Resistance

by Alex Janaway

  ‘You set?’ She studied the lad. Evan wasn’t a boy anymore. He was as almost as old now as she was when she’d been thrown into that cell in Aberpool.

  ‘All set,’ he replied.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  The wagon began to move, Evan guiding it on to the road. Cade swayed with the movement, feeling relaxed. Her mind, surprisingly, at ease. Up ahead she saw a convoy of wagons already on the road. That would be Sent. Getting ahead of the game. Good for him. Saved her having to think about it. As they rolled along, survivors picked themselves up off the ground, collecting sacks, baskets, items wrapped in clothing. They fell into line, joining a growing procession of walkers. Cade took a moment to reflect. They’d lost thousands just the day before. Someone said perhaps ten thousand souls had been left on the wrong side of the river. If that were true, it meant fifteen thousand were on the right side. She smiled contentedly. That meant fifteen thousand potential customers.

  ‘Krste. How many barrels of ale we got left?’

  ‘Er. Three.’

  She sucked air through her teeth. She’d need to find more stock.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE – OWEN

  Owen scratched at his nose, his finger running over the bump at the bridge. He spread his hand wide, drawing it down over his cheeks and chin, feeling the hairs of his beard. Having left it for so long, the thought of shaving did not entertain him at all.

  ‘What do you think, Arno?’ he asked. ‘It’s still me, isn’t it?’

  Arno cocked his head and blinked.

  Owen smiled. Like his eagle gave a shit.

  He ran a hand down Arno’s flank and patted him.

  ‘We’ll hunt soon.’

  He walked among the camp, passing Jussi and Ayolf. He stopped to inspect the lad’s work, testing the straps of the saddle.

  ‘Make sure you stow your spear nice and tight, Jussi. Don’t want to see it falling out like it did last time.’

  ‘It won’t, Owen. And that was months ago!’ complained Jussi. His voice was deeper, scratchier. Owen smiled as he turned to look at him. Puberty was taking hold, and Jussi was starting to fill out. Good thing that Ayolf had matured just as fast.

  ‘I know, Jussi. But I’m never going to let you live it down. You almost skewered that camel.’

  ‘And his rider won’t let me forget it. You’d think I’d taken a shot at a family member.’

  Owen laughed. ‘Think of it this way – how would you feel if someone took a shot at Ayolf?’

  ‘But camels aren’t as smart as eagles.’

  ‘You want to argue that with the Erebeshi?’

  Jussi looked at the ground and kicked at the dirt. ‘Not really.’

  Owen clapped his shoulder. ‘Smart lad. Now, get ready. We’ll be off soon. Fly well and give the Erebeshi a reason to like you again.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘And keep safe.’

  Jussi nodded, at the pulsed wish.

  Owen moved on. He knew he treated the lad with greater care then the others. Jussi had seen enough to know to be careful, but he was still young. He just didn’t want to fail him like he’d failed Em.

  He waved at Erskine and Ernan. They’d returned a few hours ago, and no doubt would have liked more rest, but there was no more time. At least their eagles were fully grown, and both they and their riders were itching for a fight. The brothers had missed the events at Eagle’s Rest and had been antsy ever since. They’d get a chance to work it out.

  He walked through the camp. The eagles and Highlanders were billeted on the southern side of their camp, the scouts and their camels were on the northern side. Owen had his command group meet right in the centre. He settled down and greeted the young Erebeshi called Hassan, who was tending the small fire. This far out, there was no danger of being discovered.

  ‘Hassan, you are well?’

  ‘Very well, General,’ he responded.

  Owen grimaced. Since when had this new title taken hold?

  ‘You don’t have to call me that,’ he said.

  Hassan smiled. ‘Of course, General. Very kind of you to say.’ He handed over a small beaker filled with a steaming liquid. Owen held it under his nose, drawing in the scent of mint. Damn but they made good tea.

  He took a sip. It had a thick, sweet texture.

  ‘It’s good.’

  ‘Hassan.’ They both looked up as Killen approached.

  ‘Yes, Major?’ responded Hassan.

  ‘Got your kit ready?’

  ‘Not yet. I was making tea. Here …’ He handed up another beaker.

  ‘Thank you, son. Now get your arse back to your mount. We’ll be riding soon.’

  Hassan sketched a salute, stood, and jogged off.

  Killen shared a look with Owen as he hunkered down by the fire.

  ‘That boy, making tea when he should be sharpening his sword.’

  ‘He’s a fine lad, does his people credit,’ replied Owen. ‘Your people now, I suppose.’

  Killen reached up and felt his face and the beard he sported, cut and shaped in sharp angles, tapering to a point just below his chin.

  ‘I still don’t get them, not completely. They have their own way of doing things. I doubt I’ll ever fully understand.’

  Owen raised an eyebrow. ‘Major, have you seen yourself?’ The soldier was dressed in his wargear, his breastplate over a linen shirt. Over this he wore the off-white robes of his scouts, and his leather helmet was encased in more linen, wrapped around his head and chin. On his arms he wore leather bracers, embossed with southern symbols and script. He now carried a curved sword tucked into his belt, rather than his issue cavalry sabre. And as for that beard …

  Killen raised both eyebrows in response. Owen saw him open his mouth to protest, then stop.

  ‘I suppose. I just felt it important to honour their service.’

  ‘I think they honour you, too,’ replied Owen.

  Killen grunted. ‘Don’t know why, they’ve carried me most of the way.’

  ‘Not true, Major. I’ve seen you in action. You know your business and I’m grateful for it.’

  Killen blew on his tea and took a sip. Owen watched him for a moment. There was something that he had been wanting to ask. Now seemed as good a time as any.

  ‘Major, we’ve never had this discussion, but you know you outrank me?’

  Killen snorted. ‘I don’t think that matters, does it, Owen?’

  ‘I’m just an Eagle Rider,’ Owen replied. It was the truth, after all.

  ‘You also happen to be the leader of the last Imperial settlement left standing and the commander of her army. Sorry, General of her army,’ he said with a sly smile. ‘Trust me. You can keep that job. I’m happy with my scouts.’

  ‘General. That again,’ Owen scoffed. ‘Don’t feel like one.’

  Killen downed his tea and raised the beaker. ‘I’ve met a couple in my time. You’re not doing too bad a job. Though they say you are only as good as your last battle.’

  Speaking of which. Heading towards them were Larsen and Captain Rashad. He nodded to each in turn, and took it upon himself to serve them both tea. Rashad nodded gratefully, Larsen didn’t look so sure.

  ‘How are we doing?’ Owen asked.

  ‘We’re ready,’ said Larsen, taking a tentative sniff of the tea.

  Rashad grinned at him and nodded. ‘Our scouts have returned. The settlement is quiet. A few souls have raised themselves, but only to toilet. They have no sentries.’

  Why would they?

  ‘Major, your cavalry?’

  ‘Once Hassan has himself sorted, we’ll be ready to head out.’

  ‘Then I think we are done. It’s a pity we have no more Speakers here. It would have made coordination easier.’

  Killen shook his head.

  ‘Owen, welcome to the world of the Imperial Army. Those Gifted always stayed close to the Emperor. If we’d had them embedded, we might have stood a better chance in the war.’

  ‘You never know, we might
find more,’ suggested Larsen.

  Owen scratched at his elbow. ‘Either way. We have the element of surprise. Let’s make it count.’

  He stood and the others followed.

  ‘Good luck, all of you. I’ll see you inside the settlement.’

  He shook hands with each man, and watched them return to their commands. He took a seat and helped himself to the last of the tea. He sipped it slowly as the Highlanders loped off at a steady pace. A few whispered voices and the tramp of the feet in the soil was soon lost to the night. They had several miles to travel through undulating, lightly wooded terrain. The Erebeshi roused their camels and stepped off, and although he did not see it, he knew the group would be splitting into two parties. One heading north east, the other south east. He sat for a time. Enjoying the silence, even the solitude. His friends must have realised he needed some time to himself, and stayed close to their eagles. His decisions, all his actions, had led them to this moment. And he could not help but think of Gerat. The man had been a killer. Killed others so that he may live. And what was Owen now doing? He was condemning more of his people to death. Did he want to live? Yes. But the only way he could see that was to fight. And die. He placed the beaker by the fire and stood.

  Now it begins. Finally.

  He returned to the eagles, raising his hands to his fellow riders. They knew the signal and started to climb aboard.

  ‘Arno. Time to get going.’

  He reached Arno and climbed into his saddle. He went through his pre-launch checks. Everything was strapped in tight. His crossbow was loaded, his spear stowed. He settled his feet into the stirrups and leaned forward, holding tight to the pommel.

  ‘Up, Arno. Up.’

  Arno stretched his wings out and swept down, generating uplift. Together they lurched upwards into the night. It was cloudy, cool. Autumn had the land in its grip, and soon this place would start to feel the turn to winter. In these central territories the seasons were hard. They climbed for a few minutes, before he put Arno into a slow, languid circle, allowing the others to join him in their own time. As each rider arrived they placed themselves into a chevron formation: Owen at the front, the brothers each taking a flank, and Jussi taking the rear. They had worked hard on a sequence of manoeuvres and signals to make up for the brothers not sharing the Gift. Tonight would be their first test in conflict.

  He turned them east. Though dark, Owen was confident of their destination. The target had a large open stretch of ground directly to its west, and a stream bordering it to the south; easy to identify from the air.

  It would only take a few minutes before they would overtake his troops on the ground. Perhaps if they were looking up, waiting for the eagles to sweep by, they would feel comforted? In awe? Jealous? He’d felt similar emotions himself when he was a child, before he manifested the Gift. Ever since he’d been too damned busy to think about it.

  Keeping low he spied a lighter patch of ground, and the trees gave way to an area of open heathland free of overgrowth thanks to the constant cropping of horses. Arno started to climb a little higher as he sped across the heath, reaching its far edge. Even in the darkness it was clear the treeline beyond the heath was marked with odd, angular shapes: dwellings, stables and storehouses. Owen and his squadron overflew the settlement and he took them on a wide curving arc west before positioning them in a lazy holding pattern. If Larsen and the others had not been looking for the eagles before, they would be now. He made sure they were an obvious sight, if one was minded to see. He doubted anyone from the settlement would be looking up at this hour.

  Owen and the others waited patiently. There was nothing else to do until Larsen had his people ready.

  ‘Owen? I think I saw a spark!’ Jussi pulsed.

  He stretched out and scanned the ground. He couldn’t see anything.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I think so.’

  He looked again. There! The briefest flare of light. Not far from the settlement’s edge. He turned Arno to line up on it as that flare of light grew, turned into spluttering flames, then split into two, then split again, and again into smaller points of light, forming a spreading line. Almost thirty of their archers ready to loose.

  Owen turned Arno again, this time to get out of the way of what was coming next. They banked sharply as the lit arrows were launched into the air, describing a high arc, reaching their apex and falling towards the settlement, scattering over the dwellings. Before they impacted, another wave was launched, and following that another, and another after that. The fire arrows were beginning to carpet the settlement. Many were striking trees, some hit the spaces between buildings, the flames burning out to no effect. Yet enough were starting to find their mark. Owen and his flyers were now over the settlement, high enough to avoid the arrows but close enough to witness their effects. As yet another volley flew, Owen could hear shouting, a rising level of alarm. Fires began to take hold. The settlement started to glow. Figures were emerging from the structures, running hither and yon. Another volley crashed down. A figure stumbled and fell. A scream rose up. And there, amidst the trees, he saw a corral, and a score of shadowed figures sprinting to it. He directed Arno toward it, and he spied a great number of horses. They did not appear overly panicked by the chaos. The gate to the corral opened and the figures streamed in. Owen altered Arno’s course, back towards the line of Larsen’s people. It was time for them to go.

  Another volley.

  Wooah!

  A quick tilt of Arno’s wings to dodge an errant pitch-soaked arrow of flame, and he was swooping over the Highland archers. If Larsen didn’t get that message, he was in trouble. As he passed, he caught a shout.

  ‘Let’s go!’

  They’d got the message.

  He picked up height again and looked back. The Highlanders were up and running, sprinting across the open ground, heading for the safety of the far treeline. But they were not going to make it. They were never going to. It was the most dangerous part of the plan. To draw out the enemy they had to get close, to put them in harm’s way. Owen levelled Arno out and raised his arms, high.

  ‘I see you, Owen,’ Jussi pulsed to him.

  ‘Good hunting, Jussi.’

  Owen turned Arno to the left in a tight arc heading towards the settlement. On his right flank was Erskine. Jussi took position on his left and beyond him was Ernan. The two brothers acting as wingmen, each following the lead of the two authentic Eagle Riders.

  They dropped towards the ground quickly, gathering speed. As they passed over the tree line and back on to the heath, Arno levelled out again in a long, fast glide, the ground a blur beneath them. The rush of air competing against the noise coming from below. Owen saw his people and passed beyond them within moments. And there, directly ahead, framed by the now blazing settlement, were the riders. He guessed perhaps thirty of them. Nothing more than shapes in motion, but he didn’t need to see them clearly to know what they would look like: wild-haired, bare-chested, inked skin, howling like madmen.

  Wood elves.

  And they had no idea what they were facing this night.

  The eagles lined up and went straight at the horses.

  ‘Hunt, Arno!’

  Though he could not see them, Owen knew Arno’s talons would be outstretched and homing in on his prey.

  Arno struck, taking hold of a horse below in a powerful grip and dragging it away. His wings, wide and powerful, caused other riders to veer wildly out of the way, losing control of their mounts, crashing into each other. It was over fast. Owen looked left and right. The others were all with him. None of them appeared to have gathered any prey. Not a surprise, horses were not their usual target. Arno, however. He had been trained for this.

  ‘Arno. Drop.’

  A screaming, panicking horse fell through the sky into the darkness below. Owen did feel a little bad for it.

  ‘Good lad, Arno. Good Lad.’

  He raised his hands high. A second pass. He withdrew his crossbow from i
ts holster.

  This time he broke right, and Erskine, just a few yards behind, followed. They swept down into the churning mass of horses and riders as the elves tried to make sense of what had just happened. More riders were coming out of the settlement, and these were more prepared. Bows were already rising to track them as they sped over. But there was nothing for it and no time to worry about it.

  ‘Hunt!’

  Arno was way ahead of Owen. He crashed into a knot of riders, scattering them wide. Shouts and the wild shrieking of a horse accompanied the collision. Owen shot his crossbow into the press. He lay low in the saddle, letting Arno have his way. He looked right, Erskine was still with him. Left, fifty yards away, Jussi and his bird. Ayolf appeared to be struggling.

  ‘Jussi? All well?’

  ‘I’m not sure. We took a lot of arrows. I think … I think Ayolf is hurt. Maybe Ernan too!’

  The lad was panicking.

  ‘It’s alright, Jussi. You’re still in the air. That’s a good sign. Head back to the camp. Take Ernan with you. We’ll stay and support the ground.’

  ‘Sorry, Owen.’

  ‘Don’t be, you did fine. Now get back and take care of your birds.’

  Owen forced Arno to slow a little. He turned and gestured to Erskine, who urged his eagle to fly close. Jussi and Ernan carried on past.

  Erskine drew level and looked towards him.

  ‘Those two are heading back. We’ll stay to cover!’ Owen shouted across. ‘Stay on my flank, keep close, do what I do!’

  Erskine gave him a thumbs up.

  Owen ordered Arno to climb and turn so he could better observe the fight. Time for the trap to be sprung.

  Killen had split his scouts equally. Rashad commanded the southern group, he the northern. Now they watched and waited. Beneath him his camel shifted and farted.

  ‘Vile beast,’ he hissed.

  ‘We have a saying, Major,’ said Sadad, quietly.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Better out than in.’

  Killen sighed. ‘Of course.’

  Behind him Hassan stifled a giggle.