by Adrian Selby
I turned to see Digs on his knees, shivering as he continued his own rise. His ankles and wrists were being bound together by Laun. He looked like a bull made man and I do not doubt that had he managed to rise fully before we ambushed them, our success would not have been so easily achieved. I had been told stories of his strength, his leadership of miners and sappers and knowledge of fortifications and their weaknesses. Kailen’s Twenty had won through many of their purses because of his siegecraft. Now he was kneeling before me, risen. What force in a man? How fearsome must it have been to face the Twenty in their prime, if they were the equal or more of him? And how entitled they must have thought themselves, to betray my father’s purse, to betray my brother and I, because of their power and their fightbrew.
“Agents of the Post?” he said. “Did we get lost between our last silk cushions and our next?”
“Fuck you,” said Midgie.
“Enough!” said Laun. She glanced at me, a prompt.
“We came for you, Digs,” I said.
He looked up at me. He would not recognise me masked, my hair bound.
“You should have just knocked. I got cock enough for all of you.”
“I hoped that you could tell me where I might find any of the others you fought with in Kailen’s Twenty.”
“Kailen’s Twenty? That crew is long disbanded, if not dead for the most part. I can see why you’d be looking for more from your purse than you’re getting from this lot. If they were any good they’d be making real coin at war.”
I stepped closer to him, a great urge on me to hurt him; I trembled with it. But I realised also it would be futile to hit him, for all my balled fist wanted to break his nose. I stretched my fingers, trying to release the rage the brew brings. His own brew would inure him to most pain.
“Bitch, it makes no difference to me if I knew where they were or not, does it? I don’t know where any of them are except Connas’q. Most likely he’s north and waiting for the Clans, being a Red Hills boy, and worse an Afagi. You had best start your torture, to satisfy yourselves I’m speaking the truth.”
“I’m happy to brew us some tea to help with the fall,” said Midgie, “while you start work. Or I can start on him if you wanted.”
I believed Digs. Still I tortured him. I wanted to see this big arrogant pig cry and scream, suffering something of that which during his life he put countless others through for the sake of silver and gold. I took the skin of one of his arms mostly off, applied salt and here was a noise soldiers on a brew desired to hear. He had no more about the Twenty. Fingernails, then fingers, were slowly removed and he grunted and sweated through it. I did not have the art, of course, to find the extremes of his will. He had no answers for me, no lead beyond Connas’q. The Afagi, Connas’q’s own clan, would have nothing to do with his own Morafan clan for historic reasons I struggled to follow, even taking into account his bellowing and shrieking as I undid him. The Ten Clan and the Red Hills had long been in and out of war. I was plucking at the muscle of his arm to get the reaction I wanted and I had considered starting on his scrote when I began to fall, to pay the colour. Midgie’s tea helped, but my body was shutting down.
Digs’s head was bowed, breathing hard as his own fall began, the pain of his torture increasing. I would have liked to keep it going longer, but I needed to rest, something he knew from his increased goading. He was trying to prove himself unbowed and also was attempting to expedite his death. I said nothing, just took up a sword nearby and swung it, slicing off his head cleanly. In this one respect he had beaten me and I cried immediately, uncontrollably. Laun came over and held me. I could barely stand. From my abandonment at Snakewood, to this point, the first of the Twenty killed, it all fell from me. Laun laid with me then till my body wearied enough of the fall that I passed out, my arms around my father’s neck, squeezing him as he lifted me off my feet and all the while I’m bidding him follow us out of the palace.
The caravan’s supplies paid handsome passage, with the seal of the Morafan clan, a thistle, right to the border of the Red Hills Confederacy. The fall and my subsequent sleep left me with a growing confidence as we pushed on to the Red Hills. With Alon’s money and Laun’s crew, I was now convinced I would hunt down these betrayers. That conviction was tested as we pushed into the mountains and valleys. Hunting Confederates in their own land required plant; healing plant, alka, more than poisons. Among these dry and stony hills there was little need for elaborate poison, and no clans here would be foolish enough to engage an enemy openly when they had knowledge of the passes and caves one could pass by the face of and miss.
One of our crew, Ry’le, was raised among these clans that roamed the heights with their small herds, and he knew that here, where the wealth from the coastal clans that dominated the Confederacy did not spread, there was little loyalty, a short-sightedness common enough in the Old Kingdoms. Connas’q’s Afagi Clan were a major force in the Confederacy, their lands around the coast, far from the suffering here. Ry’le knew enough of the dialect, the customs of proper greeting and gifts, to assume leadership, for Laun’s leadership here would be questioned, and without respect we would be hunted for the plant and weapons we carried. We had news from the last Post House on our route into the Ten Clan that Connas’q was leading scouts that patrolled the borders around Morsten’s Peak.
These were lands long disputed, borders that soldiers interrupted from time to time to try and reset them in their favour, when those who lived here managed such borders perfectly well. It was true, I suppose, that the clans that lived here on either side were closer to each other than they were to those that governed them. Debts of honour, the trading of plant, goats and sheep, the caches of supplies and knowledge of the trails were so necessary to survival that none here had the luxury of politics.
We had taken a pass winding up to highlands where snow still spilled from under outcrops and overhangs from the winter just gone. Eagles rode the sharp, bitter winds looking for movement in the shale of rocks strewn about a large and empty plain. Perhaps a lake was here once, long dried up, for I saw the bones of a fish as we crossed it.
“All armies will pass over Morsten’s Peak, following this trail, to save leagues winding their way through to Abner’s Plain beyond,” said Ry’le. “If Connas’q passes through we should know.”
Such mountains as I remembered from my homeland, the Citadel Argir, were covered in pines, impassable with snow until late spring.
We had reached the edge of the dried-out lake when Syle, ahead of us, stiffened. Almost as soon as she had seen movement ahead on the slopes we saw fifteen men and women approach us from either side, bows drawn. Their robes and headwraps were bleached the same grey as the stones. Some were thick with dust, now scattering in puffs from the breeze. They must have been in the shale, watching the basin.
“Afa’n il am Post,” called Ry’le. He continued in this unfamiliar tongue, and I recognised the names of some of our plant, and “drusst”, which I’ve heard some use for “drudha” when at Alon’s feasts. Laun’s drudha, a quiet and shy man called Tofi, took his recipe book from a pocket in his cloak and waved it. They lowered their bows, and called to each other as they closed on us. A few of them ran over the slope ahead, presumably to their camp.
I watched as Ry’le and their leader, silver hair braided into three tails woven with hoops–all others here had one or two–placed their hands on each other’s shoulders.
The leader spoke and Ry’le repeated. Once or twice this was reversed, and by the time they had split from this, all negotiation on our gifts was done.
“The Afagi passed through two days ago. Eight scouts, Connas’q among them,” said Ry’le as these herders led us to their camp.
“How will we find Connas’q?” I asked Laun as we took the bags off the donkeys and presented the plant and bacca supplies that passed for gold in these heights.
“You recall me telling you that Kailen assembled his crew to be able to join a force of soldiers and, i
n almost any situation, be able to drill, teach and lead them to victory. His men were the best at whatever they did. Our friend Digs back there was draughtsman and engineer for many stone forts, including the Razhani’s Fort Zandar. Kheld was Lord Sailsman of a Handar flot, twenty-five ships. Connas’q assassinated three chiefs of the Ten Clan in their own pavilions. He specialised in being unseen, with a drudha’s knowledge of life-sustaining plant encompassing lands from Mount Hope through the Virates. In his homeland we stand almost no chance of finding him if he chooses not to be found.”
Laun pressed some bacca into her pipe, a stubby old clay that her grandfather passed to her father, eight etched symbols, one for each son or daughter in the line going back a hundred summers or more, representing a quality that this heir should demonstrate with each of the others in order to earn it. It was unlikely, with the fightbrews, that she could pass it on to children of her own. Women had little chance of giving birth after a few years as soldiers. We pay more deeply than men for most things in life. The colour is no different.
I shared the pipe with her, bacca and bejuco twisted with some kannab. At the camp we sat under a blanket at the mouth of one of the large tents. The herdsmens’ leader had bid all of them to sleep us as guests.
“You must have thought of something, Laun. It’s what I pay you for.”
She smiled. “The purse is rich, but only equal to what you ask of us, never more so than here. Of course I’ve thought of something. Now take another draw, it’ll help us sleep in this forsaken place. The days are hot and the nights will freeze you to death at these heights, you’ll need to tuck into me.”
Four days later, a few of the herders remained, a subterfuge to keep Connas’q from being suspicious.
Connas’q’s crew threaded its way down through a channel in the cliffs and into the camp, calling the herders they saw.
Midgie, Ry’le and Fazen, another of Laun’s crew, were hidden behind boulders or concealed in the scree of the slopes around the camp, masked and robed in the herders’ colours. The rest of us were in four of the tents, Laun and I in one, one each in the other three.
Midgie said later that Connas’q had called for his men to run before we had been seen, guessing the camp’s lack of children was what had alerted him to trouble. Ankle breakers had been dug around the tents and concealed. Two of his men fell foul of them, one outside our tent, and he began shouting to cause confusion for us as much as him being in pain.
I took some mouthfuls of Laun’s “siege” brew, a diluted fightbrew that could be used over a much longer period of time. We heard arrows, so Midgie’s lot must have risen from their concealed positions and started shooting bags at the scouts, the herders sadly caught trying to run for their own lives. There was a clang of blades in the next tent, then the grunt of someone dying. Two of the scouts opened our tent, blood on their swords. Laun had her bow raised and the first took an arrow in the chest. The other threw his limebag to the ground and the mat it landed on caught, smoke filling the tent. He left the tent, dropping the flap to keep in the smoke. I went to jump for the opening but Laun caught my arm and stopped me, finger to her lips. She pointed at the side of the tent, then the flap. There were two of them. Smoke stung my eyes as it reached me. She took her bow and put two arrows where she sensed the other scout would be, waiting for us to try to escape the tent from the other side. The arrow hit him with a soft thump, then she leaped to cut through the wall of the tent. The other scout heard us, and was on her a moment after she had cleared the rip. She backed away from him to better let me through the rip. I looked across the camp and saw what must have been Connas’q exchanging shots with Syle as Midgie and Ry’le were themselves shooting at one of the scouts, who had retreated the way they came. He shot well, a man easily over forty summers old, as calm as Connas’q, who had then spotted us and was signing to another of his crew.
I wasn’t proficient with the bow, having spent the years I’d drilled with soldiers almost all with swords and knives, but I tried all the same to launch the sporebags I had at Connas’q, hoping the others could press the advantage.
The scout was a poor match for Laun. He lasted a few exchanges but was impatient, a problem some men had fighting women; unable, in some part of their mind, to believe they would not fold under their blows. Laun had been taught the supremacy of balance over strength.
The other scout had fled back from the direction they came. The rest then were dead or had themselves escaped. We closed in a circle on Connas’q as he dropped his bow and took up his sword.
He was a slight man, his colouring faded or disguised, but other than his white hair there was little that gave him distinction to the eye, a considerable advantage in his former role. He lowered the tip of his sword to the dirt and drew a circle around him. I had seen it before once, a man posturing to his enemy that he could stay within the circle and kill him without being forced from it. It was preferable to spitting or cursing I suppose.
As with Digs there was a temptation to remove my mask, to explain to him why he was about to die and what for. But he was about to die. Those moments would only be for me, and for me his death would be enough.
“Tell me about Kailen’s Twenty? Where would I find Kailen?” I asked.
He gave it some thought. “You searched long and hard if you come to this peak in this awful summer, and you have come through the Ten Clan, judging by the packs on those nags. What could I have done to the Post to bring its Agents out here? And why would the Post be killing off my old crew?”
Laun and I looked at each other. He couldn’t have known we’d killed Digs.
“Are more of you dead already?” I asked.
He took a small flask from his belt and with his thumb popped the stopper.
“I’ll have a last drink before I die. I could think of worse places, when I think back on my life.” He looked about us. The sky was a clear blue and a soft breeze filled the silence. He took a few mouthfuls before dropping the flask.
“Yes, young lady, is the answer to your question. You’re dressed in Post’s leathers but you’re as much of a soldier as I am a woman. You must be the purse. I don’t know you and can’t imagine what I’ve done that you come out here to kill my crew and me but, hoping we can be reasonable, I will tell you that I received a note just prior to this patrol, from one of our runners. It had been written by someone that works for Kailen, telling me to take heed that somebody was out to kill us, that we should meet.”
I did not know what to think. How could Kailen know about all this? I’ve heard much of Kailen over the years, stories that I’m sure grew with the telling; a man who knew what you were going to do before you did, who never lost a duel or battle.
“What I don’t understand,” continued Connas’q, “given we’re standing here, is what any of us have done in over fifteen winters since Kailen chose to disband us that’s getting us killed. We had an easy time with that sad old king, and could have won purses almost as rich after his own people put his head on a spike at the crossing with Eural.” I flinched. I wanted to fill him with this quiver of arrows. “Instead, Kailen sent us on our way without a second thought for what we would do. Fuck him. Everything we went through and he called it over, like that.” He clicked his fingers. “A letter like that just stirs it all up again. As though he gives a shit now all these winters later. I shouldn’t be spun that it arrived so shortly before you. We made a few enemies I suppose, but not the Post. We weren’t stupid. Which means you been hired yourself, lady, or I killed your family or something. I don’t remember how many I’ve killed. I was a mercenary.”
The breeze whipped the dust about from the ground around us. They were waiting for me to kill him.
“Well, I suppose it would be pointless telling me who hired you, then killing me. But that’s hardly satisfying for any of us. Why don’t you or one of your Reds step forward and try to get me out of this circle, and if you can’t, you tell me who hired you? One of you must want a go against one of the Tw
enty?”
“Never fucking heard of this Twenty!” yelled Syle. “You’re closer to sixty than you are twenty now though eh, you prick!”
“Leave it, Syle,” said Laun. She stepped forward. I took a step as well but she raised her hand to stop me.
Good leaders challenge themselves to be worthy to continue to lead. Her crew were fiercely loyal, but I believe she felt it was important to reassert this authority, particularly when there was a challenge of single combat presented. Not to have stepped up would have damaged her, and this was Connas’q’s intention, to divide the crew before him, and give himself a glimmer of a chance.
Laun approached and their first exchanges proved how formidable he still was. Twice he forced her off balance. She escaped with cuts to her leather only. She nodded to herself. The next couple of exchanges she didn’t fully commit to. It was an examination of what he knew, what she needed to know.
It soon became apparent to those of us watching that she had decided to wear him down. She controlled the exchanges with caution; where she might have pressed a risky advantage she withdrew, joining swords again the moment he recovered.
Connas’q taunted her, mocked her for not taking advantage, until he realised what she was doing. She remained silent, seeing the feints, avoiding openings that looked too obvious. Connas’q was soon breathing hard, lacking her endurance. Time went on, her crew and I watching in silence but for the gasps and grunts and the clap of swords. I, like anyone else, could not be other than transfixed by a fight to the death, made the more compelling because for all his evident training, he was bound by his pride to remain in the circle, his disadvantage exploited with cruel precision. It was her youth and better condition that would beat him. She had chosen not a heavy blow or a winning thrust but the attrition of his stamina, goading him to end it, where the slightest mistake, as he tired, was punished with a cut, kick or slap. She had chosen to fight cleanly, no poison on her sword, for her cuts did no more than draw blood.