by Erron Adams
Oyen thumped a fist on the ground. “No, strike now! They’ll post guard when they stop. They’ll be ready for us. I can hit a moving target just as easy as a standing.”
Bowman looked at Oyen. Eagerness to close with the enemy seemed to be a trademark of the man. On this occasion, however, Bowman felt a certain logic informed Oyen’s enthusiasm. It would be pointless trying to arrange a standing fight with such a numerically superior enemy. Since the only target was Keemon, guerilla tactics were all that was required.
Yalnita seemed to agree. “Good point, Oyen. We don’t know when they’ll stop anyway, or even if they will, before they take to the river again.” She scratched her arm absentmindedly and gazed at the ground. The Pack edged up on their toes. Time stretched as the distance between them and their prey grew. Finally, the Pack leader’s head snapped up.
“Alright, we’ll cut across the rise here,” she said, nodding to the little hill they’d come over to intercept the Kasina, “and we’ll hit them the next time they show.”
“What if that happens to be the tail of the escort?” Bowman said.
Rain Dog was even less impressed. “Or worse, its head!”
“We’ve got no choice. Let’s hope luck’s with us,” said Yalnita as she moved off.
***
Keemon looked back from the tip of the grassy peninsula that jutted from the edge of the forest two hundred exposed paces away. The escort captain had chosen well. Any attacker trying to cover that ground would be quickly cut down.
But Keemon didn’t want to wait for the Rory. It was enough to know they were out there; he could sense it. Just as he could sense Bowman’s presence.
He didn’t have to worry about losing Bowman, either. The Outlander and his Pack, bent on revenge, would follow Keemon all the way to Kasina Nabir. There, the cop knew it would be a simple matter to get the Queen’s okay for a trip back to Dyall's Ford. And drop a certain Captain of the Guard right in it, at the same time.
He turned to the man beside him.
“What are you waiting for, Denaren? We’re here. Let’s get in these damned canoes and go!”
“Take it easy, Keemon. I want to know if we’ve been followed.”
“I already told you that! For chrissakes, you don’t get it, do you? I’m what the Rory want, just as we want Bowman. What are you trying to do, use me as bait?”
Denaren smiled. “Perhaps. From a vantage like this, I could hold off a hundred Rory. But I doubt we’re up against such a force. At any rate, if they are out there, now, we put ourselves in danger by setting off.”
“How? How, damn it? Don’t play games, Denaren!”
“Soldiering is no game to me, my friend!” Denaren looked over to the two-man canoes, waiting on the shore for their human cargo. “The moment we turned our backs and pushed off, they’d be on us. We can’t paddle and shoot at the same time; we’d be easy targets, even if we made extreme range by the time they got to the beach.”
Keemon snorted. “I wondered why you insisted on tagging along! At first, I thought you wanted to make sure I didn’t spoil your good name with Kasina Nabir. Now I know better. You want me out of the way, don’t you, you bastard! And if the Rory make that happen, then it’s not little old loyal Denaren’s fault, is it?”
Denaren made to reply, but never got the words out. As he opened his mouth, the scouting party of three he’d sent to guard their rear ran into the Rory. Their cries of alarm snapped all Kasina heads around from the confrontation between Keemon and Denaren.
Back where the path entered the promontory, two of their comrades already lay dead. The third ran towards them, zig-zagging to avoid a hail of Rory arrows. Several had already found their mark and jerked about in his back and legs as he leapt. Halfway to the camp’s safety, he fell. Seconds later, the Pack pulled up before his writhing body.
Denaren pushed the cop aside to get a clearer view. He whirled to his Guards and shouted, “Form up!” The Kasina swung their shields around and made a semi-circle in front of Keemon and Denaren.
Denaren turned to the cop and allowed himself a fleeting smile. “Oh, and as for you!” In the instant Keemon looked his way, Denaren’s fist smashed into the man’s jaw. The cop fell heavily on the wet sand. At a sign from their Captain, the Guards drew a cordon around the prone figure.
Denaren ambled forward and surveyed the Rory. One of them bent and administered coup-de-grace to the fallen Kasina. Denaren noted the animal-like down covering her face and arms and nodded. You, eh? Not an easy one to kill, by all accounts. The others were unknown to him, though he guessed the pale one must be the object of Keemon’s desire.
He lifted his chin towards the hairy one and spoke.
“Give up the Outlander, and your Pack live, at least until they’re tried in Kasina Nabir.”
“A generous offer, Captain! Allow me to counter it. Hand over the wretch in your protection, and you yourselves will live.”
Denaren smiled; this was as he’d expected. No Rory warrior worthy of the name would contemplate surrender, under any circumstance. Certainly not these circumstances: though outnumbered, they’d tasted first blood, and wanted more. He turned to the Guards.
There were thirty altogether, less the three now dead. He’d hand-picked them for this journey. Superb soldiers, whom he could trust to do his bidding, not Keemon’s. He glanced down at the prone figure of the cop. That one must not prevail, he thought.
He pointed to one side of the peninsula. A detail fell out from the cordon around Keemon and trotted off. Denaren repeated the gesture in the opposite direction and more Kasina quickly covered the other flank of the Rory.
It was Bowman who broke first. He glared at the first six Guards as they came alongside and drew his bow in unison with the rest of the Pack. But when the other Kasina detail outflanked them, he lowered his weapon and swore.
The Kasina carried metal shields and were already levelling crossbows. The Rory were exposed and outnumbered. Even if they outlasted the first volleys from the Guards on either side, another detail was now marching on them, directly in front. They had to get back to cover fast.
“Yalnita, this won’t work!”
Yalnita abruptly nodded assent. “Let’s go!” she said and began fast-stepping backwards, shooting as she went. The Rory fell in with her, hurriedly releasing shots at the serried enemy that followed. The Kasina returned fire, and crossbow bolts flashed across the grassy battlefield.
Rain Dog fell first, his right thigh skewered by one of the short bolts. It threw him off balance and his own shot went skyward. In a moment he was separated from the preoccupied Pack. By the time he got up on one knee and scrabbled for another shaft, two Kasina were on him. One pointed his weapon at Rain Dog’s chest. The other held a sword at his face. The Rory slumped, and let his bow fall.
Bowman swore again and loosed another shaft at the closest of Rain Dog’s captors. Fired in panicked haste, it flew uselessly wide.
As he grasped his next arrow, Bowman’s eyes caught sight of Challa. Still somewhat lame from his encounter with Tohubuho, the Rory had lagged behind the retreating Pack. One shot took him in the throat. He jerked about for a few paces; it seemed to Bowman that the crossbow bolt had shattered the man’s spinal column. Then Challa stopped stock still, his weapon sliding from loose fingers. His glazed eyes sleepily closed as he tottered to his knees. The Kasina strode past, wasting neither bolt nor sword slash on the already dead man.
Bowman swung around. The Pack was in disarray. Roop and Regrais had taken upper body hits, though both kept returning fire. Yalnita had run out of arrows. Bowman kept shooting - and, at this distance, missing - as he edged up to her, nudging his side quiver against her hip. But she was too far gone with anger on seeing Challa and Rain Dog go down. She stood her ground and screamed, then shook her bow before her in a desperate gesture of defiance. It was a slim defence against the seeking bolts, several of which whooshed narrowly by.
Bowman stayed by Yalnita as the rest of the preoc
cupied Rory fell back. Soon, the two of them were stranded. Bowman glanced behind. The others were only paces from the sheltering forest now. So close. He needed to break Yalnita from her madness and get her moving. He slapped her arm and swore; she ignored him. He swore again and swung around to Caylen.
Though unaware of Bowman and Yalnita’s precarious situation, Caylen had kept her cool. She, too, had almost gained the forest’s safety. Her quiver was half emptied, but its shafts had doubtless added to the Rory tally: at least one more Kasina lay dead, and several others hunched behind their shields, wounded.
“Caylen!” When Bowman had her attention, he pointed at Yalnita. It only took an instant for the situation to register with Caylen. She ran back in front of the pair and fired into the advancing Kasina.
Another of the Guards fell with Caylen’s trademark fletching sprouting from his chest. It stopped the centre detail of Kasina; they sheathed their swords and crouched behind shields to wait out Caylen’s volleys. The left flanking Guards were doing likewise, but the remaining detail had already primed their crossbows and were coming at a trot.
Caylen’s intervention freed Bowman from his desperate defence. He wrestled Yalnita towards the trees, yelling out to Caylen to join them.
“Soon,” she said, but she’d already notched another arrow.
“Noo!” said Bowman. “For fuck’s sake, Caylen, enough!”
The girl’s defiance had also alerted Lowery. As she went to aim, Bowman saw the tall man’s frame block her view. The Rory extended one palm and thumped Caylen’s forehead, sending her reeling backwards. “Go!” he said and turned around to the advancing Kasina.
The six Guards to their right advanced as one. Shields covered them from throat to groin, and their crossbows rested on the upper edges of the shields. Fifty yards from the Rory warriors, they halted and knelt to get a steady aim.
Bowman ran to where Caylen stood, cursing Lowery, and grabbed a handful of her hair. “C’mon, damn you, you idiot!” he said, and ran towards the forest. He looked back to see Lowery’s bulk obscuring the Kasina.
In the precious seconds bought by Lowery’s stance, Roop and Regrais regained the forest, shepherded by Oyen. As the two wounded warriors slumped, Oyen turned and ran back midway between the trees’ edge and the remaining Rory, calling, “Lowery…Lowery, come on!” as Bowman dragged a cursing Caylen towards him.
Just as the Kasina detail leader yelled ‘fire!’, Bowman pushed Caylen past the first of the trees. He spun around in time to see the crossbow bolts home on their nearest target.
Lowery had flung his weapon, raised his body straight, spread-eagled his limbs, and inflated his massive chest with defiant breath. As the Guards fired he tightened and screamed, and Bowman prayed the mesh of galvanized tissue might somehow restrain the bolts. But they slammed through like the will of an enraged God.
One of the flesh-grimed bolts fish-tailed past Bowman; a string of red droplets splattering his cheek. He saw points of dark growing in Lowery’s back as the Rory calmly bent to retrieve his bow. Why do that? Bowman wondered, and in almost the same instant, he knew. Lowery did not intend to shoot; he meant to enter death as a warrior should, carrying the signature of his Path. The Rory tottered to his knees, then gently lay face down in the grass.
It seemed to Bowman that the air liquefied as he turned back to the sheltering trees. He tried to outswim the dreamlike horror swamping him, and his progress matched the dream.
Just as Yalnita made the trees the bolts that killed Lowery hissed past, and she knew what they were; they’d all heard Lowery’s death shout. She fell forward into the damp leaves, screaming, and tore at her face.
Roop and Regrais writhed with their own pain. Both were bleeding badly now. Oyen was doing his best to staunch the loss with moss he tore from nearby trees.
Bowman stood in the middle of them, looking from one disaster to another. He was counting the arrows each had left, clinging to the activity’s numerical sterility as panic stormed in the rest of his head. Caylen swore, closed her eyes and leant against him for a moment. Then she grabbed his arm.
“Come on!”
“What?”
“How long do you think we’ve got before they come in here? Come on!”
She swooped on Oyen’s discarded quiver, splitting the contents between Bowman and herself. Then she headed to the edge of the trees.
Bowman came to his senses when he realized what she was doing. Remembering Roop and Regrais’ almost full quivers, he yelled for her to wait, and ran back.
Oyen was tying a poor bandage of his own torn shirt around Roop’s stomach. Bowman bent over them and grasped Roop’s arrows by the fletching. He drew them out with carefully, taking pains to avoid damage to the delicate stone broadheads. He stood over the wounded men a moment, wondering what to say. What do you say to the dying, when you, yourself, are likely about to die?
Caylen’s urging broke his reverie. “Hurry!”
“Coming,” he answered. He went to fetch out Regrais’ arrow store, but Yalnita’s voice stopped him.
“Leave some here!” She was on her feet, walking towards him. Her face was a pulp of bruising; long weals welled red where she’d torn the hair and skin away. Her eyes had shrunk to pinpoints of hard light in puffy flesh; it was like looking into a dark well and seeing a faint glimmer, something lying silently, perhaps water, perhaps monster.
Bowman ran to join Caylen.
***
Denaren counted the cost. Five already dead, counting the three ambushed. Another would likely join them soon. And there were the six less seriously wounded, two of whom could be patched up and sent back to fight again.
That made twenty able-bodied men. Easily enough to get Keemon to Kasina Nabir, delayed as they might be by the wounded.
He turned to his Lieutenant. “Luclos, get us ready to leave, will you?”
Luclos snapped a salute. “Sir!” He nodded at the critically wounded Guard. “Er, and…”
Denaren smiled. “That’s what I meant, Lieutenant. Take a detail and cut raft wood for the wounded. We’re not leaving anyone behind. And you’d better send a scout first, there may be another Pack out there.”
Luclos saluted again and turned quickly to hide his smiling face. Denaren almost smiled himself. He understood. In war, there were only two kinds of soldier, those who gave orders and those who took them. To those who toiled under the latter fate, it was a singular blessing to be led by someone unlikely to waste lives. Luclos probably wouldn’t guess that Denaren’s concern was more motivated by the need for frugality than by compassion. And really, it probably didn’t matter to the Guard. The result was the same: you had more chance of going home with such a commander. Even so, Denaren sighed to himself, if you’d been with me when these Rory ambushed us outside Burnt Pines, Luclos, you mightn’t hold me in such high regard.
On his way to select a detail, Luclos passed Keemon. The Outlander was rubbing his jaw. He brushed past the Lieutenant in a belligerent hunch and made a beeline for Denaren.
“What’s the fucking great idea, Denaren?”
“Ah, Keemon, so good to see you up and about again. I trust you rested well.”
The cop jabbed a finger at Denaren’s face. “If you ever try a stunt like that again, you’re a dead man. Got it?”
Denaren smiled, the frosty, patronizing smile he reserved for those he considered infidels. It enraged Keemon, and the finger wiggled as his arm began to shake. Denaren recognized the danger and swept the little victory from his face.
“You, my friend, were committing two fundamental errors: allowing emotion to overrule reason, and attempting to usurp authority. You had to be restrained.”
“Oh really? And the king hit?”
Denaren looked quizzical a moment until the strange term registered.
“Ah! Yes, what of it?”
“You gutless bastard, any time you want a real fight, man to man,….”
“I’ll seek out a real man and let you know how
it goes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
Keemon watched Denaren stride off. He made to follow him, but a protective ring of Guards moved in to cover the Captain’s receding back.
The cop’s mouth moved in silent curses. Veins bulged on the back of his clenched hands, his eyes rolled back and he started shaking again. For a moment, he appeared to the Guards to be near a fit. They bristled at the transformation in him. But then a cold light came into Keemon’s eyes, and he stilled. He shook his hands loose of the rage, forced his eyes wide open, whooshed the held breath from his lungs, and cricked his neck side to side. Then he stooped and tore some of the fresh bandaging from one of the wounded. Before the guards could react to the outrage, he ripped a branch from the nearest tree and walked in the direction of the Rory.
***
Chapter 19
A Deal Made
As Keemon approached the Rory, Luclos appeared at Denaren’s shoulder and coughed.
“Sir!”
Denaren’s head snapped up from conversation with the dying man.
“Yes?”
Luclos said nothing, but pointed to the departing figure of Keemon and the improvised flag flapping from the stick the cop held aloft.
Denaren stumbled to his feet and swore. The man he’d been charged with protecting was offering himself to the enemy. If he ran after Keemon, or sent Guards, it would be likely to precipitate another attack. Not that the Rory could afford further fighting, but then who could predict what a smarting Pack would do?
Still, he had to admire the man’s courage, if not his sense. Denaren wondered if he himself would go seeking negotiations with maddened Rory like that. He looked back at Luclos and shrugged.
“Let’s see if the man lives to tell us why he did this, shall we?”
***
“What do you want, Keemon?” Bowman registered surprise at his own voice. Fatigue made him sound calm.
“Is that any way to talk to a friend? I’ve just come to parley, is all. I hear your lot took the worst of it, just now. I have a proposition.”
