Sandreena had fed and watered her mount, had a quick bite and a mug of bitter ale at what passed for a tavern in this area, then set off after them.
She had been keeping her distance, falling back out of sight, then trotting forward to the top of a rise or turn in the road to ensure she didn’t lose them.
Then came that irritating itch which meant she was being summoned to a meeting of the Conclave. She weighed her choice of actions and decided that her duty lay first in finding the reason for all the troublesome things she had witnessed. She was loath to quit when she was so close to uncovering the truth. So she had turned off the little orb, placed it in her boot and returned her attention to the wagons ahead. She was catching up with them when her ambusher had surprised her with an arrow that had sped past her head, missing her face by less than an inch.
The man on the ground began to stir. Sandreena got up from the rock. When the man’s eyes opened, he found Sandreena’s sword point at his throat.
‘Oi,’ he said as his eyes focused on the lethal blade. ‘Let’s have none of that now, sister.’ He was speaking the local Keshian dialect, Lower Delkian.
She tilted her head slightly as she stepped back and said, ‘Slowly.’
He got gingerly to his feet, obviously still dazed. ‘Can’t say as I expected you to charge,’ he said. He grinned and said, ‘Right near did me in.’
‘Bodie,’ she said.
His eyebrows rose and he switched to the King’s Tongue. ‘Good ear.’ To her it sounded like ‘Gud ar’. ‘Not too many in these parts would catch the accent.’
‘Hard not to miss that mangling of the King’s Tongue, or any other language apparently.’
He leaned forward, hands on his knees. ‘Bit wobbly, still,’ he said. ‘You clopped me a good one to the side of me head.’
‘You’re fortunate that’s all you got. I’m usually less forgiving with people trying to kill me.’
‘Kill you?’ he said and laughed, then winced at the pain that brought him ‘Sister, if I’d wanted to kill you, you’d have not seen the arrow in your throat. I’m hardly modest when it comes to my bow skills. I’ve not met my better with one.’
‘Hardly modest, indeed.’ She looked at him. Slender, about her age, perhaps, dark hair that was little more than a shaggy thatch, a few days’ growth of beard and clothes that were not quite filthy. Glancing at the bow on the ground, she saw that it was perfectly maintained. ‘If you weren’t trying to kill me, what were you doing?’
‘Trying to slow you down a bit, that’s all. Man up in Darmin,’ which was the town where she had begun following the wagons, ‘paid me some coin to follow some wagons for an hour, then slow down anyone who might be following. Didn’t say a thing about killing, else I’d have asked for a lot more.’ He glanced at the angle of the sun and said, ‘Looks like I was gone an hour or so.’
‘About that.’
‘Well,’ he said with a broad smile, ‘seems like I’ve stalled you long enough, sister, so I’ll be on my way now.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Sandreena. To emphasize the point, she extended her sword blade, making a barrier between them.
‘Yes?’
‘You expect me to let you walk away?’
‘Can’t see why not, sister. Spent an arrow to get your attention, and took a fair beating in exchange; seems a fair bargain, all things considered.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
The man lost his smile. ‘Look, you’ve had your bit of fun. Unless you’re breaking vows, I know you Dala lot don’t shed blood at whim. So, unless you see me beating up some little boys and take their side, I think we’re done here.’
He took a step forward and found the flat of Sandreena’s blade hard against his chest.
His smile returned. ‘Then again, maybe we’re not. What can I do for you?’
‘Start with a name.’
‘Ned. From Bodie, as you sussed.’
‘You’re a very long way from home.’
‘It’s a fact,’ he admitted, glancing around. He moved towards the rock where Sandreena had waited for him to regain consciousness and sat down. ‘Travel a bit here and there. I’m a hired bow, as you can tell, and I heard there was a fair bit of work down here, so I came.’
‘What did you hear?’
‘Stuff and nonsense from what I can tell,’ said the mercenary. ‘I did some work up in the Vale of Dreams, but that’s too much like bloody warfare, if you get my meaning. I’d rather take on less frantic work: caravan guard, watchman at a tavern, something where mostly I just need to be a bigger bully than the bully I’m tossing out, don’t you see?’
‘Thug for hire.’
‘Something like that.’ He gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘So, what’s it going to be?’
‘Who hired you to slow me down? And were they clear no killing was involved?’
‘Well, truth to tell,’ began Ned and then Sandreena pressed her sword hard against his chest. ‘Well, I took it to mean it was up to me as to what I was doing, don’t you see? I mean, a bag of coppers is fair enough wages for a little show-and-tell on the highway—’ She smacked him with the blade.
‘Ow!’ he said a little too theatrically. She knew he might have a little bruise but his buff coat and gambeson quilt blunted the impact. ‘Well, he may have thought he was entitled to a bit more than he got.’ He shrugged. ‘Can’t see if it matters, one way or the other. I mean, he said “slow her down” so that’s what I did. You’ve wasted a good hour or more here, right?’
‘Right,’ she agreed. She stepped forward and with her left foot struck him hard enough in his bruised ribs to send him backwards off the rock. A loud grunt of pain and a choked-off sob, then a long, ragged intake of breath told her she had caused him some serious pain. ‘Now, again, who paid you?’
On hands and knees, head down, he looked as if he might pass out. Quietly he croaked out, ‘Honestly, sister, I don’t know. A bloke. Just a bloke. He bought me a drink, chatted me up, asked my trade, then offered me a job. That’s all. Look,’ he added, pulling a small purse from under his belt, ‘count it. It’s fifty coppers. A miserable half silver, and for what? Getting my ribs stave in?’
She kicked him again and he collapsed with a groan and curled his knees to his chest.
‘Who hired you?’
‘I swear by any god you wish to name,’ he almost whispered through the pain, ‘I don’t know. He never said his name and I didn’t ask.’
Sandreena had an instinct about these things. Kneeling, she grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up. Putting her sword against his throat, she said, ‘One last time. His name?’ She pushed a little and the edge of the blade dug into Ned’s throat, painfully she was certain.
‘Nazir,’ Ned whispered. ‘He never told me his name, that’s the gods’ truth, but I overheard one of his men call him Nazir.’
‘Men? How many?’
‘Three. There were others,’ he said as she released his hair and stood up. ‘Maybe another two or three outside the inn. When they left it sounded like a large band of men. I didn’t follow because I was to wait for you. He gave me a good enough description; not that I needed it. No one ever sees a Knight-Adamant of any Order down here.’ He tried to smile but it was obvious his face hurt where she had struck him. ‘Certainly not a beauty like you, sister.’
‘Horse?’
He hiked his thumb over his shoulder.
‘Good. Get it and don’t make me chase you.’
‘Wouldn’t think of it.’ He got to his feet slowly, wincing as he walked. It was clear the beating she had just administered had taken its toll.
As Sandreena turned to get her own horse, Ned stooped to pick up his bow. Suddenly in a fluid move he had an arrow out of his hip quiver and nocked on the string. ‘Sister!’ he shouted.
She turned to see him draw and quickly crouched and raised her shield.
‘Little knot in that tree behind your horse!’ He let fly the arrow. The shaft whizzed past
Sandreena’s ear: then she heard the thunk as it hit wood. Turning, she saw there were two knots in the bole of an old oak about a dozen yards behind her, and in the smaller of the two the arrow had struck dead centre.
‘Wasn’t joking, sister. If I had wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Even beaten, I’m the best archer I know. Now, I’ll get me horse.’
She watched his retreating back, unsure of what to make of him. Bodie was a long way from here, up on the southern coast of the Sea of Kingdoms, near Timmons. It was frontier country, with a rough and ready population of fishermen, miners, workers of all stripes, and had a fair reputation for fighting men.
Ned appeared typical of the brawlers she knew from the docks of that town; it was impossible to mimic how those men mangled the King’s Tongue, with their contractions and missing h’s at the start of words and missing r’s at the end. But there was something about his manner that was different. He was smarter than he let on, she thought. It was not a foolish man who allowed a potential adversary to underestimate him. And with the speed and accuracy with which he had put that arrow into the place on the tree he had called, she knew he could just as easily have put one in her throat, as he had boasted. Now she wondered how much damage she had really inflicted on him and how much of his current condition was feigned.
So, what to do? she wondered silently as he returned leading a nicely-cared-for bay gelding. She mounted her grey mare and the two horses made greeting noises. She gestured down the road. ‘Let’s go see why that man wanted me slowed down, and you can tell me all you know about him as we ride.’
‘Not much to say, sister. He was a dark-haired fellow, medium build, wore a heavy cloak. Spoke the local tongue with an accent; northern Keshian I’d say. Seemed to know who you were, though.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, he asked if I’d seen a Knight-Adamant of the Order of Dala and I said I’d seen you take your grey into the stable. But later he mentioned you by name, if that’s Sandreena.’
‘It is,’ she confirmed. ‘Anyway, sister, I take this Nazir bloke for a smuggler, except he wasn’t trying to slow down Imperial Customs, but a Knight-Adamant, and at last I paid attention; you lot don’t care who’s not paying the Emperor’s customs fees, so I figure it’s got to be something else. He don’t look like no slaver, but you never can tell, and freeing poor villagers is something more to your calling, I’m thinking.
‘But in the end it’s all guesswork, isn’t it?’
Sandreena said nothing. He could be leading her into a trap, but why all the theatre if that was so? He could have taken her out of her saddle with a fowling blunt arrow, of that she was certain, or at least distracted her long enough for others to have dragged her from the saddle. She knew she would have inflicted a fair degree of damage on anyone doing so, but three or four men could have swarmed her down.
So maybe Ned was telling the truth and the only thing his employer, this Nazir, wished was for her not to overtake them before they concluded whatever business brought them to this distant, forlorn shore.
The grey of the overcast clouds matched her mood.
They rode along quietly for half an hour, until Sandreena could smell the sea air and hear the distant pounding surf. The rolling woodlands had started to thin and as they came out from between two stands of trees, Sandreena could see sails on the horizon. A pair of longboats in the distance was rowing towards one remaining ship, while half a dozen wagons stood empty on the beach. They were on a rocky bluff a mere dozen feet above the sand, in the middle of a notch cut into its face by weather and obvious traffic. It was clearly the way down to the beach.
‘Where are they going?’ she asked Ned, not taking her eyes off the ship. If their sudden arrival had disturbed anyone still on the beach, there was no sign of it.
‘Don’t have a notion.’ He turned his horse in a lazy circle away from hers. ‘You’ll have to ask him.’
‘Who?’ she said, then her head whipped around as men came out of the trees behind them, a pair on each side with bows trained on her, while two others hurried forward with their weapons at the ready. For a brief instant she contemplated fighting, then she saw four horsemen coming up the road. More than a dozen men quickly surrounded her.
The man Ned had described as Nazir approached with the men on horseback. ‘Good. She’s unharmed.’
‘As you requested,’ said Ned. He grinned at Sandreena. ‘Sorry, sister, but I told you the truth. He paid me to slow you down, not kill you. I didn’t mention the part where he paid me to bring you here, though.’ He rubbed his bruised cheek and winced. ‘You made me earn my pay, that’s a fact.’ Turning to the robed man, he said, ‘Now, my gold.’
The man reached into his robe and nodded once. Suddenly an arrow shot from behind them took Ned through the neck, the head protruding from his throat. His eyes widened briefly and his fingers touched the arrow as if he could scarcely believe what was happening to him. Then his eyes lost focus and he tumbled out of his saddle.
The robed man rode up next to Sandreena. ‘He was not one of us. Co-operate and you will live. If you don’t, you will end up in the dust like him.’ His men quickly rid Sandreena of her weapons and shield, but allowed her to remain on her horse.
‘Come,’ said the leader of the band. ‘We have a fair distance to ride yet and much to do.’
Without another word, Sandreena was led away. Remembering the summons that morning, she hoped that her lack of reply would mean that Pug was sending someone to find her, for she had no doubt into whose hands she had fallen.
These murderers were Black Caps.
Chapter Eleven Siege
THE LOOKOUT SHOUTED.
‘Ships off the headlands!’
A village boy named Jerrod turned and knelt before a small brazier, blowing furiously on the coals for a second, before plunging an oil-soaked straw torch into the hot coals, whereupon the flames almost exploded in his face. He rushed to a giant wicker construction, a bundle of reeds, grasses, and wood, on top of which a pile of inflammable tinder was piled, and tossed the torch in as he had been shown. As he had been warned, the volatile bundle roared into flames within seconds. The mix was designed to burn bright and produce voluminous black smoke so that it could be seen by day or night. The heat it gave off was enormous and the boy backed away. ‘It’s done!’ Jerrod shouted.
The lookout, named Percy, came scampering down from his rocky perch shouting, ‘Come on! Our job is done!’
It was late afternoon and a fresh breeze was blowing. The smoke rose and scattered, yet the two boys knew another lookout up the coast would see it and another lad would start his fire and that one in turn would be seen at the castle above Crydee. It would take the two boys the better part of a day to reach the closest outpost, a garrison camp ten miles up the King’s Highway, for neither could ride, and even if they could, horses could not be spared for them.
A series of signal fires had been erected along the coast by order of the Duke of Crydee. Earlier fires had told the garrison that ships had been sighted along the coast, heading north from first Tulan, then Carse. Only one report from Carse had got through to the castle from Earl Robert, reporting that he and his men were attempting to repulse an onslaught of Keshian soldiers.
The report had arrived with Lord Robert’s wife, Marriann, and his daughter Bethany, who was not happy to have been sent away from Carse.
Now Bethany stood on the tower at Castle Crydee and asked Martin, ‘What will you do?’
‘It’s already done,’ said the Duke’s middle son. ‘Fast riders were dispatched to overtake Father. He’s half-way to Yabon by now, but if we can hold out for a week or so, he should arrive in time to relieve us.’
Without a thought, she slipped her arm through his as if in need of reassurance. ‘How many men do you have?’
‘Father left me a hundred.’
She shivered and leaned into him, as if seeking warmth, even though it was a balmy night. ‘Is that enough?’
‘Shoul
d be.’ He patted her hand where it rested on his arm. ‘If my studies are any guide, they’ll need to bring more than a thousand men to storm the castle and even then it’ll be touch-and-go. We’ve tested the defences.’
‘The Tsurani siege?’
‘Yes. When Father left I made a point of studying the writings about that siege.’ He looked at her calmly. ‘Did you know Prince Arutha was a year younger than I am now when he took command, after Swordmaster Fannon was wounded?’
She didn’t recognize the names, but she did recognize Martin’s determination to take charge of the situation and protect the town.
As if reading her mind, he said, ‘It’s time to bring in the town.’ Turning to a point overlooking the inner courtyard, Martin saw the man he sought. ‘Sergeant Ruther!’
Looking up, the sergeant saw the Duke’s son atop the tower and shouted back, ‘Sir?’
‘Sound the alarm, and get the townspeople up here. Have them bring all the food they can carry.’
Sergeant Ruther snapped off a salute and turned to two soldiers by the gate. ‘You heard the young lord! Get going!’ The sergeant was a short man with a protruding lower jaw and a mean squint, which made him the object of fear among the garrison. He also had a deep abiding affection for his men that he kept well hidden. He was near retirement age, portly with a belly hanging over his belt, but no one in the garrison doubted he was still a hard man to kill.
The soldiers exchanged glances. ‘Yes, Sergeant!’ they cried in unison, then trotted out of the gate toward the town.
The townspeople had already been alerted that there might be a call to the castle, so Martin hoped they’d have prepared in some fashion for this. But he knew there would surely be some panic and that many would not have understood it was not only necessary to bring foodstuffs and clothing for their time inside the city’s walls, but also to deny the invaders as much comfort as possible. Orders had gone out that any food left behind should be fouled, but he suspected people would have spent too much time trying to hide valuables the invaders would likely find anyway. Martin knew that the farmers would scatter their herds and flocks rather than put them down in the hope that after the siege some could be reclaimed. At least if the Keshians had to forage to find them, that would be a distraction, Martin thought. He felt Bethany pressing closely to him and turned.
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