Kell slid a dagger into her left hand. It felt uncomfortable and clumsy there but it would have to do until her right was healed. She paced across the mud, praying to tread on quiet ground and hiding her weapon and armour beneath her cloak. She almost made it too but the man's bladder was empty and he turned and saw her when she was still six paces from him.
He said something and waved his hand impatiently back towards the scavengers. He showed no fear of her, seeing on her face the filth of the plain and in her stance the hunch of the poor. Kell smiled at him and continued to walk carefully towards him, her cloak edges held together by her sore right hand. He frowned and spoke again, more harshly this time, pointing back over her head and reaching one hand to the hilt of his sword.
Kell knew it would hurt her but it was her one chance. She sprang at him, letting her cloak fall open. His eyes widened at sight of her armour. Her dagger swept up and he wasn't fast enough to dodge it. It struck him below the ribs and she drove it in hard and vertical, dragging him on with her right arm around his neck. They both gasped. She at the pain flooding her chest and he at the shock of the blade slicing through his body.
He tried to fend her off but did not have the strength. The dagger
point pierced his heart. He jerked and fell limp. She let him slump to the ground. Blood had poured down her hand and covered her right leg. She knelt to clean what she could on his clothes before unbuckling his sword belt and sorting through his pockets. She found flint and steel and a few coins.
She stood and spat on his body, steadying herself against the wave of faintness that swept through her head.
'You are just the first.'
She strapped on his sword, discarding her own scabbard. His was a slightly curved blade, typical of the Tsardon. She drew it with her left hand and made a couple of gentle sweeps, feeling its balance and weight. It wasn't bad but was no match for her cavalry sword. Some Tsardon bastard would be carrying hers now. She hoped he died on it.
Kell glanced around her. She hadn't been seen. There was no one near. The horse had backed away to the extent of its tether at the scent of blood. She walked slowly towards the gelding, a hand outstretched to smooth its bold black cheek.
'Shh. It's all right. All right. You have a better master now.'
The animal responded to her gentle tones, nuzzling at her shoulder. She unhitched the tether and threw the reins back over his head, moving down his flanks still speaking softly. The horse nickered and tossed his head. She opened the saddle bags and all but cried in relief. Trail rations. Bread and dried meat. And animal skins brimful with water. She knew she shouldn't stay here but for the moment didn't care. And when she rode away from Scintarit, it was with the sweet taste of food still on her tongue.
The horse was fresh and strong, bred on the steppes. It was a responsive animal, sure of foot and comfortable with the terrain. A joy to ride. Kell rode west at speed, pausing to walk only when the pain in her chest became too much to bear. She had begun her ride a good half day behind the last of the Tsardon infantry but expected to come across them camped before nightfall.
The sun had lost its power and was setting in a blaze of red behind Kell when she crested a rise a couple of miles from the Conquord-built road along which the Tsardon now marched. The futility of her situation was made plain. Not for nothing had the Conquord legions built the highways where they had and opened battlefronts in the three places they had chosen.
A vast cloud of dust covered the sky ahead of her and beneath it, the Tsardon army was at rest. Hundreds of fires dotted the ground which was carpeted dark with men. She guessed the rear of the camp was something approaching five miles from her but she could see the spread of it disappearing outside of her vision left, right and ahead.
There was no getting round them in time to reach Atreska before them. They would sweep through the Conquord supply lines and along its roads to the border knowing that only those who had got away in front of them could carry warning of their coming. To the south, any escapee risked the swamps that bordered the Toursan Lakelands and the cannibals rumoured to live there. And to the north, the Khur's Teeth ranged north and then east, to merge with the Halorians. It was no place to march an army with only the treacherous ice-covered Ruin's Pass as a crossing.
For Kell, the pass would have to do. She had no choice but to try and make it to Gosland and travel south from there. She kicked at her horse and set off north, stopping only when dark covered the land and tiredness overtook them both.
Kell walked and rode for five days, eking out her rations as best she could. She was unwilling to enter any of the settlements she saw and instead kept off trails and the few roads she encountered, preferring the solitude of the wilds. Travel was relatively easy and every day, more strength returned to her arm and the bruising on her ribs yellowed and faded. There was still a sharp pain every time she drew breath. No doubt a cracked rib rested on her lung. This long after the injury the pain to reset it might not be worth enduring.
On the sixth day she was riding at an easy trot through the gentle sloping hills that led up to the Tarit Plain. Another day of unbroken sunshine beat down and she had stopped often to water her horse and take shade where she could find it. Riding up a shallow valley along a drying stream, she caught movement only a moment before the arrow thudded into the ground just in front of her. Her horse backed away and she reined in to stop him.
'Not another pace or the next one will stop you for good.'
Kell laughed aloud. It was an Estorean accent.
'It's me,' she shouted. 'Master Kell.'
She realised her cloak hood was still over her head, protection against the fierce sun on the back of her neck. She swept it back.
'God-embrace-me, we thought you dead on the battlefield or taken for a slave,' came the answering call. 'Ride up. We'll meet you.'
Kell had not expected the joy she felt at hearing a friendly voice, though she did not recognise to whom it belonged. Riders were heading down a slope to her left. She saw the insignia of their legion and her smile broadened still further.
'Claws!' she cried, unable to contain herself. 'It sends my heart high to see you. God has shown mercy at last. How many are we?'
The pair of riders, horse archers, came alongside her. They were grim-faced and her joy faded.
'Very few,' said one. 'Follow us, Master Kell, Master Nunan will tell you all that has happened.'
'Pavel Nunan alive, too?'
'Barely,' said the other. 'Come.'
Ten days following the defeat and these survivors had their wills so firmly battered down that they could find no reason to chat or even to properly acknowledge her authority and presence. It was as if she were a stranger and they did not trust her.
On any other occasion she would have said that the campsite was beautiful. A glade of trees spread across a small grassed plateau, sheltered on three sides by hills. The stream she had ridden along rose bubbling from the bedrock in the centre of the camp.
Here, though, she was confronted by misery, desperation and suffering. It was impossible to estimate accurately the numbers of Conquord soldiers and cavalry here. Two hundred, perhaps a few more. Most were lying down. Many were still. Some moved among them and she saw one field surgeon for which she was very grateful. She counted twenty who stood or rode guard including the pair who had intercepted her. Though a breeze blew around the plateau, the air reeked of vomit and excrement.
She dismounted and handed her reins to a young woman barely able to raise a smile at her appearance. She certainly made no attempt to salute.
'Where is Nunan?' she asked.
'At the head of the stream, underneath the beech tree,' said one of the Claw horse archers. 'If you'll excuse us, we need to be back on patrol. The Tsardon are still searching these hills and we must be vigilant.'
'Of course,' she said. 'Dismissed. And thank you.'
She took their salutes and walked quickly through the makeshift camp. Most of those she passed didn
't seem hurt, just resting. She frowned. There was no structure here, nothing that spoke of true organisation. She hoped Nunan could explain. He was sitting with his back to the tree, heavy padding strapped to one shoulder. His breastplate rested next to him and he sweated in the heat, drips running down a pained, pale face.
'Pavel Nunan, I might have guessed you would evade capture and find yourself a beauty spot in which to rest,' she said, smiling and squatting down in front of him. 'It's a little messy, though.'
He looked up and grinned back. 'The cleaning detail had no news of your arrival, Dina,' he said. 'I'll have them flogged the moment I am able to raise my arm above my head to give the order.'
'How bad is it?'
'Me or them?'
'Let's start with you.'
Nunan scratched his nose. 'Took an arrow as the army collapsed and was carried off the field. I think I was one of the lucky ones. The dogs were everywhere. So many bite wounds, so much infection. The arrowhead is out of my shoulder and the wound is clean enough but it's sliced me up plenty. Not sure I'll score too well with the sword next games.'
'As long as you live,' said Kell.
'As long as any of us do,' said Nunan.
'Let's hear it then.' She gestured at the camp.
'It's a little hazy for me but as I understand it, most of those who made it here ran on past the camp when it was clear it was going to be surrounded before we could get there. There was mass confusion at the fords and some were holding long enough for us to get past them and run dead north.
'Don't ask me why we weren't chased down, I can't tell you but when we got clear and hidden the next day we were able to organise a little. All you see here are those too sick to be moved and those who refuse to leave them. And then there's me, somewhere in between and in charge of the lot.'
'So how many escaped?' Kell understood the state of the camp now at least.
'We'd swept up almost two thousand by the time the Tsardon started moving out. No doubt many thousands more have made
straight for Atreska or Gosland but I couldn't risk assuming that. So I've sent as many horse and light infantry as I could to take messages to both Haroq City and Goscapita via Ruin's Pass. As long as the pass is kind to them they should make it before the Tsardon.'
Nunan coughed and a spasm of pain flashed across his face. He groaned and put his hand to his shoulder.
'Are you sure you're all right?'
'Never better,' he grumbled.
'What news of Gesteris?'
'No news,' said Nunan. 'The last we saw of him, he had taken his extraordinarii across behind us to give us room to escape. He was trying to keep the ford armies standing but he wasn't ever going to succeed. Let's pray he didn't leave it too late for himself. We saw the flames of the camps that night, you know. Would he have been in there? That's the question.'
'God will protect the great, and he is one of them,' said Kell, surprised for a moment by her lack of genuine concern for her general. She knew why immediately. The man led a charmed life. God smiled on him every day. Barring one, perhaps. 'Are messengers on their way to Del Aglios and Jorganesh?'
'In a manner of speaking. Word isn't going to reach Jorganesh for some time. I've got a platoon of cavalry hidden overlooking the Tsardon. They'll head south as soon as it's clear - probably have done by now. As for Del Aglios, there are a few at the Halor Falls. There's supposed to be a pass there. I don't trust them, Kell. There's not a will among them to do anything other than hide. Part of me agrees with them. But someone has to get word north.'
Kell shook her head. 'I've heard lame and obvious set-ups before, my friend, but none as glaring as that.'
'You will do it though, won't you?' Nunan frowned. 'You're hurt too, aren't you?'
'Nothing that stops me riding,' she said. 'But I'll check in with the surgeon before I go.'
Nunan smiled again. 'Thank you.' 'And what are you going to do?'
Nunan shrugged and wished he hadn't. 'Patch ourselves up well enough and keep on searching for survivors. Either cause trouble around here or head back to play some part in the defence.'
'Hmm. You should consider carefully which way you head. There's what, two hundred of you here at the moment?'
'Thereabouts.'
'You're easy meat for any sizeable raiding party. Make sure you have scouts ahead even for so few of you. And if it's looking bad come and find us. Del Aglios and Atarkis will both be heading south when they get the news. Better you're part of a larger force, eh?'
'I'll bear it in mind.' His expression sobered. 'Kell, there's one other thing. I don't know how much credence to give this but my scouts only report what they see. The prisoner columns going east are full of Tundarrans, Estoreans, Caraducians, the Phaskar . . . you name it but not a one from Atreska.'
'Coincidence?'
Nunan raised his eyebrows. 'And it's reported that Atreskan infantry and cavalry are marching west with the Tsardon.' 'Separate prison camps?'
'They don't appear necessarily to be prisoners at all,' said Nunan.
'Are you seriously suggesting mass defection?'
Nunan sighed. 'I don't know what I'm suggesting. But Del Aglios has two Atreskan ala with him. I just think he should know what we've seen, that's all.'
A thought rose unbidden in Kell's mind and she excused herself and hurried back to her horse. What had that man been doing at the burned-out camp? She found the saddle and bags and went through them. There was a message. Hardly surprising for a messenger. She walked the camp, looking for an Atreskan or Goslander, finding several before one who could read the Tsardon scrawl.
The man, with a patch over the eye that he had lost, read the message in halting fashion. He gripped it harder with every sentence and Kell's heart almost blotted out his words.
'It can't be,' she said. 'It can't be.'
'That's what it says, Master Kell. I'm sorry.'
'But will he turn, I wonder?' said Kell.
'Who, sir?'
'Yuran. Dear God protect us if he does, we could have war on Estorea's doorstep before dusas. And nowhere near enough there to defend us.' She stood up and looked down at the Atreskan. 'Pray our messages make it before the Tsardon do. Pray I reach Del Aglios quickly. And pray the guts of this message do not come to pass. Or you, my friend, will shortly be my enemy and all our lives will have been a waste of time.'
Chapter 32
848th cycle of God, 11th day of Solasrise 15th year of the true Ascendancy
Orin D'Allinnius was glad to be home. Not the best of sailors, he had endured rather than enjoyed the Hark's Arrow's voyage to Estorr and had set grateful if unsteady feet on the dockside.
The full signed report was in Jhered's hands following their exhaustive discussions first in Cirandon and later on board ship. Jhered had dismissed both he and Harkov and had ridden away with his levium guard through the dark streets. He was on his way to the Hill, there to deliver their combined and, D'Allinnius thought, enlightened verdict.
Harkov had offered a horse to take him home but D'Allinnius had declined. The night was clear and warm, with a breeze from the sea keeping the humidity low. His villa was not far from the harbour anyway and he took a leisurely stroll home along lively streets. His bags would follow him the next morning.
With the games just over, the banners and friezes still adorned the streets and the verve in the city was palpable. D'Allinnius could feel it in the air and hear it in the hubbub from taverna and bar. He raised his eyebrows in new respect for the Advocate's decision.
D'Allinnius was a well-known figure throughout the city and particularly in his home quarter. His walk was interrupted by all those enquiring after his health and whereabouts these last days. Had he enjoyed the Games . . . wasn't solastro glorious this year and did he want to stop for a drink . . . He answered politely and refused any invitation, citing tiredness after a long day. Inside the gate of his villa, looking out across the manicured shrub gardens to his front door, D'Allinnius stopped and breathed d
eep and slow, soaking up the peace.
His staff knew to expect him and there were lights inside. There would be food on the stove and water heating for a wash. If he was lucky, they would also have found him a companion for the night. He could do with it. Abstinence didn't agree with him.
The villa was cool inside. Marble shone in the lantern-light and the sound of fountains echoed from the hall beyond his porch. Walking quietly through the hall, he saw movement in the colonnaded garden at the centre of his modest but comfortable dwelling. He greeted the servant who looked at him with an expression of some concern before directing him to his larger reception chamber. Apparently, he had visitors.
Feeling irritable, he bustled into the room with its rugs covering an austere stone floor and its windows open to the night. Three people sat together on straight-backed chairs opposite his own recliner. Food and wine sat untouched on the table between them. He felt a chill through him and a hard shiver of fear.
'Good evening, Orin. I trust your voyage was an uneventful one.'
'Chancellor Koroyan,' said D'Allinnius. 'What a pleasant surprise.' He found in himself the courage for acidity. 'Come to bless my safe return and continuing health, I presume. You really shouldn't have put yourself out.'
Koroyan didn't smile. She adjusted her robes while the two that flanked her, dressed in Speaker garb but looking nothing more than hired muscle, stared at him with undisguised menace.
'Sit down. I do not want to crane my neck to look at you.'
D'Allinnius thought to retort but instead responded meekly, nodding and sitting. He squeezed his hands together to mask their shaking. Now he faced her, his anxiety grew still further. There was a cold contempt in her eyes, mixed with a burning fervour. It was a dangerous combination and one he associated with denouncement or speeches on the evil of heresy.
D'Allinnius had always kept out of her way in the past. He was uncomfortable with the enforcement of Omniscient doctrine favoured by the Chancellor despite official sanction of alternative religions and atheist beliefs like his own.
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