by Martin Ash
As they walked back she cast her eyes about the compound. To one side Karai fighters silently engaged one another in combat drill. Others stood guard beside huts, tents and in the towers. There were no women as far as she could see. She estimated at least forty Karai. She took the camp to be some kind of forward base. From here lightning raids could be launched, designed to terrorize and disrupt. Small towns, villages and farms would be the probable targets, as well as lightly- or un-armed travellers upon the roads near Enchantment's Reach. What she was not clear about was why they kept prisoners.
A man came from another hut carrying a bucket similar to that which she and Kol had. Two more transported a large pot and sacks inside. So there were other prisoners. She quickly scanned the compound again. As far as she could make out they were housed in only the two huts.
"We must escape," she whispered to Kol, taking care that guard was out of earshot. But Kol looked at her as if she were a child.
The Karai favoured cleanliness as well as orderliness, and she and Kol were permitted to wash quickly in cold water before re-entering the hut. Inside the prisoners queued for breakfast, a thick, grainy gruel and the staple grey bread and water. As soon as they had eaten they were summoned outside where they lined up in a double row. Strong, light chains were shackled to their ankles, but before Issul's were applied a short, thickset Karai approached and drew her aside. "You will stay here."
The men, guards at their side, shuffled across the compound and passed from sight behind the tents. The thickset Karai issued Issul with instructions for the day. She was to begin by washing the pots, bowls, spoons and mugs from the two prisoners' huts; then similar utensils of the Karai themselves. When she had completed that she was taken to a wide, fast-flowing stream at the edge of the camp and there made to wash the Karai soldiers' clothing with a brush, stone and a hard sandy ball of soap. Later in the day she was taken to another hut where a mound of similar clothing awaited repair. Issul was given needles and thick thread and left to get on with it.
In short, she had been appointed scullion, washerwoman and seamstress to the Karai. A guard was assigned to her at all times; others always close at hand. No one spoke to her, except to give orders. She was not permitted to cease working, other than for a short break at midday when she was given soup and water.
The work was exhausting. Issul had never done anything of its kind. The art of sewing, particularly, she had to learn from scratch. But midway through the morning she learned the cost of protesting when, after a short time scrubbing tunics in the cold stream, she stopped. Her fingers were numb with cold and her back ached from constantly bending.
"I can't do this," she said, standing stiffly.
"You do it," said her guard. Two others a short way off took a keen interest.
"I can't. I don't know how."
"You learn, then."
Issul shook her head, exasperated rather than bloody-minded. The guard stepped forward and punched her in the stomach. Before she could respond she was picked up and pushed into the stream, her head held under. Gasping from the pain of the blow, Issul took in water. She struggled frantically, her consciousness ebbing as a booted foot pressed her head down. Kol's words echoed somewhere in her dying mind: the Karai don't tolerate anything but absolute obedience. Her lungs were bursting, convulsing, then she was hauled up by the hair and dragged to the shore where she lay coughing and gasping in the mud.
"Now, you do the work. Understand?"
III
At the day's end, as dusk began to shroud the forest, Issul was escorted back to her hut. The prisoners were brought in at more or less the same time, tired and dirty. Issul, exhausted, slumped down upon her litter. Young Herbin came and sat beside her, but his father, Miseon, was absent. Issul enquired about him.
"They came and took him away when they were removing our chains," said Herbin.
Issul looked at him. He was weary and forlorn, and clearly worried. She recalled how he had stood up for her against the brutish Ombo last night. It had taken immense courage to do that. He had been no match for Ombo, and she admired him for it. She spoke to the others. "Does anyone know where they have taken Miseon?"
No one replied, none of them would meet her eye, except for Ombo who watched her with a surly smirk.
"Kol?" said Issul. "Can you tell us?"
Kol was also reluctant to speak.
"What of your labour today?" Issul asked Herbin softly.
"Heavy construction and excavation. I can’t grasp what for."
"Miseon is not a young man. How did he bear up?"
"He made every effort to keep up, but it is gruelling work, even for the strongest among us. Late in the day Miseon collapsed and had to rest for some time."
"Perhaps they have taken him for medical treatment, then," said Issul.
Across the room Ombo guffawed loudly. Issul felt the blood colour her cheeks. Somehow she sensed that they would not see Miseon again.
The next day Issul was taken off latrine-duty, on the purely practical grounds that she lacked the physical strength to carry the full bucket without risk of spillage. The other prisoners were marched away and the remainder of her day passed in similar manner to the first.
As she worked she kept herself alert for possible routes of escape. The camp was well-guarded and constantly patrolled, the Karai apparently tireless in their surveillance. Always there were eyes upon her, not only those of the guard assigned to her, but of others, in a watchtower, beside a tent, across the compound. The only feasible path to try making a dash was via the stream where she washed the clothes. The stream lay outside the main compound and was reached via a secondary gate. But it was deep and fast-flowing. In the time it would take her to cross it and make for the wood beyond she could guarantee she would be spotted and, almost certainly, fired on.
And she reminded herself once more that, even if she succeeded in making free of the camp, the forest and its denizens still remained.
The prisoners’ chains were being removed as she returned to the hut that evening. She watched them line up for inspection before the Karai commander, who conferred briefly with one of the guards who had accompanied them on their work detail. The men were gaunt and hollow-eyed; she sensed their fear.
The commander nodded towards one, a lean man in his fifties who Issul had not spoken to. The guard separated him from the group. Two men then made off with another guard to collect the evening's soup pot. The main group shuffled into the hut and the solitary prisoner was led away towards the far side of the camp.
Issul glanced across towards the other prison hut. A similar ritual seemed to have taken place there; a prisoner, young but with a pronounced limp, was being steered towards the far side of the compound.
EIGHT
I
On her third day as a prisoner of the Karai, Issul witnessed something unusual which she was not to understand for some time. It took place in the late morning. The male prisoners were away at their work and Issul was returning with her guard from the stream where she had been scrubbing. She was being escorted to the sewing hut.
Earlier in the morning, soon after the prisoners were led away, a detachment of armed Karai had left the camp through the main gate. They were about fifteen strong, and took with them the single horse laden with equipment. Issul took them to be another raiding party, off to cause havoc and disruption within the kingdom.
As she approached the door of the sewing hut Issul cast her eyes across the compound, seeking, as always, some possible clue as to a way to break free of the Karai. Across the camp she saw a man, a Karai, drop suddenly to the ground and lie motionless. Almost immediately two others ran towards him. An instant later another fell, this one a sentry posted at the entrance of a tent towards one side of the camp. She saw nothing more, for she had reached the sewing-hut and her guard had opened the door and pushed her inside.
Issul moved instantly to the window (unlike the dormitory, light was required in the sewing-hut to allow her to wo
rk). Wooden bars prevented her putting her head out, and the wall blocked her line of view. But she heard shouts and an armed squad crossed her field of view, running at the double towards the spot where the first soldier had fallen. Then all shouting ceased and the accustomed Karai silence resumed. Issul knelt down in the centre of the room and began her work, mystified by what she’d witnessed.
The remainder of the day passed without notable incident. During her short break for lunch Issul stood beside the window, but detected nothing to suggest anything was amiss.
In the hut that evening Issul spoke quietly to Kol and Herbin. "We have to organize an escape. I can’t do it alone. Who among us can be trusted?"
But Kol was pessimistic. "It was tried before, Jace. The Karai are too alert. Apart from the troops here in the camp, they have set traps in the surrounding woods. It is deadly. On the day I arrived here they were bringing back three prisoners who had tried to escape. The Karai put them on display as an example to us. One was still alive, poor bastard."
"But they are taking us and destroying us as they will. They use our labour only for as long as it suits them. "
Earlier Issul had noticed that the same number of prisoners who had left that morning had returned in the evening. On the previous two days the weakest individual from each hut had been led away and had not returned. The prisoners seemed to accept that as the norm. She wondered what had changed today.
"Where are they taken?" she asked.
Kol shook his head. "We know only that they don’t come back, and tomorrow it could be any one of us. Most especially if our work is not up to standard."
"What is the work you do?"
Kol more or less echoed Herbin's words of the night before. "We are building something at the back of the camp. A large construction, part underground. I don’t know its purpose."
"But tonight no one was taken. Why?"
Kol shrugged. "Sometimes it is like that. For a day, even two. We begin to hope, and then one of us is taken again."
"We have to do something," reiterated Issul. "And the best time to do it would be, as today, when a significant part of the Karai force is elsewhere."
"Do you have a plan?" asked Herbin.
She shook her head. "Just a will, at present. But I need to know who is with me. Herbin?"
The young man nodded. "Aye. I will not rot or die here if I have a choice. But I won’t go until I know what has happened to my father."
Issul nodded. "Kol?"
"I support you, Jace. But I say again, I don’t believe it’s possible."
"Then I say again, who else can we trust?"
Another voice interrupted out of the dark. "Be silent over there or we will all suffer!"
It was Ombo. Issul stared hotly at his bulk, outlined in the dimness, but she held her voice. He was right; the Karai inflicted harsh punishments for speaking without permission, and not always to the perpetrators.
"I’ll find out what I can," whispered Kol. "Say nothing to the others."
He rolled away, as did Herbin. Issul sank down on her litter. She was bone-weary. The unaccustomed work had raised great blisters and painful callouses on her fingers and thumbs. She was afraid that her work output would suffer as a result, for it was difficult to hold a needle or to apply sufficient pressure when scrubbing or squeezing wet clothing. She understood now how the Karai achieved their aims with their captives. Each prisoner had a vested interest in demonstrating to his slave-masters his ability to work hard and efficiently, if possible outstripping his companions. Anything less invited the nameless fate of the evening selection.
*
The next day passed without excitement or distraction. Issul worked, though her whole body rebelled. Each morning there was more clothing to be washed, and in the sewing hut the pile of garments awaiting repair was forever being renewed. She forced herself to ignore her pains, glancing nervously at her guard, fearing he would see that her workrate had slipped. Before now she had wondered about secreting about her person a needle or the cutters she was provided to work with. Such items might prove of value in any escape attempt. But she had abandoned the idea, for all equipment was thoroughly checked and accounted for by the Karai before she was permitted to leave.
At dusk she returned to her hut a little behind the others. Inside she counted her fellow prisoners, and by the light of the oil lamp scanned their faces. They numbered seven, plus herself. One less than yesterday. At first she could not place the man who was missing, but a little later, as she was lining up for soup, she noticed that the ladler was not the usual man. Issul was faintly surprised. The ladler, Eklen by name, had been a robust fellow. She would not have thought him an obvious candidate for the selection, though it was true that there were no elderly or visibly weak members among the prisoners now.
She snatched brief words with Kol, who confirmed that Eklen had been led away upon their return to the camp.
Was there any particular reason? she enquired, and Kol nodded and whispered hurriedly, "Bringing the lunchtime soup he stumbled and let the pot drop. His legs and feet were severely scalded. By this evening he was barely able to walk."
And so our numbers dwindle almost by the day, thought Issul. And no doubt fresh blood is being brought even now to replenish us. Can I doubt that it will be my turn soon?
Almost certainly the Karai party that had left the camp the previous day would bring back new prisoners. Stronger, better fed, perhaps better able to withstand the harsh rigours of camp life, at least initially.
Issul had learned that none of her companions had been in the camp for more than a month. The camp itself could not have existed for much longer than that. Now they all showed signs of fatigue, were all growing thinner. Minor illnesses, lesions, sores, strains were commonplace. Even Ombo complained of a wrenched shoulder. By the natural order of things in this cruel microcosm of life, all their days were indelibly numbered.
Issul grew aware that Ombo was watching her, as he often did. He had made no attempt to approach or speak to her since the first evening, but his look smouldered. She had humiliated him. His status among the others had suffered since her
arrival. She had the impression that, before, he had been the dominant character, by reason of brute force more than anything. But now. . . his power had waned. He was sullen and brooding. He had been bested by a mere strip of a woman.
Among the prisoners, Issul's own status had risen. Nothing had been said but it was evident that her conflict with Ombo had earned their respect. She hated having to sleep in their company each night, but she no longer felt threatened by them. In the mornings and evenings she found that the others lined up behind her in the food queue. The ladle always dipped deeply and brought forth choice pieces of meat and vegetable, and her chunk of bread was unfailingly among the largest.
But she regretted that she had achieved their respect by humbling Ombo. His size and strength would have been a great asset in any endeavour against their captors.
II
The following day Issul witnessed a recurrence of the strange disturbance that she had seen two days earlier. This time she was closer. She had just finished cleaning the Karai bowls, spoons and mugs, and was being escorted across the camp towards the stream where she washed the clothing. As she and her guard approached the watchtower beside the secondary gate that led to the streamside, she heard a dull groan from above. She glanced up and saw the sentry in the nearby guardtower stumble back, collide with an upright post and topple headlong down the steps of the tower. He lay upon his back on the dirt of the compound, unmoving. A bright wet stain of blood gathered on his chest. Protruding from its centre was the short stub of a crossbow-bolt.
Immediately Issul was grabbed by her guard and bundled quickly away. There were yells, a ten-strong squad of Karai, bearing shields and clad in armour of ringed-leather and thick felt padding came from one of the tents and rushed for the gate. Others with bows took up positions in the tower and behind the palisade. Issul was thrust into th
e empty dormitory hut and the door bolted behind her.
All quickly grew quiet. Issul knelt and peered through a narrow gap in the wall but saw nothing. An hour passed. Then brief shouts again. Through the gap Issul glimpsed only running Karai feet. The usual silence descended again.
In due course the door was unbolted and her guard ordered her outside. In the brightness of the compound the Karai were on alert, crouched in the watchtowers and beside huts. No one walked openly in the compound; all carried shields. Issul was conducted quickly to the sewing-hut and shut inside. She did no work at the stream that day.
At dusk she was taken back to the dormitory hut as usual. In the middle of the compound a pair of perpendicular wooden frames had been erected, from which two men were suspended by their wrists. Their unkempt appearance and rough garb identified them as prisoners, though they were not from Issul's hut.
Inside, her enquiries brought the information that the two were from the second work-gang housed in the other hut. They had been selected by the guards during the afternoon, seemingly at random, and marched away.
"What is there crime?" Issul asked.
"As far as is known they have committed none," Kol replied. "Word has it that someone is hidden in the woods and has been taking potshots at the Karai with a bow. These two are being displayed as a warning. I suspect they will be tortured to death if another shaft is fired, and others of us strung up in their place. Jace, we've heard there've been Karai killed. Do you know anything?"
Issul recounted what she had seen. "At least three Karai were struck. I don’t know if they died."
There was an air of contained excitement and tension in the hut that night, tempered by the infrequent cries of the men on the frames. The night was cold and the two had been given neither food nor drink. The guards emphasized absolute silence among the prisoners, but Issul did not doubt that each man's mind, like her own, was filled with thoughts of the bowman in the woods.