by Martin Owton
He looked at her, still keeping a firm grip of her hand.
“Friend,” he said. “You save me. Friend forever.”
“Friend,” said Edith. She needed a friend and this fierce little man seemed to be a very capable one.
“Good.” He grinned at her. “Now cut deer.”
Kusso set to gutting the deer. Edith watched still shivering a little, trying not to look at the three dead men. She unstrung her bow and slipped it into its case. She decided against retrieving her arrows from the two she had shot.
Kusso had the deer butchered in a short time. He cut a sturdy branch from a tree then lashed the deer carcass to it.
“Lift.”
Edith put the bowcase over one shoulder then lifted the branch over the other. The carcass was lighter than she expected but still heavy. Kusso led and she followed. It may have been that they retraced their steps, but Edith couldn’t tell. All she knew was that the ground was rarely level, they were surrounded by trees and her load got heavier as the march continued. By the time they reached the camp it was all she could do to put one foot in front of the other. They delivered the carcass to the cooks and received a bowl of lukewarm stewed vegetables in exchange. Kusso shook her hand and took his food back to the other scouts. Edith ate and then went to her tent to find that another group of soldiers had taken the spaces left by the other Nandor folk. They barely looked up from their dice game as she came in and went to her bedroll at the back of the tent. She stowed away her bow and fell into her bed.
***
Edith woke with her head full of dreams of chasing unseen foes through thick woods, that somewhere along the way turned into Celaine. She sat up and stretched, then caught her breath at the pain from her arms and shoulders.
A good hot bath would be what Glynis would say, she thought with a twinge of regret. No chance of that. She stood up, her legs hurt too. She picked up her bowcase and made her way cautiously past the sleeping soldiers out of the tent in search of Kusso.
As she had expected he was sitting around a fire with the other scouts. Whatever else was happening in the camp they would have a fire and food. He stood up as soon as he saw her, offering food and a hot drink. She was going to refuse, but caught the scent of something rich and spicy that changed her mind. He passed her a bowl and showed her to a place beside the fire as the other scouts watched with passive curiosity.
“I need to get back down to Cuiport,” she said after she had sat down. “As soon as I can.”
Kusso didn’t reply for immediately and she wondered for a moment if he had understood her. He pursed his lips and nodded, his eyes focused on something far distant.
“Not safe alone. Tomorrow,” he said eventually. “I take you tomorrow.”
She was going to object, stressing the urgency, but he looked away and began to speak to one of the other scouts. She realised the decision had been made and she should think about what she was going to do when she got back to the port.
***
Wiston stood at the back of the tent as the meeting got underway, the rain drumming on the canvas. Only Lord Merrek and Lord Claran had seats, everyone else stood.
“Men of my company under Granna patrolled in strength yesterday,” said Captain Elthorn. “They found the enemy and engaged them. Though they took some casualties, they killed a lot more and returned to base. My thanks to Faraz for his assistance in providing this report.”
“Numbers?” said Lord Claran.
“They lost seven dead and three badly hurt, but they killed over twenty,” said Elthorn with pride in his voice.
“We need to do more of this,” said Lord Claran. “I can’t believe that savages with stone axes and spears can inflict so much damage.”
“It was close hand-to-hand fighting,” said Elthorn. “It always is with them. We have not been able to get them out in the open since that first engagement. They learned that lesson well.”
“Then we must draw them to us,” said Lord Claran. “Push on with all speed with building the forts.”
“It is being done, cousin,” said Lord Merrek. “That is why we’re all up here in the rain. Has there been any sign of that creature, Faraz?”
Lord Claran glanced at Wiston and snorted.
“No further reports, my lord,” said Faraz. “Though I’ve found difficulty exploring the area in spirit. I’m being blocked.”
“Another mage?” said Lord Merrek.
“I don’t think so,” said Faraz. “It feels different to being mage-blocked.”
“Has this happened before?” said Lord Merrek.
“No, until recently I’ve had no such problem exploring in spirit.”
“This could be a warning,” said Lord Merrek. “If they’re trying to hide their movements.”
“Nonsense,” said Lord Claran. “We have the forces in place. We need to hit them hard again. Find their villages, their women and children and burn them out. Harry them until they beg for mercy.”
“We will not have the forces if we cannot feed them, cousin,” said Lord Merrek. “Now, Captain Abel, how are our supplies?”
“We need more mules,” replied Abel, a tall gaunt man with a bristling moustache.
“You always want more mules,” said Lord Claran.
“It’s a continuing problem,” said Abel. “They don’t do well in this climate. Their hooves rot.”
“Can’t think of anything civilized that does well in this climate,” said Lord Claran. “So this means that our supplies will not be with us today?”
“I regret not, my Lord,” said Abel.
“Then we remain here until they do arrive,” said Lord Merrek. “Nevertheless, I want the scouts out overnight. I don’t like sitting here blind. See to it, Wiston.”
“Yes, my Lord,” said Wiston. He made his way out of the tent and went in search of the scouts.
***
Edith endured a hard and frustrating day. After leaving Kusso, she had taken her bow to the butts, but she had barely loosed a dozen arrows before a sergeant in Caldon livery ordered her to join his work team. Laying aside her bow in its case, she joined the soldiers building the new perimeter wall. Men laboured at the edge of the clearing with axes to fell trees and trim the trunks of branches. Teams of eight dragged the logs by main strength from the edge of the clearing to the foot of the bank surrounding the camp. A third team then raised them upright and hammered them into the soil at the top of the bank to form the defensive wall.
The sergeant placed Edith with a team dragging logs. It was exhausting work; the soldiers cursed continuously, the sergeant cursed the men as often, the rain fell and the wet hauling ropes tore at Edith’s hands. The effort afforded no opportunity for coherent thought to plan what she would do when she got to Cuiport. She wished Aron was still with her with his reassuring certainty; he always seemed to know what to do. Until, of course, he hadn’t and the illusion had been shattered, and that’s why she was here on her own. Feeling sorry for yourself doesn’t help Celaine. The sergeant’s growl pulled Edith back to the present and the sodden rope that had slipped from her chilled hands.
In the middle of the day the sergeant took them to the cook tent. They ate a brief meal that was mostly stewed vegetables with a few chunks of tough salt beef that at least warmed them and gave them respite from the rain. Edith wondered who had eaten the venison she and Kusso had brought in.
After too short a time the sergeant chased them out back to the ropes and the logs. As the day wore on the rain reduced to a thin drizzle and the defensive wall of raised logs advanced by perhaps twenty five paces until it grew too dark to see and a halt was called. Edith barely had the strength to follow the other soldiers to the cook tent and eat another portion of the stew before falling exhausted into her bedroll.
***
“Following yesterday’s success, our Lords have ordered us to repeat the patrol,” said Granna. Maldwyn looked at Aron, a puzzled expression on his face. There seemed to be no irony in Granna’s voice.
>
“Some success,” whispered Maldwyn.
“As we did yesterday we will sweep in depth around the camp, but we will be going further,” continued Granna. “We are searching for traces of enemy villages. They must live somewhere, so we’re going to find them. We have been reinforced with three score Saxishmen who will be marching with us.”
Anger and disgust surged through Aron. I hope they’re nowhere near me.
“Go and get fed, fill your water bottles and we’ll move out,” said Granna.
After a meal of flatbread, stewed grains and salt beef they took up position at the edge of the clearing, the five Nandor men together. The Saxishmen were positioned on the far end of the line much to Aron’s relief. Granna’s whistle blew and they advanced into the trees.
Their route was initially uphill, climbing and scrabbling their way between close-packed trees up to the crest of a ridge, hands on their swordhilts, expecting to hear the whistles heralding enemy contact at any time. They passed over the crest and descended into a wooded valley with a stream and soft ground at the bottom. After slipping and struggling through the marsh they began to climb the next ridge when they struck a path. They followed it for a hundred paces or so before it led them to a dark irregular gash in a rocky outcrop.
“What is it?” asked Maldwyn.
Aron looked at the heaps of rock and soil scattered on the downhill side of the path, now partially grassed over. No footmarks in the wet ground led into the darkness.
“Looks like a mine entrance,” he said. “Hasn’t been used for a while.”
“What are they mining?” said Jirg “Silver?”
“The other mines produce silver and lead,” said Aron. “So I guess this is the same.”
“These rocks look just like a valley up in High Nandor back where I’m from,” said Jirg. “I’ve seen the same kind of plants too, used to have to keep the sheep from eating them ‘cos they’re poisonous.”
Single whistles blasts sounded through the woods. Aron blew his whistle once in acknowledgement.
“Better keep moving,” he said. “We can report this when we get back to camp.”
For the rest of the day they slogged up and down the undulating landscape bearing to the east to come back to the camp, sometimes knee deep in marsh, sometimes climbing steep slopes; nerves on edge waiting for the whistle blasts or the frenzied attack. If the enemy were there, they did not see them. The only whistles they heard were the singles to maintain contact until, blessedly, the three blasts for recall came.
The light was growing dim by the time they reached the hill top camp.
“That was the waste of a day,” said Maldwyn. “We need to get away from here and back down to the port.”
“I agree,” said Aron. “But I have no idea of how to do it without making things worse.”
He gazed out at the lanterns of the cook tent shining out in the gloom feeling utterly desolate. Every day that passes is a day in hell for Celaine. If I don’t think of something quickly then we are lost, and I will have put my friends in deadly risk for no reward.
***
“Wake.” The firm hand on Edith’s shoulder pulled her out of her confused dreams of ropes and logs. She opened her eyes but could see nothing in the darkness. It felt like only moments ago that she had lain down.
“What? Who?” She murmured, still more than half asleep.
“We go to port.”
“Kusso?” She rubbed her eyes but still could not see him.
“Time to go.”
She sat up and groped for her boots. She pulled them on, tied the laces entirely by touch then gathered her gear together the same way.
Outside the tent there was just enough light to see Kusso as he lead her through the camp to the gate.
“We hunt.” He called with a wave to the sentinels.
“Bring us back a fat buck,” one of them called in reply.
They walked down the hill and followed the road until just after dawn then Kusso turned off straight into a thickly wooded hillside.
“Better this way,” he said. “We walk, we climb. Get to port fast.”
Kusso slipped between the trees with an ease Edith, encumbered with her pack and bowcase, struggled to match as they climbed the gentle slope. They reached the crest and the clouds lifted for a moment to show them rolling slopes of trees and beyond, the pale thread of the sea. Edith gazed into the distance relishing the cool breeze, wondering how far off Cuiport was until Kusso spoke.
“Bad men. Many bad men. Big trouble.”
She followed his gaze down the valley to where a river flowed over shelves of rock. Men armed with spears and axes were splashing through the shallows. As she watched, dozens appeared to then vanish into the woods below them.
“Who are they?” asked Edith.
“Enemy. Big trouble.”
More men poured over the rocks. A great cold hand seized her stomach; this was an army advancing up the valley.
“We go,” said Kusso. “Keep away.” He turned away and retraced their steps to below the crest then set out parallel to it dodging between the trees. Edith followed struggling to keep pace with him, glancing over her shoulder expecting to hear the shouts of pursuit and enemy warriors to appear at any moment.
They reached a rocky outcrop and scrambled over it to find a hollow on the far side. They tumbled in to it and Edith lay gasping as Kusso peeked back over the edge.
“We must warn them back at the camp,” said Edith.
Kusso shook his head. “No time. They there before we there. We go next camp.”
He jumped down from his vantage point. “Go now. They come.”
Edith took a mouthful of water from her waterskin, pushed herself to her feet and followed him as he disappeared over the far edge of the outcrop. They moved diagonally across the slope, ducking between trees, looking back frequently. In the distance they were able to glimpse figures moving down the slope, lots of figures.
At the foot of the slope Kusso took Edith’s pack from her; after that they made better progress. Edith could no longer see any sign of the enemy, but Kusso frequently halted and stood as if listening intently before driving them onward as urgently as ever. Edith wondered if the enemy were also making for the next camp and how well-fortified that was. Was that the camp Maldwyn and Aron were in? Could they stand against that many enemy? She hoped the wall there was in a better state than the one she’d been working on yesterday.
***
There’s another eight days work here, at least, thought Wiston as he stood at one end of the incomplete wall around his camp. But it could be done in three days if only Lord Claran would allow his men to be used.
Movement caught his eye at the forest margin. A figure burst out of the trees and sprinted towards the camp. Wiston recognised him as one of the scouts. A horn sounded as the sentinel also spotted him. Wiston stepped out to meet him, wondering what could possibly have panicked him so. As he drew closer Wiston could see his face was bloodied, probably from a scalp wound.
“They coming,” gasped the scout as he scrambled up the bank towards Wiston. He pointed back at the trees. “Enemy! Many enemy!”
Wiston looked back at the forest margin. It seemed to him that figures moved in the shadows under the tress.
“To arms!” he cried. “Prepare for attack.”
The sentinel blew his horn continuously, men erupted from tents struggling to put on armour and organise weapons. A pair of sergeants appeared beside Wiston.
“Man the palisade. I want a shield wall at the foot of the bank across the gap. Archers on the bank behind them,” he ordered, then he ran for his lodging to collect his own gear.
By the time he returned fully equipped the shield wall was formed with archers behind them on the top of the bank and axemen posted on the incomplete palisade walkways. Lord Claran was standing at the end of the wall glaring out at the forest.
“What’s all the fuss about, Wiston?” he asked.
“A scout ca
me in saying the enemy were behind him in large numbers,” said Wiston.
“Scouts? Can’t trust ‘em.”
“I’ve found them to be very reliable,” said Wiston.
“Really? So where is this enemy army?”
Wiston did not need to look at the forest edge to know that there was no sign of the enemy. Lord Merrek strode up, fully armoured followed by his squire.
“What’s the situation?” he asked.
“One of Wiston’s scouts thought he saw a clansman,” said Lord Claran.
“The scout came in saying the enemy were behind him in large numbers,” repeated Wiston. “He was wounded.”
“Run and fetch Faraz,” said Lord Merrek to his squire. The youth ran off towards the tents. Lord Merrek turned back to Wiston, but before he could speak a dull boom rolled across the camp from the trees in front of them. It was answered by another from somewhere behind.
“War drums,” said Wiston.
A third drum boomed away to their left. And another until they merged into a sinister beat so that the air throbbed around them.
“All around us,” said Lord Merrek. “It seems you were correct in your response, Wiston. I commend you.”
“I could wish we had more archers, my lord,” said Wiston.
“So could I, and a ditch as well,” said Lord Merrek. “But we have what we have and I’m sure it will prove sufficient.”
Faraz hurried up to join them, his thin shoulders wrapped in a brown cloak.
“Tell me what we’re facing, Faraz,” said Lord Merrek.
Fraz closed his eyes and his face went blank for several breaths as he searched the woods with his mind.
He opened his eyes. “We’re completely surrounded, my Lord. A thousand men, or more.”
Wiston did a quick calculation; they had around six hundred men within the camp. Not good odds, but not disastrous. If the shield wall holds, we can beat this lot.
“Summon the troops back from the next camp,” said Lord Merrek. “Tell them to send everything they have. And inform the Captain at Cuiport.”