“I’ll say I’m too unwell to travel. They have to get to Sideamuda quickly, and I don’t want to slow them down. The message is more important than my safety. That sort of stuff. From the way they’ve been muttering, I think they’ll be glad to be rid of us.”
Eawynn’s prediction was right. The soldiers were in the saddle and away as soon as the sun rose. The sound of hooves faded, leaving only twists of dust carried on the wind.
Matt stood by the fire, watching the three dots disappear. “They didn’t need much persuading.”
“I’d thought as much. You probably didn’t follow what they were saying yesterday. We were going too slow for their liking. They were also starting to wonder why a priestess was being used as a messenger. In another day or two they might have wanted answers.”
“So they weren’t as stupid as they looked. I wonder if they’ll go to Sideamuda.”
“You think they won’t?”
“I wouldn’t if I was them. Things are going to get nasty.”
“True. How do you think it’ll work out?”
“The Rihtcynn will keep control of the plains. Nobody’s going to challenge them out here, but it’ll go differently on the coast. Red hair won’t be welcome.”
“That could be a problem for me.”
“We’ll deal with it when we need to.”
Matt lowered herself carefully to the ground and poured a mug of wine, something forbidden to a slave. She took a sip. The spices went only so far in covering the tartness, but the warmth was welcome.
Eawynn positioned herself on the other side of the fire. “Is there any left over?”
“Half a mug. We can brew more. There’s plenty, and I don’t think we’ll be going far today.” The soldiers had left not only a horse each, but also a pack mule and supplies.
“I won’t argue with that.”
“We’ll need to go carefully. The news will be ahead of us, and we don’t want to stumble into anything.”
“Slow sounds good to me”
Matt grinned. It was nice when she and Eawynn were in agreement. “Have you ridden much before?”
“Last time was on my pony, Smudge, and I was six years old.”
“You must be feeling worse than me.”
“I don’t know. I was able to collapse last night when we camped. You had to keep going.”
Thankfully, that game was over. Matt took hold of the collar and pulled it around so a join was at the front. The false rivet heads were flat and did not give much to hold, but by placing a thumb on each side, she was able to twist them. Slowly, the halves unscrewed and came free. Matt tugged the slave collar from her neck. On the inside of one section was a hollowed recess, with Edmund’s ring safely hidden. Now she had the right to wear it, if she wished.
She rubbed her fingers along spots on her throat where the iron had rubbed, still sore, although not as bad as on the first days. The breeze was cool on her newly exposed skin, but felt good.
Eawynn smiled. “It didn’t suit you.”
*
The soldiers had picked a path west of the wagon trail. On the assumption it was the fastest way for anyone on horseback, Matt and Eawynn stayed with it. It would go over a higher mountain pass than the one the caravan had crawled along, but the route was well enough marked there was little risk of getting lost.
On the seventh day after the soldiers left, the trail reached the foothills of the Stanscylfa Mountains, climbing though an open woodland of oak, birch, and rowan. Ferns and tall grasses covered the ground. The warbling of birdsong rippled between the branches, a joyful counterpart to the afternoon sunlight. Eawynn smiled as she rode.
Her body was getting used to the exercise and was no longer so tired and stiff at the end of each day. Eawynn had even gone so far as to name her horse Smudge II. Swapping the priestly robes for everyday clothing, better suited to riding, also helped. The new ease allowed her to take pleasure from her surroundings and pick up the pace. Even so, they would get to Sideamuda days after the soldiers. What would they find there? From her memories of the town, Eawynn was sure Matt’s concern was well founded.
Matt had also swapped her slave garb for better clothes, including the boots she had worn in Fortaine. She rode in the lead, with the pack mule on a tether. The arrangement allowed Eawynn to study her at length. So far, they had restricted their conversation to mundane matters of food, weather, and the scenery, but at least they had not argued too often.
Eawynn returned her attention to the trees. What did she want to say? And if she managed to work out a satisfactory answer to that question, should she say it? The old litany: She cheated me. She used me. She tricked and trapped me. Could she fall for it again? Would she be making a fool of herself over someone who no longer even wanted to play the game? Of course, there were worse sorts of fool to be.
The ground was becoming broken. Fists of rock punched through the earth. Matt reined in her horse at the brow of another hill. When Eawynn stopped beside her, Smudge II immediately took advantage of this to chew on wayside flowers, much as his namesake would have done.
The valley ahead was cut by a winding river which the road crossed at a ford. The passage of hooves had worn down the banks on either side. Another narrower track came in from the south. It joined the one they were on just before the ford. Trees and wildflowers grew close to the water’s edge. The scene looked pretty enough, but Matt was frowning.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think there’s something hidden in the trees.”
“What?”
“Not sure.”
“Do you think it might be dangerous?”
“Anything can be dangerous. But we don’t have much option. If we leave the road, there’s no saying where we’ll be able to cross the river.” Matt urged her horse forward. “We just stay alert.”
Eawynn followed, casting around anxiously. Threats were not confined to humans. The howling of wolves had woken her the night before. The woodland seemed peaceful, but when they got close, she saw Matt had been right. Something was in the trees by the ford. Two naked bodies hung from a branch. Thick rope made nooses around their necks.
The casual display of cruelty was easily the aspect of Rihtcynn culture that Eawynn found hardest to deal with. Had the old empire been any different? Small wonder the subject races had rebelled. Yet almost immediately she realised her first assumption was wrong. The dead were not an example of harsh Rihtcynn justice. Both bodies had red hair. They twisted slowly in the breeze and, as they swung around, Eawynn saw one was an elderly man and the other a pregnant woman.
Matt reined her horse back. “Payback’s a bitch.”
“Who did this?”
“How would I know? I’d say they’ve been here a few days.” Matt stood in the stirrups and looked around. “No sign of anyone now. Maybe our escort scared them away when they came through.”
“The soldiers would have cut these people down and buried them properly.”
“You’re right. The Rihtcynn would take care of their own.” Matt flicked the reins. “Let’s hope whoever it was got bored of waiting for new victims and moved on, or that they only pick on people who can’t fight back.”
Before now, the dry ground held little in the way of prints, but thick mud beside the river was pockmarked by the passage of hooves and feet.
“Can you tell how old these are?”
Matt laughed. “I’m a townie. Your guess is as good as mine.”
Eawynn peered nervously into the tangled wood. There was no trace of activity amidst the trees. She guided Smudge II down the river bank.
Smooth stones studded the bed. Water lapped around the horses’ hooves as they entered the ford. By the time they reached the midway point it was up to their hocks. Eddies swirled around the animals’ legs. The splashing drowned out the sound of birdsong, but then a piercing whistle cut above it all.
Three figures appeared from behind a rock stack up ahead, two men and a woman, dressed in a haphazard mixture of sacking, buckskin,
and gentrified castoffs. All were carrying weapons. They charged down the hill to cut off the road. Eawynn glanced back. Two more had emerged from the woods by the hanging bodies.
“Come on.” Already, Matt had spurred her horse forward, churning through the knee-high river.
Eawynn urged Smudge II to keep up. Passage through the water was agonisingly slow, and all the time the ambushers were getting closer. Matt reached dry land in the lead. Eawynn saw her release the mule’s tether and set her horse off at a gallop. Smudge II gained the bank a length and a half behind.
The attackers had stopped in a knot, brandishing clubs and an old cutlass, trying to block the road by intimidation. Matt showed no sign of being deterred. If anything, she spurred her mount to greater speed. At the last moment, the ambushers’ nerve broke, and they dived aside. Smudge II pounded through the gap, close behind. Shouts and curses followed Eawynn up the road.
Matt had not slowed. She was galloping, full pelt, climbing the hillside, but they had lost their pack mule. Eawynn made the mistake of looking back at the wrong moment. Smudge II swerved abruptly to the right. Eawynn grabbed for her saddle horn and missed. For the barest instant, she thought she could regain her balance, but then the saddle was no longer where it should be and her weight was working against her.
Eawynn had an eternity to worry about her foot getting caught in a stirrup, and how much the fall would hurt. The jolt came out of nowhere and rattled every bone in her body. Eawynn looked up at treetops and blue sky. She tried to remember hitting the ground, until the sound of running footsteps claimed her attention.
“Rihtcynn scum.”
The larger of the two men had reached her. He hefted up a three-foot club hacked from a branch. The club joined the treetops in silhouette against the sky.
“No.” Panic put an edge on Eawynn’s scattered wits.
Then she heard hoofbeats. The club started to descend. The hoofbeats turned to thunder, a dark mass swept by, and suddenly, man and club were gone.
Eawynn levered herself up to sit. Matt was a dozen yards down the road, bringing her horse around while swinging a bag as if it were a flail. The man with the club was lying on the ground nearby, groaning. His two companions had stopped some way back.
Matt jumped from the horse. “Get on.”
Eawynn tried to stand, but her legs were jelly.
Meanwhile, the fallen attacker was doing better. He heaved himself to his knees, and then his feet. Blood trickled down the side of his face, and his eyes were glazed. He had not picked up his club, but the sight emboldened the other two who joined him. Even with Matt’s help, Eawynn could do no more than scrabble backward, putting another pointless yard between her and the gang.
“Why are you helping her?” the man with the sword shouted to Matt. His clothes were the least mismatched. Added to the assertive pose, it marked him as the leader.
“She’s my friend.”
“She’s a Rihtcynn.”
“She’s my friend, from my hometown, on Pinettale.”
“You’re lying. I can see the rub line from here. Until a few days ago, you had a collar around your neck. So why are you on her side?”
“Do I have to repeat myself? She’s my friend, and if you’ve got any sense, you’ll back off.”
More footsteps sounded. The leader glanced back. The other two had crossed the river and were running up the road. He faced Matt again. “You’re the one lacking sense. You’re outnumbered. Now, I’ve got no quarrel with you, but you’re in my way. Leave the bitch to us.” He took a step forward.
“I’m warning you.”
The man smirked and took another step. He was less than a dozen feet away.
Their situation was hopeless. Eawynn was about to speak, to tell Matt to save herself. Before she could say a word, Matt dropped to one knee and her fingers slipped inside the loose roll top of her right boot.
“Last chance,” Matt said.
The leader lifted his foot. Matt’s arm moved, flicking forward. A blurred glint of metal flew from her fingertips, and the man stopped short, with an exhaled gasp. His hands clutched at his chest and came away bloody. The confusion on his face faded to nothing. He slumped to the ground and lay motionless, a dagger hilt marking the position of his heart. His followers froze.
“Who’s next?” Matt’s voice was as cold and as hard as iron. A second knife was in her hand.
The four surviving ambushers fled.
“Like I thought. Won’t tackle anyone who can fight back.” Matt walked over, tugged her knife free, then stood, staring down at the body.
Eawynn was now steady enough to get to her feet. The pack mule ambled past, swiping a mouthful of grass as it went to join Smudge II at a particularly juicy patch, farther up the road. Matt did not move.
“Are you all right?” Eawynn went to her side.
“Yeah. Sure.”
“We should go.”
“Yes.” Matt’s eyes remained locked on the dead man.
“Matt?”
“Yes. You’re right. I’ll get the horses.” Matt lifted her head but still seemed unfocused. “You. How are you feeling? You fell.”
“A bit shook up. I’ll survive.”
Matt nodded, then tottered up the road. Confused, Eawynn watched Matt’s steps become more purposeful. She just saved my life. Eawynn thought. And took another.
The man’s blood was forming a rivulet down the hill. His cutlass lay where it had dropped. The edge was nicked and pocked with rust, but it might deter another attack. Eawynn picked it up and saw the coin purse tied to the man’s belt. Something else that might be useful. She slipped it free then hurried to catch up with Matt and their horses.
They did not stop until they were many miles farther on and dusk was falling. Their campsite was in the shelter of a birch grove. Matt had been silent the whole time. After dinner, she sat staring into the fire. Eawynn was also less outgoing than normal. She had a grazed cheek, wrenched knee, and collection of bruises, but made an effort to talk.
“You saved my life today.”
Matt gave a one-shoulder shrug.
“Thank you.”
Matt did not answer.
“Do you think we’ll meet any more gangs?”
“Don’t know.”
An idea struck Eawynn. “Was that the first time you’ve killed anyone?”
Matt looked up sharply. “Yes.”
“I’m grateful. Thank you.”
Matt nodded and focused back on the flames.
What else could Eawynn say? You gave him fair warning. Matt knew that. He murdered a pregnant woman. But it was about what Matt had done, not her victim. It wasn’t in cold blood. Was Matt also thinking that? How would she be feeling if she had stabbed Oswald Husa Eastandune in the back? Was she now relieved it had not come to that?
Eawynn pulled out her bedroll. “I’m going to sleep.” She hesitated before shuffling around the campfire. Words were no use. She put her arm around Matt’s shoulders and hugged her. For a moment, Matt relaxed into her embrace, but then pulled away.
Eawynn returned to her bedroll. Her bruises complained as she crawled in. Next time, she would pay more attention to where she was going. It was good advice, in all sorts of situations. Before trying to sleep, she looked across at where Matt sat motionless. The firelight picked out the planes and hollows of Matt’s face in hot orange and warm shadows. There were many ways to fall, and you could do it more than once.
*
With a wide-brimmed hat and a coating of dirt, Eawynn could scrape by, from a distance. Up close, she just looked like a dirty Rihtcynn. They had avoided any more trouble on the open trail, but the disguise would not get her through a busy port like Sideamuda.
Matt stood in the doorway of the abandoned barn and viewed the town walls, two miles distant, then turned to Eawynn, who sat inside, leaning against a wall. “I’ll be back as soon as possible. Make sure the horses stay out of sight.”
“We’ll be fine.” Eawynn pulled C
eolwulf’s book from her pack.
The barn was clearly a casualty of war. The roof had gone, and the walls were blackened by fire. Two years’ worth of dead leaves were piled in a corner. If the owners survived, Matt could only hope they would not choose today to check up on their property. The morning had dawned dry and calm, so no one was likely to be seeking shelter.
The road into Sideamuda ran along the bottom of the hillside, far enough away that passers-by would not be attracted by the sound of the horses. Matt would have taken them with her, except their rumps were marked with the army brand. Until she knew how things stood, being caught in possession of the animals was not a good idea.
When Matt reached the town gates, she found them manned, although not by Rihtcynn soldiers. The ragtag militia gave the impression of loitering, as much as standing guard. The only one wearing a helmet was presumably in command. He treated Matt to a quick once-over. “Where are you going?”
Matt pulled down the collar of her shirt to show the marks, just visible around her neck. “Home.”
He smiled and waved her through.
The changes were equally obvious inside the town. Some of the government buildings had been burned out, while others showed signs of vandalism. The mood was volatile and dangerous. Matt could almost taste it. Violence could erupt without warning. No redheads were on the streets and slave collars were also missing. If the Rihtcynn nobles and soldiers were still alive, they were not advertising the fact. Where had they gone?
The answer, in at least some cases, greeted Matt in the main town square. A crudely constructed gallows stood in the centre, complete with a row of ten red-haired corpses, hanging from the crossbeam. Matt stood and looked up. Mostly they were older folk, dressed like wealthy merchants, but not all. One young woman and a couple of uniformed soldiers had also been hanged.
“We sorted them out.” A man spoke at Matt’s shoulder.
“What’s happened? I’ve only just got to town.”
“Word came, four days back. An army of slaves attacked Cyningesburg and killed the empress. First off, the fuckers here got nervous and tried to clamp down. They had a curfew, but fighting broke out by the docks. Next thing, they’re packing up and heading out. We gave them a warm send off, and not all made it.” He nodded at the gallows and smiled.
The Shewstone Page 27