She broke eye contact and examined the cut. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘Nah,’ Merol said. ‘Just opened up an existing scar; barely felt it. I saw what you done the other day, how that stall-holder threatened you and you stood up to him. Made me think you were someone worth knowing.’
‘You cut your hand open for the right reasons then, Merol,’ Tara said as she dabbed at the wound and then threaded the needle and began to tug it through the flesh. ‘There are plans. I can’t say more now, but I’ll come and see you again. Where are you staying?’
‘That slimy fucker who was talking to you owns me and another lad. Think he wanted a woman – he’s ever so disappointed, keeps threatening to sell us ’cause he knows if he tries to fuck either of we’ll squash him like a fucking flea, pardon my language. But we work hard – and slow. Staying in the cloth district.’
Tara finished the stitching and bit off the thread, dabbed it some more and then wrapped a new napkin around it. So much for her spare linens – she’d have to tear them up to replace what she’d used here. ‘Sound out the other big men with hammers and wait for my word. I’ll be in touch.’ Tara stood up and repacked her basket. She turned to his owner and bobbed another curtsey. ‘He’ll need to keep it clean, honoured, or it’ll kill him.’
The Raider sucked his teeth and then spat, but he didn’t contradict her, just waved Merol towards the western wall. ‘Don’t work, don’t eat, slave,’ he growled. ‘Back to it.’
Tara made her way back to the palace and passed a knot of chained Rankers hauling stone in barrows. She slid past one, a man she vaguely recognised, definitely housed in the south barracks. ‘Mason named Merol’s with us,’ she hissed as she went past. ‘Tell Vaunt.’
She didn’t wait for a reply.
Seventh moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
Road to the South Rank forts, Western Plain, Krike border
Three separate reports of bands of Mireces, a few hundred strong each, had come in from three locations within a ten-mile radius of the South Rank’s headquarters. Whether or not they knew the survivors of the siege were there, they were doing what they could to prevent patrols or intel moving in and out of the forts.
A week of rest had turned into a month as the Rankers finally began to let go of the state of heightened awareness and battle-readiness that had characterised their time under siege and their flight across Rilpor. Exhaustion had bitten them all deep, and for days they moved around the forts like ghosts unless a sudden sound or sight triggered them into violent motion. Mace himself couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so much or his thoughts had been so hard to assemble. As though the siege had stolen his wits.
But now, finally, he felt close to his old self and determined to prove it to everyone by tagging along with Colonel Jarl’s Hundreds. The largest reported force was northeast between the forts and Rilporin, with others reported at north and northwest of their position – the three directions from which they were most likely to receive potential reinforcements or vital information. It didn’t feel like a coincidence that they’d be there and not elsewhere in the Western Plain.
Hallos had glowered from beneath eyebrows no less fearsome for being more grey than black these days, but Mace wasn’t letting the physician talk him out of another patrol and the chance at a scrap, even as he’d ordered the shattered remnants of the West and Palace Ranks to stand down. The fires that had led every one of them to perform extraordinary feats during Rilporin’s defence were still banked embers, and they needed time to coax the flames back into life.
Dalli had come too, which didn’t surprise him. She’d been spikier than usual since her fight with Rillirin and the girl’s removal to Fort Three, and as the days passed the outrage iced over and now they were little more than brittle strangers on the rare occasions they were in the same place together.
All of which Mace put out of his mind as they rode out of the gate in the midst of two hundred marching Rankers. ‘How are the supplies looking, Colonel?’ he asked as his skittish mount sidestepped into Dalli’s. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been on a horse. Somewhere back in the west, he supposed.
‘At the current rate of consumption, we’ll be on half-rations for all personnel in two moons, quarter-rations in four, and eating our horses and boot leather in six. If we go on to half-rations now—’
‘That won’t be necessary, Jarl, at least not yet. Once the civilians are gone, even with the provisions they’ll have to take with them, remaining numbers will be almost back to normal. We managed to buy up a decent amount of grain before the East Rank garrisons moved into the towns.’
‘I admit I’m hesitant about sending them so far through hostile territory though, Commander,’ Jarl said. ‘Even if the Mireces border is as empty as you believe, that’s a two-week march for Rankers, so easily three for civilians with old folks and little ones.’
‘You’re not the only one, but there simply isn’t anywhere else for them to go. If we could broker a deal with Krike to house refugees, that would be ideal, but you say we can’t.’
‘Sorry, Commander, if it was possible we’d all be suggesting it. I’ve served here for six years now and we’ve never known the Krikites to change their minds about international relations. They said no – they mean no.’
‘So, we’re going to send them to learn to be Wolves instead,’ Dalli said with half a smile. ‘Or at least, they’re going to occupy our land. Our village in the foothills is small and won’t fit them all, but it’s empty and the only place without an enemy garrison. They’ll have to dig in and build – and try not to strip the land of resources while they’re there. Some of us would quite like to go home when this is all over.’
‘Even once we’ve cleared out these Raiders it’ll be a risk,’ Mace said heavily, ‘but there are forty-two pregnant women in the forts and almost six hundred children of varying ages, as well as the old and those who can’t move fast. We can’t feed them and we can’t protect them, not indefinitely.’ He gestured at the empty, innocent-seeming land rolling away ahead of them. ‘They’re going to come for us. Sooner or later, whether or not they ever learn exactly how many of us are here, the Mireces are going to come. They can’t let us live.’
It soured the mood somewhat, but it had to be said. They weren’t safe down here in the south. Mace’s presence and that of the refugees made no difference – Corvus couldn’t allow a rested, untested fighting force like the South Rank to live. If he was to have absolute power over Rilpor, they needed to be crushed.
‘Let’s not forget Colonel Edris, though. He and King Tresh and a Listran army could be just the distraction we need to get the civs safely away,’ he added in a belated attempt to restore their spirits.
‘He’ll certainly have some decisions to make about where to attack first,’ Jarl agreed, ‘and unarmed non-combatants will be the least of his worries.’
‘Precisely.’
Turned out Jarl was like a dog with a bone, though. ‘They’ll need scouts and guards, too, someone who knows the way, wagons full of provisions. The civilians, I mean – Tresh’ll have Edris and his own supplies, of course. Then there’s deciding who goes first and how many go at once. Your march here all together was a feat worthy of a song, Commander, but the chances of you managing it undetected a second time, if you even did the first …’ Jarl trailed off.
‘You’re not telling me anything I don’t know,’ Mace grunted. He’d already talked it to death with Hadir, but Jarl struck him as the thorough type. It was possible he’d see