by Duncan Lay
Huw looked around at the shocked faces of the other headmen and nodded. ‘I hate this more than most of you. But what choice do we have? Anyway, I have had enough of talking about it, because it makes me feel sick to the stomach to ally myself with that butcher. So decide now.’
‘We cannot decide now. This is too important and there is not enough of us here,’ Griff objected.
‘We are out of time and out of choices. Decide now,’ Huw said flatly.
There was no enthusiasm but they all raised their hands, even Griff, after a moment.
Huw pushed back his chair. ‘I go now,’ he said. ‘I leave behind Forland’s Prince Wilfrid. He is the guarantee we will get Rhiannon back, so take good care of him. Unless, of course, they hurt Rhiannon, in which case I want him torn to pieces.’
Caelin may not have been scouting any more but he could not entirely rid himself of the habits ingrained from a lifetime of checking what was around. So he was the first to spot the smoke behind them.
‘What is it, sarge?’ Harald puffed.
‘The elves. They’re burning the villages they come across,’ Caelin said hollowly.
‘But what about the people?’ Ruttyn asked.
Caelin said nothing. They had been passing people for the last couple of days. At first it was isolated farms but then, as they marched further and further south, it was villages. They had marched past a small town of perhaps a thousand people just that morning. Maybe it was that going up now, making a long column of smoke to add to the small trails they had seen earlier. The cavalry had ridden ahead to warn people to run, so the villagers had loaded up carts and wagons and begun walking. Except the army had caught up and then marched right past them, seeing frightened faces of men, women and children as they fell behind, watching in horror as they were left.
Worse, some of the soldiers were beginning to fall as well. Men would drop as though they had been struck, as tendons or muscles gave up under the strain, tearing and crippling them. Some soldiers tried to help their mates along and those with a pulled muscle could keep up if their mates carried everything but their armour. But, for those with torn ankles and knees, there was no hope. The sergeants took their weapons and armour, passing it out among the others, and left them there for the elves to find.
Ward had forbidden the men to carry any wounded, or stop for ordinary people.
‘This is an army. If we are to save all of Forland, we need to preserve you and your lives. It is hard but we shall take revenge for them,’ he told the men, an order passed down from the captains to the sergeants and then to the ordinary soldiers.
It was not a popular order. Every mile cost them one or two men and, with each one they marched past, their morale slipped a little more.
‘Thank the stars above my family’s miles away from here, to the east,’ Harald said.
‘We could have sat your wife’s mother in the middle of the road and let her defeat the elves by herself,’ Caelin suggested.
‘True. That might have saved a few lives,’ Harald agreed, but his heart was not in it.
‘How can we stand back and let these people die?’ Ruttyn wondered as they stamped past another pleading family.
‘We have our orders. The king knows what he is doing. The elves are using our own tactics against us,’ Caelin said.
The other two grunted. They had all been part of the Forlish armies that had beaten the southern countries by killing and burning until the southern warriors fought to protect their people — and got slaughtered.
‘We have all seen it. In trying to save a few hundred people, a whole country is lost,’ Caelin said.
‘Where is the king? Why does he not protect us?’ a farmer called indignantly. ‘I pay my taxes, you should take me along!’
His words were ignored but he went on shouting until a cavalryman rode up to him and silenced him with a kick, leaving him whimpering on the roadside with a broken jaw.
The soldiers looked away as they marched past. Most of the other refugees cowered, learning their lesson. Some had even slumped down, giving up on running away and instead waiting for their fate. But there was one woman who held up her little girl desperately.
‘Take her! She’s no weight at all! She’ll be a good servant! Take her with you! Leave us but take the children!’ she pleaded.
Rank upon rank of Forlish soldiers lowered their heads and kept marching.
‘You are not Forlishmen! You are cowards!’ she cried. ‘If you do not fight for us, then you deserve to die!’
That was the fear every man was carrying and Caelin could see her words affecting all who heard her.
A mounted officer fifty paces down the column was one of them. He turned in his saddle and his eye fell on Caelin, marching to the side with the distinctive stripe of a sergeant on his tunic.
‘Sergeant! Shut her up!’ he ordered.
Caelin had to think hard about stopping. He had become so fixated on just putting one foot in front of the other that coming to a halt was enormously difficult. Once he had done that, he threw a salute and turned around. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Harald’s and Ruttyn’s staring eyes, then they kept going, borne along by the flood of marching men.
‘What are you going to do to me? Kill me and my daughter to save the elves the trouble?’ the woman sneered at him as he approached.
He looked in her eyes and saw no fear there, only anger. She could have run and saved herself — for a little while, of course — as he would not have pursued. But she chose to stay instead. She was a typical farmer’s wife, he guessed. Certainly no beauty; her face showed the lines of stress and years of hard work. She was barely twenty summers but she looked far older, the strain of life on the land killing her youth as surely as the invading elven host would finish the rest of her life.
He reached out and grabbed her arms.
‘Shut up and listen, if you want your child to live,’ he said. ‘I’m going to hit you. Fall down. When I turn, grab me from behind and make me drop my carry pole. While we fight over that, slip your daughter into the bag at the bottom.’
He stared into her eyes, hoping she had understood what he was risking and what he was asking. If caught, he would be lucky just to lose his sergeant’s stripe and receive ten lashes. There was always the chance he would be killed for his trouble, but it was a gamble he was prepared to take.
‘Leave this place — run west. Stay here and you will die!’ he shouted loudly, then looked into her eyes. ‘Ready?’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
He shoved her away and down, then pointed at some of the other people lingering nearby.
‘We can’t take you with us. Go! Head west far enough and the elves will pass you by!’ he yelled, then turned, letting his carry pole drop a little on his shoulder.
Next moment, he felt a tug on his carry pole and released, letting it fall to the ground, spinning around in the same moment.
‘Leave me food at least!’ the woman cried, her fingers quick at the ties on the leather bag that dangled from the crossbars of his carry pole. The bottom one was empty, the food eaten, and Caelin swore loudly for the benefit of any watchers as she slipped her child inside and shut the leather laces with a quick jerk.
‘This is the king’s property. Find your own!’ he shouted as he picked her up by the arm.
‘Her name is Hild,’ she hissed. ‘She likes singing.’
‘I am Caelin. If you live, find me in Dunholm.’ Caelin drew back his hand. ‘I am sorry for this.’
He struck her around the head and picked up his carry pole, swinging it onto his shoulder with a grunt. He had grown used to the lighter load and his first few steps were heavy as he adjusted to the weight of the girl over his shoulder. What he would do if she started screaming or crying, he had no idea — he had not thought that far ahead. Making it through the next mile was all he had on his mind. He deliberately did not look over his shoulder, instead pushing his pace so he could catch up with Harald and
Ruttyn again.
The officer rode up and past Caelin. ‘Well done, sergeant. That woman’s still lying on the ground crying. She won’t be bothering our lads again.’
‘Aye, sir,’ Caelin puffed, the combination of the extra weight and the faster pace leaving him no breath for anything else.
Harald and Ruttyn refused to meet his eyes as he caught up to them. That was all to the good, as he fought to get his breath back. The extra weight was hurting every pace and he was happy to walk in silence until the order was passed down for a rest stop. He sank gratefully to the ground, pulling out his waterskin for a quick drink.
‘It doesn’t seem right, sarge,’ Ruttyn muttered.
Caelin looked up and around but every other soldier was lying down, too lost in their own misery to pay attention to what was going on.
‘I have been saving a treat for you lads. Bottom bag. Help yourselves,’ he wheezed.
Harald and Ruttyn still did not look happy with him but they shrugged and opened the laces up — only to recoil a moment later.
‘Sarge! There’s a little girl in there! She must have eaten the treat!’ Harald gasped.
Ruttyn slapped him over the back of the head. ‘Keep your voice down, fool!’
Caelin crawled across and the three of them gazed down at the little girl, wearing a dirty grey linen dress, lying in the bag, looking up at them. She was maybe three summers old and had her thumb in her mouth, regarding them with quizzical eyes.
‘What is she doing in there?’ Harald whispered.
Ruttyn looked up at Caelin with new respect in his eyes. ‘Clever move, sarge. Right under the nose of that officer as well.’
‘Her name’s Hild. We only have to keep her hidden for another day or so, until we find somewhere to hide her, or until we get back to the city.’ Caelin stretched aching muscles in his shoulders. ‘I’ll hide her behind my shield, wear my cloak as well.’
The girl had a small leather strap across her shoulders and Harald reached in to pull it around, revealing a small skin of milk. He tucked it into her hands and slipped the leather cap off. Instantly she lifted it to her mouth.
‘You’ve done that before,’ Ruttyn said.
‘Well, I’d rather look after a screaming, puking, shit-covered child than the wife’s mother.’ Harald shrugged.
‘On your feet, lads! Back up!’ the call went up the line.
‘What are we going to do with her? What if she starts crying?’ Ruttyn asked.
‘She’s going to have it better than us. Lying back, being carried by the sarge, with a bottle of milk. We should be so bloody lucky!’ Harald grabbed Caelin’s crossbow and hung it on his own belt. ‘We can all help a bit,’ he explained.
Ruttyn added Caelin’s helmet to his load, despite Caelin’s protests.
‘Can’t have you falling over, sarge,’ Harald said.
‘But what if we get caught? Now you’ll both be as guilty as me.’
‘Look on the bright side. We’ll get plenty of practice digging latrine pits.’ Ruttyn grinned.
Further up the column, Rhiannon watched as another cartload of despondent farmers was left behind, staring resentfully at the faster-moving soldiers.
‘Can’t you do something about them?’ she asked Ward.
‘What would you have me do? Our horses are in danger of going lame as it is. My cavalry are being forced to walk one mile in three. My soldiers are carrying all they can. I can always get new farmers. I cannot get a new army.’
‘If they left everything behind, and ran to the west or the east, they might escape the elven outriders,’ Edmund added. ‘But we know how this is done. Burn and kill until the army comes out to defend the farmers. But once the army is destroyed, the farmers have no hope anyway.’
Rhiannon remembered the arguments she, Huw and Sendatsu had back in Vales, talking about how many they could save. She had known Ward would be far more ruthless but to be able to ride past crying children without a backward glance — that was something she could never do. She looked over at a small cart trundling along at little more than a gentle walking pace, the old mule pulling four children, their parents and everything they owned.
‘With your permission, sire, I will give them a little hope,’ she said.
‘What will you do? My son’s life rests on your safety,’ Ward asked sharply.
‘Open a gateway in that tree for that family. Get them to safety.’
‘There are many families. Why that one?’
Rhiannon looked at him and realised he truly wanted to know. Whether he was seeking a weakness in her or merely curious, she was not sure.
‘I have to do something. I cannot save them all but if I do not save at least one, I don’t deserve the power I have been given.’
Ward stared at her, making her feel uncomfortable, as if she were an object rather than a person. It reminded her unpleasantly of when she had been a singer and dancer in his court; his eyes had devoured her. Once she had taken it as a compliment, now she knew better.
‘Edmund, take two guards and go with her. Make sure she stays safe,’ he said finally.
‘Thank you, sire,’ Rhiannon said. She knew she did not have to show deference to him, for her power was greater than anything he wielded, yet the habit was ingrained after her time at court.
She rode over to the family, Edmund and a pair of guards at her shoulder. The parents sprang down from the cart and bowed, waving their children down as well as the little party approached.
‘We mean no harm, sirs and lady. We just want to live,’ the farmer said miserably. ‘Please, spare my children.’
‘You will live if you do what I say,’ Rhiannon told him crisply. ‘Take only what you can carry in one hand and follow me. This is your last chance to go on breathing.’
The family looked at each other and at the overladen cart doubtfully.
‘Move, or I order my men to draw their swords! Do what she says!’ Edmund barked.
They exploded into movement, grabbing a few clothes and some food and racing after Rhiannon to a small stand of trees.
‘Cut me a staff from that oak tree, no thicker than a spear and no longer than one either,’ Rhiannon ordered.
Edmund nodded at the guards and they cut down a branch.
‘I shall open a gateway in this tree and transport you far to the east, to safety. Keep walking that way until you find shelter,’ she told them.
They stared dumbly back at her, obviously not understanding.
She sighed and opened a gateway some twenty miles to the east, then thrust the oaken staff into the tree to hold it open. The farmers and guards alike jumped back, crying out in surprise and fear.
‘As long as you hold that staff, you are safe. Let go of it and you will be lost,’ she told them. ‘Now take the staff and walk through the tree.’
They stared at her terrified and unmoving, and she swore silently.
‘Watch me. Do it like this,’ Edmund said encouragingly to the family. He grabbed hold of the staff and pulled himself along it, stepping through the tree and disappearing.
The family gasped in horror, one of the children crying out, then Edmund reappeared, pulling himself back and stepping out.
‘It is easy,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Just keep hold of the staff and you’ll step through to find yourself miles from here, outside the town of Dunholm. Trust me, it is safe. I have just done it.’
‘Your time is running out. Step inside or stay here and die,’ Rhiannon said through clenched teeth.
The mother was the first to respond. Holding the smallest child in one arm, she walked through, keeping hold of the staff. The other children began to wail as she disappeared but their father pushed them across to the staff.
‘Hold it with one hand, then reach across with the other, then reach across with the first hand.’ Edmund showed them and they followed his directions as they, too, vanished into the tree. Finally the father picked up the last child and followed them.
‘Thank
you,’ he said hoarsely.
‘Tap the staff three times when you are safe through,’ Rhiannon ordered.
He nodded nervously and disappeared. A few moments later she felt the taps on the staff and pulled it out of the tree, dropping it with relief.
‘Anyone got anything to eat?’ she asked, her stomach rumbling, as she leaned on the tree.
Edmund handed her a hard oatcake and she chewed and swallowed, washing it down with water from a skin.
‘Thank you,’ she said to Edmund, through her last mouthful.
‘It seemed a shame to go to all of that trouble, only to be frustrated by the foolishness of a few farmers.’ Edmund smiled. ‘Besides, I wanted to see for myself how good you were. I have travelled that way before, through a gateway opened by an elven traitor, and I was curious if you were their equal.’
‘So you were part of the group that attacked Dokuzen?’ Rhiannon straightened, looking down at the crumbs on her dress. Her more sensible tunic and trews outfit, which she had worn on the trip down to confront Sumiko, was stained by both blood and travel and Queen Mildrith had insisted on lending her one of her spare outfits. It was ill-fitting but at least it was clean. She brushed the crumbs away to keep it so.
‘I led the group,’ Edmund said.
Rhiannon looked carefully at him. He had argued with Ward to bring along at least some of the children they were passing, and he had helped her then. Yet he had been the one to take Asami, Retsu and the others prisoner.
‘I did what I was ordered, what I believed to be the best thing for my king and country,’ Edmund said softly and Rhiannon saw he was reading her thoughts.
‘Well, I thank you for your help. It would have been humbling to go back to the king with nothing to show for my efforts.’
‘That had better be the last of those tricks though — you are going to need all your strength,’ he warned.
Rhiannon sighed. ‘It just seems so cruel, to walk past women and children, knowing we are leaving them to die.’