The Escapement (22 page)

"Really?" Now it was a voice he could've shaved with. "You surprise me. I'd have thought at some point someone would've briefed you on where little aristocrats come from. I thought it was such a big deal, ensuring the succession." Mere vulgar chiding; he was under no obligation to reply to that. He lay still in the dark, trying to think. Correction: trying to care.

"We could go to the Vadani," she said.

He was too tired to be angry. "No we can't."

"We can. It's the only—"

"For crying out loud, they were going to kill us."

Patient sigh. He found her patience almost unendurable. "First, they won't remember me. Second, things are different now. The duke's married
her
." Pause.

"Your girlfriend."

"She was never—"

"You were going to marry her. You were best friends when you were kids. You got arrested because you hid that letter, for her sake. She's not going to let him have you killed." Another pause. Perfect timing, like a great actor. "We'd be safe," she said. "You wouldn't have to stay with me if you don't want to."

"It's not like that, of course I want to stay with you, that's not the
point
…" She ignored him. "If we stay out here, we're going to starve to death. Or one day a soldier's going to kill you, instead of the other way round. Or the savages will catch us with a branded horse. There's loads of ways it could all go wrong. But if we go to Duke Valens, at the very least he'll feed us, he'll give us a place to sleep, even if it's in a prison. It's got to be better."

He felt like he was choking on feathers. "I can't go to the Vadani," he said. "For God's sake, I've been murdering their soldiers for the last four months."

"They don't know that."

"Maybe not, but what if one of the buyers shows up and recognises me? I don't suppose Duke Valens is going to be very impressed, do you?"

"That's hardly likely, is it?" He felt her move beside him. "And even if it did happen, she could protect you. She could, I'm sure of it. Think about it, will you?

He had her husband killed, that's got to be a really serious issue between them. You were her husband's best friend, you and she were going to get married, it was because of that bloody letter he wrote that you nearly got killed then. If you deny it, say you never killed any soldiers and it's all a mistake, he'll have to pretend to believe you, for her sake." Even in the dark, he could feel her tears coming. When she started crying, all he wanted to do was hit her. "If you're going to let your stupid pride stand between us and our only chance of staying alive…"

"All right," he said. "All right, I'll think about it."

"I know what that means. It means no."

"No it
doesn't
. I'll think about it. There may be another way, something else we could—"

"No there isn't. You said there isn't. You said so yourself."

"For pity's sake," he groaned, "have we got to do this now, when I'm completely exhausted? You always do this, start on me when I've had enough, when I'm too tired to think."

She laughed. "The only time I ever see you is when you're worn out," she said.

"The rest of the time you're out, hunting soldiers. God almighty," she added, "will you just listen to that? Out hunting soldiers, what a bloody ridiculous way to make a living. All right, my husband used to go round battlefields robbing bodies, but at least they were already dead. And look what happened. They caught him and cut his head off for it. You're killing live soldiers just to get their boots, and you're saying we can't go to the Vadani because it's too
dangerous
." Tears any second now; anything rather than that. "You don't understand," he said. "It's…"

"It's what? Well? Are you going to try and tell me you're scared? Like, more scared than picking off soldiers, two, three, four against one? No, it's that bloody pride of yours, the whole idiotic Ducas thing. You'd rather be lynched as a highwayman than dishonoured as an aristocrat. That's it, isn't it?" Well, of course, he thought. Of course it is, and if you weren't a stupid, ignorant low-class woman you'd understand that; because if a soldier kills me or I'm caught and hanged, all they kill is a body. But if I go to Veatriz like you want me to, it's the real me that'll die; the real me that you could never possibly hope to understand. And, of course; in the last resort, where necessary, it's the duty of the Ducas to die for his people; his household, his inferiors. People like you.

"Fine," he said. "If that's what you want, we'll go to Duke Valens. Just don't…" Pause. "Don't what?"

He sighed. "It doesn't matter. We'll do it because…" He couldn't think of a reason, not one he could say out loud. "Because of the baby. Because I love you." Silence; then she said, "I love you too."

Yet another attack on a routine patrol, the third in as many weeks; it couldn't be allowed to continue, the Aram Chantat liaison insisted, something had to be done about it, particularly since the insurgents had once again singled out Aram Chantat rather than Vadani as their targets. Examination of the bodies suggested the work of a band or bands of light, mobile snipers. It was well known that the Cure Doce trained as archers and hunted extensively with the bow. Most likely this was their way of striking back after the destruction of their sneak attack on the allied camp. At the moment it was only a nuisance, but it had to be stopped before it escalated into a significant annoyance. The liaison also felt constrained to point out that by sparing and releasing on parole the prisoners taken during the night attack, the duke would appear to have given the Cure Doce an unfortunate impression of leniency bordering on weakness.

Duke Valens replied that he accepted the points so ably raised by the liaison, and in the circumstances he felt it appropriate that the Aram Chantat should take such action as they saw fit. There was no need to keep him informed. He had every confidence in their capabilities.

The very next day, therefore, a squadron of Aram Chantat (ten lancers and thirty mounted archers) crossed the river at dawn and rode over the crest of the moor into Cure Doce territory. Reports said that the villages nearest the border had been abandoned after the night raid as a precaution, but a substantial farm only twelve miles from the river was still occupied.

Following the scouts' directions, the squadron's two outriders picked up the farm track where it left the road, until the ground levelled out and they were in danger of being seen. Taking their bearings from the helpful column of chimney smoke that rose calmly into the still morning air, they drew a wide circle under the lip of the surrounding hills, in doing so encountering a substantial brook which they assumed to be the farm's water supply. This brook ran down through a deep, narrow combe, lightly wooded with rowan, ash and willow coppice, showing signs of carefully managed cutting. Venturing a little way down the combe, the outriders decided that it would afford the necessary cover for the approach, and reported back to their captain, who agreed.

The outriders' assessment proved to be correct. With the smoke column to guide them, the squadron followed the brook down, satisfied that they were adequately concealed and would therefore have the element of surprise. When they eventually cleared the coppice, they found themselves barely two hundred yards from the fences of the home pastures, with the farm buildings directly ahead of them. The captain made his dispositions quickly, sending five archers out on each flank to encircle the building and act as stops. He deployed the remaining twenty archers to ring the pastures and work inwards, and himself led the lancers in a dash for the main yard around which the buildings were grouped.

The plan worked efficiently. Four hours after dawn, the farm inhabitants had finished the early chores and gone indoors for breakfast. The alarm was, therefore, only raised when the lancers rode into the yard. Four men dismounted and broke into the smallest of the three houses whose chimneys were smoking. They killed the people they found there, two men, five women and a boy, lit torches from the hearth and came back outside. The screams drew out the remaining inhabitants, of whom approximately half were immediately cut down, the rest running out into the pastures or heading for barns and outbuildings. As soon as the firing party had remounted, the lancers set about kindling the thatches, by which time the twenty archers of the inner encirclement had drawn the pastures and arrived in time to shoot down the fugitives trying to escape in the open. The rest either were shot as they tried to flee the burning buildings, or perished in the flames. Fifty-seven bodies were recovered, twenty-five males and thirty-two females, with an estimated twelve additional males burnt in the buildings. Aram Chantat casualties were limited to one arrow wound, superficial, friendly fire, and a small number of inconsequential burns and bruises. A search of the buildings and bodies revealed a pair of Vadani military boots and, even more significant, an Aram Chantat saddlecloth, apparently used as a bedspread in the main house. An elderly male, interrogated prior to execution, claimed to have no knowledge of hit-and-run raids against allied forces. Confronted with the boots and the saddlecloth, he was unable to account for their presence, asserting that he had never seen them before.

Returning by the main farm track, the squadron rejoined the road and proceeded to cross the river at an established ford, with an abandoned border station. There they encountered a man and a woman who demanded to be taken to Duke Valens, claiming to have vital information about the war. In their possession was found a branded Aram Chantat horse, which they asserted they had found wandering loose near the river. The man claimed to be Miel Ducas, the former leader of the Eremian resistance. They were taken into custody and escorted back to the camp.

Valens stared at him for a moment, then said, "Hello."

It was all Miel could do not to laugh. Fortunately, he was the Ducas, trained from birth not to register embarrassment. Really the only thing he'd ever learned worth knowing. "Thank you for seeing me," he said.

Valens nodded at the empty chair. Miel thought it didn't look as though it'd bear his weight, but he took a leap of faith and sat in it. "That's all right," Valens said. "I was wondering only the other day what the hell had become of you." He had to smile at that. "After you ordered my execution, you mean?" Valens nodded. "I seem to remember a guard got killed. I'm assuming that was nothing to do with you."

"Of course not."

"As I thought. Fine, we needn't mention it again." Valens frowned. "You look dreadful," he said. "What've you been doing to yourself?" Miel grinned. "Living the simple life. I read about it in Pannones'
Pastoral
Eclogues
when I was a kid, and I thought I'd try it: the open air, the stars my ceiling, the meadow my pillow. You know the sort of thing."

"Actually, I quite like Pannones," Valens said gently. "I've always taken his romanticised version of the rural idyll as an extended metaphor for the inner tranquillity that comes from the renunciation of worldly ambition in reformed Substantialist philosophy." He frowned and sniffed. "I'm glad you didn't bother getting all dressed up," he said. "We're informal here these days, it saves so much time and energy. Drink?"

"Yes please," Miel replied.

Valens nodded at the jug on the flimsy-looking table. Miel stood up—something had happened to his knees, but he made it, just about—filled a cup and sat down again.

"They told me you had some information for me."

Miel shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he said. "That was just a little white lie, to keep your Aram Chantat from slitting my throat. The fact is, I've invited myself to stay. Mostly," he added with a sheepish grin, "because I've got nowhere else to go. I hope that's all right."

"Sure," Valens replied casually, his eyes fixed on Miel's face. "After all, you're a hero of the Eremian resistance, you're entitled. And we've agreed to forget all about that other business, so that's fine. Who's your girlfriend, by the way?" Miel smiled by way of parrying. "My girlfriend, actually," he said. "Where is she, by the way? I asked the guard, but…"

"I'll tell them to let her go," Valens said quickly. "Sorry. But you know how it is in a war, everybody gets so jumpy and serious about everything. They'd lock up their own grandmothers if they found them out without a pass." He leaned back a little, carefully, almost as if he didn't trust his chair. "I suppose I ought to try and explain to you about Orsea," he said.

"No, please don't."

"Fine."

Miel looked back at him, a riposte in double time. "How's Veatriz?"

"She's well. I had a letter from her two days ago, actually."

"She's not here, then?"

"No." Slight crease of the forehead. Probably he didn't realise he was doing it.

"We decided it'd be better if she stayed in Civitas Vadanis for the time being. A bit too much war in these parts, and besides, the Aram Chantat don't really approve of her."