Dragonfly (18 page)

"So you'll help us in this mad jaunt of ours through occupied lands, fleeing all the soldiers of the Empire?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she said, picking up her bowl.

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The Fens in winter were a strange place, home to wild birds with eerie calls that sliced through the thick freezing mists curling off the water. The reeds were frosted white, pale ghosts of their green summer selves. The channels were edged with wafer-thin ice like lace on a lady's gown. Black eels could be glimpsed rolling in the muddy water beneath, their skins shining with an oily sheen. The riders had to pick their way through the paths, often trusting themselves to unsafe causeways and bridges as they headed deeper into the marshy lands. They saw only a few people, most of whom travelled by flat-bottomed boats, going about their secret business away from the highways of Fergox's empire. Wherever the three travellers could, they avoided being seen, hiding in the rushes until the waterpeople had passed.

Finding shelter at night was the main problem as they had now gone beyond Gordoc's knowledge of these lands. After the mill, they had risked spending the dark hours in a fisherman's empty hut, horses and humans crowded together for warmth. The rotten hull of an

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upturned boat hosted them the third day from Felixholt, but by the fourth they were in the empty flats of the true Fens and were facing a night in the open.

Ramil looked down at the golden head of the girl sitting in front of him, who was wrapped in scarf, cloak, and his own arms, but still she shivered. He wondered if she would survive a cold night outside. Her wound was healing slowly and she winced with the pain any time she moved her leg. Luckily no fever had set in--perhaps it had been too cold for that.

"We'll stop early tonight," Ramil announced. "Build a shelter and a fire."

Gordoc nodded. "Aye, Ram. We have to keep her warm."

The level space between two stands of rushes offered as good a campsite as any they would find for miles. A willow tree wept in one corner forming a natural barrier against the snow falling gently from the sky. The clouds were iron grey like an old bruise.

Tashi accepted Gordoc's help to dismount. "I'll go and bathe my leg," she said, limping out of the clearing, carrying with her a broad strip of cloth.

"Don't go far!" warned Ramil.

"I won't--I can't," she called over her shoulder.

Together Ramil and Gordoc gathered some dead branches littering the space beneath the willow and began to build a fire. The horses stood patiently under the tree, cropping the meager winter grass that poked through the thin layer of snow. The blue roan shook his mane. Ramil looked up.

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"What's the matter, Thunder?" he asked the horse. He'd given the stallion that name because his coat reminded Ramil of a stormy sky.

The stallion shifted his hooves, his twitching muscles betraying that he was nervous about something.

"I think there might be trouble," the Prince told Gordoc in a low voice. "Which way did Tashi go?"

Before the giant could answer, there was a shout from the eastern edge of the clearing. Five men leapt out of the rushes, whooping and wielding pikes.

Ramil dived for his sword, still on the saddle, but was knocked back by a blow from the butt of a pike held by a tall red-haired man. He tumbled to the ground, a boot pressed to his throat. Gordoc was roaring with fury, hemmed in by four men prodding him with the points of their weapons like a wild bear baited by huntsmen.

"What are you doing in our lands?" demanded the red-haired leader. He and his fellow bandits were dressed in strange clothes, muddy brown and green like the landscape, allowing them to creep up unseen upon their prey.

"They must be spies!" snarled a swarthy man, jabbing Gordoc in the stomach.

"Those horses--and the saddles--that's imperial gear," announced a third, jerking his head at the two stallions.

"Speak!" barked the leader.

Ramil struggled onto his knees, nursing his chest where he had been struck.

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"We stole them," he said, taking a guess that the Spearthrower's men were not welcome in this company.

"They lie," said the swarthy one. "They smell of Fergox and his thugs.

They've got this far. We'll have to kill them or they'll take back news of us to the occupier."

"I fear you are right. Sorry, lads, but we live in dangerous times and it is better to be safe than sorry." The leader drew a knife from his belt and yanked Ramil back by the hair, exposing his throat to the blade.

Just then a stone sailed out of the rushes close to the river bank, hitting the red-haired man square on the forehead. He was felled like a tree put to the axe. A second stone followed, striking the swarthy man in the back. He yelled and sprang round, giving Gordoc a chance to grab him in a crushing hug. Ramil scrambled to his feet and drew his sword. Tashi limped out into the open, her cloth sling weighed down with another missile. The three remaining men retreated, holding their pikes out in front of them.

Ramil grinned at her in amazement. "I thought you didn't fight," he said, circling round to stand beside her.

"I don't fight for the Warmonger, but I'll fight for my friends," she replied, swinging her sling with intent. "You learn a thing or two as a goat girl."

"Thank the Mother for that." Ramil turned his attention back to the red-haired man who was coming round. He placed the point of his sword at the man's throat.

"Now, let's start again, shall we?" he said politely. "We're not from Fergox--

not in the sense you mean. In fact, we are even less anxious than you to meet with his

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spies or his soldiers. We were just intending to make a peaceful camp and go on our way before you rudely interrupted us. Now it seems only fair that you tell us who you are and why you felt obliged to slit our throats without giving us a fair hearing?"

The red-haired man groaned and sat up. He then noticed the girl with her long fair hair and immediately cringed away.

"The witch!" he cried, touching two fingers to his forehead to ward off evil.

Tashi felt a flash of annoyance. "Let's not start all that again!" she said tartly.

"I'm not a witch. I'm just a foreigner with different colored hair who speaks another language. I didn't strike you down with a spell. I hit you with a stone picked up from the riverbank. You should know because you can feel the lump it left on your thick skull!"

The man shuffled back a pace on all fours. "But you escaped from Felixholt by witchcraft, they say."

"I escaped thanks to the cunning and strength of my friends and a bit of play-acting on my part." She walked off to the edge of the clearing in disgust. "I hate Easterners," she muttered to the horses, burying her head in Thunder's mane.

Ramil smiled at the haughty back of the Princess Taoshira, relieved that she had regained some of her spirit. "But at least you will believe us when we say we do not wish to place ourselves in Fergox's tender loving care again as we've taken so much trouble to escape. Now you know who we are, tell us who you are."

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The red-haired leader raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm Melletin Fernson. You've run into a patrol of the Fenland Resistance."

"Resistance? To the occupation by Holt?"

"That's right. The last unconquered corner. Fergox does not yet hold sway over this part of Brigard, though he likes to claim it is all his. We only cling on here because he doesn't know too much about us. That's why we were going to silence you."

Ramil let the euphemism for killing him pass. There would be time enough to settle that score if things went well. He lowered his sword. "Then, friend Melletin, we are on the same side. I am Prince Ramil ac Burinholt, this is the Blue Crescent Princess you've heard about, and the giant there squeezing that unpleasant fellow to death is our loyal friend, Gordoc Ironfist. Hey, Gordoc!" Ramil called. "You'd better let him go."

The swarthy man dropped to the ground, gasping for air.

"Now the niceties of introductions are over, perhaps you would be so kind as to conduct us to some shelter. The lady here has been wounded and could do with a proper healer, if you know one." Ramil held out a hand to pull Melletin to his feet.

Melletin rubbed his forehead. "She's not the only one. I can take you to our camp. But I'm afraid we cannot offer luxuries fitted to a prince."

"My friend, last night I slept in a boat, the night before that in a hovel, so I'm sure whatever you have will be an improvement."

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Following in the footsteps of Melletin and his band, Ramil and Gordoc led the horses with Tashi mounted on Thunder. They travelled deeper into the Fens. It was easy to see how the resistance might be able to survive out in these wilds. No army could march through on this boggy ground in formation and it would be relatively easy to pick off the enemy's forces in swift raids from the rushes. Hundreds of men could simply be made to disappear and no one would ever know their fate. Even the Spearthrower's favorite subduing tactic of slash and burn would not work here where there was more water than fuel for fires.

They arrived at the camp at dusk. Tashi was relieved to see that it was a more substantial place than she had anticipated, consisting of semi-permanent domed tents made from hides stretched over bent poles. Each dwelling had its own chimney and garden plot. Melletin led them to his tent, one of the largest in the settlement.

"Please enter and take your rest. I must report our arrival to my commander and seek approval for my decision to bring you here. I'll also send a doctor for the lady." He gave Tashi a wary look, but whether that was because he still thought her a witch or because he remembered her skill with the sling, she didn't know.

Tashi was left alone in the tent while Ramil and Gordoc saw to the horses.

She stretched out with a sigh of pleasure on the cushions spread on the cheerful home-woven rugs. The tent smelt of fresh rushes on the floor and wood smoke. Melletin's things were spread around untidily. There was a neat little stove in

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the center with a pipe leading outside. Tashi held her chilblained hands up to the warmth, feeling them tingle as they defrosted.

She heard a polite cough at the door. Tashi turned to find a man with long white hair and a neatly trimmed beard waiting for permission to enter.

"Please come in," she said, half-rising.

"No, no, don't get up," said the man briskly, plumping his bag down on the floor beside her. "I'd be a poor doctor if I made my injured patients leap to their feet on my arrival."

"The wound's not so bad now."

"Let me be the judge of that, young lady," the doctor said sternly. "Now let's have a look at it."

Shyly, Tashi drew aside her clothing. Alert to her embarrassment, the doctor began talking again to take her mind away from his examination.

"My name is Norling, Professor Tadex Norling, formerly of the University of Molinder, our old capital, now chief medical officer of the new capital of all true Brigardians, fondly known as Fenbog."

"I'm honored, sir, to have your attention," Tashi said, guessing that this was quite a comedown for the august professor of medicine.

"God in his wisdom has seen fit to return me to my professional roots. Who am I to argue with Him?" He unwound her makeshift bandage and gave a disgruntled hum. The wound was still oozing blood and clearly giving the patient much pain.

"What did this and when?"

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"An arrow, four days ago."

"I suppose some fool ripped the head out without waiting to have it removed properly?"

"We were in something of a hurry to avoid more of these in our backs."

"Humph. You're lucky you came to me. It should have been stitched immediately, but I'll do my best. I'm afraid you'll have a scar for the rest of your life."

"Small price to pay, sir, for what I avoided in running away."

The doctor threaded a needle he took from a clean pack. "And what was that?"

"An unhappy marriage--"

He gave a world-weary sigh. "There're plenty of those, my dear."

"To Fergox Spearthrower."

"In that case, you got off very lightly indeed." He glanced up at his patient.

"This will hurt, I'm afraid."

The doctor was impressed: she uttered not a moan as he stitched the wound.

"Good girl. You only needed four," he announced, snapping the thread.

"Only four. That's very auspicious," she said dryly. "Thank you."

"I'll remove them in a few days. Keep the wound clean and let me know if anything changes."

"Yes, Doctor."

He looked her over again, noting her thinness and signs of recent ill treatment. "I'd say what you need most is rest and good food."

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"I like that prescription."

"I don't suppose you want to say where you got those?" He pointed to the bruises on her arms, legs, and chest. He leant closer. "If the men you are with have been violent towards you, I can help. We have laws against that kind of thing here."

Tashi gave a strained hiccup of laughter. "You are very kind. No, my companions have treated me with the greatest possible respect and

tenderness. I got these because I'm a witch, apparently, and wouldn't fight the priests of Holin."

Professor Norling sat back on his heels and tutted. "Disgraceful. Sometimes I despair of my fellow countrymen. Their minds are nests breeding

superstition and fear. I have a salve that will help those heal. Rub it on twice a day and they'll be gone by tomorrow night."

Melletin returned with Ramil and Gordoc.

"I apologize, my lady, but the commander deems it necessary to see you immediately," he said.

Professor Norling shook his head. "My patient needs rest. She certainly shouldn't go traipsing around the camp: I've just this moment finished stitching her up!"

Melletin grimaced. "Perhaps you might like to explain that to the commander.

Rather you than me, Professor."

"How is she?" Ramil asked anxiously.

"She would be much better if some idiot hadn't torn out the arrow," Norling replied, throwing his equipment back into his bag. Ramil looked abashed.