by Aaron Hodges
As though his words had reminded her of the injury, Cara cradled the arm to her chest once more. “I fell…” she said, and for a moment her eyes took on a haunted look. “I’ve never fallen before.” Then she shook her head, her expression turning blank as she looked at him. “Where are we?”
“Crossing the Illmoor River, into Flumeer.”
“Flumeer!”
Instantly, the woman was on her feet, head whipping around, eyes wide with fright. But in her haste, the injured arm slammed against the side of the galley and whatever she might have said next turned into a moan. Romaine rose quickly as she staggered, ready to catch her if she lost consciousness again. The colour had drained from her face and she swayed on her feet, but eventually she slumped back to the bench.
“I can’t go to Flumeer,” she whispered, rocking on her haunches. “There’s…people there.”
“We must,” Romaine said softly. “It’s not safe where we found you, not anymore. Did your…people not receive the news? New Nihelm has fallen. Calafe belongs to the Tangata now.”
“New Nihelm?” Cara’s eyes were wide. She turned to face the mist. “Gone?”
“I’m sorry.” He paused, watching as the wind tugged her hair. He shivered, but in her bulky furs, Cara did not seem to notice the chill. “Your people…” He trailed off, then added, “You were alone when we found you.”
Cara nodded, facing him again. “I was lost…”
“Then your family, they’re still in the forest, still alive?”
Cara shook her head, and Romaine’s stomach twisted as his own grief called out its sympathy. He reached out a hand to pat her shoulder, but at the last moment she glimpsed the movement.
“Don’t touch me!”
Screaming, she flinched away, coming to her feet again in a rush. This time she tripped over a loose coil of rope and instead of fleeing, she went crashing to the ground. Another cry tore from her throat as she fell and she tried to roll away. Rope and cloth went with her and in a panic she thrashed, tangling them around her.
Romaine had come to his feet, but he dared not try to help her, lest he spur another outburst. Finally her terror seemed to subside. She slumped against the deck, gasping as though she had just climbed a mountain. A tremor followed, seeming to sweep her from head to toe, until her entire body was shaking.
“Are you…I’m sorry, are you okay?” he whispered, hardly daring to make a move towards her.
Cara’s eyes slid closed and she drew in a great breath. The tremors slowed, then ceased. Exhaling, she pushed herself up with her good hand. She gulped in another breath, as though fighting against some terrible pain, and slowly unravelled the rope and sail that had wrapped around her. Finally she managed to stand and sink back to her bench. There she pulled her knees up to her chest and closed her eyes, a single tear streaking her cheek.
“I…I don’t like to be touched,” she croaked when she finally looked at him again.
Romaine nodded, though silently he wondered again what horrors the woman had endured alone in the wilds of Calafe.
“You killed them.” A frown crossed the woman’s brow as she looked at him. “The Tangata. How?”
“How?” he repeated, then shrugged, recalling the battle, the pounding in his ears, the rush of adrenaline. “It was not the first time.”
“You were so fast,” Cara murmured. “Almost as quick as them.”
“Not quite,” Romaine replied. He rubbed his chest where the male had struck him and winced. “But I knew what it was going to do.”
She nodded, as though what he’d said made perfect sense to her. Silence fell between them, and Romaine sat back, listening to the soft moaning of the ship, the lapping of water against the hull, the cursing of sailors at the oars. He tried to imagine himself back in the silent winter forests of his homeland, but instead he saw Flagers, lying dead in the blood-red snow.
His eyes snapped open and he rose. To his surprise, the mist had lifted and now the waters around the ship were clear. Ahead, burning torches lit the night and he sighed. That would be Fogmore, where he and the other scouts were barracked. It had been a sleepy town on the banks of the Illmoor once—until the war had come. Now it hosted the command post for the Flumeeren army.
They were closer than he’d thought, and inwardly Romaine suppressed a sigh. Seeing the stockade city only served to remind Romaine of his own loss. With Calafe fallen, he was now a man without a kingdom, forced to rely on the generosity of others for a place to stand, to sleep.
“Where are the trees?”
Romaine glanced sideways as Cara joined him on her feet. Her eyes were on the distant lights and it took him a moment to realise what she was talking about. In the darkness, it was difficult to see the barren hills around the city.
“Some were cut down to form the palisade, others for the new buildings needed to host the army. The rest…” He trailed off, thinking of the infernos that had lit the shores of the Illmoor from ocean to mountains. “They were burnt.”
“Why?”
“To keep the Tangata from slipping past our scouts,” Romaine replied.
“That’s horrible,” Cara murmured.
“Can you walk?”
She nodded, and turning, Romaine led her past the horse stalls. As they reached the main deck, the ship shuddered and the sound of wood crunching against gravel carried to their ears. He didn’t need to look over the side to know they’d reach the shore, though he noticed the wide-eyed look on Cara’s face as she spun around. Unbidden, a smile touched his lips.
“We’ve arrived,” he grunted.
The announcement finally seemed to shake his comrades from their stupor, and rising, they moved to free the horses from their stalls. Romaine made no move to help—the busy work would be good for them. He turned as footsteps announced the lieutenant’s approach, and he offered the man a nod, but his attention was focused on Romaine’s new ward.
“Awake at last, I see!” the lieutenant said in what he must have thought was a friendly tone. He offered a friendly bow. “Lieutenant Marco, at your service.”
Cara only stared at the man, lips clenched tight. The lieutenant turned to Romaine with a frown.
“Does she speak?” he asked.
Chuckling, Romaine clapped the man on the shoulder. “Not to you, apparently,” he said with a grin. Nearby, the sailors were raising the gangplank from where it had been sequestered beside the railing. The current had turned the ship side-on to the riverbank, and with a groan of steel hinges, the plank slammed down into muddy shore. “Come,” Romaine added. “We’d best get out of the way of these men. No doubt they’d like to return to the safety of the river before the night grows too old.”
Ignoring the lieutenant, he led Cara down the gangplank to the shore, then raised an eyebrow at the woman. The faintest hint of a smile touched her lips, but it faded as she looked ahead. Romaine could hardly blame her. Fogmore was anything but welcoming. The wooden palisade waited some two hundred yards from the river, though the ground sloped upwards from where they stood, so that the city seemed to loom above them.
Torches had been lit at regular intervals along the palisade, and the flickers of shadows revealed the guards on watch. Nothing could be seen of the city beyond, though the gates were already swinging open in preparation to admit the new arrivals. Once a gravel path had wound its way up the slope to the gates, but the constant passage of marching boots had turned it to a muddy, rutted mess.
“Welcome to…” Romaine sighed. “To my new home.”
Wrinkling her nose, Cara flashed him a glance. “You sure you wouldn’t rather the Tangata?”
Romaine blinked, then let out a snort. “They might yet convince me.”
Movement came from the gangplank as the lieutenant started down. Gesturing to the path, Romaine started off before the man could reach them. The thump of boots on wood picked up pace as the lieutenant sped up, and Romaine let out a sigh. The man caught them before they’d gone ten yards, puffing softly
. It was difficult to move quickly on the muddy path. To Romaine’s relief, the lieutenant said nothing and they plodded on.
The other scouts overtook them when they were halfway. They waved from the backs of their horses and continued ahead, broad grins on their faces. Now that they had reached the safety of home, the guilt and fear had receded, replaced by joy at their own survival. Romaine clenched his jaw as he felt himself longing for the men’s innocence, for their hope and optimism. His had died long ago.
“Are you okay, lass?” the lieutenant asked as the last of the horses overtook them. “Sure you wouldn’t like a ride?”
Cara was managing better than either of them in the mud, though she must have been in pain from her arm. Romaine cursed inwardly that he had not made the offer sooner, but Cara only raised her eyebrows. The lieutenant shared a glance with Romaine, but he only shrugged. Shaking his head, the man returned his attention to the path.
Despite his sorrow at leaving his homeland once again, Romaine still felt a touch of relief at the sight of the city. Packed and chaotic as it was, he would at least be extended a hot meal and a bed. These days, he didn’t want for much more than that.
When they were still some fifty yards from the gates, Cara suddenly slowed. Romaine pulled alongside her as she glanced back, the fine features of her face twisting in a frown. For a moment, he thought she was having second thoughts about entering the city. Then her entire body went taut, and she opened her mouth to cry out.
Whooorl.
Romaine’s heart lurched as horns sounded from atop the palisade walls, drowning out Cara’s scream. Atop the walls, soldiers pointed down at them. No, past them—down at the distant river. Romaine followed their gestures, gaze travelling back to where their galley had landed.
The ship should have been pushing back from the shore by now, but it remained where they’d left it, sailors racing back and forth across the deck…
…No, not sailors.
Another howl sounded in the night, but this time it was not the Flumeeren trumpets.
Tangata!
Dozens of the creatures were swarming over the ship. Their clothes were soaked from the river waters and Romaine could hardly believe what he was seeing.
They had swum!
The sailors didn’t even have a chance to scream before the Tangata overtook them. In a matter of moments, their bodies lay scattered across the decks. A whoosh carried up the slope as a lantern was smashed against a railing, scattering flames across the wooden boards.
“Run!” Romaine bellowed.
Cold grey eyes turned after them as Romaine spun. Forgetting Cara’s affliction, he grabbed her by the shoulder and dragged her up the path. A cry came from the woman and she tore herself loose, but whatever panic she felt, she channelled into movement. The lieutenant had already seen the danger and had taken off without a second thought for those behind.
Whooorl.
The horns sounded again, followed by the soft creak of hinges. Romaine’s eyes snapped to the gates, just thirty yards away now. Slowly, they began to swing closed.
Fear touched Romaine and he bellowed for them to wait. If the guards heard, they took no notice. The other scouts had already reached the safety of the town. Only the three of them remained outside.
Light burst from atop the palisade walls as bales of straw were set aflame and pushed over the side. Their glow swept down the slope, illuminating the way ahead. And what came behind.
Glancing over his shoulder, Romaine glimpsed shadows streaking up the hill towards them. Moving with incredible speed, the Tangata had already covered half the distance to the town. Another minute and they would be upon them. He set his eyes on the closing gates and pounded on.
A bowstring twanged overhead. Angry shouts followed—a superior reprimanding the archer for releasing his arrow early. The Tangata were still too far away. Even in his desperate state, Romaine appreciated the officer’s discipline in the face of the attack.
A dozen Tangata…where had they come from? Why now?
Moments later, a chorus of twangs lifted from the ramparts, and fifty arrows flashed past overhead. Romaine didn’t need to look back now to know how close the beasts were. Convention dictated a crossbow volley be fired at sixty yards. Ahead, the gates continued to close, the squeal of their hinges sounding their doom.
“Wait!” There was open terror in the lieutenant’s voice, but he should have saved the effort.
At least a dozen Tangata came behind them. If even one were to enter the city, the havoc it would wreak amongst the civilians would be terrible. The officer in charge of the watch could not take the risk—not solely for the lives of two men and an unknown woman.
Romaine cursed. He didn’t even have his axe. They were just ten yards away now, so close. But they weren’t going to make it.
Suddenly the gates stopped moving. A figure appeared in the gap—Romaine recognised one of their fellow scouts, waving frantically for them to hurry.
Then they were through, the gates slamming closed behind them. A thud followed just as the locking bar dropped into place, shaking the wooden boards. Howls chased after them, then the twang of arrows came from overhead as the archers fired again.
All sound from outside ceased.
Then the screaming began.
Panting, Romaine straightened to take stock of the situation. His fear deepened as he witnessed the chaos that had taken hold of the city. Men and women raced in all directions, some towards the ramparts, others in seemingly mindless circles.
Terror was spreading.
And the Tangata were at the walls.
“Someone get me my axe,” Romaine growled.
7
The Recruit
Lukys stood frozen as the trumpets sounded again. Not even the officers moved from where they stood, but all turned their faces to look southward. Darkness had fallen almost unnoticed; the torches lit around the square casting their orange light across the snow. A third call sounded from the direction of the river.
“To arms!”
Lukys never saw who gave the call, but with those two words, the peace was broken. Chaos descended on the square as others picked up the cry. The general’s words were proven true as men and women went racing from the nearby buildings, some dressed in chainmail and carrying swords or spears, others in the plain clothes of civilians. Many of these carried hatchets or long knives, a few had construction hammers, one a pitchfork.
Standing in the centre of the square, armed with their spears and protected by heavy chainmail, not one of the Perfugian recruits moved. It was as though a spell had been cast over them. All Lukys could hear in his mind were the general’s words.
Death, death, death.
It was like a prophecy, a chant rattling around his skull, demanding deliverance.
The Perfugian officers swung into their saddles, but they said nothing to their charges. Instead, they put heels to flesh and galloped from the square—heading north, not south. Lukys watched them go, mouth wide, his last trickle of hope fading to nothing. Their commanders had fled, had left them here to die.
Death, death, death.
Lukys’s heart pounded in his chest as he looked at the spear in his hands. He had carried it all this way, had worn the chainmail, but he had never used them. He stared at the spear now, willing himself to lift it, to shout a war cry and race to aid his fellows.
He couldn’t.
A moan came from his throat as he looked around, seeking help from someone, anyone. Dale stood nearby, but his face was pale, forehead beaded in sweat. His eyes were fixed to the ground and as Lukys watched, a shudder went through the man, as though he were on the verge of tears. Gone was the bravado of just a few hours earlier.
The Tangata had come, and they didn’t care whether your blood was noble or poor. They would kill you all the same.
Death, death, death.
A tremor shook Lukys as the first scream sounded over the blowing of horns. His eyes fixed in the direction of t
he river. The palisade was hidden by the nearby rooftops, yet it couldn’t be far, not if they could hear sounds of battle, of the dying…
Lukys’s gaze caught movement in the windows of the nearby houses. Faces peered out at them, an older woman with two young children, their eyes wide with terror. He swallowed, seeing others now, the old and young, the injured and the infirm. They stayed in their homes, unable to fight, only to wait and see who would prevail.
Lukys’s stomach twisted in a knot as he looked from them to the Perfugian recruits.
Cowards.
How could he and his comrades stand here, frozen in terror, while others bled for their freedom? What did it matter whether they were failures or heroes, when there were those here who fought with pitchforks? At least they had spears, at least they had armour.
A soft thud whispered across the square as Lukys dropped his pack. Almost unconsciously, he reached down and tore the half-helm from its strap and placed it on his head. Then he was stepping forward, mud splashing beneath his boots. The spear came up, its tip dropping in what Lukys approximated to be the correct position. Hairs rose on the back of his neck as he sensed the eyes of the other recruits on him, but Lukys ignored them.
Eyes fixed straight ahead, he walked through the ranks of his fellow Perfugians, towards the distant screams of battle.
Thud, thud, thud.
Lukys glanced around as the sound of objects striking earth came from behind him. Other recruits were moving forward now, spears held at the ready, determined. He glimpsed the man he’d knocked down earlier amongst them, and offered a nod. A woman stepped up alongside Lukys and they shared a glance. He saw a steely resolve in the hazel depths of her eyes, a determination to do her kingdom proud—whatever the bastard general might have said of them.
Movement came from all around now as the spell shattered. Like a wave breaking against the shore, the fifty recruits surged forward with a cry, racing to reinforce their fellows in the battle for humanity’s freedom.