Ironroot (38 page)

Varro and Catilina exchanged glances and their shoulders sagged. Varro cleared his throat. “You really think it’s feasible?”

Salonius shrugged. “I believe it’s a better option than faking our escape. Whether it’ll work depends a little on skill and mostly on luck or whether the Stag Lord is really watching over us.”

Varro nodded and the two men focused their thoughts on the task ahead, failing to notice the curious expression that crossed their companion’s face as she regarded the young engineer. Catilina allowed her smile to pass and then cleared her throat.

“Alright then. Salonius, you and Varro go and get this ‘distraction’ of yours organised. I’ll pack up and get everything ready then I’ll find you.”

“We’ll take the bodies and leave them among the ruins.” Salonius agreed. “They should get a proper burial if all this works. When you’ve packed away, could you bring the horses over to the ruins?”

Catilina nodded and, as the two men untied their horses, surreptitiously tore a strip from the hem of her dress and broke her drawing stick in half so fashion a splint for her two damaged fingers. Tying the material off tightly with two of her fingers held uncomfortably straight, she set about the task of collecting their gear, carefully and wincing regularly. Damn it. She was still suffering general aches and pains from the wound in her shoulder and even the odd sharp pain when she turned wrong. Chuckling to herself, she realised she was beginning to sound suspiciously a little like Varro.

Varro grasped the reins of his horse and led it away into the darkness alongside Salonius, who checked over the strength and quality of a coil of rope as they walked.

“I hope you know what you’re doing” muttered Varro, giving the young man a sidelong glance.

“So do I” muttered Salonius fervently.

A little more than five minutes of frenzied activity later, three figures moved slowly and quietly away from the jagged broken mass of the central range toward the outer wall, leading their horses and stepping carefully to avoid unexpected hazards among the long grass. Catilina and Varro’s horses stepped lightly and quietly; Salonius’ moved slowly, its rider spending much of his time walking backwards and facing in the direction from which they’d come. Behind him a length of rope snaked out among the grass, one end knotted tightly around the horn of the young man’s saddle, the other anchored among the ruins with the precision of a career engineer. The curtain walls were now only twenty yards distant, and the three of them could just make out the shadowy arc that denoted the presence of the postern gate. Varro glanced back once more to check their progress, hoping his young companion’s calculations were correct.

Finally, very slowly, the waves of rope on the ground behind them began to straighten. Salonius gestured to Varro and then pointed back down behind them. The two men watched, Varro in relief, Salonius in satisfaction, as the rope gradually pulled tight and started to lift from the grass.

Salonius coaxed his steed onwards as the strain began to show in the horse’s manner, stamping its feet in frustration. The rope, having reached shoulder height, strained and creaked and the horse snorted its irritation.

Salonius looked up to find Varro giving him a concerned glare.

“Nothing else I can do now but trust to luck and judgement.”

“Huh.” Varro turned away and moved ahead, catching up with Catilina. The dark arch of the gateway loomed ahead and, grasping the steed’s bridle, he urged her on. The groaning and creaking behind him grew in pitch and volume and for long moments, as he plodded slowly forward one step at a time, he wondered whether he had misjudged the breaking strain of the rope or the condition of the walls.

The result when it came was so sudden and surprising, even for the one who planned it, that Salonius suddenly found himself jogging forward to try and restrain the horse. For a moment, he truly believed he had failed and that the rope had snapped somewhere along the line. The horse had shot forward and the rope whipped away in coils behind it.

He hurriedly brought the horse to a worried stop and turned just in time to see the tallest section of interior wall begin to move. A high section that would have supported the dormer windows at the very centre of the complex, replete with cornice and moulding, swayed for a moment towards him. Very slowly it rocked back to upright and, as Salonius held his breath, he watched it continue on past the vertical and rock out away from him. Once more, the tall spire of shattered wall reached a critical point and swung back with enough momentum that it continued on past the apex, picking up speed and falling with ponderous grace against the lower wall opposite. The domino effect began and, with a grin of sheer satisfaction, Salonius turned his back on the cacophony and jogged with his horse to catch up with the other two, just as they reached the dark archway.

The three of them mounted ready and lurked in the shadows, keeping their horses as quiet and still as possible while they watched the dust begin to settle in moonlight, a strange and otherworldly sight. Almost unbearably slowly the cloud began to clear and almost immediately they became aware of figures moving around and of dulled conversation.

“Come on.” Varro whispered, and very slowly and quietly they walked their horses out of the shadows and into the bright moonlight. It was a gamble, certainly. Three mounted figures would be plainly visible in the moonlight and the wall cast no shadow on this side. Likely, however, the men would be too busy examining the collapsing central range and that, combined with the confusion, the settling dust, and the fact that the three of them only had to cross around twenty yards of open ground, meant discovery was at least not a foregone conclusion.

Nervously, Salonius rode alongside Catilina at a steady walk, with Varro in front, almost at the point where the fallen wall created a steep bank. He held his breath, his eyes locked on the figures moving around at the centre. After what seemed an eternity, they reached the embankment and began to guide their horses slowly and painstakingly up the slope.

Once again, Salonius found himself wondering what in the heavens had given him this idea. The fact that they’d survived even the last ten minutes astounded him. That they might survive the long drop into a ditch, evade a small army and get away seemed such a farfetched proposition that it almost made him laugh.

The captain kicked his horse into action and ran up the steep slope as fast as the beast could manage. As he reached the top he disappeared from sight with a last cry that tailed off:

“Cernus!”

Racing now for his life, Salonius glanced across at Catilina. A confident rider, she bounded on ahead and over the crest. Swallowing nervously and painfully aware of his own lack of equestrian skill, he followed on, his heart racing. As he reached the top of the embankment of fallen wall, he had to fight the urge to haul on their reins and stop the beast. To stay here would be a death sentence. Forcing himself forwards, instead of slowing he picked up speed and charged ahead into the unknown.

The ground disappeared sharply before him and as he launched into his jump, he unintentionally clamped his eyes tightly shut. His heart skipped a beat and he was almost unhorsed as the beast landed heavily and awkwardly on the slope. His eyes shot open as he panicked, but as he glanced about wide-eyed, he realised that the beast was slowly walking in the shallow ditch. Varro and Catilina sat astride their horses at the top of the other side.

Chapter Fourteen

The ride had been furious and unrelenting for almost three hours. Varro had refused to slacken the pace for even a moment, and even Catilina now wore a concerned look, fearing for her horse. The poor beasts had been slowing through necessity for the last hour and would likely drop from exhaustion at any moment. In the eerie quiet of the night, they could always hear, just on the edge of their range, the sounds of pursuit. They’d been lucky really. It had taken their pursuers a good ten minutes to organise and follow on, the few ready and mounted outriders having kept an eye on the three fugitives as they travelled.

It had occurred to Salonius that perhaps they could have somehow hidden and evaded their pursuers, but Varro had been adamant. These were not only professional soldiers, but the chances were if they went back to Cristus with talk of failure they’d now see another dawn. Besides, the few outriders Varro had seen wore the uniforms and gear of northern barbarian scouts. He’d used such scouts himself on duties and knew they could track a rabbit over twenty miles by smell alone, they were that good.

No. Their only chance was to reach some place of safety, and that, to Varro’s mind was the sacred wood of Phaianis. Salonius was sceptical, though only in a background, racial fashion. In fairness, he told himself, his own people had plenty of sacred places, including copses and pools. Phaianis was the Imperial Goddess of the hunt and her places were inviolable, but Salonius’ problem was with Imperial pragmatism. His own people would never violate a sacred space, but then none of them would dare choose to seek shelter there either. But his years spent among the Imperial army had led the young northerner to the conclusion that the people of the Empire didn’t really believe in their Gods. They just kept them around because it was important to have someone to thank or someone to blame. That Varro was willing to break religious law and violate the sacred space of Phaianis was reason enough to worry that their hunters would do the same.

But Varro’s mind was made up and another thing Salonius had learned, though relatively recently, was that Captain Varro’s mind was changed with difficulty.

His horse slowed again, enough that he actually felt the change of pace and the shifting of the beast’s gait. Slapping the reins and kicking the horse’s flanks, he urged what speed was left in her, but with no success. Varro was ahead, but Catilina seemed to be having similar trouble.

“There!”

Varro’s voice calling out from ahead was such a relief Salonius actually smiled. The low, dark bulk of the sacred wood loomed on the slope ahead of them. They had ridden for hours through open countryside and Salonius wasn’t entirely sure exactly where they were any more. He knew of several shrines to Phaianis that the army’s scouts visited to pay homage, but had never been to one himself. He knew the main road to Crow Hill was somewhere off to their right, probably about five miles away, but that was the limit of his geography.

They had just crested a ridge and ahead of them lay a long, grassy slope that descended into a wide valley with a river at the bottom, as evidenced by the ever increasing sound of rushing water. The scene was almost as clear as day, given the bright moonlight and only occasional light, scudding clouds. An owl flew overhead, and Salonius followed its path until his eyes came to rest once more on the woods ahead.

Perhaps half way down the slope, the sacred grove of Phaianis occupied perhaps seventy or eighty acres. It was tightly packed with undergrowth; no human would have trodden paths through the wood, and the only point of ingress would be animal trails. The young man sighed. They would have to leave their horses out in the open. In a way, they had swapped the defensible ruins of the villa for an open wood and no steed. He fervently hoped that Varro knew what he was doing. As they approached the eaves of the wood, Varro finally slowed his shattered horse to a walk and the other two caught up with him.

Off to their right, perhaps twenty yards away, was an altar, ornate and decorative. Salonius couldn’t make out the detail from here, but the shallow depression in the top would undoubtedly be stained with long-dried blood from various animal sacrifices to the Huntress. The front face of the stone would detail the soldier or wealthy civilian who had set up the altar, either as a gift of thanksgiving or a plea for future aid. Such altars would ring the wood.

Dismounting, Varro began to remove his kit from the horse. As Salonius and Catilina followed suit, the captain turned to the elegant young lady and stretched.

“I know you’re not going to like this, Catilina, but the plain truth is that it’s me they’re after. They’d hunt young Salonius here too now, but if you get out of here you’ll be safe. They’ll not do anything to the marshal’s daughter if you’re not with us. We’re going in, but you should saddle back up and head for Vengen again while they’re busy with us.”

“You idiot.”