The Amber Legacy (19 page)

‘So you think I’m a Rebel spy.’

‘No. I guess you’re just a woman who wants to find her husband before he gets killed.’

‘Why would you think that?’

‘What’s your real name?’ he asked. When she was silent, he said, ‘I just want to know. If it helps, I’m the only one who suspects. The others haven’t even thought about it.’ Her continued reluctance made him add, ‘Look, I’ve served in the Queen’s army since I joined at fifteen. I’ve fought in three wars since then, and this one’s been going for three years. I’ve seen lots and lots of women come looking for the men they love. Most don’t dress up to sneak in. Occasionally some do. Sometimes they even get away with it. I’m telling you because, as you are, you won’t get away with it. At night-time you could fool most men, if you do what you’ve done, but not during daylight.’

‘Then what should I do?’

‘What’s your real name?’

She sighed. ‘Meg. Meg Farmer.’

‘Wombat’s not your father, is he?’

‘No.’

‘So you’re looking for your husband. Last name is Farmer. What’s his first name?’

‘It’s not Farmer.’

‘Pardon?’

‘He’s not my husband. I’m just—just trying to stop him getting killed.’

Blade nodded. ‘So what’s his name?’

‘Treasure.’

‘Treasure who?’

‘I don’t know his last name. It’s just Treasure. He’s a scout. He was at my village, Summerbrook. You camped there for a few days, remember?’

‘I remember,’ Blade replied. ‘I don’t know anyone named Treasure, though. If he’s a scout, then I can check with a Group Leader I know who might know
who is scouting for us. But it’s a long draw. I don’t like your chances.’

‘If I don’t find him, he’s going to die in the battle.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I dreamed it.’

Blade was momentarily quiet, as if considering her explanation, before he said, ‘I’ve dreamed of my own death. I know how powerful dreams can be.’

‘When—what did you dream?’

He laughed quietly as he stood beside her to stare into the night. In the distance a horse whinnied. ‘I dreamed I was on a ship. That’s funny, because I’ve never been on a ship. I’ve never seen one, except in stories.’ He laughed again, nervously, and continued. ‘Anyway, I’m on this ship and I hear explosions around me. I ask what’s happening, but no one seems to hear. It’s like I’m there, but I’m not. And then there’s water everywhere and I’m in it, and I’m sinking, drowning, and I can’t do anything about it. And it comes up to my eyes and I feel it suffocating me. And then I always wake up.’

‘That is a strange dream,’ Meg said. ‘Perhaps one day you will go on a ship.’

‘That’s never going to happen,’ he replied. ‘Even if that chance came, I think I would say no. I’d avoid the dream coming true.’

‘That’s why I’m here now,’ she said. ‘To stop a dream coming true.’

‘I don’t like your odds,’ he admitted. ‘But, for what it’s worth, I’ll help you. I’ll think of something to hide you being a woman as well.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, puzzled by why a stranger would offer his help. But Wombat was also a stranger, and he’d helped her too. ‘Why do you want to help? Won’t you get in trouble for doing this?’

Blade shuffled his feet. ‘Look. I’ll tell you something, but you have to promise you’ll tell no one else. All right?’

‘I promise,’ she said.

‘This is something very personal. That’s why you can’t tell anyone else.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I understand what it means to you. Two years ago, when this war was only new, three of my friends helped my wife, Janet, sneak into camp so that we could be together.’

‘Did she want you to go home?’

‘Of course. Every woman wants her man to go home.’

‘If men listened to women there wouldn’t be wars,’ Meg said.

‘It’s because men listened to a woman that there is a war,’ he retorted. ‘This is all about Queen Sunset’s throne.’

‘Then why don’t you go home?’

‘I’m a soldier. I don’t have that choice.’

‘Yes you do. You could go home right now.’

‘No, I can’t. Even if I tried, they’d hunt me down and bring me back. That’s how it works. Once you’re a soldier, there is no more choice.’

‘And what about your wife?’

‘She’s dead.’

‘Oh,’ Meg gasped.

‘She was killed by Rebels when she left my camp two years ago. Her party was raided on the road. The Rebels slaughtered twenty-two people. I don’t have anything to go back to.’

Meg’s heart ached for the man in the darkness, but she did not know what to do. ‘You don’t have to help me,’ she said meekly.

‘Yes, I do,’ he replied.

T
he morning mist, shrouding the camp, restricted vision to less than ten paces. The soldiers’ breath came out in puffs of steam and they clapped their gloved hands to pump their circulation. Wombat was packing their sacks while talking briskly to Stitch the surgeon. Everywhere the rattle of metal, dogs barking and men shouting heralded the army striking camp.

‘Here,’ said a voice. Meg looked up. A soldier thrust a dented silvery helmet towards her. ‘Wear this. It’ll mask you better.’

She took the offering. ‘Won’t I look stupid wearing it now?’ she asked, studying Blade. He was solid around the shoulders, but slim at the waist. His beard was scruffy and short, as if he regularly trimmed it, and dark, like his mess of hair. He slid another helmet onto his head.

‘You won’t be the only one,’ he said. ‘A lot of us wear them all the time. We’re close to the enemy. They’ve started making skirmishing attacks, trying to wear us down. You never know when the helmet’s going to save your head.’ He dropped a chain mail corslet beside her. ‘Put this on too. It’s probably too big, but that’s even better.’

‘What’s going on?’ asked Wombat, who was standing behind Blade, arms akimbo.

Blade turned casually. ‘I’m just helping the lad.’ Wombat squinted warily. ‘Yes, I know the truth,’ Blade said. ‘She’s not to take that helmet off anywhere near anyone if you want to keep your secret.’

‘It wasn’t that obvious, was it?’ Wombat asked.

Blade smiled and picked up Meg’s sword. ‘I’m giving this to the sword maker. He’ll make it more workable.’

‘I’d prefer she—I’d prefer he didn’t even have it,’ said Wombat.

‘So would I,’ Blade replied, ‘but we’re about to march towards the Rebels and your “son” needs something for protection.’ He turned to Meg. ‘Do you even know how to use a sword?’ She shook her head. ‘Then at camp tonight, you’d better start learning from me.’ He saw his companions approaching, the tent having been struck and packed. ‘Put the helmet on now and don’t take it off around the others, no matter what. And don’t talk to anyone.’

‘The tent’s stowed, Leader,’ a soldier announced with a half-salute.

‘Good work, Bobbin,’ Blade replied. He beckoned to the others to close in, and when they’d gathered, he continued. ‘I’m expecting orders to march towards The Whispering Forest this morning. No more easy times. Look and act like the professionals we are. We’ve got these minstrels for company, so keep an eye out for them as well.’

‘Excuse me for asking, Leader,’ one soldier interrupted, ‘but why’s the lad putting on gear?’

Blade glanced over his shoulder at Wombat helping Meg into her chain mail corslet. ‘The lad’s wanting to learn soldiering. I said I’d teach him. All right?’

‘Yes, Leader.’

A deep horn blared a long, resonating note through the mist. ‘To assembly then, lads. Let’s be smart about it.’ Blade smiled at Meg, who looked awkward and overdressed in her helmet and mail. ‘Better,’ he announced, and he grinned at Wombat. ‘I see you thought about stuffing something in for a belly again.’

‘Well, it’s that or a soldier with nice tits,’ Wombat retorted, and the men laughed. Meg wanted to protest, but realised there was no point. ‘And you didn’t tell us you were a Marchlord either, eh,’ Wombat challenged.

‘Group Leader,’ Blade corrected. ‘Everyone’s full of surprises. Now, come with me.’

Men emerged from the thick mist in straggling lines like ghosts, bearing spears and pikes, and shields with the Royal black and golden serpent blazon. Meg and Wombat followed Blade and lined up with his Group—fifty soldiers at Meg’s quick count. In all directions in the slowly clearing mist stood lines of soldiers, as if the entire world had contracted until all that remained was men of war. The bass horn echoed and was joined by a host of others, in bizarre harmony. The ranks shuffled, and Blade stiffened to attention, his eyes fixed on an invisible point in the mist. ‘Can you see anything?’ she asked Wombat.

‘Not a bloody thing,’ he replied.

‘Soldiers of Her Royal Majesty,’ a bodiless voice began, strong and audible. ‘Today the battle for justice begins. Today we march towards the Rebels’ last stronghold.’

‘Who’s speaking?’ Meg asked.

‘I have no idea,’ Wombat replied. ‘Somebody who thinks he’s important, eh?’

‘Quiet,’ Blade harshly whispered.

Wombat shrugged and winked at Meg. She shifted her feet. The mail corslet was already heavy on her shoulders. The helmet nose and cheek plates were
irritatingly cold against her skin, and the helmet felt too large, as if it would topple off if she moved quickly. How did soldiers wear such clumsy apparel?

The assembled multitude cheered the end of the speech, and it was followed by chaotic movement, as the soldiers separated and reassembled in groups, with Group Leaders barking orders. Blade steered Meg into line, and Wombat ambled into position beside her, his giant frame towering over everyone. ‘We march to the next encampment!’ Blade yelled. ‘Stay alert! The Rebels will be looking for weaknesses! Tomorrow we’ll stand before The Whispering Forest, and Future and his supporters will be trapped and doomed! For the Queen!’

The soldiers chorused, ‘For the Queen!’ and marched forward, Meg and Wombat walking with them.

The overcast sky gave no respite. Sweat poured from her brow and her tunic was soaked under the weight of the corslet. Her shoulders ached and the helmet banged against her cheeks. Tired of carrying the spear that Blade had provided, she dragged it on the ground. Wombat and she were at the rear of a column, plodding in the wake of an inordinate number of men. Behind them marched more columns. Dust rose into her eyes and nose. ‘When do we stop?’ she asked.

‘No idea,’ Wombat muttered, sweating from the sustained exertion.

‘I’m sorry you’re here. I’ll keep looking on my own,’ she said.

‘I wouldn’t stay if I didn’t want to,’ he answered.

‘But why
are
you staying?’

‘How many more times are you going to ask? Because I want to, eh. Because you need looking after. When you’ve found this boy of yours, or not as the case may be, then I’ll go home. All right?’

‘Blade said he’ll help me.’

‘Your good soldier Blade sees a nice bit of arse he can get some use of if he’s nice to you, little bird. I warned you about soldiers, remember? Don’t trust them.’

Meg tilted her helmet to wipe sweat from her nose, and was surprised to see a flame shooting through the air. Shouts of alarm broke out and Wombat grabbed her arm. ‘Stay with me!’ he shouted.

Soldiers milled around her. A host of flames seared overhead, burning arrows descending into the ranks behind. Men hefted their spears, swords rattled from scabbards. ‘Form the diamond!’ Blade shouted. He pushed Meg and Wombat into the centre of his Group. ‘Stay in there!’ he yelled, and returned to marshalling his soldiers.

Caught in the press, Meg felt clumsy and useless. She glimpsed the surrounding field between the helmets, but she could see no action. ‘What’s happening?’ she asked the taller Wombat.

‘A Rebel force is attacking the columns further back. They’ve come out of the bush,’ Wombat explained.

‘What about us?’

‘We’re not involved.’

A distant horn blared, and Wombat swore. ‘What?’ Meg asked.

‘You stay right here, little bird,’ Wombat ordered, glaring down at her, before he pushed through the crush towards the front.

Unable to see clearly, Meg was afraid. The horn sounded again, louder, closer. Green figures with angry faces appeared in the gaps between helmets. She heard the thud and clang of bodies and metal colliding and the Queen’s soldiers stepped back as if pushed by a giant hand. Screams assaulted her ears. A helmet spun through the air and landed with a thwack on her
shoulder before bouncing to the ground. The soldier in front of her jerked and grunted, and slid to his knees, the broken end of a spear protruding from his shoulder.

She was caught in a shifting crowd of yelling men that pushed her back and sideways. And they were cheering.

Wombat’s huge frame reappeared, blood smeared across his brow. ‘Well now, that was worth the walking,’ he declared, thumping his poleaxe butt against the ground. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ Meg replied. She looked down at the soldier who’d been speared and saw that he was sitting up, being attended to by a companion.

Blade issued orders and the men reassembled in their ranks. ‘Take the wounded back to the caravan for treatment,’ he ordered. ‘Second party cleaning duty.’ Soldiers shuffled out of the rank ahead.

‘What are they doing?’ Meg asked.

‘Burying the dead,’ Wombat replied.

‘How many?’

‘Four.’

Ten soldiers were dragging the corpses into a pile. Several bodies in green were lying on the ground, but Meg couldn’t watch any longer because Blade ordered them to march on.

‘So, the Rebels are trying to break the spirit of the Queen’s men,’ Wombat said as they walked. ‘Good tactics, but they’re not working. The war is almost over.’ He started talking about the politics behind the rebellion, but Meg’s mind quickly wandered, replaying the image of the flaming arrows, and recalling the noise of battle. The experience had been surreal, muted behind a wall of soldiers. Only the misfortune of the young man who’d taken the spear shocked her into realising the bloody nature of the skirmish. She could still picture him slumping to the ground, hands
clutching the broken spear shaft. How painful had his wound been? What thoughts were going through his mind? Did he have a mother or a lover waiting at home? She retreated into her thoughts in an effort to escape the aching misery of the corslet and helmet.

A blast flung soldiers’ bodies against her, knocking her to the ground. She fought the crushing weight on her legs and chest, confused by the thrashing limbs and screams, until she remembered the searing flash of heat that accompanied the unexpected collapse. She panicked, and wriggled and pushed.

The weights were lifted away and Wombat’s big paw grabbed her arm and wrenched her to her feet. ‘Are you all right?’ he yelled. As she nodded, adjusting her helmet, Wombat released her. She coughed because the air was filled with smoke and a horrible stench of burning, and she saw several smouldering lumps like those she’d seen in the valley a day earlier. But these were men.

‘Front rank ready!’ Blade yelled.

Another voice cried, ‘They’re coming from behind, sir!’

Wombat stepped into Meg’s line of vision, flanked by soldiers, and a moment later fighting and yelling erupted. She heard another explosion. Above the heads of the men to her left, a ball of flame unfurled skywards. A soldier staggered and knelt at her feet, clutching his face, blood pouring through his fingers. She stared in shock, and when she finally bent forward to see if there was anything she could do the young man coughed and fell over, his legs thrashing uselessly. She recoiled and crouched in the centre of the wild melee, terrified by the clatter and clang of weapons and the cries and shouts and screams. She saw Wombat lift a man in green above his head and hurl him sideways. A spear thumped into the earth near her feet and she
scrambled backwards in panic, only to be knocked forwards onto all fours. She pushed to her feet, picked up the sword that was lying beside the dead young man, and clutched it firmly. If a Rebel broke through the ranks, she’d use it, she promised herself fiercely.

The noise of battle peaked, and was replaced with cheering. The soldiers patted each others’ shoulders and helmets and backs. Someone patted her shoulder, muttering, ‘You’ll be fine, lad. You’ll get used to it.’ She saw Blade moving through his men towards her, congratulating soldiers individually as he passed. He stopped before her, took off his helmet, and asked, ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, unable to disguise the tremble in her voice.

‘Your friend’s been hurt. He wants to speak to you,’ he said. Meg gasped, as Blade took hold of her arm. ‘Don’t take off your helmet, Meg,’ he warned, before he released her.

She pushed through the throng, stepping around the wounded soldiers slumped on the ground, until she found Wombat lying on his right side. Stitch the surgeon was busy sewing a wound in the big man’s thigh. She dropped to her knees before him. ‘Well, I see you’re safe at least,’ Wombat said.

‘And you?’ she asked.

‘He’ll be spending at least two days with the caravan,’ Stitch told her.

‘Don’t listen to the idiot,’ Wombat protested. ‘What would he know?’

Meg looked at Stitch for further explanation. ‘This little gash isn’t the problem,’ Stitch said, tying off the suture. ‘The big oaf’s got half a spear stuck under his ribs around the back here. Someone better than me’s going to have to cut it out.’

‘Doesn’t even bloody hurt,’ Wombat complained.

Stitch winked at Meg and dropped his hand to Wombat’s back. The big man yelped and swore vehemently. ‘Doesn’t hurt much at all,’ Stitch said, grinning wickedly. ‘Just enough.’

‘You’re a fucking maniac!’ Wombat yelled. ‘I don’t know why I let you anywhere near me.’

‘Because no one else would be so gentle with you,’ Stitch retorted. ‘Now let me do that cut on your shoulder.’ He shifted and started cleaning a deep wound.

Wombat winced as alcohol was poured over the cut, and said to Meg, ‘It’s too dangerous to be out here, eh. Go home. The fighting’s only just started. You won’t find what you’re looking for. It’s too late. Stay back at the caravan with me, eh.’ He winced again as Stitch started sewing his flesh.

Blade bellowed orders to his men as they marched past the wounded. He stopped and looked down at Meg. ‘We’re moving out. Are you coming?’

She turned to Wombat, and saw the plea in his sweating expression. ‘I have to find Treasure,’ she told him. ‘I can’t thank you enough for getting me this far. But I have to find him.’

Wombat smiled weakly. ‘You do what you have to do then, little bird. When I get back on my feet, I’ll come and find you again, eh? I promise.’

Meg wanted to kiss the big man, but she just nodded. ‘I expect you will,’ she said. She stepped into line with the able-bodied soldiers of Blade’s Group, looking over her shoulder at her injured companion as she marched away.