Pursuit
Her head hurt. She let out a soft groan, wondering what way was up and why the world swayed. Something stuck her eyes together, matted and gummy, and she needed several blinks to clear her eyes, enough to see grass moving past underneath her. She hung from a horse, head throbbing with every step. Behind the saddle, like a bed roll or a pack, the broad width of the horse’s hips spreading her out in uncomfortable fashion, while each step caused the leg beneath her to roll.
She tried not to give any indication of being awake as she sought answers. Several horses, the small, wiry, bony beasts of the high Uightlands, hardy and bad-tempered. Her horse rode near the front, second or third she thought. Each horse held a rider and a passenger, a girl slung across the back or in some cases riding astride. On the horse behind her, the rider held the girl in front of him, his hands roaming under her dress. Asmara recognised the girl who approached and spoke to her in the compound.
Now her eyes fixed on Asmara, her lips a hard slash as she endured the ministrations of her captor. She blinked hard at her princess and Asmara knew she was sending a message. If only she could understand.
Asmara turned her attention to her surroundings. Her arms hung past her head, untied, as were her legs. She was just slung over the back of the horse, not enough of her slight frame overlapping to warrant her falling off. They moved at a walk through forest, open woods with a high canopy and little, low-level brush, the lovely green light belying her difficult position. Ahead the woods became denser and she waited.
The thicker trees revealed an up-thrust hill with a ravine to the right. The sound of rushing water drifted up and Asmara smiled. Once in that river she would be safe, using the rapids to whisk her away to safety. She hung the wrong way across the horse. Discarding the option of somersaulting forwards, she pulled up her arms to thrust herself backwards.
An instant response from the girl behind, who screamed and threw herself off her horse, shouting at her captor.
“Enough! Stop pawing me, you filthy pig. I can’t stand it anymore. Just kill me, kill me now, anything but keep your filthy hands off me.”
All eyes fell on her and Asmara took her chance, slipping backwards as the Spakka turned the other way. Fast as a striking viper he swung back, his darting hand grazing her shoulder as she fell off the horse landing on both feet. A quick dummy towards the hill and she ducked under the horse’s rear, dodged a kicking hoof and sprinted for the gorge, shouts erupting behind her.
A spear slid past her, nearly hitting her, and causing an enraged bellow from a point much closer than anticipated, heightening her adrenaline. Her jaw ached, she felt woozy and did not run as fast as usual, but her ears still worked and she picked up the heavy footfalls behind her, as she slanted off past a low bush, almost to the edge now.
The footfalls ceased, there was a rush of air and she made a quick step and shuffle with her feet, moving sideways rather than forwards, rewarded with a large body hurtling past her, belly down in the dirt. ‘Home free,’ she thought in triumph, when a long arm reached out and tapped her ankle, causing her rear foot to smack into the back of her standing foot and she went flying. She rolled, seeing stars as her poor jaw hit the ground, gathered her feet to spring away when a great weight landed on her, knocking the breath from her body.
Muttering to himself in Spakka, the warrior hauled her to her feet, where she swung a roundhouse punch into his face and kicked for his balls. He allowed the punch and caught the kick on his thigh, smiling.
“A love tap, little one?” He laughed, cuffed her soundly, which sent stars wheeling through her mind, and slung her over his shoulder. On arrival back at the horse, waiting with patience while pulling up the scant fodder, he trussed her with leather strips before throwing her back over the horse and attaching a line from feet to hands. Asmara glared, before checking on her accomplice, now on the back of her captor’s horse with a swelling over her eye. She shrugged at Asmara.
*
Lionel whistled when he opened the sack, inside the belly of the largest longship. The last to be taken, at a cost of five lancers, for the defenders would not concede. Golden goblets gleamed at him, along with crosses and silver boxes. Church work, he grimaced. Churches would appear on the frontier, and he understood they always belly-ached to the king, demanding more protection as they pushed the frontiers back. Priests loved their riches, putting together the pennies tithed by the farmers. He grinned, sure he could put it to better use.
Coming up on deck, he waved to Tony striding up to the ship.
“What do we have? Can you give me a rough estimate yet?”
Tony’s face twisted, as he tried manfully to retain his usual downward curved, disapproving mouth.
“I’m a rider, not a damn farmer. Why you pick me for this damn job, I don’t know.”
“We’re all riders. You know more about business than the rest of us.”
“I do, don’t I?” Tony’s face gave up the unequal task and a grin split his face in two. “There’s more than two hundred bushels of oats, a hundred hogsheads of ale, good stuff too, and more than a hundred bales of wool. Not counted them all yet, maybe some small stuff. We caught most of the loot before they could get it away. We’re rich, Lenny boy.”
“I don’t know how it works, but I expect the king will have something to say. I’m sure we’ll get a share though.”
“Way ahead of you. There are a bunch of wagons up in the trees, the draught horses have mostly been slaughtered for meat but some remain. I’ll load those up and send a convoy off to Barndton, leave the rest here for the king’s men. Few boys to guard them, will take them a couple of months to get there. I know a few merchants who will be pleased.”
Lionel nodded. “Do it. Pile the rest up here on the beach, make a big display and they’ll never think there was more.”
“Got it in hand. What was in the stockade you went to earlier? More plunder.”
“You could say that. Women, slaves. Bit traumatised, the princess is seeing to them.”
“Hmmph. Well, some of them are coming out now, see, they are waving at us.”
“Henry,” called Lionel, “go find what they want.”
Henry glanced up from where he groomed his horse, sprang into the saddle and galloped up to the compound. In moments he returned, face troubled.
“You’d better come see, boss.”
Lionel jumped over the side of the longship, knees buckling as he landed, and whistled for his horse. The gelding trotted up and he swung into the saddle, while Tony returned to the liberated stores and his machinations. Several riders noticed Lionel gallop up to the stockade and followed, all hoping to see some girls.
Sergeant Andy Russell lay on straw, a woman washing the blood from his face while one of the Lancers’ healers examined him. Lionel cast around for the princess, his unease heightening as he slipped down to the turf.
“What happened?” He asked in general, as the women backed away from him.
The older woman who had earlier spoken to the Princess stepped forward.
“Sir, the Spakka came back, just a few of them, well, one actually. But he was with a load of Uightlanders, maybe a dozen. They took the Princess and some of the girls, sir.”
Lionel cursed, turning for the gate. The woman pulled at his arm.
“Sir? She fought, sir, the princess did. She ran one of the Uightlanders through the leg and could have killed him but went for the Spakka instead. He knocked her out, he did, and took her away.”
Lionel nodded, his mouth tight and pushed out of the gate, over the hard mud to the beginnings of the grass that ran down to the sea. Matt arrived along with half a dozen others.
“Spakka and Uightlander stragglers made off with the princess and some of the captives. We will follow and recover. Matt, round up the best trackers and cast around, I want to know how many and what we are following. Should be no more than a dozen. Robbie, two troops ready to ride in ten minutes, as much food and provisions as possible, raid the other troops for trail rations.”
Matt’s head hovered inches over the trail going round the side of the stockade, his fingers brushing the ground while he moved at a fast pace along the trail. Robbie left with no more than a grunt, calling out to various boys. They still had no proper ranks, just made do. Lionel followed Matt round the side of the stockade, not speaking as Matt worked out the trail.
The harsh staccato of hooves on hard turf raised his head, to see Jez arriving at the gallop, swinging in his direction on recognising his horse.
“We’re in tonight, little bro. All the girls of the Hardenwall can’t wait to ride the war heroes. We’ve got a party to go to, all organised. What’s up?” Lionel’s expression remained concerned and harsh.
“Stragglers. Mainly Uightlander, they had a stockade of slaves here and picked up a few before heading off. We’re heading off after them as soon as Matt works out the trail. No time yet for partying, Jez.”
“It’s Sir Jeremy now, knighted on the battlefield by the king himself, no less.” Jez puffed up his chest with a silly grin. “Sure, send a troop after them, but you can’t go yourself. The king wants to see you and we have a party tonight. Enough time to get back to the Wall if you hurry it. Where’s the princess? Got a message for her.”
“They took her as well.”
“Shit. What are we waiting for? I can track as well as Matt, get me some trail rations and some bloody meat.” He jumped off his horse and followed Matt’s path round the corner, eyes scanning the ground as he went. Lionel checked on Robbie barking orders before spotting a taller man and waving him over.
“Ade, take charge of these women. Get all the healers over here, see what they need and get them back to the Hardenwall soon as you can. Tony has some wagons, get a couple and use those.” He thought for a moment, closed his eyes in pain before reaching for his saddlebags and pulling out a sheaf of paper. Sharpening a quill, he didn’t bother making ink but simply licked the quill and ran it over an ink-stone. He wrote with rapid strokes, stopping every word to recharge the quill. Folding the parchment, he grimaced at his lack of signet ring as he sealed it with a blob of wax and his thumbprint.
“Simon! Take this to the general, General Roberts, for his hand alone. Afterwards report back to Tony, tell the general there’s no point in following with messages, we’ll be back before they get to us. See Tony on your way, tell him he’s in charge till I get back and to sort out the wounded. Set up a forward camp somewhere not full of Spakka shit.” Several thousand men had moved through the area, and it showed.
Lionel found Matt and Jez talking with the woman, who lapsed into silence as he arrived.
“Eleven of them, one wounded, one Spakka. They are mounted on these tiny ponies, Mags here says they are strong little buggers and will have no trouble carrying double, but slow.” Matt stroked a hoof print as he spoke, eyes fixed on the print, memorising it.
“Princess wounded the Uightlander,” said Jez with satisfaction. “Good girl. You know what they are going to do, don’t you?”
“Head for the high country, wooded areas, rough ground where we can’t gallop,” said Lionel in an instant
“They’ll split up,” Jez nodded, his eyes on Mags’ curves. “We will need eleven trackers, or more. Best to have two on each. We’ll move faster. I’ll work with Matt. We’ll stick to the princess and her Spakka.”
“I’ve called for them. Some are coming now, and as soon as the food is here we can ride. Do you need a spare horse?”
“They’re all knackered, but if we lead them for a bit, mine’ll be fine. Have we got any oats? That will stiffen him up quickly. Lots of bottom, that horse.”
“True, but let’s spend some time checking them before we go. Not sure if we have enough for all to take spares.”
“I know how they started,” said Matt. “They followed this back trail out of here, it is quite well used but their tracks are the last ones on it. We can move fast at the start.”
“It’s uphill. Somebody there is canny, we will take it slow and lead the horses up the hill or they’ll be dead by the time we reach the top. Bet it’s steep as hell.”
All three returned to the front of the stockade and stripped the gear off their horses. The rest of the two troops arrived and followed suit. In moments the field filled with rolling horses and swearing riders, as most of the horses wanted to play, feeling they deserved some attention. A small group of riders distributed oats, purloined from the recovered stocks, and the horses quietened as nose bags went on while the riders brushed them down.
*
Lionel threw his leg over his bay gelding, relieved to get off his feet. He felt the ache in his legs from the steep hike, and relaxed in the saddle as his horse puffed his discontent. He rode behind the lead trackers, and his reverie of the green forest with unfamiliar trees allowed him to drift into sleep, before his horse stopped and woke him up.
The trackers crouched on the ground, horses held well back from the evidence. He joined them and Jez stood up, stretching.
“We’ve marked the princess, now,” he said in satisfaction. “She made a break for it here – see, the ground is scuffed where he tackled her and brought her back. Good thinking by the girl, if she got into the river she would be well away.”
“It sounds a bit fast and rough,” said Lionel, standing tall to look down into the gorge.
“Tough little bitch, she knows what she is doing. Anyway, he caught her and brought her back. Tough, wily mother-fucker, this one.”
“Because he can catch a girl?”
“No, he’s smart. You can see it in the way he walks, the way he is ahead of her attempts to escape. He defeated her in a fight, and she’s good that girl. It has taken us this long to work out which is his horse, so he is extra smart. We’ve got him now, though, there’s a nick on the off fore hoof. He can’t get away from us.”
*
Asmara landed on the soft moss with a thump, and it hurt although she twisted and tried to fall correctly. Her Spakka laughed and untied her bonds, pulling at a loose end for them to fall apart. He laughed again as her eyes narrowed at the knowledge, fury mounting as she realised she could have pulled it with her teeth. He smacked her shoulder, more from affection than cruelty even though she fell over, and thrust a bag into her hands.
“Make fire, make food. See if you can cook, little woman.”
“Never!” She hissed the word out through clenched teeth.
He clouted her again, a little harder and darkness clouded her mind for a moment, tears threatening to well up behind her eyes.
“Cook and you will eat. And drink. Don’t cook and I will eat dry food and you will eat nothing.” He shrugged and moved to care for his horse. Asmara jumped for the bushes and he caught her leg. Holding her upside down, he smiled and cuffed her again. Shaking her, he spoke.
“So, we like to play games. I have good game, you are horse. Tied up for night.” He tied a cord to her ankle, the other end round a tree and returned to his horse.
Returning, Asmara lay beside the untouched bag, glaring like a furious cat. He retrieved the bag and poured a measure of the contents, a mixture of oats and seeds, into a mug from which he ate it, dry. Asmara’s eyes never left his face while he ignored her.
Finishing his meal, he rose and urinated powerfully into the bushes, returning to sit cross-legged opposite her. He tapped his breast and grunted. Asmara stared. His brow creased, he tapped his breast, grunted again and pointed at her. ‘Oh no,’ she thought, ‘names.’ She pulled herself to some attention and gestured to him to repeat the grunt.
“Ey-dis,” she said, and he nodded, before pointing at her. “Asmara.”
He mangled it badly, but she nodded anyway and he proceeded to grasp everything in reach. Asmara’s mind raced, realising the potential benefits of speaking Spakka when she freed herself and slaughtered Eydis in the process, so she applied herself with a will and after an hour’s work could name all his weapons, horse and various camp items. Eydis laughed a lot, his face creasing at her pronunciation, and she warmed to him.
“Food, Asmara?” She reached for the bag of gruel and he slapped her hand away, responding with a stream of words from which she gathered she wouldn’t eat in punishment for not cooking. He did permit her water, before covering her with a smelly fur. She pushed it away and indicated she needed to make water, damn it, that was not all she needed to do and didn’t appreciate his intention of following and watching her.
But he was not to be denied, and to her mortification watched the entire process, allowing her a small dagger to cut a hole in the turf and bury the proceeds. She washed herself with a little water, to his fascination and she kicked at him when he tried to watch the exact procedure. Returning to their baggage, she wondered about the others, seeing the horses tethered in various spots, each rider in his own camp. Heart-wrenching sobs came from the nearest camp, as the warrior stood nearby making water, only to be silenced with a ringing slap when he returned to the covers.
Asmara steeled herself for her own rape, holding down the terror bubbling up in her stomach. She found she appreciated not having eaten, knowing she would throw anything up and give away her fear. Her captor showed little interest in her, tying her hands and feet and placing a noose around her neck to his hand, before rolling to sleep in his own blankets, short sword in hand. Asmara lay awake a little while, hearing the silence of the night enlivened with the mournful calls of an owl seeking his mate.
Dawn came too quickly, the warriors up and saddling at first light, Asmara barely getting enough time to make water before being sat on the front of the saddle, uncomfortable on the low pommel so she slipped forwards onto the back of the neck, equally uncomfortable. Eydis continued the language lesson, in between permitting her to eat some trail mix of dried seeds, oats and nuts.
Asmara noted the girls on the other horses, all behind the riders today, all with downcast heads and bedraggled appearance. Several held their hands on their stomachs.
The path rose high into the mountains, deep in the interior with the sea no longer visible. They rode now at the tree-line, Asmara buried deep in her bearskin for the cold bit deep. Her snappish answers to the language lessons didn’t bother Eydis, as long as she progressed. Mistakes drew physical retribution and she learned. The trail followed the crest of a ridge, and now this turned and went along the side of a mountain, a precipice falling away to her right while on her left a gentle incline down to a small stream, after which the terrain turned rugged, pushing up vertically to the heights in places. Asmara watched an eagle in flight beneath them in the ravine, Eydis too entranced to continue the lessons.
The eagle soared in circles, rising at a steady pace, every so often seeming to slip outwards and flapping to come back to the tight circle where it rose again. The yellow beak, hooked and massive, provided a sight down which the eyes trained, fixing them for a moment before dismissing them and returning to the endless search for food.
The trail dipped and left the open to enter a pine forest, great, straight trunks and a resinous smell in the air. Pine needles covered the ground, and two riders broke off from the group, making their way through the woods in different directions. Asmara nodded in thought, played with the pine branches as they went past, snapping a couple off with studied lack of care. Eydis smacked her head.
“Maybe we have lost your trackers, but do not help them.”
As night fell, they camped beside a brook. Asmara started a fire, and Eydis took his sword to the brook, returning with four trout, not very large.
“Can Asmara cook fire with girl?” Asmara put a hopeful expression on her face, as she indicated the girl slumped in the next clearing. She felt her superb Spakka deserved a reward.
Eydis studied her with a grave expression, she was sure to hide the laughter bubbling behind the mask, before calling out to the Uightlander in Harrheinian. The warrior, wrapped in his plaid, grunted as he drank from a skin. The girl staggered a little as she came over, and Asmara took in her pale complexion, seeing the pain beneath it.
“River, water, oh, damn it, what is Spakka for wash or clean?” Asmara muttered, miming washing her face while Eydis wore a perplexed expression. Assuming consent, she headed for the brook holding the girl by the hand. “Eydis stay, ready trout,” she commanded as he began to follow. Ignoring his laughter, they knelt by the water and Asmara helped the girl out of her dress and both entered the freezing water to wash the blood and slime off her.
“What is your name?” Asmara’s teeth chattered as she washed the girl, whose arms did not seem to work too well.
“Rosie, ma’am, they called me after your mum.”
“Thank you for trying, yesterday, Rosie.”
“Would do it again, anytime you want, ma’am. Sorry you didn’t make it, good try though.”
“Is it very bad, Rosie?”
“Bad? No, not really, miss, a man’s a man at the end of the day. Not much difference between an Uightlander and a man from the Wall, beyond a bit of an accent.”
“I thought you were in pain?”
The girl smiled. “The riding, miss, not used to it. This one isn’t my first man, ma’am, and he ain’t a bad fellow really. He’s been telling me about his farm, up in the hills. A shepherd, he is, with a bit of a kitchen garden. I’m his wife, he says and already told me he plans for ten children, all as big as he is.” Rosie didn’t sound too upset at this, indeed rather proud. Asmara digested the news.
“Don’t you want to go back to Harrhein?”
“On the border, doesn’t matter much to us girls which side we are. Me da’ stole me ma from a village not far from this farm, so I ‘spect I’ll find some relations who’ll make me welcome. Come now, I’m clean, let’s get cooking or we’ll catch it.”
In silence the girls made griddle cakes, Rosie showing Asmara her techniques, and Rosie dug up some ferns to peel the roots which she boiled in a bark pot she made in a moment. The men sat together, sharing the skin now and talking in low tones.
“Are all the girls happy to go with their man?”
“Sure, they came back for us, didn’t they? Could have run and left us. Many did, but these boys like us.”
“Why did you jump off the horse and shout at him yesterday, won’t that make it difficult for you? Couldn’t you have done something else?”
“Can’t think what, and he mustn’t think he can paw me where others can see. Got to start training him early, my mam said, while he still wants my body.”
“But he hit you.” For Asmara, this crime required serious punishment.
“Sure he did now, and he will again or there’s something wrong. And when he does something wrong, so help me I’ll thrash him too, and won’t he squeal, big lummox that he may be.”
Asmara placed the largest trout on a chunk of wood, along with two griddle cakes and a pile of fern roots, serving them to Eydis while Rosie provided something similar to her man. The girls sat down beside the fire and ate their own share, Asmara shocked into silence by the taste of fresh brook trout, her hunger rampant in her belly as she strove to chew and not swallow all at once.
“Up here, they’re only Uightlanders ‘cos they’re outside the Wall. We’re the same people, really, and there’s a summer fair we all go to, meet up with our relatives. My da’ says the only difference is he has to pay tax to the Duke, and he don’t like it, he don’t. Threatened to go north many a time.”
Asmara digested this in silence, a different story to the one she understood from the Pathfinders. She thought of the Young Man, leading the North Hallows regiment. She danced with him once, she remembered, and he had complained to her about taxation at the time.
“It’s a tough life up here, miss, a short summer season for the growing and the snow in winter after our flocks, but it has rewards. Look at the land we rode through today, just beautiful, and it’s all like that. Aye, and the men are a rare, braw breed; a bit simple mind, but we girls sort them. You’ll be happy here with your man.”
“What?”
“Well, he canna go back to Spakka, now, can he. He’ll have to settle up here, away from your boys. He’ll head north, I reckon, as far as can be, and spend the winter hunting the reindeer. Do you know how to cure skins?”
“No,” said Asmara, horrible visions piling up.
“Maybe you will stop near us for a while and I can teach you. I’ll ask my Tam.”
Asmara took a long time to fall asleep that night, despite her weariness from a day in the saddle. A bleak future in the snow contrasted poorly with running a thriving kingdom.
The next day she asked Eydis where they went. He grunted his reply in Spakka, and from the little she could make out, she realised he wasn’t sure. He talked of finding a boat, calling a passing ship or even building one. He described his home, which seemed to be mainly rocks and sheep and a wife who ruled with a rod of iron. Asmara he intended to trade with the king, but he was vague on the details of what he wanted, despite her pressing him that she could make the agreement. In the end he said maybe he would just make her the second wife, easier all round.
Asmara bridled, and tucked her right leg under his, feeling with her foot to ease the basic stirrup off. He rode slumped in the saddle, half asleep, till she slapped his neck, grabbed the reins and lifted her foot sharply as she pulled the horse to the right. Eydis’ hands, moving towards his slapped neck, couldn’t react in time to grasp the saddle or reclaim the reins as she pushed his foot up and he floundered on the grass while she rode round him in circles, whipping him with the end of the reins.
He bellowed, while the Uightlanders gathered round and shouted advice. Asmara kept an eye out for an opening, preparing to jab in her heels and race back the way they came, but three warriors blocked her path, anticipating her dash so she concentrated on Eydis. He climbed to his feet, joined in the laughter and caught the reins by letting them whip around his forearm, whereupon he stopped the pony in its tracks, leapt up behind Asmara and toed the horse back along the trail. He hugged Asmara to him, bestowing a wet kiss on her ear.
She shuddered, raising her eyes to the heavens. She must remember to refrain from abusing him physically, it just made him affectionate. At least she was getting used to the smell.