Infinite Blue Heaven - A King and A Queen (7 page)

I slapped him on the shoulder. “You did well, Geb. Do not look downcast. You are here and that was your mission. Where did it happen?”
“Just before the river. Do you remember when we paused the other day? You thought you felt something?”
“Ahh. Yes. Damn.” I started to stride up and down, cursing myself and my luck. There was shouting on the southern perimeter of the camp.

Meth, Geb and I walked towards the commotion. Two horses emerged from the gloom, one riderless. I didn’t recognise the man. He slumped over the neck of the horse and Meth’s men helped him down.

He had a bad wound on his chest and another on his upper right arm but I guessed he would live. He was laid on the ground and Meth sent his men to prepare water, dressings and a bed. Geb asked him what had happened.

“After you got away, they closed in on us, I don’t think... they were aware then, that the women had gone. When they found us, without the women, they were enraged and attacked without mercy. They were fierce. I have never fought men like that. They carried swords, curving, not like ours. When the dust settled, I was the last one left alive. There!” He pointed to the horse, he had led. “Look at its flank.”

I strode forward and saw the wavy line and a sword. I knew this brand. It was Lord Bulya’s.

“Lord Bulya.” I said quietly.

“That old rogue!” said Meth.

“At least they did not get the women!” the wounded guard said.

I patted him on the shoulder. He did not know what they were really after. It seemed that they had not got that, information. I could not be sure though. Perhaps not all his men had attacked. And who were these men?

“Meth. We need to leave immediately. We need to go there and make sure none of them got away.”

“I understand.”

“Break camp!” he shouted and immediately there was a flurry of activity. “The main caravan must move tonight but I, my Sons and a few of my best men will come with you.”

“Leave somebody strong in control of the main caravan!” I shouted as I ran for my horse.

We left the camp preparing itself to leave and we galloped south, towards the dim dark outline of the hills, in the night. By dawn, we were already close to the point of ambush. Suddenly, Geb was alongside me.

“I almost forgot, Sire. A present from Boris!” He held out something small, wrapped in blue cloth.

I held it and unwrapped it. It was a small, crudely carved knight, on horseback, about the size of my palm. I smiled at it in wonder. Such a Kingly gift from one so small, I thought. It heartened me. I held it up for Geb to see and then I called to Meth. “Look! A gift from a soldier in the making!” Meth smiled.

“You inspire great loyalty, Lord.”

Meth and I had told Geb to halt the column, about half a mile from the ambush site, partly in case there were others there and partly to aid searching for clues and tracks. Meth and his men, were experts at this.

“It is not far hence, Sire.” Geb suddenly said to me.

“Halt!” I cried.

“You and Geb wait here!” called Meth, as he, his sons and men, dismounted and tied their horses to bush branches. “We will call you. Keep an eye out for any trouble.”

They stepped, cautiously along the trail, spread out, two or three men in the scrub either side of the main track and a couple of men branching off to right and left. Meth and his sons took the trail itself.

“What is Bulya’s game, Sire?”

“Well. We must be cautious. First of all, it may not even be Bulya. Maybe some of his horses were stolen. Also, maybe they were some of his men, who have become renegades. My own heart tells me it is his doing though. Times are changing. Politics and business mean open war is less viable and many Kingdoms are ‘settling down.’ I too should like some peace. War is not good for business, you know. I think Bulya sees this invasion as his last chance to steal power from me. He may align himself with the enemy.”

“But that is terrible! What will we do?”

“Oh. It’s not that terrible! I have been looking for a chance to put him in his place for years, and this might be such a chance. He needs to be taught a lesson. He is far too arrogant.”

“But my teacher taught me that some men do not like to be taught lessons. It makes them bitter and vengeful.”

“Ha! Ha! Yes. That is also true. I am not sure which sort of man Bulya is. We will have to find out!”

Geb shrugged. I could see he was indeed a thoughtful man. A quick test of his trustworthiness was in order.

“Did you like the women?”

Geb smiled. “I did not try them, Sire.”

“Not one? Did you not want to?”

“I am married, Sire.”

“Children?”

“Two, a boy and a girl.”

“Ahh.”

The Sun had climbed higher and the day was going to be hot. We were standing in the shade of some firs and Geb scuffed his feet and looked down. He knew I was no longer married and perhaps he had a warrior’s embarrassment at his state of wedlock. I could almost hear the burning question he wanted to ask me but wouldn’t, as it would be impertinent. So I said what he wanted to know.

“I love children and I miss my first wife, terribly.”

He suddenly looked intently into my eyes and then up at the sun. He shielded his hand. “Crows”

“Where?”

“North east of here, maybe two miles.”

“Meth will have seen them. But you have good eyes. I did not.” I could just hear, in the far distance, the sound of children calling and the sounds of horses, cows and sheep. We were not far from a village. The wind was from the south so I looked south but could see no signs. I knew my hearing was better than most. “Here they come.”

Geb look slightly startled, as he swung his gaze to the track, between the trees. Meth appeared, with Ashan, Dimez and Ochnud. Meth, in his purple robes and golden knotted sash, pointed with his sword to the north east.

“Two escaped. One from the fight but he was badly wounded. Another, who was watching, had a horse and I think he got away. It will be hard ride to capture him.”

“Let’s find the wounded man first. Perhaps he is still alive.”

Meth shook his head but called his men. We set off, up the slope towards the north east, leading the horses, with one of Meth’s best trackers a little ahead of us. After a long climb of an hour, through trees, we moved over the crest of the hill and into scrub, where the going became easier. Geb shielded his eyes and looked into the valley, where a pool of stagnant water lay.

“There!” He pointed to a dark patch next to a tree. There were crows in the tree. We walked cautiously towards the shape, several of Meth’s men flanking us and passing wide of the tree. There was no stir from the shape.

We could see the man was unconscious or dead. As we reached him, I called “Ho, there!”

He did not move. Ashan walked forwards, standing beside him for a moment, before gently moving the man’s leg, with his boot. He bent down and listened for a sign of life.

“He is dead!” We all approached. There was copious dried blood on the ground around him and on his tunic on his arm and his chest. He looked solemn in death.

Ashan searched his pockets but there was nothing of interest. Just a tobacco pouch, a pipe, a few small coins and a chess piece. He was just a foot soldier with a few poor possessions.

“We must move more quickly now.” One of Meth’s men had been charged with following the horse tracks and he stood some one hundred paces off to our left, watching us.

“If he thinks we might follow him, there is only one way we will catch him.” said Meth. “A few of us must take all the horses, with light loads, and change horses frequently.”

I nodded.

“Ashan and Dimez, myself, Geb and yourself, along with Machredir, my best tracker. There are fourteen of us so that is two horses each and two spares.”

“Ochnud. I place you in charge of the men here. Soon after we have left, send two of your men after us, they will recover the horses, we leave behind. We will return here when we have him, or,” he said, “if we have lost him. Now, let us lighten the loads as much as possible. Keep your helmets and your swords. Leave behind shields, daggers, armour or any other items, except water.”

We left at a fast gallop, stopping occasionally, to search for tracks. For the most part we were traveling through scrub so the tracks were easy to spot, even at full gallop. Evidently, the man had favoured speed over caution, perhaps thinking pursuit was less likely.

As the Sun dipped below the hills, we left the first horses covered in foamy sweat and with shivering flanks. We guessed our prey’d had perhaps ten hours head start on us and now perhaps five. He did not have spare horses and would stop occasionally and not push his horse so hard.

As it became dark we had a decision to make, whether to go on by night, or stop. Some were for going on and some against. Geb was worried we would miss the trail.

“But if we lose it, we simply go back.” said Machredir.

“We must go on. There is nothing to lose. Even if we only gain half of a mile, this may be crucial.” said Meth.

“I agree.” I said.

We went on, slowly, on foot, to reduce noise, in case we should come across him, asleep in his blankets. By dawn, weary and hungry, will were still following his trail. We were now on the very edge of the desert, dunes in this part thrown up by the wind passing between two high hills behind us. This was good luck. On the sand, he was easier to follow. We mounted up and trotted on. Shortly after dawn, we came across the remains of a fire.

“He had stopped her for a meal.” said Machredir.

“How long ago did he leave?” asked Meth.

Machredir, turned over the embers and looked at the charred twigs still remaining. He found a tiny piece of meat and smelled it. He let his breath out in a big sigh.

“Hard to say. There are not many flies this early in the day. But I would guess not more than five hours.”

“Good!” said Meth. “Mount up!” he called.

“Wait!” called Machredir. He stooped down over the horse shoe marks left by our prey’s horse. He crawled forwards following them, sometimes putting his face right on the marks.

“His horse is slightly lame!” he called out, jubilant.

“Perhaps that is why he stopped.” said Geb. “To give his horse time to recover.”

It was another piece of good luck.

Machredir mounted up and we rode on, the sun burning into the back of our necks. The sand reflected the heat and it hurt our eyes. On the distant horizon, when we reached the top of dunes, all we could see was a heat haze.

“There!” It was Geb. At around midday, when most of us were starting to roll in our saddles with exhaustion, his keen eyes had seen something. He stood high in his stirrups, his horse atop a high dune, and he pointed straight ahead. “About two miles. I saw him. He is barely moving. He is leading his horse.”

“But what is he doing out here?” said Meth. “And where is he going?” These were the obvious questions.

“He is heading towards Korim’s camp.” I offered.

“He couldn’t possibly hope to make it!” said Geb.

“Perhaps.” I said.

As we finally reached the top of the dune, behind the man, Meth called to him. “Stop!”

The man swung around and shielded his eyes.

“Who are you?”

“Let us try something.” said Meth quietly to us. “It would be best to take him alive.”

“I am Meth, one of Korim’s Lieutenant’s. He told us to wait for you. You passed west of us so we had to catch up with you.” He laughed. “It was not hard! Where are the others?”

“My men?” the soldier called. So he was their leader, as I had thought. His accent was strange, as was his dress.

“Yes. Do you come back empty handed?”

“Listen. My horse is lame. I need a ride.”
“We are coming down.”

We slipped our horses down the long, sloping sand dune. Meth was talking to his men. “He will recognise us eventually. When I say ‘Go!’ ride forward and push him off his feet.” We continued down, until we were only about fifteen paces from him. Suddenly he drew his sword. “You are not Korim’s men.” He put his sword to his own neck. I saw Meth hesitate. He looked intently at the man. “Go.”

Ashan and two other men spurred their horses to leap forwards and in an instant, faster than I though possible, they had him on the ground. At the last moment, he had turned his sword towards them but too late to defend himself. Meth had been correct in his judgment. The man would not kill himself.

He lay pinned, a man to each arm and another on his legs, as Meth and I stood over him.

The sand blown from the wind in the south, bit into our necks like thousands of little teeth.

“What are you doing in this God-forsaken place?”

The man spat up, at Meth but the spittle just fell back on his cheek, making him even angrier. He said something, swore, in his native tongue. I guessed he was from the north somewhere. Their tongue often sounded uncouth to our ears, although I knew this did not necessarily reflect their character. Nevertheless, they were ruthless and proud. Meth ground the man’s elbow slowly under his heel. The man grimaced and ground his teeth.