by Lori Martin
“Tribune!” she shouted. “Here! Over here!”
All three whirled. She saw her blunder: the cloak’s hood fell back, revealing a fair-haired woman, mouth open in surprise.
“By the howl of the –” she kicked her horse, yanking its head. Both men burst from the stairs.
“It’s the archer!” Samalas shouted.
She had been too rough. The horse plunged forward, then suddenly reared up. She fought to keep her seat. As they came down the other man made a grab for the reins and missed.
She lifted her sword. His head fell back, eyes wide with anger, the red grotesque scar pointing down to white lips. For one flashing moment she had him at her mercy, and he knew it, waiting for the blow which would kill him.
The woman on the stairs screamed, “Paither!”
At the same instant Scayna heard another cry, a cry from someone who was not there, calling out of a darkness that did not exist here under the day’s sun. Her upraised arm, drawn back to strike, suddenly jerked. The sword spun out of her grasp through the air, whirling, and crashed at the far end of the clearing. Her hand continued its fall, and landed on Paither’s shoulder.
Samalas scrambled after the weapon. Pillyn, running from the porch, came up breathlessly behind him.
Her fingers locked on to his left shoulder, straining at his cloak. With the cloth askew on her head, her dirty rumpled clothes clinging to her, she stared down into the ruined face as if seeing to the bottom of a deep well. “Relas,” she whispered, not knowing she was saying it. Her frantic grip pulled down the neckline of his robe. Beneath her hand she felt a violent shiver run across the clenched muscles of his arm. Her palm met his bare skin.
The heat burst out; the flames were roaring; towering columns of fire rose. While smoke rolled and billowed, acrid smells overlaid a sweet scent of hay. An animal’s death cry, like the wail of an infant – then a new burst, a conflagration –
Scayna screamed in agony as the flamed seared her face. She felt the delicate skin of her cheeks rise up, puff out, peel back, curling into black ragged edges. She was locked in the pain.
Paither supported her in the saddle to keep her from falling, bearing her weight on his arms. She tried to will herself out of the nightmare, but felt only a deeper agony as the destruction burned inward. Her wild eyes searched him. Dimly she knew she still existed, knew he existed, somewhere in soft open air, if only she could reach him. Yet his touch was causing it. And what was he seeing?
He reached up and grabbed at her sleeve, tearing the robe. The seams beneath her right arm gave way but the cloth clung to her sweat-smeared skin. In a fury he yanked again and the top of the garment burst open like a flower giving up its seed, exposing her breast and right shoulder. Behind them Pillyn felt a dizzy bewilderment; she had seen this before. Hands, pulling, then bare pale skin –
... and a perfect blue seal on the flesh.
Paither said, “Ennilyn.”
The sound freed her from the grip of the pain. The vision of horror vanished as suddenly as it had come on. She stared at him, watching his lips form a word she thought she had heard before but couldn’t understand.
“Ennilyn,” Paither repeated in urgency. “Don’t you know me? Can’t you feel who I am?”
Pillyn cried out, “No, no, not a Mendale!”
On the word Scayna pulled herself back up in the saddle and kicked again at the horse. She beat back his flailing hands and turned the horse sideways from him.
“No! Stop!” he shouted. “You don’t understand. Listen to me!” Without regard for his own safety, he made a final desperate effort to stand in the horse’s way. It was too late. She was beyond him. Horse and rider pounded out of the clearing.
Chapter 16
Commander Dirrl was very pleased. Her suspicions had died down; the size and numbers of this settlement convinced her that all Defier operations must have taken place here.
She remained unaware that three other small camps existed. She had massed her troops before the rebel encampment in the dark, when the Lindahne tree sentries could see little. The attack had begun at high-sun.
Now the lins were putting up a good defense, she had to give them that. They were quite a disciplined bunch, for amateurs. And their brown clothing was effective camouflage here in the trees.
New reports were coming in. “They’re falling back on the right.” “Falling back on the center.” Dirrl nodded. The lack of training showed now; they didn’t have the stamina. “Push on quickly,” she ordered. “And let’s see if we can’t rescue Tribune Nichos. Soon.”
Paither in the meanwhile was at the head of the Squad that had once been poor dead Ymon’s, leading on the right while Samalas took the left. Mejalna’s Squad, which had withstood the first wave, held doggedly to the center. Gradually, as ordered, they fell back, keeping the line unbroken. The coordinated retreat would buy time: behind them, the camp was in flight. The Mendales had tried to enclose them, but had mistaken the layout of the camp; they were able to open evacuation routes through the Mendale ranks.
The battle was chaotic, split by trees and brooks. Sight was hampered by a damp grey mist. There were reports that archers on both sides had shot into the wrong companies, namely their own, by accident. It was the first pitched fight Paither had ever been in, and he was expected to lead it.
His Squad saw him stride out of the mist with a newly burnished shield reflecting beams of light across his face. He seemed keen for the fight, and killed the first comer quickly, then brought the Squad around, giving up as much ground as he thought good. Even in the midst of this he was preoccupied by the startling encounter in the clearing. This abstraction gave him an air of distant authority that impressed every man in the Squad.They would have good tales to tell of him later; right now they were edging for places beside him. New Worshippers were created on the spot.
Later on when the withdrawal seemed in hand, he left his second officer in charge. Word had come that the evacuation was bogging down in confusion; he went to see. A messenger found him soon after. She was one of the tree sentries, and had been in the first fighting. There was a sword gash across her knee “I’m sorry, relas,” she panted. Blood loss made her thirsty. “They say the Mendale archer escaped through our lines. She‘s over to their side.”
Paither clenched his hands into fists. Mejalna said, “All right, let her go, what difference does it make? She’s not important any more.” They had come together for a hasty council.
“I don’t know what she is,” Samalas began, but Paither cut him off. “I do.” He made a visible effort to control himself. There were more immediate problems to contend with. “What do the outriders say, Mejalna?”
“We think the other camps are undiscovered so far.” Although tears of rage were streaking down her cheeks, her voice was steady. Her brief counterattack against the Mendales had begun well; then she had received the order to pull back. She was furious with Samalas, who had first ordered them ahead; she was furious with Paither, who was calmly abandoning their headquarters; she was furious with the Mendales, who had butchered her friends on all sides; most of all she was furious with herself. She knew, as if it were a natural law of the gods, that the camp had been discovered through her. Someone must have followed her from MenDas.
“Good,” Paither said. “Those with bread baker skills should try to get through to their Guilds over the next day or two. Traders, smiths, harpers – does everyone have another identity to fall back on?”
“Most,” Samalas answered. “Only some of the officers and camp sentries are without, and a few of the servants. But I think some of them can join the Lindahne quarter in MenDas, at least if the city gates are open.”
“That’s a good idea. But will they keep their mouths shut? I don’t want even other Lindahnes to know –”
“Of course,” Samalas said, stung. “They’re trained.”
“Of course. How many will that leave, who’ll have to make it to the other camps right now?”
> Mejalna shrugged, astonished, but Samalas had already figured the numbers. “Perhaps fifty. And we have just more than half that number of horses.”
“All right, we’ll have to ride double, but that’s going to slow us down.”
“The Mendales are certain to find the other camps now,” Mejalna protested. “What’s the good of running there?”
“It’s only temporarily. We need the time to reorganize. As soon as we can, we’ll disband them. Samalas, can we get the word out to everyone?”
“I’ll see to it myself.”
“Thank you. Now, for the horses –”
“Relas?” Samalas asked.
“Yes?”
“Where am I telling them all to go? I mean afterwards, when they’re safe, and we can start to regroup. If you’re going to disband the other camps, where will we make our new headquarters?”
“Tell them to go home as soon as they can.”
There was a puzzled silence. Samalas said, “Home?”
“Yes. To Lindahne. It’s more than time.” He turned his back on their gapes and walked away. Only one more decision now, and the most perplexing. He’ll have to go back, one thought said, while another answered, But I can’t let him go.
Nichos and Pillyn were waiting for him. Pillyn was still wrapped in her husband’s cloak as a mantle of protection. Two or three Defiers stood by, uneasy: they considered the Tribune a prisoner, one the Mendales must be looking for right now.
Paither waved the group away and they retired to a respectful distance. Pillyn noticed how easily he commanded them. She had always looked for Rendell’s virtues in him, but in the past few days she had seen more and more of Dalleena royal.
“Father,” he began, but Pillyn burst out, “She’s dead, she’s dead, that can’t be her!”
“No, Mother. You said yourself you never found the baby’s body. Somehow she survived. That woman was my sister. Ennilyn, as you say she was named.”
“Oh, I know the mark, but it doesn’t make sense. A Mendale archer! You can’t be sure.”
“Listen to me.” He fixed his eyes on her. “I know this.”
“How?”
“Through Nialia.”
Nichos made an incomprehensible sound. Pillyn demanded, “When? How?”
“When the girl touched me... I knew.”
“In the name of the gods! You’re not a Nialian!”
He grinned suddenly. “No. But my mother was. Father, you’ve heard the girl escaped? She knew enough to call me relas. When she gets back, all of Mendale will know that you’ve been harboring a rebel lin all these years.”
“I know,” Nichos said.
“But that girl doesn’t know you’re our son,” Pillyn protested. “She –”
“She had a good look at me. I may not be beautiful, Mother, but my face is certainly memorable, wouldn’t you say? When the Tribunes hear that a man of my height and coloring, with a distinctive facial scar, is the new Defier leader... and I just happen to be missing... well, it won’t take much to figure it out.” Pillyn drew Nichos’s cloak closer around her. He added, “I’m sorry, Father. But you’ll be safe with us. We’re going to ride out soon.”
“I’m going home,” Nichos said. Pillyn shivered again.
Tell them to go home as soon as they can. “You can’t,” he said. “You’ll be arrested. Hanged as a traitor.”
“Haol will have to catch up with me first. With a good horse we’re only two or three days here from our estate. By the time the Assembly gets word, even if they send soldiers after me right away, I can be gone. I’ll outrun them.”
“But run to where?”
Nichos shrugged, an apathetic gesture foreign to him. Clearly he was holding something back. But what? Paither wondered. Sorrow or fear? No, anger.
He was describing an improbable plan of establishing a new breeder farm in another part of the country, where he would not be known, and could call himself by another name. “From there we’ll wait out whatever storm your people are whipping up,” he ended.
Paither looked at his mother. Her eyes were fixed on the ground. He said carefully, “Going back to the estate is too dangerous. You must both come with me.”
“I have a child to consider.” Nichos’s gaze shifted to his wife’s bowed head. “We have a child to consider, Pillyn. And there’s your brother Temhas and Baili to think of as well.”
“Yes,” Pillyn said, but she was not thinking of them.
“Mother, you’re a Lindahne. You belong with me.”
“She’ll have a home with me, somehow, somewhere. What are you offering her? Flight? Danger? She can’t face that again. No, listen to me! Do you have any idea what she’s already lost in her life? She’ll be safe with me. She’s always been safe with me.”
“Everything is different now! I can –”
“Stop it,” Pillyn whispered.
Nichos asked, “Are you coming with me? Pillyn. Look at me. Are you coming with me?”
She had never loved him enough. She had never been able to return what he so freely gave her, and nothing, no, nothing, had ever made up for it. It was not a question of her daughter, or of her brother either, waiting at home. If she had ever truly returned his passion, if she had truly given him all the days and days of profound love he deserved – if she had ever repaid her debt to him – she would be free now. She would have the right to cast in her lot with her people, to stay with the boy-man she had claimed as her own, with a love that had devoured all the rest of her heart. If she had.
But she hadn’t.
She saw the despairing fear beneath her husband’s stillness. In a hollow somewhere inside her she felt, like the first stirrings of a new life, a creature of sadness which would grow within her. She said, “Yes.”
The Defiers around them were dancing with impatience. “Relas, please,” they called. “We must move out. The fighting’s coming closer.”
He cleared his throat and ordered them to fetch the fastest horse they had. Presently one returned leading a shining black. Nichos gave a gruff laugh: it had the brand mark of his own flighters. He swung up into the saddle.
Pillyn, still on foot, put one hand on his leg above the calf and reached out with the other to grasp Paither’s wrist. She seemed to be trying to hold them together, to freeze them for eternal time on this one clearing of neutral earth. A stray thought of the strange girl (his sister, fleeing him, leaving him) passed across Paither’s mind. He heard Calli’s high-pitched giggle, Temhas’s voice slurred by wine, Baili’s cheerful whistle. He watched, appalled, as Pillyn withdrew her hand and climbed up beside Nichos.
“I have no family, then,” he said in disbelief.
“You have subjects now,” Nichos said. With difficulty he added, “And my love.”
“Relas, please,” the Defiers begged.
“I may never see you again.”
A faint smile came and went on Nichos’s lips. “I pray your gods will be kinder than that.”
Paither embraced their legs. The horse blew and pawed at the ground.
“Don’t kiss me,” Pillyn choked. “I can’t bear it.”
Nichos held out both dark hands, pink palms up, in the fashion of his people. Paither took them between his own. For the first and last time he behaved like a perfect Mendale son. He bent and touched his face to Nichos’s palms, and kissed the fingertips. He straightened. Then they were gone.
When it became clear that many of the Lindahnes were slipping from their grasp, the Mendale Bands became murderous. Mendale soldiers and archers were suddenly meeting each other in the field, the Lindahne units having slipped out from between them. Shivers of baffled fear ran across the Mendale army. The fighting became more savage. They pursued the fleeing Lindahnes wildly, breaking ranks, while the chilhis roared out vain orders. Few of the Defiers were taken alive by the angry soldiers, who continued their deadly thrusts even when surrender was offered.
Commander Dirrl was no longer so pleased. In fact, dissatisfaction nagg
ed at her. She had some Defiers as prisoners, true, but no one higher than a junior officer. They would have little to tell, even under beatings. The victory was substantial, of course (she had the lin bodies to prove it) but still...
Afterwards she scratched out her report to Tribune Haol, blotting the parchment. They would have to haul most of the dead lins back with them, as Tribune Rhonna thought the corpses would make a fine public display of Mendale triumph.
Corpses five days on the road at the fastest! And spring was breaking too; the air was warmer. Dirrl shook her head. Did the Tribune want to sicken all of MenDas? They’d use the hecor ointment, a preservative the locals swore by, but she had no faith in this peasant remedy. Well, that was politicians for you. Never any thought to hard realities.
Dirrl paused, then continued her writing. “If you permit me to suggest, please have mass graves ready. The display of the corpses must be as brief as possible. Perhaps burning would be better. I must also inform you many of the bodies are dressed in copies of our own army clothing, apparently in an attempt to escape...”
How many had gotten away, right through their own ranks? She suspected a high number. She still had patrols chasing these fugitives down, but the lins were good at hiding and fleeing (well, they’d been doing it for years, the cowards). The Tribunes would have to be informed, unfortunately, that she could not guarantee the Defiers had been wiped out in total. “... reason to believe some of them have, in fact, eluded our best efforts...” No need to speak of numbers, certainly not in writing. “Tribune Nichos, his wife and son are still missing. We have recovered Scayna of the Twelfth Archery Band, who was taken along with the Tribune. So that she may make her report quickly, I will send her on ahead of the army...”