Kellanved's Reach

‘Withdraw?’ Orjin replied, startled. ‘This is the last fortress between the pass and Purge lands …’

‘I know.’ She drew off her gauntlets and waved them towards a file of wagons, incompletely loaded with supplies and materiel.

‘Who gave the order?’ Orjin asked.

‘Two nights ago three noblemen came charging through on their way to Purage. They ordered the garrison withdrawn to help protect the city.’

Protect them more like, Orjin almost said aloud. ‘Was Baron Terrall among them?’

‘Aye, he was.’

Orjin eyed the half-loaded wagons. Two nights ago? ‘You are still evacuating?’ he asked, rather confused.

‘Oh, aye,’ Jeral answered, clearing her throat. ‘Unfortunate shortage of mules and horses. Also, a broken axle. I’ve sent a messenger to Purge to requisition adequate cartage.’

Orjin rubbed his chin to hide a smile. ‘I see. By regulation.’

She nodded, echoing his understanding. ‘All by regulation. In the meantime,’ she continued, giving him a sidelong glance, ‘if the enemy appears – we’ll just have to fight.’

This time he did not try to hide his smile. ‘If you must. Of course.’

Orjin’s troop was filing in now, and the tall leaves of the main gate were being pushed shut behind them. The prevost extended him a look. ‘And what’s your story?’

Almost wincing at what was to come, he drew a folded sheet of vellum from a waist pouch and held it out to the Purge officer. ‘We are signed with the throne.’

Jeral examined the signed sheet, the wax seals, cocked a brow. ‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning – by regulation – I outrank you.’

Her mouth hardened and she handed the folded sheets back. ‘Now I see. And what are your orders, sir?’

‘My intention is to slow the Quon Talian advance by any means possible, prevost.’

The smile returned to Jeral’s lips, and she saluted. ‘Excellent, sir.’ Searching among the troops, she pointed to a soldier. ‘Sergeant – unload those wagons!’

The trooper answered the woman’s smile and saluted. ‘At once, prevost.’

The officer returned her attention to Orjin and shook her head, her long braids bouncing. ‘So – your first command? Take a look.’

She led him on a tour of the fortress, such as it was. He did his best to hide his growing dismay; not only was the garrison shockingly under-supplied, but much-needed repairs were years behind. Rot in some sections of the palisade made it more dangerous to the defenders than any would-be attackers. The tower itself proved to be nothing more than a hollow three-storey stone circle, its interior flooring and joists long burned away over the decades of interminable border warfare. The installation had in fact changed hands more times than a Cawnese gambling establishment, leaving neither side interested in sinking any resources into it.

After the brief tour, Orjin and Jeral ended up at the south wall of the palisade, peering up at the steep and rocky Two-River Pass. She took hold of her long braids, one on either side of her head, and rested her arms in this manner, the way a man might tuck his hands into his belt. The gesture rather charmed Orjin, who had taken a liking to the straight-talking daughter of some minor Nom baronet. She leaned back against the sharpened palisade logs and regarded him. ‘So, your first command. Well – looks like it’s gonna be your last.’

Orjin was eyeing the steep, bare mountainsides. ‘We’ll see.’

‘There’s no way you can stop them, you know.’

He nodded. ‘You’re right. There’s no way we can stop them.’

She dropped her arms. ‘So? I won’t just throw my lads and lasses away. Perhaps we should abandon the fort.’

‘Got any locals among your troops?’

‘Locals? Yeah, I suppose. A few.’

‘Have them sent to me. I want to have a word.’ He raised his chin to the mountain slopes then gave her a look. ‘That pass – it’s damned steep. Prone to slides, I imagine.’

She glanced up and set to rubbing her chin once more. After a moment her lips crooked and her brown eyes – shot through with green – narrowed and got a sly look to them. ‘Yeah,’ she agreed, ‘all the time.’

Orjin’s lieutenants, Yune, Terath, and Orhan of Fenn, joined him and Jeral at the meeting with the local recruits – ‘recruits’ being a gentle euphemism for taxation as enforced service. These dirt-poor herders and farmers were used mainly as mountain guides and light skirmishers. Once the meeting was over, Orjin sat back from the cookfire they’d met around in the enclosed grounds of the bailey and eyed Jeral; the woman was clearly still troubled as she tapped a thumb to her lips. He cocked a brow, inviting her to speak. She let out a hard breath. ‘Okay. I get it. We hit the supply train then raid it, if possible. But what I don’t get is what about the fortress? Who’ll be down here when we’re all up the slopes?’

He nodded. ‘I will, together with a few of my picked troops.’

She snorted her disbelief. ‘Really? You’n’a few others – while I’m out runnin’ the ambush, I suppose?’ He nodded again, eyeing her steadily. ‘You’re taking a big chance.’

He just shrugged. ‘I suppose that’s entirely up to you.’