It was a well-staged ambush, he thought. The enemy had let the advance party go past, poured in a volley, then charged out of the trees while the small column milled about in confusion.
Three of the attackers converged on the Emperor, who was riding in the middle of the column, a few metres ahead of George and Horace. One grabbed the reins of the Emperor’s horse, and as Shigeru drew his sword and struck at him, the man ducked under the horse’s neck to avoid the blow. Instantly, the other two were on the Emperor like jackals on a deer. They grabbed his arms and pulled him from the saddle, the sword falling from his hand as he hit the ground. His retainers were caught by surprise, engaged with the other six attackers.
Horace made his decision in a split second. His normal instinct would be to attack on horseback. But he wasn’t riding Kicker and he had no idea if this horse had been trained for battle. Besides, the Emperor was on the ground and he’d risk trampling him. He threw a leg over the pommel and dropped to the ground, dashing forward to protect Shigeru.
One of the Senshi had raised his sword in a two-handed grip, aiming a downstroke at the helpless Emperor. Horace’s sword was heavier than the katana that the Nihon-Jan warriors used. But it was also longer and Shigeru’s attacker didn’t factor that in. He thought he had just enough time to kill Shigeru and turn to face the onrushing warrior. He felt a moment of surprise when Horace’s horizontal stroke took him in the rib cage, exposed as he raised the sword high, and smashed through his lacquered leather armour. Then he felt nothing.
Horace sensed rather than saw the second man swinging a diagonal overhead cut at him from the left. He pivoted in that direction and his shield seemed to move of its own volition, intercepting the razor-sharp blade with a ringing clang. He felt the super-hard steel of the katana bite into his shield, sticking for a fraction of a second. As it did, he stepped forward, cramping the man for space, and kicked flat-footed into the side of his knee. The man’s leg collapsed under him and he stumbled forward with a shrill cry of pain. A quick thrust cut off his cry and he fell at Horace’s feet.
In a fight against multiple enemies, it was fatal to face in one direction for too long. Horace spun one hundred and eighty degrees, shield raised, just in time to block a thrust from the third man – the one who had seized the Emperor’s reins. Before Horace could retaliate, the man threw up his arms with a choking cry.
He fell to his knees, shock and surprise on his face. Behind him, Shukin was poised with his sword ready for another stroke. But it was unnecessary. The assassin pitched forward, face down in the wet earth.
Horace looked around quickly. The rear guard had closed up and were taking care of two other Senshi attackers. He heard the crashing sound of someone running through the undergrowth on the downhill side of the track. At least one of their attackers had got away.
Shukin sheathed his sword. Then he helped Shigeru to his feet.
‘Are you all right, cousin?’ he asked anxiously.
Shigeru brushed his concern aside. ‘I’m covered in mud and winded, but otherwise unharmed – thanks to Or’ss-san.’ He smiled his gratitude at the young Araluan.
Horace shook his head. ‘I’m glad to be of service,’ he said, a little formally. Horace was always uncomfortable when people thanked him for doing what he considered to be no more than his job. He sheathed his sword. The senior man from the rear guard had approached and was talking to Shukin in rapid Nihon-Jan.
‘Are they Arisaka’s men?’ Horace asked the Emperor.
Shigeru nodded. ‘That’s the Shimonseki crest,’ he said, indicating a stylised owl emblazoned on the attackers’ breastplates, over the heart.
Shukin moved back to join them.
‘My corporal counted nine of them,’ he said. ‘Two got away. My men killed four others, Or’ss-san accounted for two and I finished off the seventh.’ He cast a contemptuous glance at the sprawled figures on the track, then grudgingly had to admit that the attack had nearly been successful. ‘They were well organised. Two parties of three moved to cut off the advance and rear guards, while the remaining three attacked you, cousin. I don’t think they reckoned on Or’ss-san’s skill with a sword. That was their main mistake. We lost two men and one was wounded in the volley of arrows they fired.’
His words brought a terrible realisation to Horace.
‘Oh god!’ he cried. He swung round and ran back along the track to where George had fallen from his saddle. In all the action, he had forgotten about the scribe. His heart surged with relief as he saw the thin figure sitting upright beside the muddy track, painfully nursing his right arm, still impaled by a long, white-feathered arrow. His sleeve was soaked with blood and his face was pale – paler than normal – but he was alive. Horace dropped to one knee beside him.
‘George!’ he said, the relief evident in his voice. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No! I am not!’ George replied with considerable spirit. ‘I have a whacking great arrow stuck through my arm and it hurts like the very dickens! How could anybody be all right in those circumstances?’
Impulsively, Horace went to touch the arrow, but George jerked away, then howled as the abrupt movement sent pain coursing through his arm.
‘You saved my life, George,’ Horace said gently, remembering how his gangly companion had shoved him away from the arrow aimed at him.
George grimaced. ‘Well, if I’d known it was going to hurt like this, I wouldn’t have! I would have just let them shoot you! Why do you live this way?’ he demanded in a high-pitched voice. ‘How can you bear it? This sort of thing is very, very painful. I always suspected that warriors are crazy. Now I know. In future, I…’
Whatever it was he planned to do in the future, Horace never discovered. At that moment, shocked by the pain of the wound and weakened by the loss of blood, George’s eyes rolled upwards and he slid over onto his side.
Horace looked round to find Shukin studying the wounded scribe.
‘Might be a good thing,’ the Senshi leader said. ‘We’ll get that arrow shaft out while he’s unconscious.’
George remained unconscious for a few minutes. But it was enough time for Shukin, and the Emperor’s healer, to remove the arrow from the wound. They applied a salve to the entry and exit wounds and bound his arm with clean linen. Shukin observed the result with a satisfied look.
‘It should heal cleanly,’ he said. ‘The salve will take care of any infection – although the arrow was new and seemed clean enough. He will have a sore arm for some weeks, though.’
As if on cue, George’s eyes fluttered open. He looked around the concerned faces looking down on him, then frowned.
‘My arm hurts,’ he said. Horace and the others burst into relieved laughter, which did nothing to assuage George’s feelings. He regarded them indignantly.
‘It may be funny to all you heroic warrior types,’ he said. ‘I know you all make a habit of just shrugging off this sort of thing. But it hurts.’
Horace gently helped him to his feet and led him to where his horse was waiting patiently.
‘Come on,’ he said, helping his companion into the saddle. ‘We’ve a way to go yet.’
He was glad that George, normally a garrulous companion, didn’t feel like talking as they rode towards the junction with the track to Iwanai. Horace had a lot to think about and he wanted to prepare his words carefully. He knew George would argue with what he had in mind and he knew that George was trained in logic and the ability to express thoughts clearly and precisely.
Eventually, the time came when the Emperor and Shukin reined in their horses and indicated a steep, narrow track leading downhill to the south-west.
‘You leave us here,’ the Emperor said. ‘It’s about a day’s ride to Iwanai this way. I doubt that you’ll run into any more of Arisaka’s men on the trail. Take care when you reach the port, however. Stay out of sight as much as you can until you’re aboard your ship.’
‘One of my men will guide you,’ Shukin said.
But
Horace shook his head. ‘Not one of your Senshi,’ he said. ‘A servant will be fine. You need all the fighting men you have with you.’
Shukin nodded, acknowledging the wisdom. ‘Good point. Very well, one of the servants can guide you.’
Horace sat silently as George made his farewells. The Emperor, he noticed, looked quizzically at him while this was happening, perhaps sensing what Horace had in mind. Eventually, George slapped the reins on his horse’s neck and turned his head towards the steep, narrow track.
‘Come on, Horace. It’s time to go.’
Horace cleared his throat uncomfortably.
‘That’s the thing, George,’ he said. ‘I’m staying.’
Toscana
‘Evanlyn? Here? What on earth can she possibly want?’ Will asked of no one in particular. He could never think of the princess by her real name. He had met her as Evanlyn and shared so many dangers and adventures with her under that name that she would always be Evanlyn in his mind.
Alyss’s immediate reaction was one of suspicion. She’s here to barge in between Will and me, she thought peevishly. She knew that Will and the princess had been very close in the past – and remained so – and this made her suspect the worst of Evanlyn. She thought of her by that name as well because it made it easier to dislike her. If she thought of Evanlyn by her real name, Cassandra, she had to acknowledge that she was the Princess Royal of Araluen and afford her the respect due to that rank. As Evanlyn, she was just another girl, trying to get her hooks into Alyss’s boyfriend.
After that first knee-jerk reaction, Alyss recognised that she was being unreasonable. Even Evanlyn wouldn’t go to so much trouble simply to interpose herself between Will and herself, she realised. There must be some other, more important, reason behind her sudden arrival. Was Evanlyn here to cancel Araluen’s agreement to the treaty conditions, and nullify the hard work that Alyss had put into the negotiations over the past five days? Perhaps Araluan policy had changed towards the treaty between Arrida and Toscana? It would be extremely awkward if that were the case – after all, the treaty had been signed and ratified and she had witnessed it on behalf of the Araluan crown.
‘Perhaps we should invite her in and ask her,’ Halt said mildly, in response to Will’s question. He had seen the furrows of concentration on Alyss’s face and he had a shrewd idea as to the thoughts that were going through her head. But it wouldn’t do to leave the Princess Royal cooling her heels in the anteroom while Alyss got over her pique.
‘Of course,’ the tall blonde girl said, gathering her thoughts, annoyed with herself for acting in such an unprofessional manner. ‘Please show her in, Edmund.’
The attendant, who had been hovering anxiously, aware that he was keeping the princess waiting, nodded gratefully and withdrew, leaving the door open. A few seconds later, he reappeared, standing aside as their visitor entered.
‘The Lady Evanlyn, to see you,’ he announced.
Halt frowned. The princess only used that name when she travelled unofficially or incognito. Halt knew it reminded her of a time when her life and behaviour weren’t constrained by royal protocol and court procedures. He rose now and stepped forward, his hands out to her. As an old friend and adviser, he didn’t feel the need to bow to her. After all, if she chose to be incognito, she wouldn’t expect any royal treatment.
She smiled when she saw him and took his hands in hers. ‘Hello, Halt,’ she said. ‘It’s good to see you.’
‘You too, my lady,’ Halt told her.
Evanlyn glanced around the room. Her smile faded slightly as Alyss rose to greet her.
‘Welcome, your highness,’ Alyss said.
Evanlyn waved the title aside impatiently. ‘Not on this trip, please, Lady Alyss. I’m not travelling in my official capacity. Evanlyn is good enough.’ Her gaze moved on and her smile regained its original warmth as she saw Will.
‘Hullo, Will,’ she said and he stepped forward to hug her. He knew Alyss wouldn’t like it, but he had a genuine affection for Evanlyn and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. He and Evanlyn had gone through too much together for him not to greet her that way. At the same time, he was wise enough to make the hug a brief one.
‘Welcome to Toscana,’ he said.
But Evanlyn’s gaze had swept on. The room wasn’t brightly lit and it was only now that she made out the identity of the fourth person present.
‘Seley el’then!’ she said, the pleasure evident in her voice. ‘How wonderful to see you!’ Selethen, noticing her correct pronunciation of his name, made the ritual Arridi greeting, touching his hand to his mouth, brow and mouth again, and bowing slightly.
‘Lady Evanlyn. I am delighted to see you again.’ He paused, then added, with a mock frown, ‘Unless you have discovered that I owe you money?’
She shook her head, laughing at his sally. Then, realising that the others were standing by, waiting to hear why she had arrived so unexpectedly, she gestured to the chairs and couches around the central table.
‘Please. Sit down, everyone. I need to talk to you.’
Selethen hesitated as the others resumed their seats.
‘Perhaps I should leave you?’ he suggested, sensing that this might well be a private matter for the Araluans. But Evanlyn considered his suggestion for a second or two, then shook her head.
‘No need for you to go, Selethen. This is nothing secret.’ She noticed the coffee pot on the table and added, ‘I’d happily kill for a cup of coffee, however. It’s been a long trip.’
‘Of course! My apologies!’ Alyss leapt to her feet again, irritated that her sense of hospitality had been found wanting. No doubt about it, Evanlyn’s sudden appearance had flustered her. She quickly poured Evanlyn a cup and handed it across the table. The princess smiled gratefully, their mutual antipathy forgotten for the moment.
‘Thanks, Alyss,’ she said. Her omission of the formal ‘Lady Alyss’ was sign enough that her gratitude was genuine. Alyss nodded acknowledgement and resumed her seat. Evanlyn took a deep draught of the coffee, then looked appreciatively at the cup.
‘I take it you supplied this coffee, Selethen?’
He smiled and she drank again, draining most of the remaining beverage. She set the cup down, paused for a second or two to gather her thoughts and plunged in.
‘Long story short,’ she said. ‘Horace has gone missing.’
There were exclamations of surprise around the room. Will was the first to voice the thoughts of all of them.
‘Missing?’ he said. ‘Missing where?’
‘Nihon-Ja,’ Evanlyn told them. ‘My father sent him on a military mission some time ago. He was to present himself at the Emperor’s court – he had letters of introduction from my father – and then spend some time studying Nihon-Jan military techniques and weapons.’
‘What’s happened? How did he go missing?’ Will asked.
‘To be accurate, I don’t know what’s happened. Look, let me explain,’ she said, hastily cutting off Will’s next question. ‘Horace was travelling with George –’
‘George Carter? George from the Ward? Our George, you mean?’ Will interrupted. As he said ‘Our George’ he made a circling gesture that included himself and Alyss.
Halt raised an eyebrow at him as he saw the impatience on Evanlyn’s face. ‘Perhaps one of those interjections would have been sufficient,’ he said, ‘since they all relate to the same person.’
Evanlyn nodded gratefully at him. ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘Your George. He was there to advise Horace on protocol and to act as an interpreter.’
Halt cocked his head to one side. ‘But the common tongue is spoken in Nihon-Ja, surely?’
Evanlyn shrugged. ‘Not as widely as in other countries. The Nihon-Jan have kept themselves a little…isolated…over the centuries. And my father thought it might be a diplomatic touch,’ she nodded in Alyss’s direction, ‘if the Emperor was addressed in his own language.’
Alyss nodded. ‘We try to do that wherever possi
ble.’
‘I still don’t see what Horace would hope to learn from the Nihon-Jan about weapons and methods,’ Will said. ‘After all, he’s a Swordmaster himself.’
‘The Nihon-Jan warriors – they call them Senshi – use a different technique,’ Halt interjected. ‘And their swordsmiths have perfected a method of making extremely hard blades. Our Ranger weapon makers learned some of their techniques many years ago.’
‘Is that why your saxe knives are so incredibly hard?’ Alyss asked. It was a well-known fact that saxe knives could put a notch into the blades of normal swords.
‘It’s a technique where several iron rods are heated and beaten, then folded and twisted together to form a composite whole. Over the years, we’ve made it a practice to adopt good ideas from anywhere we can find them,’ Halt told her.
‘Our swordsmiths in Dimascar developed a similar technique for creating extra-hard blades,’ Selethen put in.
‘You’re talking about Dimascarene blades, I assume?’ Halt said. ‘I’ve heard of them but never seen one.’
‘They’re very expensive. Not many people can afford them,’ Selethen told him.
Halt nodded thoughtfully, filing the information away for future reference. Then he turned back to Evanlyn. ‘I’m sorry, Evanlyn, we’re digressing here. Please go on.’
‘All right. Just to cover any further interruptions…’ She looked meaningfully at Will, which he considered to be a little unfair. After all, it had been Halt and Selethen who had prattled on about super-hard sword blades, not him. But his indignation went unnoticed as she continued.
‘I take it you’re all familiar with the Silasian Council’s fast message system?’
They all nodded. The Silasian Council was a cartel of traders based in the eastern part of the Constant Sea. They facilitated trade by instituting a central credit system so that funds could be transferred between countries, without the risk of actually sending money overland or by sea. In addition, they had realised some years prior that fast communications could be as beneficial to trade as efficient money transfers. They had set up a network of carrier pigeon services and express riders to take messages almost from one end of the known world to the other. Distances that might take weeks for a ship or a rider to cover could be traversed in a matter of days. Of course, the service was extremely expensive, but in emergencies, many users felt it was worth the cost.