A Kingdom Besieged (16 page)

‘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.

T
HE 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?’

‘Should 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.

‘You should go to your mother,’ he said softly. ‘She’s with your mother.’

‘I know, but the family quarters are the safest part of the castle.’

‘There’s no hurry,’ Bethany said softly, drawing still closer. ‘How long?’

‘From the headlands, they’ll be at the mouth of the harbour in three or four hours. Then it depends on how prepared they are to come ashore and if they expect much resistance.’ He was silent for a moment and she studied his face.

Of the three brothers Martin had always been the most diffi-cult to read, which was why she had always found him the most interesting. He was not the hail-fellow-well-met that his brother Hal was, nor was he like Brendan, an impish prankster. Martin was the thoughtful brother. He was often cross with her, which she found amusing, as she knew it hid his true feelings. She had decided more than a year ago how she felt about him, but decided he would get no help from her in untangling his own feelings towards her.

He sensed her studying him and turned. ‘What?’

‘I find it fascinating how much alike you and Brendan appear, yet in reality you are hardly alike at all.’

He gave her one of his rare half-smiles. ‘Beth, you’ve known us all your life, and you’re only now noticing I’m not like that little menace?’

‘I just find it a bit odd, really,’ she said, turning her eyes back on the town below. Already the sound of alarm was being raised and shouts and cries echoed up to where they stood.

Martin gently disengaged her arm from his, his mood turning serious. ‘You found an odd time to think about this. Come on, I have much to do and I would feel a great deal better if I knew you were safe.’

As he started to turn away, she moved forward and kissed him impulsively, long and deep. He tensed for a moment, then returned the embrace. When she pulled back she could see a glistening in his eyes.

‘We’ve let too many things go unsaid for too long,’ she whispered. ‘When your father returns I want you to speak to him.’

‘About what?’ Martin said, speaking softly as if he feared being overheard.

Her face clouded over and her eyes narrowed. ‘About us, you fool!’

His lips quirked. ‘What about us?’

Her eyes widened: and then she saw the smile. ‘You right bastard!’ she said, then she kissed him again.

‘I know. It’s just that—’

‘Everyone expects me to marry Hal,’ she interrupted. ‘I know. But no one’s asked me, and no one’s asked Hal. He’s always treated me like a little sister. But you . . .’ She kissed him a third time. ‘You’ve always been able to . . . somehow get under my skin, to make me think when I didn’t want to and to endure my . . . bad behaviour, with good grace.’

Letting out a long sigh, Martin said, ‘As much as I adore you, and obviously I have done a poor job of hiding that, may I say . . .’ His voice rose to a near shout, ‘. . . you’ve picked an impossible moment to profess your love!’ He laughed. ‘But you never were one for choosing the proper moment, were you?’ He kissed her before she could answer and then added, ‘Very well, I’ll speak to Father when this is over.’

He glanced down at the town as the clamour of voices and the sounds of fear and panic rose. ‘But now I have to go calm the people whose care has been given over to me. We both have rank and privilege, so it is time we both showed we deserve them.’

Gently he turned her around, and with a slight pressure on her arm indicated it was time to go down the stairs into a much darker and grimmer time than either had ever experienced.

The ships hove to at the mouth of the harbour at sundown. Martin watched as the last of the townspeople crowded into the yard below. When the last was through, he signalled for the gates to be closed. Sergeant Ruther, standing beside him with his arms crossed, said, ‘Now we dig in.’ Martin glanced at him and the sergeant added, ‘Sir.’

Martin shook his head. ‘It’s all right, Sergeant. I’m new to this.’

‘We’re all new at this, sir. My father was a baby the last time this castle was attacked.’

‘Still, we’ve had our fair share of tussles.’

‘Yes, sir, but meaning no disrespect, a bunch of bandits or a raiding party of trolls is one thing. We’re about to make the acquaintance of some Keshian Dog Soldiers. Not the same thing.’

‘Dog Soldiers? What should we expect?’

‘Can’t rightly say. Not one man in Crydee has faced them and all I know is what I was told when I was a young soldier.’

‘Which was?’ asked Martin, genuinely curious.

‘Old Sergeant Mason, who was here when I was a recruit, he told me he spent time down in Landreth serving with a company of Borderers, under Lord Sutherland’s command. It was a quick rise to glory, he said, else he’d never have earned promotion. Anyway, he said that most of the time they crossed swords with rogue mercenary companies or outlaws, but there was this one time they ran afoul of a company of Keshians.

‘The way he told it made me think it was the toughest fight of his life, and he’d seen a few. What he said was “they just keep coming”. They have no respect for life, not yours, not their own.

‘Kesh is a funny place, from what I’ve been told. Trueblood women running around nearly naked and no one minds, the rest being not much better than cattle to them Truebloods. But they’re hunters, you see, and don’t think much of warriors.’

‘I don’t follow,’ admitted Martin. ‘See, the thing is, you can only rise so high not being a Trueblood, and as they don’t give much glory to fighting men anyway, it makes for a vicious army. They don’t do it for glory, you see. They’re called Dog Soldiers for two reasons, according to Sergeant Mason: first is they’re kept penned up like mad dogs and only unleashed on Kesh’s enemies. Otherwise they don’t mix with other people: they’ve got their own fortresses, their own families, grow their own crops and make their own weapons. They’re loyal to their masters, like dogs. The other is that they bring dogs along on long marches so they can eat them. Though I have my doubts about that bit.’

Martin said nothing, then repeated, ‘They just keep coming.’

‘That’s what Mason said. They won’t give quarter and they don’t ask for any. They just keep coming until you kill enough of them they get tired and run off. Or die to the last, I guess.’ He paused. ‘It’s about honour, not glory. They’re a brotherhood, a clan, something like that, and they die for one another.’

Martin felt the pit of his stomach grow cold and found his knuckles turning white as he heard the gates to the castle slam shut. He willed himself to relax, then saw something that made him smile.

Despite promising to stay with their mothers, Lady Bethany was down in the courtyard, organizing the townspeople and assigning areas of the large bailey to families, sending all livestock around to the rear of the castle.

‘She’s something, that one,’ Ruther said with a smile.

Martin returned the smile. ‘That she is.’

‘Well, sir, if you’re not needing me there are things to do.’

‘You are dismissed, Sergeant,’ said Martin.

Alone on the top of the castle’s outer gatehouse, looking down at organization slowly emerging from chaos, Martin took a deep breath. He reminded himself that he was a year older than Prince Arutha had been at the start of his legendary career. Then he muttered, ‘Of course he had Swordmaster Fannon and great-grandfather with him, and my Swordmaster is in Rillanon with my brother, and my younger brother is riding with Father.’

He felt terribly alone, yet despite wishing Bethany away and safe, he was thankful to his bones that she was here.

And he would do whatever was needed to keep her safe.

The night dragged on. By midnight those remaining outside the central keep huddled under makeshift shelters of wood and blankets, gathered around campfires, or under the few military tents Sergeant Ruther found abandoned in one corner of the castle’s armoury.

Many of the townspeople had been crowded into the keep itself: storage had been shifted around and the extra space thus made was filled to overflowing. Families with small children had been given priority and had the safest rooms deep within the keep; women with older daughters had been packed into the outer rooms and towers.

Every man capable of bearing arms between the age of fourteen and seventy, was issued a weapon. Sergeant Ruther took it upon himself, in the Swordmaster’s absence, to determine which detail each man was given, which was fine with Martin.

The young commander of the garrison had spent most of the night watching for signs of the Keshians coming ashore. It was now clear that they were not attempting a night landing, and would wait for dawn.

‘You should get some sleep.’ The voice was his mother’s.

Martin turned and said, ‘What about you, Mother?’

She smiled. ‘There’s still much to do. Usually we prepare food for the town only twice a year, at Banapis and Midwinter. Now we must cook what we can every day.’

‘We’ll manage. Father will return soon.’

‘Not soon enough.’ She sighed. ‘What are your plans?’

‘Simple enough. We see what they bring in the morning and then we determine the best way to hold them until Father returns with the garrison.’

‘What about . . .?’

‘What?’

‘I . . . I’ve never been through a war.’

‘None of us have,’ said Martin, patting her hand. ‘It’s going to be fine, Mother. We have provisions, and enough trained soldiers alongside the townsmen that we can repulse up to ten times the number of defenders. If they have less than two thousand soldiers and heavy siege machines, we will hold.’