The men howled as Sebbi’s hand was thrown high onto the ice cliff.
“Enough,” Baluch said, turning away as the waters descended on Bramble like ice crashing down from the king.
Leof
LEOF COULDN’T BITE back a smile when he saw the roofs of Sendat appear, and Thistle picked up her pace as she scented the stables of home.
“Good to be back, my lord,” Bandy, his groom, said.
“Good and bad, man,” Leof replied, waving to a few townsfolk as they made their way up the winding road to the fort.
He assessed it with new eyes as he came near. Although it was reasonably well fortified against normal attack, it would be helpless against an enemy which could not be killed. The walls needed to be much higher, giving defenders the chance to isolate and deal with individual attackers. The top of the walls needed to be sharp, rather than wide, and the defenders should be armed, not with spears, but with axes. Meat cleavers, even, lashed to poles, would do until they could get proper halberds made. The smithies would have to work overtime. Halberds were the best weapon, he was sure. The long blade fixed firmly to a long pole — it combined sword and spear, with the advantage that it kept your enemy at more than arm’s length. A broadsword could hack off a limb, but it needed luck as well as strength and judgment. A good whack with a halberd, on the other hand, had so much leverage behind it that it frequently sent limbs flying. The weapon wasn’t used much in close-quarter work because of the danger to your own troops, but a line of defenders, trained to work together… The plan was all Leof could think of, and he was miserably aware that it was full of flaws.
They rode into the muster area to shouts of welcome from the stables and the smithies. Leof dismounted thankfully and gave Thistle to Bandy, patting her and murmuring gratitude for her hard work as he did so. He ordered another groom to help Bandy before heading straight to the smithies, walking the kinks and aches from his legs and telling himself he was not at all tired.
The chief blacksmith, Affo, was a surprisingly small man, though with the massive arms of his trade. Leof didn’t tell him the details of the attack on Carlion, just that the town had been attacked, and the warlord’s men would be marching to give aid.
“We have perhaps a day before they march past us. And in that time . . .” he paused, unsure of how to phrase the order, then shrugged the problem aside. No good way to say it. “I want as many axes as you can produce.”
“We’re doing that already, lord,” Affo said, surprised. “Battleaxes, halberds, even choppers.”
“What?”
“The Lady Sorn ordered it, after that mad — after that messenger from Carlion came. She said,” he added, clearly fishing for information, “that my lord Thegan needed them. She said not to worry about finishing them off, no decoration or such, just make them sharp?”
“If your warlord wanted you to know why, his lady would have told you, no?” Leof said severely.
“Aye, lord,” Affo said. His expression plainly said, “All lords are mad.” Leof hoped he’d keep thinking so, instead of wondering what kind of enemy needed to be attacked with axes. The thought hadn’t occurred to Leof, but of course Otter would have come to Sendat first. Lady Sorn had reacted as befitted a warlord’s lady. He breathed more easily. The men would not be going into battle badly armed, although they would only have enough axes for the forward guard.
He turned toward the hall and the Lady Sorn. He half-expected her to be waiting for him in the muster yard, but of course she would not do that. Not the Lady. She never intruded on the public spaces — the men’s spaces. The hall, the residence and the gardens were her domain and she kept to them. Leof had approved of that when he first came to Sendat. She acted the way women should, modest and refined. Then he had met Bramble, and his ideas about what a woman should do had undergone considerable change.
Sorn was waiting by the fire in the hall, sitting in a pool of sunlight from one of the high windows. The light turned her auburn hair into fire and made her skin glow, enriched the deep green of her dress and sent flickers of light from her earrings into the corners of the room. She seemed, for a moment, a creature of flame and leaf, like the embodiment of a forest, caught on a tapestry of the seasons between autumn and spring. Then he saw her face, calm as an iced-over pool, and thought, between autumn and spring is winter.
Normally, Sorn was surrounded by her maids and ladies, but now she was alone, except for the small hunting dog that was always at her side. She was waiting to hear her lord’s message in private. Leof wished he had something better to tell her.
He bowed and saluted. Composed, Sorn rose and bowed back, pro-tocol strictly observed, no trace of anxiety on her face. The little silvery whippet — what was its name, something odd, he couldn’t remember — stood at her side, shivering as whippets do in the presence of strangers. She quieted it with a touch and it lay down again, head raised.
“My lady, I bring greetings from the Lord Thegan,” Leof said.
“You are welcome, Lord Leof.”
She gestured to him to sit beside her and he eased himself into a cushioned chair thankfully. Sorn poured him wine from a glass jug.
“You have heard the news, I gather, from Otter the Stonecaster?” He took a long swallow of the wine; it was a winter red from down south, full and comforting.
Sorn nodded. “I did what I could to prepare.”
Leof smiled at her. “I’ve just come from the smithies. You did exactly right, my lady. My lord’s men will be marching through here on the way to Carlion by tomorrow sunset, and it will… it may make a great deal of difference, having the axes ready for them to take.”
She nodded, serious. “My lord?”
He hastened to reassure her. “He will be with them. He bids me to tell you that he thinks of you. He is well, although . . .” he took the sheaf of papers Thegan had given him from inside his jacket, “not all will be returning with him. The Lake — or, my lord thinks, some enchanter controlling the Lake — raised a great wave against us. Many were killed.”
Sorn looked at the papers and went very still.
“How many?” she whispered. The whippet sprang to its feet and nosed her hand. She patted it absently. “Shh, Fortune.”
“About a quarter of our forces,” Leof said. “My lord has charged me with letting the families know.”
Sorn reached for the papers. “This is my responsibility,” she said, her voice low. “You will have enough to do.” She hesitated. “And the Lake People?”
Leof sighed. “We never laid eyes on the Lake People,” he said. “My lord blamed an enchanter from Baluchston for the wave and was about to punish the town when the messenger from Carlion arrived.”
Sorn took a deep breath and let it out slowly, still looking at the list of names. “Baluchston is a thorn in his side,” she said absently. “He will have it out one way or another.” Then she looked up with anxiety in her eyes, as though he might hear that comment as disloyal. It was the first real emotion she had shown. The whippet stood alert, regarding him warily.
Leof smiled reassuringly at her. “One way or another,” he agreed. She relaxed a little although, as always, she sat very straight. Fortune sat down again.
“Go to your quarters, my lord, and rest. Tomorrow will be soon enough to begin your work.”
He smiled at her ruefully. “I doubt my lord would think so, I have a few hours’ work yet before I can rest. But I would be glad of some food.”
She smiled back, her face lighting with a hint of mischief. “I confess, I ordered a meal sent to the officers’ workroom. It should be there by now.”
He chuckled. “Too predictable, obviously. Thank you, my lady.” He rose, bowed and went out, leaving her sitting quietly. The sun had moved past the window while they talked and she sat now in a pool of shadow, studying the lists of the dead, her dog at her side.
Ash
THERE WAS A trail, Flax said as they changed shifts at midnight, which skirted the upper bluff well ab
ove the road used by carts and riders. “Clings to the mountainside, like,” he said, “about halfway up. It’s supposed to be below the wilderness.”
There was a silence as they both considered that, weighing dangers.
“Can we use it without being seen?” Ash asked.
Flax was only a patch of deeper darkness against the hillside, but somehow Ash knew he was pulling at his lip, considering.
“If we start early enough. Maybe.”
So they started well before dawn, as soon as there was enough light for the horses to find their footing. The most dangerous part was where they had to descend a way into the valley, toward a larger road past a prosperous horse farm, from where the upper trail branched. Coming down the hillside was one of the hardest things Ash had ever done. He pulled up the hood on his jacket, just in case. He felt completely exposed in the dim light, as though a thousand eyes were watching him.
But they turned onto the trail without incident and continued quietly past the farm. It was so early that the dogs were still asleep, but as they passed the farm one woke and barked, waking the others until there was a chorus of barking. The door of the farmhouse crashed open to show the farmer, axe in hand, silhouetted in the opening. Ash stiffened, but Flax raised a hand.
“ ’Morning,” he shouted genially. “Sorry if we’ve woken you!”
Hesitantly, the farmer raised a hand in reply. Ash willed himself to keep Mud to a walk, matching Cam’s gait. He didn’t turn his head — with his hood up, the farmer couldn’t see his hair or eyes, and wouldn’t know he was a Traveler. Flax’s light brown hair was clear in the growing light, and he hoped that would be good enough.
The farmer stood, scratching his head. He watched them until they were well past the boundary of the farm and the wild scrub started, but that was fair enough. Any farmer might do the same to strangers. Yet . . .
“Look back,” Ash said. “Can you see him?”
Flax flicked a glimpse back over his shoulder. “Dung and pissmire!” he swore. “Someone’s riding off the other way.”
“They set a watch, in case we came this way,” Ash said. His heart was beating faster and he felt fear coil in his gut.
They urged the horses to a canter and kept the pace up as long as they dared, until the trail became too steep and winding for it to be safe. There was no sense cutting across the trails they found. Now it was a race — they had to be around the bluff before they were caught. Had to be out of Golden Valley by nightfall, or they would not be leaving at all.
All morning they climbed up and southward into scrubby forest where rocks broke through the ground like warts on a toad. They stopped only to spell and water the horses. There was no food left and they filled their bellies with the cold stream, which only made Ash feel emptier. He allowed himself to hope, just a little. If they could just keep far enough ahead until nightfall . . .
“There they are!” a shout came from behind them. Immediately, Flax whistled, crouched low on Cam’s neck and urging him on, pushing him to a canter and then a hard gallop along the narrow trail. Ash was taken by surprise when Mud responded enthusiastically to the whistle, following Cam along the trail. All he could do was cling on as the horses took the winding path as fast as they dared. His hood fell back in the rush.
“Get them!” the shout came behind them. “That black-haired bastard killed my friend!”
Ash recognized Horst’s voice. Horst. Not some nameless pursuer, but a real enemy. But why was he still here? He realized with a shock that it had been only a couple of days since he had killed the war-lord’s man. Horst must have stayed for the quickening, which would come — oh, gods, was it tomorrow or today? Sully’s ghost would rise, looking for acknowledgment and reparation from Ash, his killer. It was his duty to be there, to set his spirit at rest.
He couldn’t. He had other duties, more important; he had to forget the image of Sully returning from beyond death to find his killer gone and his friend — his friend more intent on revenge than on freeing him for rebirth. Ash put his head down on Mud’s neck and trusted to the horses and to Flax, because it was all he could do.
The shadows were closing in… if they could keep ahead until nightfall, and lose them in the dark… it was a forlorn hope. Ash could hear the sounds of pursuit getting closer. They were nearing the cliff face. There might be caves, but surely going into a cave would be stupid? There would be no way out.
The trail branched and Flax unhesitatingly took the left-hand fork. Around two bends, low branches whipping their faces, and then they had reached a clearing before the cliff, broken here by huge boulders. There were clefts in the rock, not caves so much as fissures, but they were narrow and no doubt had dead ends which would trap them. But if they could hide in one until the others passed . . .
The party behind had taken the wrong fork, but it wouldn’t be long before they realized their mistake. Flax jumped off Cam and came to take Mud’s reins so Ash could jump down, too.
“What now?” Flax asked. Off the horse, it seemed that authority had passed back to Ash.
“Hide,” he said simply. They led the horses to one of the furthest fissures in the cliff face.
“They’ve got to be here somewhere,” Horst’s voice came. “I want them both, but don’t kill the black-haired bastard. He’s for me.”
“You’re not the law in Golden Valley.” Ash recognized the voice of the second brother, the reasonable one. “We have no warlords here, and no warlords’ men, remember?”
There were rumbles of assent from other men — at least six or seven, Ash estimated.
“Then I’ll take him back to my lord Thegan and he can decide his punishment. Your laws allow for that, don’t they?”
“Aye,” the second brother said. “That’s allowed.”
Flax and Ash threaded their way through the fissure as fast as they could and found it led, not to a cave, but to another small clearing. Before them was a slope leading up to the top of the bluff. The going was rocky and perilous for the horses, full of sharp rocks and boulders, with no level ground at all. But they could manage it, if they had to.
At the top… wind spirits. Doronit had controlled them, with Ash’s help, but he had only been helping. Just as with Safred, lending his strength to her will. He had never done anything like that by himself. He had a queasy suspicion that his own will wasn’t strong enough, that the spirits would simply laugh at him if he tried to control them. Laugh and reach those long, clawed hands for his eyes… He shuddered. He couldn’t do it. Better to face the trial and be hanged.
“They must be here somewhere!” Horst’s voice came from beyond the fissure, startlingly loud. “I’ll have both of them dragged before my lord and they’ll pay.”
Both. Ash looked at Flax, who was pinching the noses of both horses to prevent them from whickering. He had promised Zel he would look after him. Dung and pissmire.
“Here they are,” the second brother said with a note of relief in his voice. Flax and Ash strained to hear and both they and the horses jumped when the hounds began to bay, the excited note of a fresh scent.
There was only one way to go. Up the slope, to wilderness. They scrambled as fast as they could on the rough surface, trying to find a way to go sideways, any way but straight up. Behind them, voices were arguing.
“I’m not losing my best pack for you!” the first brother’s voice sounded. More shouting followed.
Any further and they would be beyond the screen of the trees, open to view — unless they threaded through the maze of rocks which led up to the bluff. The dogs were still sounding. Ash could hear them panting with eagerness — a sound from nightmares. He had once seen a man brought down by a warlord’s dogs. Not even a Traveler — one of the lord’s own farmers who had tried to cheat on his taxes. He had been begging for death by the time the warlord reached him.
Ash touched Flax on the shoulder and pointed upward. Flax paled and shook his head vigorously. Ash moved very close, until his lips were by Flax’
s ear. “I can control the spirits,” he said.
Flax drew back in astonishment, staring at him. Ash shrugged, trying to look as though this was something he did every day. He saw the moment when hero-worship kicked in, when hope overcame fear in Flax’s eyes, and it made him feel sick.
They started up the slope as quietly as they could in the fading light, Flax leading both horses as trustingly as a child, sure that if Ash said he could do it, he could.
But Ash wasn’t sure at all.
Bramble
THUMP. THUMP. REGULAR, deep, but not like a drum. More like… a fist on flesh. Yet not quite . . .
Bramble’s sight cleared and she felt herself back in Baluch’s body, then wished she weren’t. The sound wasn’t a fist on flesh, but a thick wooden rod. On Acton’s bare back and sides. Harald was wielding it, his face red and furious. Acton held on to one of the posts in the big hall, his head hanging and his body shaking with each blow. Blood dripped onto the floor from where a roughness in the rod had caught him. Bruises were already appearing under the skin.
A circle of people watched — men and women, but no children. Bramble could hear them playing outside, pretending to be invaders and defenders. The contrast made her shiver, but Baluch was barely conscious of the noise. He flinched with every blow. Asa stood next to Acton, her face like stone.
“You disobeyed my orders,” Harald said, finally standing back.
“He had good reason,” Baluch said. “What we found —”
Harald wheeled on him. “Keep silence! The only reason I’m not belting you the same is that you were bound to follow his orders, as he was bound to follow mine.”
Acton was breathing heavily. He used the post for support and pulled himself up to stand straight.
“We found —”
“I don’t care what you found!” Herald shouted, breathing as heavily as Acton. He glared at his grandson. “I should have known you had treachery in your blood. Your father had to show himself in you sooner or later. You have lost a fine young man, a man who would have been valuable to our people. For a boy’s prank! An adventure! It makes me sick to look at you.”
Deep Water Page 22