There were a few tuts and mumbled complaints.
As Keira’s eyes narrowed, her attention was drawn to the entrance of the squad’s cat, a fierce one-eared ginger tom that she had badgered the squad into adopting, and had named Bollock.
As the scarred feline swaggered into the hut, Keira dropped to one knee, making loud kissing noises.
‘Ma wee Bollock,’ she singsonged, stroking the cat’s head as it purred and strutted next to her.
The squad watched from behind their breakfast bowls, no one saying anything, eyebrows raised as they glanced at each other across the room.
By Pyre, Killop thought, suppressing a smile. They’re terrified of her.
They had first met the twelve members of their squad a third and a half ago, but most hailed from villages close to that of Killop and Keira, and they all knew of her reputation. She was a Child of Pyre. In their district, the northernmost region of Southern Kell, it was said there had been no one to rival her potential in a hundred years. She had been whisked away at age thirteen, as soon as her skills had started to manifest, and taken into seclusion up the mountains for training, and for the protection of the villagers. Keira had returned to the village after two years of being tutored in martial skills, as well as learning to control her developing mage powers. She had also grown by a foot, and put on plenty of muscle. Soon she had dominated the group of teenagers in the village, her training having had no effect on her stubbornness, or her tendency to get into trouble.
Killop watched her. His sister was absorbed in filling a dish with milk and meat for the cat, oblivious to the squad who were awaiting their orders, their empty breakfast bowls and cups piled up before them.
‘Right everyone,’ said Killop. The squad turned to him. ‘Killian, your lot are inside today. Make sure the squatting trenches are located by the further ditch this time. Calum, your crew are outside. Don’t come back for lunch until you’ve dug at least four man-size pits and spiked and covered them. Keira and I are headed up to the moothill to report, and see if there are any new orders. Get to it.’
‘Aye, boss,’ they replied, getting up and preparing for another day of toil.
Calum lined up the five members of his crew, which included his two triplet brothers, Collyn and Colm, and the archers Kallie and Kelly. They trooped out of the hut, following Calum to the pile of tools stacked up by the palisade. They were headed for the deforested area beyond the front line, along with at least a hundred other Kell that morning, digging traps and pits to hinder the Rahain advance. Other work groups would be labouring to extend ditches, construct corner turrets or fit shooting steps to the walls.
Killop had never heard of so many Kell working together on a common purpose with such dedication, and guessed it was caused by the ease with which the invading Rahain hordes had ravaged their way through the northern half of their nation in a single spring. An air of disbelief, and a deep, cold anger suffused the Kell camp.
Killian, the oldest warrior in the squad, a giant even among the tall and broad Kell, was organising his own crew. Their duties involved guarding their section of the wall, and performing the daily tasks that their part of the camp required. Killian was a rarity among the Kell, a singleton, born without a twin.
As the youngest, Conal was given the job of clearing away the breakfast pots and dishes, along with his elder sister Connie, out of the womb thirteen minutes before him. Killian rattled off a list of tasks for the pair, then sent Kyle and Caelia to the wall for the first guard shift. That left Kylon, a sombre, slender man, who Killop had heard speak maybe five times in the third and a half they had been there. Kylon was also a single, though not a natural one, his twin having died some years before.
Killian and Kylon left through the hut’s entrance, leaving Killop alone with his sister, and Bollock.
‘You love that scabby fleabag more than me,’ he said.
‘Aye.’
She looked up from where she was stroking the cat, and grinned.
‘Right then,’ she said, standing and brushing cat hair from her armoured leathers. ‘Let’s go moot the fucking hill.’
They slung their shields over their backs and strode out from the hut and along the forest path, ankle-deep in needles shed by the pines that towered above them. They were an imposing pair, tall, lean and muscled, and armoured in leathers dyed dark green, reinforced with mail and horizontal bands of curved steel. Their battered appearance and numerous scars marked them as veterans, despite their years.
They reached the guards at the ditch by the second line, and exchanged nods and grunts while a bridge was lowered. The palisade walls were more numerous on the other side of the ditch, where sections of wall ran back and forth; creating dead ends and corners that would expose any attacker to the longbows of the Kell.
The moothill was a low mound around which the large central enclosure was located. Double rows of spiked palisade walls, a large timber gatehouse and four corner turrets made this the most fortified part of the camp and, Killop supposed, their last stand should the Rahain break through.
‘Anything new today, do you think?’ he said, as they approached the enclosure.
‘Probably the same old boring shite,’ she smirked. ‘Keep digging. Lots and lots of spiky holes for Lord and Lady Lizard to fall into.’
They crossed another bridged ditch, this one the depth of three men, and passed through a palisaded barbican to the gatehouse, a two-storey building with an open roof. Warriors stood at the wooden parapet, and there were more in front of the entrance. Recognising them from their daily trips, the guards waved Killop and Keira through the first set of double doors and into a barrel-vaulted entrance tunnel.
The second set of doors, which led into the central compound, were shut. As they approached, a wooden slat opened at eye level.
‘Names and purpose,’ said the guard behind the doors.
‘Killop ae Kellan ae Kell, here to report from the north-west line, squad five.’
The eyes behind the door shifted to Keira.
She stood, arms folded, her right foot tapping the ground.
‘Well?’ said the guard.
Killop sighed, and turned to his sister. ‘I thought we weren’t going to do this anymore.’
‘Some days I just feel like it,’ she said. ‘I mean, this annoying wee prick kens fine who I am, yet every day he fucking asks. Does it not do yer head in?’
‘He’s just doing his job.’
She scowled but turned to the door.
‘Alright, you win. Again. Keira ae Caela ae Kell, here to report, as usual.’
‘About time,’ the guard muttered, swinging one of the double doors open.
‘Shut yer pus, wee man,’ growled Keira as they passed through. The guard looked away, pretending not to have heard.
They passed rows of fletchers sitting to their right, baskets of arrows stacked up against the wall behind them. On their left were the main carpenters’ yards, their sawing and hammering creating a noise that punctuated the morning. Across the far side of the compound smoke rose from a cluster of forges and smithies. Standing around were small groups of squad leaders and raid leaders, waiting near the central command tent for that day’s moot to begin.
‘You’re fucking kidding me,’ Keira breathed, her face scrunched up.
‘What…?’ Killop said, tailing off as he followed her eyes and saw what had caused her to pause. A dozen warriors were waiting apart from the others, near the entrance to the central tent. They were clad in dark blue leathers, marking them out as belonging to the Lach.
Keira started striding in their direction, her fingers twitching.
Killop hastened after her.
‘What the fuck’s this?’ she cried as she barged into their midst. They turned to her, their conversations halted, but she carried on before any could resume speaking. ‘Who let you in? What are you ugly wee turnip munchers doing here? Get your scrawny Lach arses out of our camp.’ She dodged a fist swung at her from the righ
t, reached out without looking and grasped a tight hold of the man’s throat. She squeezed hard and carried on, her eyes never leaving the front. ‘I said get the fuck out!’
Killop arrived just as violence was about to boil over. The Kell warriors to either side had been listening in, and would no doubt leap at the opportunity to have a go at the Lach. As he reached his sister’s side, a voice boomed out, silencing all others, and even the carpenters ceased their hammering and looked up.
‘Keira ae Caela, put that man down,’ the voice thundered. It was the Kell himself, their chief. He stood at the entrance to the command tent, flanked by two others. To his left was Klannit, the Kell champion and the chief’s personal guard. On his right stood the clan herald Kalinda, an old woman, leaning against a staff a foot higher than her head. Killop gazed at them in surprise and relief, having thought the chief was a hundred miles south of the pass. As the small group strode towards the Lach warriors, every Kell around lowered their fists, and stood in silence. Keira dropped the Lach she had been throttling, and he fell gasping to the ground.
As the chief made his way to stand in front of her, she lowered her gaze. ‘Sorry, boss.’ She put on her best innocent look, which Killop thought made her look like an owl.
A flicker of a smile touched the chief’s lips for an instant. ‘Control yourself, warrior,’ he said to her. He turned and nodded to his herald. ‘We’ll start the moot now I think.’
Kalinda nodded, then walked to the entrance of the central tent. Everyone watched as she banged her staff against the ground three times.
‘The Kell Moot begins,’ she cried, her voicing piercing. ‘The Kell shall attend.’
As the assembled crowd began to walk to the tent, the chief motioned for the Lach warriors to accompany him, and they all crammed into the large pavilion. The chief, Klannit, Kalinda and the Lach moved through to the head of the large room, where a low platform had been constructed.
The three Kell mounted the platform, and Kalinda raised her staff for silence.
The chief took a step forward. ‘Our cousins in Lach have answered the Kell,’ his voice bellowed out. ‘They have sent warriors with axes and bows to assist us. I have brought these Lach fighters to the pass.’
The silence deepened at these words, as the Kell took in how bad their plight must be, that they had been forced to ask the Lach for help. Killop stood bewildered. He had fought against their old rivals a few times, lending help to the villages on their southern border with Lach, taking part in skirmishes, and defending Kell farms from Lach raids. It had been small scale, but nasty enough in countless mean and petty ways.
‘If the Rahain break through,’ the chief went on, ‘then all the clans are threatened. We’ve also met with leaders from Brig and Domm, as well as the Lach.’ The Kell chief gestured to a warrior on his left, a short, middle-aged woman in dark blue, with a helm denoting her rank as raid leader. ‘This is Lana ae Lachyn, leader of the Lach contingent.’ He motioned for her to mount the platform and speak.
‘Warriors of Kell,’ she said, her accent like the scrape of a rusty saw cutting through wet wood. A few Kell flinched. ‘We’re here to fight the same enemy, to help out the Kell as requested.’
‘We don’t need your help!’ someone shouted.
A Lach warrior to Lana’s left spoke up. ‘Considering ye lost half yer country in a single season, I say ye do.’
Tempers and voices started to rise again.
‘Be quiet,’ Lana said, glaring at the man who had spoken. He lowered his eyes, but looked far from cowed.
‘Your chief is right,’ she said to the crowd, ‘the clans must face the Rahain together. The Lach are under no illusions that the lizards will stop at the Kell border.’ She gestured her arm at the dozen Lach around her. ‘This squad is just the first to arrive. There are two hundred more warriors making their way through Southern Kell as we speak. Together, we’ll hold the Rahain hordes right here.’
She may have hoped for a cheer at this, but the response was muted, as each Kell’s thoughts turned to the image of hundreds of Lach boots marching through the peaceful farms and villages of the remaining half of their homeland.
The chief raised his bear-like arms. ‘Now you know, so spread the word to your squads and crews. The Lach are here as our guests, my guests, so there will be no trouble between us. They’ll be taking over the forward lines on the south-east flank, and the Kell there will be moved to bulk out the other squads. Raid leader Kaylan has the details.’ He paused as the young woman moved round to the front of the platform. It was this officer who usually doled out the daily duties, and she had looked as surprised as anyone to see the chief turn up that morning with Lach warriors. A low mumble grew as conversations picked up, and the Kell started to form a queue to speak to the officer. Killop hoped they would be receiving at least a couple of reinforcements for their squad.
There was a commotion at the rear of the hall, and Killop turned to see a messenger barrel his way through the crowd.
‘Enemy spotted from Eagletop Hill!’ he cried.
A roar erupted as the Kell all started to shout at once. The chief took a wide stance, and raised his hands to his mouth.
‘Quiet!’ he bellowed with such volume that Lana held her hands over her ears, grimacing. The effect was instant, and everyone turned to him, voices stilled.
‘Belay those last orders,’ he said into the silence. ‘Lana, the Lach will just have to be thrown into the fight as they arrive. Everyone else,’ he said, ‘you know what to do.’
Chapter 19
Between the Lines
15th Day, First Third Summer 503 – Northern Pass - Kell
‘Eagletop’s fifteen fucking miles from here,’ Keira had said, as they had strolled back to the line after the moot. ‘We’ve got ages.’
For Killop however, Keira’s ages passed in a blur. From recalling the pit-digging crew, to making sure the new recruits got their armour on, to preparing their campfire behind the wall, he threw himself into his job, lest any pause allow nerves to reach his stomach. He had felt those nerves before, every time he had faced the Rahain in the north over spring. Fighting the scaly-skinned solders had been a different experience from his earlier skirmishes with the Lach or the Brig, bloody and horrible though they had been. Up close, the Rahain were puny compared to the Kell. They had well-made swords, but few knew how to use them, and Killop and his old squad had waded their way through platoons of them at a time. But there were always so many, and they avoided getting up close if they could help it.
While Killop allowed a slight mania to possess him, and distract him from what was coming, every time he passed Keira she was relaxing by the fire with her feet up, either dozing, or amusing herself by making little flame animals. He left her to it. He wondered if it was just an act to get her through the torturous wait, but doubted it.
Killop had left Caelia and Kyle up on the wall. Kyle was positioned on a step looking towards the cleared area, to watch for the Rahain, while Caelia leaned with her back to the wall, watching for signals from the watchtower up on Knuckle Point, a large knobbly spur of rock jutting out from the north-western cliffs at the narrowest part of the pass, about a hundred yards behind them. The spotters atop the Knuckle would signal as soon as they saw any sign of the enemy.
When he had run out of tasks for them to do, Killop gathered the squad by the fire. He had Conal and Connie fill the cider jugs, and they sat around drinking. The younger recruits seemed dizzy with nerves, laughing out loud at Keira’s endless jokes, while the older warriors were more muted.
They talked, they drank, they waited. As morning turned to afternoon, they were visited by the chief, who was making his way up the lines.
Killop and the squad sprang to their feet as he approached. With him were his champion Klannit, his herald Kalinda, and old Careen, the clan’s most venerable Mage of Pyre.
‘Killop ae Kellan, my boy,’ the chief said, his gruff voice tempered by a glint in the corner of his eye
.
‘Chief,’ Killop replied, inclining his head. The rest of the squad had fallen silent. Several were glancing at Keira, who had remained lounging on her side by the fire, cradling a small flame in the palm of one hand. She peered up at the chief, her other hand shielding her eyes from the sun.
‘And Keira,’ the chief said, not seeming put out that she hadn’t risen to her feet.
‘Chief,’ she nodded, smiling her big smile at him. The chief grinned back.
Cow, Killop thought. How he loved his sister; how he would willingly jump in front of a blade to shield her, and yet there were times, several times a day in fact, when she annoyed the crap out of him.
At a nod from the chief, Klannit took a pace forward. He was massive, a full head taller than Killop, and about twice his weight. If he ever sat on a Rahain, he would probably snap him in two.
‘Scouts report that the Rahain are marching at double time up the road towards us,’ he said, no doubt repeating the message he had given to the squads down the line. ‘Should be here in a couple of hours.’
‘How many?’ Killop asked.
‘Fuckloads,’ the champion replied. ‘Your job is simple. Do not budge one inch backwards, and kill as many of the bastards as you can manage.’
‘Aye, sir.’
The chief beckoned over his shoulder for Careen to come forward. The old man ambled towards the fire, leaning on his staff. Keira caught sight of him, and cleared a space next to her by shooing away Collyn. Careen moved into the space, and seated himself. At a glance from Keira, Conal reached over to offer a cup of cider to the old mage, who took it with a nod.
‘We’ll leave High Mage Careen with you,’ the chief said. ‘He wants a word.’
The chief looked over the squad, smiling.
‘Fight well,’ he said.
‘Aye, Chief,’ they shouted back.
The chief, Klannit and Kalinda moved up the line to the next squad.
The Magelands Origins Page 25