Inversions (18 page)

This too I found later, not in the Doctor’s journal but in some other papers (and have edited it slightly to present a more continuous narrative). The common participant of these two passages is Walen, but especially given all that happened later I simply do not know what to make of it. I record. I do not judge. I do not even offer speculation.

The Royal Park of Croughen Hills had been a private game reserve of the royal house of Tassasen for several centuries. UrLeyn had parcelled large parts of it out to various of the nobles who had supported his cause in the war of succession, but reserved the right of the Protector and his court to go hunting in the forests.

The four mounts and their riders circled the tall clump of brush and tangled creeper bush where they reckoned their prey had gone to ground.

RuLeuin took out his sword and leaned down from the saddle, poking at the mass of vegetation. ‘Are you sure he went in here, brother?’

‘Quite certain,’ UrLeyn said, dipping his face towards his mount’s neck and squinting at an opening into the bushes. He lowered himself still further, letting go of the reins with one hand to peer into the undergrowth. DeWar, riding at his side, reached out to hold the reins of UrLeyn’s mount. RuLeuin, on the far side of the bushes, also leant down upon the neck of his mount.

‘How is the boy today, UrLeyn?’ YetAmidous said, voice booming. His big face was red and bright with sweat.

‘Oh, he’s well,’ UrLeyn said, levering himself upright again. ‘Better with every day. Still not strong, though.’ He glanced round, looking back up the slope beneath the trees. ‘We need some beaters here . . .’

‘Get your dark man to beat for us,’ YetAmidous said to UrLeyn, referring to DeWar, ‘You’ll get down and beat for us, won’t you, DeWar?’

DeWar smiled thinly. ‘I only beat out human prey, General YetAmidous.’

‘Human prey, eh?’ YetAmidous said with a hearty laugh. ‘Those were the days, what?’ He slapped his saddle. DeWar’s thin smile lasted a little longer.

In the last years of the old Kingdom, when King Beddun had been at his most carelessly cruel, prisoners or poachers unlucky enough to be caught plying their trade in the forest had provided most of the prey for hunts. That tradition of savagery had been outlawed, but there was one memento of the time present, DeWar thought, in the shape of the old King Beddun’s antique hunting crossbow, which UrLeyn carried slung over his back.

UrLeyn, DeWar, YetAmidous and RuLeuin had become separated from the main part of the hunt, which could be heard on the far side of the hill. ‘Sound your horn, will you, Yet?’ UrLeyn said. ‘Let’s get some of the others here.’

‘Right you are.’ YetAmidous brought his horn to his lips and let a great blare of sound escape. It almost coincided, DeWar noticed, with the sound of horns coming from the other side of the hill, so probably was not heard. He chose not to say anything. YetAmidous shook some spit from the horn’s mouthpiece and looked pleased with himself.

‘Is Ralboute joining us, Protector?’ he asked. ‘I thought he was supposed to.’

‘A message came this morning,’ UrLeyn said, standing up in the saddle to stare into the clump of bushes. He shielded his eyes as a beam of sunlight fell across his face. ‘He has been detained at ‘ He looked at DeWar.

‘I believe it is the city of Vynde, sir.’

‘ Vynde. The city of Vynde is proving more resilient than expected.’

RuLeuin stood in the saddle too and directed his gaze at the same place as his brother. ‘There was talk that we lost a couple of the siege mortars,’ he said.

‘It is only a rumour as yet,’ UrLeyn said. ‘Simalg has rushed ahead as usual and out-distanced his supporting forces. Communication has been erratic. With Simalg, you never know. He may have advanced too fast for his guns, or otherwise misplaced them. Let’s not assume the worst.’

‘I have heard other grumbles, still, Protector,’ YetAmidous said, undoing the top of a wineskin and taking a quick gulp. ‘Perhaps we should go to Ladenscion ourselves and take matters in hand.’ YetAmidous’ brows compressed. ‘I tell you, Protector, I miss making war. And I’d warrant you for one would not misplace siege guns.’

‘Yes,’ RuLeuin said. ‘You ought to take charge of the war yourself, brother.’

‘I have thought about it,’ UrLeyn said. He unsheathed his own sword and whacked at the tops of some bushes. ‘I have been concerned to appear less of a warlord and more of a statesman, and anyway did not reckon the rebellion in Ladenscion merited the full weight of our forces, but I may change my mind if I think the situation demands it. I shall wait for Ralboute’s return, or for a message from him. Yet, blow that horn again, would you? I don’t think they heard the first time.’ UrLeyn put away his sword and took off his green hunting cap. He wiped his brow.

‘Ha!’ YetAmidous said. He lifted the hunting horn, took a gargantuan breath that raised his formidable body off the saddle of his mount and turned his expression into a deep frown, then put the instrument to his lips and blew with all his might, his face going scarlet with the effort.

The note was fit to split ears. Almost immediately there was a rustle and a commotion on the down-slope side of the clump of bushes. DeWar was closest. He caught a glimpse of a big, thick-set, grey-brown shape dart away at a furious pace towards another conglomeration of vegetation.

‘Ha!’ YetAmidous bellowed. ‘Flushed the fucker!’

‘DeWar!’ UrLeyn shouted. ‘Did you see him?’

‘There, sir.’

‘Ru! Yet! This way!’ UrLeyn wheeled his mount and charged off in the same direction.

DeWar preferred to ride right at UrLeyn’s side whenever he could, but in the dense thickets of the Park woods it was often impossible, and he would have to follow the Protector’s mount through the undergrowth, over fallen tree trunks and under hanging boughs as best he could, ducking and leaning and sometimes hanging half out of the saddle to avoid the snagging branches.

Taking the direction that DeWar had indicated, UrLeyn set off at a gallop down a shallow slope, his mount thundering along the hint of path amongst the crowding bushes. DeWar followed, trying to keep in view the bobbing green shape that was UrLeyn’s cap.

The incline was covered by undergrowth and overhung by the crisscrossed trunks of trees which had started to fall but been caught by their healthier fellows. A confusion of lushly green limbs and twisted branches made the going difficult. The footing for the mounts was treacherous. The deep litter of rotting leaves, twigs, fruits and seed cases could hide a multitude of holes, burrow entrances, rocks and partially decayed logs, any one of which could break a mount’s leg or trip it and bring it tumbling to the ground.

UrLeyn was going too fast. DeWar was never so fearful far his own life or for his master’s than when he tried to keep up with him on some mad dash during a hunt. He did his best, all the same, attempting to steer his mount down the trail of broken branches and trampled litter that UrLeyn had taken. Behind him, he could hear the mounts of YetAmidous and RuLeuin also crashing in pursuit.

The animal they were hunting was an ort, a powerful, thickset scavenger a third the size of a mount. They were usually regarded as belligerent and stupid, but DeWar thought the reputation undeserved. Orts ran until they were cornered and only then did they fight, using their small sharp horns and their even sharper teeth, and they tried to avoid the clear areas under the high canopies where galloping was easy and the ground relatively free of brush and other obstructions. Instead they made for places like this, where a jumble of living and dead trees and their associated debris made both observation and chase difficult.

The trail led down a steepening slope towards a stream. UrLeyn whooped and shouted and disappeared further ahead. DeWar cursed and urged his mount to go faster. It shook its head and snorted, refusing. DeWar tried to stop himself watching where his mount was putting its feet best to leave that to the animal. He would be better occupied ducking to avoid the overhanging boughs and branches that threatened to knock him senseless or gouge out his eyes. From far away he heard the sound of the rest of the hunt: men shouting, horns blaring, hounds yapping, prey screaming. From the noise, the others must have cornered a large group. The single beast UrLeyn was chasing had succeeded in escaping without any hounds in pursuit. It was a big animal, and hunting it without hounds was a brave or foolish thing to do. DeWar took one hand briefly off the reins and wiped his face with one sleeve. The day was hot and the air under the great trees still and sticky. Sweat still trickled down his face, stinging in his eyes and producing a salty taste in his mouth.

Behind him, a sharp report was the noise of a gun going off. Probably an ort being dispatched. Or a musketeer losing half his face. Guns small enough to be carried by a man, or even on the back of a mount, were unreliable, inaccurate and often more dangerous for the firer than the fired-at. Gentlemen did not use them, and crossbows were superior in most respects. Still, the smiths and armourers laboured to produce better examples of muskets with each passing season, and UrLeyn had used the weapons to good effect against cavalry charges during the war of succession. DeWar worried that one day within his lifetime guns would become reliable enough and more importantly sufficiently accurate to provide a bodyguard with his worst nightmares, but for now that day still seemed a fair way off.

A scream came from somewhere off to the left, down the small valley of the stream. It might have been human or ort. It sent a shiver through DeWar despite the heat.

He had lost sight of UrLeyn. Branches and leaves swayed and thrashed ahead to his left. With a cold feeling in his guts DeWar wondered if the scream he had heard had been from the Protector. He swallowed hard, wiping his face again and attempting to wave away insects buzzing angrily round his head. A branch caught him on the face, stinging his right cheek. What if UrLeyn had fallen from his mount? He might have been gored, or had his throat bitten out. Last year, near here, one of the younger nobles had somersaulted off his falling mount and been impaled through the back and belly on a jagged remnant of tree trunk. His screams had sounded like that scream, hadn’t they?

He tried to urge his mount to go faster. A branch snagged on the crossbow slung over his back, almost yanking him out of his saddle. DeWar hauled on the reins and the animal below him shrieked as the metal bit cut into its mouth. He twisted in the saddle and tried unsuccessfully to untangle himself. Up slope, he could see RuLeuin and YetAmidous approaching. He swore, pulled his dagger and hacked at the offending branch. It parted from the tree, remaining lodged in the crossbow but letting him go. He kicked his spurs into the mount’s side and it started off down the slope again.

He burst out of the undergrowth, down a suddenly steep earth bank and into a clearing by the stream-side. UrLeyn’s mount stood riderless by a tree, panting. DeWar looked wildly around for the Protector, then saw him standing a little way off, near where the stream appeared from a jumble of fallen rocks, his crossbow at his shoulder, aiming at the big ort, which was whining and squealing as it tried to jump up the slippy, moss-covered rocks barring its way up and out of the clearing.

The ort leapt halfway up the boulder slope, seemed to be about to find further purchase on the rocks and complete its escape, then with a grunt it lost its footing and fell, bouncing off a lower rock and landing heavily on its back by the side of the stream. It struggled to its feet, shaking itself. UrLeyn advanced a couple of steps closer to the animal, crossbow aimed. DeWar unslung his own bow as he dismounted. He wanted to shout to UrLeyn, to tell him to get back on his mount and leave the animal to him, but he was afraid of distracting the other man while the ort was so close. The ort turned its attention away from the rocks. It growled at UrLeyn, who was now five or six strides away. Its only way out now was past the man.

Now, thought DeWar. Shoot. Loose. Fire. Now. He was another ten or so strides behind UrLeyn. He took a few slow steps to the right, along the bottom edge of the earth bank, widening the angle he could see between UrLeyn and the ort. He tried to ready his own crossbow for firing without looking at it, frightened to take his eyes off the Protector and the prey he had cornered. Something was stuck in the crossbow. He could feel it. The branch it had snagged on earlier. His hand closed around leaves and twigs, trying to pull them free. Failing.

Snarling, the ort backed away from the slowly advancing UrLeyn. The animal’s rump bumped into one of the mossy boulders it had tried to scale. It angled its head downwards fractionally. Its slightly curved horns were only just longer than a man’s hand, but each came to a point sharp enough to disembowel a mount. UrLeyn was wearing a light hide jerkin and trousers. DeWar had suggested heavier clothing or some chain mail in addition that morning, before they had set off, but the Protector was having none of it. The day was going to be too hot as it was.

The ort lowered its rear quarters. With a clarity which seemed almost unnatural, DeWar could see the muscles in the ort’s quarters bunching, tensing. He pulled at the foliage stuck in his crossbow, waggling it. The dagger. He might have to forget about the crossbow and try throwing the dagger. It did not throw well, but it was the only other choice he had. The branch started to tear free from the crossbow.

‘Brother?’ a voice boomed out above him. DeWar whirled to see RuLeuin high above him, his mount’s front hooves near the edge of the earth bank. UrLeyn’s brother, his face caught in a stray beam of sunlight, was shading his eyes with one hand and looking across the clearing at the far bank. Then his gaze dropped to the clearing and UrLeyn. ‘Oh,’ he said quietly.

DeWar looked quickly back. The ort had not moved. It was still growling softly, still tensed. Saliva dripped from one edge of its mouth. DeWar heard his mount give a single small whimper.

UrLeyn made a tiny movement, there was a barely heard click, then the man seemed to freeze.

‘Shit,’ he said softly.

Crossbows could kill from hundreds of strides away. A quarrel from one could pierce a metal breastplate, at close range. There was rarely time to stop, tension and load a bow during the heat of a hunt. One rode with the bow wound up and ready to fire, and many kept it loaded, too. Crossbows hanging from saddles had shot more than one hunter in the foot, or worse, and those over a man’s back could be even more deadly, if they snagged on a branch in a thicket. And so a hunting crossbow had a safety latch. One had to remember to undo it before the weapon would fire. In the excitement of the chase, it was not unusual for a hunter to forget to do so. And UrLeyn’s crossbow, which had been King Beddun’s, was an old one. The latch release had been added later, not designed in, and was positioned badly, towards the rear of the weapon and so not easy to slip. UrLeyn would have to move one hand from its position to make the adjustment. The king UrLeyn had executed might have his revenge from beyond the grave.