Servant of the Empire (27 page)

Mara’s finest soldiers had been selected to escort the precious silk to Jamar, for while attack was expected upon the decoy wagons, they were defended by a large force. Should Keyoke’s small band encounter battle, each warrior would be required to fight like two. And no one doubted that the scout who waited in the roadway meant trouble. The trailbreakers had been men who had once foraged in these very hills as grey warriors. They knew these valleys and would not be jumping at shadows.

Keyoke motioned broadly, and the scout up ahead disappeared. Moments later, he arrived at the head of the caravan striding out of the roadside brush with the silence of sun-moved shadow. He paused before his Force Commander and gave a stiff nod of respect to Keyoke and Dakhati.

‘Report, Wiallo,’ Keyoke said. His body might feel its burden of years and service, but his memory was yet sharp; he made a point of knowing every soldier’s name.

The scout passed a last, uneasy glance over the slope, then spoke. ‘I’ve hunted here often, sir. Before evening, mulaks and kojir birds should be flying above the lake beyond that ridge.’ He indicated the sun-dappled shade of the forest. ‘And sanaro, li, and other songbirds should never be quiet at this hour.’ He glanced meaningfully toward Keyoke. ‘I do not like the silence and the sound of the wind.’

Keyoke knuckled back his helmet, letting a gust of breeze evaporate the perspiration under his hair. Then, slow and deliberate, his seamed fingers tightened the chin strap. Veteran Acoma warriors knew their Force Commander prepared for a fight. ‘Other birds roost in those trees, do you think?’

Wiallo grinned. ‘Large birds, Force Commander. Ones who wear dogs’ tails instead of feathers.’

Dakhati licked his teeth, uneasy. ‘Minwanabi, or bandits?’

Wiallo’s smile died. ‘Grey warriors would give this company a wide berth.’

Keyoke snapped his chin strap tab through the keeper under his jawbone. ‘Minwanabi, then. Where would they be likely to hit us?’

Wiallo frowned. ‘A clever commander would see us over this next small rise.’ He pointed at the ridge that rose like a knife cut against late-day haze. ‘About halfway up the slope on the far side of the next valley, the road rises sharply again and snakes through a chain of steep gullies.’

Keyoke nodded. ‘The enemy would keep to higher ground, while we, under bowfire, would be forced to whip the needra uphill over rocks to escape.’ His clear eyes met those of Wiallo. ‘That’s where I would strike, with a follow-up company to plug the valley from the rear, and cut off our chance of retreat.’ He glanced around. ‘They are most likely infiltrating behind us right now.’

Behind the rows of nervous soldiers, a needra bawled. Traces creaked, and a carter cursed, and a patter of running footsteps approached.

‘Make way! A scout returns!’ somebody called from the rear.

Neat ranks parted, and a warrior stumbled through, white-faced and gasping for breath.

Dakhati stepped forward and caught the runner as he rocked unsteadily to a stop. ‘Force Commander!’

Keyoke turned with a calm he did not feel. ‘Speak clearly.’

‘Soldiers upon the road behind us.’ The man dragged in a painful breath. ‘Perhaps a hundred, a hundred and fifty, and CorjaZun says he recognized their officer. Minwanabi.’

Keyoke’s first reaction was a softly spoken ‘Damn.’ Then he touched the heaving shoulder of the runner and added, ‘Well done. Is this army travelling covertly?’

The runner scrubbed his palm over his salt-wet brow. ‘They march openly. We estimated the troop size by the cloud of dust they raised.’

Keyoke’s eyes narrowed. Briskly he concluded, ‘That’s no raiding band; that’s a company strength, a hundred men at least, to drive us into the trap.’

Dakhati ventured an opinion. ‘If we have an ambush waiting for us, and an army closing from behind –’

‘They knew we were coming,’ finished Keyoke. The implications were chilling, but academic, unless someone survived to warn Lady Mara she had an intelligence leak within her household. ‘I hate to abandon the silk wagons, but if we don’t, we’re all sacrifices to the Red God and the silk’s lost anyway.’ The Force Commander prepared to deliver grim orders.

A touch from Wiallo stopped him.

‘Force Commander,’ offered the onetime grey warrior. ‘There might be another way.’

‘Tell me quickly,’ Keyoke demanded.

‘There’s a foot trail hidden by boulders near the base of this rise. It leads to a narrow canyon that bandits used as a camp. The wagons cannot pass, but the silk could be hidden, and the position at least offers hope. There is only one entrance, and that can be defended with very small numbers of men.’

Keyoke’s gaze shifted to the horizon, as if searching for sign of the army that approached to destroy them. ‘How long could we last there? Long enough to get word to Lady Mara? Or to recall Lujan?’

Wiallo was silent. He said, on a frank note, ‘A message, perhaps, to our mistress. Long enough to hold until relief arrives from home? The Minwanabi could force their way through if they were willing to endure a terrible slaughter.’

Dakhati slapped his thigh in a startling display of anger. ‘What honour to abandon that which we are pledged to defend?’

Curtly Keyoke said, ‘The wagons are lost in any event. We cannot defend them and sally against a hundred men in the open.’ More important, Mara must not go uninformed of Minwanabi’s access to her secrets. No, better we make a stand, and send a messenger while the Minwanabi are kept occupied at the canyon.

Lashima’s wisdom guide us all, Keyoke prayed inwardly. Then he raised his voice and said, ‘There are better ways to defend a trust than to fight to the death before letting the enemy seize the prize.’ He added a swift string of orders.

The soldiers made a display of relaxing. They removed their helms and shared refreshment from the bucket and dipper carried around by the water boy. They gathered in knots, and told jokes, and laughed as though nothing under the sky could be wrong; while behind them servants worked swiftly to unleash the covers from the wagons, and bundle the precious silk bales inside. Wiallo showed them where the rocks dipped into crevices. A third of the silk was quickly hidden out of sight and covered with brush, but room remained for no more. The servants redistributed what remained in the wagons, and spread the covers to hide the gaps. Then Keyoke shouted, and the soldiers formed up, and the caravan creaked forward once again. The company wound downward from the crest into a valley mantled and deep with late afternoon shadows.

The caravan reached the base of the hill, and the needra bawled as the drovers reined them in once again. Through the rising pall of their own dust, Keyoke squinted behind and saw a sky gone light with the gold of coming sunset; but the heights they had recently left were now marred with a cloud of dull grey. A moment later, a scout confirmed his foreboding over that patch of dirty sky.

‘It’s dust kicked up by marching soldiers. The Minwanabi tire of waiting,’ the runner reported breathlessly. ‘Perhaps they think we camp here.’

Keyoke pursed creased lips. He waved for Dakhati’s attention and called, ‘We’ll need to hurry.’ Then, feeling every mile his feet had travelled, the Force Commander watched his Strike Leader give orders. In an unusual moment of reflection, he wished for Papewaio’s intuitive presence. But Pape was dead, murdered by a Minwanabi assassin while defending Mara. Keyoke hoped he would accomplish as much. For he had no illusions: he knew that every warrior here would likely meet the Red God on the end of a Minwanabi weapon.

Masked from observation by the trees, the silk was unloaded, the needra unhitched. Then, with poles cut from the forest, the Acoma soldiers levered the wagons onto their sides, forming a barrier behind which twenty archers took cover. These men volunteered to stay behind and fight to the death, buying time for the rest of the company to make their way to Wiallo’s canyon. That such a haven might not exist, or that the ex-grey warrior could have mistaken its location, posed a possible disaster no one spoke of.

Sunlight left the valley early but held the heights in bright aspect like fingers dipped in gilt. The dust raised by the Minwanabi army deepened the gloom down below.

Keyoke ordered, ‘Let every man carry as much of the silk as he may.’ Wiallo returned a puzzled glance. Keyoke said, ‘Those bolts can be better used to stop arrows, or build a bulwark against a charge. Now have the servants lead the needra, and guide us quickly to this canyon.’

Soldiers with silk bales piled on their shoulders marched between drovers and servants who whipped the balky needra over a ragged barrier of boulders. Darkness fell fast, and the footing was poor. The gutted remains of the caravan moved over teacherous terrain, pushing past branches that whipped and caught at armour, and over gullies that grabbed at the ankles. Several times men fell, though not one uttered an oath. In silence they arose and gathered up their
dropped bundles, and pressed forward into brush-dense forest.

By moonrise the company reached a narrow defile in the trail. Here forest vines clutched at the trees as if they sought to strangle, and from their choking outgrowth thrust an upstanding promontory of rock on either side.

‘The canyon lies just ahead, perhaps three bowshots from that formation,’ Wiallo said.

Keyoke peered through the gloom and made out a boulder that bulked like an overhang above the path. He raised his hand, and the column behind came to a halt.

A bird called and fell silent; no way to determine whether the creature wore feathers or armour. Keyoke touched two of the nearest warriors and waved them forward. ‘Stand guard here. The moment you see any sign of pursuit, one of you send me word.’

The chosen men shed their bundles and assumed their posts without protest. Keyoke saluted their bravery and wished he had time to say more. But words could not lighten necessity: when the Minwanabi marched on their position, one man would race with the warning, and the other would die to provide his colleague enough of a lead to get through. Mara would be proud, the Force Commander thought sadly.

The company and its servants scrambled along the trail. They moved in the half-dark like men driven by demons. At a narrow V in the rocks, where each man needed to scramble on hands and knees and have his bundled goods passed through, and the needra had to be forced against their nature to jump downward, Keyoke waved Wiallo to his side. Above the bawling of frightened animals, he asked, ‘What chance you could make your way cross-country from here to our Lady?’

Wiallo shrugged in impassive Tsurani modesty. ‘I know this area as well as any man, Force Commander. But, in the
dark, with Minwanabi soldiers coming from all sides? A shadow would need the gods’ favour to pass unseen.’

The squealing bawl of a needra momentarily defeated thought. Keyoke glanced to one side and pointed to a slight overhang. ‘Then climb up there and hide. When the Minwanabi dogs march past, judge your moment and double back to the main road. Make your way swiftly to the estate. Tell Lady Mara where the goods have been hidden. When it is clear the Minwanabi are close to breaking through, I shall burn the silk we carry. With luck, our enemies will assume we have destroyed all to deny them spoils. Most important, tell our mistress that we have been betrayed; we may have a spy in our house. Now go.’

Honoured at being chosen for the important assignment, Wiallo nodded smartly and began to climb. At the top of the boulder, he removed his helm and crouched to avoid being seen by the enemies soon to pass below. Staring downward, Wiallo called, ‘May the gods preserve you, Force Commander; send many Minwanabi dogs to the halls of Turakamu tonight!’

Keyoke returned a quick nod. ‘And may Chochocan guide your steps.’

The next man in line gathered up Wiallo’s abandoned bolt of silk and stoically resumed his march. Silent, grim, and too preoccupied to dwell on his aches, Keyoke bent his knees and crawled over ground turned jagged with gravel. With the reek of needra droppings sharp in his nose, he wormed under the stone outcrop and pressed forward to lead his struggling company.

The night deepened, and the moonlight flashed and vanished behind a rim of black rock. Insects chittered in a forest where night birds did not sing, and the wind whispered secrets in the leaves. Men moved like ghosts through the mist-shrouded defile, their feet sliding to find purchase upon wet roots and moss-covered rocks. The clack
of lacquered armour echoed down the ravine, cut by the whine of the hide whips the drovers used to prod the needra. Of the soldiers and servants hurrying through the night, none reached the small canyon without bloodied arms and knees, and the needra stood shivering and lamed, their coats rankly matted with sweat.

Under starlight, Keyoke issued brisk orders as he surveyed the canyon where they would make their stand. Men shed their loads of silk and began to throw up a barricade of boulders, logs, and earth dug in haste from the stream bed, between the water-smoothed walls of rock that formed at the canyon’s entrance. Servants slew needra and piled the still-kicking carcasses into breastworks to provide cover from the archers that would surely be deployed above them on the canyon’s rim. The night air grew thick with the reek of fresh blood and the heavier odour of excrement.

Keyoke ordered the servants to butcher one of the carcasses, and build a small fire to cook and dry the meat. Soldiers could not fight without sustenance. Finally, soldiers stacked the bolts of precious silks like a palisade in a hollow to the rear of the canyon. Piled before the rise of the cliff wall, the beautiful, iridescent rolls of cloth would serve as a niche to fall back to, in the extremity of a final stand.