Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy

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Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy Page 79

by Marian L Thorpe


  “My planning, General, not Lena's,” Cillian said from beside us.

  “Aye? And what are you planning, man?”

  “To go back to Linrathe once I have helped get this ship to the sea. I owe it to them.”

  “And I suppose you are going with him?” Turlo turned to me, as angry as I had ever seen him.

  “You know I am,” I said, meeting his eyes, defying the quickly kindled fury in them.

  “Aye. You would, of course. But I will not allow it, for either of you.”

  “General,” Cillian said, “you cannot stop us. We are not yours to command.”

  Turlo's anger vanished. He chuckled, mercurial as ever. “Ah, man, that is where you are wrong. Come, sit, and let me enlighten you.”

  He motioned us to the back of the ship. “Sorley,” he called, “bring me my satchel, will you? Then come; I may need you, when these two learn what I have to say. Leave the sword, Lena.”

  I followed him to the stern, confused. Cillian was frowning, and his eyes had that distant look they held when he was analyzing a situation. We found places to sit.

  “Comfortable?” Turlo said. “Thank you, Sorley.” Sorley settled down beside Cillian. “Now, Lena of Tirvan, Cillian of the Empire, you will listen to what I have to say. But before I start, you might read these, first.”

  I took the folded paper. The seal was the Emperor's; I had seen it before. I glanced at Cillian. He had not taken his, but his eyes were on Turlo. “Of the Empire?” he repeated softly. “General, tell me he has not?” He laughed, an almost desperate sound.

  “He has. Are you surprised? Or are you, the gods forfend, suggesting you do not want to be pardoned?” Turlo asked.

  “Pardoned?” I said, or tried to.

  “Read it, Guardswoman, but yes, it is a pardon. For you both, although this man of yours doesn't seem to want it. Your man, and mine now, of course. I am your commanding officer, Cillian, because like all men of the Empire, you are, perforce, a soldier.”

  I wasn't taking this in. “Turlo, what are you talking about?” Pardoned?

  He laughed. “D'you both need a mouthful of fuisce again? I hadn't planned to spring it on you quite this way, but you forced my hand. It's simple, lassie. Callan has pardoned you both, and by the laws of the Empire you are again bound by the oaths you swore.”

  “No!” I said. “Wait, Turlo. Do we have any choice in this?”

  He looked genuinely surprised. “I don't know, Lena. Pardons are rarely given, and I doubt ever refused.”

  Oars dipped and fell, and water lapped against the riverbanks. I could hear my own breathing. “Recalled to my oath, you say?” Cillian asked, quietly.

  “Aye.”

  He was, uncharacteristically, struggling for words. “I am,” he said finally, “doing my utmost best to keep a private vow, or rather two, ones I do not wish to share. But I cannot meaningfully honour those, yet forswear my public oath. I pledged to serve the Empire, and to accept the judgement of the Emperor as to my fate.” He paused, his eyes travelling to me. “Lena, käresta, forgive me. I will accept the pardon, and honour the oath I swore.”

  My heart had begun to pound, listening. I too had made a private vow, and to keep it I had to be by his side. So I had to accept this pardon and be again a soldier of the Empire. Is this what I want? I needed more time to think about it, and there was none. I would do as my heart told me, I thought, fiercely. “There is nothing to forgive,” I said, as clearly as I could. “It is only a longer road home. I am still coming with you.”

  Turlo cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, “I am glad that is your decision, both of you, because I was under strict orders to bring you both back.”

  “Do I swear the oath again?” Cillian asked.

  “No. The first swearing holds. Lena's, I witnessed, and I am assured by both the Emperor and his brother that yours was made properly and freely, Cillian.” I looked up then, hearing a change in Turlo's voice. He was grinning; Cillian's expression was wry.

  “I might argue I was under some duress,” he said.

  “Aye, you can argue that, if and when there is ever a proper tribunal in which do it.”

  “Why should the laws of the Empire hold sway on a Marai ship on a river in unclaimed lands?” Was that amusement in his voice?

  “Unclaimed?” Turlo countered, and I could see he was enjoying this. “I disagree. We have met no one the whole length of this river, nor did you on the grasslands it borders, am I right?”

  “You are.”

  “Then do these lands not still belong to the Eastern Empire?”

  “If there is an Eastern Empire, the argument could be made.”

  “And? Continue the line of reasoning, if you will.”

  “I had no idea,” Sorley said to me under his breath, “your officers were so well versed in dialectics.”

  “And since the Empire to which I am sworn names itself as subject to the Eastern Empire if it stands, and as heir to it if it does not, then in either case the laws of the Empire are the laws of this land.”

  “Very good,” Turlo said, a broad grin on his face.

  “Unless,” Cillian added, “the Eastern Empire does still stand, and no longer claims these lands, or, has laws that overrule those of its client Empire. But until we reach Casil to learn if either of these scenarios is true, then my previous statement holds.” He was, amazingly, laughing.

  “I concede that point,” Turlo said. “You'd be wasted as a swordsman, mo charaidh. But you'll take instruction with a blade, nonetheless. As for your rank, let me give that some thought.”

  “General,” Cillian said, his voice suddenly serious again.

  “Aye?”

  “Thank you. You—and the Emperor, of course—have shown me a way to respond to what has happened in Linrathe, and the Empire, honourably. Not by an act of folly, as my first impulse was.”

  “Do you think we have not all felt that way?” Turlo answered, his voice as serious as Cillian's. “To be here, seeking help on the thinnest thread of legend, rather than fighting for our homes, not knowing what is being lost or won, while we are gone? And if we do go back, only to discover all was lost in our absence, will we not all carry to our deaths the wish that we had stayed, to fight and fall with our brethren?” He fell silent. “I would have been concerned had you not wanted to go back,” he added, after a moment, “very concerned. I am glad to know I did not need to be.”

  A call from the steersman claimed Turlo's attention. I had sat down again, needing to, suddenly, and was staring at the unopened paper in my hand. Too much had happened—again—in a day. I needed time and space to think, but my mind spun with exhaustion.

  Cillian held out a hand. I took it, letting him pull me to my feet. He kept his fingers intertwined with mine. “I am sorry about last night,” he said. “I should have thought more, and spoken less quickly.”

  “I would say it was the opposite.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Had you actually talked it out with me, but even better with Turlo or Sorley, you would have heard their side of the argument before this morning and saved us all a lot of heartache.” I was, I realized, truly irritated with him. Or I was just too tired and sad to be gentle, and maybe the time for that had passed. Soldiers could not be gentle, very often.

  “I suppose. I am not good...have not been good at that sort of conversation. I can only say again: I am sorry, käresta.”

  “Dagney didn't get that far in the lessons, Cillian. How about speaking to me in my own language?”

  “Lena,” he began, but I cut him off.

  “Leave it,” I said. “I'm out of sorts. Too much has happened. My turn to ask to be left alone.”

  When he had left I walked to where the sides of the ship came together in a V. I leaned at the stern, looking down at the water, at the waves the ship's passage made rippling behind. Did I want to be a Guardswoman again? I remembered my words to Callan, at the White Fort, after our trial: 'I welcome
this banishment, to be beyond your games.’

  But it was all beyond games now; it was hard, bloody, despairing work, with little chance of success. I wondered suddenly what this ship was called. It should be 'Arrow', I thought, because that it what it was: an arrow let fly from a desperate bow, sent into darkness, hoping beyond reason that it would find its target.

  And that the target would receive it.

  I sat with my back against the boards of the hull, letting the sweep of the oars and the increasing warmth of the sun lull me into sleep. I had nothing to do: sword practice would have to wait until the first rest break. Irmgard had fled with the barest minimum of men, and so the oarsmen had no one—except Turlo and Sorley, and now Cillian and me—to spell them off. A break was needed every two or three hours. Motion and exhaustion collaborated, and I slept.

  I woke when the ship stopped. The oarsmen disembarked to eat and stretch out on the grass, or to walk to relieve cramped legs. I fetched my sword and went looking for someone to practice with.

  I wasn't about to challenge an unknown Marai man, and as I doubted Irmgard and her women were either interested or competent, I was only looking for Turlo or Sorley. I found Sorley. “How are you with a sword? I asked.

  “Adequate. Do you want to practice?”

  While he was gone, fetching his sword, I tried my blade again. It felt heavier. Or had my arms just lost the strength gained from years of fishing?

  Either way, I could only strike and parry with Sorley for half an hour before my shoulder muscles began to burn. No chance, yet, to work off any of the seething anger. “Enough,” I said, after he had forced my blade down yet again.

  He grinned. “I can see you know what you're doing. You're just out of practice.”

  We had attracted spectators. Several of the Marai men had come to watch. One said something to Sorley as we walked back to the ship. It didn't sound complimentary.

  “You don't want to know,” Sorley said, when I gave him a questioning look.

  “Probably not,” I agreed. “Where are Turlo and Cillian?”

  “They walked downriver,” Sorley answered. “Said to stop for them when we met them.”

  On the water again, I remembered my pardon. I should read it, I thought.

  “Do you want to see what a pardon from my Emperor looks like?” I asked Sorley. I broke the seal. Folded inside the parchment was a smaller piece of paper. I read the parchment first. Clearly an official document, it was in precise, formal characters, listing my name and rank, the date my sentence had been handed down, and the date of its rescindment.

  I handed it to Sorley. “Brief, but I suppose it says all it needs to.” While he scanned it, I unfolded the paper. It was in Callan's own hand.

  Guardswoman, if this reaches you, you know the war goes badly. In rescinding your exile, I recall you to duty. When last we spoke, you welcomed exile. If this remains true, then may the soldier's god forgive me. Callan, I.

  I swore. Sorley looked up, but a shout from the riverbank claimed our attention. Turlo and Cillian ran towards us. “Horsemen!” Turlo bellowed, pointing. On the far bank, a group of riders, bows drawn, galloped towards us. The oarsmen dropped the oars, leaping to unhook the shields from the side, accepting swords or axes as they were distributed. Shields raised to make a barrier against the coming rain of arrows, weapons in the other hand, poised and ready in a very few minutes. Practiced fighting men.

  The horses pounded along the bank. Sword or bow? I had used a bow since girlhood. I ducked behind the line of men, keeping low, running for my bow.

  I didn't make it: I didn't have to. One of Irmgard's women pushed it towards me, along with a quiver. “Takkë!” I said, reaching for an arrow to nock. Not mine, I noted: these arrows were tipped with metal. Someone had been thinking.

  I heard the hail of arrows hitting the shield wall, a grunt of pain as one found flesh, the incomprehensible commands of the strangers' leader. More arrows fell. Who was the leader? I crawled forward.

  A flight of arrows whipped across the river, towards the horsemen. Who?—and then I realized: Irmgard and her women. I had misjudged, once again.

  “The dark-haired man on the horse with the red tassels on its reins,” I said to Sorley. “Get the men to cover me.”

  I focused on the leader and let a bit of my sheathed anger free to block out anything else. From behind the shields I aimed and drew. The shields parted to let the arrow fly; a moment later, again, for the second arrow. The first hit the man in the thigh; the second the horse, in the neck. Neither shot should have killed, not from my small bow. But horse and man fell, one screaming in rage, one in pain, and the force of the fall drove the arrow deep into the man's thigh.

  Blood gouted, a crimson, pumping flood. “He's dead,” Sorley said. The horseman milled, shouted, let fly a few more arrows. One dismounted, cleanly dispatching the injured horse, and then remaining beside his dying leader.

  I felt the ship moving, being pushed across the river. Men vaulted over the side, shields up, swords or axes raised, Marai battle cries on their lips. They were going for the horses, I realized, slashing at legs and bellies, stabbing upward to disembowel. Without their horses, our attackers stood no chance. The four left died quickly.

  The oarsmen returned, laughing. They vaulted back onto the ship, put their weapons and shields away, and pushed the ship back to the other bank where Turlo and Cillian waited.

  “Well done, Lena,” Turlo said, clapping me on the shoulder after climbing aboard. “Thank Irmgard,” I managed. “I just aimed the arrows.” The smell of blood and guts and excrement threatened to overwhelm me. I turned away, willing myself not to vomit. I walked away quickly to retch over the side of the ship. Five men, now, the little voice in my mind said.

  “Leave her,” I heard Turlo say. “Killing takes some soldiers this way.”

  I stayed by the rail longer than I needed to, staring away from the carnage. Footsteps made me turn; I still disliked being approached from behind. One of Irmgard's women offered me water. “Takkë,” I said, taking the waterskin. I rinsed my mouth, spat, swallowed several mouthfuls, handed it back. “Takkë,” I said again. She shook her head.

  “Na.” She pointed at herself, then at me. “Takkë.”

  I smiled as best I could and mimed shooting an arrow, pointing at her and nodding. She gave me a delighted smile back, half-curtseyed, and went back to Irmgard.

  “Lena,” Cillian said from a distance behind me. “Are you all right?” I shrugged. “They would have killed us without compunction,” he pointed out.

  “I know,” I said, irritation flaring. “I've done this before. It doesn't necessarily make it easier.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No. Yes. Stop being so understanding all the time.” I buried my face in my hands. I felt him lean on the rail beside me. “Cillian,” I said, “please go away.”

  He went. I made my way to the V of the stern and curled up against it. I could hear raised voices near the prow: Turlo and Geiri. The ship didn't move. I wanted to be back in the grasslands. I wanted the only thing I killed to be grouse. I wanted not to be a soldier.

  But I had to be. I had a vow to keep and a terrible anger inside me that had to be answered. My mother and sister and all the women who had raised me and nurtured me and loved me were desecrated and dead, or enslaved. All the fears that had driven us to change our way of life two years previously when Leste had threatened us with invasion had come true. I had fought then without compunction. I would do it again.

  I walked the twenty paces or so to the prow where the others were deep in conversation. Men were taking down the sail. I wondered why. “Lena,” Turlo said. “Welcome. We are discussing what to do.”

  “What do we know?” I asked.

  “Very little. So, at this point, reconnaissance is needed. I am going scouting tonight, and until then we will move slowly south with the four of us on lookout.”

  “Seven,” Irmgard said firmly. “There ar
e seven of us. You have more planning to do. Let me and Hana and Rind watch first while you talk.”

  “Aye,” Turlo said after a moment's consideration. “That would be helpful. Lena, will you instruct the women?” Turlo had taught me, and the other Guards, how to keep watch on the Wall. I remembered him telling us to look for what wasn't there, as well as what was. I hoped I could make these women understand.

  We moved a little way distant. “I will translate,” Irmgard said. “Hana and Rind do not speak your language.”

  “And I have only one or two words of yours,” I admitted. “So, keeping watch: you are looking for movement, of course, but that is not all.” Over the next ten minutes I explained about watching the behaviour of birds and animals, of movement in grasses or trees that was against the wind, of looking in all directions, including behind us. “Try to use all your senses: listen for unexpected or out-of-place sounds, sniff the air.”

  Rind—the woman who had brought me water—said something, and Irmgard smiled. “Rind says the horsemen will stink, and not just of their horses, so maybe we will smell them.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed. I told them where to position themselves on the ship. Then I returned to the discussion.

  “I'm just wondering how many people we need to do this.,” Sorley was saying. “The more of us there are, the more chance of detection.”

  “Aye,” Turlo said. “We'll need at least ten or twelve, I would think: four to deal with the horses, perhaps, and the rest for the village. Again, I'll know more after tonight.”

  “Can I come with you?” I asked. I felt, rather than saw, Cillian's start of protest.

  “No,” Turlo said. He held up a hand to stop me from speaking. “I have been doing this for over thirty years and I prefer to scout alone. I need you here heading the watches; you are the most experienced at that. That's an order, Guard,” he added, smiling.

  “General,” I acknowledged, unwillingly.

  “Do you have anything to contribute to our planning?”

 

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