The Marquis (26 page)

He was more concerned than shocked. ‘She is well?’

‘Very well. If you follow us to Shalala you can see her for yourself.’

He nodded. ‘I, we, are at your disposal. I would like see her again – she is also my sister’s daughter. I had thought her lost to Kishdah. I am happy she is still alive.’

When they got back to the junk and detached the cog, they set sail; this time with the right sails. The watched the cog sail along behind them.

Derryth couldn’t help himself. ‘Daughter of the Eaorl…daughter of his sister. What are the chances?’

‘I keep telling you; someone is messing with me.’

‘Maybe – but who? Who can manipulate events like this? No Gyden can.’

‘Is there anything more powerful than a Gyden?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

~oo0oo~

Keowyn cried for an hour when she sighted her uncle; and her uncle cried as well.  Later as they sat to discuss events, Akelda was bemused and a little embarrassed.

‘Why didn’t you say your father was an Eaorl? You would have had your own companion theow to help you with your tasks.’

She smiled. ‘I was just happy to be alive and still in Sytha. After my father and brothers were executed, the rest of us were taken to Utika for sale; unfortunately we were deemed legal Theow by a declaration of the Healdend of Pontia – and instead of being purchased by Ancuman theow-traders, I was bought by the Steward of Merin for a lot of money. He paid too much because he then had to sell me to a theow-raider and I ended up in Tashke.’ She smiled. ‘I made sure he
really
enjoyed our time together. Anyway, if we had been deemed illegal, then I would have been bought by an Ancuman – like my uncle and my other kin. Merians don’t buy illegal theow from other nations. They don’t want to start a war.’

‘But they will buy illegal Merian theow?’ Conn was continually confused by the theow laws in Meria.

‘Yes’ Akelda explained, ‘because they can be made legal again through a bout and they never lose their rights.’

As Godhart prepared to leave for quarters set aside for him and his men, he turned and asked Conn what he wanted him to do next. He was at his disposal.

‘I have in mind some coastal trading. Do you know Sinope?’

He nodded. ‘I have been to Tanais with my former Captain – however, an Ancuman boat without an Ancuman officer will raise questions.’

‘In every port?’

He paused to think. ‘Perhaps not every port. There is one – the smallest – it is usually avoided by Ancuman as it is too hard to navigate at night. I could go there.’

‘Good, then just keep travelling between here and Kerch and Sinope. I will provide you with a full load of cargo, and you can trade as you go. Keep as low a profile as you can – and collect as much information as you can. Pass it on to the Steward of Kerch.’

‘How will we get into Kerch without being set upon?’

‘I’ll send a messenger ahead.’

Although no longer used for that purpose, Kerch had pigeons – of the homing variety – and Conn had brought some with him. He would send a pair home.

After he had left, and as Conn and Derryth walked to their barracks, Conn pondered. ‘You know, this ship might solve our problem about Sinope.’

‘How so?’

‘What if we used this to get into Sinope unseen?’

‘You mean on foot? And with only forty men?

‘Probably …’

‘Wow, this is all sounding like too much fun. Can hardly wait.’

‘Sarcasm doesn’t do you justice.’

After watching Godhart leave for Kerch with a full load of cargo and a new main sail that indicated that he served the Healdend of Pontia, Conn led his four hundred riders out of Shalala north to the mountains. His junks were heading to Caledonia.

Despite the short distance between Shalala and Utika, there was nothing to be gained by heading there directly except conflict. Conn reasoned that if there was a route over the mountains north of Utika into Larsa, then there had to be one north of Shalala into Utika, otherwise there was no point in the other route. Conn was staking his demesne and people on finding it.

Renoth and Akelda guided them for the first three days; a little gold smoothed any ruffled feathers of any Mundbora they passed; also Akelda seemed to be able to convince them that Conn’s fyrd was no threat to them. When they arrived at the mountains, the pair stopped and wished them well.

Akelda waved them goodbye. ‘We know of no way through this range. Are you sure you can find it?’

‘Derryth has a nose for these things. If anyone can, we can.’

‘I hope you are right. Anyway, I am no use to you over the range – everything there belongs to my mother and elder sister. They cannot listen to me. I will not ask them to.’

‘Akelda, you have done more than enough. I will see you again soon.’

She looked around at his grand looking but numerically inferior Fyrd. ‘I don’t know why you are so confident. My mother has five times your men. Your men cannot be five times better…’

As they watched them ride away, Derryth agreed. ‘She has a point. Three times maybe…’

‘We have something else. Surprise and resilience. That will be enough.’

He turned around and looked at the range. ‘How are we going to get across?’ He reached down and patted the stallion. ‘Balios, if the Casere had a pathway through then it is still there. Do you think we can find it?’

The stallion sniggered and started to move.

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

~oo0oo~

It was easy if you knew what to look for. Huge boulders and landslides hid secret pathways through high cliffs. As they paused with their shovels from filling bags of soil to be carted away, Conn looked around him.

‘This has been deliberately filled in. Who would do this?’

They found the answer at the bottom of the mound; a broken clay tablet. “Closed by order of the Aebeling of Iladion”.

‘Well’, Conn commented as he gazed on the pieces, ‘that is the first answer I’ve ever had to a rhetorical question.’

A day later they were through the pass, and on their way down. Or, at least most were. Conn and Derryth had left the group to investigate.

‘Are you sure you saw someone up here?’ Derryth whispered. ‘I’m not so sure.’

‘I didn’t see anyone – but Balios seems to think so.’ Conn whispered back. As he did Balios stopped still and snorted quietly. Conn dismounted. ‘I guess we walk from here.’ Conn withdrew the Longsword.

‘You think they are Ancuman?’

‘Has to be – no one else is this good.’

Leaving their horses behind, they picked their way silently over the rocks and stones that littered the hillside.  A mile below, Brictdred led the long line of horses that made up the fyrd.

They scampered up the steep incline to the top of the ridge and peeked over. Lying flat on the ground twenty yards below were wiga. They scoured the horizon looking at Conn’s horses file past.

They ducked down. ‘Ancuman’ Conn whispered. ‘Three of them.’

Derryth nodded. ‘I’ll just stay here then – hardly seems worth my while assisting – but if you start losing, I’ll step in and save the day. Then we will be even.’

‘You wish.’ Conn took a deep breath and leapt up. There was no quiet entry as the hillside was exposed and as soon as he topped the rise, they would hear him anyway. So he stood up and started, free styled down the rocky slope, hopping like a drunken kangaroo. He could hear Derryth’s stifled laugh behind him. The three figures leapt to their feet; two drew their swords as they did – with accompanying expletives.

Conn did negotiate – ‘swords down – hands in the air’ but he knew it was futile so he engaged; parry, roll, parry. Only two of them attacked him in return – one stood back and watched with interest. Brutally effective against Ancuman fighters even when mismatched, it did not take long before the two lay dying. As the last fell to his knees, the third attacked; skilful and tenacious, having picked up the sword of one of the fallen.

Strangely Conn’s instinct was not to kill – he didn’t know why – but it had something to do with the hood and the scarf around ‘her’ face. Conn knew ‘it’ was ‘she’ very quickly as her style was different to the Ancuman. Conn just defended valiantly and she fought defiantly – seemingly determined to kill him.

A voice floated over the rise. ‘Seriously, why is this taking you so long?’

‘I thought you were watching. Some guardian you are.’ Conn yelled as he dodged blows.

‘I thought I’d have a snooze instead. What is the problem?’

Amidst the clatter of swords, Conn responded. ‘I have a woman – not an Ancuman – trying to kill me.’

‘Beats me why more women don’t try to kill you.’ Derryth then appeared on the top of the ridge, and walked down.

‘You’re right, she isn’t Ancuman.’ Instead of the usual Silekian language that Derryth spoke so that everyone could understand him, he was speaking in Twacuman – the only language that no Priecuman or Ancuman understood – except Conn.

The shock of hearing the Twacuman language struck the warrior like a sack of potatoes – she spun around and pointed her weapon at Derryth. ‘How dare you defile my language, Priecuman …’ she stopped as soon as she saw him; totally confused now she spun her sword back to Conn.

Derryth stood, ‘Wiga, you may as well give up – he could have killed you minutes ago if he wanted to.’ He walked down and stood directly in front of her, her sword an inch from his chest.

‘Sword please.’

The girl looked at him intensely before shaking her head in confusion. She then flipped her sword around and handed it to him handle first. She even did a curtsy.

‘Since you asked so nicely, Wothbora.’

‘I thought you said you are not a Wothbora.’ Conn added. The discussion was sore point between them.

Derryth ignored him, and walked past to sit on a rock.

‘She is Twacuman – from Iladion. Did you not notice the skill in swordplay – the lightness of foot, the subtlety of attack, the superiority of style? Still, she is lucky you didn’t kill her. Why didn’t you?’

‘Don’t know – something didn’t sit right. Mostly because she doesn’t have her own sword.’ He replied as he returned his sword to the shoulder scabbard. ‘Hate to kill a person using someone else’s sword.’

The woman sat down and removed her scarf. She was definitely Twacuman – beautiful and lithe, her age untellable as they didn’t age quickly – but perhaps a few years younger than Derryth – the main difference to Derryth were her lighter brown eyes.

She finally spoke to Derryth. ‘Cousin, has anyone told you that you speak too much. Wothbora are supposedly serene and placid. You seem neither.’

Conn had to agree. ‘She has a good point. Talk, talk talk...’

She looked curiously at them both. ‘I don’t understand – why is one of my cousins riding the hills of Meria with a Priecuman? And since when can a Priecuman speak Twacuman?’

Derryth answered for her. ‘We are from Meshech – and he is no normal Priecuman, he is the Feorhhyrde.’

She meant to rebuke him but stopped. Her voice was a whisper. ‘The Feorhhyrde has returned to Sytha from Meshech? Why have we not been told?’

Conn stood and whistled; soon two horses trotted over the hill; and Conn removed a shovel and pick from his pack. ‘We best bury the dead quickly – the fyrd is getting away.’

Derryth shook his head as he stood. ‘This is the part I hate about killing people – having to bury them after.’

The girl stood and looked at Balios as he arrived. ‘That horse is an Elfina – how is that possible?’

‘He is – or at least his dam is. His sire is just a normal horse; and the mare is one of his offspring.’

She laughed. ‘That should be impossible. Our horses haven’t bred with normal horses for five hundred years.’

Derryth looked at her. ‘Impossible is the new possible. Go get the horses.’

She smiled and curtsied again. ‘Yes, Wothbora.’

‘She has a bit of an attitude.’ Conn observed as they watched her leave.

‘The young are like that these days. No respect for their elders.’

When she returned with the three horses, two buckskin mares and riding a sleek black and white Elfina mare, the one most excited was Balios. She went over and greeted them formally.

Conn and Derryth had just finished burying the two dead men.

‘Watch Balios; he’ll have mounted all those mares by the end of the week. He’s insatiable.’

They loaded the “booty” onto one of the horses and headed out in pursuit of their fyrd; the tail end of which had disappeared down the mountain.

As the girl rode beside them, Conn made some inquiries.

‘What is your name?’

‘Hallvi il Iladion. What are your names?’

‘Hello, Hallvi, he is Derryth il Halani. I am Conn il Taransay.’

‘I know of no place called Taransay – and you have a fyrd of four hundred men. You have failed to tell me something.’

‘Well,’ Conn acknowledged, ‘I guess that is true. At this moment I am also the Marquis of Rasadi, and I’d like to stop my demesne being destroyed by a Merian fyrd.’