The Woven Ring (Sol's Harvest Book 1)

by Presley, M. D.

  Marta grabbed two of the horses, pulling them to Caddie. Grasping the girl under the arms, Marta hefted her onto a horse as she called out to the others. “Truss up the survivors then take all the horses and supplies. We need to hie out quick.”

  Luca and Isabelle obeyed without comment, Marta about to mount up when Caddie slid off her horse. She said nothing, did not move, but her intention was obvious enough. Caddie wanted to ride with Marta rather than on her own. It was the actions of a coddled child, and Marta had no time for it as anger infected her voice. “Get on your horse, now.”

  “She can ride with me if—” Luca began, Marta cutting him off.

  “This is not a discussion. She will do as she’s told.”

  Caddie made no motion to obey, her blank eyes meeting Marta’s dead ones. It was a stupid game of wait-and-see, and Marta had no time for games. So she grabbed the girl by the wrist, painfully hoisting her up and unkindly depositing her onto the horse.

  The girl did not cry out at her rough handling as Marta mounted the beast behind her. Instead her hand reached down to cover Marta’s, Caddie’s finger fiddling with Marta’s woven ring. Yanking her hand away, Marta kicked her horse’s flanks, leading the way back to reclaim her haversack without a word.

  ***

  Graff emerged from the cave and set out towards the Lead Mine Hills. As he walked he removed his glass eye to release the Breath within. While contained within the caves, he needed its knowledge to navigate the labyrinth, but now his need was again calling to him, its voice hard and demanding. He had no idea where his prey had fled to, but he was not worried as he continued at his unhurried pace. Something seemed to be drawing him as surely as the eternal flow of Sol. Both he and his quarry were like individual Breaths on the flow, moving on until they joined a ley. They might be on separate lines for now, but soon they would connect at a nodus, and when they did finally converge, nothing would stop him from carrying out his appointed task.

  ***

  The stolen dragoon mounts were well-rested and fed, allowing the four fugitives to make good time even with the extra three horses in tow. Marta spotted the other half-dozen campfires from afar, most likely more of Underhill’s patrols. She gave the campfires a wide berth, heading south rather than east and leaving the extra horses along the way until only the three they rode remained.

  As they hurried through the woods, Marta’s memory of the place came into clearer focus. Years ago the Traitors Brigade had fought in the battle of Watkins Run as a part of Underhill’s command. It was this knowledge that she used to convince Luca and Isabelle of her plan the night before. She knew the land well, the city of Point Place and its nodus not far off, so Marta turned the horses to avoid it and the colonel stationed there.

  Davis Underhill was a man she detested, not just personally from her suffering at his command, but on principle. He came from a long line of military men, his ancestry dating back even before the war for independence from Acweald. The name of Underhill was intimately entwined with the history of Newfield, his father’s last command proving instrumental in the Newfield defeat of the Mynian forces to claim the state of Lacus. Like his father, Davis Underhill attended the prestigious New Spring Military Academy. Unlike his father’s innate military acumen, Davis constantly demonstrated he was a middling student. His pedigree still proved enough to overcome his shortcomings, landing him a starring role in the Grand War, but upon his appointment Underhill seemed to be doing his damndest to ensure his surname would not withstand his blunders.

  In the battle of Watkins Run, Underhill had been outmaneuvered yet again, Loree using the land to his advantage as he outflanked his enemy. Underhill never understood how to use terrain properly, and Marta was sure that with her knowledge of this area, they could slip away before he even knew they were near. If they were lucky, the bodies they left behind would be the only evidence of their passing. If her plan held, they would be across the Mueller Line and out of Underhill’s grasp by nightfall.

  All this in mind, the sound of the dragoons’ bugles took Marta by surprise. Luca also appeared taken aback as he hurried his horse to come up alongside her.

  “How did they sniff us out so quick?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she answered as she shifted their course eastwardly. “And even if they have come across our trail, they can’t follow our tracks at a gallop. We just need to stay ahead of them and ford the Limestone River. There’s a crossing we used during the war, and these greenhorns won’t know it. So long as they don’t see us cross, we’ll have a river between us and them. We’ll be home free.”

  Luca nodded his assent, Marta keeping one aspect of her plan hidden from his Listener talents. This maneuver would be risky since there was a large stretch of dangerous open ground between them and the bend. Speed was now of the essence as Marta urged her horse on.

  The bugles edging ever closer, they galloped at a breakneck pace for the open ground. As the trees began to thin, Marta breathed a sigh of relief. Once they made it across the river, they would be safe.

  The lake they found when they broke through the woods took Marta entirely aback, the dam in the bend not having existed when she was there last. They were suddenly caught on open ground, the body of water too vast to cross and the dragoons closing in on either side of its shore.

  “What is this?” Luca howled. “Where’s your bend?”

  Marta was too caught off guard, too dumbfounded by this inexplicable lake to respond. Her eyes traced the edges of it, realizing she had no idea where they led or what to do now.

  “Marta? Marta!”

  His cry jolted her out of her torpor, but Marta’s thoughts were still scattered. “This lake wasn’t here before. I didn’t know. The bend must be...” Marta trailed off as she realized that Underhill had finally learned how to turn the terrain to his advantage.

  Her horse paced as Marta’s mind whirled. She had been outsmarted by the ineffectual former general who could not have won a battle during the Grand War if his life depended upon it. Her anger flared at the insult of it even as their enemies encircled them. But with its clarity she realized there would be no escape this time. They had been outflanked and utterly outmaneuvered.

  “What now?” Luca demanded.

  Her Breath and her rage begged to go out gloriously, killing as many as she could before finally being shot down. Suicide by musket fire would at least be a quick end to her miserable existence. But there was an even greater leviathan swimming in the depths of Marta’s mind that dwarfed her anger, a survival instinct that reared its head now. She had somehow survived the Pit and the Grand War, and she had no intention of being brought down now for some simpleminded little girl.

  She had failed, but the situation was not untenable. Carmichael might still be able to salvage it, though he would no doubt make her pay for forcing him take a more active hand in the matter. Although both he and their father did not mind letting her suffer, neither had shown any predilection for letting her be executed outright. As she removed the stolen dragoon scattergun from her belt and dropped it upon the ground, she decided her and Caddie would be safe if they surrendered.

  “Go if you want. I’m done running.”

  “But the girl? We need the girl!”

  “You’ll have to take her from me.”

  Marta did not bother to extend her blade during her challenge to the man. The thunder of the oncoming dragoons’ hooves was enough to make Luca choose escape rather than claiming the child by force. Muttering several swears in the Dobra language, he galloped pell-mell for cover with Isabelle.

  Only Marta and Caddie remained on the open ground when the dragoons broke through the trees. To Marta’s surprise, Underhill rode at the head of the platoon, the man even more corpulent than when she had seen him last. They stormed towards the two, Marta noticing that Caddie was again toying with her woven ring.

  “Enjoy it while you can. It will be the last time you see it.”

  It might well be the last time Marta
would as well, the woman memorizing its feel on her finger as the horsemen surrounded them with their muskets aimed at her. Disentangling her hand from Caddie’s, Marta deposited her on the ground and kept her surrender short.

  “Here.”

  Underhill stared at Marta a long time as if he might recollect her. She had spent seven months in the same camp with him and knew him by sight quite well, but he did not recognize his former soldier in the least as he turned to Caddie.

  “Come here, girl.”

  Caddie remained where she stood, her eyes on Marta.

  “Go on. You’ll be safe with him.”

  It was not an outright lie, but Marta felt there was some untruth there when she saw the gleam in Underhill’s eyes as Caddie approached. He dismounted to help her up to his own saddle, Marta beginning to climb out of hers when the surrounding dragoons began to holler at her from behind their readied muskets.

  Marta could not help but feel some degree of pride at their fear of this former Fury. Their wariness made them much more dangerous than the arrogant Render, their preparedness surprising her even more when Underhill tossed her a vial. Marta caught it, the weight of the thing horrifying, though she kept the disgust from her face.

  “Drink it down before you dismount.”

  Marta did not need to look at the contents to know it was ekesh, the taste as revolting as she remembered. The effects were immediate, Marta not so much dismounting as tottering from her horse like a drunk. She was defeated, her head swimming as she realized that Caddie’s dire premonition with the bix sticks that morning had proven correct. But one question still haunted her, Marta wanting to get it out before the ekesh consumed her entirely.

  “What’s the name of the lake?”

  If they gave an answer, Marta never heard it, collapsing face first into the dirt as the drug divorced her from her consciousness.

  Chapter 25

  Solmonad 13, 564 (Three Years Ago)

  Bumgarden saved Marta after the failed charge by sending Abner slowly picking his way through the battlefield in his phalanx the next morning. They left the interior empty of fighting men, instead filling it with Shapers and sleighs to collect both the living and the dead.

  There were too many casualties to bury in the frozen ground, the Traitors Brigade’s Shaper strength having been utterly depleted that day in Blotmonad. Marta could not remember the names of all who died on the wrong side of the Grand War, but through their sacrifice they allowed the survivors to continue slogging on a little longer. And soon the dead served as bait.

  “So the Ellian crows ate,” Reid quoted from the poem. The saying meant only crows feasted well during battle, but to Marta and her starving forces, it was an epiphany.

  Upon hearing Reid’s quote Rupert instantly sprang into action, setting up thin wires above the dead bodies of their comrades to catch the crows’ wings when they descended to eat. The Shapers devoured the carrion crows in turn, feasting on the eaters of the dead. And they ate well a few days until the murder of crows dwindled down to nothing. The bodies of their fallen friends still acted as bait, but now there were only people left to be tempted.

  Stacked into small piles like logs, the corpses taunted the starving Shapers, Marta overhearing whispers from some of her men that their fallen comrades might still be of use as meat. It was a horrible jest, but Marta suddenly found her mouth watering as she imagined how good Andrea Farley might taste.

  It was this desperation that made her turn to Bumgarden with her plan. She had traveled to Sinton as a child, as had Reid. Better yet, Taylor Keeting, one of her Shapers, had grown up in the city and knew its layout well. She believed a small force of her Traitors Brigade could steal inside to open the gates and replace the Covenant banner with the Newfield flag. This would be a sign to the Eastern soldiers outside the walls that Sinton had finally surrendered, and with any luck, they could take the entire city with their deceit.

  Bumgarden agreed it was a sound plan, but General Underhill still commanded the Western siege personally, and he would never entertain such a daring gambit. It would be treason for Bumgarden to ignore the chain of command and earn him a date at the end of a rope. Marta was crestfallen, but not surprised, gathering her meager meal to share when Bumgarden spoke.

  “Which is why I will dine with Underhill tonight and will be utterly unaware of anything you and your men get up to. I have a lovely bottle of rye that’s just arrived, Underhill with a particular weakness for that draught. I’m sure he’ll miss morning reveille again, and I’ll be forced to lead the morning maneuvers myself.”

  He regarded her closer, assessing the gaunt woman, who looked no more than a bundle of sticks bound up in a bag of parched flesh. Finally, he pushed his own untouched plate to her.

  “If the gates go down, I will lead the 1st Shapers across the field personally.”

  ***

  Marta dutifully dropped her doubled stores into Rupert’s pot, calling Reid, Abner, Leon, Taylor Keeting, and another six Shapers to join them. Soon as she did the whispers started, flicking through the ranks like the lightning from a summer storm. The plan was no secret among her men, and they knew it was about to finally be put to action.

  To her surprise, Tollie retrieved her food and moved it to a much smaller pot. She eyed the weak-willed farmer unkindly, but he held her gaze. “It’s not enough for everyone,” he said. “We need you to be strong, or else the rest of us won’t ever eat again.”

  Her troops had decided without Marta’s knowledge, the lot of them choosing to forgo the shared pot so those on the mission could take it all. It was a dear sacrifice, but Marta remained unmoved as she gobbled down her share. Though her teeth were loose as she chewed, she knew they had made the right decision. She also knew her squad would be the lucky ones if they were caught and executed. The death of the rest of the Traitors Brigade would be a slow and more painful ordeal if they failed.

  ***

  They set out soon as it was dark, skirting the city until they reached the sludge. Sinton’s sewage exited the city from high on the craggy hill it was built upon. The grate it sluiced through was well-guarded, as the Westerners learned when they tried to send their own sappers through it into the heart—or, more accurately, the gut of the city.

  Not a single soul returned.

  But the grate was not the Traitors Brigade’s target, rather the sludge it produced. Constantly flowing, it had never frozen during the winter, providing them a hidden path to reach the walls of Sinton. Reid and Rupert fashioned long tubes they clasped in their mouths, the tops reaching above the sewage and allowing them air beneath the waste while not giving their position away. Again the inspiration came from one of Reid’s remembered legends, and Marta hoped the Covenant defenders were not as intimately familiar with the story. It was slow going as they tread the clinging silt of the river of sewage, the twelve of them blind to the world around them and aware only that they must continue onward.

  Reaching the base of the hill, they chanced raising their heads above the slime and heard no cries of alarm when they emerged. So they waited, shivering in cold shit until midnight when the coronet player sounded his mournful song. It was as beautiful as ever, but no one in her squad sang along. They knew if they succeeded this night, the Traitors Brigade would soon tear the heart out of the East.

  They waited another three hours after the melody before they made their ascent. The men Marta had chosen were those with the greatest understanding of her Cildra training, each able to fashion both the rabbit legs and gauntlets that aided their climb. It was hard going first up the side of the hill then the sheerer stone wall as the spring winds attempted to tear them free. Marta briefly wondered if the weather was conspiring against them, trying to defend the city and the Covenant, but then they finally reached the summit of Sinton’s walls and such flights of fancy were driven from her mind.

  They divided into two groups: Taylor Keeting leading Abner, Reid, Rupert, and the other six men to take the gatehouse. The Covena
nt flag, crimson field with its single silver circle in the center, flying atop the tower belonged to Marta and Leon. Abner was about to depart with his troops when Marta caught his shoulder. It was still slick from the sludge, but quickly freezing again as she spoke.

  “There’s more ways than one to top the mountain.”

  He smiled wryly, pressing his cheek to her soiled hand. “By grace or grave.”

  He then disappeared with his men, leaving Marta alone with Leon. The bulk of the mission resided in opening the gates, which was why she gave the majority of her troops to Abner. Capturing the flag was important, though not crucial, which was why Marta selected only the two of them for the task. She was also still unwilling to let Leon out of her sight and was not pleased at all when he chose to skulk behind her as she led the way through the city.

  Darting from alley to alley, they quickly arrived at the watchtower. Marta suspected they might have to dodge sentries on their path, but no patrols awaited them, the citizens of Sinton too assured by their high walls and the army outside to set watch within the city. Or perhaps they were too tired, starved into submission like the Traitors Brigade.

  Being the highest point in the city and a perfect vantage point to watch the movement of Newfield troops, the tower would surely be manned. Marta considered pressing through the front door in a vicious rush, but decided if any guards sounded the alarm, it might spread through the city and end their plan before it truly began. So she opted to assault them from above, bidding Leon to follow her as she scaled the wall to the second story.

  The window was barred from the inside, but Marta set her hand to it and summoned her open palm. She then pressed her Breath between the cracks, sliding it along until it found and opened the latch. Even in the dark she saw Leon’s eyes gleam. She had never demonstrated this technique to any of the Traitors Brigade, Leon’s obvious hunger at witnessing it proof she made the right decision. The idea of this horrid man being able to enter any home was almost more than she could bear. She was glad of his bloodthirsty nature now though, as they descended upon the unaware guards, Leon silencing four to her two.