Peregrin

by A. Sparrow

  Esayos came up to Ara. “Comrade Seor’s a prime target. I want to send her off into the hills with a detachment, but she refuses.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” said Seor. “I’m not worth much as a fighter these days, but I want to be with you all, no matter what happens. These are my people.”

  “It’s up to her,” said Ara, shrugging.

  “No detachments,” said Daraken. “It is best we all stick together right now.” He turned to address the mob of officers beleaguering him.

  Ara went over and embraced Seor. She had never been filled with such a jumble of thrill and hope and fear and dread all at one time. Tears spilled down her face, but she could not pinpoint their source.

  ***

  All throughout the afternoon, brawls and skirmishes flared, even among militias who had lived and trained with each other for years. Some units were lucky to find unanimity in their support for one side or the other. Others were torn asunder between those faithful to Ingar and those supporting the insurrection.

  A continuous flow of militia crossed the impromptu border erected along one side of the central avenue, demarcated by alleys and paths blocked with overturned wagons and heaps of peat brick.

  Entire companies marched across in fine order and full battle gear. A steady trickle of deserters also came, from companies whose captains had sided with Ingar. A coalition of sergeants greeted all warmly and assigned them to host companies and compounds.

  Fighters found deserting in the other direction were allowed to go, but only after their weapons were confiscated. One belligerent group of Ubabaor loyalists, however, managed to force their way back to Ingar.

  Reluctantly and by default, Daraken had become the de facto leader of the insurrection. He had been the most outspoken of the dissident captains, the one who organized their assemblies to air grievances. It was only natural that he should run the show. He assumed the role with humility.

  Seor had a symbolic role, particularly with the Suulep’o, who coddled her like a celebrity, to Ara’s good-natured chagrin. Some of their heroine worship rubbed off on the other militias, though most only knew her as the woman who blew the whistle on the cadre’s deceit.

  As junior cadre, Ara offered credibility to the mutineer’s cause. She was well known to all. Her participation helped reassure some that their actions were more patriotic than treasonous.

  Daraken and Esayos huddled with Ara and Seor and a group of captains under a thatched awning in the center of their compound, which had become the command center for the insurrection.

  “Ingar’s cavalry have few horses,” said Esayos. “Our people reached the stables before Ingar could abscond with them.”

  “And we have the xenolith under guard,” said a captain from the Ubabaor militia.

  “Ingar controls the common supplies,” said another captain.

  “Not anymore,” said a sergeant, smirking. “There have been raids.”

  “We need to know our strength versus his,” said Daraken.

  “I’m afraid we don’t have many solid muster reports,” said Esayos. “I’m afraid the numbers keep changing with all these dribs and drabs coming across the cordon. But I don’t see how he has more than us. We’re still augmenting companies with deserters. Some of our compounds are bursting at the gills.”

  “But he’s kept some of the top units under his wing,” said Ara. “He’s still dangerous.”

  “I fear we’re not very well organized,” said Daraken. “Coordinating actions is going to be difficult. I’m not sure how we would handle a full scale confrontation. Things could get very messy.”

  “Which is why we need to leave,” said Ara.

  Daraken rubbed his eyes and rested his fingertips on his bristly chin. “Maybe … it’s time we go.”

  “Why would he attack us if he knows we have the advantage?” said a young captain. “Why protract this? It only spills more blood ... for nothing.”

  “He is a righteous ass, that’s why,” said Seor, reclining on the clay.

  “If I know Ingar …” said Ara. “He’ll obey the letter of his orders; take no risk that would endanger a promotion.”

  “He’s lost control of most of his army,” said Esayos. “Who’s going to promote him? The Alar?”

  A messenger came dashing into the compound, breathless. “Commander Ingar. He’s withdrawing from the camps. His companies are crossing the moats. They’re taking up positions along the Xama road.”

  “He’s blocking us,” said Ara. “Trapping us in the marshes.”

  “We need to strike quickly,” said Esayos. “Before they harden up their lines.”

  Daraken looked stunned. For a moment, Ara saw something like the look of a frightened deer in his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure.

  “Muster an assault,” he said. “Suul at the head. Full armor. Pikes in front. Send the cavalry wide around his backside. If he wants to block us, we’ll block him too.”

  Seor shook her head. “Brother against sister,” she said. “When we should be fighting Crasacs. Shameful.”

  ***

  The contrast between one side of the camp and the other was stark, the central avenue demarcating the wasteland created by Ingar’s loyalists. They had dismantled and burned the part of the camps they had occupied and had hauled anything of value into the forest with them.

  “Why would he do this?” said Daraken. “Where does he plan to go?”

  “To the Venep’o perhaps?” said Esayos.

  “He can’t possibly be that stupid,” said Seor.

  “There are other xenoliths,” said Ara. “Senior cadre know their location.”

  Three companies from Suul led the column formed up in the central lane. They advanced in tactical formation, pikes and shields at the head, supported by swords and bows. The cavalry had already crossed over the marshes down a pair of hunting trails and would circle wide around Ingar’s rear.

  “What did we learn of their strength?” said Daraken.

  “Six companies at most,” said Esayos. “Four somewhat depleted but nearly intact. The equivalent of two more compiled from loyalist deserters.”

  Seor smirked. “Interesting choice of words.”

  “We have twelve, nine of them whole,” said Daraken, “But they own the heights.”

  “There may be another company at Xama under Captain Feril,” said Ara. “I am sure they are with us … if they still …” Ara paused and pursed her lips. “And yet another on the hilltop, guarding the approach to camp. But I’m not confident that Captain Dalii would be on our side.”

  Daraken halted the column at the hastily damaged fortifications flanking the main causeway leading to the Xama road. A scout ran back from a strongpoint across the first of several moats.

  “Skirmishers,” said the young woman. “Just within the fringe. The others are digging in a short ways up-slope. They haven’t gotten far.”

  “Probe them,” said Daraken. “Let’s see how much they bend.”

  Esayos sent a platoon from his own Suul militia forward, comprised of lightly armored assault troops. Arrows immediately came their way, although most flew high or into the ponds to either side. They kept advancing, slowly but deliberately.

  “See how they shoot?” said Seor. “They are better marksmen than that. Their hearts must not be in this fight.”

  “Flank them,” said Daraken. “Press their flanks.”

  Esayos sent two more platoons forward, diverging into the muck of the marsh, holding their weapons above their head. He nodded to Daraken. “My turn. Wish us luck.”

  “Do not engage,” said Daraken, his face flushed and sweaty. “Just see if they stand their ground.”

  Esayos followed the first platoon across the moat with his reserves.

  Companies filled in behind them to fill the void. A long line of militias queued down the lane all the way back into the heart of the camp.

  Ingar’s skirmishers began to rustle, their movements revealing their
shields and pikes situated just within the fringe of vegetation at the marsh’s edge.

  Seor climbed over the fortifications and onto the causeway.

  Ara stepped onto the berm. “Where are you going?”

  “I need to speak to them,” said Seor, tossing back a glance. “They need to understand.”

  “Seor, no! It’s dangerous.”

  Seor slipped away, passing through Esayos’ reserves, heading for the lead platoon, which had halted at the edge of the second moat.

  “Someone … stop her!” said Ara. But no one dared stand in Seor’s way.

  Seor sifted through the lead platoon and emerged at their head, stepping slowly onto the causeway through the second moat. The skirmishers remained in place behind the first row of trees. They held their fire for now.

  Seor raised her palms. “I seek palaver with Commander Ingar.”

  After a pause, a woman parted the branches. “Who the hell are you? Why should Commander Ingar—?”

  “Because I was with Baren and Baas in Ur,” said Seor. “I know everything. My actions led to Baren’s death.”

  “Death?” said the woman, her voice ringing with shock.

  Whispers swept through the line of skirmishers like a foul breeze.

  Ara came up behind Seor and spoke into her ear. “That’s Elsehei,” said Ara, “She’s junior cadre and she’s hard-core. You’ll get nowhere talking to her.”

  “Traitor!” shouted Elsehei.

  “It’s you who serve the enemy,” said Seor, her voice hoarse. “Lay down your arms and let us pass. Or join us if you wish to drive the Venep’o out of Gi.”

  Laughter arose among the trees here and there, but most of the skirmishers kept silent. A movement caught Ara’s attention. Someone had crept into a patch of bushes extending into the marsh. A black crossbow glinted, one of the finest sort used by cadre marksmen.

  “We should move back,” said Ara.

  “I’m not finished,” said Seor.

  Another group of fighters came down the hillside behind the skirmishers. Ingar himself stepped from the trees in full armor and helm, flanked by a pair of cadre bearing shields.

  “Go back to your holes you whores,” said Ingar. “Don’t let Daraken cower behind your skirts. Send that coward forward to see me.”

  Daraken pushed through the platoons and came up alongside Seor and Ara. “Let us pass, Ingar. That’s all we ask. You can have the camp. We’ve left the xenolith in place. Return and report us to Sesei, if you must. We only wish to leave the marshes.”

  Ingar’s chest heaved at the sight of Daraken. He kicked at the ground like an angry bull. “Criminal! You are an abomination. You and your assemblies. I should have known this would happen. Should have snuffed you out months ago. You’ll have no chance before the tribunals.”

  “Depends,” said Daraken. “Who selects the tribunals?”

  Ingar glared across the moats. “All of you! I offer clemency … for mitigating circumstances. Surrender these three … and return to your compounds.”

  Daraken sighed. “Please Ingar, just let us pass. Don’t make us fight our own friends. We’ve spilt enough blood”

  “None shall pass,” said Ingar, his voice turning shrill. “All of you, return to your billets immediately. All that do will receive a full pardon. Guaranteed. Those who follow this one are no better off than him and will receive the same fate. Guaranteed.”

  “We intend to open that road, Ingar,” said Daraken. “We want out of these marshes. Nothing will stand in our way.”

  Seor strode forward. Ara reached for her. She pulled away.

  “What are you doing?”

  Seor ignored her. Her steps were unsteady. She wobbled like a sapling in a stiff wind.

  “Listen to me,” Seor croaked. “Your cadre has forsaken you. All of you, whether you’re from Piliar, Cracao, Diomet, Ubabaor. A cabal has taken hold of your government and is collaborating with the enemy. You serve the will of Venen by opposing us.”

  “Lies!” shouted Ingar, behind a pair of shields raised by his protectors. “We know traitors when we see them. We saw them mutiny. We do the will of the Inner Quorum, the Provincial Council.”

  “Cabals!” said Seor. “The terms of this so-called peace benefit only the cabals. Any peace that comes can be dashed at the enemy’s whim. If we surrender whole provinces, Sesei will be no more.”

  “What Seor says is true,” said Ara “It’s true. True! I went with Baren to meet the enemy … in Ur.”

  Shields rippled behind the screen of trees. Grumbles and mumblings disturbed the loyalist lines.

  “You are on a path to serve Venen!” said Seor. “They’ll assign an Alar to govern Ubabaor. Colonize your villages. You and your kin will be enslaved and forced to worship the Sinkor Natadi!”

  In the bushes just ahead of them crouched a man with a crossbow against his cheek and Seor in his sights.

  “Seor! Down!” She dove and tackled Seor just as the bolt flew. Pain like a white hot spike pierced Ara’s ribs.

  Daraken’s bowmen sent barrage after barrage in response. Esayos ordered his fighters to charge across the last strip of marsh. The skirmishers retreated. Fighting erupted within the forest even before the mutineers reached it. Ingar’s companies had turned against each other. Loyalists dropped their weapons and dashed into the marsh, palms up. Hoof beats announced the arrival of Daraken’s blocking force, taking advantage of the chaos. By the time the second wave of militia reached the trees, the battle was all over but for the sorting.

  Ingar and Elsehei lay crumpled in a heap in a patch of matted reeds. The sharpshooter lay face down in a slough, pierced by so many bolts he resembled a pin cushion.

  Ara writhed on the ground. Seor squirmed out from under her, lifted Ara’s head and took her hand. Ara gripped it as hard as she could.

  “Oh Ara, why did you do this? You should have let me take that bolt. I was ready to go. I was finished.”

  “No,” said Ara, through gritted teeth. “It was my turn.”

  Chapter 54: Assault

  Tezhay made the rounds of the other peregrins and said his goodbyes, while Doctor Frank hovered and watched from the fringe. Tom let him strum a few parting chords on his mandolin. Ellie and Bimji bumped shoulders with him like any good Giep’o. Lizbet kissed his cheek and stuffed his pockets with skillet bread.

  Miles and Misty had already rushed off up the path so he could only wave to them. He gazed wistfully up towards the pass. Patches of snow glinted off the higher mountains. He wished he was going with them. He wondered if he was making a mistake by lingering behind in Gi.

  As he headed off alone, he expected to feel more relieved than he did, finally free of the burden of looking after Doctor Frank. Ever since Belize he had led Tezhay into ever deeper troubles, but Tezhay would have never uncovered the things he did without him. He glanced back one last time to catch Doctor Frank doing the same. They waved to each other one last time.

  On traversing Ferils’ line, he found some of gunnery volunteers behind the hastily constructed bulwarks. They sat on stacks of ammunition boxes beside the mule that had carried them. Tezhay went to them, spotted the pair who had just abandoned the vale, and called them over as well.

  He counted heads. “Only six? Who is missing?”

  “Sabayol and Girhan,” said Jebrehon, a young man with a paint ball rifle slung on his shoulder, assigned to him because he had been too reckless with the real guns. “They went with Sister Idala,” said Jebrehon. “Sabayol knows her. She has kin out west.”

  “They brought enough ammunition with them, I hope.”

  “Plenty,” said Jebrehon.

  Tezhay looked down the lines. To him, both flanks seemed sparse. Feril was the only leader who had concentrated his forces. “So wide, so thin they are. I wonder why?”

  “Because of the cliffs,” said Jebrehon. “These gullies are the only way up. That’s why we stay here.”

  “You know this land well?”

&nbs
p; Jebrehon shrugged. One of the women giggled. “Don’t listen to him. He’s a village rat. He never comes up here except for funerals.”

  “And what about you? You know these hills? Their paths and gaps?”

  “This is the way everyone comes,” she said. “Everyone passes by Lizbet’s farm to go to the pastures and barrows.”

  “Not these Crasacs,” said Jebrehon. “They fear us.” He slapped his chest and grinned, prompting a laugh from the other volunteers.

  “Don’t be so sure of yourselves,” said Tezhay, gazing down through the smoke.

  “Maybe they are happy to take the farm,” said another woman. “Maybe our fighting is finished.”

  “You don’t know this Alar very well then, do you?” Tezhay sighed. “We’ll keep four guns in the middle. I’ll need two to man the flank with Igwa. Who will volunteer?”

  No one budged.

  “Come on … I need two to cover the right flank. Who will it be?”

  “Get me a horse, and I’ll go,” said a short man, named Hantar. Tezhay knew him through Tarikel. He had been an apprentice blacksmith in Sinta.

  “Where am I supposed to get you a horse?” said Tezhay.

  “I don’t know,” said Hantar. “But otherwise, what’s the sense of being among the Nalki riders? If they run, I can’t keep up. The Cuasars would catch and kill me.”

  Tezhay ruminated, and found the answer gnawing at the sedges by their feet.

  “Help unload and you can have this mule.”

  “A mule? I asked for a horse,” said Hantar.

  “I’m afraid, this is the best I can do,” said Tezhay. “Unless you’d prefer a donkey?”

  Hantar nodded and helped Tezhay remove the sacks and boxes still lashed to the mules pack frame.

  “Do I have another willing to join him?” said Tezhay. He looked about. “No one?”

  “Do you have another mule?” said one of the women.

  The volunteers laughed again, dominated by Jebrehon’s guffaws.

  “Alright,” said Tezhay. “I guess it will have to be me. On foot. That leaves five of you to guard the center. I expect you to be watchful and mobile. You are the point of the defense. If you see the enemy move against any one place, you go there. You can leave one person behind, but the rest of you go there. Understand? I need your rifles in the place where they will make the most difference.”