I wondered, riding at the flanks of the army, scanning the plain, if Sorley and Ruar had reached the Wall, if they were even now fighting the Marai there. I had sought out Druisius, at a brief halt yesterday.
“You are well?” I had asked.
“Yes. Cillian, he ask me too. Good man. No news, Sorley.”
“No,” I had said. “Nor is there likely to be.” He had nodded, accepting.
Dust rose in clouds around us, settling on our clothes and hair, drying lips and throats. Frequent streams cut the grasslands, so water was not a problem, luckily. I ordered our horses' eyes and nostrils bathed at every halt. At camp each night, we shook dust out of blankets, and felt grit on our teeth when we ate.
On a morning of brilliant sunshine, the track we followed met the road. Three years ago, I had said farewell to Casyn and Turlo here. The Emperor called a halt. The message spread: replenish food if necessary, and be prepared to move rapidly. We would leave the pack animals here. The Taiva lay a day's march ahead.
†††††
Across the Taiva, campfires burned on the shore and the higher land, mirroring ours. I walked among my cohort, speaking words of reassurance I wasn't sure I believed. The Emperor and his commanders were doing the same, out among the soldiers; I would speak only to my own mounted archers. Grainne, and Rasa with her—I would not separate them, tonight—I had sent to the horselines, hoping the care of the animals would help keep Grainne's mind off tomorrow. The others were calm enough, or hiding their fear well.
The guard I was speaking to suddenly jumped to her feet. I turned, to see the Emperor standing beside us. “Sir,” I said.
“Sit,” he directed the guard. “Please. You need your rest. Lieutenant, a word?”
I followed the Emperor away from the fire, beyond hearing distance of the soldiers.
“Lieutenant,” he said. “Lena. I expect obedience, for what I am going to tell you now.”
“Sir?”
“Tomorrow, I have chosen to deploy most of the mounted archers on the field. But you will be in the coombe, with five of your best guardswomen. You, and they, are to remain in reserve, unless you hear a signal: five rapid drumbeats. Otherwise, you do not engage. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “May I ask why, Emperor?”
“Think of what you did in Tirvan, Lieutenant. The same role here, except the weapon differs.”
“Sir.” We were to be assassins again, my riders and myself. “And the targets?”
“Any man who still commands. You will know. If the day goes well, you may not be needed.”
“Emperor?”
“Lieutenant?”
I had to ask. “Was this your adjutant's idea?”
“No. My brother's. Cillian knows nothing of it. Nor will you tell him, Lieutenant.”
“Sir.” The moon had not yet risen. I could barely see his face, but I thought he had told me the truth.
“I trust your discretion, Lena,” he said, his voice gentler. “There will be deaths tomorrow, too many, but yours need not be among them. I will not order you out of the battle entirely. You may be required. But I will not rob my son of you, if it can be prevented.” He paused. “Nor you of him. We are all in peril, tomorrow, myself and Cillian included. I swear to you that if I can keep him safe, I will.”
“Thank you, sir.” They should not be in real danger, I thought, on their rise of land.
“Get some sleep, Lieutenant.” He turned to go.
Prudence warred against generosity in my heart. “Callan,” I said, using his name purposely. He stopped, turning back.
“Lena?”
“Can I trust your discretion, if I tell you something Cillian cannot know? For his safety, to keep him focused on the battle, tomorrow, not for any other reason.”
“If that is the true reason, yes. What is it you are keeping from him but not from me?”
What impulse had led me to this? I took a breath. “I am carrying our child.”
Silence, for a long moment. “You cannot know what joy that brings me,” my Emperor said, his voice rough. “But I should order you off the field, under the circumstances.”
“And tell Cillian what, as the reason? Emperor, hear me out. This child is his, but it is also mine, and I must respond to what has happened, to my mother and sister and too many women in Tirvan and elsewhere. I need to be able to tell my child what that response was, not that I stood on the sidelines. She may be your heir, Callan, and she will need to understand duty, will she not?”
“She will,” he said slowly. “But you will fight only if you must. My earlier orders stand. Your captain will inform your cohort-leader, so it is clear the order comes from above.”
“Thank you, Emperor.” It had been the right thing, to tell him.
“I will pray for your safety,” he answered. “I will send Cillian to you for an hour, in a little while.”
He found me sitting with Talyn, by her fire. She looked up as he approached. “Adjutant,” she said. “Cousin. Shall I leave you?”
He shook his head. “Thank you, Talyn, but no. We will walk, I think. Lena?”
I stood. “I will see you soon, Talyn.” We walked beyond the fires, along the river's edge. Sand shifted under our feet. Above us, a million stars glittered. We reached a place where the river had cut into the sand, a series of stepped banks held in place by coarse grasses.
“Shall we sit?” We settled onto the sand. “Unpin your insignia,” he reminded me. He did the same. We were free of rank, our private selves. He wrapped his arms around me.
“Hello, my love,” I said.
“Käresta,” he replied. “Callan gave me an hour.”
“It was kind of him.”
“Lena, if I say the word 'home', what do you see? Don't tell me, yet.”
Home. He was looking forward, beyond tomorrow's horrors. A way to find hope tonight. I closed my eyes, hearing the soft sound of the river, the gusty breeze in the grasses. My mind found Tirvan, and rejected it. Not Casilla, either. Unbidden, the image of a stone hall, nestled in its valley, appeared in my mind. Was I just reaching for what I thought Cillian wanted? Perhaps, in part. But I remembered Dagney's kindness, and Perras's deep interest. I smiled to myself. A sense of peace, of safety, pervaded the memory.
“Not what I expected,” I murmured.
“Hold on to it. But hear me out, before you tell me.”
“Of course.”
“I have travelled for all my adult life, käresta, as you know,” he began. “I did not mind—I had no reason to stay in one place—and as this last year brought me you, I count myself fortunate. But sixteen years is quite a while to be always moving, and I am weary of it. I would like to stop travelling, Lena, when this war is over. To find a home. To belong. But it is not just myself I must consider, and perhaps not just you, either.”
He doesn't know, I reminded myself. “Sorley.”
“Yes. His home is gone, Lena. I would like to tell him he always has one with us, if you agree. He may have other plans, of course, but I want to say this to him.”
“He won't have other plans,” I said. “And of course I agree. Cillian, I know what he thinks of as the closest place he has to a home, now.”
“Which is?”
“The one place we all share, kärestan,” I said. “The place we met. Home is the Ti'ach, is it not?”
“Is it?” he asked. “You would do that for me?”
“Not just for you. For me, as well, to learn, and for Sorley, too.” And for you, little one, I thought, to give you books and music and language, and to prepare you to be heir to the Empire, if that is your fate.
“And Tirvan?”
“Tirvan is gone, and what will be rebuilt will not be the same. There is nothing there for me. But can you go back, Cillian? You are a citizen of this Empire, and potentially regent to its heir.”
“I can. In the afternoon we came to the decision about the succession, I raised the question. Neither my father nor Casyn objecte
d, in part because they see merit in sending the potential heirs—Talyn's children, right now—to the Ti'acha for a while, to learn Casilan and be educated in their writings and thought. Such a plan would be simpler, if I—we—were there. Ruar too had no objection: he looks for closer ties between our lands, not barriers.”
I leaned against him. A conversation with Dagney echoed in my mind. ‘There is shame for a woman to bear a child outside of a formal partnership, even if the father acknowledges it,’ she had told me. I cared nothing for implied shame for myself, but Cillian could not allow his child to endure what he had. I may have to marry your father, little one. After all, I did offer, once. Tomorrow night, I will tell him of you, and we will decide.
“Linrathe, then,” I said. “The Ti'ach. But you must teach me Linrathan.” His arms tightened around me. I looked up at him. The moon had risen. I could just see his face.
“Will you sleep tonight?” I asked.
“Unlikely.”
“If you do—I am with you when you wake, my love. Always. You are not alone. I promised.”
“Such a gift,” he said softly. He kissed my hair, his lips lingering. “This past year, even when you were simply sleeping on the other side of a campfire, or beside me without touching, even then I felt—secure, I suppose, more so than I remember feeling since I left my grandparents' care. Just knowing you were there, and would be, every morning. I promised to try to make you feel the same way. Sheltered, you told me.”
“You have,” I said. “You have been my refuge, Cillian, my sanctuary, and you always will be.” A gust of wind rattled the grasses. If he replied, I did not hear the words. I raised my head for one last, long kiss, and then he stood, holding out his hand.
“Time does not stop,” he said, “for all we wish it might.”
Near the fires, I freed my fingers from his. He touched my face. “Thà mi air a bheth beànnaichte. I have been blessed, käresta,” he whispered, before he left me.
†††††
We moved into position in the darkness before dawn, leading our horses to the small, hidden coombe over the hilltop. The setting moon, waning just past half, gave little light. I'd given my cohort lessons in moving quietly, but it was difficult to muffle the sound of six horses. Movement in both camps would disguise our travel, I hoped, and in the sea-fog that had come in overnight, the direction of sound would be hard to determine.
On the field bordering the river, I could hear men taking their positions, and on the river itself, more sounds of weapons, and movement, and voices floating over the water. I settled the guards in the bowl of the coombe as the first light began to grow in the east. The fog was low, and would disperse with the sun. “Five rapid drumbeats,” I reminded them. “We do not move until then. Expect it late in the battle.” I did not plan to wait blind, though. Crossing the hillside to reach the coombe, I had noted a place where I thought I could be hidden, but still watch the field. I would be safe, not violating the Emperor's orders.
I'd analysed my archers constantly during the march, thinking about who should serve on the field, and who with me. Over the days, I made my choices: Junia, Glynn from Torrey, two others. I had wanted Rasa, and Dian, but I knew their skills would be needed in the battle. I'd discussed all this with Talyn, before I decided. She had concurred, especially about Junia. “She's the best of us,” she'd said.
“Glynn,” I said quietly. “I will watch, from further up the hill. You oversee here. Understood?” To the group, I said, “try to relax. Eat a little. Stay quiet.” Heads nodded. I left my gelding with them, and made my way back up to the rocky outcrop I had noted. I settled between the boulders. In the rising sun, I could see the field, and below me, to the right, the high sweep of land from which the Emperor would direct the battle: the Emperor, his runners and signallers, and Cillian, there to translate, analyze, advise. I require you by my side, his father had written. You know more of the Marai than any other man I can trust.
Tendrils of fog lay between the river and the land, and along the shore of the sea. Between its patches, I could see Marai ships at the mouth of the river, and upstream, to an island in its middle. I counted twenty ships. Eight hundred men, then, unless they had hidden troops on land, or more ships out on the sea, beyond the headland. We had more, I believed; twelve hundred men and women on the field below us, and more on the Casilani ships that lay waiting, out of sight. The advantage was with us, then. My mind ranged back to the early days of our exile, the evening spent in xache and the analysis of old battles. Numbers always mattered, Cillian had told me, if the troops could be trusted.
I scanned the field. Flat land, on the south bank, for a hundred paces, perhaps more, and then rising slowly. Closer to the mouth, the meadowland changed to saltmarsh, channelled and muddy, treacherous underfoot. On the north bank, the land rose more rapidly, only a narrow strip of mud between the river's channel and the scarp at low tide. I could see why the Emperor had chosen this place for the battle: the landscape favoured us.
I watched our troops move into position; ranked swordsmen and archers arranging themselves on the meadow, my mounted cohort behind them. So many. They looked formidable, to me. I found Turlo, red beard bright under his helmet in the rising sun, across from the island, commanding the right half of the army from a bay horse; Casyn, on a chestnut, had the left, closer to the river mouth and the marsh. Both men held their troops back from the river, a strip of land perhaps five paces wide left open.
The day brightened. I let my eyes travel back to the Marai ships. Men stood on their decks, shields and swords or axes in hand. They stood easily, not revealing fear, confident. The tide ebbed rapidly; already I could see banks of sand and mud near the river's mouth, divided by deep channels of water. The Marai had no escape, I realized, until the tide rose again. Desperate men fight harder, I remembered Cillian telling me, a year ago or more, citing an ancient battle at a narrow pass. Geiri had said Fritjof used fear and punishment to make his men obey. Did that mean they were apprehensive about this fight? If so, they were not showing it.
On the island, many Marai waited, weapons ready. 'Fritjof will use that island for his first attack, across the causeway,’ Callan had said. Leik commanded on the field. He must be among those men. I searched, not able to pick him out from among the mass of pale-haired Marai. One horse, tacked but blanketed, stood restlessly, its head swinging. It must be Leik's, I thought. One ship, the dragonhead on the prow brightly painted, its sail moving in the light breeze, lay beside the island. Fritjof's.
I glanced down, to the high ground below me. Only the signallers and runners, and the Casilani physician, Gnaius, stood there now. My eyes returned to the field, searching for Cillian, and the Emperor. From the rear of the lines, the standard-bearer, the flag of the Empire blowing behind him, rode forward. Beside him, on an almost-white horse, Callan galloped to the front of the army. The Emperor wore his grey robes, his silver pendant catching the sun, reflecting daggers of light. His head was bare. He reined his horse to a stop directly across from Fritjof's ship. Just behind him, wearing the unrelieved black of the Emperor's Advisor, rode Cillian. I tried to continue my analysis of the field, but fear had begun to insinuate itself behind my self-control.
“Fritjof, king of the Marai,” the Emperor called. “You are outnumbered. Will you cede, and give me your word you will return north to your own lands?” Cillian repeated the words in Marái'sta, his voice, pitched to carry, reaching the men on the island and the ships. A clatter of weapons against shields answered him.
Fritjof climbed onto the side of his ship, raising his hand for quiet. He held a spear. He shouted something; his men rattled weapons against shields, longer this time. Fritjof waited. I thought the man beside him was Niáll, who had kidnapped Dagney and me for Fritjof, last spring. He would be Fritjof's translator. When the Marai quietened, Niáll shouted, “King Fritjof says give him gold, and he might. Gold and armour and weapons now, and the same, every year.”
“All you will have fro
m me is spear tips and sword blades,” Callan replied. “You can see our strength. The tide ebbs. Your ships can leave here now, or not at all. Choose, Fritjof.”
Cillian translated. Fritjof laughed. He raised the spear and threw it. From the island, men began to pour across the river. The causeway, I remembered, seeing the water coming barely to the ankles of the running men. Callan wheeled his horse around, galloping along the bank, Cillian and the standard-bearer just behind him, the flag streaming, passing where the causeway met the land, making for the command location on the hillside below me. Clods flew from the horses' hooves. Men converged at the end of the causeway, shields raised, forming a wall, blocking the Marai warriors. Metal clashed against metal. Shouts and cries rent the air. Marai men began to fall, the tidal waters ebbing past their bodies. I forced myself to watch, to analyze, to keep my eyes from Cillian on the hill below me.
What was Fritjof doing? These men had no chance of breaking through our shield wall. This was a distraction, I realized. My eyes scanned the ships. Men leapt overside, into what was now shallow water. I glanced down: Callan spoke rapidly to his signallers, commanding, his eyes on the field. Trumpet blasts and drums relayed directions. Cillian stood beside his father, watching Casyn's troops, I thought, and the more distant Marai ships. He had always taken the long view, on our travels.
A volley of arrows from behind our swordsmen, and Marai fell into the water, blocking and tripping their compatriots, screaming in pain. I couldn't make sense of the massed movements, couldn't see the patterns. The mounted cohort, Talyn at its head, raced along the bank, arrows aimed at the ships and the men still pouring overside. More men fell, but some gained the bank. Swords rang. My cohort reached the causeway, shot again, circled and rode back towards the saltmarsh. I looked north: no movement on the high ground above the river. No hidden Marai troops joining the battle, yet. At the causeway, the water had dropped. The Marai abandoned the flagstones, spreading out along the bank. The shield wall held, but men battled men, axes and swords swinging. I saw Finn, wielding a sword with lethal accuracy, and Casyn, riding along the bank, his swordblade a blur.
Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy Page 105