Assail
Page 27
Bars groaned and sat up. ‘It’s about time.’ He massaged a knee. ‘You’re killing me, standing there. I still can’t believe it’s you.’
She searched for her shorts and chamois. ‘I have no complaints either.’
‘Is that flattery?’
She pulled on her trousers and undershirts. ‘How about: now I know why they call you Iron Bars?’
‘Ouch!’ He drew on his trousers. ‘And what about you? Will I ever see you dance?’
She planted a kiss on his shoulder, tasted salt and sweat. ‘I hope we’ll have the chance.’
His smile turned sad once more. ‘I hope so too, Shimmer. I hope so.’
She nodded her answer and returned to the door. Outside, she watched the sailors handing stores over the side to the new vessel. In the middle of the deck, crowded together under guard, stood its former crew: a ragged band of would-be pirates hailing from the southernmost shores of this new continent, Assail. Bruises darkened the faces of many. They looked bewildered and thoroughly cowed.
‘We’ll be gone soon,’ Blues was explaining to them. He opened his arms wide. ‘Welcome to your new ship.’
She went to the side: the new ship was much smaller, two-masted, with low cabins fore and aft.
Have I just made a terrible mistake? she wondered. No. Reaching out for companionship – for a human touch – is not a mistake. Withholding such a thing is the mistake. She thought of all the years she had held herself apart and shook her head.
She had been the fool.
Blinking against the blur of tears, she glanced away. She caught Blues watching her, a teasing smile on his lips. ‘What’re you grinning at?’
‘Nothing, Shimmer. Nothing at all.’
‘Isn’t there any privacy around here?’ She stamped off to pull together her few possessions.
* * *
For nearly a week, the Reddin brothers and Old Bear beat against Orman’s spearwork. Even Bernal Heavyhand took a turn; the man’s blows rocked Svalthbrul and numbed Orman’s hands. On the fifth day they were out in the fields practising when a distant figure came jogging up the valley to the Greathall. The shaggy hounds howled their welcome and bounded out to meet him. Old Bear gestured for Orman and the Reddin brothers to return to the house.
They found the newcomer sprawled in one of the raised wooden chairs, petting a hound. Vala was bent down at his side, speaking to him. The man rose and waved them forward. ‘Welcome to Sayer Hall,’ he called.
‘Jaochim,’ Old Bear answered, bowing. He gestured to the Reddin brothers. ‘This is Keth and Kasson Reddin.’ He motioned to Orman. ‘Orman Bregin’s son.’
‘Greetings!’ the man called. ‘I am Jaochim. Brothers, you are welcome. Orman – I knew your father and I honour his name.’ Orman could see that the man was eyeing Svalthbrul. ‘My thanks for joining us. We have need for more spears.’
Old Bear cocked his brow. ‘Oh?’
‘The Eithjar have sent warning. A gang of some twenty raiders have entered the Holding. Take our new spears and drive them off, yes?’
Old Bear bowed again. ‘With pleasure, Jaochim.’ He slapped Orman on the back. ‘Our first sport, lad. Let us blood your spear!’
Jaochim stepped down from the platform and examined Svalthbrul. In turn, Orman examined the head of the Sayer clan. Very tall and wiry he was, like all the Icebloods. Long-jawed, with large canines and a deep brow. His long earth-brown hair hung in a dirty mass about his shoulders. His eyes were oddly shaped; oblong, they seemed, and glowed a deep amber. ‘So it is true,’ he said admiringly.
‘I am proud to carry it,’ Orman said.
Jaochim smiled. His canines made it a wolfish grin. ‘As you should be. Your father’s winning of it is a grand tale. The Eithjar speak of it still.’
Feet slammed the dirt of the floor and Jass came running in. ‘Jaochim!’ Uncle and nephew embraced. ‘I am so very glad to see you!’
‘And I you.’ Jaochim looked Jass up and down and nodded to himself. He gestured to Old Bear. ‘Take the lad with you, Bear. It’s time he blooded his spear as well.’
Orman couldn’t help himself: ‘No!’
Jaochim turned a frown upon him. ‘No, you say?’
Orman shot a look to Vala, but she stood motionless, her arms wrapped around herself, her lips drawn tight. Obviously she was fearful but would not interfere; perhaps she saw the need, or the obligation. He swallowed his sudden dread and cursed himself. ‘There are twenty …’
Jaochim nodded, patted Jass on the shoulder. ‘All the more need for another spear.’ He urged Jass out. ‘You will leave at once. The Eithjar will guide you.’
Old Bear bowed. ‘At once, Jaochim.’ He waved Orman off. ‘Get your gear.’
He waited before the Greathall. He had little gear to ready: just his father’s travelling leathers, his knives, a sleeping roll and a pouch of dried meat and hard cheese. And Svalthbrul, of course. Keth and Kasson emerged side by side wearing their heaviest armour: boiled leather hauberks with mailed sleeves and vambraces. Helmets were pushed back on their heads. They carried shields on their backs, longswords at their sides, and spears in hand.
Old Bear came out escorting Jass, who now wore a leather hauberk that was a touch on the large side for his gangly frame. The sword at his side also looked rather too big for him, and he carried his spear.
Orman went to Old Bear’s side. ‘Is this it, then?’ he whispered, low and fierce. ‘Just we five?’
‘Six,’ Bear answered, grinning – foolishly, Orman thought. ‘Gerrun is probably with them.’
‘With them? What do you mean, with them?’
The big man winked, and the gesture – as if this were all in good fun – infuriated Orman. ‘Don’t you remember the hunting party that came chasing you? Gerrun joined it. He’s with most parties that come up from the lowlands. Offers his services as a guide, he does.’
Old Bar headed off, jogging down the path that led to the trail out of the valley. Orman followed. He thought now of Gerrun, offering to guide his uncle, or perhaps merely joining the party for coin. How many times had the man gone alone among enemies? He shook his head in admiration. And he’d thought him a coward!
Later, as evening darkened beneath the trees, their pace slowed. The uneven ground was treacherous, the path nearly non-existent. Orman had the rear and Old Bear had fallen back to join him, or rather, the party now kept the old man’s pace as he puffed and lumbered along. ‘I understand your reluctance regarding Jass, lad,’ Old Bear said as they descended a steep rocky stretch. Orman didn’t answer. ‘Don’t you worry now. We’ll all look out for him, won’t we? And you can bet the Eithjar will also.’
‘Can they stop a sword?’ Orman growled.
The old man hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spat. ‘Well, no. But there’re other things they can do here on the lands of their Holding, you can be certain of that.’
Orman grunted, unimpressed. ‘Then they had better just stay out of my way.’
At an old campsite Keth called for a stop. They threw themselves down and rested until sunrise, then ate a quick cold meal and set off once more. Ghostly shapes wavered into view occasionally: the Eithjar directing them onward. Three days later a translucent womanly shape, all in ghostly furs, appeared before them and motioned to the ground. All fell to their stomachs and rolled to cover.
After a moment, Kasson edged forward on his elbows, then waved them onward. They all slid forward to what proved to be a shoulder of a wooded slope offering a view of the valley. Here a party climbed alongside a slim tumbling stream of meltwater. Orman counted fewer than twenty and decided they had scouts out.
Keth must have come to the same conclusion as he gestured them all into thicker cover. They grouped together under a rock ledge. Keth motioned to the top of the thick trees that rose about them. Orman nodded and handed Svalthbrul to Jass, then set to climbing.
He had to swing round the trunk and lean out to glimpse the party as it advanced. He spotted Gerrun with them, but the man probably
wasn’t laughing inside: this time he was tied up and being led along. This group, it seemed, wasn’t nearly as trusting as prior parties.
Something else about them troubled Orman. Then he had it: they were all dressed alike in battered banded leather armour that looked to have once been painted or enamelled a dark green, with shortswords at their sides and shields on their backs. And they climbed as a unit, not dragging out in a long straggling line. Soldiers. Veterans, probably. Not your typical fortune-hunters, though soldiers sought gold just as anyone did. Very bad news for their small band. There was no way they could take such a large party of experienced fighters. He climbed back down.
Old Bear, however, was not impressed. ‘We’ll come at them in the night,’ he said. ‘When they’re all asleep.’
‘There’ll be guards!’ Orman answered hotly, hardly believing his ears.
‘So there will be a few guards,’ the old man answered, waving it aside. ‘We’ll rush ’em.’
‘Rush them?’ Orman echoed scornfully. ‘They’re soldiers! Trained for such a thing!’
Old Bear merely turned to Jass. ‘Are we to retreat? Allow them passage?’
The lad, who had been following all this with a serious face, now shook his head. So serious was he it somehow made Orman’s chest ache. Oh, lad, he thought, we’re asking too much of you – we really are. ‘Jaochim has laid the task on us,’ Jass said, his eyes downcast, as if unwilling to look at them or let them see what was in his gaze. ‘So we must see it through.’
Orman groaned inwardly. Oh, lad! What other answer could you possibly give us? You’re too young to be brave enough to say no.
Old Bear grinned his approval. ‘Aye, lad!’ He cast a severe one-eyed glare on Orman, who nodded as well. For what else could he do? Had he not sworn his loyalty?
‘I will watch them,’ Keth said, and started pulling off his shield.
‘No,’ Old Bear interrupted. ‘The Eithjar will shadow them. We can follow at a distance.’
The Reddin brothers accepted this without further words. They sat back and started working the edges of their weapons. Orman laid Svalthbrul across his lap. These Eithjar had better be a big help, because he did not like their chances against an organized party of soldiers.
With dusk one of the dead ancestors of the Sayers came to them and beckoned them onward. They crept forward in a line, the Reddin brothers leading, Orman following Jass, and Old Bear bringing up the rear.
The night was very dark. The Visitor had withdrawn to a faint bottle-green dot among the stars; the moon was a sliver arc, while clouds bunched up from the lowlands. Orman thought it unaccountably warm for this early in the spring. Jass knelt then, raising a hand for a pause. He tilted his head as if listening to something only he could hear, then he gestured for them to spread out.
Orman edged to his left. He used Svalthbrul to part the brush and saw the glimmer of a campfire. He motioned to the Reddin brothers and signed ahead. Keth readied his bow and Kasson drew a hatchet. They all crept forward.
Against the flickering gold glare of the flames, he made out one of the guards. The man was standing with his back to the fire and Orman mentally cursed. Damned veterans! They know every trick. He almost backed out then, feeling that they were walking into a trap – yet how could that be with the Eithjar keeping watch? A bowstring thrummed and the guard pitched backwards.
Orman charged, Svalthbrul readied. At that moment the prone figures about the fire all threw off blankets and leapt to their feet – and not groggily, for they were armed and armoured, ready for the attack. There was no time to curse as one charged Orman directly. The man had his medium-sized round shield ready and he batted aside Orman’s thrust, but Svalthbrul was no ordinary spear and the edge of the lanceolate blade caught the shield and Orman used this to yank the shield aside and curve round it inward to thrust again taking the man through his chest armour and sinking deep. Too deep. The blade would not come free as the man fell. He held on hard, twisting, forgetting for the moment the boiling charging figures around him.
Someone shield-bashed him, knocking the breath from him and raising stars in his vision. The blow was so powerful it yanked Svalthbrul free and he turned it on the man, snapping up the haft as if it were a whip, taking him across the face so that he screamed as blood flew skyward.
Orman backed off. He searched among the dark milling shapes for Jass. He found him being pushed backwards by an opponent, his spear held sideways across his chest. The lad’s footing became hung up on a corpse and he fell. The soldier reared over him, sword pulled back for a thrust. Orman screamed as he threw Svalthbrul. The spear pierced the man completely. He fell leaving the weapon standing from his back. Jass recovered his and backed away.
But the Reddin brothers were surrounded, while Gerrun had gotten free somehow and was duelling with a soldier while armed only with short knives. Three more were coming for Orman; he drew his heavy fighting knives and despaired. Too many. Just too damned many.
Then the very ground shook beneath his booted feet. A roar burst upon everyone like a blast of thunder. A massive mountain of russet shaggy fur came bowling in upon the scene, paws the size of shields swiping men left and right. Massive jaws crunched on an armoured arm and threw a soldier flying, legs and arms spinning. Another swat sent the two facing the Reddins down in a crunch of broken bones.
The remaining soldiers broke, running. The titanic humped bear roared again and gave chase.
And then it was quiet. Orman stood dragging in cold air, weaving on his feet. He retrieved Svalthbrul and staggered to Jass, who stood motionless, staring off where the great bear – Old Bear – could still be heard crashing through the underbrush.
‘Just in time,’ he gasped.
‘So it’s true,’ Jass murmured in amazement.
‘What’s true?’
‘The old tales. Shapeshifter. Old Bear. The last of them.’
Orman wiped his cold slick face. ‘Or a spell, perhaps.’
Wet coughing pulled his attention round. A soldier. Orman moved off to stand over him. The man lay peering up, his chest a crushed ruin. ‘They warned us,’ he croaked.
Orman crouched on his haunches. ‘What’s that?’ He could barely make out the man’s foreign speech.
‘Them townsfolk,’ the soldier said. ‘They warned us.’ He tried to laugh, but had no air for it.
‘Where are you from?’ Orman asked.
‘Don’t matter.’
‘Where?’
‘Long ways away. Half-fort, Genabackis.’
‘You soldiers?’
‘Mercenaries, lad. You won this one … but I’d run … I was you.’
‘Why?’
‘Straw hut in a flood is you, lad. Compared to what’s comin’ … straw hut …’ The mercenary’s mouth fell slack and his gaze fixed. Orman pressed a hand down the man’s face to close his eyes.
The Reddin brothers came up, Keth limping and Kasson cradling his bloodied left arm. Gerrun was hunched over the dead, rummaging through their clothes.
Orman studied the three of them: the brothers and Jass. He motioned uphill. ‘Let’s go.’
‘What about Old Bear?’ Jass asked.
‘He’ll find us.’
‘And these bodies?’
‘Leave them for the scavengers – as a warning.’
Keth nodded. He and his brother bound their wounds then waved to Gerrun. They headed back the way they came.
They could only limp a few leagues before bedding down for the night. They kept a watch just in case any of the soldiers came hunting them. Orman didn’t think that any of them would have escaped Old Bear, but it was best to be careful.
The next day Old Bear emerged from the brush to join them. He looked his old self, except perhaps the great shaggy bear hide he wore appeared a little worse for wear, hacked and slashed even more. Now, though, Orman knew he would never again look upon the man in the same way as before.
‘You could have told us,’ he accused him.
‘Only from your smell.’
The old man guffawed his huge laugh. He slapped Jass’s back. ‘There you go, lad. Not so bad, hey?’
But Jass shook his head. ‘We would’ve lost.’
At that morose evaluation a huge weight eased from Orman’s mind. Good. The lad sees it. The victory – such as it was – hasn’t fed any false youthful cockiness. ‘I lost my duel,’ the youth said, and the pain in that admission squeezed Orman’s chest.
‘It’s all right, lad,’ Old Bear said. ‘Why, I’d be surprised if you won your first. That’s why we’re together. We cover one another. Next time maybe you’ll save Kasson’s life, hey?’
Jass merely shrugged. ‘It wasn’t …’
‘Wasn’t what?’ Old Bear asked.
‘… wasn’t what I thought it’d be.’
Over Jass’s head, Old Bear’s single eye caught Orman’s gaze and fixed there. He patted the lad’s shoulder. ‘It never is, lad. It never is what we think it’s going to be. It’s ugly, and confusing, and a blur and full of the acid of fear. Then it’s over and you don’t quite remember what happened but you’re either alive or you’re not. And there you are.’
Orman was nodding. ‘Yes. That’s how it was for me.’
Jass looked up at him. ‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘You were scared?’
‘Yes I was. Only a fool wouldn’t be.’
The youth let go a long breath. ‘Well … I was very frightened.’
Old Bear cuffed him again. ‘’Course you were! Only natural. First time’s always the worst – hey, Orman?’
And Orman nodded, frowning with the memory of it. Yes, it had been.
The next day Gerrun announced that he ought to return to the lowlands to see what was going on. Old Bear waved him off, as did Orman and the brothers. They watched him go and Orman couldn’t help reflecting that the man was now headed down to the towns loaded with the coin and goods he’d pocketed from all those dead mercenaries. It occurred to him that perhaps Gerrun was enjoying the best of both worlds – the fine clothes and wine of the lowland towns, and the comradeship and belonging of the highlands – and he felt a hot surge of resentment towards him. Then he recalled the man’s role in hiring along with the invading parties, even the armies, spying on them and guiding them to ambushes, and he decided that the fellow pretty much earned every lead penny of it.