Sheepfarmers Daughter (35 page)

"What about the rest of the port cities?" asked Arñe. "I don't know. I've heard the names, but I don't know exactly where they are or who controls them. Seafang, that's a pirate city, and Immerdzan, at the mouth of the Immer. Let's see: Zith, Aliuna, Survret, Anzal, and Immer—something. No, Ka—Immer. Some are pirate cities, and some are legitimate traders — so they say."

Ifoss, when they came to it the next day, seemed small and dingy after Valdaire. A walled city of no more than eight or nine thousand, surrounded by plowland and orchards, it was bleak in winter. They camped outside the city on a long field sloping to the river, and wagons rolled out with provisions. With the wagons came Guildmasters to confer with the Duke; recruits and veterans alike gaped at their distinctive dress, the short-pointed, fur-edged hats, long pointed sleeves, and oddly cut jackets trimmed in elaborate braid.

They stayed at Ifoss several days. On the second night, Paks took advantage of her seniority to enter the city. Stammel had told them of a good new inn near the east gate,
The Laughing Fox
, so they ignored
The Falcon, The Golden Ladder,
and
The Juggler
to work their way across town to Stammel's choice.

It was new, clean, and the landlord seemed friendly. The ale was good, too, and not expensive. Paks ordered a fried fruit pie, and Vik decided on a slab of spicebread; soon they were enjoying an impromptu party. When Paks decided to leave, two of the group weren't ready to come and stayed behind — "just to finish the jug," they said.

"Don't come back too late," teased Vik, "and expect us to take your slot on guard, because I'm going to get my beauty sleep."

"Beauty sleep, or sleep with a beauty?" asked a townsman at the next table, emboldened by his flask of wine as he eyed Paks.

"Sleep," replied Vik cheerfully. "She's on guard before I am." Which was not true, but made a good exit. Paks had already turned away, trusting Vik to find a good answer. He always did, with everyone. They got back to camp shortly before the watch change; Stammel was not pleased to find that two had stayed behind.

"Do you think they'll be back on time, or had I better go roust 'em out?" "Sif's not on until late watch," said Paks. "He's got a strong head, and I don't think he'll be late. I don't know Tarn that well — he's Dorrin's — but surely Sif will keep an eye on him."

"I hope. It seems a clean enough place, but it is on the far side of town. If they're not back by midwatch, let me know; I'll want to find "em."

The guard assignment had Paks partnered with Jenits; they had a short stretch on the east side of camp, from the horse lines to the entrance. It was nearly midwatch when she heard a wavering song from the lane that led to Ifoss. As the noise came closer, she could hear two voices. The guards at the camp entrance snickered. Paks hoped it was Sif and Tarn, but they did sound drunk.

"Like the bee-e-e, so swift to anger ... but her honey's ... rich and swee-eet — " one of the two stopped to cough, then picked up the song again. "I don't fe-ear her painful stinger... but the honey-y.... I will — "

"Quiet, there!" Dorrin, the watch captain, had heard the noise. Paks heard a hiccup and indistinct mutters from the pair. "Come up to the light," said Dorrin, "and give the password." Paks saw two shadowy figures approach the torches at the camp entrance, and heard them stumble over the password.

"You're a disgrace," snapped Dorrin. "Veterans who don't know their limit — why do you think we didn't let the others into town, eh? This is no campaign for getting drunk and blabbing in taverns. And what happened to your cloak, Tarn?" Paks could not hear the answer, if he made any. Dorrin cleared her throat and spat. "Your sergeants will see to you," she said. "Wait here." She strode off.

"Is it that bad to get drunk?" asked Jenits softly. "I used to — "

"It depends," said Paks. They turned back toward the horse lines. "Anything you say in a tavern will travel — if you get drunk and talk about the Company, where we're marching, or when — that's bad." "I see," said Jenits.

"And then if you're drunk," said Paks, "you're more likely to be taken by slavers, or attacked by thieves. Or if it makes you mean, you might brawl, and that makes trouble for the Company. Of course if it's a cohort or Company banquet, that's different."

Next day Paks saw Sif grooming mules under the sarcastic guidance of the muleskinner. She was sure that Dorrin's sergeant had found something equally unpleasant for Tarn.

When they left Ifoss, they angled across pastures toward the Middle Marches. By nightfall they were camped under the ridge. Sheep trails led up it. The next day they spent climbing, winding back and forth along the face of the slope. To the north their view broadened: they could see Ifoss with its wall, and downstream another wall and tower that Stammel said was Foss Fort. A cold wind scoured the height. They passed outcrops of gray stone splashed with orange and brown lichens. The outcrops grew rougher, formed into long lines like low walls. They passed through a gap in one, shoulder high on either side; it ran along the slope as far as Paks could see. Above it, the rocks disappeared once more under thick turf, still winter-tawny. The slope eased. They camped that night near that natural stone wall.

They reached the broad top of the ridge in less than an hour of marching the next morning. Paks looked at the vast and empty land to the south.

The great ridge seemed to fall slightly to the southwest, cleft here and there by steep watercourses furred with trees. The sky arched blue and nearly cloudless; they could see for miles — could see, for instance, a galloping horseman far ahead. None of the officers seemed concerned, so Paks thought it must be one of their own messengers.

Although they crossed many winding sheep trails, they saw neither sheep nor shepherds. Paks realized that they were more visible than a flock of stone-gray sheep — of course any shepherd would move out of their path. That afternoon they camped where a pool had formed below several springs; a small clear stream ran away from the low end of the pool and dropped into a narrow cleft in the rock.

It was just after lunch on the next day when Paks heard horns blowing in the south; the sound trembled in the still air. She peered south, trying to see something. Far down the slope was a knot of horsemen, but the horn calls had come from farther away than that. The thunder of hooves began to shake the ground. Stammel called them into fighting formation; other sergeants were yelling. They unslung shields, and drew their swords. Paks watched her recruits. Volya looked pale, but eager. Keri was frowning, and waggling his blade a little as if reminding himself of the drill. The back of Jenits's neck had reddened. She eased her own shoulders and took a deep breath as the riders neared. They wore brown and gray tunics, oddly loose and flapping, and carried lances with no decoration.

The leading horses slowed, and the foremost rider hailed the Duke. Arcolin rode forward with him. Once more, Paks could not hear what was said. She looked at her recruits again; they were too stiff.

"Easy," she said. "Breathe slowly." Keri's eyes slid toward hers, and he drew a shaky breath. Arcolin turned to the column and signalled the sergeants.

"Sheathe your blades," said Stammel; Paks eased her sword back in place. Some of the recruits were so tense it took them two tries. They waited. Paks glanced down and saw a fresh green blade poking up through the mat of frost-burned turf. Ahead, almost under Jenits's left foot, was a flat rosette of leaves with two tiny white flowers on top. Almost spring, thought Paks. She looked around for other flowers, but saw none. The riders were turning their horses away. The captains came back to their commands, but the Duke and his squires moved up beside the leading rider.

"We've a fast march to make," said Arcolin, "with a fight at the end of it. Take a drink now, and re-sling your shields but be ready to shift position at any time." No one had much to say as they started south again at a faster pace. An arc of riders went before them, and others rode on their flanks. Paks looked hard at the drab tunics; when one rider bent to untwist a rein, she caught a glimpse of rose through the loose sleeve. So. They were Clarts after all.

As they went they heard horns again: deep and high, long note and sharp staccato signals. It was hard to keep the pace even; the horns and the steepening downhill slope pulled them forward, ever faster. Paks could see, now, that they were coming to a broad saddle between the high ground behind them and a similar rise ahead. To left and right the land fell steeply into deep gorges. Beyond the saddle, shining in the late afternoon sun, rose a tower; around it writhed a dark mass that Paks realized must be an army. They marched on; Paks wondered if they would make that distance by dark. And whose side were they on?

As they started across the saddle, more drab-clad riders came up from the broken ground to either side. The slope rose under their feet toward the tower. Paks could not see, now, for the riders ahead, but the crash and roar of battle came clearly. Rising excitement swamped the fatigue of the day's march. The riders pulled their baggy tunics over their heads, and Clart Cavalry rose and white glowed in the slanting sun. Arcolin leaned to speak to Stammel. He nodded, turning to the cohort.

"Shields," he said; Paks took her own shield, and made sure her recruits had theirs secure. They drew swords. As they advanced, shifting from marching column to battle order, Cracolnya's cohort moved off to their right flank.

"Slow advance — keep in line, there!" yelled Stammel. Paks heard the Clarts yipping as they spurred to the attack. Dust rose in clouds. A great yell from before them; more horn signals. The Duke appeared out of the dust to ride beside them. His squires clustered around him; Paks wondered if they could see any better from the saddle. The Duke pointed ahead; one of the squires took off at a gallop. Arcolin jogged up from the rear of the cohort, and rode beside the Duke. Paks could hear nothing but battle sounds. Arcolin dropped back, and in a few moments Dorrin's cohort came alongside on their left. Paks saw the Duke's head turn. She looked ahead. Through the swirling dust she could see struggling figures — even the colors. Green, there — black and yellow — and more green. The tower loomed higher as they neared, its parapet above the dust, and Paks saw blue-clad archers.

The Duke put a light hunting horn to his lips and blew a rapid five-note signal. At once it was answered by a call that Paks recognized as Halveric;the battle surged toward them as the green-clad soldiers retreated. Their opponents roared in triumph — a sound that stopped abruptly as they saw behind the fleeing Halverics the solid ranks of Phelani. Another horn-call,and the Halverics slipped left. The enemy fighters crashed into the Phelani lines. Arcolin's cohort, nearly in the center of the arc formed by Clarts, Phelani, and Halverics, took the brunt of that charge. Paks had no time for a last encouraging word to her recruits; she was tightly engaged.

Despite the hours of practice, Paks found the curved blade strokes of the enemy hard to counter. She took several minor cuts before killing her first opponent, and was just in time to help Keri with the one who had shattered his shield. She fought on, trying to keep an eye on her recruits when she could. The cohort had nearly halted under the enemy rush, but they had not faltered, and the front ranks still held a good line.

"Arcolin's cohort! Drive 'em!" It was the Duke's voice, from behind them; the cohort surged forward, flattening the arc as they came. The enemy softened, rolling left away from their pressure. Still the fighting raged; Paks had no time to wonder how the battle was going. Jenits went down in front of her; she lunged across him to strike the enemy who was about to kill him. Jenits screamed as she stepped on his arm; she shifted a pace and hoped someone would get him away safely. His attacker fought wildly; she finally dropped him with a thrust to the neck. She spared a glance for Jenits and didn't see him. Good, she thought, and thrust at the oncoming soldiers.

The enemy in front melted away, though by the noise the left flank was busy enough. Paks looked around and spotted Volya and Keri. Volya was bleeding from a bad slash to her right arm; Keri's shield had fallen apart, though he still clutched the grip.

"Keri! Pick up a good shield — drop that — " He looked at her in surprise, then at his arm; she watched until he stripped off the broken one and picked up an enemy shield nearby. "Volya, get that wound tied up — drop back — one of the sergeants will tell you where to go." Other wounded were shifting to the rear, and those still sound drew together.

Paks looked for Arcolin or the Duke; she spotted Arcolin on their left front. Stammel was with him. Arcolin waved a signal to Cracolnya, who sent his cohort forward. The Clarts, having rearmed, rode up on the far right, and the right wing wheeled, compressing the enemy against Dorrin's cohort and the Halverics. Paks still could not tell how many they faced. They fought on; the enemy lines, though wavering, hardly seemed to diminish. The sun edged down; as light faded out of the sky, the enemy made one more frantic attempt to breathe through. Favored by the downward slope, they penetrated between the Halverics and Dorrin's cohort, pouring away downhill in the darkness. Paks heard curses from the Clarts, who spurred after them recklessly. Paks hoped the Duke would not command a foot pursuit. She was suddenly almost too tired to move.

Arcolin rode back to them, talking to a Clart captain. Then he turned to Stammel. "Take them to the enemy camp; the Clarts hold it. Set up a strong perimeter. I think Dorrin's cohort is pursuing, but some of them may circle back. I'll be near the tower entrance if you need me." He rode toward the tower; light spilled from its narrow windows. Paks wondered who held it.

The enemy camp was full of supplies. The Clarts had overridden some of the tents, but most were still standing. Cattle roasted over a long trenchfire. Paks's mouth watered. She and the other veterans stood guard while uninjured recruits helped the surgeons and set up camp. She wished she knew how her recruits were, and her friends. She had seen Vik and Arñe only at a distance.

It seemed long before Stammel returned to the perimeter. Paks cleaned her sword and sheathed it, then slipped off her shield and stretched. Her shoulders were stiff where the pack straps had dug in; she hadn't fought in a pack except in drill. Reluctantly she picked up the shield, yawning. Now she could feel every cut and bruise. The wind blew the smell of roasting meat past her nose, and her stomach knotted. At last a recruit came, grease still streaking his chin, to relieve her post. Stammel met her as she turned away.

"Here." He handed her a slab of beef on a split loaf. "I meant to get to you earlier. You'll want to see Jenits; his arm's broken. Volya needed stitching, but she's up and around. Keri's fine; hardly scratched." Paks mumbled her thanks past a mouthful of food.

"Whose tower?" she asked, after swallowing a huge lump of beef.

"Andressat's. Their colors are blue and gold. You'll see tomorrow." "Why didn't they come out? I thought they hated Siniava." "They do. But they've only got forty or fifty in there. They don't want to lose the tower to anyone: not even us."

Paks nodded as she ate, and walked on to the surgeons' tent. It had evidently belonged to an enemy officer; it was large and divided by yellow hanging panels into several rooms. Jenits lay on a straw pallet with his shoulders propped up on a frame, his left arm bound in splints. Volya sat beside him with a flask; they both looked pale, but well enough.

"Have you had any food yet?" asked Paks. They both nodded. "Good. I'll finish my supper." She squatted beside Jenits. "Did they give you numbwine?"

"Yes — they did." His voice was slightly blurred.

"I'm sorry I stepped on you," said Paks. "But that — " "That's all right. It was — broken already. That's why — I fell." "It's a good thing it was your shield arm," said Paks. "You won't be fighting for weeks, but it won't be as hard to retrain. You did well, Jenits. I suppose Stammel told you that — "

"Yes. But I — I forgot which strokes, after awhile — and it was so fast —"

"I forgot too, in my first battle; that's when I got the big scar on my leg. As Stammel said to me, we'll just drill you more until you can't forget." Jenits managed a shaky grin. Paks turned to Volya. "Volya, you did well too. What I could see of your shieldwork was much better. Now — did the surgeons tell you to stay with Jenits?"

"Yes. They said give him more numbwine if he needed it."

"I can do that, and let you get some sleep. We'll all be pulling watch tonight, and fighting again tomorrow, I expect."

"Oh, I couldn't sleep. I'm still too excited." Volya's eyes were very bright.

Paks sighed. "Volya, you're tired, whether you know it or not. Go roll up in your cloak, and if you aren't asleep in a half glass, you can come back and take over for me." Volya got up reluctantly, and handed Paks the flask of numbwine. "And don't start talking to anyone; that
will
keep you awake." Volya nodded and went out. The surgeon came through from another part of the tent and looked at Paks. "Is that your blood, or theirs?"

Paks looked at her arm. "Both, I think. Nothing serious, though."

"But you've been on guard, and haven't had time to clean them. I know the story. Let me see." With painful thoroughness the surgeon scrubbed the various cuts she'd taken, grumbling the while. "If I could just convince you heroes that cleaning these things out does as much good — no,
more
good — than a healing spell. It's cheap. It's easy. They don't fester and give you fever if they're
clean
— "

"Ouch!" said Paks, as the cleaning solution stung in a slice across her hand.

"Hold still. I have to see if that got into the joint — no — lucky. Maybe we need thicker gloves."

"I didn't have mine on," muttered Paks. The surgeon snorted and went on.

"Are you sure you aren't hiding something else?" he asked when he had finished wrapping bandages around her hand.

"Nothing else." She looked down and found that Jenits had followed the whole proceeding with interest. So had others in the room.

"Are you staying with him?" asked the surgeon.

"Do you need me to? I can."

"Yes. Please. We've got Clart and Halveric wounded coming in, and there'll be more later. You can give him enough numbwine to make him sleep. Three or four swallows more should do it. Same for the others — call if anything goes wrong." The surgeon passed on to the next room, and Paks lifted Jenits's head so he could drink more easily. In a few minutes, he was snoring. She glanced around at the others; they all seemed to be dozing. Paks propped the flask nearby and took off her pack to get her cloak. She wrapped it around her shoulders. From the other end of the tent came a sudden flurry that subsided after a few minutes.