Читать книгу Bloodchild - Anna Stephens - Страница 17

Seventh moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus

Road to the South Rank forts, Western Plain, Krike border

Three separate reports of bands of Mireces, a few hundred strong each, had come in from three locations within a ten-mile radius of the South Rank’s headquarters. Whether or not they knew the survivors of the siege were there, they were doing what they could to prevent patrols or intel moving in and out of the forts.

A week of rest had turned into a month as the Rankers finally began to let go of the state of heightened awareness and battle-readiness that had characterised their time under siege and their flight across Rilpor. Exhaustion had bitten them all deep, and for days they moved around the forts like ghosts unless a sudden sound or sight triggered them into violent motion. Mace himself couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so much or his thoughts had been so hard to assemble. As though the siege had stolen his wits.

But now, finally, he felt close to his old self and determined to prove it to everyone by tagging along with Colonel Jarl’s Hundreds. The largest reported force was northeast between the forts and Rilporin, with others reported at north and northwest of their position – the three directions from which they were most likely to receive potential reinforcements or vital information. It didn’t feel like a coincidence that they’d be there and not elsewhere in the Western Plain.

Hallos had glowered from beneath eyebrows no less fearsome for being more grey than black these days, but Mace wasn’t letting the physician talk him out of another patrol and the chance at a scrap, even as he’d ordered the shattered remnants of the West and Palace Ranks to stand down. The fires that had led every one of them to perform extraordinary feats during Rilporin’s defence were still banked embers, and they needed time to coax the flames back into life.

Dalli had come too, which didn’t surprise him. She’d been spikier than usual since her fight with Rillirin and the girl’s removal to Fort Three, and as the days passed the outrage iced over and now they were little more than brittle strangers on the rare occasions they were in the same place together.

All of which Mace put out of his mind as they rode out of the gate in the midst of two hundred marching Rankers. ‘How are the supplies looking, Colonel?’ he asked as his skittish mount sidestepped into Dalli’s. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been on a horse. Somewhere back in the west, he supposed.

‘At the current rate of consumption, we’ll be on half-rations for all personnel in two moons, quarter-rations in four, and eating our horses and boot leather in six. If we go on to half-rations now—’

‘That won’t be necessary, Jarl, at least not yet. Once the civilians are gone, even with the provisions they’ll have to take with them, remaining numbers will be almost back to normal. We managed to buy up a decent amount of grain before the East Rank garrisons moved into the towns.’

‘I admit I’m hesitant about sending them so far through hostile territory though, Commander,’ Jarl said. ‘Even if the Mireces border is as empty as you believe, that’s a two-week march for Rankers, so easily three for civilians with old folks and little ones.’

‘You’re not the only one, but there simply isn’t anywhere else for them to go. If we could broker a deal with Krike to house refugees, that would be ideal, but you say we can’t.’

‘Sorry, Commander, if it was possible we’d all be suggesting it. I’ve served here for six years now and we’ve never known the Krikites to change their minds about international relations. They said no – they mean no.’

‘So, we’re going to send them to learn to be Wolves instead,’ Dalli said with half a smile. ‘Or at least, they’re going to occupy our land. Our village in the foothills is small and won’t fit them all, but it’s empty and the only place without an enemy garrison. They’ll have to dig in and build – and try not to strip the land of resources while they’re there. Some of us would quite like to go home when this is all over.’

‘Even once we’ve cleared out these Raiders it’ll be a risk,’ Mace said heavily, ‘but there are forty-two pregnant women in the forts and almost six hundred children of varying ages, as well as the old and those who can’t move fast. We can’t feed them and we can’t protect them, not indefinitely.’ He gestured at the empty, innocent-seeming land rolling away ahead of them. ‘They’re going to come for us. Sooner or later, whether or not they ever learn exactly how many of us are here, the Mireces are going to come. They can’t let us live.’

It soured the mood somewhat, but it had to be said. They weren’t safe down here in the south. Mace’s presence and that of the refugees made no difference – Corvus couldn’t allow a rested, untested fighting force like the South Rank to live. If he was to have absolute power over Rilpor, they needed to be crushed.

‘Let’s not forget Colonel Edris, though. He and King Tresh and a Listran army could be just the distraction we need to get the civs safely away,’ he added in a belated attempt to restore their spirits.

‘He’ll certainly have some decisions to make about where to attack first,’ Jarl agreed, ‘and unarmed non-combatants will be the least of his worries.’

‘Precisely.’

Turned out Jarl was like a dog with a bone, though. ‘They’ll need scouts and guards, too, someone who knows the way, wagons full of provisions. The civilians, I mean – Tresh’ll have Edris and his own supplies, of course. Then there’s deciding who goes first and how many go at once. Your march here all together was a feat worthy of a song, Commander, but the chances of you managing it undetected a second time, if you even did the first …’ Jarl trailed off.

‘You’re not telling me anything I don’t know,’ Mace grunted. He’d already talked it to death with Hadir, but Jarl struck him as the thorough type. It was possible he’d see something they hadn’t.

‘The first decision is whether we send them in small or large groups, or even one huge one – just get them out and away all together. Multiple groups increases the risk of some being seen and attacked. One large one will be slow and chaotic, hard to control. Exactly how we do it is the focus of the first meeting when we get back, but if we don’t make it, Hadir’s tasked with ensuring all four thousand civilians, minus those who have joined the militia, get out and get on the road west. Whatever it takes.’

That soured the mood even further and they rode in silence for a while, stationed ten ranks back, allowing the forward scouts a clear view not obscured by horses’ arses.

There’ll be utter fucking chaos when they know we’re sending them away. They’ll think we can’t protect them, or that we’re getting rid of them to spare our own lives. All the panic and vicious ignorance from Rilporin will be repeated. And I don’t blame them at all. If I were one of them, I wouldn’t want to face open country again. Not ever.

He gave himself a little mental shake. One problem at a time, Mace. Clear the area around the forts so they can get out undetected, and then pray to the Dancer they make it all the way to safety.

Dalli had done the scouting when the campfires were spotted and Mace had nearly managed not to panic at the length of time she was gone. The sky was a riot of stars that did little to hide any of them, and still somehow she slid in close enough to count their weapons and piss in their stew without anyone noticing.

Mace and Jarl huddled around her so their voices wouldn’t carry on the breeze. ‘About three hundred, maybe more if we assume four to a fire and forty on watch,’ she breathed.

It was more men than Mace had, but fewer than he’d feared. ‘All right, we’ve got the night and the element of surprise, and they’ll have shit night vision from standing around the fires. Split up and approach from north, east and west. If they’re fleeing anywhere, I want it to be straight towards the forts so our close patrols can pick them off. Pass the word for quiet. I’ll draw their attention: try and get in amongst them before the alarm sounds so it looks like we’re everywhere.’

Jarl showed his teeth and Dalli’s face shifted into a feral mask. They faded into the night, Rankers following. Mace took a breath and felt the adrenaline mix with the fear, drew his sword and advanced, moving steadily so his gear made as little sound as possible. At his back crept sixty Rankers, silent, disciplined.

‘Who goes there?’ came a Mireces voice from out of the blinding light of a handheld torch, flames flickering on Mace’s plate and the chainmail of the men who followed.

‘For Rilpor!’ Mace roared and broke into a sprint. His men followed, screaming, the other two wings holding back in silence until all attention was firmly on Mace. They ploughed into the light and into the line of Mireces scrambling to their feet, fumbling for weapons and screaming questions and alarms and, soon enough, pain.

Mace ducked a hasty swing and carried on past, flicking his sword backwards into the Mireces’ exposed hamstring. He went down howling and Mace left him to be picked off by those following. A knot of Mireces charged him and he tightened the grip on his shield, took an axe blow high on its face and smashed the boss in his attacker’s chest, pushing him back a step, parried a sword with his own and insinuated his blade past the man’s guard and into the side of his neck, a raking slice that put him out of the fight and possibly out of life. Another sword battered into his pauldron and he grunted, stepped back and spun, lashing out with sword and shield, blocking low and cutting high, high, low and then thrusting.

Another axe blow on to his shield was almost enough to break his wrist and he bellowed, kicked the man wielding it in the knee and rammed him off his feet, bringing the shield rim down into his face and hearing the snap of bone and teeth. Screaming filled the night.

‘’Ware!’ shrieked a voice and he dived, rolling over his shield and into clear space, up between two Mireces just turning to face him, stabbed one and missed, the chainmail turning the point, flicked the blade down and opened the man’s thigh instead, kicking into the open wound; he took the blow from the second Raider on the edge of his shield, chips of wood spraying his face and the blade skittering off and squealing down his breastplate.

Spun side on and forced the man back with the shield, herding him until he tripped over a corpse, lashing out with a blow more a bludgeon and staving in helmet and skull. Sucking in lungfuls of air and letting all the rage of Rilporin surge up his throat and out of his mouth in a scream of pure violence, spinning to defend his back when his spine prickled warning, tucked in behind his shield so the attack was a glancing blow off the metal boss and his upward diagonal sweep made it below the chainmail and into groin and belly. Stink of entrails and the scream of a dead man, glimpse of Dalli darting like a fish from the darkness, spear red along a third of its length, twirling and ducking and dealing death.

Another presence behind him and he twisted again, sword already cutting, and Jarl threw up his shield to deflect it. ‘About a dozen slipped through south if you want them, Commander,’ he panted when he saw the need for more violence, for release, in Mace’s expression, indicating a score of soldiers arrayed behind him with torches and bloodstained faces, ready to run.

Mace took another deep lungful, adrenaline crystal-bright and singing in his veins. ‘Mop up here,’ he snarled, bloodlust thickening his voice. ‘I’ve got the runners.’