by David Hair
‘Well, my friend, I regret that I must request your surrender.’
‘After the battering we inflicted last time you attacked?’
‘But still you are trapped. Your food supplies are running very low, yes? And though your miraculous healers toil, disease must be a growing threat.’
All of which was very true. Seth looked away.
Latif went on in a regretful voice, ‘Very soon, in desperation, you will be forced to try and break out: ten thousand men, with attendant baggage train and camp followers, trying to break across open ground into archers who outnumber you three to one. It will be a slaughter, my friend.’
Yes, it would be, if that were our intention.
‘Seth,’ Latif went on, ‘if you surrender, we will be merciful. You and your magi will be taken as Salim’s personal prisoners: Chain-runes, of course, but not handed over to the Hadishah and their breeding-camps. Your rankers will be disarmed and imprisoned, but only until the end of the Moontide, after which they will be released into Rondian hands.’
‘And the camp followers?’
‘You must know that any woman who has sullied herself with a Rondian is not welcome anywhere. They will be sold as slaves. Such a life is not so bad, for a woman.’
Dear Kore, does he really think that? ‘That’s out of the question. Those women are wives now, and entitled to the protection of their husbands.’
‘Don’t pretend these women will be welcomed in Yuros,’ Latif retorted.
‘They won’t be enslaved.’
‘No? What is a wife but an unpaid domestic slave? What is a war-wife but a trophy? Do not try to tell me there is any true feeling between your soldiers and the women they’ve taken.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ Seth replied. ‘I was. Once I thought as you did, that between East and West there could be no love. But now I see things differently. These women had no kind of life in Ardijah: they were the downtrodden – widows, slaves, outcasts, beggars, for whom there were no better options than a foreign soldier. This isn’t unique to Khotri: there are many like them in Antiopia, and in Yuros also. Why shouldn’t they risk marrying a foreign soldier in the hope of a better life?’
Latif frowned, settled back on his divan and considered. ‘Your point is fair,’ he admitted eventually. ‘All right, what if I also guaranteed the lives and safety of those women who wish to remain with their “husbands”?’
Ah, so that threat was just leverage . . . I wish you and I didn’t have to play these games, Latif . . .
Seth sat up. ‘I’m sorry, but we’re not going to surrender. We’ve marched from Shaliyah through Khotri to reach our lines. We’ll not let this predicament deter us. We’ll find a way.’
‘We understand that your own army have blocked you from crossing the Tigrates?’
‘Then you heard wrong.’
They fell silent, looking at each other.
Damn this war, Seth found himself thinking.
Latif sighed, affecting nonchalance. ‘Then if you will not see sense, at least find some relaxation for a moment. You look tired, my friend: so drink, eat! This fruit is fresh. It is the best to be had this side of the river, and you might not taste its like again for some time.’
‘I’ve lost my appetite. Though if I could take some back for my men?’
Latif gestured his assent affably. ‘Of course.’ He clapped his hands with forced cheer. ‘Well, how are you keeping? Do you still have time to read?’
‘No – well, not poetry or literature, anyway. Despatches, supply-lists, hospital reports, scouting reports. I’ve had to put pleasure aside for a while. We’re at war, after all.’ Seth thought about the stack of parchment on his desk. I could get through some of that pile, if I return early. Abruptly, he stood. ‘I must go.’
Latif looked taken aback. ‘My friend? Our aides have agreed a meeting of four hours at the least. What is the hurry? Let us relax and enjoy some time together. I can even send for my jitar?’
It was tempting. I could just put all this damned stress behind me, forget about where I’m stuck and how much shit I’m in . . . But he shook his head. ‘No. I have work to do. I’m sorry, I truly am.’
Latif began to reach out, then stopped and withdrew his hand. ‘Undoubtedly you are right.’
What’s changed? Seth wondered. Is it because there was no need or point in talking about the war when we were in Ardijah? Or is it because I’m not the one in control any more? Am I that shallow?
Or is it just this Kore-bedamned war?
Their farewell was perfunctory, and he walked away without looking back.
‘So,’ Ramon Sensini greeted him when he returned, ‘how is your friend the Fake?’
‘Very well. He thinks we’re helpless and doomed unless we beg for mercy.’
The Silacian smiled for the first time in several days. ‘Now, about that . . .’
Southern Kesh, on the continent of Antiopia
Moharram (Janune) 930
19th month of the Moontide
Ramon took the windskiff in low, skimming the water. The craft was handling sluggishly due to the outriggers and empty kegs they’d fixed to the hull to make the craft riverworthy. They’d blackened the sails and the hull with ash, renaming her Blackbird as they did. Baltus Prenton wouldn’t have recognised her.
The dead Brevian was very much on Ramon’s mind, not only as this was his old craft, but because his last lover was in the prow. Jelaska Lyndrethuse had roused from her listless mourning with a new grimness, her long, morose face expressionless, her eyes remote. She was ready for action, she claimed.
Ready to kill someone, more likely.
‘Brace yourself,’ he called. ‘I’m bringing her in to land.’
He took the craft lower, dissipating Air-gnosis until the keel caught in the water, the new outriggers splashing down and carving furrows until momentum was lost. They held their breath, but the craft settled. They’d tested it, of course, but this was the real thing and they were far from Riverdown.
When it became clear the skiff wasn’t about to capsize and sink, Jelaska said, ‘Well done, Magister Sensini. What now?’
‘We visit some shady characters.’
‘I’m sure you’ll feel right at home,’ she observed.
Ramon had been hesitant about taking anyone else on this negotiation, but Seth had insisted. It meant opening up to the Argundian woman a little about the gold hidden in the legion’s baggage carts, though he’d kept the details light. He wasn’t sure how much she believed him.
Their destination was downstream a little, and though he was unused to sailing on water, the dull gleam of the town’s lamps soon appeared. Yazqheed was a small river-port between Vida and Peroz that hadn’t been on any of their maps. And they hadn’t known about the Keshi river-traders, either – apparently even the Sultan of Kesh was unaware of this enterprising group of men. Ramon had found both a week ago, thanks to Silvio Anturo’s guidance.
In both Yuros and Antiopia, the rivers, unlike the oceans, played a vital role in travel and commerce, both goods and people. The tidal movements were nowhere near as extreme and deadly as the ocean’s, so the rivers and canals were both much safer and more predictable. Riverboat fleets in the West probably transported more in a month in Yuros than the windfleets did in a year. In Antiopia, which had no real windfleet, the waterways were even more important.
When Duke Echor’s southern army marched into southern Kesh, they’d seized and garrisoned the major river-ports like Vida, but the Keshi rivermen, anticipating this move, had gone to earth in the smaller ports to wait out the Crusade. It kept their ships safe, though it meant two years without proper income.
So I’m sure there’ll be a few who’d like a little side-job . . .
He sent a gnostic pulse ahead to alert Silvio. Involving the Petrossi mage had helped cement the trust between them; they were now actively collaborating.
Sailing on water was quite different to flying, but Ramon got them to the edge of the
massive flotilla on the east bank of the Tigrates. Most of the riverboats were bobbing at anchor, for the docks were too small to cope with this many vessels. The bigger ships were wedged together so closely you could walk from one to the next with little difficulty. There were hundreds of small tiller-craft at the fringes, for running errands up and down the river. His own vessel was one of many sailing after dark. The sultan’s soldiers might hold the township, but the port of Yazqheed was ruled by the rivermen.
Ramon steered for the bobbing lantern while Jelaska scanned for trouble, listening in on the surface thoughts of any minds that focused on them. Her eyes were glinting with pale light, but she didn’t look overly perturbed.
He took the skiff into the shadow of the lantern-boat and looked up.
‘Sensini?’ The mage appeared at the rails above. Ramon recognised him from their scrying: a narrow, well-formed face framed by long curling hair. His mother, Isabella Petrossi’s sister, had been a famed beauty. ‘Who’s with you?’ Silvio demanded. ‘You’re supposed to be alone.’
‘Buona notte, Silvio. Relax! This is Jelaska Lyndrethuse.’
Anturo looked taken aback, but recovered well. ‘An honour, Lady.’
Jelaska smiled as sweetly as her face allowed. ‘The pleasure is mine, Master Anturo. Or it will be, if you can give me a way to disembark from this damned tub.’
‘Please, call me Silvio. Come, climb aboard. Your skiff will be safe here, I promise you. The captains await us.’
A rope ladder rolled down the flank of the ship and Jelaska led the way. Ramon tied up the Blackbird and set wards before joining her.
He shook hands with Silvio Anturo, every bit the confident, impatient man he’d expected, then followed him through a maze of decks and ladders and masts and ropes, committing their route to memory. Eventually they came to a large fore-deck, where a dozen Keshi men in well-worn robes were gathered. All were bearded and sun-darkened, with grey in their hair. They eyed the Yurosian magi with undisguised worry, but the scent of gold was in the air too, and they had the sniff of it.
Silvio addressed the group in Keshi; Ramon knew enough of the local tongue to get the gist: introductions, and the promise of an opportunity, and the men all looked interested. It had been a lean season.
The Petrossi agent introduced Ramon and Jelaska as guklu jadugari, which were formidable things, judging by the captains’ nervous reactions. Then he handed over to Ramon and turned translator.
‘It’s a simple enough job,’ Ramon told them. ‘Yazqheed is four days upstream of my soldiers. We’re low on provisions, but we have much gold. Sail down, ship my men and baggage train across the Tigrates in a single night, and you’ll be paid – and well paid, too.’
The captains proved to have little loyalty to their sultan. After some private discussion, they had but one question: ‘How much?’
He offered them each the value of their craft and what Silvio had assured him would be three months’ income, and bargained hard, lest they begin to think they could get too greedy, allowing himself to be pushed to six months’ income. It was an insane amount of money for them, but it would barely dent his funds.
I want to make sure every single ranker gets paid when we get home, he reminded himself. The deal left enough, though Jelaska, was worried.
<‘Just’?> She fixed him with a chilly stare.
‘What of the sultan?’ one captain asked. ‘If he learns who helped you to escape, we’ll all be dead men.’
‘That’s why I’m offering you the value of your craft as well,’ Ramon replied, ‘in case you have to abandon them and go into hiding. If I were you I’d sail south until you’re well out of his reach – but the truth is, he’s got bigger problems than you.’
After the logistical discussion, and the all-important agreement on payment – one third upfront, the rest on completion – Ramon then had a few questions of his own, about how many ships it would take to move fifteen thousand souls and their stores in one night, and whether they could also purchase more food and supplies once they were on the west bank of the Tigrates. Then they were asked to wait patiently at the other end of the deck while the captains conferred amongst themselves.
‘They’ll go for it,’ Ramon told Jelaska and Silvio confidently as the men huddled together to decide. ‘I’ll bet they’ve been squabbling over bit-jobs and smuggling runs for at least a year. They’ve clearly got no loyalty to Salim, and by the look of them their boats are in need of attention after being tied up so long. They’re in.’
‘Then all of the money really is in your camp?’ Silvio asked.
‘No,’ Ramon lied, ‘this will take all that I have to hand: I’ve been caching it in the desert, all the way along our route – both before and after Shaliyah,’ he added. ‘I had to do so, otherwise my logisticalus tribune would have noticed something.’
Well, Storn would have, if he hadn’t been in it up to his eyeballs anyway!
‘I still don’t see why you insist on bringing the legions across,’ Silvio complained.
Ramon saw Jelaska’s face harden and answered quickly, ‘Because I’m thinking ahead, partner. We’re going to want loyal men after the Crusade, aren’t we? Who could be more loyal than men who owe us their lives? There are always a few in any army who can’t settle back into civilian life after a war. They’ll think of us first.’
Silvio smiled appreciatively. ‘You always play the longer game, don’t you Sensini?’ He looked at Jelaska. ‘And Lady Lyndrethuse is part of your arrangement?’
‘Clearly.’
Jelaska proved she too could play the game, giving Silvio a hard, knowing smile.
‘Small groups need a threat that others respect,’ Ramon said. ‘I think a pure-blood sorceress of Lady Jelaska’s reputation provides that, don’t you?’
‘Is she a full partner?’
‘Oh, Ramon’s the boss,’ Jelaska said airily. ‘He and I have our own arrangement.’ She fluttered her eyelids coyly, making Silvio’s eyebrows shoot up.
Ramon was right; the captains agreed to take part, so they settled down over some food for several hours of serious planning, sorting out which vessels would go, the timing, number of men and wagons per craft, and most importantly as far as the rivermen were concerned, how the bullion would be exchanged. The fleet would sail south laden with food and drop that at the chosen spot on the western shore before going on to pick up the legionaries. The next Darkmoon, two weeks away, at the end of Janune, was chosen, so that Mater Luna wouldn’t reveal all to watching eyes.
‘We need a signal in case there are Inquisitors or Kirkgarde on the western shore that night,’ Ramon added. ‘That’ll be down to you, Silvio. I don’t want those bastards wandering in while we’re scattered between two camps and a mile of water.’
‘I’ll take care of it. I have contacts in Vida; a few fires inside the city walls in the days leading up to the move should keep them busy elsewhere.’
The meeting broke up soon afterwards and Silvio led them back to their skiff. The Blackbird still bobbed in the river, her wards undisturbed. The Petrossi mage turned to Ramon and they clasped hands. ‘It‘s late for you to be returning to your camp, amici. I have a safe house outside Yazqheed where you and Lady Jelaska may rest.’
Ramon glanced sideways at Jelaska. They were supposed to be back by dawn, but Silvio was right; that wasn’t very likely, not given the distances and the hour. He decided Silvio had no reason to betray them, not yet. ‘Thank you, we accept gladly.’
He ignored that, and in a few minutes they were following Silvio Anturo’s skiff in a southeasterly direction.
*
The safe house, an abandoned farmstead, h
ad been quietly seized by Silvio Anturo and a small gang of his associates – a mix of Silacian and Dhassan men – and the locals left them alone, or so Anturo said. He gave Ramon and Jelaska adjoining chambers on the top floor, just along from his own. They declined the offer of supper and went to their separate, sparsely furnished rooms.
Ramon warded the doors and shutters, then, just to be sure, he did the walls, ceiling and floor too, though he doubted Anturo would try anything until after the gold was delivered. The adjoining door opened just as he went to snuff the lamp.
‘I’m just checking that you’re safe,’ Jelaska said, brandishing a bottle of brandy and two pottery mugs.
‘There’s safety in numbers,’ he agreed.
They pulled up chairs, toasted silently and drank. Ramon refilled the mugs as Jelaska reached inside her cloak and with ironic ceremony brandished a piece of paper; one of his own illegal promissory notes. ‘That’s Storn’s handwriting, isn’t it? With an Imperial Treasury Seal, a forged signature which looks rather like that of Calan Dubrayle, the Lord Treasurer – and it’s dated Junesse 929. That’s last year, when we were marching east to Shaliyah.’ She looked at him wryly. ‘So what’s going on?’
He told her virtually the whole tale – he only left out the Scytale, and his true parentage; bad enough that Seth Korion knew. It took some time and several refills, and the eastern sky was pale by the time he’d explained it all.
‘So apparently, the amount of investment from the old Imperial families has been ridiculous and now many face destitution,’ he added with a smirk. ‘So sad.’
‘And you’re doing all this just to free your mother and half-sister?’ Jelaska asked, her voice sceptical.
‘Si. And because I can,’ he admitted. ‘You must admit, it’s more fun than just marching around a desert.’
‘Why not just kidnap your mother and half-sister and run?’
‘Because that wouldn’t really damage the familioso. This hurts all manner of deserving people – or at least, it does provided I can keep the gold out of their hands.’
‘Burying it would do that.’
‘Si. The original plan was just to run away and live like a king somewhere. But even before Shaliyah, I began to feel responsible for the men. Then after Shaliyah – well, what can I say? They are my family. My familioso. And I want to see them get the rewards promised them. I want to see the demi-gods of Pallas sweat. I want to see these familioso thugs who prey on their own people broken. I can do that: I’ve been given that opportunity.’