Adrian Tchaikovsky - Heirs of the Blade

For a long time they just stared at one another, and then she finished her wine.

‘But they are dying anyway,’ she said at last. ‘Because this bandit leader out-thinks us, even though we have more soldiers. And whether you took up the tactician’s blade again or not, they would still die. Fewer would die, surely, if you took control here and guided Salme Alain and his mother to victory.’ As he started to speak, she interrupted almost viciously, ‘Yes I know. They would die under your command. They would be yet more corpses to lay on your back. But it’s beyond that now, and we need you. Is that load so great that a few more corpses will break you, Prince Lowre?’

‘You are cruel.’

‘I know the weight of blood, and I will not claim this is a just war. I say only that it must end.’

His lips tightened, and she thought of the way he had lived before she had talked him into coming: hiding away in his secluded compound, pottering from one idle hobby to another, always at home to his old friends – to those he still had left – keeping his little court and offering no harm to anyone, for fear…

‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry, but there’s no other way. We have to bring this to an end.’

And at last he nodded, or perhaps his head sagged. ‘I know,’ he echoed her dispiritedly. ‘I know.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I suppose I will have to dress as befits a war leader, then.’ Some small ghost of his customary humour touched him, as he indicated his current state. ‘Let Salme Elass know that I wish to have counsel with her, but I may be some little while.’

She stepped out of his tent and her father was waiting for her, laying his hands on her shoulders, guiding her, reassuring her, reminding her of her true purpose. And she then forgot a great deal of what she had just felt and heard and said, and knew only that, once more, There will be blood.

As the three of them galloped up, Mordrec kicked off from his saddle, his wings coasting him over to Dal Arche, while letting his horse find its own way. Dal looked up as he landed. ‘You’ve taken your time.’

‘Getting them set up for a fight back in Rhael wasn’t as easy as you might think.’

Dal grimaced. ‘They didn’t take it seriously?’

‘They took it too cursed seriously,’ Mordrec told him. ‘We dumped a load of bows and spears and swords on them, and they had the wit to ask us how they were supposed to put them to use. We ended up staying there half a tenday more than we’d hoped, just drilling them in the basics. You should see Siriell’s Town now: everyone and their grandmother’s going about armed. You got the weapons we sent ahead?’

‘I did.’

The two of them turned, as Soul Je and Barad Ygor rode up, too, and dismounted.

‘Have you told him?’ the Scorpion demanded. His companion clung to his back, her claws crossed beneath his collarbones, and her stinging tail curled about his waist.

‘I was getting to it,’ Mordrec snapped back. ‘Dala, we’ve seen the Salmae on the move between here and the Rhael border.’

‘I know,’ Dal agreed. ‘The game’s changed, and we’re pulling back. What have you got available in Rhael now?’

‘There’s close on five hundred just over the border, waiting for the word. If we don’t use them soon, they’ll go sour on us and either head back south or start fighting with each other,’ Mordrec declared.

‘We had them just where we wanted them until a few days ago, but then they got wise to us,’ Dal explained. ‘We were running them all over the place, keeping them guessing, and they were going for us every chance they got. We could lead them any way we chose. Then they went on the defensive all of a sudden, and wherever we decided to raid we’d find at least a handful of them on watch for us, with fliers ready to spread the word. We still scored a few hits, but our luck’s turned. Time to regroup and take stock, I think.’

‘If they’re on the defensive, shouldn’t we take advantage of it?’ Ygor suggested slowly. ‘I mean, if they’re backing off, and we’re also backing off, where will the fight be?’

Dal Arche shook his head. ‘The way I read it, they want us to chase them, so instead we’re going to creep quietly back to Rhael Province and join up with your force there, and wait for reinforcements from Siriell’s Town. After that, we’ll have enough numbers to come back and up the stakes a little.’

‘How many are you here?’ came the dry voice of Soul Je.

‘Right now? About three hundred and fifty. I’ve a raiding party out at the moment of somewhere near seventy-five. We’re moving as soon as they get back. What size parties did you see on the way here?’

Mordrec opened his mouth, but it was Soul who spoke. ‘Move now.’

‘What do you mean?’ Dal demanded.

‘Head south now,’ the Grasshopper insisted. ‘This is wrong, I don’t like it.’ It was a lot for him to say.

The four brigands exchanged glances, because Soul seldom wasted words, and his intuition had been right before, when they had ignored him to their lasting regret.

‘You may be right,’ Dal said slowly. ‘I’ll get a messenger off to the raiding party, and we’ll pull back. Can’t be too careful.’

Almost as he said it, a young Grasshopper-kinden dropped down beside them. ‘Enemies coming,’ he panted. ‘Couple nobles, maybe forty levy.’

‘Fight?’ Mordrec asked.

‘Too few of them,’ Dal stated, eyes narrow. ‘Been a while since they were parading about in groups that small. Any word of the raiding party?’

The young Grasshopper shook his head.

‘Move out,’ Soul Je urged.

After a moment’s grimacing pause, Dal nodded. ‘We’ve outstayed our welcome,’ he decided. ‘Let’s get back across the border and regroup. I don’t like the feel of this.’

Within moments, he and his lieutenants were kicking their way through the camp, getting everyone moving. Brigands and their hangers-on took what loot they could carry and readied their weapons. Dal had conditioned them to a rudimentary order: those with bows spread left and right, whilst spears, swords and miscellaneous blunt implements formed the central block. At the vanguard rode their cavalry, consisting of Dal and his fellows and half a dozen others who possessed stolen mounts and the ability to ride them.

‘You’re thinking that raiding party won’t be coming back?’ Ygor pressed as they got under way.

Dal shrugged. ‘I reckon all that quiet we’ve been hearing was the Salmae finally getting their act together and moving into position.’

They broke from the trees not in military order, but not a mob either, heading south at a good pace. There was another stretch of woodland ahead, and once there they could travel under cover of the canopy almost all the way to Rhael.

‘Double pace,’ shouted Dal abruptly, kicking at his own mount. There was a baffled grumbling from the men and women around him. ‘Run, you bastards!’ he berated them. ‘Head into the trees.’

Most of them obeyed, in the end. He had done just enough to turn them from a gang of thieves into an army, whether he had originally wanted to or not. As his horse lurched into a canter, he swung it to the right, bringing it around and along the flank of his suddenly piecemeal force, and watching the complaining, stumbling brigands as they picked up speed.

‘Archers, fall towards the rear,’ he shouted. ‘Be ready to let them have it when they come.’ He guided his steed all the way around the back, galloping along the left flank and repeating his orders to the bowmen there. About half of them would have the wit or the courage to obey, he reckoned. The others, once running, would just rush full-tilt until they had the trees around them.