The City (22 page)

She sat there, dumbfounded, as he roused the others, and within moments they were walking once more through the new morning.

They were within sight of the City walls when Queza died. Indaro was walking beside the litter when the woman gave a little sigh as if a hard decision had been made. Heart full of dread, Indaro stopped the two bearers and they stood, patient as dray horses, as she felt for a pulse. But the faint flicker had departed. The flesh was dead, though the body was still warm with the memory of life. The men set the litter down and they walked on, leaving Queza for the carrion birds.

The rhythm of thundering hooves behind them was the last sound Doon wanted to hear.

She was walking with Stalker, with Fell and Indaro ahead and Garret bringing up the rear. From time to time Fell would stop to allow Stalker to catch up. Doon wondered how long the northlander could keep going; it was taking all his strength to keep propelling himself forward on the crutch. And she marvelled that Fell could not see it would be better to let the injured man lead, setting the pace, than to stride ahead then wait for him with scarcely concealed impatience. He and Indaro make a fine pair, she thought. The woman can wait for nothing either.

‘I wonder what they’re talking about,’ she mused to Stalker, not really expecting an answer.

But after a few more laboured steps he asked her, ‘Is your commander a swordmaster?’

‘You’ve seen him fight.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. There are always rumours. Believe them or not. He is said to have a woman and child somewhere.’

‘We all have a woman and child somewhere.’

‘Speak for yourself. But he has no interest in Indaro. I think he dislikes her.’

The man stopped and stared at her in disbelief. ‘That blow to your arse has addled your brains,’ he snorted, then he moved on.

She had no more time to think on it, for the sound of galloping hooves ended it all. In the last few hours Doon had allowed herself to hope: that they would survive and reach the City; that they all, even Stalker, would live to fight again. The hope washed away in a heartbeat as she turned and saw the silver pennant of an enemy cavalry detachment racing towards them across the darkening land. Thirty riders, maybe more. They would overtake them in moments.

Garret had drawn his sword and was backing towards her. His face was white and she heard him mutter, ‘One more hour. Just one more hour.’

It was hard to bear. Doon had feared she would die in the flood; then, as the Wildcats were slaughtered one by one, she had suffered an injury which could easily have killed her but was mending day by day. Now, to be so close. But she knew the end when she saw it and she drew her sword and prepared to die. She had heard tales of what they did to women captives. She would not surrender and she would not lie down while blood still ran in her body. In a way it was a relief. The last years had been so hard …

Fell Aron Lee, his face expressionless, ordered them to stand line abreast, with Stalker in the centre, and him and Indaro on the flanks. Doon and Indaro looked at each other, and Doon saw acceptance in the other woman’s eyes. Doon grinned, then threw back her head and sang out the high ululating screech of her people. Fell glanced at her and smiled grimly. She saw him reach into the breast of his battered jerkin and pull out the insignia of his rank, a silver square with four gold bars.

The troopers rode around them, whipping up dust. At a word from Fell, the five backed into a tight circle. Doon watched the horses striding past her, circling, leather creaking, horses snorting, bridles jangling, the smell of the animals tickling her nose. She hefted her sword, feeling the dampness in her palm, her dry mouth. At an order the riders stopped and turned towards the five. Spears were levelled and they stood in the centre of a ring of metal points. Doon took a deep breath.

Fell raised his insignia aloft. The gold gleamed in the sunlight.

He called, ‘I am Fell Aron Lee, company commander of the Maritime Army of the West. I demand honourable treatment for these warriors of the City.’

The enemy leader sat high in the saddle on a great warhorse. He and his mount both wore grey armour, and his helm was silver and graceful, with a grey plume atop. He reached up and took it off to reveal a long dark-skinned face.

‘We have been looking for you,’ he told Fell.

Indaro stared in surprise as the leader beckoned to one of his riders. They conferred for a moment and the other dropped back. Moments later they saw a messenger galloping, not east to where they had come from, but west towards the City. Indaro watched his dust trail, baffled. Then, at a word, most of the riders dismounted, easing their backs, stretching their legs, swigging from water bottles and talking in low voices. The leader climbed down, leaving ten riders still mounted, lances and swords at the ready.

Fell ordered his warriors to sheathe their weapons and rest, and they all sat, uneasily at first and then, despite themselves, relishing the idleness. Time crept by and night drew on. Fires were lit and a trooper asked them if they needed water, but Fell shook his head.

‘What’s going on?’ Doon asked impatiently. Indaro knew she hated uncertainty, was always happiest when there was a plan to follow.

‘I don’t know,’ Fell replied. He leaned back on his elbows and Indaro saw a flicker of pain cross his face.

‘Let me dress your wound,’ she said softly.

He nodded, and she dragged over the bag of medical supplies they had taken from the dead platoon and pulled out a fresh dressing. He took off his jerkin and opened the borrowed shirt.

‘Lie down,’ she ordered, and he lay back and stared at the stars. Sky blue eyes, she thought, and, despite their hopeless situation, she felt a warm glow in the pit of her stomach. Her traitor body, offered this unaccustomed rest, told her that what she needed was the release of sex. Wonderful, she thought. Good timing.

‘Why did you join Archange?’ he asked her, taking up their previous conversation as if nothing had happened in the meantime.

She concentrated on cleaning the wound, aware his eyes were on her. At last she explained, ‘My brother Rubin disappeared into the
sewers. He was younger than me. He despised the war. He refused to fight and said he would rather side with the Blues.’ Fell raised his eyebrows and she added, ‘I know what you’re thinking, but he was no coward. That is what everyone said, but it is not true. But he felt the war was wrong and, like you, that women should not be serving. When I last saw him, when I was home on leave, he told me what he was planning to do. I tried to dissuade him, for his own sake, and for our father’s, and mine I suppose. But he would not listen and when he disappeared I knew where he had gone. So I followed him. It was not the best decision I ever made.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I had no idea what the sewers were like, how many hundreds of leagues of darkness and terror, the thousands of desperate people living down there. It was a nightmare. And there was so little chance of finding him in the dark.’

‘Was he ever found?’

She shook her head. ‘I like to think he survived and is now living in safety somewhere, and my father knows and is content to conceal him. And I know that these thoughts are treasonous. But if we are to die … Anyway,’ she shrugged, ‘I don’t suppose it matters now. Why has the messenger gone towards the City? To arrange your ransom?’

‘I’m not important enough to ransom.’

‘But they were looking for you? Why would the enemy be looking for you?’

‘I don’t know. But I expect it is a matter of politics. Our general, our
late
general, I suspect and fervently hope, used to say everything is about politics.’

‘I despise Randell Kerr. And I despise his sentiments. The man’s a fool, a dangerous fool, yet you’re quoting him.’

Fell grinned at her and the anger in her chest drifted away and she laughed. She found she was enjoying herself. Here, at the end of the world, she felt happy for the first time in years. She saw the others looking at them curiously.

‘Can we survive this?’ she asked him softly.

‘I have asked myself that every day of the last seven. We are still here.’

She had finished the dressing, noting that the wound was healing slowly. She packed away the bandages. Then she leaned forward and kissed Fell on the mouth. He tensed, then she felt his lips soften and
his tongue touch briefly against hers, and she pulled away again. A promise, she thought. If we survive this.

‘The messenger’s coming back,’ announced Garret.

The mounted man galloped up and flung himself from his horse to speak to the grey leader. Then he disappeared into the darkness with the rest of the riders.

Yet more time passed and nothing happened once more, until a tinge of pink appeared in the eastern sky and Indaro could make out the shapes of friends and enemies around her.

Doon stood and stretched. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked irritably. ‘Why don’t they just kill us and get it over with?’

But Indaro wasn’t listening. ‘Can you hear that?’ she said, cocking her head.

They all looked to the west. Under the lightening sky they could see a troop of cavalry issuing from the distant City. Indaro’s heart lifted. Relief, at last. She swung back, raising her sword. But the grey riders were casually packing their saddlebags, getting ready to leave.

‘What are they doing? What’s going on?’ she asked, looking to Fell.

He shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea.’

Within moments the City troop arrived. They drew to a halt many paces distant. There were just seven riders – a woman leader and six warriors in black and silver. The leader stepped her mount forward. Indaro recognized the short grey hair, the skinny, ungainly frame. She frowned. That woman Saroyan again. Was this unlikeable woman dogging her steps? Why did she appear each time there was a mystery? She and the grey leader walked their mounts to one side and talked quietly together. The two teams of riders stared at each other across the heads of the five bemused captives.

Time passed and voices were raised, then lowered. Bargaining for our lives, Indaro thought. What will the bargain be? What are our lives worth? Finally the man and the woman trotted their mounts back to their respective lines. The woman nodded her head in a valedictory gesture to the greys’ commander. The City riders were about to leave again.

Fell stepped forward. ‘Saroyan!’

The lord lieutenant looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.

‘I am Fell Aron Lee,’ he announced. ‘I was decorated by the emperor for valour after the Battle of Coulden Moor, and I hold two gold suns for twenty years’ service. With me are four faithful warriors
of the City who have courageously offered their lives in its service every day for more than four years.’ He raised his voice. ‘Would you turn us over to the enemy to die like dogs in the dust?’

Indaro waited, tensed. For a long moment there was no sound but the sighing of the breeze past their ears and the breathing of horses, the only movement Saroyan’s mount turning. It was a young beast, and skittish, but the woman paid it no mind as it trotted lightly in a circle. Then she gripped it with her thighs and said a soft word and it shook its mane and settled down.

‘Your orders are to go with these troops,’ she told Fell coldly. ‘They will not kill your warriors if you go quietly.’

Fell said, ‘We will not surrender to the enemy at the word of a traitor.’

The woman appeared not to be offended, only impatient. She walked her horse over to Fell. Indaro stepped up to Fell’s shoulder. Saroyan glanced at her with dislike, then leaned from her saddle. The moonstone earring gleamed in the rays of the rising sun.

‘You can keep your team alive or condemn them to death,’ Saroyan said. ‘You can go with these soldiers trussed like a deer and laid across a saddle or riding like a free man. Your choice. Either way you
will
go, Fell Aron Lee.’ Then she dropped her voice. ‘This is about Arish,’ she said, ‘and a promise made long ago, which you now have a chance to honour.’

What’s Arish, Indaro thought? She watched Fell’s face tighten and his eyes narrow. There was a long moment when he seemed turned to stone; then, stiffly, he nodded.

Saroyan spoke two words in a foreign tongue to the grey leader. Then the City cavalry turned and rode back towards the distant wall, leaving their soldiers in the dust.

At an order the troopers mounted, and five riderless horses were brought round from the rear. The leader told the City soldiers to surrender their weapons and mount. At Fell’s word they gave up their swords. They helped Stalker on to a horse then each took a mount.

The leader rode up to Fell. ‘Your four soldiers,’ he said in his strange accent, ‘are a guarantee of your good behaviour. Do I have to bind your hands behind you?’

Fell shook his head. He stayed at the head of the company, with the leader, as Indaro and the others were guided back to the centre. Indaro heard Fell ask, ‘Where are we going?’

The leader replied, ‘To Old Mountain.’

THE TALL, CROOKED
building loomed like a stooping heron over Blue Duck Alley. Its layers of cellars had been laid down in the unremembered past and now the deepest level was always under water. The ground floor of the house was a centuries-old squat, square stone building, its windows boarded against the prying eyes of neighbours and the thieving fingers of their children. Above that rose four storeys of crumbling bricks and mortar, each slightly smaller than the one beneath, the arched windows painted gaily in different colours. And on top, comically, apparently an afterthought, riding like the crow’s nest atop a ship’s mast, was an over-large structure of timber and red tile, an attic, a workroom, and the heart of the house. The whole building, supported by its neighbours only to the first three floors, leaned forward vertiginously, overburdened by the weight on top. Indeed some former resident, perhaps worried by the way the house shifted ominously in the strong northerlies, had built a latticework of timber which reached out from the front wall of the workroom and grasped the pitched roof of the high lodging house on the other side of the alley. Now the two tall buildings leaned against each other comfortably, held together and apart by the sky highway. Only the pure white cats – the ghost cats – which made the quarter their home deftly trod this wooden path high above the stones of the alley.