Winter Be My Shield (8 page)

‘I understand that was the leading theory … but I'm not sure it's the truth. I don't see why a concubine would wear a uniform of the royal household. Let's see, you know enough of the king's matters to know the Duke was given enchantments to wear — and enough to recognise these as the same sort of stone. How did you find them? They can't have been easy to spot in my packs if Rhia thought they'd been thrown away already.'

He couldn't read her face beneath the bandage, but Kasimi stiffened with sudden tension and closed her mouth with a snap.

‘Never mind,' he said. ‘I don't mean to pry, I'm just so cursed bored. No doubt you have good reason to keep your secrets. But can you tell me anything of what's happening in the west? I haven't heard any news since before …' He trailed off, glancing down at his splinted arm. ‘Well, for weeks, and Cam and the others don't tell me anything they think would make me worry.'

She laughed, a brief, humourless sound that seemed born more of nerves than anything else. ‘I heard about you,' she said. ‘Back in the king's camp. I'm glad you survived; it's heartening to know Kell and the king aren't as all-powerful as they'd have us believe.'

Isidro glanced down at the splints again.
Glad, are you?
he thought.
I'm not, at times.
What tales had spread through the camp of his days of torment? He winced at the thought of it, but then Kasimi went on, giving him something to focus on and drive those unwelcome memories away.

‘The fighting has probably begun by now. The Akharians were close when I left, digging in on the far side of the river valley. They have control of the Bear Lands — a few made it out, but most are slaves now, heading to the markets in Akhara.'

‘How many men do the Slavers have?'

She shook her head. ‘No idea. I never saw them and the men I overheard didn't say. But I think it's a lot. More than the king has, maybe.'

‘The numbers don't matter as much if he has the advantage of terrain,' Isidro said. ‘The pass where the river cuts through the ranges is good ground — I'd say Severian could hold it for years, if it weren't for the mages. Can you tell me anything of them?'

‘Not much. From what I heard, the king isn't worried. Kell and his cursed apprentice are sure they can deal with them … the ones marching south, that is. The ones who head this way aren't likely to meet anything that gives them pause.'

Isidro frowned. ‘The Akharians are heading east?

She nodded. ‘I tried to tell your brother, but I don't think he believed me.'

‘But why? Surely they'll be heading south to sack the harbours and burn the ships.'

‘I can't explain it, but that's what I heard,' Kasimi said. ‘And from more than one man, all of them well up in the chain of command.'

‘That can't be right,' Isidro said. ‘Even for slaves, it wouldn't be worth it. It would be easier to round up people living in towns along the coast than to seek out the villages at the foot of the mountains.'

‘No one in the camp understood it either,' Kasimi said. ‘The Black Sun only knows what they're looking for. What are you and the prince doing in this part of the land, anyway? The Mesentreians have been gathering for months — you must have been aware of the danger.'

‘Mmm. We knew, of course, but at that point there wasn't much we could do about it.' He hesitated, unsure of the wisdom of telling her, but she seemed to relax as he spoke. The knowledge she hinted at intrigued him and perhaps sharing his tale would encourage her to spill hers. ‘There aren't many places left where Cam and I could stay without drawing attention — the Raiders bands were one of them.'

In brief terms, he told her how he and Cam had come to this part of the country. Outlaws existed across the whole of Ricalan to some degree,
but there were perhaps a thousand of them on the border between the Wolf Clan's northern holdings and the new Mesentreian provinces to the south. Before the king's muster had called the bulk of their warriors away, the Wolf Clan would have just wiped them out, but they served as a protective buffer against the war-bands of the Mesentreian lords, who saw anything in Ricalani hands as theirs for the taking, especially towards the end of a long winter when stores set aside by those unfamiliar with the northern seasons began to run out.

The outlaws were displaced people of one kind or another — in the early days the settlers had lived side by side with the natives in an uneasy tolerance, but as the population grew the Ricalanis who held their ground found themselves treated as aliens in their own land. Some, like Eloba and Lakua and their husbands, simply left. Others resisted and found themselves attacked, either legally under the new Mesentreian laws or out of simple greed for their land and their herds. If any children survived the attacks, they would be fostered among the families in the district — which in practice meant they became the indentured servants of those who had slaughtered their parents. Some died, but still more ran away.

The lucky ones found their way to the seat of a ruling clan and claimed sanctuary, but many of them drifted into the bands of the lost and dispossessed wandering along the border, living with no real aim or goal other than to take revenge on those who had destroyed their lives. Half starved, untrained and with stolen or improvised weapons, they were not much of a threat when their numbers were small, but when enough of them came together, leaders emerged, and a good leader could turn fifty broken men into a force to be reckoned with.

Charzic was just such a leader. His arrival had stirred chaos within the band as he turned his supporters against those who resisted his leadership. It was one of those early battles that had resulted in Markhan's death. He had been cut down in the middle of the camp as he tried to defend Lakua from a warrior who was determined to possess her. Brekan was never the warrior Markhan had been: he would have been killed if he'd gone to the warrior's tent and tried to rescue his wife. It had been Isidro who had called Markhan's killer out and slain him in single combat. Lakua had already been beaten and raped, but at least Isidro had recovered her before she'd been passed around among the rest of the men.

That fight had been the beginning of the end, the first link in the chain of events which eventually saw Charzic force them out.

Isidro left out the Wolf Clan's role in setting him and Cam up as spies. If Kasimi were captured again, he doubted she would speak of it willingly, but he know that a desperate person could clutch at any offering that might turn a tormenter's wrath aside. If word reached the king's ears of the Wolf Clan's involvement, either with the Raiders or with hiding Cam and Isidro, it would be disaster for the most powerful clan left in Ricalan.

‘But why head west?' Kasimi said. ‘You must have known there was trouble brewing here.'

‘We didn't have a choice,' Isidro said. ‘We left one step ahead of Charzic's men, but they wouldn't dare follow us too close to the army. Our plan was to come west, then turn north and skirt around the edge of Charzic's territory as we headed back east. But then the king's men found me and put paid to all that.'

‘I see,' she said. ‘And now we're stuck here, more or less, until the others get back and you and I are well enough to travel.' She raised a hand to the blindfold again, her face still swollen with frost.

‘I hope it won't take long,' Isidro said. ‘If what you say is true, we'd best get out of here as soon as we can.'

Cam muttered a curse when he saw the soldiers gathered on the path at the edge of the village, stopping those who passed while an officer mounted on a pony watched over the operation.

‘Cam —' Lakua began.

‘Don't stop. If we turn back, they'll wonder why the sight of all these soldiers put us off.'

‘It's enough to put anyone off,' Lakua said. ‘I wouldn't go past them if I could avoid it.'

‘We should go somewhere else,' Brekan said.

‘It's too late. They'll think we've got something to hide. Just let me do the talking and, by the Twin Suns, don't argue if I give you an order.' He'd hoped to gather more information of what was going on in the west, but faced with these soldiers Cam wasn't sure he dared ask too many questions and draw too much attention. Shoving down his misgivings, he nudged his horse on.

The Mesentreian division was camped between the village and the walled grounds of the temple, but they were preparing to move on. Tents were being taken down, bulky furs folded up and packed on sleds and black iron stoves set out on logs to cool above the snow. It seemed strange, then, that a dozen or so soldiers were gathered on the path leading into the village, searching anyone who entered or left.

A trio of country folk were also heading for the village and they reached the checkpoint before Cam's little band. There was one woman in the party and a soldier grabbed her by the arms as another snatched the knitted cap from her head, pulling a hank of hair out with it. When she cried out in protest, the soldier slapped her. One of her companions objected and the other soldiers swarmed on him. With a punch in the gut that doubled him over, they surrounded him and dragged him away.
Meanwhile, the soldier examining the woman wrenched her gloves off to show the tattoo on her wrist. Whatever it was they were seeking she did not appear to have, because they shoved her to the ground and turned their attention to the sled. The load it bore was covered with a sheet of oilcloth to protect it from the snow and tied down with twine. One of the soldiers cut through the cord to expose the load and pawed through it, scattering bundles into the snow. When the three were allowed to head on into the village they didn't pause to load their goods back onto the sled  — they gathered the scattered bundles into their arms and hobbled on quickly, dragging the sled with its trailing cover and cords behind them.

The soldiers' attention turned to Cam's little band and one of the men gestured for them to approach. ‘Laki, you stay by me,' Cam said over his shoulder and nudged his horse forward.

Cam was posing as a noble servitor of the Wolf Clan, with the others as his personal servants. It would draw more attention than appearing as country folk, but the papers Cam carried meant that he and Brekan were safe from being conscripted, would keep their horses from being commandeered and meant the soldiers wouldn't dare assault Lakua.

In order to fit the role Cam rode without packs or panniers; Lakua's horse carried bulging saddlebags slung over the saddle and Brekan's had been pressed into service to haul the sled. Riding never kept one as warm as walking, so both Cam and Lakua had their hoods drawn up, but Cam pushed his back as the soldiers surrounded them.

‘What's going on here?' he said in Mesentreian. ‘I don't care what you're looking for; I won't have you handle my servants and mangle my gear as you did with those country folk.'

‘Hold off there, lads,' the officer said, guiding his mount towards them. ‘Sorry to trouble you, y'honour, but we're searching for an escaped convict.' He carried a quirt with a gilded handle and gestured with it towards Lakua. ‘If you'll oblige me, sir, have your servant show her face and her clan tattoo.'

Lakua knew only a scattering of Mesentreian, so Cam translated the command for her and with a wide-eyed look she shook her hood back. She and her sister had been born in the south with mixed blood in their ancestry. Lakua's hair was brown and wavy, unlike the woman who had been accosted before, who had the straight black hair of an old-
blood Ricalani. When Lakua took off her glove to show the stylised elk tattooed on the inside of her wrist, one of the men stepped forward to examine it, then turned back to his commander with a shake of his head.

‘Most obliged, sir,' the officer said. ‘Now, if your man will let my lads see your sled, I'll send you on your way.'

‘Take the cover off,' Cam said to Brekan in Ricalani. ‘Show them whatever they want to see.' He turned back to the officer. ‘What is this about?'

‘Just trying to recover some property stolen from one of the king's advisors, y'honour; we won't hold you long.' The officer had sharp eyes, and Cam could feel him taking in every detail of his fair hair and green eyes, so unusual in Ricalan. He couldn't miss the traces of Ricalani blood in his features, though. To Mesentreian eyes Cam was a mongrel. ‘Forgive my curiosity, y'honour, but what clan do you belong to?'

‘Red Fox,' Cam said. The Red Fox was one of the southern clans, their lands broken up and shared among Mesentreian lords for decades now. The clan still existed, but only just, and those who were left were dispossessed and destitute. It would be more remarkable if one of the Red Fox didn't show mixed blood and the clan was so scattered it would take months to prove he wasn't one of them. ‘The head of my clan has me on loan to the Wolf.'

‘Wolf Clan, eh? Have any documents to prove it?'

‘Of course,' Cam said, and reached into his saddlebags for the leather document case. It was just as well that Isidro had burned the other set — if he'd been captured with the papers Cam couldn't use his set without rousing suspicion.

He handed the case over and waited as the officer took his time thumbing through the parchments. They were impeccable  — they'd been written by the Wolf Clan's own scribe, once in Ricalani and again in Mesentreian, with both sets signed by Lady Tarya herself.

‘Camdaric of Red Fox,' the sergeant read. ‘Just what service is it that you provide for the Wolf Clan? I'd have thought a fit young man like yourself would be under War-Leader Dremman's command — and his men are stationed in the south.'

‘Lady Tarya has me bringing her news from the front,' Cam said. ‘Her unranked servitors kept having their horses commandeered for the war effort.'

The officer shrugged. ‘Oh? Odd that they didn't mention they were in the Wolf's service.' He handed the sheaf of documents back and pulled a piece of rag-pulp paper from inside his coat. ‘As I was saying, y'honour, we're searching for an escaped convict, a girl of about eighteen summers. Killed her own suckling babe, she did, strangled it with her bare hands and then ran away for fear of the king's justice. Maybe you've seen her, travellin' round as you do? The king and his Lady Mother are anxious to see the little bitch brought to justice.'

He handed Cam the sheet of paper, printed with a simple wood-cut portrait of a young woman with straight black hair, a narrow face and wary eyes. ‘Never seen her,' Cam said. ‘With the war coming to a head and the Slavers running rampant through the Bear Lands, the finest men in our king's army are searching for a runaway girl?'

‘The king and Lord Kell have the matter well in hand, I'm sure, y'honour, and there's nothing more impious than a mother who kills her own child,' the sergeant said. ‘Surely you don't think the monster should be allowed to go free?'

Cam gave the man a humourless smile. There was no evidence, but he suspected that Valeria had killed the man who sired her sons and it was she who had written out the warrant ordering Cam's death. Clearly killing blood kin was only impious if someone else did it. ‘Of course not,' he said. He offered the portrait back, but the sergeant waved it away. ‘Keep it, y'honour. Mayhap you will run across her in your travels. If you do, keep in mind that the king has offered a reward of ten thousand gold crowns for information of her whereabouts.'

‘Ten thousand?' Cam said. ‘Really?' Ten thousand was a fortune — half that much was enough to buy letters of nobility and set oneself up as a minor lord.

‘Indeed,' said the sergeant. ‘There's a lot of folks as are keeping a sharp eye out for that little sweetheart.'

The men who had been searching the sled stood back and with a salute one of them told the officer the sled was clear. The officer backed his horse from their path and gestured for Cam and his companions to pass.

Once they were out of earshot of the guards, Brekan, leading the sled-horse, said, ‘I don't suppose —'

‘Of course not,' Lakua said. ‘I got a good look at her when I was warming her feet. There's no way Kasimi had given birth or nursed a
babe — Rhia would have picked it if I hadn't. I'd wager anything she's never been pregnant, or at least not for long enough for it to show.'

‘Ten thousand crowns is a lot of money —'

‘Yes, and you can be sure they'd find a way out of paying it to the likes of us.'

‘It's a moot point, anyway,' Cam told him with a warning glare.

It was a great deal of money — far more than was justified by an infanticide. Cam glanced at the portrait again before tucking it away in his saddlebags. Her face had been too swollen and distorted from the frosting to be sure. It might be her, it might not … in a few days, he would know. Either way, Cam was as sure as he could be that the story the sergeant had told him was an outright lie.

 

It was a typical Ricalani village, much like the ones Cam knew from his fostering with Isidro's clan. The day was still early — the sun had not yet risen — but there was a steady bustle of activity as folk carried in blocks of ice for water and carried out nightsoil and animal muck to be buried in the snow over the plot of land each family used for their summer vegetables.

Those folk with wares to sell loaded them onto toboggans and dragged them to the trampled clearing in the centre of the village, where they were laid out on groundsheets spread over the snow.

Alongside them lay the fancier offerings of the Mesentreian merchants who pitched their tents on the village grounds. The merchants were preparing to leave as well, with their stoves cooling above the snow and the bare, skeletal frames of their tents still standing as the hides were folded away. Cam found a family willing to earn a few coppers by watching their horses and gear and then double-checked the cord that bound the cover over the sled, adding his own knot so he would know if it had been disturbed. He asked, but none of them had heard any rumours of an Akharian legion heading this way.

Cam took his battered old sword and Garzen's ermines from his packs and said to Lakua, ‘Do you want me to handle the negotiations for your brooch? Those Mesentreian merchants will have more coin to spend than the local blacksmith —'

‘Not for the likes of us, they won't,' Brekan said. ‘You can negotiate with the southern pigs if you want, but I prefer to deal with a man of my own people.' He took Lakua by the arm and steered her away.

‘We won't be long,' Lakua called back over her shoulder to Cam and let herself be pulled away.

 

The blacksmith's house was marked with a black hammer and anvil painted on the wall beside the upper entrance, barely visible beneath a rime of ice. Two massive black and white dogs guarded the doorway, so Brekan and Lakua stood at the foot of the ramp and shouted for attention rather than risk stepping past them. When someone came to order the dogs down and invite them in, Brekan went off to the forge with a wink and Lakua followed to the kitchen for a bowl of tea, where she asked the wives if they had any old clothes and bedding they were willing to sell.

‘I've lost my kitbag,' she told the women. ‘It must have fallen off the back of the sled and his lordship wouldn't give me any more time to look for it. I lost everything but what I had on my back. Do you have any gear you're willing to part with? I don't have much money, mind, but I don't need nothing fancy, just something to keep me warm.'

She asked for news from the west as the women hauled a basket chest out of a storeroom, but they knew no more than she did. By the time Brekan returned from the forge, whistling and with a bounce in his step, Lakua had a set of worn but functional gear picked out for the newcomer. Brekan handed over the price she'd agreed on without protest and when it was all stowed away in a sack he slung it over his shoulder and draped his other arm around Lakua's neck. Once they were down the ramp of the blacksmith's house he pulled a handful of coins in a fraying pouch from the sash of his coat and handed it to her. ‘You can pass that lot on to Cam.'

She quickly tucked it out of sight inside her own coat. ‘Is that all of it?' she said. He was still warm from the heat of the forge — he'd folded his coat open and she could see the lump made by another pouch around his neck, bouncing against his chest with every step.

Brekan noticed her gaze and quickly reached up to hide it with his hand. ‘Well, there might be a little bit more, but let's not tell him about it, eh? The Black Sun knows it won't be long before another emergency comes up — let's save it until then.'

She leaned into his embrace and smiled. He had his faults, her Brekan, but at the end of the day he was a decent man and that was all that mattered.

 

The merchant looked over Garzen's pelts with a disparaging eye. ‘Well, sir, I'm afraid I can't do much for you. There's no market for these at the present. I'd like to take them off your hands, but it's hardly worth the trouble for me to haul them south.'

Cam suppressed a sigh. At least the merchant hadn't tried to tell him the furs were poor quality. Garzen was a meticulous workman and the pelts were faultless. ‘Just what kind of fool do you take me for?' he said. ‘Of course there's a market —'

‘Those as want fur out here go and catch it for themselves. Coin's tight all over, yer lordship, what with the war and all.'