‘When the season’s over and we go back to our homes, we’re all different people,’ Tarn said, standing at Berren’s shoulder. ‘But together we become something else. All here are equal, be they a prince or a peasant. That’s the secret of the Prince of War.’ He stopped and turned to face Berren. ‘I’ll take you to that ship he found for you if you ask me to, but I know this is what you wanted. While you’re with us, you’re no better and no worse than any other soldier here. You’ll fight beside them. If it comes to it, you’ll die beside them, so best you get to know them.’
Berren could barely keep his eyes open. The burns on his back hurt every bit as much as the floggings he’d had as a skag; this time though, he felt a warmth inside him. For the first time in his life he was part of a family. ‘He won’t like it,’ he said. ‘He’ll send me away. Just like his brother did.’
‘He might.’ Tarn tapped him lightly — even that sent a jolt of pain through him enough to make him wince. ‘But not today and tomorrow we’ll be at sea. Come on. Let’s get you seen to.’
PART TWO
9
For three days Berren stayed below decks, lying flat on his front with some sweet-smelling salve lathered across his skin. He slept a lot and drank a lot. When he complained that he was bored, Tarn declared that he must be getting better and let him walk around the ship wearing a nightshirt. He had blisters the size of lobsters on his back and on his legs, but he hobbled up the ladder to the deck as eager as could be to get away from the sweat-stink below. He took a deep breath of cold fresh air and welcomed the wind into his hair, the stinging rain on his face. The ship was close to land, ploughing steadily through the waves with a good breeze from the stern. He strained his eyes, trying to see whether he could recognise the shape of the coastline. The misty rain blurred cliffs into grey shapes, while great fingers of dark rock pushed out into the sea, their sides sheer and marked only by the nests of birds and the occasional tuft of grass, their tops crowned with a scattering of windswept trees. Elsewhere, channels of water split the cliffs apart and wound away into the land.
‘They run for miles,’ Tarn told him when he pointed.
As the day went on he began to see that where each channel reached the sea, the water was dotted with tiny islands, little more than heaps of boulders. Strange animals sat on them — seals, Tarn called them. Berren watched it all roll past, savouring the feel of the wind and the taste of the salt spray on his tongue. He was on a ship. He wasn’t a skag. He was on a ship and he was happy. He’d thought he’d never feel that again.
They followed the coast for two more days then slowed and turned, edging their way into one of the channels. With its boats launched to guide it, the ship crept between two vertical walls of rock that were twice as high as the tallest mast. Near the entrance to the inlet Berren watched fish eagles circle. Further in, he stared at the myriad of tiny waterfalls that plunged off the top of the cliffs and only managed to get halfway to the sea before being lost in clouds of white spray. By now he was wearing a light leather jerkin like the other soldiers, though the worst of his burns were still wrapped in bandages. Tarn had even managed to find him a black shirt with a crude silver hawk painted on it.
‘You’re one of us now,’ he said. ‘I won’t ask you to take a turn at the oars just yet, but don’t worry, we’ll make up for it once your skin’s healed. A good dose of latrine duty, I think.’ He grinned.
The ship eased on through the channel for the rest of the day and into the early part of the night. When Berren next climbed up onto the deck they were anchored in the middle of a wide curving bay, shielded on all sides by steep rocky cliffs. Boatloads of soldiers were already being ferried to the shore. Talon stood poised at the prow, his eyes on everything. When he saw Berren and Tarn, he beckoned them closer and pointed to the slopes at the edge of the bay.
‘Tarn, take your cohort up there. Find me a path to the top. Take a position on the ridge and send word to the rest of the company. You should find yourself looking down on another bay like this one and there should be a camp or a stronghold of some sort on the shore. There might even be a ship. We’ll be taking both but most of all I need to know about the ship. Send a runner to report what you see. If you think it’s safe to do so then scout ahead.’ His eyes glanced across to Berren, unreadable. ‘I’m still sending you back to Deephaven at the first chance we get, but you can go with Tarn for now. Unless he wants you kept out of the way, of course.’ He nodded towards where men were already climbing over a net thrown down the side of the ship to a boat waiting in the water. ‘That’s yours. Quick now!’
Berren looked at Tarn, who shrugged his shoulders. ‘Happy enough to have you,’ he said. ‘If you think you can fight.’
Berren followed Tarn to the boat and sat with him as it filled. There were another seventeen men in the cohort, too many for a single trip, and by the time they were together at the base of the cliff Tarn had already found the path that Talon had described. Berren ran ahead, up to where it dived into the wall of trees that lined the top of the ridge. He turned back, waved to show that the path was good and then loped on into the woods. From the outside, in the sunlight, the leaves on the trees were a verdant green. From the gloom beneath though, they seemed nearly black, and only a little light reached through them. The ground was covered in a soft layer of moss and leaf mould and little else. The path vanished but Berren plunged on, marking as straight a line as he could. A minute later he emerged on the other side where the ridge fell sharply away again. Spread out below him, a semicircular bowl filled with trees sloped down to the water’s edge, and in the middle, close to the shore, three buildings sat in a clearing. A thin column of smoke rose from one. Out in the water a small ship lay at anchor. Everything as Talon had said. He stood still and listened. Far away someone was screaming.
Tarn came and settled next to him, the rest of the cohort arrayed at the edge of the trees. Berren scratched at the bandages on his shoulders. The skin underneath had started to itch and now it wouldn’t stop. ‘What are we doing here?’
More screams wafted up from below. ‘Slavers,’ said Tarn brusquely. He clenched and unclenched his fists, got up, paced for a bit and then sat down again. ‘It could be an hour before the rest of the company gets up here,’ he muttered. ‘Is there another way down?’
‘Not much cover on that slope,’ said someone. ‘Whole company goes down there at once, someone’s bound to see us.’
‘Bit steep too,’ said someone else. ‘Most likely someone will slip. Be a noise.’
‘Shouldn’t we wait for Talon?’ asked Berren, but the others ignored him and went on. They’d already made up their minds.
‘Aye. What you’d need is a small force to go in first. Can’t be too many of them down there.’
‘Take them by surprise before they can raise the alarm?’
‘Maybe get to that ship.’
‘About a cohort, I’d say.’
‘Aye.’
Tarn cocked his head. ‘Scout a path for the main force? Deal with the sentries? Is that us? You know what? I do seem to remember Talon said something about doing just that.’