Beside him, Thekla threw off heat like a furnace and he breathed in her scent, of silken skin and warm, mossy places. His blood started to pound through his loins. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else.
‘Have you any other injuries?’ she asked him.
Injuries? Who’d been injured? He couldn’t remember.
Now it was Indaro beside him. She was naked and her mouth was red with blood. Her red hair coiled and hissed around her like blazing snakes.
‘Watch your back,’ she said. ‘There are always more of them than you think.’
He awoke on the battlefield with a start, in a moment of pure panic. He could hear his heart’s erratic thump through his ears, and his chest couldn’t suck in enough breath. There were incomprehensible sounds – sharp thunderclaps and a noise like the fizz of shallow water over pebbles.
He opened his eyes. The light all around him – the air, the sky, the land – was red as blood and warriors, men and women, were rising or running or just standing frozen in shock, looking up. He looked up too.
Red stars were falling from the sky.
Rosteval was not a young horse and he had spent recent years carrying his master from the rear of one battle to the next, rarely speeding above a sedate trot. So it was with some surprise and rising excitement in his hairy breast that he felt the urgent thud of boot-heels in his sides, heard the sharp command of his rider. Rosteval lumbered into a canter.
When Hayden Weaver saw the enemy’s flares he guessed the effect they would have on the troops. There is nothing more superstitious than a soldier, particularly a City soldier, and the sound and sight of the red lights would have many of them, and their mounts, fleeing in terror, fearing an attack by their ever-capricious gods. The fact that the lights were harmless devices the Petrassi had come by decades before could scarcely be explained to a panicking soldier.
The Khan army, already hemmed in to the west by the Vorago, had been pushed back southwards in the course of the day. And behind them was the sea. Now they had sheer cliffs to their backs and the gorge to their left.
As Rosteval thundered along the lines, followed doggedly by a cadre of Petrassi veterans, Hayden had no real plan. He needed to rally the City troops, but the sight of a few horsemen riding towards the enemy was unlikely to turn the soldiers, many of whom were retreating in disorder from the menace. Most were standing their ground but there is always a point when the weight of numbers fleeing turns a retreat into a rout.
Agile as a two-year-old, Rosteval dodged a pole sticking up from the ground. Hayden realized it was a City flag, stuck carelessly in the earth. He dragged it out as he passed. The flag was heavy, made to fit snugly in a holster on the flag-bearer’s saddle, but he held it aloft two-handed, and it fluttered, subsided, then fluttered again in the light breeze. The City emblem was a crimson eagle on a field of gold, and as the general held it high he was aware of the irony of the situation.
‘They cannot harm you!’ he yelled to the wavering troops. ‘They are only lights! They cannot harm you. They are a trick of the enemy.’
They did not know him. They did not know he was the general who had conquered their City. They saw only their flag, and soldiers riding towards today’s enemy. Those who were hesitating, on the verge of panic, firmed their stance and looked at their fellows and grinned, if sheepishly. Those who were fleeing, creeping or running, some of them stopped and turned in the baleful light and went reluctantly back to fight alongside their comrades. They would not be deserters, at least not now.
Hayden Weaver waved the flag and the soldiers cheered and readied themselves for the order to move forward. The flares started dying away and the red light faded.
And then the cannonade started.
Stern had stood strong at first. He had seen a lot in his twenty-odd years’ service and he had learned that not everything you don’t understand is trying to kill you. He looked to Broglanh who stood on his right, sword in hand, gazing up at the red lights, curious but unconcerned. Stern didn’t know much about this veteran who had arrived with his own private warhorse yet who chose to stand with the Pigstickers, but he was glad to have him at his side and he had learned to trust his judgement.
‘Hold!’ Stern warned his warriors, and he did not have to look round to know they were firm.
Then the fearful light started to fade. The cavalry horses of the Daybreakers on their left began to settle as their riders won control. Stern felt the grim resolution in advance of another day’s fighting moving through the ranks.
But when a thunderous booming started it was as much as he could do not to drop his weapons and clap his hands over his ears. The sound was like a roll of thunder overhead, but the loudest he had ever heard, and it went on and on. Some soldiers fell to their knees in awe and dread, but none of them fled. Another trick of the enemy to frighten us, Stern thought grimly.
The first explosion came far to their left and he saw horses and their riders tossed about like rag dolls. There was a blast of hot wind and Stern, unmanned, threw himself to the ground with the rest of his troop. He pushed his face into the earth and clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block out the unearthly din, the cries of the wounded, the screams of injured horses. The earth beneath him seemed to lurch and rock, and missiles thudded around him, hitting his back and legs. There was a second explosion, then a third closer by. His ears rang with the sound and his whole body trembled. Summoning all his willpower he dragged his face out of the earth and looked about him, terrified of what he might see. All around was flying dust and smoke, as if a fire was raging nearby. Injured soldiers were staggering away from the front, some hideously wounded, limbs half-severed, blood gouting. The missiles he had felt showering him were bloody body parts: hands, feet and heads strewn all around. Another blast rocked them, the closest yet, and Stern clung to the ground and prayed to the gods of ice and fire to end the nightmare.
When he looked up again he saw Broglanh was standing and Stern scrambled up too. The noise had died down and the explosions had stopped.
‘What in the name of the gods is happening?’ he asked, not expecting an answer. The ringing in his ears made his voice hollow and distant. All other sounds were muffled. ‘Is it sorcery?’
‘No.’ Broglanh shook his head, not taking his eyes from the smoke which harboured the enemy. ‘But it is cowardly. No honourable warrior fights his battles this way.’
The remaining Pigstickers were battered and dazed but there were no major injuries. They started tending the wounded, relieved they had been the ones unscathed by the terrible onslaught. Stern made sure Benet and Quora were both unharmed before turning back to Broglanh, who was still watching the north, sword in hand, waiting.
‘Do you think they’ll come now?’ Stern asked.
‘I would.’
‘We don’t even know who we’re fighting.’
‘I’m fighting anyone who tries to kill me.’
Broglanh glanced briefly towards the east and Stern, catching his thought, reassured him: ‘The girl’ll be all right. They’ll be far away now.’
The girl, five leagues away, was struggling to control her frightened horses while avoiding being trampled by donkeys and baggage ponies fleeing the terrifying sounds to the west. She scarcely had time to wonder what the distant thunder and red stars might mean. Patience and Blackbird, eyes rolling, tore away their tethers and she was scarcely able to snatch their reins before they made off. The big warhorse reared and she dodged his flailing hooves and hung on. The other women were shouting and crying and many had fallen to the ground in terror.
Emly held on grimly, talking to the horses, and the beasts, well trained, responded to her voice as she coaxed them to calmness and the lights and sounds died away.
She looked around. Most of the camp-followers were chasing their baggage animals. They had been packed and ready for a day’s march – far away from the battlefield as ordered – when the enemy attack started, and they were fearful of losing t
heir possessions. The whole encampment was stretching out, disorganized and vulnerable. Emly climbed up on to Blackbird, holding the warhorse’s reins.
‘We must keep together,’ she called to the other women but they ignored her. She rode on, trailing Patience behind her. Most of the animals had started to calm down, to slow and to stop, lured by sweet grass, their simple minds quickly forgetting what had frightened them. Emly spotted Peach, who had found her donkey and was leading him to where her bags and baggage lay abandoned.
‘We must stay together,’ Em repeated despairingly, for her nights, and sometimes her days, were still haunted by fear of attack by the Fkeni.
‘Let them be, girl,’ a voice said. Emly turned and saw Bruenna the midwife striding along, carrying her huge pack on her back, her pink bonnet crammed on her head and Maura’s baby tucked in the crook of her arm. ‘They’ve been doing this a lot longer than you,’ she told the girl sternly. ‘Once they’ve got their animals they’ll settle all together.’
‘We’re too far from the army,’ Em said, gazing back anxiously to the west from where distant sounds of battle floated on the breeze.
‘Or, if our troops are overwhelmed, then we’re not far enough away,’ Bruenna argued.
‘Our warriors will prevail,’ Emly replied dutifully, but she knew their troops were outnumbered and her heart was full of fear for Evan.
Just as Bruenna predicted, in ones and twos the wives and whores led their animals to a copse of trees which was the only landmark in sight. Emly looked around, trying to see the land from Evan’s point of view.
‘We can’t stay here – we can’t see anyone coming if we stay among the trees,’ she said to the other women. ‘We should go up there.’ She pointed to a long, bare slope half a league to the north, leading up to a rocky outcrop. ‘We’ll be able to see all around from there.’
‘Who made you empress?’ a sharp-faced, sharp-voiced woman called Skarritt asked her. ‘There’s no grazing for the animals up there, you ninny.’ She halted her heavily laden donkey and started undoing his straps.
Em looked at Bruenna, who shrugged and dumped her pack on the ground. The women began to unpack again and to collect tinder to make fires. More appeared with their animals and the encampment started to settle. There seemed to be an unspoken consensus that they would go no further.
Peach came over to Emly, who remained atop Blackbird. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, looking up. ‘No one tells them what to do, even the soldiers. You may as well unpack. We won’t be going anywhere today.’
Em nodded and slid off the horse. She knew her friend was right. And if they were attacked Emly could defend herself, and maybe Peach too, with the fearsome knife Quora had given her. The Fkeni, if they came, would take the easiest targets first. It was hard but it was true.
She poured grain into the horses’ nosebags then arranged her baggage – her cloth bag and Evan’s spare pack – at the base of a tree and sat down. She wondered about food. She had not eaten since they had arrived at the Vorago and she knew what Evan would say – ‘Eat when you can.’ Like a good soldier she rummaged in her bag and brought out the last two apples of a dozen she had picked days before. They were old and wrinkled but she ate one with relish. It was juicy and sweet on her tongue. She set the other aside to share between the horses.
She needed to relieve herself, so she stood and wandered back into the shady copse. It was pretty in there, the ground dappled with light which shifted and shimmied with the movement of the leaves above. She walked into the shade and was about to lift her skirt when she realized, with sudden dread, that she was not alone. From the darkness of the trees two people emerged, a tall man holding a girl in front of him.
Peach was terrified, her eyes wide with fear above the calloused hand of the man with an eyepatch who held her tight, a long knife to her face.
‘Do as I say, Emly,’ the one-eyed man said. ‘Go fetch those horses of yours or this one loses an eye. I’ll prick it out in a heartbeat. Eyes come out very easily,’ he explained to her pleasantly. ‘I should know.’
Casmir had tracked the Khan army with ease. A moving mass of thousands of men and women, their chattels, livestock and hundreds of horses left a clear path of debris, cold campfires, broken weaponry, animal carcasses – and some human bodies: he could have followed if the crows had taken out both his eyes, he thought.
Unlike Broglanh, who had chosen a path far off the army’s flank, chary of being noticed by scouts, Casmir had welcomed the attentions of the outriders. He had abandoned his horse, slapping it on the rump to make it run, then had walked into a scouts’ camp early one morning, claiming to be a refugee from the lost Forty-seventh. He had papers, supplied by the White Palace, and was welcomed by the scouts and sent on to the main army where he was enfolded into the embrace of the infantry and deployed with the Ratcatchers. He chose the infantry because cavalrymen keep themselves aloof from the run of the army and he felt he could hunt the girl and her lover more easily from the ground.
He knew the girl was too small to be a soldier, therefore he guessed she must be with the general’s party or the camp-followers. Soldiers love to gossip and a few sideways questions told him there were no courtesans travelling with Marcus Rae Khan and his chiefs. He therefore abandoned the Ratcatchers and drifted back through the throng towards the baggage train where he could watch the wives and whores from a discreet distance. Then they reached the Vorago and the battle started. Thanking the gods for the good judgement which had kept him well to the rear, he joined the press of carts and supply wagons as they retreated east from the battlefield.
He soon spotted the girl. He remembered seeing her at the House of Glass, tied to a chair, staring at him fearfully as the building went up in smoke. He often wondered how she had survived. He would ask her. And he would ask why she had lied at his trial. There would be plenty of time for questions. Emly was leading a big warhorse – Broglanh’s no doubt – and walking beside a yellow-haired whore. When the women camped he had stood in the dark of the trees and waited his chance.
Now he held the whore in front of him with ease, part of his mind still revelling in the renewed strength of his body. He grasped the girl’s jaw with one hand, half lifting her from the ground, and put a knife to her soft cheek with the other. She stopped squirming when she saw the blade and hung there, sobbing and gasping.
He grinned. This was easy. Emly, soft-hearted girl that she was, would do anything he told her to save her friend.
So it was with some surprise that he saw her sit down cross-legged on the leafy grass and heard her say, ‘I don’t believe you, Casmir. You are a warrior, not a brute. And you will not take her eye out, for you remember the torment of it yourself.’
He opened his mouth to answer, but she added firmly, ‘Besides, you owe me.’
He snorted, ‘This is not a game of chance, girl. There are no debts to be owed or paid. Go get the horses or I will take her sight without hesitation or remorse.’
‘And then what will you have?’ she asked him reasonably. ‘You will have a girl screaming and maddened by pain and I will still be sitting here. Besides,’ she repeated, ‘you owe me.’
Frustrated by her calm he flung the whore aside and she fell in a sobbing heap. Why can’t all girls be like that? he thought irritably, looking at Emly who remained unmoved.
‘You have come to take me back,’ she said. It was not a question.
‘I have. The empress charged me with killing your soldier lover and returning you to her palace. I have loyally discharged the first part of my mission. It only remains for me to take you home. There is nothing left for you here. Only death – or capture and torment and death – at the hands of the enemy.’
He saw the flicker of fear in her eyes when he lied about Broglanh, but she said, ‘You have been ordered not to harm me.’
He conceded as much by saying nothing.
‘Then you have a problem,’ she said, rising smoothly to her feet and bringing a knife the len
gth of a man’s forearm from a sheath hidden in her skirts.
He laughed. He was back on familiar territory. ‘I am a swordmaster, girl. I can disarm you without scratching your pretty skin.’ He unsheathed his sword and loosened his wrist.
‘What happened to you, Casmir?’ she asked curiously, with sympathy in her voice. ‘When last I saw you you were dying.’
‘You thought wrong,’ he said. He smiled.
But as he raised his sword there was a yell from the direction of the camp and he turned to see a band of women running through the trees. He glanced to where the whore had lain but she must have crept away while Emly held his attention. The women, twenty or thirty of them, were bearing cudgels and knives and screaming with a shrillness which made his eye socket ache.
The Wolf turned and fled.
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE NIGHT WAS dark, the moon skulking behind slow clouds, when Emly padded across the quiet encampment, careful to avoid treading on any of the sleepers. She made her way to where the horses were tethered. She murmured a greeting to them and stroked their noses. Blackbird waggled his ears and Patience snorted softly in recognition. She had left them saddled in readiness and she tied her belongings on the big horse. She fed them the two apple halves. Then she slipped out of her skirt, abandoning it on the earth, and pulled on the leather breeches Evan had given her. She took up the horses’ reins and led them away across the sleeping land.
She did not believe Casmir had killed Evan. She had thought long and hard on it and it made no sense. By far the most hazardous part of the assassin’s mission would be to attack an armed soldier, a veteran, in the midst of his comrades. No, she decided, he would have planned to capture her first, then use her to lure Evan from the battlefield. Would her lover abandon his fellows in the midst of battle, even to come to her aid? She doubted it. But Casmir would not know that.
She did not fear the assassin. He could not harm her, so she was invulnerable to him. But, staying, she would put the other women in peril for Casmir would certainly make another try. And she must warn Evan if she could. He was expecting enemies to come running at him from in front, not one sneaking up from behind.
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