by CJ Arroway
Rachlaw nodded acknowledgement and took his seat.
‘Rachlaw, I am delighted you could join us. It’s been too long.’ Venner’s broad face broke into a businesslike smile. ‘Now, unless you have information to the contrary, Lord, we believe, as you know, that the Sea People left their winter camp in northern Myria some four weeks ago.’ His thick finger drew a line across the map stretched out on the table in front of him. ‘We now know they have moved down the Central Plain – to a new camp in the Mahl Hills.
‘Clearly, while this is far closer to our borders than they have been – certainly in my lifetime – it is not unheard of and doesn’t necessarily suggest any threat to The Home. An army of theirs raided Mahl in the days of King Od and our intelligence suggests–’
‘With respect, Lord Venner’ Rachlaw interrupted firmly, ‘the information I have is based on what is happening now, not what happened when your grandfather was a boy.’ The older man did not respond, other than to stare at Rachlaw in a way that suggested he was not used to being interrupted.
‘My Lord, you are aware of my admiration for your feats of war and my respect for you as a leader of men, but I beg you to hear me out now.’ Rachlaw addressed the compliment to Lord Venner but the plea to the room. Venner looked intently at Rachlaw for a brief moment then nodded and took his seat again. Dawhl waved him on nervously.
Rachlaw stood and stepped back from the table. ‘This is not about squeezing gold out of the Myrians. If they wanted that they could stay close to their ships and their winter camp and raid a few towns up north. That fat little child the Myrians call a king would have pissed his breeches and handed over half the treasury in an instant.’
While none of the men in the room doubted this, there was a murmur of discontent that a king could be spoken about in this way, even a Myrian king.
One of the other men around the table cleared his throat – a stocky, bearded and ruddy-faced man Rachlaw recognised as Lembit, one of Quist’s favourites.
‘The Sea People are pirates, nothing more. They prey on the weak, they wouldn’t dare set foot in The Home, not with the provocation of an army. They may be wildmen but they aren’t fools.’
‘No,’ Rachlaw agreed, ‘they aren’t fools. But we may prove to be if we don’t see what is happening. Their new camp is in the lower southern valley, not above the Myrian plains where we would expect to see it.
‘There is only one objective on that side of the hills – our fort at Riverhead. There’s no gold there, just control of the border road. If they take the fort they will be through the pass and then there is nothing but low hills and open plain between them and the city gates here in Wyrra.’
Dawhl laughed, but his eyes flicked around the table looking for approval from the other men. ‘If, if, if. You are a man of great reputation, Rachlaw, but you speak as though you are afraid of a few half-witted bandits.’
Lord Venner’s scowling reaction quickly changed Dawhl’s tone. ‘Of course I understand your concern, but the Sea People’s force is small in number and for all their ferocity they are a disorganised rabble–’
‘Not this time,’ Rachlaw cut in sharply. Dawhl twitched. ‘This isn’t some raiding party. It seems a number of their tribes have come together under one leader–’
‘Impossible,’ Lord Venner mouthed.
Rachlaw continued. ‘A man called Orlend, a strong leader, and a capable one by all accounts. At least four tribes joined the army over winter and possibly more are on the way. That makes a formidable force and one well capable of taking the Riverhead Fort if we don’t reinforce there quickly. I suggest we leave the City Guard here and I take the King’s Men north. We can summon the reserve–’
‘Out of the question,’ Dawhl snapped. His pale face looked even more drawn suddenly. ‘We can’t summon the reserve, there is the spring sowing to be done and the lords will not countenance it just to see off a rabble of pirates. Farmers should be farming right now not fighting a battle that can be won quite easily with the regular men.’
Lembit spoke softly, leaning his head in to look around the table as he did. ‘Perhaps it would be wise to take some precautions. Could we reinforce the fort? Send a few of the men who are kicking their heels out in the provinces?’
An uneven patch of red now flushed the first colour into Lord Dawhl’s high cheeks. He hesitated a moment then pulled himself up to sit higher in his seat.
‘Venner – tell your son to take your men north. I just hope your information is correct, Rachlaw, and you aren’t sending us chasing rumours and stories.’
Rachlaw frowned and looked at Lord Venner who shrugged in a manner that suggested both men expected nothing different from Dawhl.
‘And you, Rachlaw,’ Dawhl continued, suddenly finding something of interest in his papers so he didn’t look up as he addressed him. ‘You remain in Wyrra and you answer to me directly, do you understand? Everything we have spoken of here – anything we have discussed – I will inform the king of myself. Speak to no-one else, is that clear?’
Rachlaw didn’t respond and the two men held the room in silence for a moment until Lord Venner broke in. ‘I will take the men myself,’ he said, rising to a bow and turning to leave the room. The other men at the table took the cue to bow and follow him out, but Rachlaw knew then at least one of the men there took the threat seriously.
‘You are dismissed,’ Dawhl waved his hand limply to usher Rachlaw out. Rachlaw murmured a sound that might pass for a respectful goodbye.
He followed Venner and Lembit at a distance down the long stone steps that led from the war room. They crossed into a narrow panelled corridor, its dark wood brightened at the far end by sunlight from the open doors that led the way out into the fortress courtyard.
As the men disappeared into the daylight, Rachlaw ducked cautiously into a small side door leading down to the grooms’ quarters. He closed the door behind him.
‘What a bloody mess.’ The man who had stayed silent in the meeting now stepped out of the shadows and spoke. A shorter man, older than Rachlaw but with a deceptively youthful face, creased only by lines that showed a love of life.
‘Yes,’ Rachlaw sighed, ‘it’s worse than I feared, Rhuwan. When the time comes, I will take the King’s Men out. They will follow me. I’ll need you to get a message to the men in the north.’
‘Be careful. There’s some that might say that sounds a little like treason,’ the other man cautioned, smiling slightly.
‘Perhaps – but one can’t commit treason against a dead king and if we don’t act that’s what he’ll be, and us with him no doubt.’
‘Maybe sooner than we thought,’ said Rhuwan quietly. Rachlaw’s thick eyebrows rose involuntarily. ‘I’ve just heard from our people in the south that Orlend has already sent a raiding party, but not where we expected at all. They attacked a Daw village deep in the Black Hills, near your estates. I have no idea what his strategy is there. It’s too far south, too risky for a slave raid.’
‘Uish,’ Rachlaw muttered, a statement not a question.
‘You heard?’
‘I didn’t need to.’ Rachlaw blew out his cheeks. ‘They’ve finally found her, then.’
‘Sorry, Lord – found who?’
Rachlaw shook his head, as if trying to dislodge a thought. ‘It doesn’t matter. What did they tell you of the raid?’
‘Not much – they caused some damage, a few dead, before the guards from the Black Hill tower saw them off. A scouting party maybe, raiding for food? They’d have had to come round Wyrra, it makes no sense.’
‘Did they take anyone? What did the guards tell you?’
‘Some of the women, I think. They didn’t tell me much more than that.’
Rachlaw’s hand went instinctively to where his sword would usually be. ‘His intention is to invade, there is no doubt about that now. I will leave for the north by week’s end. See what you can do, and make preparations.’
The River
The River Lyrr starts a
s a hundred tiny, unnamed streams in the wet bowl of the Western Mountains. They run together into a narrow brook, slowly widening as it gushes and gurgles through the valleys of the wild tribes who cling to that ungiving land, until it drops from the hills and slows to a fat meander across the fertile floor of the Wyrran Plain.
The city of Wyrra divides at its banks. The fortress, palaces, merchant houses and temples rise up from its stone-lined eastern bank, while the docks to the west are hemmed in by an endless clatter of huts, each leaning on the other to prop themselves up out of the marshy ground; trying, and mostly failing, to keep the eternal damp out.
The river passes under a single stone bridge for official and merchant traffic, while a narrow walkway of dark, greasy wet planks allows the hut dwellers to cross to and from their homes and the markets and workshops of their paymasters.
From Wyrra it continues its journey to the Lyrr Estuary. In the rainy months this is a route to the world, bringing trade and ships and wealth to The Wyrran. Other times it will leach out its waters into a vast no-man’s-land of quicksands and tidal mud, its end as unclear as its beginning. But a few miles before it finally joins the oceans or disappears it is joined by the smaller, younger waters that rise from the Black Hills.
This is the point where the river flow changes as you journey to and from Wyrra and the Black Hills towns – the junction where even the most experienced boatmen eye the weir and the swirling currents with caution, and where the tide one way and the flow the other can cut a boat in two if you get your timing wrong.
From there boats from Wyrra fight their way through ever narrowing valleys lined with forest, where the distance between settlements grows from earshot to hours. After two days it opens again below the Black Hill’s tower to the narrow, rocky Uish valley – where the land is too steep to make a profit – and to its final mooring; unvisited except by the boats that start their journeys from its small wooden quay.
‘You should stay, Luda. It would probably be best.’ Evie was already in the boat, holding onto the elm struts supporting the narrow platform of planks to which it was tied. Luda passed down a small, rough-cloth sack of provisions, enough for a three-day journey.
The boat was bigger and better built than her father’s had been, and it belonged to the Gadds. ‘Well they won’t be needing it now,’ she’d told Luda coldly when his look told her of his disapproval.
‘Stay where? I’m coming with you,’ Luda insisted. ‘There’s nothing here for me and I’m not just going to let you go on your own. What if they’re waiting downriver?’
Evie wondered what Luda proposed doing if the strangers did come back, but she said nothing. ‘I guess I could do with a crew.’ She smiled weakly. ‘Just don’t tip the boat over!’
‘I won’t!’ The look on Luda’s face told Evie she’d probably been too hard again.
‘I know,’ she said, reaching up a hand to steady his back as he carefully dropped himself into the boat from the last step of the quayside ladder. ‘Thanks for coming along, I really could use some help to be honest – I’ve only been on the river a few times before.’
‘Well I’ve never been on it, so what could possibly go wrong?’ Luda said, smiling softly.
Evie had no idea where the men might have taken her mother, but she was sure there was only one person she knew who might be able to help, and that meant finding Rachlaw as quickly as she could. They had already wasted the best part of a week helping with the clear-up of the village, gathering provisions and planning the journey. Now they must go, ready or not.
Evie used one of the heavy oars to push the boat out into the flow of the Black Hills River. The current pushed insistently at the back of the boat, turning it across the narrow channel and bumping it into the soft mud and grass of the opposite bank. ‘Hold on Luda,’ Evie said, putting out a hand to balance herself. ‘I’ve not been in one of these for a while!’
Two hours into the journey and Evie was starting to be thankful Luda had persuaded her to let him join her. The boat was better built but heavier and more cumbersome than her father’s, and even while they were being carried along by the flow of the river it was tiring to steer. The thought of rowing against the current once they passed the river junction was already weighing on her mind.
Along the narrow valley the trees hung close to the river banks, and the gaps between the tree tops shaped a ribbon of blue and white above them that mirrored the black stream below. With the flow on their side the journey to the river junction could be done in one long day, but it was already late afternoon and Evie and Luda had decided to moor up early and tackle the changing flows with the strength of a night’s rest behind them.
A small jetty, half submerged in the river, led onto a patch of clear grass and scrub. The broken frame of an old hut, still hung in places with damp, rotten planks, suggested this had once been a fisherman’s landing, but it was many years since it would have been used.
The jetty was too fragile to risk tying the boat to, so with some effort Evie and Luda hauled it up the muddy incline of the bank and onto the grass. They turned it on its side against the overgrown ridge of what had once been a stone wall, and Luda started to put together a roof of sticks and old dry ferns that would be enough to give them shelter on a softly warm spring night.
Evie sat on the riverbank, looking back up its flow towards Uish, cradling her legs against her chest, her head propped up on her knees.
‘We’ll find her, Evie. Rachlaw will help us, I’m sure.’ Luda said, sitting himself down softly beside her. She didn’t speak, and Luda rested his head on her shoulder and followed her gaze back up the river.
‘Not everyone has a lord of Wyrra to help them – we’ve got that going for us anyway.’ Luda tried to draw Evie’s head back up with a smile.
‘I remember when people first realised who Rachlaw was, when he came to see you,’ Luda said after a few minutes’ silence. ‘I remember when I did.’
She kept her eyes on the river.
‘People said him and your mum must have… you know…’ Evie turned her head. On another day she’d have punched his arm, but right now she didn’t have the energy.
‘I know what people said,’ Evie said, putting her head back on her knees. ‘She’d rather they said that than knew why he was really there.’
‘I never really understood why he did come to see you.’ Luda sat up suddenly and Evie brushed her shoulder down. ‘I mean you always said he was helping you keep your secret, but I don’t think I ever got why? How did he know you?’
‘I made a mistake when I was little,’ Evie said. ‘Some important men were visiting the village – you’d be too young to remember probably, but it was a big deal at the time. They came to count everything we had, for the government. I knew it meant a lot to my dad, so I tried to make it nice for them. I brought them some fresh bluebells.’
Luda looked blankly at Evie. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘It was autumn.’
Luda puffed out his cheeks and sat back, putting his arms behind him to prop himself up.
Evie smiled to herself, a joyless smile. ‘It’s funny. My dad had tried to warn me to be careful. He said if I bothered them while they were busy they’d cut my hair and make me drink vinegar.’
‘Did they?’
‘No, they just left. Then a couple of days later two other men came to tell my mum they were going to take me away. That’s when he came – he stopped them taking me and he helped me.’ Evie sat up. ‘I’m going to get some sleep Luda, goodnight.’
‘Why did he help you, though?’ Luda said, moving aside to let Evie past.
‘I don’t know. He never really told me.’
The Weir
When morning came Evie was the first to rise. She walked a little way down the riverside to where the old hut overhung the bank and dipped her hands in the water to drink and wet her face.
The sun had risen on the plains to the south and though it had not yet reached to where she could s
ee it over the valley sides the sky was already bright. She began to gather up her small belongings from where she had left them by the river the night before.
‘Wake up, Luda – we need to get going now if we want to make it to our next stop by nightfall.’
Luda slowly stretched awake and then pulled himself up. He could feel where the small knots of twigs and old beech nuts had imprinted his face as he lay on them, and he picked at the spiders and bugs that had been keeping warm on his clothes and in his hair. A fat slug had found its way into his shoe, and he picked it out with a look of disgust on his pale, soft face that was almost enough to make Evie smile.
‘Come and give me a hand with the boat,’ Evie said, and the two of them hauled it back down the slope. Evie stood in the shallows of the bankside while Luda pulled against its weight to slow its entrance to the water – still managing to soak Evie, who made sure to shake her wet sleeves right next to him when she clambered in.
It was still early morning but the day already promised to be warm, and the gentle push of the river eased their boat down towards the end of the valley – to where the river opened up before joining the wider flow of the Lyrr.
It felt suddenly simpler, as though the river itself was helping them on their way and for the first time since she saw the smoke from the quarry top Evie began to feel a sense that maybe everything would be alright again.
The river is hung on both sides with trees most of its length, and the valley sides are mostly too steep for farms or houses. But here and there small settlements appear from the trees as you round a bend – river traders, lumber merchants, hunters and fishermen, hauling and loading their goods to trade in Wyrra.
A few of the settlements were almost small villages, where merchants’ families would live in the wooden huts that dotted the clearings or tucked themselves among the trees – at least until the last leaves were falling, when they would head back down the river to Wyrra or the little port towns further down the Lyrr Estuary.