by Rex Sumner
“They aren’t gods, Aine, they are dirty old men. This one is a forester while this one a swineherd. Oh, she isn’t listening, the Goibhniu is in her blood, I told you not to give her any.”
“They look like gods to me,” said Fainche, performing a little pirouette as well. She’d also enjoyed the Goibhniu. “So do you, we’re all gods tonight.”
“Pretty,” said Susan, wrapping herself around Laoire who smiled in appreciation, Orlaith notable by her absence to the toilet. She didn’t notice Fionuir advancing in anger on her Gods.
“More Gods! They are coming!” Riofach squealed in excitement, waving her arms in the general direction of the forest. A loud rumbling attracted attention and the two ‘Gods’ took one look and beat a hasty retreat, laughing.
“That’s no god, it’s a bloody bear, come on girls,” said Laoire, turning to run and pulling Susan after him. She tripped over her own feet and fell, pulling her hand free, bashing her head on a stool as she went down. She lay semi-conscious as the elves vacated the glade as one, and the bear ambled over to the tables, engulfing a plate of smoked fish and licking up a bowl of berries before discovering the Goibhniu in a large skin. She, for it was a female bear, sniffed the sack for a moment, before the scent of honey tried her patience and she bit through, throwing her head back to allow the contents to cascade down her throat.
The fiery bite of alcohol proved unexpected, and she coughed a few times, before jumping back as a flame shot out of her mouth. The psilocybin worked just as well on the bear as on humans and elves. The bear staggered as she circled around the glade, trying to get back to the table. She succeeded, finding the Elven biscuits just as Susan sat up, groaning and holding her head.
The bear snorted, peering at the strange vision uncurling out of the earth, a giant snake undulating upwards. Being a bear of limited vision, she turned to a more reliable sense, leaning forward, running her nose up Susan’s back and sniffing. Her reliable nose hoovered up the scent of man and rushed Susan’s death sentence towards the brain, only to be intercepted by the psilocybin which turned Susan into a bear cub, one of the two who deserted the mother to make their own way in the world just the previous month.
At the same time, Susan felt the snort and revolved for her addled brain to find herself facing a huge black dragon, leering down at her, wisps of smoke curling from each nostril.
“Fiotr,” said Susan with a happy cry. “Have you come to take me home? Is it already time to go? I want another dance.” She staggered to her feet and the dragon butted her with care and affection. “Where’s the music? Never mind, we make our own.”
The bear watched her missing cub rise onto her hind legs and revolve around the glade, following her and nudging her at intervals.
*
The fleeing girls staggered to a halt near the Teaching Trees, taking stock.
“Where is Aine? I can’t see her,” said Fionuir.
“Laoire has her,” said Riofach, staggering with a twisted ankle.
“No I don’t. Thought she was with you.” Laoire put an arm around Orlaith’s waist.
“Did those bloody hunters make off with her?” Riofach asked. “They were trying it on, pretending to be gods.”
“No, they went off into the woods. I think she went first – humans don’t like bears. I’m for bed, that running makes my head hurt,” said Fainche. Bears often interrupted the festivities. “Fionuir, can I share your bed tonight, it’s too far to go home.”
No one heard Susan’s laughter as she found another skin of Goibhniu and squirted it down Fiotr’s throat, before dragging him into another dance, one in which he even reared up to tower over her.
Pursuit
Her head hurt. She let out a soft groan, wondering what way was up and why the world swayed. Something stuck her eyes together, matted and gummy, and she needed several blinks to clear her eyes, enough to see grass moving past underneath her. She hung from a horse, head throbbing with every step. Behind the saddle, like a bed roll or a pack, the broad width of the horse’s hips spreading her out in uncomfortable fashion, while each step caused the leg beneath her to roll.
She tried not to give any indication of being awake as she sought answers. Several horses, the small, wiry, bony beasts of the high Uightlands, hardy and bad-tempered. Her horse rode near the front, second or third she thought. Each horse held a rider and a passenger, a girl slung across the back or in some cases riding astride. On the horse behind her, the rider held the girl in front of him, his hands roaming under her dress. Asmara recognised the girl who approached and spoke to her in the compound.
Now her eyes fixed on Asmara, her lips a hard slash as she endured the ministrations of her captor. She blinked hard at her princess and Asmara knew she was sending a message. If only she could understand.
Asmara turned her attention to her surroundings. Her arms hung past her head, untied, as were her legs. She was just slung over the back of the horse, not enough of her slight frame overlapping to warrant her falling off. They moved at a walk through forest, open woods with a high canopy and little, low-level brush, the lovely green light belying her difficult position. Ahead the woods became denser and she waited.
The thicker trees revealed an up-thrust hill with a ravine to the right. The sound of rushing water drifted up and Asmara smiled. Once in that river she would be safe, using the rapids to whisk her away to safety. She hung the wrong way across the horse. Discarding the option of somersaulting forwards, she pulled up her arms to thrust herself backwards.
An instant response from the girl behind, who screamed and threw herself off her horse, shouting at her captor.
“Enough! Stop pawing me, you filthy pig. I can’t stand it anymore. Just kill me, kill me now, anything but keep your filthy hands off me.”
All eyes fell on her and Asmara took her chance, slipping backwards as the Spakka turned the other way. Fast as a striking viper he swung back, his darting hand grazing her shoulder as she fell off the horse landing on both feet. A quick dummy towards the hill and she ducked under the horse’s rear, dodged a kicking hoof and sprinted for the gorge, shouts erupting behind her.
A spear slid past her, nearly hitting her, and causing an enraged bellow from a point much closer than anticipated, heightening her adrenaline. Her jaw ached, she felt woozy and did not run as fast as usual, but her ears still worked and she picked up the heavy footfalls behind her, as she slanted off past a low bush, almost to the edge now.
The footfalls ceased, there was a rush of air and she made a quick step and shuffle with her feet, moving sideways rather than forwards, rewarded with a large body hurtling past her, belly down in the dirt. ‘Home free,’ she thought in triumph, when a long arm reached out and tapped her ankle, causing her rear foot to smack into the back of her standing foot and she went flying. She rolled, seeing stars as her poor jaw hit the ground, gathered her feet to spring away when a great weight landed on her, knocking the breath from her body.
Muttering to himself in Spakka, the warrior hauled her to her feet, where she swung a roundhouse punch into his face and kicked for his balls. He allowed the punch and caught the kick on his thigh, smiling.
“A love tap, little one?” He laughed, cuffed her soundly, which sent stars wheeling through her mind, and slung her over his shoulder. On arrival back at the horse, waiting with patience while pulling up the scant fodder, he trussed her with leather strips before throwing her back over the horse and attaching a line from feet to hands. Asmara glared, before checking on her accomplice, now on the back of her captor’s horse with a swelling over her eye. She shrugged at Asmara.
*
Lionel whistled when he opened the sack, inside the belly of the largest longship. The last to be taken, at a cost of five lancers, for the defenders would not concede. Golden goblets gleamed at him, along with crosses and silver boxes. Church work, he grimaced. Churches would appear on the frontier,
and he understood they always belly-ached to the king, demanding more protection as they pushed the frontiers back. Priests loved their riches, putting together the pennies tithed by the farmers. He grinned, sure he could put it to better use.
Coming up on deck, he waved to Tony striding up to the ship.
“What do we have? Can you give me a rough estimate yet?”
Tony’s face twisted, as he tried manfully to retain his usual downward curved, disapproving mouth.
“I’m a rider, not a damn farmer. Why you pick me for this damn job, I don’t know.”
“We’re all riders. You know more about business than the rest of us.”
“I do, don’t I?” Tony’s face gave up the unequal task and a grin split his face in two. “There’s more than two hundred bushels of oats, a hundred hogsheads of ale, good stuff too, and more than a hundred bales of wool. Not counted them all yet, maybe some small stuff. We caught most of the loot before they could get it away. We’re rich, Lenny boy.”
“I don’t know how it works, but I expect the king will have something to say. I’m sure we’ll get a share though.”
“Way ahead of you. There are a bunch of wagons up in the trees, the draught horses have mostly been slaughtered for meat but some remain. I’ll load those up and send a convoy off to Barndton, leave the rest here for the king’s men. Few boys to guard them, will take them a couple of months to get there. I know a few merchants who will be pleased.”
Lionel nodded. “Do it. Pile the rest up here on the beach, make a big display and they’ll never think there was more.”
“Got it in hand. What was in the stockade you went to earlier? More plunder.”
“You could say that. Women, slaves. Bit traumatised, the princess is seeing to them.”
“Hmmph. Well, some of them are coming out now, see, they are waving at us.”
“Henry,” called Lionel, “go find what they want.”
Henry glanced up from where he groomed his horse, sprang into the saddle and galloped up to the compound. In moments he returned, face troubled.
“You’d better come see, boss.”
Lionel jumped over the side of the longship, knees buckling as he landed, and whistled for his horse. The gelding trotted up and he swung into the saddle, while Tony returned to the liberated stores and his machinations. Several riders noticed Lionel gallop up to the stockade and followed, all hoping to see some girls.
Sergeant Andy Russell lay on straw, a woman washing the blood from his face while one of the Lancers’ healers examined him. Lionel cast around for the princess, his unease heightening as he slipped down to the turf.
“What happened?” He asked in general, as the women backed away from him.
The older woman who had earlier spoken to the Princess stepped forward.
“Sir, the Spakka came back, just a few of them, well, one actually. But he was with a load of Uightlanders, maybe a dozen. They took the Princess and some of the girls, sir.”
Lionel cursed, turning for the gate. The woman pulled at his arm.
“Sir? She fought, sir, the princess did. She ran one of the Uightlanders through the leg and could have killed him but went for the Spakka instead. He knocked her out, he did, and took her away.”
Lionel nodded, his mouth tight and pushed out of the gate, over the hard mud to the beginnings of the grass that ran down to the sea. Matt arrived along with half a dozen others.
“Spakka and Uightlander stragglers made off with the princess and some of the captives. We will follow and recover. Matt, round up the best trackers and cast around, I want to know how many and what we are following. Should be no more than a dozen. Robbie, two troops ready to ride in ten minutes, as much food and provisions as possible, raid the other troops for trail rations.”
Matt’s head hovered inches over the trail going round the side of the stockade, his fingers brushing the ground while he moved at a fast pace along the trail. Robbie left with no more than a grunt, calling out to various boys. They still had no proper ranks, just made do. Lionel followed Matt round the side of the stockade, not speaking as Matt worked out the trail.
The harsh staccato of hooves on hard turf raised his head, to see Jez arriving at the gallop, swinging in his direction on recognising his horse.
“We’re in tonight, little bro. All the girls of the Hardenwall can’t wait to ride the war heroes. We’ve got a party to go to, all organised. What’s up?” Lionel’s expression remained concerned and harsh.
“Stragglers. Mainly Uightlander, they had a stockade of slaves here and picked up a few before heading off. We’re heading off after them as soon as Matt works out the trail. No time yet for partying, Jez.”
“It’s Sir Jeremy now, knighted on the battlefield by the king himself, no less.” Jez puffed up his chest with a silly grin. “Sure, send a troop after them, but you can’t go yourself. The king wants to see you and we have a party tonight. Enough time to get back to the Wall if you hurry it. Where’s the princess? Got a message for her.”
“They took her as well.”
“Shit. What are we waiting for? I can track as well as Matt, get me some trail rations and some bloody meat.” He jumped off his horse and followed Matt’s path round the corner, eyes scanning the ground as he went. Lionel checked on Robbie barking orders before spotting a taller man and waving him over.
“Ade, take charge of these women. Get all the healers over here, see what they need and get them back to the Hardenwall soon as you can. Tony has some wagons, get a couple and use those.” He thought for a moment, closed his eyes in pain before reaching for his saddlebags and pulling out a sheaf of paper. Sharpening a quill, he didn’t bother making ink but simply licked the quill and ran it over an ink-stone. He wrote with rapid strokes, stopping every word to recharge the quill. Folding the parchment, he grimaced at his lack of signet ring as he sealed it with a blob of wax and his thumbprint.
“Simon! Take this to the general, General Roberts, for his hand alone. Afterwards report back to Tony, tell the general there’s no point in following with messages, we’ll be back before they get to us. See Tony on your way, tell him he’s in charge till I get back and to sort out the wounded. Set up a forward camp somewhere not full of Spakka shit.” Several thousand men had moved through the area, and it showed.
Lionel found Matt and Jez talking with the woman, who lapsed into silence as he arrived.
“Eleven of them, one wounded, one Spakka. They are mounted on these tiny ponies, Mags here says they are strong little buggers and will have no trouble carrying double, but slow.” Matt stroked a hoof print as he spoke, eyes fixed on the print, memorising it.
“Princess wounded the Uightlander,” said Jez with satisfaction. “Good girl. You know what they are going to do, don’t you?”
“Head for the high country, wooded areas, rough ground where we can’t gallop,” said Lionel in an instant
“They’ll split up,” Jez nodded, his eyes on Mags’ curves. “We will need eleven trackers, or more. Best to have two on each. We’ll move faster. I’ll work with Matt. We’ll stick to the princess and her Spakka.”
“I’ve called for them. Some are coming now, and as soon as the food is here we can ride. Do you need a spare horse?”
“They’re all knackered, but if we lead them for a bit, mine’ll be fine. Have we got any oats? That will stiffen him up quickly. Lots of bottom, that horse.”
“True, but let’s spend some time checking them before we go. Not sure if we have enough for all to take spares.”
“I know how they started,” said Matt. “They followed this back trail out of here, it is quite well used but their tracks are the last ones on it. We can move fast at the start.”
“It’s uphill. Somebody there is canny, we will take it slow and lead the horses up the hill or they’ll be dead by the time we reach the top. Bet it’s steep as hell.�
��
All three returned to the front of the stockade and stripped the gear off their horses. The rest of the two troops arrived and followed suit. In moments the field filled with rolling horses and swearing riders, as most of the horses wanted to play, feeling they deserved some attention. A small group of riders distributed oats, purloined from the recovered stocks, and the horses quietened as nose bags went on while the riders brushed them down.
*
Lionel threw his leg over his bay gelding, relieved to get off his feet. He felt the ache in his legs from the steep hike, and relaxed in the saddle as his horse puffed his discontent. He rode behind the lead trackers, and his reverie of the green forest with unfamiliar trees allowed him to drift into sleep, before his horse stopped and woke him up.
The trackers crouched on the ground, horses held well back from the evidence. He joined them and Jez stood up, stretching.
“We’ve marked the princess, now,” he said in satisfaction. “She made a break for it here – see, the ground is scuffed where he tackled her and brought her back. Good thinking by the girl, if she got into the river she would be well away.”
“It sounds a bit fast and rough,” said Lionel, standing tall to look down into the gorge.
“Tough little bitch, she knows what she is doing. Anyway, he caught her and brought her back. Tough, wily mother-fucker, this one.”
“Because he can catch a girl?”
“No, he’s smart. You can see it in the way he walks, the way he is ahead of her attempts to escape. He defeated her in a fight, and she’s good that girl. It has taken us this long to work out which is his horse, so he is extra smart. We’ve got him now, though, there’s a nick on the off fore hoof. He can’t get away from us.”
*
Asmara landed on the soft moss with a thump, and it hurt although she twisted and tried to fall correctly. Her Spakka laughed and untied her bonds, pulling at a loose end for them to fall apart. He laughed again as her eyes narrowed at the knowledge, fury mounting as she realised she could have pulled it with her teeth. He smacked her shoulder, more from affection than cruelty even though she fell over, and thrust a bag into her hands.