Prince of Wrath (73 page)

The path was wide enough for one man at a time, and the equines brushed the vegetation to either side as they were urged up the slope. The path wound its way up the hill, always seeking the easiest route. The slope was a mass of vegetation, mostly of the broad-crowned trees, none of which appeared to be over the height of four men. These trees reached a certain height then fanned out mightily. He’d not seen the type before. Perhaps they were unique to Romos.

The sound of panting men and blowing equines competed with the shrieking of the wind and the pattering of the raindrops. Jorqel caught the smell of the animal in front of him from time to time as he climbed. He kept on praying to the gods to allow him and his men uncontested access to the interior. Once there they could ride free to their heart’s content. He hoped the garrison would march out, for then they could ride wide of them and race to the town and force themselves over the walls, for there would be insufficient forces to keep them out, but he guessed the garrison would stay put until their leaders knew where they were and how many.

They got over halfway along the path, there being a gap in between two hills ahead that he guessed was the exit out into the farmland, when they reached the camp, formed in a big space off to one side. Trees stood all around and sheets had been put up to act as windbreaks. The equines were grouped in one area while the men in another, stacking the equipment in easily accessible piles. Some were being used as makeshift seats and tables.

“Sire, drink?” Captain Hammerfall greeted him.

“Indeed,” Jorqel agreed, wiping the worst of the rain from his forehead and hair, grimacing as he did so. The rain died away as he got underneath the thick canopies, and he noted that the ground around was bare of any vegetation. The canopies clearly blocked any sunlight and as a result nothing could grow there. They were pretty good as blocking much of the rain, too, and only a few places were damp. A hot flask of chee was thrust into his hand and he nodded appreciatively before inhaling the steam. “Mmmmm,” he said. The smell was good. “Report, Captain.”

Hammerfall wiped droplets from his shoulders. “Commander Gavan and twelve men are ahead securing the end of the pathway. I have sent a man forward to find out what’s going on there. He should be back shortly. Two injuries.”

“Oh?”

“One trod on a thorn and hurt his foot but he should be fine. The other fell going up the path and skinned his arm on one of those rocky outcrops. Its bloodied but should be fine. He’s being seen to at present.”

“Very well. Any ill effects from the voyage? Men or beasts?”

Hammerfall shook his head. “No, sir. We’re grateful to be ashore.”

“I hear you,” Jorqel grinned, then became serious once more. “We stay here and see out this storm. It shouldn’t last beyond the dawn. Post guards. We’ve got plenty of men, so I want four posts; one up the path, one down by the beach. Two others in any direction we can be approached from. Four men in each. Three to remain at their post, one to act as messenger in the event he is needed to come here if something happens.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now get a meal sorted out for the men and animals.” He left the captain to it and walked slowly along the edge of camp, looking out to see if there were any vulnerable spots, or locations of interest that would need investigating. There weren’t any, and he felt satisfied they had found such a sheltered place. On the far side of the camp, away from the path, the land fell away down the hill towards the edge of the island, and the rocky shore that lay down there away from the beach they had landed on. Nothing would come from that direction. He squinted up through the leaves and branches to the hilltop, and regarded that thoughtfully; if anyone could see them, it would be from up there, but it was too heavily vegetated to see if anyone was up there.

He returned to the camp. The scout had returned and reported to him with a salute. “Sire, Commander Gavan sends his compliments and reports that he has got to the far side of the hill. There are no enemy movements. He is setting up a picket line a stadium’s length from the exit, and requests a change of guard at the next watch.”

“Very good. Go get yourself fed, man.” He informed Hammerfall and twelve of his men to get ready to replace Gavan and his men after they had eaten and drank. They in turn would be replaced after the next watch.

All seemed to be going well. Now all they had to do is to ride out the storm and then get into the heart of the island. Gavan turned up a short while later, bedraggled and sour-tempered. He swore long and loud against the elements. “If this is what awaits us on this pimple of an island then it can go drift off into the oceans,” he declared, grimacing with distaste as he dripped onto the soft ground underfoot. The ground was layered with years of fallen leaves that gave a spongy feel to it.

“Stop complaining,” Jorqel said and waved one of the men with a steaming mug of klee to service him. The camp fire had a large pot suspended over it which supplied them all with hot water. “And instead tell me what awaits us up there.”

“A flat farmland, with no feature I could see. Fences, yes, but no buildings. They seem to be growing food crops here. There’s a single track that leads off north-west but the gods alone knows where it goes. It was so wet up there I couldn’t see further than my equine could piss.”

Jorqel smothered a smile. “Once this weather clears we’re moving off. My information is that there are farmsteads nearby who will supply us with helpful advice and even food. We’ll move off in three columns.”

“Three, sire?”

Jorqel nodded. “The main column in the middle and two flanking columns, one to either side. If anyone attacks us, they’ll come at us from the flank, and those attacked can retreat, pulling the attackers into the centre column and then be assaulted from three sides. The other flanking column can ride round the rear and then – finish.”

Gavan was impressed. “Where did you learn that, sire?”

“I’ve been reading an old account of fighting against plains nomads centuries ago – it seemed the empire had faced such enemies similar to the Tybar before, but we’ve lost the knowledge. Thankfully we had some very good scribes back then who recorded the teachings of emperors and military leaders at the time. There was an old copy in the vaults of Slenna fort.”

“Slenna must be an old town then, sire.”

“It is – or, rather, it’s the latest in a long line of habitable settlements in the area. Previous ones died through earthquakes or sacking. Slenna in its current form has been there for about three hundred years. They brought all the old records to the fort when the old settlements were abandoned.”

Gavan grunted. “It’s almost night. I’m done in. With your permission, sire?”

Jorqel waved his retainer off. He wanted to be away from the camp as soon as possible, and made sure the guards were set before he, too, settled down for the night under a waterproof canvas sheet tent.

The following morning the rain had stopped, although the sky was still sullen. Jorqel sent new parties out to check both beach and farmlands, and got the camp to pack up and stow all necessary items back on the equines. They were to ride inland far as possible, making their way from the tip of the island where they could feasibly be trapped. As soon as everyone was ready, he sent the men up the sodden and slippery path to the top, squad by squad.

He was almost the last to leave along with Gavan and his bodyguard. Those at the beach came up, reporting that the boats were matchwood on the shoreline; the storm had seen to them alright. They led their mounts by the bridles up to the exit and Jorqel emerged onto a flat terrain, marked with fences and crops. The view had improved from what Gavan had reported, and some of the mounted archers were some distance off, acting as scouts. In the far distance the first of the farms could be seen, and beyond that a low ridge with trees growing thickly up the slopes.

The prince organised the men into three columns, one squadron of the RIMM on either flank and his bodyguard with the third squadron in the middle. They set off, the columns half a bow shot apart, trotting comfortably along the wet ground, sending up clods of earth and grass. Fences were either vaulted or knocked down, and crops trampled. Jorqel was not that concerned with seeing that nothing would get damaged; it was war, after all.

They passed the first farm at a distance and made for the ridge which they reached close to the middle of the day. It was cresting this that they saw their first sign of life. Two men on light equines saw them coming down the single track running down the ridge and took off as if the hounds of the abyss were on their tails.

“Well, there goes secrecy,” Gavan said. “They’ll go bleating to the pirates.”

“Let them; it’ll help spread panic,” Jorqel replied. He sent scouts out as far as they could see. To the left rose the jagged mountains, dominating the scenery, and off to the right the land gently sloped to scrubland. Occasional outcrops of white stone dotted the countryside, and large, open grassland lay everywhere. No fences stood here. More farms would stand closer to the town. “Let’s carry on. Eat as you go,” he commanded, and ordered the breaking out of the large Kastanian banner of purple and white. They may as well announce who they were.

The scouts came back at intervals, and soon news filtered back that a couple of farmsteads lay in their path. Jorqel ordered the scouts to speak to the farmers for information, and a request to advise where the best place to camp for the night would be. As the day faded they camped out under a grove of tall trees on the border of one farm. The farmer had provided useful information, mentioning that the pirates only bothered him when it was harvest time which was now. He was expecting a visit any day.

Meanwhile, in the town of Romos, Lord Duras crashed the door to Volkanos’ private quarters. The pirate leader, who had been fondling the breasts of the girl – the one who had helped Kiros Louk – while she was sat on his lap, sprang up in fury at the intrusion. He called his guards in. The two men who had been too afraid to touch Lord Duras, appeared hesitantly.

“What do you think this is, Duras?” Volkanos snapped. “I expect some privacy here!”

“Damn your privacy, you fool!” Duras bawled. “We’ve got word that that whelp Jorqel has landed somewhere along the south east coast with an army and is making his way here! While you’ve been touching up that whore he’s been moving in on us! We need to send the garrison out to face him!”

The pirate leader slapped the girl in frustration out of his way and glared fully at the nobleman. “Face him where? Who brought this information to you anyway? Why didn’t I get this message?”

“You were indisposed, or so everyone was told! Indisposed playing with that strumpet there. Stop acting like a debutant in a brothel and more like a leader, or I’ll have you hung from the battlements and take your place myself!”

“Don’t you speak to me like that you piece of filth!” Volkanos screamed. “Who was it who took this town in the first place? What were you and your chinless offspring doing then? Losing yet another battle, no doubt. Gods above, you’ve no idea how to lead anyone, except to disaster!”

Duras shook with rage. How dare this low-born piece of dung speak to him like that! He drew his gauntleted hand back and delivered a slap to Volkanos’ face, holding nothing back. The pirate leader staggered, struck his table and dislodged many of the objects resting on it, then grabbed for his sword, lying across the table in its sheath. He swung, the blade free of the leather cover, and slashed at throat height in a blurred arc.

Duras had seen it coming and had stepped back. The tip narrowly passed his face and Volkanos overbalanced and fell to the floor with a loud crash. There came a silence, punctuated only by Volkanos’ heavy breathing as he got to his feet, his hair wild, face red. “You incompetent, useless sot,” Duras observed. “You can hardly stand up. What is it? Kirit? That stuff rots your brains. The place smells like a brewery.” He looked in contempt at the intoxicated pirate. “You’re no land campaigner. This is a land battle – I formally take command of the garrison.”

“Usurper,” Volkanos said thickly. “You will have no help from us! Pirates will not follow your lead, Duras!”

“As you wish. Stay here and drink and pleasure yourself on that slut. That’s all you can manage, anyway.” Duras pushed past the two nonplussed guards and began calling for his sons to his side.

Volkanos slumped drunkenly into his seat, mumbling. The girl got to her feet and looked at him in contempt. The pirate leader glared up at her, wiping his mouth. “Get back to my lap, woman.”

She looked to the doorway and saw nobody there. Smiling, she shook her head. “I no longer will do as you please. You’re finished, you filthy animal. I hate you!” She walked past him, evading his claw-like hand that tried to grab her, and shut the door behind her. There came an enraged scream from the room followed by the sound of a bottle being smashed against a wall. Guards stood in the room, discussing what to do, whether to follow Duras or Volkanos. “He is drunk,” she stated, pushing her way past the men. “I will not be with him when he’s like that!”

The men grunted or shrugged their shoulders. The news that an imperial force under the heir to throne of Kastan was on its way had filled them with panic. They, like all true sailors, decided to abandon the town and go to their ships. With luck they would be able to sail away if things went wrong with the fight.

Duras, meanwhile, had rounded up his three relatives. Nikos volunteered to lead one company while Lord Duras assumed overall command. The other two sons took the other positions of captain. The garrison meekly accepted the change in command. Whoever led them would have to be good to defeat an imperial force. They had all thought themselves as safe here on the island, and now that was gone. Some even wished for a Kastanian victory. They had no love for the pirates nor the Duras.