Warbringer - Chapter 7
Drums pounded against Romaine’s skull as he staggered from the barracks and into the street...
★★★★★ "Great start to a new series! Interesting characters and a unique storyline set in a world that begs to be explored or in this case survived. Definitely worth checking out!"
Centuries ago, the world fell.
From the ashes rose a terrible new species—the Tangata.
Now they wage war against the kingdoms of man. And humanity is losing.
Recruited straight from his academy, twenty-year-old Lukys hopes the frontier will make a soldier out of him. But Tangata are massing in the south, and the allied armies are desperate. They will do anything to halt the enemy advance—including sending untrained men and women into battle. Determined to survive, Lukys seeks aid from the only man who seems to care: Romaine, the last warrior of an extinct kingdom.
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Drums pounded against Romaine’s skull as he staggered from the barracks and into the street. Silently he cursed the fortified Flumeeren wine. He’d bribed the cooks for an entire bottle and taken it up to the walls. If the watch hadn’t found him passed out between the water barrels, he might have spent the whole night up there.
Now he’d almost slept past the roll call the general had announced for noon. He hurried through the streets, head still pounding to the distant rhythm. How long had it been since he’d had real wine, from the vineyards of Calafe? Years, surely. It was so hard to find nowadays, impossible in this border city. The Flumeeren stuff was little better than moonshine.
A cold breeze blew down the street as he hurried to reach the central plaza. He barely made it a block before his stomach roiled and he was forced to detour into an alleyway to empty its contents into the mud.
After that he felt slightly better, though there was no way he’d be attempting his daily jog around the palisade. It wasn’t just his head that ached; he felt it in his shoulders and back, in his very bones. Maybe it wasn’t the wine, maybe time was finally catching up with him. Those who had joined the army alongside him in those early days had retired long ago—those who’d survived, at least. But he would not surrender to the creeping erosion of time.
Fool.
The streets began to fill as he neared the square and Romaine found himself searching the crowds for the glint of copper hair. His stomach twisted at the memory of his conversation with Cara. Surely she had not been serious about returning to her homeland? With the light of day she would see sense.
No. He had seen the glint in her eyes the night before. She was determined. A tremor ran down his spine at the thought of saying farewell to the strange woman. He cursed beneath his breath. When had he begun to care for her?
Finally he emerged from the buildings into the central plaza. He was one of the last to arrive, and most of the army’s regiments were already in place. With them all standing in line, the differences in discipline was on full display today. Some groups such as the royal guard—the division assigned to the general’s protection—stood in perfect rows, eyes fixed to the front, weapons shining in the noonday sun.
Others from the civilian units were only marginally better than the Perfugian recruits, with many slouching against their spears and beards nearly as unkept as Romaine’s.
Not being an official part of the army, Romaine himself cared little for Flumeeren regulation. He wandered around the borders of the plaza, seeking out the Perfugian blue.
He found the recruits standing close to the centre of the plaza, their ranks broken by a large boulder in their midst. They too had no official officers in the Flumeeren command structure—other than the louts that supervised them at the quarry—and so their thirty-seven remaining members stood in a semi-organised mess. His heart lifted as he spotted Lukys and some of his other trainees attempting to impose some order.
Romaine couldn’t reach them without forcing his way through the Flumeeren soldiers and causing a stir, so instead he retreated to the edge of the square and leaned against the wall of a nearby building. His eyes slid closed, and he sighed to escape the day’s brightness.
Unfortunately, the peace did not last long.
The blaring of a horn announced the arrival of the general. Romaine forced his eyes open and watched as General Curtis marched through the ranks of the soldiers until he reached a cleared section of ground in the centre of the plaza. Only then did Romaine spot the Archivist waiting there. Arms clasped behind her back and lips pursed, the woman was impatience personified.
So eager to get us all killed.
Romaine shook his head. He wondered what the woman would do if none of the soldiers volunteered to join her quest. Indeed, he couldn’t imagine anyone being so mad, not after the attack two weeks before.
No one except Cara.
Gritting his teeth, he forced his mind back to the general as the horn sounded again. Armour rattled as the army snapped to attention. Romaine rolled his shoulders, settling his own chainmail into a more comfortable position, and watched as the general leaned in close to the Archivist. Whispers passed between them before he turned back and surveyed the gathered forces.
“Soldiers of Flumeer!” he called, his voice ringing from the walls of the nearby buildings. “Thank you for joining me this fine day. Important works are underway and I saw it fit to ensure you were informed of what is to come.”
He paused, looking out over the army, eyes cool. Despite the hangover, Romaine shivered. He had no great love for the general, but he couldn’t help but respect him. The man was a veteran after all, had been a general even before Romaine had first signed up as a soldier. Curtis had been one of the few to warn about the Tangatan threat. Maybe if more had listened, the war would have gone differently. Maybe the south would not have been so unprepared, maybe…
Romaine tore himself free of that train of thought. There was no point regretting what had already passed…
“In the coming weeks, the Tangata will attack,” General Curtis continued. “The Illmoor is our last defence. If we lose the battle here, Flumeer will fall. You have faced the beasts, you know the truth. No one can stand against them on open ground.” He walked down the front ranks of soldiers, meeting the eyes of every man in the square. “We do not yet know where they will strike, so we must defend the entire river, man every fort and city, use every resource at our command to protect these shores.”
Romaine frowned at the man’s words, and noticed many soldiers doing the same. None of this was new. Every soul in the city knew the importance of the Illmoor.
“Of course, you all know this.” The hint of a smile crossed the general’s face and he turned towards the Archivist. “I say it not for you, but for the sake of this woman here. Like many in the capital, with its learned academics and bureaucrats, she thinks this war can be won with myths and fairytales.”
The Archivist’s face darkened at the general’s words, but to her credit, she stared him down. Chuckling, General Curtis offered her a nod before facing the army once more.
“Sadly, I have failed to convince her of the reality of this world. She insists on endangering our very existence with her daydreams. She would have us venture beyond the Illmoor in search of ancient magics!”
Murmurs spread around the square at the announcement, shock showing on soldier’s faces. The Archivist’s mask slipped as she stepped up to meet the general, giving way to rage.
“I come on the queen’s orders,” she hissed, loud enough for the entire plaza to hear. “It is not your position to question her, General.”
She pointed a gauntleted finger at the man. Recalling the light she’d summoned earlier, Romaine shivered. Somehow, that strange magic disturbed him almost as much as the Tangata themselves. Even so, Romaine was impressed at the woman’s defiance. He looked at Curtis to see how the general would react.
“Fairytales, as I said,” Curtis continued as though the woman had not spoken. “I will not allow Flumeer to fall for the sake of a woman’s fancy.”
“I will have my soldiers, General,” the Archivist snarled.
“Ay,” the general rumbled, “the Perfugians will accompany you south.”
For a moment, Romaine didn’t think he’d heard the general right. Silence fell across the square at his words, every soldier staring in disbelief. Curtis couldn’t be serious. A journey beyond the river would be difficult for the hardest company of soldiers. For untrained recruits, it was suicide!
“The Perfugians…what…you cannot…no!” the Archivist stuttered into the silence, all colour draining from her face.
“Yes,” the general replied calmly. “I will not compromise our borders by sacrificing good soldiers to a lost cause. So you will be joined by a lost cause of their own. That is my final decision.”
“I will petition the queen!”
“Do what you wish, Archivist.” The general’s eyes shone. “Though regrettably, our last carrier pigeon departed this morning. If you wish to dispute my interpretation of the queen’s commands, you will have to send a runner for a clarification.”
“But…that could take weeks!” the Archivist exclaimed. “The Tangata could have occupied the site by then.”
“I suggest you be content with what you have been offered then, Archivist,” the general replied, a smug smile on his lips.
“Bastard!” the Archivist screamed. She lifted her magic gauntlet as though to strike the general down, then seemed to think better of it.
Romaine stood frozen on the edge of the plaza, staring as the two faced one another down, still reeling. Lukys, Travis and all the others who had turned to him to save them, they would soon be marching to their deaths, doomed to die alone in the frozen forests of his homeland. He had failed them.
A shudder shook him and he cursed himself for a fool. He had learned this lesson, hadn’t he? Long ago, again and again. Was he fated to always repeat the same tragedy, always too weak, too slow to save those he cared for?
“Very well, General,” the Archivist said finally, the calm mask falling back into place. “Though know this: when I return and win my place at the queen’s side, you will know the full weight of my displeasure.”
“That is a risk I am willing to take,” the general replied, staring her down, “for my kingdom.”
“You damn us all with your cowardice,” the Archivist spat back, her composure cracking once more. “What lies beyond the Illmoor will change everything.”
“Then you had best make yourself ready for the journey,” the general replied. “We received word from Charcity this morning. Your ship will arrive in the night. You sail at first light.”
The woman matched his glare for a moment longer, then her shoulders slumped and Romaine knew she was defeated.
“Will you at least provide us with scouts?” she murmured. “Someone who knows the land? Calafe was a wilderness even before its fall. I must have a guide to show us the way.”
“No—”
“I will go, General,” Romaine said, striding forward through the ranks of soldiers.
His heart pounded in his chest as he walked past Lukys and the other recruits. Their faces were white with terror, though to their credit they had not tried to argue. Perhaps they were simply too shocked to put up a fight. He caught a glimpse of Lukys’s face amongst the others, saw the flash of hope that appeared in his eyes, and quickly looked away.
The Archivist looked surprised as he walked up. She stepped towards him, words of gratitude spilling from her mouth, but Romaine waved her away. He wasn’t doing this for her. His eyes caught the general’s.
“Are you sure you wish to do this, Romaine?” Curtis murmured, stepping in close. Romaine only nodded, and he sighed. “Very well. I will place you in command of the regiment. I know you have been training them. Perhaps your presence will give them a chance to survive the woman’s madness.”
“Thank you, sir,” Romaine said shortly. He understood the man’s reasoning, cold as it was. Maybe under other circumstances he could have agreed with his decision…maybe.
The general nodded, and turning to the rest of the army, he barked the dismissal. Steel rattled as the soldiers filed from the plaza one line after the other. The general watched them for a while, then glanced at the Perfugians. For a second, Romaine thought he glimpsed regret in the general’s eye. Had this been a bluff, to force the Archivist to abandon her task? If so, it had failed.
Finally only the Perfugians remained. Glancing one last time at Romaine, the general offered a nod. Then he turned and marched from the square. The Archivist went next.
Then Romaine was alone with the Perfugian recruits. Turning, he found himself looking into the youthful eyes of Lukys.
“I thought you said not to care?” the recruit whispered.
“I thought you said not to care?” Lukys croaked as Romaine turned towards him.
Standing in the front ranks of his regiment, Lukys couldn’t keep the horror from his face as Romaine met his eyes. His heart was pounding in his chest, his ears still ringing. It couldn’t be true, couldn’t be happening…
They were doomed.
“Who here is afraid?” Lukys flinched as Romaine looked away from him, speaking instead to the entire regiment.
Standing at the head of the column, the warrior’s red-streaked eyes swept the gathered recruits, seeming to take them all in at once. Lukys wondered what game the man was playing. Every single Perfugian, even Dale, was trembling in his boots. Surely he could see that.
No one spoke, and after a moment, Romaine began to pace up and down the line. That continued for a while. Every man and woman in the regiment watched the warrior, until he came to a sudden stop, and looked at them again.
“I’m afraid,” he said unexpectedly, voice soft. “Many of you already know me, but for those who don’t, I am a warrior of Calafe. Tomorrow we will be marching into my homeland.” He paused, lowering his head, though Lukys still saw the sadness in his eyes. “But it is no longer my home. It has become enemy territory, the home of our nightmares.”
He started to pace again, though now his eyes were on them. He spoke as he walked: “As of tomorrow, we will be brothers and sisters in arms. If we are to stand any chance of surviving, we must trust each other. Even with our deepest, darkest fears.” He stopped mid-stride, looking at them in earnest now. “My name is Romaine, and I am afraid of what we will face on the morrow. But that fear will not stop me.”
Lukys swallowed as he locked eyes with the warrior. A shudder passed through him and before Lukys knew what he was doing, he stepped forward. “I am afraid.”
A snigger came from somewhere behind him, but already another voice was emerging from the ranks of recruits.
“I’m afraid.” Lukys smiled as Travis stepped up beside him, head held high as he looked back at their fellow Perfugians. “But I will not run from it.”
“I am afraid as well.”
Others followed, then all the recruits who had trained under Romaine, and others too, those who had not joined them, but perhaps had wished to, if only they’d found the courage. The laughter that had come from Dale and his friends died away, drowned out by the whispered admissions. Lukys glimpsed anger in his rival’s eyes.
“Very good,” Romaine spoke again from the front ranks. “Then we will face our fears together.” He drew in a breath. “Well, we only have the day. I will not press you—we will need every ounce of strength for what we find in my homeland. But I must know your capabilities.”
Whispers went through the recruits as they exchanged glances. Even those who had not joined Lukys knew about the gruelling training regime Romaine had subjected them to.
“Enough!” Romaine’s shout rang from the walls of the nearby buildings.
Silence was instant.
“Enough,” the warrior repeated, folding his arms across his chest. “We’ve wasted too much time already. You lot.” He indicated the recruits to his left. “Break off, you will be the defenders. And you.” He gestured to the right. “The attackers.”
Lukys and those who had worked with Romaine leapt to obey, but the rest stood staring at him until he barked, “Now!”
Terrified, the recruits stumbled over one other in their haste, and the square rang with the sounds of confusion. It was only when they’d gathered into the two groups that Lukys realised what Romaine was saying. Attackers and defenders? But they didn’t have their practice spears. The regiments had come in full parade dress—full chainmail armour and shields and spears. Sharp. Deadly.
Before he could ask what Romaine planned, the warrior issued fresh orders:
“Form up, two ranks deep, shields to the front,” he bellowed.
This time the recruits were quicker to obey, though their movements were still clumsy. It was obvious the manoeuvre would have failed in a true battle. Lukys tried to suppress his frustration as the recruits to either side jostled him. He was in the defending group, while Travis had ended up in with the attackers. Both were trying to inject order to the chaos, but it was an exercise in futility.
Finally the two groups stood facing one another, each two lines deep. Romaine strode down the length between them, surveying the Perfugians with a professional eye. Lukys smiled as he saw Dale in the other group. At least he would not have to fight alongside the man.
“Put down your spears,” Romaine said softly as he stepped away from the two lines.
The clatter of wooden shafts falling to the dirt followed as the recruits released their weapons. Lukys frowned—they’d only just begun in the last week to practice with shields.
“In this exercise,” the warrior continued, “you’ll use only your shields. They will be your most important weapon against the Tangata. Stand together, and you can neutralise the enemy’s strengths.”
A burst of laughter came from the group of attackers. “No wonder your people are dead,” Dale snarled, pushing past his fellows to stand at the front of the line. He still held his spear. “Why should we listen to you, Calafe? I heard only the cowards escaped the Tangata with their lives.”
To Lukys’s surprise, there was no rage in Romaine’s eyes as he faced Dale, only pity. “Because I’m your only hope of surviving what is to come,” he said coolly.
Dale snorted. “Think I’d rather take my chances with the madwomen, if you think we can defeat the Tangata with a shield.”
Romaine stared at the man for a long moment, then turned and walked to where Lukys stood. “Your shield,” he ordered.
Lukys handed it over without a word and the Calafe nodded his thanks. Returning to stand before Dale, he nodded at the recruit.
“Go ahead, soldier,” the Calafe said quietly. “Take your best shot.”
“I…”
Dale’s eyes showed reluctance and despite his bravado, he hesitated. Romaine held only a shield, and Dale’s weapon was not some blunted practice stave. Then his eyes narrowed and he seemed to make up his mind. With a roar, he let his own shield fall to the ground, then he rushed Romaine, the razor-sharp blade aimed for the warrior’s throat.
To Lukys’s surprise, Romaine did not attempt to evade the attack. Instead his stance deepened, bracing his body behind the shield. As Dale neared, he surged forward, taking the recruit by surprise. Off-guard, there was no power behind Dale’s blow and his spearhead deflected harmlessly from the wooden shield.
Then Romaine drove the steel-capped rim of his shield into Dale’s midriff. Breath hissed between the recruit’s teeth and the weight behind the blow put him flat on his back. Lukys winced at the muffled thump of Dale hitting the ground.
“The time for games is over,” Romaine announced, facing the other recruits.
At his feet, Dale was still straining to catch his breath. Sharing a glance with the Calafe warrior, Lukys couldn’t help but offer a satisfied grin. It was about time someone taught the man a lesson.
“Lukys, to the front!”
Lukys jumped as Romaine called his name. After a second’s hesitation, he hurried forward, and Romaine returned his shield. Then he gestured Travis forward. He took the shield and spear from him, before sending the man back to the watching ranks.
“Your second strongest weapon is each other,” he went on. “A shield is not enough against a creature with the strength to tear you limb from limb. Unless we all stand together, we will die alone.” He gestured to Lukys and Dale, who had recovered his spear and managed to stand. “If you want to survive, you must fight together.”
“What?” Lukys asked, glancing at Dale.
The man looked just as disgusted at the thought of working alongside Lukys. “You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly,” Romaine replied, then stabbed out suddenly with his spear.
Lukys cried out as the point hammered against his shield, leaping back. Instinctively, he tried to parry with a spear he did not hold. A curse slipped from his lips as alone, Dale charged Romaine. The Calafe caught the charge on his shield and turned the blow aside, then kicked out with a heavy boot, tripping the Perfugian recruit and sending him crashing back to the ground.
“I said together!” Romaine bellowed as Dale struggled to his feet.
Panting, Lukys shared a glance with his rival. Without speaking, they took a step closer to one another, Dale on the right with spear held in a two-handed grip, Lukys standing so that the shield could cover them both. A grin split Romaine’s face as he advanced on them again.
This time when the Calafe attacked, Lukys stood his ground, using the shield to deflect the spear tip away from Dale. Immediately, the other man thrust out with his weapon. The two-handed grip delivered a powerful blow and Romaine was forced to retreat to avoid being caught by the razor tip. Even in full chainmail, these were live weapons and the risk was real.
Lukys and Dale advanced, doing their best to match one another’s strides. Romaine laughed and attacked again. This time Lukys thrust out with his shield the way Romaine had done, turning aside the blow and catching Romaine’s shield with his own. A cry came from Dale and he leapt forward, driving his spear for a gap that had opened in Romaine’s guard. Lukys’s heart lurched in his chest as he realised the blow would surely land.
Quick as a cat, Romaine released his shield, causing Lukys to stagger as the pressure went off his own shield. Still moving, Romaine twisted and narrowly avoided being impaled. The spear spun in Romaine’s hands, seemingly an extension of the warrior’s own arm, and too late Lukys saw that Dale had stepped beyond the protection of his shield. There was a sharp crack as Romaine slammed the butt of his weapon into Dale’s chest.
Paling, Dale staggered back, exposing Lukys to Romaine’s next attack. He opened his mouth to cry out, but instead found himself staring down the shaft of a spear pointed at his face.
“Together, you had me on the defensive,” Romaine said calmly as he lowered the spear and giving it back. He offered Dale a hand. To Lukys’s surprise, the recruit accepted. “When you separated, you were defeated.”
Turning, he faced the rest of the recruits. “Let that be a lesson to all of you. It doesn’t matter how skilled any one of you are, nor how strong or fast your opponent. Stand together, and you can defeat anyone.”
Perhaps it was only Lukys’s imagination, but it seemed that Romaine’s words lit a spark in the eyes of his fellow Perfugians. Smiling, he looked at the Calafe warrior. But instead of confidence, Lukys thought he glimpsed despair on the face of the warrior. A second later it was gone, but still it gave Lukys pause. His heart throbbed in his chest as he lowered the shield and stepped towards the warrior.
Romaine turned away. “We’re all afraid of something,” he said softly to the men and women gathered before him. “I can’t promise that all of you will survive what is to come. But if you stand with me, together as one, I promise you will have a chance.” He drew in a deep breath. “Now, form up!”
Erika tapped her foot gently on the muddy street. She stood before the river gate, rage boiling through every part of her, waiting for her “regiment” to arrive. Bad enough that the general had betrayed her, worse that the Perfugians were late. Again, she wondered whether she was making the right choice, gambling her entire expedition, her life, on thirty-seven untrained soldiers and a warrior of Calafe. Perhaps she should have sent the message to the capital and risked the delay.
No, she couldn’t wait. This was her last chance to discover the true magic of the Gods. She could almost feel the power throbbing in the palm of her hand as she clenched and unclenched her fist, but the gauntlet was but a taste. True magic awaited her in the south, she was sure of it. If only she could reach the ancient site before the Tangata swept through the land.
A shiver ran down her spine, though she couldn’t have said whether it was from nerves or the cold. It was still dark inside the walls of the town and fresh snow had fallen during the night, leaving a thin layer of white on the slate rooftops. Erika wrinkled her nose as she looked down the torch-lined street. One thing was for sure: she wouldn’t miss this damned city. Better the wilderness, the open trees and forests…
The rattle of footsteps finally carried to her from around the corner and she released her breath. They should have already been boarding the ship, but of course the Perfugian regiment would be delayed. Doubt assailed her yet again, and she found herself thinking about that third option, about the strange woman who had accosted her in the countryside…
No, they tried to kill you!
A flash of blue appeared at the end of the street as her regiment marched into view. She straightened her shoulders, determined to make the most of what she had. Almost forty heavily armed soldiers. A Calafe warrior who knew the land. A magic gauntlet that could kill a man with a thought.
No, there was no reason to panic. The general might be determined to see her fail, but Erika would not allow his failures to be her own. She would succeed, would return with the power mankind had sought for centuries. Then the general would know her wrath.
Erika shook herself, forcing her thoughts back to the present. This was no time to get ahead of herself. She must focus on the mission at hand. Watching the approaching recruits, she was relieved to see the Calafe at their head. And the Perfugians seemed to be moving in step now, rather than tripping over one another as she’d glimpsed her first day in the city.
Turning to the city guards, she nodded for them to open the gates. They said nothing, and she did not miss the disdain in their eyes. But after a moment they turned and set to removing the locking bar.
There was no sign of the general, though Erika had to admit, she was pleased at his absence. She wasn’t certain she could contain her rage if forced to face him again. Though no doubt it was a sign of disrespect to the Perfugians that he had not come.
Taking the reins of her horse, Erika started towards the gates as her regiment drew near.
“Not bringing a weapon, Archivist?”
She looked around as the Calafe drew alongside her. He too led a horse, though they would be the only two mounted on this expedition. Yet another factor that would slow their journey. She caught his gaze on her empty belt strap, and smiled.
“I don’t need one,” she replied, flashing her gauntlet.
He nodded, though doubt still lurked behind his eyes. The demonstration earlier had not been enough to convince the general of her power; why would it be any different with this man? Regardless, she started towards the gates, then noticed the Calafe had stopped and was looking back into the city.
“Forgotten something, Calafe?” she asked.
“What?” he replied, glancing at her. Then he shook his head. “No, let’s get going. The sun will be up soon.”
Erika frowned at the man, confused by his reactions. Had she missed a madness in the warrior that might jeopardise her mission? If so, it was too late now—they would not make it far on the other side without a guide. Together they walked through the open gates.
Below, a galley now bobbed against the riverbanks, gangplank already in place to see them aboard. It was larger than the burnt-out husk that lay downriver, and had probably once been used to trade goods up and down the Illmoor. Those days were long gone; now such vessels were used for the defence of the frontier.
Leading her horse down the winding path to the river, Erika noted that the stakes the general had been planting now sprouted in four or five rows along much of the riverbank. The enemy would not be able to charge the palisade so quickly if they came again, though there was still a good eighty yards of open ground left to stake.
Five minutes later, Erika stood at the railings of the galley, watching as the Perfugian recruits made their careful way up the gangplank. She took the chance to examine them more closely, and found herself pleasantly surprised. Each wore full chainmail and carried shield and spear. They looked impressive in their full kit, almost like real soldiers, and she found herself hoping the general’s assessment of them might yet be proven wrong.
The ship quickly became crowded as the Perfugians struggled to find space where they would not be in the way of the sailors. They were almost all aboard when shouts carried down from the city walls. Spinning, Erika scanned the currents swirling around them, thinking the guards must be shouting a warning. But the waters were empty, and a second later the pounding of horse hooves carried to her ears.
Looking towards the city, she watched as a rider erupted through the gates. The young woman, Cara, appeared on the back of a black gelding. Riding at full gallop, she directed the horse down the path towards the last of the Perfugians on the banks. Just as she was nearing the shore, more shouts carried down from the fort, then a fresh group of men came running through the gates.
On the shore below, Cara leapt from the horse’s back, and taking it by the reins, led it through the last few recruits still on the shore. Only as she started up the gangplank did Erika realise what the woman intended. Suddenly suspicious, she pushed her way through the crowd on the deck, while the last of the Perfugians followed Cara aboard.
“Looks like that’s all of us!” Cara was saying as Erika reached her. The young woman wore an easy grin and her injured arm was no longer bandaged. “Think we’d better get on our way?”
“What The Fall are you doing here?” Erika gasped, looking from the woman to the men still racing down the path towards them. Something was very wrong here. Why would this woman want to get on a ship heading into enemy territory? Not unless…she was a spy!
She spotted Romaine standing nearby. “Calafe, get your blasted daughter—or whoever she is—off my ship!”
The smile fell from Cara’s face at her words. Romaine stepped forward, his lips drawn tight, frown lines marking his forehead. Drawing herself up, Cara swung to face him, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts. A strained silence stretched out between them.
“Didn’t know you could ride,” Romaine grunted finally. “How’s the arm?”
Cara’s shoulders sagged, as though in relief, and the hint of a smile returned to her face. “Better,” she said with a nod, then: “And I’m a fast learner.”
“Good.” Romaine nodded. “You can help me scout the way.”
“Scout…” Erika pushed forward to stand between them. “What in the Gods is going on here?”
“Archivist,” Romaine said, “Cara is not my daughter, but she is of Calafe. We found her on our last scouting trip south of the Illmoor. She was injured in a Tangata attack, so we brought her back, but…she did express to me her wish to return.”
“Oh…what?” Erika exclaimed, too shocked by this new piece of information to form a response. She managed to shake her head. “But…even so…we cannot afford…any liabilities on this journey. I cannot have an untrained woman slowing us down.”
“She survived for months alone in enemy territory,” Romaine replied, speaking slowly. “I think you’ll find she’s anything but a liability.”
Erika glanced from the young woman to the men still racing down the slope. It didn’t look as though Cara had asked permission to take her horse. If the soldiers came aboard, there would be yet more delays. Grinding her teeth, she turned on the ship captain.
“Push off, Captain!” she ordered. “Time we got underway.”
The man hesitated, his eyes flicking to the approaching soldiers, but a bellow from the Calafe warrior sent him into action.
“Heave hoe!” he bellowed, moving to the tiller at the rear of the ship. “Get that gangplank aboard!”
The half-dozen sailors raced to obey, taking hold of ropes attached to the plank. As it lifted from the mud, the ship immediately began to turn, the currents taking hold. The sailors stowed the plank alongside the railing then turned to their oars. Sixty tonnes of wood and metal surged out into the currents as the captain called the timing.
Shouts chased after them as the soldiers reached the shore, but they faded quickly as the river drew the galley downstream. The Perfugian recruits clung to whatever they could as the ship lurched, swinging to the south, before turning more slowly to face upriver. Groans came from the sailors as they began to row against the current.
Erika nodded her satisfaction. She had told no one the exact location of her ancient site, but the captain knew to drop them several leagues upstream. Still unsure whether she’d done the right thing, she looked back at Cara. Finally, the full weight of Romaine’s words struck her. This woman had been alone in Calafe?
The new information forced a reappraisal of the woman. Anyone who could survive a winter in the wilderness, let alone in Tangata territory, was surely a force to be reckoned with. Her heartbeat quickened as she realised the woman could be an asset. Perhaps Cara even knew something of their destination.
Erika was already reaching for the map in her satchel before she thought better of it. It would not be prudent to speak of their destination in front of the captain and his sailors—who knew where else Gemaho might have agents? Better to wait and talk with Cara and the Calafe warrior privately.
Moving to the bow of the ship, she eyed the way ahead. The waters of the Illmoor raced past, the galley surging with each beat of the sailors’ oars. There was a mist today, a heavy, clinging cloud that tasted of winter, and ahead the river vanished into the white. There was no seeing what lay beyond; all she could do was trust the captain knew where to go.
“Nervous?”
Erika started as the Calafe warrior appeared alongside her. His eyes were distant, focused as hers had been on the drifting mist, as though he could already see the lands that awaited them. A scowl crossed her face.
“None of your business, Calafe.”
“My name is Romaine,” he replied, though his gaze did not flicker.
“What?”
This time he turned towards her. Their eyes met and Erika swallowed despite herself. There was a darkness in those steel-blue orbs, a silent grief, an awful anger that promised retribution.
“It is traditional to call a man by his name,” he said, voice not rising above a murmur.
Erika opened her mouth but the retort died on her tongue. He was right. Alone of all the soldiers in Fogmore, this man had volunteered to join her expedition. He was risking his life to help her—the least she could do was treat him with respect. She let out a long breath, swallowing her pride.
“My apologies, Romaine,” she said, inclining her head. “I am thankful for your help.”
A grim smile appeared on the warrior’s face. “Thank me when we make it safely back to Flumeer. For now, I’d be happier to know what exactly that gauntlet of yours can do.”
It was Erika’s turn to smile. “On that, you will have to trust me, Romaine,” she replied. “Let it be enough to know its effects are…unpleasant for those who cross me.”
Romaine raised an eyebrow at that, but to her surprise he did not press the matter. His eyes returned to the mist. “Can’t say I trust such magic,” he murmured, “but after that last attack…I have a feeling we’re going to need every weapon we can get on the other side.”
Instinctively, Erika followed his gaze. The brave words of a few moments before turned to dust on her tongue as the mists began to lift. Dark trees appeared to the starboard of the ship, fog still clinging to their twisted branches.
Calafe waited.
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