Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (23 page)

Dillon’s village, Albor, was nestled in the foothills west of Bereznay, just north of the Falling River. The Flight rode hard in the early morning—Dillon and Wulfgar riding about ten minutes ahead of them—coming up on the village in the growing light: only as they came closer could they see the charred buildings and broken fences; the doors hanging from their frames … and the bodies.

As the Flight began making a search of the small settlement, Jenevra’s eyes swept the village looking for ambush. Catching sight of Dillon bent almost double, retching, at a doorway on the far side of it, she nudged her horse into a canter towards him. Brogan called after her, but she didn’t hear him; she wasn’t listening, focused on Dillon’s hunched shoulders. Swinging down from the horse, she left the reins dangling and walked to Dillon’s side. Clenching her teeth against the gagging stench of death she placed a hand softly on the back of his neck. “Who were they, Dillon?”

Dillon’s shaggy blond head lifted slightly, and he spat to one side trying to clear his throat. “He was the head of the village; the mayor, I guess he’d have been if we were a bigger place. He took me in after my parents died. He’s the one who sent me to Salanova to join the Guard.” Dillon sniffed loudly, wiping his sleeve across his face. “Sorry, Captain.”

“Don’t be sorry, Dillon. These were good people. You should grieve for them.” She looked around the village, signaling to Brogan to begin moving the bodies they found to a meadow for burial. There were far too many of them; women and children as well as the men. Jenevra bowed her head, lifting prayers to the seven gods for the peaceful rest of the massacred villagers; and a healing for Dillon, who would live with these images for the rest of his life. “You do whatever you need to, Dillon,” she said. “We’ll take care of everything else.”

Walking back to Brogan and the rest of the Flight now gathered in the center of the village, she regarded them steadily. Most of them were pale, but resigned: they’d met death in many guises before. Some of the younger men had tears in their eyes; Sasha had tears streaming down his face, but a look of deep resolve on his face.

“It looks like the whole village is gone. Everyone Dillon knew from his childhood. I told him to stay where he is.” She looked back to where Dillon was still bowed in grief. “He needs to begin making his peace with this. We’ll start preparing to bury them.”

The Logansson twins appeared from inside a barn. “Captain, we have everything we need here.”

Jenevra nodded approval, and almost half of the men took up hoes and spades and began the dismal task of grave digging for the sixty or so bodies lying on the damp grass.

Bernardo had been examining the corpses for any signs that might give a clue to who had done this. Stopping to take a closer look at one body, he whistled to Brogan to come look. “What do you think?” he asked quietly. “Remind you of anything?”

“Damn, yes; you know it does. But it couldn’t be the same band, it’s too long ago.” Brogan hunkered down by the dead villager.

“We’re still going, and we were there.” Bernardo pointed out. “Maybe we need to check this with someone else; Commander Rabenaldt, maybe?”

Brogan nodded.

“Bernardo, Bran, I need you here,” Jenevra summoned her two best trackers. “I need you to take a good look around. See if you can find any signs of the animals who did this, or when, or what direction they went in. Anything you think might be useful.”

As they left, she let out a long breath. “Anything I’m forgetting, Sergeant?”

Brogan shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He looked at her hesitantly. “Permission to speak honestly, Captain?”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Brogan.” She gave him a tight smile.

“You really shouldn’t ride off into situations like that ahead of us. It could have been dangerous. What if there’d still been raiders around? You saw what they’d done to the women … and even the children.”

“It’s my job, Brogan. It’s what Captains of the Imperial Guard do.”

“With respect, Captain; no it’s not.” Brogan folded his arms, lowering his chin obstinately. “A Captain’s job is to lead the men, to give them orders and make sure someone is alive to be in charge. That means you send the men in first. And I don’t usually make an issue of it, but you are a woman.”

Jenevra frowned, digging the toes of her boot into the dry earth. “Why do you think I always insist on just “Captain”? I don’t want an enemy knowing there’s an Imperial Princess for a prize any more than you do. But you know I won’t send the men in to a situation I’m not prepared to face.”

“We know that, Captain. I’m just saying it’s not right, and not necessary. The men already know you’re prepared to do whatever it takes.”

“Not all of them, Brogan. They’re not all convinced yet.” She turned to watch Dillon. “And it’s easier for me to comfort Dillon than any of you. He’ll accept sympathy from me, where if you’d gone to him he’d have felt he had to come away from his dead and work with the Flight.”

Brogan acknowledged the truth of that. “It’s a bad sight for anyone.” He paced around peering at the ground. “You’ve just got to wonder why …” he puzzled, brushing at the tracks in the dirt. “What could this village have that was worth attacking it for?”

“Nothing,” Jenevra noted. “Not a thing. With the tools they have they couldn’t defend themselves against trained soldiers.” She kicked at a clod of earth, sending it skidding along the road. “I hate this!” Picking up a stone, she threw it savagely. “It’s so pointless; so stupid.”

“You know, Your Highness, if you wanted to walk away, take a little time, no-one would think any worse of it,” Brogan offered.

“Brogan,” she said, pained. “Can you stop using Highness? You know you only do it when you think I should be having a girly moment!” Heading back up to the meadow she walked with Dillon, helping him to put families together. None of the deaths had been easy, and Dillon suffered agonies too as he saw the torture some of them had gone through.

The Flight worked as quickly as they could, and by late afternoon most of the bodies were interred, children lying with parents, husbands with wives. Tears had poured down Dillon’s face as the cold earth closed over faces he had known, families who had nurtured him after his own had died. The last grave held the bodies of Dillon’s oldest friend, his young wife and their infant daughter. As he laid the child gently between her parents, Dillon finally collapsed with grief. Wulfgar almost lifted him to the side of the field where he stood watching the young man sob, deep sympathy etched on his broad face. Coming as they did from backgrounds of family loss, there wasn’t a man amongst them that couldn’t feel for Dillon. When your family is gone, friends are all that’s left; and Dillon’s had just been taken from him in one fell swoop.

As the last earth was smoothed over, the Flight gathered silently in the meadow. Farid Jatar, an enigmatic swordsman from Jantara, surprised them all by intoning a deeply reverent prayer over the field and, as evening fell, Finn Corrigan raised a mournful lament for the dead; his deep voice carrying clearly through the still air.

Wulfgar approached the princess respectfully, almost unwilling to address her directly; looking at Brogan as he was talking to Jenevra. “Captain, there is an inn about five miles along the road to Bereznay from here.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to where Dillon was still hunched over his friend’s grave. “I think he does not need to stay here tonight.”

Jenevra nodded. “I don’t think any of us wants to stay here tonight, Wulfgar. Can you lead us there? Let’s get everyone together then. Brogan, can you see where Bernardo and Bran got to? I’ll bring Dillon.”

Standing silently behind the grieving man, Jenevra simply waited until he became aware of her presence. “I think we need to leave now, Dillon,” she said gently. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight. If you want to, we can come back tomorrow.”

Dillon rose, rubbing at his face again. “What good would that do them?” he asked bitterly. “I want to find who did this, Captain. Find them, and kill them!”

“Oh, we’ll find them, Dillon, I promise you that. We’ll keep going until we do.” Jenevra’s voice was cold. “And when we do, they will find Imperial justice wields a very sharp blade.”

 CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Inn was dark and silent, windows and doors barred. Wulfgar hammered on the door several times, but there was no response from inside. “Open up! Imperial Guard!” He shouted. “I don’t understand it, Captain,” he turned towards her looking puzzled. “They are here always. They wouldn’t just close up and leave.”

“Maybe they were frightened by what happened back at the village,” Bernardo reasoned. “Or maybe they were forced to leave.”

“They wouldn’t leave here; this place is their life.” Dillon was trying to prize the shutters open. “I’ve known Colin and Annis all my life. The only thing that would make them close this place is death.” Even as he gave voice to the thought, Dillon’s efforts to find a way in became more frantic.

From the other side of the door a man’s voice questioned gruffly, “What do you want?”

Dillon pushed forward. “Colin? It’s Dillon: Dillon from Albor! Open the door, Colin!”

The door creaked open slightly, revealing a stocky middle aged man with gray hair, peering suspiciously out at them. “Dillon?”

Dillon stood forward, as the man held up a small candle giving off just enough light to confirm his visitor’s identity. “It’s only me, Colin. These are Imperial guards, the Emperor sent us.”

Colin’s eyes opened wide at that pronouncement and he pulled the door wider to look at the group outside his inn. Most of the Flight was still mounted and, clad all in gray, difficult to see in the dim light. “Dillon?” He queried again. “What brings Imperial troops here at this time of night?”

“We were at the village, Colin; at Albor.” Dillon choked on the words. “They’re all dead, Colin; all of them.”

Colin peered out into the darkness nervously. “Aye, we know, lad.” He sighed deeply. “I suppose you’d best all come in then.” He nodded towards a large barn. “You can put your horses in there for the night. We weren’t expecting anyone, as you can see, so supplies may be a bit limited. Still, we’ll do what we can.”

Brogan dismissed the Flight to take care of their horses, with instructions to follow them into the inn when they were through. Jenevra followed him inside the inn, the hood of her cloak pulled well over her face. “You seem extraordinarily nervous, Master Colin,” Brogan noted, watching the innkeeper intently as he moved around the room lighting lanterns on the tables from his small stub of candle. “I’ve not met many innkeepers so unwilling to open their doors to a host of thirsty men!”

Colin scowled at him. “Well, I like to stay alive! There’s no knowing where those murderers are. Who’s to say you’re not them?” He stamped over to a door at the back of the inn, muttering to someone inside. “I suppose you’ll be wanting ale then? Soldiers always seem to want to drink.” Moving to a large wooden trestle that seemed to serve as a bar, he began sloshing dark, foaming liquid into pottery mugs.

“Ale would be good,” Brogan agreed. “But you know Dillon here, don’t you? Surely you don’t think he would have been involved in anything that would harm his village?”

Colin grunted, slamming the tankards of dark ale onto the boards of a long table in the center of the room. “That’s why I opened the door. If it wasn’t for him, you’d still be standing outside.” He stopped and seemed to consider for a moment. Leaning forward onto the table he stared Brogan in the face as if trying to judge him. “How bad was it?” He asked finally. “We’ve heard something … but we don’t know much.”

Brogan picked up a brimming tankard and drank deeply, using the movement to glance at Jenevra, who nodded agreement. “It was grim. We didn’t find any survivors.”

Colin gasped audibly. “None? There wasn’t anyone left alive?”

“They were all dead, Colin. All of them; the whole village; men women, children; all slaughtered and left out to rot.” Dillon’s voice was harsh. “They didn’t stand a chance.”

“Did you see them?” Colin hesitated. “I mean … could you tell who they were?”

“Dillon told us their names.” Brogan told him. “We laid them all to rest in the meadow. We placed name markers on the graves.”

Colin walked over to where Dillon was sitting; his head in his hands. Laying a hand on his shoulder, Colin asked him, “Did you see Taghan the smith? Dillon … it’s important. Did you see Taghan?”

Raising his head, Dillon nodded slowly. “We buried him with his wife.”

Colin sank onto the bench next to Dillon, shaking his head. “We had hoped—” He broke off. “Annis!” he called, looking towards the door he had spoken through earlier. “Annis, come on out here.”

A short, plump woman came through the door, two small girls clinging tightly to her skirts. “What is it, Colin? Can’t you see they’re frightened enough without you shouting and dragging them in here with all these men?”

“Annis … this is Dillon. Remember Dillon from Albor?”

“Well of course I remember him,” Annis said shortly. “You went to Salanova didn’t you? To join the Imperial Guard, Olwen said. She was so proud of you.” Taking in Dillon’s red eyes, she realized where he had been. Bustling over to him, she hugged his head tightly to her. “Oh, you poor boy. It’s true then?” She dabbed at her own eyes. “Olwen? Fenner?”

“Dead.” Dillon’s voice was muffled in Annis’s embrace.

“Taghan too,” Colin told her bleakly.

“No!” Annis’s eyes filled with tears and she bent down hugging the two little girls tightly to her.

Brogan shot another look into the shadowed corner, seeing only Jenevra’s back disappearing through the door. Knowing there were still several members of the Flight outside, including D’Agostino, who might be a loud mouth but who Brogan knew would defend the princess with his life; he let her go. The day had been hard on all of them; she probably just needed some time alone. Turning back to Colin and Annis he confirmed, “Are these his daughters then?”

“His son is in the kitchen, too.” Colin walked wearily over to the door, pushing it open a little. “Tallis? Come on in here, my boy. These are Imperial Guards, they’re here to help.” He waited for a moment, and then put his arm around the shoulders of a well-built boy of about thirteen, bringing him in to the room where Brogan could see him.

“You’re Tallis? You’re the blacksmith’s son, yes?” Brogan spoke softly, not wanting to scare the lad. “You did well getting your sisters here safely.”

Tallis just stared at the floor sullenly.

Brogan took another mouthful of beer, considering what to ask the boy. He decided just to dive in. If Tallis wasn’t ready to talk it wouldn’t matter what the question was. “Tallis, we’ve been to your village, so I know what you saw was bad. But we need to find the people who did this. Can you tell us anything about what you saw; anything at all?”

Tallis’s gaze was riveted downwards, tangled mousy hair falling over his face. The silence grew thick in the room as the men all tried to ignore the boy’s discomfort by concentrating on their beer.

The door opened, admitting a broadly grinning D’Agostino who bowed extravagantly as Jenevra came back into the inn, no longer hidden in a gray cloak, but resplendent in her formal white and silver; mail shirt gleaming, with her cloak turned inside out showing gleaming white satin. A silver circlet on her head gave just enough impression of a crown for one of the little girls clinging to Annis to look up and say, “Ooh … a Princess!”

“That’s right,” Jenevra assured her. “A Princess who’s come specially to see you and your brother and sister.”

Both of the girls looked at her wide-eyed; as did Colin, Annis and most of the Flight. Tallis stared suspiciously at her.

Brogan laughed to himself. What was it Raik Rabenaldt has told him? Never underestimate her, Brogan. She’ll turn you gray, but she’ll make you proud every time. Standing up, he took Jenevra’s hand and introduced her formally to the flustered inn keeper and his wife. “Colin, Annis, may I present our Captain? Her Imperial Highness, Jenevra Couressime.”

As Colin and Annis almost fell over themselves to bow, curtsey and generally make up for their not recognizing her, the smallest girl tugged on her cloak, removing her thumb from her mouth long enough to ask, “Are you really a real Princess?”

Jenevra squatted down, white satin pooling around her. “Yes, I really am. What’s your name?”

“She’s Tilda, I’m Teshia.” Pushing the little one aside, her big sister didn’t want to be left out. “I’m six. Tilda’s only four.”

Completely ignoring everyone else in the room, Jenevra walked over to the huge fireplace, where a low fire was still glowing. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she waved to the two little girls to join her. They scrambled over to her, forgetting about Annis in their excitement at this shining figure that looked like nothing they had ever seen before.

Annis shook her head. “I hate to ask,” she said in an undertone to Brogan. “But was that the truth? Is she really a Princess?”

“Oh yes,” Brogan laughed. “Every bit of her.”

“Isn’t she a bit, well …” Annis hesitated. “…underdressed? I mean …” She blushed. “It’s not much of a gown, is it? I thought an Imperial Princess would wear … more.” She went an even deeper shade of crimson as Jenevra took the cloak from her shoulders and wrapped it around the two little ones, who giggled and stroked the satin as if it was a puppy.

Totally oblivious to the admiring astonishment of the Flight, most of who hadn’t seen the formal uniform of their commander before, Jenevra sat on the floor in the skimpy tunic and mail, long legs folded under her; focused on two of the only three surviving witnesses to the massacre of Albor.

Bernardo managed to persuade Annis to let him help her in the kitchen, assuring her that the girls would be safe. In a short space of time they were heating a thick stew and warming bread made earlier in the day. As they worked, Bernardo told Annis enough of Jenevra’s own history to enlist her sympathy for the princess, assuring her of Jenevra’s authority and ability to bring the raiders to justice. Carrying food back into the main room of the inn, Annis and Bernardo saw that Jenevra, Tilda and Teshia were exactly where they had been before, but the men in the room had all crept a little closer to the fire; some sitting, some standing, but all engrossed in the story Jenevra was telling the girls. Even Tallis had moved close to hear the tale.

Jenevra was telling the story of Tore’s blessings; how the stars were people who had died and people waiting to be born; of Balor the God of the Night and Jarina, the Blessed Bringer of the Day. Not many of them had heard the legend the way Jenevra knew it, and they were spellbound. As she finished telling them how Balor tucked the stars in at dawn, Tilda looked up at her. “Will he be tucking my momma and poppa in tonight?”

Amid a sudden clearing of throats and movement as the Flight wandered off into dark corners surreptitiously wiping at eyes, Jenevra bit hard on the inside of her lip. “Do you want to come outside and look at them with me?” She asked. “Maybe we can see them and wave goodnight?”

Tilda held her arms up to be carried. Swinging her round onto one hip, Jenevra held out her hand to Teshia, and called back over her shoulder for their brother to join them. Most of the Flight followed quietly. The night was clear, with just the occasional cloud scudding across the sky. Moving across the yard, Jenevra tilted her head to look up at the sky. “See there?” She pointed up to a row of bright stars almost directly overhead. “Look across from them. You see those two bright stars, right next to each other?” The children nodded. “Those are my parents.”

“Your parents are up there?” Tallis spoke for the first time.

“Yes,” Jenevra gazed upwards. “My parents were killed when I was a baby.”

“By bad men?”

“Yes, Teshia, by bad men. But I still get to say goodnight to them every day, because I can see them up there in the sky. I know they aren’t here with me, but I feel like they aren’t truly gone while I can see them.”

Tallis moved closer to her side. “Do you really think our parents are up there?”

“I’m sure of it, Tallis,” she told him. “Look, do you see that large group of stars all together, straight ahead?”

He followed the direction she was pointing in and saw a cluster of stars in a circle.

“I think that must be your village. I haven’t seen that group until a couple of nights ago. It’s new. And you see there are two really bright ones at the center?”

“That’s momma and poppa!” Tilda exclaimed excitedly. “I know it is!”

“You truly think so, Princess?” Tallis sounded close to tears.