’ Baldev’s face curled bitterly. ‘My lord … my lord, I am sorry.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘It looks as if it was a couple of enemy scouts. We found the body under some shrubs … I can’t believe they got him.’ Quickly the man collected himself. ‘Judging from the tracks I would say Ramesh found them spying. There was no sign of the scouts.’

  ‘Ramesh was a brave warrior. Tie his body upon his horse—we will take him home.’

  Baldev ran over the possible scenarios before them. Two enemy scouts; had they gone back to Ratilal, or onward to The Four Ways? If they were smart they would have split up and done both. He looked across at his captain. ‘We have to assume that they were clever enough to send word back to Ratilal and on to the crossing.’ Baldev summoned all his captains to him. ‘We’re going to have to fight at The Four Ways.’

  * * *

  The sun hung low in the sky as Mas’ud had flogged his poor horse mercilessly in his efforts to reach the crossing guard. The Four Ways was now almost in sight; just another bend in the road and it would come into view. His horse slowed; he drove his heels into its sides and flogged it yet again with a switch. It gave a rattling squeal and struggled valiantly on. Come on, just a bit further! Mas’ud rounded the bend in the road; the crossing was in sight. He spun in the saddle, thinking he could hear a distant drumming of hooves. Nothing. Several times on his journey he thought he had heard the sounds of pursuit, but each time there was nothing behind him.

  His horse stumbled, regained its stride, then stumbled again. It slowed, sides heaving, finally staggering to a halt. Mas’ud kicked it savagely, but it remained immobile, bar its now trembling legs. ‘Damn!’ The horse dropped, its legs simply collapsing under it. Mas’ud leapt off as it did so. ‘Ah, you poor bastard!’ he cursed. It breathed raggedly, blood-flecked foam coated its nostrils, clods of foam covered its body and the welts from his whipping crisscrossed its hide. He retrieved his weapons and ran as fast as he could across the remaining distance to the crossing guard.

  Mas’ud’s feet pounded out a desperate rhythm. The guards stood alert, weapons ready, as he raced toward them. They began pointing in the distance beyond him. He looked over his shoulder. Beyond the body of his prone horse, a large group of riders approached. Oh gods, no! With a final burst of speed Mas’ud made the guard post at the bridge.

  ‘Quick, defend the bridge. We are at war. They have murdered Shahjahan. Do not let them cross,’ he yelled.

  ‘Move it, the lot of you. Shift those wagons there,’ bellowed the garrison commander. He looked at Mas’ud’s sweat streaked, grey face. ‘What in Karak happened? Report.’

  ‘Horse and Bear betrayed us. Murdered Shahjahan … after he made peace,’ Mas’ud said breathlessly. ‘High Lord Ratilal pursued them … was ambushed. He sent me and another to scout ahead. I found them … came here to warn you … sent the other back to the high lord. Karan is not with them. He’s bloody well lurking about up to gods know what, sir.’

  ‘After he made peace? Makes no sense,’ the commander muttered. He roused his men, rapidly yelling commands. The garrison was constructing defences near the bridge, none of which were yet complete. They had erected three sides of a timber fort that bordered the road and river. Watchtowers stood on the roadside corners; one overlooked the bridge and the other overlooked the junction of the road to Parlan and Faros. The other watchtowers and wall farthest from the bridge had not been completed.

  ‘Get those bloody wagons moving!’ One was positioned across the bridge road at its junction with the road to Faros and level with the watchtower. The other wagon was placed at the bridge edge to shore up the existing barricades and make access for their enemies from across the river more difficult. Foot soldiers wielding spears poured out of the fort to fill the gap between the wagons. Archers manned the towers and the walls.

  The commander grabbed one of his officers. ‘Defend the fort. I’ll command here on the road. Keep us covered. Pick off as many of those bastards as you can.’ As the other man ran toward the fort entrance, the commander bellowed out, ‘Watch the bridge too!’

  Mas’ud watched as the horses were hastily loosed from the wagon shafts, and the troops speedily took up their positions. He saw the flurry of enemy activity across the river. Damn it! He paled as he realised that they would have to defend the bridge from both sides. Naturally, the enemy troops stationed over the river would fight to cross the bridge in aid of their fellows. Two sides, they can’t do it. They’ll be spread too thin.

  ‘How long can you hold out?’ Mas’ud asked hurriedly. The commander shrugged as he watched his troops finally position themselves. ‘I’ll go to Faros to get more troops.’

  The commander glared at him. ‘You’ll run, you mean,’ he said in derision. ‘They’ll never get here in time and you know it.’ He appraised the enemy’s rapid approach and Mas’ud’s exhausted appearance. ‘Damn it! Someone has to go, if only to warn them and get some help for the high lord. It may as well be you. You’ll be bugger all use to me in the state you’re in. Go!’

  Mas’ud needed no further urging. He fled to the nearest horse and leapt upon its back. A soldier nearby grabbed him. ‘Bloody coward. Get back here!’

  ‘Leave him,’ bellowed the commander. ‘He goes to Faros to warn them.’ Mas’ud wrenched the horse’s head around and spurred it on, never once looking back.

  The commander watched as Baldev’s force thundered toward him. ‘Hold!’ he bellowed at his troops, as the enemy loomed ever nearer. The horsemen rode directly at the bridge, appearing as if they would careen into the wagon. At the last minute, their force split, with one group swerving around the wagon, galloping parallel to the road, toward the river. ‘Hold fast,’ roared the commander. The soldiers braced their shield wall, spears bristling from within it.

  The group heading toward the river lobbed arrows overhead, into the foot soldiers behind the shield wall and at the archers in the watchtower and on the wall walk nearest them. Screams could be heard from the wall as archers fell. The archers spread out further to take the place of their fallen comrades. The defenders’ attention focused on this assault; they must hold the bridge at all costs. The sound of bowstrings and loosened arrows created a rhythmic twang through the air. They trained their arrows on the horses; several were hit and fell, their riders now easy targets. The commander stepped back as several spear men near him fell to the ground with a dull thud. The enemy circled out of range and moved around for another assault.

  Baldev led the second group of riders. After they veered off before the wagon, they rode parallel to the wall of the fort along the road to Faros, all the while targeting the archers along the wall. The archers in the nearest tower were fixated on the bridge assault force, leaving only those on the partially completed wall to shoot at Baldev’s group. Baldev knew the far wall and watchtowers were not complete, and it was to this gap in the fort’s defences that he led his men. They rounded the wall and were faced with a shield wall of soldiers defending the gap. Baldev hurled one of his axes at the line, embedding it in the brow of the man before him, who toppled backward.

  Baldev swung his other axe at the head of t
he man nearest him as he crashed through the shield wall, nearly decapitating him. His men poured through behind him, dispersing the shield wall and engaging the enemy at close quarters. Swords flashed, booted feet lashed out from horseback at the faces of their assailants who tried to drag them from their mounts. The defenders thrust spears at the bellies of the horses and their screams rent the air. Baldev’s charge had placed him well within the fort.

  Armed now with his kilij, he dismounted, and he and his personal guard deftly cut a swathe through their enemies. The archers on the wall walk facing Faros Road were now engaged hand to hand with a squad of his men. The corral within the fort was filled with jittery horses. Their hay was stored nearby. Spying a cooking fire, Baldev fought toward it.

  ‘Let those horses out!’ he commanded as he picked a brand from the fire and ran toward the hay. His path was blocked by the smith, a mountain of a man, still in his leather apron. ‘Shit!’ Baldev hurled the brand with all his strength toward the hay, hoping it would hit it and the hay would ignite. It fell short. The smith swung his kilij at Baldev. Baldev parried with his shield, forcing the smith’s sword away while slashing viciously toward the man’s torso. The smith was quick, but barely dodged the slash. One of Baldev’s guards attacked the smith, forcing him to alter his stance. The smith’s side was now vulnerable. Baldev savagely swung his kilij diagonally down, connecting with the back of the smith’s leg and severing it above the knee.

  ‘Finish him,’ he spat, before racing to the burning brand and tossing it into the hay. The fire spread rapidly. The jittery horses had cowered in a corner of the corral, but once the fire started they bolted through the open gate and ran pell-mell through the fighting, creating even greater chaos before racing through the open wall.

  Outside, the first group had made another pass along the road to the bridge, firing arrows into the enemy. They saw the smoke rising from within the fort and realised that the archers’ attention was now held by a greater threat from the rear. The horses were close to exhausted. They approached for what must be their final charge. The wagon that blocked the road had been placed so hastily that its shafts lay on the ground, toward the tower base. With this charge, the group split again. Two riders veered off and aimed for the gap between the wall and wagon. Simultaneously, the other riders, armed with javelins and throwing axes, charged directly at the shield wall. The smell of smoke and the sight of the oncoming horsemen caused some of the troops to break.

  ‘Get back in line. Hold!’ hollered the commander, just as the two horsemen jumped the wagon shafts, swinging their kilijs ferociously. The head of the commander toppled from his body. At the same time, javelins, axes and horses hit the shield wall, destroying it.

  Seeing the battle unfolding before them, the Horse and Bear warriors across the river were desperate to join the fray. Their archers had been targeting the nearest tower as their troops attempted to move across the bridge. They were exposed to the tower archers and the few archers stationed on the road; their progress was slow—many were wounded. However, with this assault on the shield wall and the burgeoning fire, they were able to surge across the bridge. Thrusting the barricades aside they joined the bloody brawl. The battle at the bridge did not last long. Minus their commander, the fort now prodigiously aflame, overwhelmed and with no archery support, the foot soldiers quickly surrendered.

  * * *

  Baldev surveyed the sullen, dejected and frightened men sitting before him. ‘Take all their weapons across the river,’ he commanded in a quiet voice.

  ‘What will you do with us?’

  Baldev ignored the question, but eyed the fellow with such dispassion that he did not speak again. Instead he chose to stare at the ground, desperate for Lord Baldev’s attention to be anywhere else but upon him. The shrill cries of the severely wounded horses dissipated as his men dispatched them. Luckily, they had not lost as many soldiers as he would have expected, but many had injuries from which they would not recover. They would regroup at the river, tend the wounded and then head to Bear Tooth Lake to meet with Karan.

  The original bridge at The Four Ways had been laid on ancient, pre-existing stone foundations, with huge solid timbers that had been lovingly carved with the symbols of the gods and the Boar Clan. These timbers were now being doused with oil.

  ‘Understand this,’ Baldev addressed the defeated men, ‘we have never wanted the land south of The Divide. We do not want it now. We were content with the peace agreement signed with Lord Shahjahan—a man to respect, a man of honour. We did not break this treaty. Ratilal,’ Baldev spat his name, ‘a man of no honour, deserving of no respect, killed his father to fulfil his own lust for power.’

  ‘Liar!’

  ‘No! I and others witnessed it. Karak take his soul. You have heard the rumours. You will see the truth of him soon enough.’

  Baldev, flanked by his guard, began to cross the bridge. The oil was ignited in their wake and rapidly a wall of flame devoured the old bridge. Baldev looked at the burning images of the gods and begged forgiveness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THIS PART OF the Forest of the Asena was little travelled, with the few inhabitants of this eastern part of Altaica preferring not to dwell too near it. Karan carried Isaura deeper into the forest. Everyone from the camp followed him in a solemn torch-lit procession. This was a momentous occasion. They were witnessing history; the performance of a ritual that was the stuff of legends.

  The torches bobbed their way through the rising fog, like will-o-the-wisps. They wound their way along a gentle slope between two maples, their large leaves a brilliant red. They walked through an avenue of birch trees, whose pendulous branches were decorated with fine yellow leaves. The slope and trail, such as it was, ended as they passed beneath a large oak tree into a natural clearing. Directly opposite this, at the other side of the clearing, was a young, yet sizeable, willow tree on the edge of natural spring. The clearing was surrounded by more birch and dotted by silversguard plants.

  ‘Your mother did this?’ Umniga was in awe.

  Karan nodded, proud. ‘Aye. The oak and maple were here, but not the willow, nor birch. They are younger. She planted them. The silversguard has come on its own. A sign perhaps.’

  ‘Indeed. I wish I had known earlier.’

  ‘Until these lands were ours, I would not have told you. Even then, I would have preferred this remain mine alone.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Karan.’ Umniga put a hand on his arm, suddenly aware of the intrusion into his memories.

  Too casually he replied, ‘It was not to be. Come, you must begin. Where do you want her?’

  ‘In the centre of the clearing.’ Umniga seated herself next to the prone form of Isaura, arranging her hands so that the henna tattoos on her wrists would align with those on her body. The other Kenati began to form a wide circle around her. Anil and Suniti for the Bear; Hadi and Munira for the Horse. They sat cross- legged, planting their staves diagonally into the ground before them, then resting them on their shoulders.

  Asha took Pio’s hand, smiling reassuringly at him and his parents as she led him to the circle and they took their place. She had no staff, instead planting her bow in a similar fashion. Finally, all their guardians landed and took positions beside them.

  Umniga spoke a prayer, which the Kenati echoed. ‘Great Mother, Great Father, givers of light and life, help us. Grant us the strength and the wisdom to guide this young one, this Isaura, home.’

  Pio listened, then copied them, his slightly nervous, breathless young voice carrying their prayer into the mist. Asha beamed at him, and bade him play his flute.

  Elena stood with Curro and the others. As Pio began to play, she said, ‘What is going on?’

  ‘Ssh!’ was universally hissed at her. Umniga’s eyes bore into her, commanding silence.

  Curro, seeing her chagrin, stood behind her and wrapped his arms about her, planting a kiss on her head. ‘I think they are trying to help Isa,’ he whispered. His natural joy at
this was like a knife twisting in her gut.

  The Kenati were all merged with their guardians, their bodies slumped forward, their staves keeping them upright. Asha was shocked when Fihr used his sight to show her Pio. His aura was like nothing she had seen—vibrant shades of red, with flashes of violet and orange and brown. Pio’s haunting melody pulsed with the colours of his aura and wove its way like an intricate web between the Kenati, the guardians and Isaura. Although playing just for Isaura, Pio entranced all his listeners as the tendrils of his web meandered through the crowd and travelled into the misty forest.

  Umniga and Devi watched Isaura. Her aura was dull and grey, the streaks of violet and red were nearly non-existent. Umniga felt despair claw at her, yet as Pio’s music touched Isaura, the violet and red in her aura became a little stronger. Umniga’s heart leapt; Isaura was still reachable.

  Asha could feel Fihr’s concentration shift; once again she had a brief feeling of immense space that was speedily shut off from her. Then she felt a tug on her energy, as it fed and pulsed through the music to Umniga. Fihr must be doing this. All the guardians must be doing this, Asha thought.

  Umniga felt the influx of energy along the musical web and braced herself for a blast of power, but instead she felt it hit a barrier and coil around her. The power that reached her was a steady flow that could supplement and sustain her. She was surprised to realise that while Devi was connected with her, it was purely in a spiritual form. The experience felt similar; she was still connected to his mind, but it was odd to think that he was not physically with her, yet he was still protecting her. Come, old friend, we must find her.

  In Devi’s care, Umniga travelled at an astonishing speed to where they had found the ship. The faint aura trail she had noticed during the rescue was gone. Devi, do you remember the way? Devi led on in the direction in which they had last seen the aura trail. His sharp eyes scanned the air before them, looking for any sign of the girl’s passage. The enormity of their task was beginning to have an impact upon Umniga. They had no idea if the girl had travelled in a straight line or not, or whether she had succumbed to the lure of the wild energy around her and simply wandered aimlessly, until it subsumed her energy into its own.