Closer to the mouth of the river, the fighting was fiercer, Marai reaching the land in numbers. Our men were falling now. I saw blood, and bone, and heard screams of pain. I thought I could smell blood, knew it to be a fancy. My stomach heaved. I tried to look away, but I couldn't. Sunlight bounced off sword blades and shield bosses. Sunshine for warfare. But the sun was easterly, and the Marai to our northwest. The flashes of reflected light worked in their favour, not ours.
Rapid movement at the causeway: a white horse galloping from the island, its rider dressed in grey. As Callan was. The rider pushed the horse up the bank, through the massed men, shouting 'Retreat' in our language. What? Who? My breath caught. Men, hearing the shouted command, hesitated, swords checked just for a moment. Trumpets rang out from the hill below me, and drumbeats. The white horse galloped among our army, its rider still shouting his command to retreat. Its green saddle cloth bore the symbols of the Empire. Men turned, both back to the river and away from it, confounding each other, creating chaos. Casyn and Turlo screamed commands to the confused men, over the repeated drumbeats. Fear and frustration gnawed at me. I narrowed my eyes, watching the white horse and its rider. Leik?
The Marai began to push our men back. The white horse swung around. The rider shouted in Marái'sta, rallying his men. An arrow flew by his head; swords swung at the horse. He galloped on, unharmed. More Marai leapt and ran from the ships closer to the south bank, men held in reserve until now. The response came quickly, the mounted cohort galloping along the bank, shooting rapidly at the advancing men. From further back, arrows arched from the bowmen. Blood soaked into the sand of the riverbed—and then at a shouted command from Leik, Marai axemen turned, to throw their weapons at the horses' legs. As Geiri's men had, at the steppe riders. I should have remembered that. I heard the animals' screams, and that of women, as they began to fall. I saw Grainne go down. Grief and anger coursed through me, and a desire to be out there, with my bow and my knife, killing.
Sickened, I watched; my eyes drawn from the carnage to the Emperor, and back out to the field. The Emperor and Cillian spoke rapidly, hands moving, new signals ringing out. Even from a distance above them, I could see the tension in Cillian's shoulders, the severe set of his jaw, a hand running through his hair, revealing his uncertainty. The Emperor looked equally grim. Neither had foreseen this strategy.
Suddenly a troop in the left flank turned, moving away from the river. What now? A second troop began to follow them. From below, rapid drums, and the troops slowed, some stopping. I heard a more distant drum roll. Comprehension dawned: the Marai knew our signals. We had been betrayed. Fritjof was using our own codes to confuse our troops. Trumpets rang from the hill; drums beat harder, louder. I watched the Emperor shouting instructions, sending runners, signalling for his horse. The Marai pushed forward, taking advantage of broken formations, gaps in the defense. Fritjof, on his ship's thwart, laughed.
I saw Cillian look out at the field. I followed his gaze, to Leik, on the white horse.
I turned to run down the hill. I threw myself up onto my horse. “The man on the white horse,” I snapped. “Ecus alban.” We galloped out from the coombe, along the sands. I heard a shout from the river: we had been seen. I nocked an arrow at the gallop. I heard Junia call behind me. She urged her horse past mine, leaning left, standing in the stirrups. No, I thought, too soon, Junia. Wait. I screamed the last word. I couldn't remember the Casilan translation. Junia, ignoring me, drew, held the shot, still galloping. She released. Leik had just shouted something, standing high in the saddle, pointing towards the hillside. Junia's arrow flew, unerringly, the strength of the triple-layered bow behind it. Too far, I thought, too far. Leik turned to urge his horse forward. The arrow hit him squarely in the chest. He fell, grasping air, tumbling backwards off the horse.
Controlling my horse with my knees, I turned to the river. I had an arrow ready. I kept the horse galloping. A sword blade swept by me, but I felt nothing. The horse did not falter. Behind me, among the troops, I heard a commotion, but I had my target. Fritjof stood on the side of his ship. He had been laughing, calling encouragement and derision, until Leik fell. He threw his head back, laughter changing to howled anger, and grief. Vengeance lay cold inside me, focusing me, slowing time. I aimed. I could do this. Huntress, guide my hand, I prayed, and let my arrow fly.
I pulled the horse up. The arrow flew across the water, across the mud, too slowly, I thought. Fritjof still shouted his rage to the sky, one fist upraised. I watched the arc of the arrow. It began to descend. I pulled another from the quiver, nocked it, aimed, waiting for the sword blow from behind, or the fall of my horse to an axe. I am so sorry, little one... I raised the bow, released.
The first arrow sliced through Fritjof's throat. His raised hand dropped, clenched at his neck. Blood spurted. He gurgled, spewing blood, toppling into the shallow water below his ship.
Joy bubbled, for vengeance gained. I heard shouting. Screams of rage and defiance from ahead of me; from behind me, what sounded like grief, or despair. Different voices. Casyn's voice, thundering above the sounds of battle: “Turlo! To the Emperor!” Joy curdled into fear. I turned in the saddle. Turlo galloped towards the high ground, to where the Emperor and Cillian stood. Or should stand. I couldn't see them. My eyes searched the hillside. Where? Where are you, Cillian? I scanned the field, cold dread rising. Had they left the hillside? I hunted for Callan's white horse, and the black gelding. My eyes went back to the hill, and this time I could see.
I turned my horse, urging it forward, pushing through the soldiers, shoving our men and Marai alike aside. Hands grasped at me; I slashed at them with reins and fists. I couldn't see. I kicked the horse again. A shout, from somewhere: my name. The hill stood before me, men bending over bodies. My horse slid to a stop. “No!” I cried, kicking it. It sidled sideways, snorting. Someone held its head. I fell off the saddle, starting to run.
Arms grabbed me. I twisted, reaching for my secca. The hold tightened. “No, lassie,” Turlo said. “Stay here. Stay here.” I sobbed. I fought him, but he was too strong. I sagged. Tears blinded me. “I can't see.” Turlo freed one hand. I wiped my eyes, but the tears didn't stop. Bodies lay scattered on the hilltop. Why couldn't I find Cillian?
“Kebhan,” Turlo growled. “Traitor. Him and some of the Leste men, among the archers. They're dead, lassie.”
Who did he mean? Where was Cillian? Gnaius knelt beside a body, grey cloaked. Arrows across his back, deeply embedded. I wiped my eyes again. Gnaius's hands probed. He looked up, shook his head. “Callan,” Turlo whispered, “Oh, Callan. No.” He sobbed, a deep, rough sound.
Men bent to lift the Emperor, and now I could see the body beneath. Arrows pierced his left side and thigh, over the scar left by the last attempt to kill him. My vision darkened, red and white sparks blurring together. If I can keep him safe, I will. Callan's words. Anger surged through me. But you didn't, I thought. You didn't. Blood pounded in my ears. Gnaius had knelt again. His hands moved on Cillian's body. I tried to see what he did. The darkness grew. There was a chasm behind it, a void.
“He didn't know,” I cried. “He didn't know.”
“Lassie, he did. He knew you loved him. How could he not?” Turlo said, through his tears.
Gnaius raised his head. The world shifted, spun. The red roaring dark split open, and I fell.
Epilogue
The last student draws her bow and lets the arrow fly, hitting the edge of the target. “Enough, for today,” I tell my three pupils. I supervise the unstringing, and the gathering of arrows, and send them back to the Ti'ach for drinks. From the far end of the field, I can hear the clang of swords. I turn to watch Sorley and Druisius, with their students, practicing one-on-one. The boy is good, graceful, giving Sorley a challenge; the girl, only a beginner.
We have peace, for now. The Marai have withdrawn north. The Wall is deserted, except for the fort at the sea; the gates stand open, allowing the free movement that was Donnalch's dream. The soldie
rs—from the Empire and from Linrathe—are at the Sterre. Sorham belongs to the Marai, still.
I take the targets off the butts, and then I too walk back to the hall, although my day is far from done. I am tired; I sat up late last night writing my conclusions for the task Dagney set me, an analysis of certain danta, so late that I overslept this morning, a thing I hate to do. But we are all busy, here at the Ti'ach, and everywhere, in Linrathe and the Empire. We are rebuilding our lands, our villages and torps, and at the Ti'acha, new students have arrived. Kira keeps me informed about Tirvan, and their lives there by letter, but my life is here, at this long stone hall nestled in its sheltered valley.
Casyn visited just last week. He comes to see Ruar, for where else would the boy be but here, at the Ti'ach his father loved, under the tutelage and guidance of the Comiádh and Dagney? Much of their talk is of the Marai. Casyn believes this peace will not last; that sooner or later, the enemy will return. The tribute we pay to keep them north of the Sterre will, someday, not be enough. The threat seems distant, illusory. Our lives here are concerned with teaching and learning, music and story. Nonetheless, we teach the weapons of war now, too.
The battle which won us this dearly-bought peace was nearly four years ago. My daughter is three, born six months after I put an arrow into Fritjof's neck. She is strong and curious and brave, with her father's dark eyes and his slow, radiant smile, and had I not known I was carrying her, there was a time I might have wished for death. I named her Gwenna, for both her lost grandmothers. She is with Isa, in the kitchen, being kept busy while I teach.
As I enter the hall I hear the door to the Comiádh's study close: Ruar, finished his lesson in Casilan. He, or perhaps we, will visit Casil, one day. I smile at him, going to the kitchen to collect Gwenna. Dagney is still teaching: the notes of a ladhar, inexpertly played, drift out from her rooms. Isa gives me tea for the Comiádh; his leg was paining him earlier, she tells me, and I should save him the trouble of coming for it.
It is time for Gwenna's lesson: she is learning her letters. We walk through the darkening hall, tap on the door, open it. Gwenna runs ahead, climbing up eagerly onto a stool by the table. The Comiádh turns from the fire. He is thinner: the toll of his long illness, thankfully past. “Here you are, little one,” he says. She giggles.
His eyes find mine. We have not yet met today, because I overslept, because we are occupied with students, with motherhood, with life. And so there are words that must be said, a private ritual begun to birdsong in the breaking light of dawn, by a lake on an endless plain.
“Hello, my love,” I say.
The Characters of Empire's Exile
Characters who are a direct part of the story are in bold. Characters who are mentioned by name but not directly a part of the story are in plain type.
Aethyl – a girl of the Kurzemë, Fel and Kaisa's daughter
Aivar – the vēsturni of the Kurzemë
Alain – a man of Linrathe
Arey – a woman of Berge, Turlo's lover, Darel's mother
Ǻsmund – a prince of Varsland, brother to Fritjof, deceased
Atulf – a diplomat of the Boranoi
Audo – a man of the Kurzemë
Benis – a man of the Kurzemë
Birel – Casyn's soldier-servant
Callan – the Emperor of the West
Casyn – a General of the Empire, Callan's brother
Cillian – a man of Linrathe, Callan's son
Colm - Callan's twin and advisor, deceased
Dagney – a woman of Sorham, the Lady of the Ti'ach na Perras, scáeli and teacher
Darel – a Cadet of the Empire, Turlo's son, deceased
Dern – an officer of the Empire, Captain of Skua
Detlef – an oarsman of Varsland, loyal to Irmgard
Dian – a Guardswoman of the Empire
Donnalch – a Teannasach of Linrathe, deceased
Druisius – a palace guard of Casil
Eryl – a man of the Kurzemë, hunt leader
Eudekia – the Empress of Casil and the East
Fél (Oran) – a soldier of the Empire, exiled, now a man of the Kurzemë, Kaisa's husband
Finn – a Captain of the Empire
Fritjof – Härskaran of the Marai of Varsland
Galen – Lena's father, a border scout
Galdor – an officer of the Empire
Garth – a Watch-Commander of the Empire, Maya's brother
Geiri – a steersman of Varsland, loyal to Irmgard
Gille – a woman of Tirvan, briefly Casyn's lover
Glynn – a Guardswoman of the Empire
Gnaius – a physician of Casil
Grainne – a Guardswoman of the Empire
Grêt – the headwoman of the Kurzemë
Gulian – an officer of the Empire
Gwen – a midwife and healer of Tirvan, Lena's mother
Hafwen (Wenna) – a girl of Linrathe, Cillian's mother, deceased
Hana – a woman of Varsland, waiting woman to Irmgard
Herlief – Härskaran of Varsland, deceased; father to Ǻsmund and Fritjof
Ianthe – a woman of Karst, Tice's sister
Irmgard – a princess of Varsland, Ǻsmund's wife
Isa – a woman of Linrathe, housekeeper at the Ti'ach na Perras
Ivor – a man of the Kurzemë, son to Lumis and Grêt
Jedd – a retired General of the Empire
Jordis – a girl of Linrathe, student at the Ti'ach na Perras
Josan – an officer of the Empire
Junia – a woman of Casil, Captain of the horse archers
Kaisa – a woman of the Kurzemë, Fél's wife
Karel – a man of the Kurzemë
Kebhan – a boy of Linrathe, son to Lorcann
Kira – a woman of Tirvan, Lena's sister
Lara – a girl of Tirvan
Leik – a man of Varsland, Fritjof's son
Lorcann – the Teannasach of Linrathe
Lumis – the headman of the Kurzeme
Maya – a woman of Casilla, once Lena's partner
Mihel – the headman of Sylana
Niáll – a man of Linrathe, in Fritjof's service
Niav – a girl of Linrathe, Isa's niece
Pel – a boy of Tirvan, Lena's cousin
Perras – a man of Linrathe, the Comiádh of the Ti'ach na Perras
Prisca – a woman of Casil, housekeeper
Quintus – a man of Casil, advisor to Eudekia
Rasa – a Guardswoman of the Empire
Ravn – an oarsman of Varsland, loyal to Irmgard
Rind – a woman of Varsland, waiting-woman to Irmgard
Ruar – a boy of Linrathe, Donnalch's son
Rufin – a Captain of the Guard in Casil
Sara – woman of Tirvan, Lena's aunt
Sergius – a man of Casil, steward
Sorley – a nobleman of Sorham, loyal to Linrathe
Tali – a woman of Tirvan, Pel and Maya and Garth's mother
Talyn – a woman of the Empire, Casyn's daughter
Tice – a woman of Tirvan, Valle's mother, deceased
Turlo – a General of the Empire
Ulv – an oarsman of Varsland, loyal to Irmgard
Valle – a boy of the Empire, Tice and Garth's son
Vesna – a woman of the Kurzemë
The Vocabulary of Empire's Exile
The languages spoken in the Empire's Legacy trilogy are my inventions, but they are based on existing or historic languages. Pronunciations and grammar may not follow the conventions of those languages. Roughly, Casilan is based on Latin; Kurzemën is derived from a mix of Baltic languages, Linrathan primarily from Gaelic, both Scottish and Irish, and Marái'sta from Scandinavian languages.
Each word is followed by its pronunciation and then its meaning.
Ǻdla – ehd-la – princess
alban – all-bann – white
alfban – alf-bann – ivory (walrus)
amané – ah-m
an-eh – lover(male)
an dithës braithréan – ann dith-ess bray-trey-an – the two brothers
anash – ah-nash – herb used against fever and conception
ar fosidh di, mo chaol iômhlán – ar vo-sith dee, mo kol ee-oh-vlan – to shelter her all my days
Arénas Ingenírus – a-ren-ass in-gen-i-rus – the arena of games
bêne – ben-eh – good
benedis – ben-ed-is – contraceptive herb (anash)
Breccaith – breck-ath – lament
Casil e imitaran ne – Cas-ill eh imi-tar-an nay – Casil is not equalled here
cithar – kith-ar – stringed instrument, zither
Comiádh – ko-mi-ath – professor
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