When he got the horse’s head up and had established control, he looked over at Lerien for approval.
Lerien gestured that they should get out, and Ketar gave a roar of disappointed protest. The scene around them had fallen into a momentary lull. Slaves were lying injured or dead, and many more were running away from the formation, Pharician and Clan alike. Smoke blew sideways through charred grass. To his left Lerien could see a group of supply carts surrounded by Slaves, but the group seemed to be breaking up and some were running away from the conflagration. Others were attacking each other.
Yet he could not count on this chaos to last. The army was huge and it had been well-ordered. He couldn’t hope to cripple it, only to sting it and then get out with as many men as he could. Lerien spotted a handful of Seahawks hacking their way out from among the Pharicians. There was a great noise of hooves as well as the clash and shout of hundreds of men as they reacted to what was, within the scope of the whole army, a smallish incident.
‘Get out, Ketar,’ he ordered. ‘Take as many of ours as you can – but get out. If you get too ambitious, you’ll be trapped.’
Ketar obeyed with a snarl. Taro came within earshot again.
‘Shoot the riders!’ Lerien bellowed to him, seeing that all these were Pharician and therefore fair game. Then he spurred his horse against the tide of fleeing Slaves. Some of them fell in his path – the victims of each other’s arrows, he thought at first, before realizing that they had simply lost their minds. Well, he could not expect to recover them all. Another rider overtook him and then turned in the saddle, still riding hard, and fired a crossbow back at him. The bolt went wide as Lerien’s horse, growing winded, turned aside slightly; into this newly exposed line of vision came Stavel, his back turned as he trudged away from the fire. The Pharician bore down on the Wolf fighter, crossbow cocked. Lerien screamed a warning and Stavel turned, saw the danger, and threw both axes in succession. One bounced harmlessly off the corner of the boxy Pharician saddle. The other smacked into the Pharician’s helmet – as pretty as a song, Lerien thought, letting loose a spontaneous shout of appreciation – and unseated him. Lerien dug in his heels and rode down the fallen rider, jerking in the saddle as the horse’s hooves struck armour and bone; meanwhile, Stavel began trying to catch the loose horse, which was badly spooked by flames that now roared towards them through tinder-dry grassland.
Lerien turned his horse’s head into the fire and there was Kivi, staggering away through the surge of uncontrolled slaves. The Seer grabbed hold of Lerien’s boot for balance. He was breathing so hard he could barely speak, his cloak was gone, his sticks were charred, his face soot-blackened and his hair singed. There was blood on his boots and trousers, and his mouth was swollen and torn where someone had struck him a blow.
‘Tarquin … gone …’ he coughed, blinking smoke-reddened eyes. ‘Sekk Master—’ Here he broke off, shaking his head and coughing.
‘What happened?’ Lerien’s horse skittered sideways as a fleeing Slave made a wild gesture at it and then ran on, unseeing.
‘They fought … Sekk has a Glass … Company are … there, but Tarquin … gone.’
‘What do you mean, “gone”?’ Dead? In flight? Where has he gone?’
Kivi was shaking his head from side to side in wordless denial. ‘Something about … Glass. For a minute … spell … stopped. Men go free. Now … the Sekk … take over again.’
Lerien dismounted and gave the startled Kivi a leg up. ‘Ride,’ he commanded. ‘Wait for no one. Get away. Use the Eye to watch the army if you can. Look for me. I will join you when I can. Until then, ride as fast as possible for the Floating Lands, and get out of range of their horsemen. Engage with no one. If you See Mhani, tell her what has happened and get guidance. I will meet you when I can.’
He wasn’t sure if the Seer was taking in his instructions, but Kivi nodded and rode off. Lerien ran into the smoke.
He passed his own subjects, and while he was glad not to have to fight them – for the Slaving spell, if that was what it was, seemed to be suspended or even broken – the sight of them in such a condition made his throat thick. They didn’t seem to recognize each other, and where the Pharician cavalry rode, trying to restore order, many of the Clan soldiers allowed themselves to be trampled or cut down without resistance. When one of these riders made the mistake of trying to herd him like the others, Lerien was in the saddle choking him to death before the Pharician knew what had hit him. The king was furious, and though he believed that Tarquin was gone – probably through some new manipulation of the Knowledge about which it was best not to think too much – he had made up his mind that he would not turn back without mustering at least some of his people and leading them away from their Pharician oppressors.
Miro galloped up beside him, bow on his back and short sword already bloodied. He pointed into the fire and shouted, ‘Jakse!’ The Snake had just picked up an axe from among the bodies and was turning to face one of the Pharician elite guard on foot. Lerien winced: Jakse was no Wolf, and the axe would be wasted on him. Miro checked his horse, got off two shots against the rider, and then had to put away the bow again after his horse leaped sideways around a gout of flame, reared, and started trotting away from the fire. Lerien swept down on the Pharician and drove his sword through his ribs; the dead weight spun him around and almost dragged him out of the saddle. As the Pharician’s body hurtled past, all glimmering segmented armour, blood red helmet and flying black hair, two Deer fighters leaped back to avoid collision. They looked up at Lerien with understanding in their faces, and he was heartened.
Jakse looked dazed and weak.
‘Get up,’ said Lerien, manoeuvring his horse alongside the Snake. Then he raked the two Clansmen with his eyes. ‘You have been under the spell of a Sekk,’ he said. ‘If you want to stay free, get yourselves some horses from the Pharicians and ride after me. Bring as many of our people as you can rouse. Forget your shame and win back your lives.’
They touched their foreheads automatically in the age-old custom and ran off to fight. Taro climbed up behind Lerien, and the warhorse again turned to avoid fire.
‘Where’s Tarquin?’ Lerien asked, hoping for a better response this time. But Taro only clutched his arm and pointed to a sudden clearing in the smoke.
‘The Master comes,’ he said hoarsely. ‘We’d better get out of here. Fast.’
Lerien strained to see what kind of Sekk could rule so many men, but before the figure could resolve from the background of smoke, two Pharician riders swerved and came towards them, their horses bloodied and foaming.
‘Clansmen!’ cried Lerien, standing in his stirrups. ‘Flee the Sekk! Follow me or die!’
He whirled the horse and galloped away from the flames, seeking open space. Others of his party joined him, having acquired their own mounts somewhere along the way. But Lerien’s horse, burdened with two, could not run fast. Some of the Clansmen remained free and began to exchange shouts of recognition with each other; draw their weapons; run.
‘To me!’ Lerien shouted as he rode. ‘If you don’t trust each other, then follow me. But don’t turn and look at the Sekk.’
But even as he rode, some of the men were losing confidence, slipping back into Slavery as the mind of the Sekk and its mysterious Glass went to work on them. Lerien kept riding hard, making good ground against the remainder of the Pharicians, and wanting badly to believe that once they’d reached the higher ground, his fleeing men might escape the range of the Sekk’s control and fend for themselves.
Stavel, on foot, had gathered a group of mixed Clansmen and was marching them away, making them turn their backs on both the Sekk and their hostile compatriots, some of whom were consumed with the Sekk-induced madness that had slaughtered so many innocents in Everien. Lerien changed course to meet him and shouted terse instructions. ‘Get horses and follow us to the Floating Lands if you can. Otherwise – to the hills. Keep clear of the Sekk.’
Stavel raised his fist as
Lerien thundered by at the head of a growing band of Clan horsemen that formed a ragged wedge. The Pharicians seemed more preoccupied with rounding up and herding the errant Clansmen back into formation than with destroying the small band of riders, and soon Lerien found himself out of bowshot. He slowed his flagging horse and looked back.
The army had been lamed, but only because of the damage to the siege towers and the confusion caused by the fire. The ranks had begun to re-form themselves. Nearer to hand, the cavalry pursued deserters, but had not succeeded in capturing them all. He found himself hoping that there were more men hiding in the grass and scrub and ditches and that they would find their way to him. It was desperately important to him that he should save as many as possible from the fate of Slavery, even if he wasn’t sure how he was going to go on from here or what his next objective should be. He had been thinking on his feet when he’d instructed the others to get horses and meet him; now he wondered whether he might put together a solid enough force to brave the Floating Lands. They had come this far: surely it was worth trying for an Artifact?
His horse had caught a few breaths; now he pressed on. It was important that he gather his forces and make plans while the Pharician force was still regrouping. Any head start he could get now would pay dividends later, no matter what he decided to do. He needed to contact Mhani at once.
Daughter of a Daughter-Thief
The girl seized the collars of the dogs, which had been about to pounce. Before any of the others could react, Kassien had begun to run towards her, inspiring the animals to new heights of hysteria. Istar and the others trailed behind warily.
‘Saxifrage!’ the girl scolded. ‘Pebble! Behave yourself. You know Kassien.’
A laugh escaped Istar at such names being given to dogs the size of ponies. Pebble snarled at her. But when Kassien dropped to one knee and called the dogs, their behaviour transformed instantly. They began to whine and wriggle, and once released by the girl they bounded forward and bowled Kassien over, all tongues and tails.
‘Enough!’ he gasped, trying to get out from under Saxifrage, who was sitting on his chest. ‘Enough. Please. I surrender.’
Dhien stood over him, hands on hips, shaking her head in mock disbelief. ‘Do get up, Kassien.’
Kassien wiped dog saliva off his face and rose. The dogs transferred their attention to the rest of the group. Their hostility was undiminished, with Pebble taking a particular dislike to Istar. He planted himself in front of her and growled elaborately.
‘Don’t back up,’ Istar said to Pallo, who appeared about to climb on to Pentar’s back to avoid the snapping jaws of Saxifrage. ‘Don’t show fear or you will only make it worse.’
Pallo froze. He was breathing so fast Istar was sure he would make himself faint, and every time Saxifrage barked, he flinched. The dogs’ mistress had occupied herself in brushing grass from Kassien’s hair, an operation he made no secret of enjoying. Dressed in wide-legged pantaloons of Bear Clan spidersilk that rippled when she moved and a heavily embroidered overshirt whose rich green hues offset her brown hair, Dhien was extremely pretty. Kassien had eyes for nothing else – not even his companions beset by slavering hounds.
‘Don’t mind Pebble,’ Dhien called after a minute, smiling apologetically at Istar. ‘We would give a better welcome to strangers if we were at home and not afraid for our lives. I’m Dhien.’
The dogs retreated at her whistle, looking ready to spring again given half a chance. Kassien hastily introduced the others, and then before Istar could speak, he said, ‘We’re perishing for some hot food, and Anatar is wounded.’
‘Wounded?’ Her sympathetic eyes passed over them and focused on Anatar. She grimaced. ‘Why didn’t you say so at once? I will take you to our fires. It isn’t far. Come, Anatar.’ She took his uninjured arm and led them through the trees. ‘Have you been fighting Sekk? Are they near here? Should we move out?’
Kassien stopped her questions with a curt ‘No. It was far from here, and it’s over.’
‘How did you find us? We thought our camp well-concealed.’
‘Not with tents in those bright colours,’ Xiriel said. ‘And not to anyone coming down from the mountains.’
Dhien glanced over her shoulder at the Seer, seeming to take him in for the first time.
‘How long have you been here?’ Istar asked before anyone could say anything more that might allude to their quest.
‘Only six days at this camp. We broke an axle not far from here on the rough ground, so we are making repairs and resting the animals. It is still a long way to the edge of the plateau, and there is no cover after this point. The nights are so short that we cannot hope to travel by darkness. Speed is our only ally.’
‘You cannot be going to the Floating Lands,’ Kassien exclaimed.
‘No, no – we will go away west and then north towards Ristale.’
‘There will be trouble for you if you go that way,’ Istar said grimly. ‘Lerien may well be at war with Pharice by now.’
‘We’ve made it this far. We won’t be turned aside,’ Dhien responded, and her lips tightened slightly. The dogs had gone ahead; now they bounded back through the trees and fell into step with her as the little group neared the far edge of the wood. Voices could be heard, and the rhythmic clang of metal on metal. Saxifrage whined and bumped against Kassien plaintively, but received no attention. Kassien was frowning.
‘But it is ill-timed,’ Xiriel admonished. ‘Jai Pendu is on its way, and it is likely there will be battle all across these plains. You will not find anyone to trade with in Ristale, and you may have trouble making your way back.’
‘We’re not going back.’ She lifted her chin, looking at Kassien as she spoke, but he didn’t meet her eye. ‘They have taken all our men. Now we flee to save what’s left of our line.’
‘You are leaving Everien.’ Kassien’s tone was expressionless, but his jaw worked.
‘We must.’
She stopped. They had reached the wood’s border, where a meadow gave way gradually to marsh, and then to water where the river widened and slowed. The tents were pitched in a crescent on the higher ground just under cover of the trees, but there were fire circles scattered across the meadow, and animals grazed at the stake all across the space between trees and river. In the cleared semicircle between the tents lay a wagon on its side, surrounded by various tools and a makeshift forge. A well-muscled woman of about thirty was laboriously hammering, the sweat streaming down her arms and her face smoke-blackened. Other women were engaged in various tasks from cooking to mending. An enclosure made of fishing net had been constructed among the pines, and within it a group of young children were playing. Old women sat among them talking in a half-hearted fashion, but they stopped as soon as the strangers appeared. One of them rose laboriously. She resembled her Clan animal as much as any human Istar had ever seen, her hazel eyes examining the strangers slowly and dispassionately from a wide face set on a wider body. There was power in her flat-footed, square stance, as if her bulk were saying, You will not get past me so easily. She looked directly at Istar, and the two took each other’s measure.
‘Great-Aunt Siaren, I’m stunned to find you here!’ Kassien took three steps forward and went on one knee before her; the woman laid a hand on his head absently and addressed Dhien.
‘You are sure they are safe, girl? Were they followed?’
‘They’re alone. I saw them coming. They have fought their way down from the mountains.’
Siaren looked down on Kassien, whose head was still bowed. Her eyes shrunk to sparks within folds of leathery skin, and large, stained teeth showed in an oddly tender smile as she stroked his hair. ‘You look tired, little Kass. It has been a long time since you were home. You must see Hallen and tell him all about it. Dhien, see to their injuries, and bring them food, and I will tell Hallen they have arrived.’
Istar felt weak in the presence of Siaren’s calm. She had been so close to the edge of either panic or collapse ever
since leaving Jai Khalar that the relief of being able to surrender decision-making to someone else was doubly sweet. She said nothing as each of her companions was led off in a different direction by Bear Clan women who seemed all too pleased at the sight of armed men. Then she shook herself slightly and realized she must not lose her sense of purpose. Siaren was watching her from a discreet distance, and when she caught Istar’s eye she said, ‘You are Chyko’s daughter.’
Istar smiled. ‘You knew him?’
‘Everyone knew him. He was a notorious gambler, dancer, and daughter-thief. He stole one of mine and sent her back three months later, pregnant and full of praise for him. He had convinced her he had a rare disease which prevented him from copulating with the women of his own Clan, and so was forced to spread his seed where he could. Hallen took six brothers and went after him with a pike.’
Istar shifted uneasily. She was beginning to have doubts about Siaren’s hospitality.
‘What happened?’
‘What do you think happened? They came back bruised and bleeding – Hallen’s jaw was broken and he couldn’t eat for weeks.’ She guffawed. ‘They said they’d been waylaid by a dozen bandits with clubs.’
Istar suppressed a smirk and looked away.
The old woman said briskly. ‘The Clan chieftains are away hunting. But Hallen’s too old for that now. He’s working on the wagons, just around the bend in the stream. I’ve sent the children to fetch him, but he’s never quick in answering a summons.’
The Company of Glass Page 28