Insurgency (Tales of the Empire Book 4)

by S. J. A. Turney

  She heard a muttered curse, and then the footsteps began descending towards them. Again, she hunkered down under the blanket with the maid and again the footsteps stopped at this floor. Then, bringing panic to both women, the heavy boots clomped into the room. There was another pause as the man surveyed the circular chamber in the almost dark, trying to discern anything of interest. Jala held her breath and the silence was so intense that she could hear the guard’s breath as he scanned the room. Then the boots approached them.

  Jala gripped the heavy, long iron spike tight and tensed.

  The soldier grasped the blankets and yanked them away.

  He was far more surprised at what he found than they were to see him. His eyes bulged and he fumbled for the blade sheathed at his side. Clearly he’d not expected to find anything, let alone the very thing he’d been tasked with. Before he could recover from his surprise and leap into action, the two women were on him.

  Jala had listened to endless sour and unpleasant conversations between Quintillian and Titus on swordsmanship and killing blows. She knew enough to know how to kill, even if she wasn’t practised in the art. The neck. The armpit. The groin. However, the man wore a shirt of mail sewn onto leather that hung to halfway down his thigh, protecting most of his torso, and the empress was crouched on the floor. Unable to reach a killing point, she settled for the most certain blow available.

  The spike jammed down through the leather of the man’s boot, through the soft foot with the crunch of fragile bones, and into the leather sole beneath, only stopping as it struck the stone floor. Even as he screamed and looked down, Nisha snapped her teeth shut on the hand that was reaching for the sword. The man’s panicked, agonized eyes ripped away from the maimed foot to the mad, one-eyed woman hanging off his hand like some sort of giant, maddened rodent. Howling, he shook his savaged hand, but the teeth gripped firm into bone and muscle. Nisha wasn’t being moved. He slapped at her head with his free hand, still unable to move her, but his attention had shifted from Jala, and that would be a fatal mistake. The empress ripped the spike from the foot, blood bubbling up through the hole in the leather, and rose, unfolding like the fury of sand devils. As the soldier realized his peril and his gaze turned back to her, the glistening, sticky iron piton slammed into his left eye, driving deep, deep into the brain.

  He fell, gasping, and lay on the stone flags shaking and gurgling. As he collapsed, Nisha had the presence of mind to unclench her teeth and spit out the severed digit.

  ‘Now get ready to move,’ Jala breathed.

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Because when this man doesn’t join his friends at the end of the valley in half an hour they’ll know something’s wrong and this valley will be crawling with Halfdan’s men. We have to be long gone by then. I heard where the man’s going and about two rivers, one of which we’re going to have to cross shortly. I want to be across that river tonight. I know you’re exhausted. So am I. But we can’t sleep until we’re on the other side of that river.’ She gave a hard grin as she crouched by the body. ‘At least now we have a sword, a dagger and a purse of money.’

  Chapter XX

  Of Journeys and the Future

  The sun glowed a hot orange low in the western sky. Jala and Nisha climbed a slope rather reminiscent of the one beneath the old watchtower with now-practised, weary ease. It had been a fraught three days following one of the most heart-stopping nights of their lives.

  Leaving the watchtower, they had descended the way they’d arrived, along the southern, unwatched slope. It had been a swift flight and a panic-filled one, despite the lack of immediate pursuit. In Jala’s opinion, it would not have been more than an hour before the three men waiting at the shrine at the valley’s eastern end decided to head back and search for their missing man. Another quarter-hour riding, then a quick search, and she could only estimate that within an hour and a half the enemy would be looking for them in force again. The big question was what the petulant one would do. Would he immediately race off to report to Halfdan and bring the majority of the group back into the search, or would he and his small party scour the hillside and valley first. The latter seemed the most likely possibility. A man like that would not want to report to his master as a failure, and would only do so as a last resort.

  In the end, it seemed that must have been what had happened. Surely, if the man had run to Halfdan, the enemy would have been waiting at the river. As it happened, Jala and Nisha ran like madwomen with the swirl of sand devils after them, down the slope, along a dry streambed curving around the southern end of another hill to stay as far from the valley as possible, then over a hilltop where a ramshackle farm had been built amid the ruins of some ancient long-gone settlement. Fortunately, the farm’s owners were abed and the fugitives passed by unnoticed. From there they were afforded a view of a small town – more of an overgrown village, really. This they presumed to be Raetis, where Halfdan and his men would be waiting. Two sizeable rivers met at a confluence just beyond the settlement, forming one great snake, silvered in the moonlight, writhing its way east to the sea.

  It took two hours from that hilltop to reach the river, now a total of three-and-a-half since they had fled the tower. Crossing the great torrent had proved to be more than just troublesome. There were boats, but they were all tied up at ramshackle jetties by houses belonging to fishermen and it would be far too risky to take one. There were no bridges, and the ferries that would be found in the larger settlements would leave an obvious trail. Now that Jala knew they were in Aldegund’s allies’ lands, she couldn’t trust a single human they came across. That left only one possibility, and it was not an attractive one. She could only hope that when Halfdan had said they would leave evidence at the river he had not counted on their willingness to try the impossible.

  Swimming.

  Both she and Nisha could swim – had learned in the great baths of the imperial palace in Velutio. But only a lunatic would attempt to swim a wide and fast-flowing wild river, especially at night, exhausted and – in one case – with wounded hands. And that was what she had relied upon. But even then, it was all about obfuscating. She was under no illusion that Halfdan would lose her trail. Eventually, he would pick it up, but every hour she bought them took them an hour closer to home.

  And so they doubled the danger. They took an impossible task and made it worse. The two women walked out onto the riverbank at an area of stones where they would leave no prints for the morning, and gingerly plunged into the cold water. It took only two or three strokes for Jala to realize how little chance she had of making it with the sword, so she unbuckled it, letting it sink into the black depths where it would leave no trace to be found by the hunters.

  Then the two of them swam out into the middle of the great river. The current was worse even than she’d expected, and her and Nisha were dragged along and battered from side to side, smashed by lapping water as they struggled to stay afloat. Swimming became more a matter of staying up and taking a breath than actually attempting to move in any direction, but that was fine by Jala, for that was her plan.

  If Halfdan could bring himself to believe that they had swum the river, then he would assume they would take the narrowest crossing and stay as far from potential viewers as possible. To do so they should now be swimming against the current. Instead they had surrendered themselves to it, choking, coughing, floundering, battered and oft-submerged, carried relentlessly downstream. Only as the lights of the large village became visible through the endless struggle did they try to propel themselves, moving across the central flow of the river with painstaking effort, such that if the current carried them to the edge it would be at the far side, and not the jetties of Raetis.

  And so, half drowned and in desperation, the two women were borne by the spirits of the great rivers into the confluence, where they found themselves dragged into the depths half a dozen times, needing every ounce of their strength to pull themselves back up into the air for a breath. And somehow, afte
r a few minutes in the water that felt like a century, they were past the meeting of two rivers and being carried by one of the empire’s greatest watercourses down to the east. Nisha tried to make it to the shore, but Jala stopped her and they foundered and panicked on along the river until the lights of Raetis were little more than the twinkle of fallen stars in the distance.

  When they finally washed up on the southern bank of the great river, neither of them had enough strength even to crawl out of the water. Both lay there, submerged still from the hips down, flat on their backs, gasping for air.

  The sun had already climbed some way into the arc of the sky by the time they awoke, still half in the water, the gentle clonk of bells announcing the presence of a herd of goats that wandered the low slope munching on what little vegetation they could find.

  The women had survived. And, given that they had spent the first few hours of the day unconscious in the wide open and had not been caught, it seemed that Jala’s gambit had paid off and the pair had bypassed the ghost and his men. They would be impossible to track along the river itself, and the enemy would be highly unlikely to think of looking right under their noses for signs of passage. Jala and Nisha had bobbed past their hunters by probably not more than a hundred paces, completely unseen.

  The ghost would eventually locate their track. Within the day he would have found where they reached the river, she was certain, and then it would be a matter of spreading out and searching up to five miles of the far bank. It would be a miracle if they had left no sign for the man to follow, but it would take a long time for him to get back on the trail, and that bought them much needed leeway.

  Despite only having slept for perhaps four hours in the water, the night had felt like the most blessed and reinvigorating slumber they had ever had, and their new reserve of energy as they rose had been surprising and welcome.

  Once more Jala had begun her tactic of zigging and zagging, using the most helpful terrain. They stayed away from the river, running roughly parallel with it but up in the hills, in order to avoid any chance of bumping into Halfdan’s scouts. And now, as they clambered up that hill on their third day from the tower, the two women were beginning to feel a glimmer of hope deep within. They had managed to scavenge food each day – mostly fruit – and had achieved at least four hours a night sleep each, taking turns on watch. Nisha’s gravel-bitten hand was nearly healed, pink skin growing in the ravaged surface.

  Another day of freedom.

  Jala glanced at Nisha by her side, and the maid had a most unusual smile on her face. She’d hardly had cause to smile since their capture, but now she looked something of her old self, even taking the eye into account.

  The hill was the shape of an upturned boat and rose slightly higher than those surrounding it, which would afford them a good view of the terrain to come. It also bore no structures, which made it safer. Atop were just a collection of rock stacks carved by ages of howling wind. Even now, despite the good weather and the warm season, the wind cut down the valley and hit the boat-hill, passing by in both directions and whistling over the top. The two women climbed the last few paces of the slope and rounded one of the huge weathered stacks, peering off into the east.

  Jala drew a stunned breath and beside her Nisha’s smile blossomed.

  The hills stretched out the same as the ones they had passed now for days, built of stratified layers and cut through by dusty brown valleys. The great river still wavered and coiled east some way over to their left. A town lay maybe five or six miles away. But none of these were what drew their breath from them.

  Far off – at least two days’ walk yet if not three, but perfectly visible nonetheless – they could see the shimmering surface of the Nymphaean Sea glittering in the fading light. The lands around the sea belonged to the western provinces, but regardless, the ports and settlements on that coast would hold close to the emperor and to Velutio, and Halfdan and his master would hold little sway in the coastal lands. Plus, Pelasians would be more common there. Jala felt sure that once they reached the sea, they would be safe. From there, the return to Velutio and her husband would be a certainty.

  Not to Quintillian, though…

  She shook her head and pushed away that thought angrily. Her duty was to her husband, and she could not wait to see him once more.

  ‘A view fit for kings, eh?’ said a voice behind them.

  Jala, startled, turned, half expecting Halfdan and his men to be standing behind them, though there seemed little chance of that. Instead, an old man leaned against the rock stack, idly gnawing on a chicken leg. The empress realized her hand had gone automatically to the dagger at her side, their only real weapon with the sword now at the bottom of the river.

  The old man wore a tunic and long trousers in the style of northern barbarians, but his hair was shorn and he was beardless in the imperial manner. He did, however, have a strange tattoo on one side of his face that seemed to be made up of black whorls and patterns, and silver rings in his ears.

  ‘They say this hill is where the great hero Aeduus, half-divine son of the archer god, is buried. He was a giant, you see.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Jala asked, trying not to sound nervous and suspicious. On closer examination, the patterns of his facial tattoo were made up of numerous stylized creatures and men.

  ‘I am Api. And this is my hill. Well, it’s Aeduus’s hill if it’s anyone’s really. In truth the land doesn’t belong to people – people belong to the land. Even the emperor only rents his tenure until the gods take him back, but the land will remain. We are nature’s pets, if you like.’ He smiled, and his teeth made an odd mosaic pattern of missing black spaces and square off-whites.

  Despite herself, Jala found a smile rising to her face. She could imagine the expressions of the men and women of the court if she espoused those sentiments in Velutio. It was a position hard to deny, though.

  ‘Api. Well met. I am Alaleh, and this is Fila.’

  ‘If you say so.’ The old man grinned with a worryingly knowing look.

  ‘We were taken by slavers but managed to free ourselves. Now we are trying to make it back to the sea.’ It was close enough to the truth, after all.

  ‘I see,’ Api nodded. ‘Chicken?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I have chicken. There’s enough to share.’

  Jala frowned, casting a sidelong concerned glance at Nisha, but the maid’s face removed any possibility of refusal. Nisha was almost drooling.

  ‘That would be wonderful, Api. Thank you. Though I do not wish to see you run short.’

  ‘There is plenty. I felt sure I would have guests.’

  The two women shared a glance as the old man turned and ambled past the rock. Jala and Nisha followed to find between this stack and the next a dip in the ground had allowed a cave to form. Bad memories of the forest and the boar leapt to mind, but overcoming it they followed the old man inside.

  The cave was clearly his home. The interior had been decorated with multi-hued paint as though it were the dining room of a wealthy villa. A small square of bricks and mortar off to one side formed a pool, and looking up they could see a water spout jutting out of the wall top, which would bring rainwater in from above on wetter days than this. The pool was perhaps half full. To the far side of the cave, which was surprisingly spacious, a fire burned in a small hearth that had been constructed by a man familiar with the builder’s craft. Meat roasted over the flames and the scent filled the space, bringing forth an endless chorus of rumbles from the stomachs of the two women. A low table sat in the middle, surrounded by cushions and rugs. It was oddly homely. As they moved into the centre, the old man lit three extra oil lamps in specially-carved niches on the walls and then returned to the entrance, heaving across a heavy brown drape that sealed them off from the outside, just a narrow gap at the top remaining to allow the gathering smoke from the fires to exit.

  Jala tried not to feel trepidation at the sudden loss of the world beyond, but she was more concern
ed to see that three plates sat on the table, along with three cups and two jugs. She filed that away to perhaps enquire about later as Api returned, removing more chicken from the fire and pushing it out onto the plates, dividing it evenly three ways. He then added beans and some sort of tuber that had been cut up and fried in a skillet. Jala waited politely, and Api laughed.

  ‘Sit. Eat. Only a poor host watches women starve to death at his table.’

  The empress sat quietly, making a point of removing her dagger and the iron piton and placing them to one side out of reach. Api seemed to be harmless, and she didn’t wish to offend him with weapons at her fingertips.

  ‘Before you find some subtle, dissembling way of asking,’ the old man said with a grin, ‘yes, you may stay the night here. I would give you my oath no harm would come to you, but in these days when man rules and the gods are all-but lost to us, a man’s word might as well be written on the water for all the weight it carries. But for what it’s worth, I promise you a safe night on the names of Aeduus and his father, Aphollion. The old gods are still close for some of us.’

  Curious, Jala thought that it took a strange hermit in a cave to espouse the values of the pious when it was now the norm in the forward-looking empire to only invoke the gods as a curse or when danger loomed. Pelasians, in her opinion, were considerably better at observing appropriate ritual and maintaining a true belief. Somehow, despite knowing nothing of Api, she felt sure they were safe.

  Nisha, beside her, had not stood on ceremony, and at the old man’s words had sunk to a cushion and immediately begun to dismember a chicken with her teeth. Api glanced at her and smiled, gently sliding a knife and a two-pronged fork across to her.

  ‘Wine?’

  Jala frowned, then nodded and smiled. Api poured for the three of them, watering it three parts to one, and when the empress took an experimental sip, she was most surprised and delighted to taste the rich, thick tones of a fine Germallan.