Rocky Crag
Copyright© 2016 by Gina Marie Wylie
Chapter 4
The next morning, the ship was close to land. Captain Vulmir’s ship was nowhere to be seen; instead, there was just a small boat ahead of them, much closer to the shore. Keir shaded his eyes against the early morning glare.
Shalakein appeared at his shoulder. “They will land about three or four hours ahead of us.” Keir nodded, contemplating what to do.
“Shortly, we will tack to the southwest. Instead of a short tack, it will be a long one, and we will fetch up to the coast about ten miles southwest of the village ahead.”
Keir looked at the sea captain, curious.
“The villagers here undoubtedly already know about the attack on the palace. The locals will be alert; certainly, the militia will be called out. We could probably overwhelm them, but it would be a close run thing. Our men have already taken losses.”
A third, Keir knew. It was true.
“Southwest,” Shalakein went on, “we will be between the fugitives and safety, so far as they know. Word of the attack may have arrived, but I doubt if the word of our withdrawal will have come quite as fast.”
Keir nodded, studying the scene while Shalakein kept talking. “Most likely, the one who commands here will know a hot potato when he sees it, and he will send those who came on the boat south. Vulmir sent yesterday that he saw at least two. One of whom is a woman or girl, the other a male. Both had long black hair.”
Keir nodded, still intent on the scene in front of him, scheming, scheming...
His head came up then, and he stared at Shalakein. “Black hair?”
“That is what he said. A black-haired man who appears wounded. A woman with black hair braided down her back who appears to know how to sail as well as any Shastri.”
S’Harris had made their fortune on land, in trading caravans, fighting caravan raiders, never on the sea. Stark warriors, to be sure, as they had shown at the palace — those losses still stung. Was this a chase after a phantom? All of the S’Harris had hair as blonde as Shastri were dark. And the girl he’d hoped had survived had unfashionably short hair.
“Nonetheless, my Lord,” Shalakein went on, “we shall continue to close the land. If it’s a kitchen drudge and her lover ... well, we shall come up empty. If it is not, then they will send them south. And that is where we’ll be.”
Keir nodded, contemplating deception and plots. Had they known? Not possible! If S’Harris had known they were coming, the Shastri Tall Ships would have had a far different welcome!
The Land was far larger than Shastri and Tan’da’drek combined. Larger by far, but a slothful, peaceful giant. A giant who had started to stir, looking at Shastri with concern and perhaps a little fear. As it should be! Now they would look on Shastri with great fear! As it should be!
The Land had conspired with Tan’da’drek to thwart Shastri. That couldn’t be allowed! The plan was for a quick lesson. A sharp blow, one that left a child, preferably a girl, preferably the one who did not want to rule, to rule. The choice the Land would face would be obvious: peace, ignore what had happened, so that the new ruler could secure her base. And if the other nobles of the Land decided that this wasn’t the time for a young, untested girl to lead them, that was so much the better! Internal division and strife would just make it easier in the end. It would sap their strength and will until Shastri was finally ready for them.
Keir stood on the bridge, his face impassive, watching events unfold. The small boat fetched up on the shore, and even from miles away it was obviously the center of considerable activity. They did not tack, but continued, slowly gathering more speed for a cove, well south of the village. Where Shalakein’s map showed that the road turned inland for a ways.
“A coach, Lord Tragon,” one of his underofficers said, pointing north, towards the village.
Shalakein appeared as if by magic, cursed, when he saw it. “They will beat us, Lord Tragon.” He studied the coach for a long moment. “A single coach, no mounted escort, just two men on top. I don’t know.” He waved where the coach had come from. “There are perhaps a hundred fifty men at arms there, according to the intelligence, perhaps another two hundred peasant levy. There is a town a day south, and a larger one most of two days inland, they will have a thousand or so regulars in either place.”
“Your men have experience raiding, do they not?” Keir asked softly.
“Aye, we do. In the early days against Tan’da’drek, we did a lot of that. Tan’da’drek learned rather quickly, and we’ve stopped. Here, I don’t think they’ve learned the lessons yet. Your men and my men together will number about two hundred and fifty. They can move quickly inland. This is horse country, my Lord; our men will have mounts in short order.” Shalakein paused and bowed slightly to Keir. “This is your province, not mine, but I think your men and mine could go right to the gates of whichever town they fetch up at.”
Keir nodded. “Give the orders.”
“In an hour, Lord Tragon. This is, after all, the sea.”
Keir didn’t change his expression, but instead made another mental mark in his head. Someday, Shalakein, you will rue what you have done these last two days! Your insolence and insubordination are intolerable!
They fetched up ashore, just a half hour behind the coach. But those were horses, and the Shastri had nothing but their feet. Keir led the party ashore, following the road. It took almost a day before raiding parties off the main body had enough horses for the men to ride, even if some of them had to ride double.
There was no time for little more than the most cursory military precautions. The town to the west was now, he knew, no more than a half-day further. The farms and villages they’d passed through were empty — a bad sign. Worse, everything that could easily be moved had been. There was little to glean from what had been left behind.
Keir had a dozen men out a half-mile ahead of them. The main body came up a long hill, and he saw his men waiting for him just below the brow of the next hill. He rode forward, along with a half dozen of his guards.
“My lord,” the underofficer in charge of the point guard said, bowing slightly.
The underofficer waved ahead. “My lord, they await us; a party of about five hundred.”
Too many, in other words, for the Shastri to deal with. “Five hundred of what?” Keir asked, wanting to be sure.
“My lord, they appear to be veteran foot soldiers. They are formed in line across the road, set to either side. There are about fifty or so mounted nobles in the center.”
Keir contemplated that. A great many of the nobles of the Land had gone to hell at the palace. Those left would be second rank, not up to facing Shastri. At the very least, he had to brandish his fist: he could not simply turn around and return to the ship with empty hands, never having once threatened them.
They formed up, walked to the top of the ridge, and stopped, facing their enemy. Keir was frustrated. The others simply stood silently waiting in the early afternoon sun. No demonstrations, no nothing. Just waiting, beneath the brow of the next hill further on.
He turned to his underofficer. “A truce flag. Four of us will ride forward.”
A moment later, they rode slowly towards their enemies. Keir’s eyes were on the soldiers who opposed him. They’d gone but a short way when a small group of four departed the other side, walking their horses forward.
The others didn’t ride far, a mere two hundred yards in front of their troops. Out of easy bowshot, but still a risk for the Shastri. Keir mentally shrugged and continued on.
Keir stopped a few yards away from them, looking them over. A young man, favoring his side. He had black hair; he looked like one of these damned sailors from the north. A Skolian, then.
A young woman, dark black hair, light hazel eyes, staring at him with palpable hatred. Perhaps a commoner, there was an unkept air about her, but obviously someone with no love for Shastri.
An older man wearing fine armor, sitting his horse with an air of command. Another man, young, but not a teenager, as the two youngest were. Odd, very odd. He too looked Skolian as well; he and the wounded man could easily be brothers.
“I am the Shastri Lord Keir Tragon,” Keir said loftily. “I bid you good day.”
The young girl spoke, “I bid you good riddance! Take your stolen horses and get you gone from this place! Or we’ll bury you here!”
Keir looked at the older man and saw nothing there. Keir was startled when the young man, the one favoring his side, drew a sword from the offside of his horse and waved it aloft.
Keir turned to the older man, speaking calmly and as controlled as he’d ever spoken in his life. “Is this how you honor a truce?”
“You called the truce,” Keir was told by the girl, and then the young woman laughed nastily. “We did not.” She gestured at the white truce flag that Keir’s people had brought with them. “You rode with a truce flag, but we did not. Tell me, Shastri, what does that mean to Shastri?”
Keir blinked in shock, nor daring to look away. Those they faced had no truce flag! How could he have been so blind as not to notice! He was dead! They could kill him, leave his body here in the road, and other Shastri would spit each and every time they heard Keir’s name! The man who fell for the simplest ruse of them all! How many times had Shastri used this ruse against their enemies? A dozen times? A dozen dozen?
“I have come to offer you peace,” Keir told them, settling on the words he had prepared. “I speak for all Shastri. We will give you hostages, and there will be peace between us.”
The girl rode forward. She reached out with her bare hand and pushed Keir on his mailed chest. It wasn’t much of a push, but still, his horse backed up a step. Her horse moved forward, and she pushed again. Keir was sweating. He had called the truce; he could not be the first to break it. For a barehanded push? His horse backed up two more quick steps when she pressed a third time.
“You know the direction, Shastri,” the girl said, her voice bitter. “Keep going.”
“You are who?” Keir asked, this time spurring his horse forward; it refused to move. Instead, her horse pressed against his, and it was Keir’s horse that backed up yet again.
“Jane S’Harris.” The girl waved at the others in her party. “They told me if I told you my name, you’d forget your truce oath and would kill me out of hand.”
“Shastris do not break their oaths. We are many things, but not oath breakers,” Keir replied, trying to sit up straight.
“I have a message for the leader of the Shastris,” the older man said, speaking again.
Keir stared at him, without speaking.
“Will you take your leader our message to him?” the old man asked.
“I lead the Shastris,” Keir said, unable to keep the pride from his voice.
“Better. Do you know who I am?”
Keir shook his head, not particularly interested in the old man now, but much more interested in the girl.
“I am Fredrick Travan, second in the land after John S’Harris.”
Keir blinked in surprise. This man should have been dead with others in the palace!
“You think we’ll be afraid to war against Shastris, afraid of the cost?”
Keir jerked his eyes back to the other, then smiled slowly, telling him that was exactly so, but without saying the words.
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