The squealing bawl of a needra momentarily defeated thought. Keyoke glanced to one side and pointed to a slight overhang. ‘Then climb up there and hide. When the Minwanabi dogs march past, judge your moment and double back to the main road. Make your way swiftly to the estate. Tell Lady Mara where the goods have been hidden. When it is clear the Minwanabi are close to breaking through, I shall burn the silk we carry. With luck, our enemies will assume we have destroyed all to deny them spoils. Most important, tell our mistress that we have been betrayed; we may have a spy in our house. Now go.’
Honoured at being chosen for the important assignment, Wiallo nodded smartly and began to climb. At the top of the boulder, he removed his helm and crouched to avoid being seen by the enemies soon to pass below. Staring downward, Wiallo called, ‘May the gods preserve you, Force Commander; send many Minwanabi dogs to the halls of Turakamu tonight!’
Keyoke returned a quick nod. ‘And may Chochocan guide your steps.’
The next man in line gathered up Wiallo’s abandoned bolt of silk and stoically resumed his march. Silent, grim, and too preoccupied to dwell on his aches, Keyoke bent his knees and crawled over ground turned jagged with gravel. With the reek of needra droppings sharp in his nose, he wormed under the stone outcrop and pressed forward to lead his struggling company.
The night deepened, and the moonlight flashed and vanished behind a rim of black rock. Insects chittered in a forest where night birds did not sing, and the wind whispered secrets in the leaves. Men moved like ghosts through the mist-shrouded defile, their feet sliding to find purchase upon wet roots and moss-covered rocks. The clack of lacquered armour echoed down the ravine, cut by the whine of the hide whips the drovers used to prod the needra. Of the soldiers and servants hurrying through the night, none reached the small canyon without bloodied arms and knees, and the needra stood shivering and lamed, their coats rankly matted with sweat.
Under starlight, Keyoke issued brisk orders as he surveyed the canyon where they would make their stand. Men shed their loads of silk and began to throw up a barricade of boulders, logs, and earth dug in haste from the stream bed, between the water-smoothed walls of rock that formed at the canyon’s entrance. Servants slew needra and piled the still-kicking carcasses into breastworks to provide cover from the archers that would surely be deployed above them on the canyon’s rim. The night air grew thick with the reek of fresh blood and the heavier odour of excrement.
Keyoke ordered the servants to butcher one of the carcasses, and build a small fire to cook and dry the meat. Soldiers could not fight without sustenance. Finally, soldiers stacked the bolts of precious silks like a palisade in a hollow to the rear of the canyon. Piled before the rise of the cliff wall, the beautiful, iridescent rolls of cloth would serve as a niche to fall back to, in the extremity of a final stand.
Then, hoarse from calling orders, Keyoke knelt before a pool of water fed by a small waterfall that splashed through an unscalable cleft in the rim. He unstrapped his helm, rinsed his parched face, then did up the buckle with hands that betrayed him by shaking. He was not afraid; he had led charges in too many battles to fear any death by the blade. No, it was age, and weariness, and sorrow for his Lady that set his fingers trembling at their task. Keyoke checked his sword, and then his knives in their sheaths, and lastly looked up to find the water boy with his dipper awaiting a turn at the brook. The boy was also shaking, though his shoulders were held straight as any man’s.
Proud of even the smallest member of his company, Keyoke said, ‘We have enough water here to last as long as we need. See that the soldiers drink deeply.’
The boy managed an unsteady smile. ‘Yes, Force Commander.’ He splashed his pail into the pool, as ready to die for his mistress as the most hardened soldier.
Keyoke arose and turned his gaze over the bustling activity, the servants huddled over the smothered campfires, the warriors on guard at the barricades; there was no laxity in discipline. These soldiers resisted the novice’s tendency to look toward the light; they needed no reminder to know their survival depended upon unspoiled night vision. Keyoke sighed imperceptibly, knowing nothing was left to be done but to make rounds and give encouragement to men who knew their lives were measured now in hours.
Keyoke swallowed needra steak whose juices held no savour. To the cook who took his empty plate he said, ‘Be my spokesman to the servants; should the Minwanabi break past our front barricade, and our last soldiers lie dying, use the shields to scoop up the burning brands and hurl them into the silk. Then throw yourselves at the Minwanabi, that they must kill you with swords and grant you honourable deaths.’
The cook bowed his head in abject gratitude. ‘You honour us, Force Commander.’
Keyoke returned a smile. ‘You will honour your Lady and your house by carrying out your orders. In this you must be like warriors.’