Insurgency (Tales of the Empire Book 4)

by S. J. A. Turney

  A woman? Now that was a surprise. It was not unknown for women to take on the role of warriors in the eastern provinces, and in the ancient days it was said there were whole tribes of them. But still, a woman with a sword was a rarity, even in the fighting pits. This woman might well have come from those very contests, looking at the ugly scar that began below her left ear and carried on down over her collar bone and beneath the neckline of her tunic. Her blade was a cheap one, though functional and obviously well used. She was a possibility. If Quintillian had been master here, he’d have considered her, at least. She was broke, obviously. Her clothes and blade were clearly the last things she owned, and she had that look of someone who has been going hungry recently, though her body-muscle disguised any approach of malnutrition. Was she still strong enough to fight properly, or was she already weakened? It was hard to tell without putting her through her paces. She would certainly be a gamble, even if she performed for them. But a gamble that might pay dividends.

  The boy he easily brushed aside. He was disconsolate. A tearful runaway. Ha! There was irony. A beaten servant or abused or homeless child fled here for a new start only to find himself on a level field with a prince of the realm. Only he couldn’t know that, of course. And it wasn’t really a level field, as the lad would soon find out when he drew that toothpick. No, the boy was a no-go.

  The northerner was another gamble. He was clearly at home with his blade, and the way he stood suggested he was equally comfortable in the saddle. But there was something about his eyes that spoke of unpredictability. Possibly even defiance. Could he be trusted to do as he was told? Because obedience would be as important as ability here. Perhaps…

  The last man, though, he could see would most definitely be joining them. He stood with a hunter’s poise, a bow over his shoulder and quiver at his side. But that was not what made him stand out for Quintillian. Nor even was it the soldier’s sword at his side that so clearly marked him as a military veteran. What marked him was that he was weighing up his companions in the same manner as the prince. His eyes met Quintillian’s and something passed between them in a single glance. An approval of a kindred spirit, perhaps? A recognition of an equal…

  They were drawn back to the tent by a clapping of hands as a large man emerged. He was not a young man, his age perhaps just past 50 summers, and his middle had run to a paunch, but there was a hardness about him despite it all. His face was etched with lines of care and hard work, his hands were big and calloused, and his arms had that peculiar jutting out that spoke of bicep muscles just a little too large to sit comfortably alongside his barrel chest. He wore a loose-fitting robe of light cotton, not black like the Pelasians, but dazzling white like the nomads who lived in the deep desert on their periphery. His curly black locks were held back by a gilded cord. His boots were expensive but solid and well-worn. His appearance overall spoke of wealth and influence, but tempered with common sense and practicality. Quintillian instantly approved of the man.

  ‘You, you and you,’ the man said, gesturing at the boy and the twins, ‘I’m afraid I have no work for you at this time. My apologies and I hope you secure gainful employment this day elsewhere. Take a single corona for your time from my guard as you leave.’

  Disconsolately the three trooped out. The woman, the northerner, the soldier and Quintillian shared glances.

  ‘On this particular trip my overheads are necessarily tight,’ the merchant went on in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘and I can manage only three more guards at the sort of wage you will be willing to accept. You all seem eminently capable to me. I have no intention of setting you to fighting to prove your worth. I am sure you are all more than competent with your blades, and we are not barbarians here. Tell me in one sentence why I should hire you. You first.’ He gestured to the former soldier.

  ‘Because I know the terrain and can help feed you.’

  The rich man nodded approvingly. ‘You, woman?’

  ‘Because even now you are underestimating me.’

  The man chuckled and nodded. ‘What about you, northerner?’

  The fair-haired mountain man shrugged. ‘Because you’ll find no better today.’

  ‘Resolve and confidence. I approve. What of you, mister riding leathers?’

  Quintillian pursed his lips. ‘Because I require no payment.’

  The other three frowned at him, and the rich man narrowed his eyes. ‘That makes me nervous, mister horseman. If you’re not in it for the money, then you’re either doing it for excitement and adventure, which are the most appallingly dangerous reasons, or you’re desperate to get away from something, which makes me even more troubled. Would you care to enlighten me?’

  Quintillian shrugged. Some lies had to be kept but others did not. Some truths might help glue together the shield of fiction that surrounded him

  ‘I have to admit to a burning curiosity about the lands to the east. But that is not the reason for my presence, which owes more to my rather pressing need to leave something behind. So, in essence, I’m everything you fear. But the main reason I do not seek payment is because I need no money. Feed me and house me and I am content. And I am not a man given to precipitous action, either, so worry not on that count. Given what you intend, unless you have another reason to turn me away you cannot afford to leave guards behind. If I seek no payment, you can afford all four of us.’

  The man frowned for a while, then looked around at the others. ‘Are you all comfortable with this?’

  ‘So long as he doesn’t get in my way,’ the northerner grunted.

  ‘Me too,’ purred the warrior woman.

  The soldier looked him up and down. ‘Whatever he’s running from it’s not going to touch you,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s personal, not legal or brutal. I’ve seen that look in men who fled bad situations to join the army.’

  After a considerable pause, the rich merchant stretched and nodded. ‘Very well, then. All four of you. I already have thirteen men in my permanent employ, but I lost three on the last trip to a fever contracted around some flea-bitten lake in the east. Be assured that you will work on this journey, and you will work hard. And the dangers are almost uncountable. From raiders to illness to weather disasters to bad-tempered toll-collectors to madmen to mountain sickness to parasites to prowling predators as big as a man and bigger… you have never taken a trip in your life as fraught with peril as this. Be under no illusion. You will earn your money. Or your food, in one case. This is not a journey for the faint of heart. If you are going to endanger the entire caravan better you turn back now. Anyone wish to step out?’

  Predictably, silence met his words.

  ‘Very well. We will be leaving a little after the second morning bell. By noon I intend to be out of sight of Velutio entirely, and we strike east as far and as fast as we can today. I have a dedicated regular campsite by the Tyras River, near Argaela. That is a lot of leagues from here, and it will be dark before we arrive, but I intend to push hard for several days. Once we pass outside imperial borders towards the lands of the Inda, we will by necessity move slower and with a great deal more care, so we make up what speed we can upon the safe metalled roads of the empire early on.’

  Nods all round.

  ‘You,’ he gestured to the soldier. ‘You said you know the terrain? How so?’

  The man shrugged. ‘I was posted out there with the Third Army on the eastern border for almost a decade. I was a scout, both mounted and foot at different times, and in the line of duty I have forayed more than a hundred miles beyond the borders both into Inda lands and into the steppes of the horse clans. I’m familiar with what territory we’ll meet at least until we hit the high mountains.’

  The man rumbled his approval once more. ‘Good. In eight days we will cross the border, if all goes as planned. From there we skirt the steppes, as they are too dangerous to cross. The Inda are content to let caravans pass through their lands in return for what they consider extortionate taxes due to their lack of understanding of
western coinage, but are in truth a pittance. Inda lands are an endless repeat of swamp and sweltering jungle until we reach the foothills of the mountains. There we turn north, neatly skirting the edge of the horse lords’ lands and moving through the realm of the mountain nomads. They are herders and will trade with us. Our main dangers up there will be from nature and the gods. Then we will descend to the Kan-Chalad basin, where there is a great city built long ago by some forgotten king, but which serves as a central market for thousands of miles of grassland. There we can make a huge profit and still resupply. Then we are down into the lands of the eastern kingdoms of the Jade Emperor, where we will be endlessly harassed by officials, soldiers and tax collectors until we finally reach distant Jiong-Xhu by the sea, where we will unload the last of our western wares and acquire silk for the return journey. The entire trip will take nine months if we are very lucky. I have known more than a year to pass on a single trip. Right, get yourselves ready.’

  Behind the man, two of his servants had begun to unfurl a huge, hand-drawn map of the route. The other three moved across and began to pore over it, examining what they were to face. As the merchant disappeared inside once more, leaving the new guards to gather their belongings and prepare to move off, Quintillian stepped to the far side of the circle and looked back and up.

  Above the canvas surround, beyond the impressive city walls, he could just see the towers of the imperial palace on the crest of the hill in the distance. Nothing there would appear untoward at the moment. Then, as noon passed and Kiva began to wonder why he’d not seen his brother, questions would be asked. It would transpire that he went out for a ride, and all would then be well again until nightfall, when he still had not reappeared. Worry would then creep into the palace. More questions, and then a search of Quintillian’s rooms. Kiva would see what he’d taken and know that he went on purpose and with no intention of returning in the foreseeable future, so they would all be spared the worry that he had been injured or kidnapped. No, he had left of his own accord. And Kiva would trawl back through all those pleas to be sent away and decide that it was all purposeful and connected.

  Which was good…

  …as long as he never worked out why.

  Behind Kiva, two camels on the far side of the canvas snorted, reminding him now what lay ahead.

  Chapter II

  Of the Ephemeral Nature of Fortune

  The days seemed to pass in a blur of spring green, cloying brown and hazy golden sunshine, endless clouds of dust thrown up by the pack horses and camels, cart beasts and escort steeds, constant shouts, calls, herding of support animals, interminable unscheduled stops to repack, check, rearrange and secure things. Quintillian hadn’t been sure what to expect from a trade caravan, but the sense of urgency and the importance of speed that the merchant had imparted during the hiring had certainly created a much different picture to this slow, irksome slog.

  Still, he was heading east. No matter how slow and interrupted his steps might be, each one took him further from the capital and closer to the strange and exotic world of the silk lands. And at least the weather had been kind thus far, the sun a pleasant warmth rather than a blistering heat, with no hint of rain or fog, though Quintillian could only be grateful that he was atop his horse rather than walking alongside the pack animals like some of the handlers. Any man with experience of military command knew how awful very dry weather could be for a column of men and animals on the move. Even on the horse he had to keep his scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face to ward off the stifling dust. Those on foot moved amid a constant thick cloud of it, and every other footstep was planted in the fresh dung of one animal or another.

  Fourteen days they had travelled so far, passing outside the central provinces after the first seven and moving from dusty highway to dusty highway among the sparser, less organized eastern provinces. Out here the cities were older, belonging to a civilization long gone, said to be the progenitor of the Western Empire, and every town or village they passed held the carved and constructed memories of that disappeared world, from graceful arches supporting nothing to great crumbling auditoria now used to contain herds of animals.

  Though he would have to admit that the majority of the reason for it was his avoidance of pondering his problems, the anonymous prince had found a certain fascination in the journey, even thus far, inside his own lands. He had travelled in the east, of course, but only ever at speed on imperial business or at the head of an army. Neither situation had afforded him the time to pause and look about on his journey, and now he was relishing the fact that he could examine and take in this strange, decayed glory that surrounded them.

  Ahead, he could see the barbarian northerner – Gisalric his name was, apparently – deep in conversation with the woman – Danu – who was busy polishing a nick from the edge of her belt knife as they rode. The pair were… friendly wasn’t the word. They were accommodating. They allowed him his privacy and his secrets, since he made no attempt to draw from them their stories beyond the few facts they revealed on a daily basis. The four new arrivals were billeted together and travelled close by, assigned to one of the rear sections of wagons where the strings of support animals were also led. It was clearly not that they were not trusted, for in this position, heading into the unknown as they were, everyone had to be trusted – there was no real alternative. It was more that they had not yet earned their place in the hierarchy of the caravan, and until they were accepted they felt more comfortable keeping their own company.

  Quintillian – Quintus as he was known to these people – had formed an odd bond early on with the ex-soldier in their group. Asander shared more in common with him than did the others, and they both knew it. Asander had addressed the group during the evening meal on their first day and commented that everyone had their secrets, but comrades had to know something of one another else they could not hope to work well together. He would answer one question about himself each day, and suggested the others follow suit. In those first few days it had become clear which questions were not going to be answered, but less revealing and less harmful ones were, and slowly the group came to know one another a little better. And the more they learned, the easier it was to share. Quintillian had even given a somewhat glossed-over and vague version of his true reason for being there, a hopeless love shared by his brother’s wife, but that he had to leave lest their family and holdings collapse through romantic disaster. It was true, just not quite what ‘holdings’ were at stake.

  Ahead there was a shout – a familiar one by now, and the column rumbled slowly to a halt so that some unknown mercantile personnel could attend to the latest impediment. Quintillian, pulled from his reverie, peered on down the valley. The dust here was worse than usual, for a seasonal stream had dried up after the winter and left the valley floor grimy and powdered, the grass a stubby brown variety that had little life to it. To the right, the slope was steep and covered in a scree that only added to the choking air, stacks of oddly-shaped rock above them looking like petrified monsters dotted along the crest of the hill. Trolls, Gisalric had told them in earnest tones the night before, when they’d first seen them. To the left, the valley side was much more gentle, sloping up with a covering of that same brown grass, giving way here and there to patches of bare rock.

  ‘You served out here?’

  Quintillian turned in surprise to see Asander reining in alongside him.

  ‘I did. Not specifically here, of course. My unit was active south of here near Lappa. I was with the cavalry of the Third Army, not the settled border forces.’

  ‘You know how close we are to the border right now, Quintus?’

  Quintillian frowned. His eyes drifted up that gentle brown slope to the stone tower that jutted up like a fang into the cerulean sky. That was one of the border outpost towers. Of course, they weren’t due to pass out of eastern lands for another 12 days, but for a while before that they would run parallel with the border where it took an east-west angle. He bl
inked. On the other side of that hill was terra incognita. Except to Asander, of course, who had worked this border during his service.

  ‘I’d not realized. When did we get so close?’

  ‘About three hours ago. That’s when I saw the first tower. There’s been one every mile since then.’

  ‘Must be like home to you.’

  Asander shook his head. He wasn’t smiling. ‘I do not like this, Quintus.’

  ‘What?’

  The scout gestured up to the hilltop with an arm. ‘What do you see?’

  ‘A watchtower.’

  ‘Details, man. Details.’

  Frowning, Quintillian peered into the bright light, squinting. ‘I see the tower itself. I see the compound alongside for stabling and storage. I see a thin trail of smoke coming from the hearth outlet. Must have been cold up there last night.’

  ‘And the flag?’ prompted Asander.

  Quintillian peered. No. No flag. ‘Why no flag?’

  ‘Precisely. All the previous towers have had them, even if they were tattered. This one does not. It makes me nervous.’

  The prince opened his mouth to play down the minor discrepancy, but a shiver ran up his spine and settled on the nape of his neck, and suddenly he didn’t feel quite so much like playing it down.

  ‘Where are the birds?’ he noted quietly, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.

  ‘Indeed. Come on.’

  Asander kicked his horse’s flanks and drove the beast forward. Ahead, the rich master merchant, Nikos, was deep in discussion with one of his men who was pointing at a broken cartwheel and gesticulating wildly as his men tried to prop the cart up to mend it. Quintillian rode in his friend’s wake and reined in near the merchant.