The Starfall Knight (21 page)

They charged and Alessa sprang backwards.  She exchanged blows with one of the soldiers, each strike shivering down her sword and into her arms.  Alessa gave ground reluctantly, knowing that she could not last much longer against the barrage.

A sword slammed into Alessa’s ribs, twisting her around.  Pain exploded through her torso and her weapon flew from her gauntlets.  Dust billowed into her mouth.  When had she hit the ground?  The second soldier nodded to himself as he and his partner advanced with blades raised.

Leonus barrelled into the Centarans, followed by a squad of bare-chested Tarians armed with wooden clubs and chains.  Wet slaps were coupled with screams for mercy.  The cries of the Centarans soon ceased.

“Thank you,” Alessa said.

Leonus shrugged.  “It wasn’t for you, Alessa.”  His thrashers looted the soldiers and they continued onwards into the village centre.

Alessa sat up, cradling her broken ribs.  The sword hadn’t penetrated her chain shirt but her battle was over.  She retrieved her weapon as the thrashers stormed through the village.  The clangor of battle soon faded.

A group of thrashers approached, frogmarching a soldier between them – a couple were Dene’s Serpens, judging by the tattoos on their arms, while the other three were Tarians led by Elina.

“Alessa – we have the captain.”  Elina grinned and kicked the soldier in the knee.

“Good,” Alessa said.  “You’ll all receive triple rations, then.”

“What?” Elina said.  “I’m their commander.  I should receive the bounty.”

“Hold!  That’s not fair,” a Serpens thrasher said.

Elina whirled around and the two Tarians tackled the Serpens.  Within a moment, they pinned down his arms and legs.  Elina pounced and she disembowelled the thrasher with a knife.

The other Serpens thrasher retreated.  “You’re moon-fucking crazy.  Ain’t worth a lick of food.”

“So, I get their share?” Elina said.

“No,” Alessa replied.  “Report to Grunos.”

Elina glanced at Alessa’s sword and sniffed.  “Fine.”

“Tell Grunos that I want a report immediately,” Alessa said.  “Then, find Dene and Nasius and bring them here.”

“They won’t take orders kindly.”

“No one said they had to like it,” Alessa said.

Elina nodded, a curious smile crossing her face.  “As you command.”  She bowed and stalked off.

Alessa ignored Elina’s mockery and said to the thrashers, “Take the captain to the prison.  Make one, if you have to.  I want the remaining Centarans kept alive as hostages.”

“Yes, miss!”

Alessa’s mind whirled with thoughts of logistics and structures and everything she had read about conquest.  Above all, a shiver ran down her nape.  She had won a battle, and command of an aerock.

Devan pulled back on the reins and the pony slowed to a halt.  The stream of travellers retreating from the trouble near Saruwa had vanished in the past couple hours.  Devan peered over the grasslands, confirming the dust trails on the highway ahead.  Devan removed his helm and wiped the sweat from his forehead.  Riding all day had been tiring and the afternoon sun was relentless.  He urged the pony forwards and found the shade of an elm tree.

The group on the road soon became apparent as more Saruwans accompanied by a pair of soldiers.  Judging from the lack of a pack mule or drawn wagon, Devan guessed that they were Saruwans who lived in Centara.  Not an unusual circumstance as Saruwan families were large and visiting relatives was a regular event.

Devan hung his helm on the saddlehorn and leaned forward.  “Tayu?”

One of the travellers perked up.  “Devan!”

Tayu split from the group, the straps of his rucksack digging into the tunic stretched across his broad shoulders.  “Devan, what are you doing out here?”

“Watching for trouble,” Devan replied.

“Unofficially, I assume.”

“Let’s say an officer of the Marshal has certain freedoms.”

Tayu grinned.  They had shared many broken curfews in their youth together.  “I suppose you’ve heard of the bandits.”

“I have.  Did you come that way?”

“Yes.”  Tayu’s grin faded.  “There are soldiers posted on the highway now, with three squads of rangers patrolling.  It seems under control.  My opinion?  There are no bandits.”

“It’s the Sirinese,” Devan said.

“I had heard rumours but paid them no mind.”  Tayu shook his head.  “They were detached from the east, weren’t they?”

“Yes.  But they’ve attacked Masteney.”

One of the soldiers murmured, “Moons above.”

“No word yet from them,” Devan said.  “I was caught up in a Council room with these upper tiersmen congratulating themselves on repelling the raids in the city and boroughs.”

“How did you get away?”

“I feigned sickness, although I wasn’t far from it in truth.”

Tayu chuckled but turned sombre again.  “And what of Masteney?  The army’ll march, won’t they?”

“They will.”  Devan gestured to the soldiers.  “Have you sent word back to the city about the disappearing bandits around Saruwa?”

“That is, in fact, our job,” a soldier replied.  “You a ranger?”

“Devan, officer of the Marshal Romaine.”

“Ah, Captain Benton’s brother.”

“I can carry your message, if you like.”

The soldiers shared a glance and Devan suppressed a ripple of annoyance.  His reputation would never truly be free of his history, even though he had been a young teenager during the Verovel incident.  Finally, one of the soldiers produced a folded parchment, sealed with the insignia of a Centaran army captain.  “Here.  Take this to Marshal Jarrell, ranger.”

“As you please,” Devan said.  He tucked the message into a pouch.  “Farewell, Tayu.  See you at home.”

His friend raised a hand in goodbye and Devan heeled his pony back to the city.

The ruby dusk slid into twilight and the sky darkened into the familiar burgundy laid with a field of stars.  Alessa hunkered on the grass.  At the southern, trailing edge of Centara, Masteney never suffered through the brunt of the airstreams, unlike Sirinis.  Masteney remained a verdant aerock, shielded by its larger ally.  The cords and rope between the two aerocks remained taut while the curious tubing made of metal and glass shimmered with andonite, pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Commander?”

“What is it?” Alessa said.

Grunos appeared next to her, wary of the exposed edge.  “We have rounded up the prisoners and locked them in one of them big buildings.”

“Which one?”

“One of them empty ones near the fields of tall grass.”

Alessa smiled.  “It’s called a barn, Grunos.  And the crop in the field is called wheat.”

“Wheat?”

“Yes,” Alessa said.  “What bread is made of.”

“Oh.”  Grunos folded his arms and looked over the gap onto Centara’s southern foothills.  “Anyway, they’re all locked up now.”

“All of them?”

“Well, no. Some are working as servants and the like.”

Alessa remained silent.  She was not yet popular enough to stop the rape of Masteney’s women and girls, nor the torture of its men.  The sport of the Sirinese was always one with its raids for food and supplies.

“Commander, look.”

Grunos pointed to movement on Centara.  In the failing light, a column of cavalry picked its way through the undulating terrain.  Alessa stood up.  Though the shadows were long, she recognised the banner of Centara flying over the unit.  The soldiers would need to dismount before assaulting Masteney but even on foot, the Centarans would be troublesome.  If they could make the crossing in the first place.

“Grunos, gather a force.  We have a battle on our hands.”

A new voice sounded from the trail leading to the way-station.  “Already here.”  Leonus approached while a hundred thrashers spread out behind him.

“Good,” Alessa said.  “Do you have archers with you?  I want them arrayed to the east and west.  I want light scouts to –”

“I am in command now, Alessa,” Leonus said.  “You’re to return to Sirinis.”

“No, this is my command.  Your father was quite clear.”

“Things change.”  Leonus gestured to two of his thrashers and they surrounded Alessa.  “Hermos and Arko will escort you back to Sirinis.  My father awaits to congratulate you on your strategy for Masteney and Saruwa.”

Alessa clasped her hands together, to stop herself from drawing her sword or punching Leonus, she did not know.  Even if she weren’t injured, she would not be able to fend off a hundred thrashers loyal to Leonus.  “As you say,” Alessa said.  She marched past Leonus and the thrashers parted for her.

As she left the way-station, Leonus’ words drifted on the wind.  “What are you staring at, Grunos?  Archers to the east and west.  I want scouts...”

The makeshift crossing between Masteney and Sirinis had been reinforced with cables hooked around the closest oaks, elms and firs.  Alessa clambered over one of the rope ladders spanning the shifting gap and she headed to the piloting cave that lay nearby.

With half of Sirinis enjoying the spoils of victory on Masteney, the aerock was silent in its relative emptiness.  Alessa suppressed a rising anticipation – years of living on Sirinis had conditioned her to expect food and a reprieve as the victors returned to the aerock.  With the light of Tyn in the night sky, Alessa reached Sirinis’ promontory and wended her way down the outside of the aerock.

The hewn stairs led into the cave where the air swirled and tangled her hair.  Alessa tucked her locks into a tail and donned her helm.

“Father?”

The cave angled down and thin seams of andonite provided the barest of illumination.  Alessa continued, her boots scraping on the rock and dirt.

An abrupt corner turned the passageway and Alessa found her father lying on the cavern floor amidst a pool of his own vomit.  Alessa could barely stand upright in chamber.  Her father’s tunic and boots lay strewn in one corner, next to a wooden stool that rose no higher than Alessa’s knee.

“Father!”

Vantanis groaned.  “Aly?”

“Are you all right?”  Alessa helped her father sit up.

“I’m fine.  You shouldn’t be down here.”

“You’ve been sick.”

“I know.  Fetch my boots, would you?”

“Yes, father.”  Alessa grabbed his clothes and helped lace his boots.

“I thought you were on Masteney,” Vantanis said.

“I was,” Alessa said.  “Leonus has apparently taken over command of the raid.  I’m to speak with Tarius.”

“Indeed!”  The brilliance of an oil-lamp blinded Alessa and she grasped her father’s shoulder.  Tarius appeared, flanked by a pair of thrashers.  “I was expecting you, Alessa.  Did you receive my message from Leonus?”

“I did.”

“And still, you’re tardy.”

“My father was piloting all day,” Alessa said.  “I thought to check on him.”

“Very well,” Tarius said, “but you know that these caverns are forbidden to all but Vantanis.  By Vantanis’ own wishes.”  He sniffed the air.  “And now, I know.  Virid, mead, vomit.  Vantanis – you hide yourself here to indulge.”

“I do not!”  Vantanis rose and Alessa held him up.  “If you want piloting at all hours of the day and night, then I – ”

“You can’t even stand under your own power!  We will have words later.”  To Alessa, Tarius said, “Leave him.  We will speak now.”

Vantanis nodded and waved Alessa away.  “I’m fine.”

Alessa squeezed her father’s hand and followed Tarius out of the cave.

At the next outpost, Devan capitalised on holding an official document and exchanged his stolen pony for a Centaran military rouncey.  The mount, built and trained for couriers, raced along the highway, his speed and saddle presenting no problems for Devan despite his limited riding experience.  Travellers, farmers and merchants alike made way for the thundering hooves and billowing military livery.

Devan made three more interchanges and reached the city by dusk, fighting his way through the traffic of livestock and outer borough residents.  He passed into the city proper and trotted along the main thoroughfare.  His mount’s hooves clattered on the cobblestones and Devan ignored the stares from disgruntled passersby as they parted for the horse.

The rouncey made short work of the journey to the middle tier and Devan reached the gates to the Council grounds.  A guard advanced and held up a mailed fist.  “No horses within, ranger.”

“Very well.”  Devan dismounted and removed his pack from the saddle.  “You can take him to the stables.  I won’t require him.”

“Yes, ranger.”

“Is Marshal Jarrell within?”

“No, ranger,” the guard replied.  “Captain Marzell is acting in his stead.  She is conferring with the Councillors now.”

“Thank you.”  Devan marched past the gatehouse and entered the Council complex.

Pages trotted through the curated gardens lighting oil-lamps that fended away the impending night.  Devan passed scribes and administrative staff as they passed between the buildings that surrounded the grounds.  The Hall lay at the opposite end, a brooding structure mimicking a castle.  Devan marched towards it, reminding himself that he could not be stopped due to official business. 

The guards posted at the mock drawbridge of the Hall snapped to attention but did not question Devan.  They pulled open the massive doors and shut them after Devan entered the building.

Without the petitioners and audience that plagued a regular Council hearing, the foyer was a stone tomb.  Devan glanced around the foyer and stopped a page who was sweeping a corridor.  “Can you show me to Captain Marzell, lad?”

“Yes, sir, ranger, sir.”

The boy navigated through the passages behind the main Hall and before long, Devan recognised the rooms and corridors from his last visit.  The page directed him to the doors of the same conference room.  Two guards and another page waited outside, each of them wearing bored faces.

“They’re inside, ranger.”

“Thank you.”

One of the guards nodded at Devan.  “May I announce you, ranger?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Devan replied.

“As you wish.”  The guard opened the door, revealing Councillors and masters of the city arguing over the central table.  Scribes sat to one side, taking notes while assistants and staff sorted through documents and scrolls.  A page darted between the mess of people, one hand holding a decanter of watered wine and the other a jug of citrus juice.