by Meg Caddy
‘You ready, brat?’ he asked as I sipped.
‘Hope so.’ I stretched my legs, then set aside the water-skin. ‘I guess I’ll soon find out.’
‘We’re with you this time.’
Something about his tone made me look at him. His jaw was locked. He stood like a soldier, back straight and facing front.
‘Boss?’ I asked.
‘We should’ve been with you the first time,’ he said. His voice was gruff. ‘Shouldn’t have sent you in alone.’
My throat closed. I had waited so long for the words. Agonised over them. Now they were being said, I could think of no reply.
‘We’ll make him pay, brat,’ Hemanlok said, and shouldered past me, out of the training-room.
To my surprise, he joined us for breakfast. The last time he had done so, to my memory, was after a fire had swept through the Grinaja and killed some of the Rogues lurking in the streets there. Now, he sat at the table beside Moth, talking to her in a low voice. Usually Moth insisted on cooking, but this morning Donovan and Mitri had commandeered her place in the kitchen. They flipped batter-cakes and bacon, spilled hot fat on the ground and in general made a nuisance of themselves. Flicker, picking at dried fruits from the pantry, threw raisins at Donovan until eventually he abandoned the cooking and focused his efforts on stealing kisses from her. Hywe took his food and ate in the common-room; he was always a solitary type, not much given to company or mirth. Salvi and Shard sat cross-legged on the floor and ate there, laughing at the antics of the others.
The merriment felt forced. We all knew we were walking into battle.
Lowell sat between Moth and Dodge. He was grim and focused. I knew his mind was on his brother. He did not glance at me, and I tried to keep my attention on other things. The developing bond of friendship between us had been broken, and there was nothing to be done about it.
Mitri dropped a batter-cake onto the plate in front of me, and Moth pushed the honey across the table. I was not overly fond of sweet things, but I was hungry after training, and I knew we had a long journey ahead of us. I took the cinnamon-pot and sprinkled the fine dustings over my meal. When I noticed Lowell staring, I pushed it over to him.
‘Cinnamon,’ I said. I sounded too brusque, so I went on, trying in vain to alter my tone. ‘From Manon. Not too much, or it’ll taste foul.’
Lowell spooned the cinnamon onto his own breakfast, and I did my best to ignore him after that. I listened instead to Hemanlok and Moth.
‘…don’t want you or your lanky fool of a husband to be anywhere near the actual combat,’ Hemanlok was saying. Dodge grinned at being referred to as a lanky fool; he knew he was one of the few people in the world Hemanlok was genuinely fond of. ‘It’d be a real good way to lose the battle, if either of you were to be captured. You’re to hang back. Stay away from the battle until Leldh is dead. You too, brat.’
Hemanlok had called me ‘the brat’ for years. I did not mind the term itself, but I was troubled by what his words suggested.
‘I’m going to be out in the battle myself, Boss,’ I said. ‘I need to find Leldh.’
‘No.’ His voice was flat and harsh. ‘Not this time. I don’t intend to let him get near you.’
I sat back, stunned into silence. Hemanlok did not turn his face towards me. When I looked around the table, no eyes met mine. I set my teeth. I needed to see an end to this. I was not going to cower at the back of the ranks and let others do the work for me.
‘This is my fight. I need to do this.’
‘You called us all in, girl,’ Flicker reminded me. She could never resist having a say, especially when it gave her a chance to trouble me. ‘You wanted Boss to help, aye? Well, now he’s helping. Give it a rest. Ain’t a one of us cares about your glory-quest.’
‘This has nothing to do with glory.’
‘Could’ve fooled me.’
‘Three years, and the two of you still haven’t quit sniping at one another,’ Hemanlok growled. ‘Put a stopper in it.’ He sat up, raised his head. His white eyes glared in the light of the kitchen. ‘You’ll do as I say.’
Not much had changed. Hemanlok was unused to disobedience. I bit my tongue. When it came to battle, I would do what I had to. So long as Leldh died, it did not matter one way or the other.
When we reached upper world, we were greeted with a bleak and heavy sky. Winter, sweeping in from the north, was always slow to reach Luthan. I had no doubt we would be marching in the rain and sleet, possibly even snow. It would be easier for a while when we swerved away from the coast but I dreaded our passage through the mountains. It was possible we would have to do the unthinkable and travel through the Valley on our way to Caerwyn. I could not consider what such a thing would do to Lowell Sencha, or how much danger it would put us in.
We all took separate tunnels to reach upper Luthan, or staggered our travel. No matter our cause, it was imperative we leave the Debajo guarded and protected. We would be fighting alongside the lawmen and soldiers of Luthan, but it made us temporary allies, not friends.
I went on my own. It was obvious to the others I wanted no company, and I was glad they did not make an issue of it. I brushed my hands along the tunnel walls, savoured the musty scents that always promised the Debajo. As I emerged through O’Shea’s, I saw a number of other Rogues. They were getting in a last drink before departure. Some of them winked at me, but we did not exchange words. I was glad of it; I doubted my ability to string together coherent thought. I let them to their drinking, trusting they would join us beyond Luthan’s northern wall.
I met with Moth and Dodge in the narrow corridor separating the Primero and the Ultimo. Dodge wore some of Donovan’s clothing, more suited to combat if we were surprised. They stood at a height, though Dodge was much skinnier than the muscular Donovan. Moth was clad, as ever, in a simple dress. Not yellow this time, but dark grey. She carried her healing bag, and the smells of herbs and tonics stung my nose.
Men and women filtered out of the Ultimo armed with rusted, dented weapons. If they survived the battle at Caerwyn they would be given pay, possibly enough to feed their families for a month or so. Still, they had to provide their own weapons, and they would be put on the front line of the battle. A woman passed me with a carving knife at her belt and a frying pan slung over her shoulder with some thin, fraying rope. I felt a tug of respect, and sorrow. I knew I had brought this upon them, even if they did not recognise it.
The crowds started to gather as we reached the edge of the city. People bidding farewell to their loved ones, and people there to witness the spectacle of Luthan’s army amassed. They were excited; war is a delight when it is far away, and you do not have to reckon with the consequences. I wondered if they had any notion who we were facing, and what resources he had at his hands. He was capable of driving men to fall upon their own swords. We had the Watchers with us this time, yes, but they would only assist our odds; they were no guarantee of a victory. Hemanlok was weak outside Luthan and Moth could defend neither herself, nor others. Melana was…Melana.
I walked out beyond the city walls and winced as I looked over the forces amassing. Kirejo’s ineptitude hit me with blistering clarity. A king is of no use if he spends all his reign waging war, but nor is he a true king if he fails to maintain the defence of the city. It was easy to tell the Rogues from the soldiers and civilians, because they were the only ones who appeared battle-ready. The only ones with well-kept weapons and proper armour. I stared around at the soldiers. Many were too young, or too old. Some were fat and ungainly. I admired their courage but lamented their unreadiness. I felt I could see their deaths play out before my eyes.
The army had numbers, at least. The people from the Ultimo shuffled to the front, hunched themselves over just shy of the officers. Civilians from Ciadudan stood behind them, marching close to the trained soldiers. Men and women from the Grinaja, given the chance to fight for their freedom, were heavily guarded. The Rogues fanned out between the ranks. I watched as men ran al
ong the rows, taking names. It was an unspoken rule, acknowledged and obeyed by all soldiers, that the Rogues would not be listed among those gathered for war. As far as official records stated, we did not exist.
‘Dodge and I are going to join the healers, dear,’ Moth said. She caught my arm and kissed my cheek. ‘Keep steady. You know where to find me if you need me. We are here with you, Lycaea. You are not alone this time.’
I doubted my smile was convincing. Dodge gathered me into a crushing hug, then followed Moth towards the healers’ cart. They travelled towards the back of the army with the washers and the cooks. Hemanlok, I knew, would be travelling further behind them still. He would not suit the ranks, and would only cause chaos among the officers who tried to command him. As for Melana…she had said she would meet us on the road, which I took to mean just before we reached Caerwyn. She was not the sort to march. She could step through the shadows, travelling miles in just a few moments.
‘Seen the souther-waer yet?’ Mitri was at my elbow. I shook my head. I should have been able to identify them easily; they would stand higher than anyone in Luthan, except perhaps Hemanlok.
‘They’re late,’ I replied. I swallowed. ‘Can you make an estimate of our numbers?’
‘Looks like a thousand or so upper-folk, but the runners haven’t come back with a list yet. We’re looking at about six hundred Rogues.’
Not enough. Daeman’s numbers were twice ours, and all trained fighters. I pushed the thought from my mind. It would have to be enough. We did not have time for despair. I shifted the weight of my pack, adjusted my sword at my hip, and made my way to the front of the ranks. I would do as Hemanlok had ordered, but for now I would march with the people of the Ultimo. Of all our army, they were giving the most to gain the least.
It was hours before we set off. I stood with some of the men of the Ultimo, showing them how to clean their weapons after use. Several others, including the woman with the frying pan, looked on. When we were called, the thin wretches snapped to attention quicker than anyone else. I scanned the officers and the cavalry. Kirejo, to no one’s surprise, would not be gracing us with his presence. If Queen Ela had been a ruler in her own right I did not doubt she would have ridden with us, but she had to at least pretend to stand with her king on all counts. Instead, we had several officers from the Primero who had paid hearty sums for their command positions. Their armour looked shiny enough, but I doubted it would survive a hackbut or a volley of arrows. They rode about the army on temperamental horses, barking orders. I wondered if they were even aware they commanded Rogues. If not, it was going to be a difficult journey for them.
We marched at midday. This, at least, I was accustomed to. Leldh’s army had been trained with brutal precision. I remembered hours of standing in the sun or the snow, weeks of marching endlessly through the dark and the light and the mud. Sleeping through hail. I had been Kaebha at the time, but part of me had still been awake, watching and screaming throughout. My body adapted. I helped the Ultimo-dwellers where I could. They were too emaciated to endure such travel easily, but I reminded myself they would be better fed on the march than they were at home in Luthan.
Sometimes my attention wandered, and I searched for Lowell Sencha. I did not see him on the first day, but on the second night I caught sight of him after we had set up camp. He was taking lessons from Donovan in hand-to-hand combat. Flicker sat by, and even from a distance I could tell she was mocking Lowell. I felt stirrings of anger, and bit back a growl. He was trying. He was involved in something far bigger than he was accustomed to, and he was doing his best. She had no right to belittle him for it.
Nor did I have a right to fight his battles for him. Lowell had made it clear he did not want my company. I kept my distance.
The days bled into one another, and the weather worsened as I had predicted. We passed Coserbest, and gained some three hundred people to help us. It was more than I had expected. They were simple folk, and good ones. The quartermaster who raised me hailed from Coserbest, so even the accent brought familiarity and comfort. They brought durlow oil, a thick soupy substance taken from the great furred monsters of the sea. It was better than whale-oil for lighting fires, and would complement the blast-powder we had from the Wharfers. We had good supplies from the town as well, so our rations were a little less restricted.
The souther-waer were still absent from our ranks. I was starting to worry they would not join us. Their refined senses, fierce courage and superior strength would have served us well, both in finding survivors and combatting the enemy. If they did not arrive in the next few days, I would have to contact Hemanlok and ask him to go back to seek word from them. The thought grated at me. I needed his presence. He gave me courage.
On the open plains between Coserbest and the mountains we had to huddle close to keep warm, and stretch waxed canvas over our heads to protect us from the worst of the elements. Men and women from the Ciadudan sometimes had tents – the Rogues certainly did – but the people of the Ultimo were lucky if they had even a canvas sheet. Fights started to break out; the provosts were called more than once to deal with the participants. I saw one boy, arrogant and angry, beaten bloody for fighting over food. He could not have been older than fifteen, and his howls put a damp chill over the camp. I was reminded of Kaebha. I folded my fear into myself.
Later, Moth came across to look after the boy’s hurts. He spat at her, but she did not flinch. She put a poultice on his back and, as she worked, I knew she poured her power into him. She could not remove the red welts for fear of being uncovered, but she could dull the hurt. Even though the skin had broken and he had bled, he would not get the rot. He was sullen and silent by the time she had finished, and I knew he regretted spitting at her. I could understand it, though; he was tired and frightened, and too young to be going to war. I was reminded of myself at his age, walking into Caerwyn with all the strut of a nobleman.
The next day, I carried the boy’s pack. I showed him how to handle a sword when we stopped to camp. He had one of his own, which had belonged to his mother before she lost a hand and was sent to the Grinaja for theft. The blade was in surprisingly good condition, and the boy learned quickly. He hardly spoke a word to me, but he worked hard. Soon I had a group of youths who wanted to learn. The first boy was still the most promising. I resolved to mention him to Hemanlok when this was over. I was sure one of the gangs would be able to find a place for him, if he lived.
If any of us did.
Lowell
Time was I never imagined leaving our Valley. I was the elder Sencha boy, destined to follow the family in shepherding. I had been prepared for a life without movement or adventure; I was content. Now, I was marching with an army. I did not know whether to be elated or bitter. I focused my heart on my little brother. Kemp. Alive, imprisoned somewhere in Caerwyn. If we could save him some part of my old life could be salvaged. I prayed to Felen for his safety, thanked Freybug for the chance to save a member of my family.
The journey was long and harsh. I travelled with the people from the Ciadudan, along with Donovan and Flicker. It was difficult. I was anxious and uncomfortable amongst so many people. Most nights, I could not sleep. During the day, I distracted myself by continuing to study combat. Donovan was a good man, and spent much of his time and energy picking up where Lycaea had left off training me. Flicker, on the other hand, was as hostile as ever. I could do nothing right. She lounged around the camp, laughing at my feeble attempts to spar with Donovan.
When I had time to think, I found myself searching the ranks for Lycaea. I eventually found her at the front, with the people from the Ultimo. Even from a distance, she seemed grim and brittle. I wished she had never told me about Kaebha. I could not think of her without imagining the sour smell of blood.
People joined the army as we continued north, but I knew we were smaller than Lycaea had hoped. The souther-waer seemed to have abandoned us. I was sick with disappointment. I had thought better of them. I had thought they
would stand with us, for the sake of all waer. I had not expected their cowardice.
By the time we arrived at the foot of the mountains, tension was rising. That night, Hemanlok’s Own gathered. We met to the south of the camp, and stayed awake and quiet while Flicker went to find Hemanlok. Moth and Dodge joined us as we waited, and finally Lycaea, from the Ultimo ranks. She did not, would not, look at me.
‘What if the souther-waer don’t show?’ Mitri asked in a low voice.
‘We’ll have to change strategy,’ Lycaea replied. ‘Hit in controlled, quick strikes rather than meeting him in plain battle. It’ll be much harder to draw him out that way, though, and harder to penetrate the walls. I don’t like our chances. Better if we have one tight force hitting him, and a few smaller parties striking simultaneously. We don’t have the power to hold him in a siege.’
‘Sieges are a nasty business in any case,’ Moth said, surprising me. Sometimes I forgot all the years she had lived. It followed she must have seen all manner of battle as well, even if she had not actively been involved. ‘I would not put it past Leldh to keep Caerwyn locked in and escape through some secret means himself, if it comes to a siege.’
‘Will he meet us in battle otherwise?’ Donovan asked, voicing my sudden alarm.
‘He won’t be able to resist the chance to humiliate us,’ Lycaea said. She crouched by the fire to stir the embers.
‘Are we going through the Valley?’ Hywe asked. It always startled me when he spoke up, and when I remembered he and I shared a point of origin.
I had not considered the possibility of going through the Valley to reach Caerwyn, though it seemed obvious. I stared at my hands. To go home, and find it in waste and ruin…
‘It took some talking, but I managed to convince the commander that the mountain paths are safer for us,’ Lycaea said. ‘Leldh will be using the Valley as training grounds for his soldiers. It’s close enough to Caerwyn, and he’s been looking for good forest area for a while. He’s always had his eye on the Valley.’