Ranger's Apprentice 10: The Emperor of Nihon-Ja (6 page)

Nihon-Ja

After George left them and headed down the back trail towards the port of Iwanai, Shukin picked up the pace.

Now, as they kept their horses in a steady canter along the narrow, muddy mountain track, Horace realised just how much George had been slowing them down and felt a guilty sense of relief that he’d convinced his fellow countryman to go his separate way.

The rest of the party, all of them skilled horsemen, managed easily and the local ponies, somewhat smaller than the battlehorse that Horace was used to, were sturdy and long winded. Best of all, he thought, as his mount slithered, slid and then recovered himself, they were sure-footed beasts, well used to these sloping, rough mountain trails.

One of the escort noticed the stumble and saw Horace suddenly sit up straight in the saddle before the horse recovered his footing. He rode up close beside him.

‘Leave it to the horse, Or’ss-san,’ he said quietly. ‘He’s used to this sort of terrain and he’ll manage by himself.’

‘So I noticed,’ Horace said, between clenched teeth. When the uneven ground gave under his horse’s hooves again, he forced himself to remain loose and supple in the saddle, instead of tightening his muscles and bracing himself, and trying to haul the horse’s head back up again. The horse grunted as he recovered. Horace had the uncomfortable feeling that it was a grunt of grudging appreciation, as if the horse were saying to him:
That’s better. Just sit easily, you big bag of bones, and leave the work to me.

He reached forward and patted the horse’s neck. The animal responded by shaking its head and mane.

They rode on, maintaining a steady canter for half an hour, then letting the horses walk and trot for the next twenty minutes. It was similar to the forced march pace of the Rangers, which Horace had learned from Halt and Will in their travels together. And while at first he begrudged the time spent at the slower pace, he knew that in the long run they would cover more distance in a day this way.

The sun was a milky presence, glowing weakly through the scudding grey clouds that passed over them. When Shukin judged it was pretty well directly overhead, he signalled a halt at a spot where the trail widened and formed a small, level clearing.

‘We’ll eat and rest for a short time,’ he said. ‘That’ll give us and the horses a chance to recover.’

They unsaddled the horses and rubbed them down. In this weather, it wouldn’t do to leave the sweat on them to dry and cool in the chill wind. While this was going on, three of the servants unpacked food from the panniers they carried behind their saddles. By the time the riders had tended to their horses, the food was ready, and the servants had a fire going to make tea.

Horace accepted a plate of pickles, smoked trout and spiced rice rolled into balls, and made his way to a level patch of ground. He hunkered down on a fallen log, groaning slightly as his knees and thighs let him know how hard they had been working. It was pleasant to rest for a few minutes, he thought. He just hoped that the brief stop wouldn’t be enough to let his muscles stiffen. If they did, the first half hour on the trail again would be torture. He resolved to get up and walk around the clearing once he had eaten.

The food was good. Light, tasty and with a welcome tang. Horace looked at the size of the helping on his plate. The Nihon-Jan were, on the whole, a small race. He felt he could have happily dealt with a much larger portion of lunch. Then he shrugged philosophically. He always thought that, wherever he was and whatever he was given.

Shukin, having checked that Shigeru needed nothing, had done a quick tour of the temporary camp, ensuring that all the men were eating and none of the horses had developed problems. Then, when he was satisfied, a servant handed him a plate of food and he sank down on the log beside Horace. The Araluan noted glumly that Shukin, used to sitting cross-legged on the ground since childhood, showed no sign of stiffness or discomfort as he sat.

‘How far do you plan to go today?’ Horace asked him.

Shukin screwed up his face as he considered the question. ‘I had hoped to cross the Sarinaki River,’ he said. He indicated the direction they had been travelling in. ‘It’s another twenty kilometres uphill from here. There’s a waterfall with a crossing just above it.’

‘We should be able to make that distance,’ Horace said. ‘We’ve got another five hours of daylight, at least.’

‘Depending on the trail,’ Shukin told him. ‘It’s relatively easy going at the moment but it gets steeper and rougher in a few kilometres. That will slow us down.’

‘Hmmm. That could be a problem. And if it rains, the track will get more slippery, I suppose?’ Horace asked.

The Senshi lord nodded. ‘It certainly won’t help. But if we can, I’d like to get across the river before dark.’

That made sense to Horace. Crossing a river just upstream of a high waterfall could be a difficult and dangerous business. And any waterfall in this mountainous terrain would be a high one, he knew.

‘The crossing’s tricky, is it?’ he asked.

Shukin pushed out his bottom lip and made a so-so gesture with his hand. ‘It’s not the easiest,’ he admitted. ‘But I have another reason for wanting to get there before dark. The spot commands a view of the country below us. I’d like the chance to see if there’s any sign of Arisaka and his men.’

Travelling as they were, surrounded by high, dense trees on either side of the trail, they could gather little knowledge of what was going on behind them. Horace realised that Shukin was feeling the inevitable uncertainty of any leader conducting a retreat from a superior force. He needed to know where their pursuers were – how close they were, whether they were gaining on the small party that travelled with the Emperor. Running blind, as they were, was a recipe for tension and uncertainty. You never knew when armed warriors might burst out of the trees, yelling their battle cries, swords poised to strike.

Just as they had that morning.

‘And if we don’t make the river?’ Horace asked. It was all very well to plan for the best possible circumstances. But the worst possible had to be considered as well.

Shukin shrugged. ‘There’s a small village not far from the falls. We’ll shelter there for the night.’

The rain, which had been absent for almost an hour, began again as he spoke. It was a light, misting rain, deceptive in its intensity. It seemed harmless enough at first but it was constant and unremitting. After ten to fifteen minutes of this, Horace knew, cloaks and trousers would become saturated, so that the water, no longer being absorbed by the weave, would flow off and run down into boot tops. It didn’t take long under these conditions for a person to become sodden and miserable.

‘Well, if we don’t make the falls,’ Horace said philosophically, ‘at least we’ll have somewhere dry to sleep tonight.’

The rain turned the surface of the trail to a slippery, glue-like consistency. The horses lurched and stumbled upwards, occasionally causing Horace’s hair to stand on end as he caught glimpses of the dizzying depths below him, when the screen of trees beside the road thinned from time to time.

Even more serious, the thick, sticky mud built up on the horses’ hooves, forcing the riders to stop frequently and clear the mess away.

He saw Shukin glancing more frequently at the pale, watery disc that marked the sun’s position. The Senshi lord’s face was fixed in a frown now. It was midafternoon and Horace, even though he wasn’t sure how far they had travelled, knew it was nothing like the distance they would have to cover if they were to cross the river in daylight. Eventually, with a slumping of his shoulders, Shukin seemed to come to the same opinion. He held up his hand to stop the little column and edged his horse back down the slope to where the Emperor sat patiently. Horace urged his own horse closer to join in the discussion.

‘We won’t get across the river tonight,’ Shukin said.

Shigeru pursed his lips in disappointment. ‘You’re sure?’ he asked, then he waved any possible answer aside as he corrected himself. ‘Of course you’re sure. You wouldn’t have said it, otherwise.’

‘I’m sorry, cousin,’ Shukin said, but Shigeru repeated the dismissive wave of his hand.

‘You’ve done everything possible,’ he said. ‘I can’t blame you for the rain – or for this mud.’

He glanced meaningfully down at the irregular balls of mud that encased his horse’s feet. As he did so, one of his servants slipped from his saddle and hurried forward to clean the sticky mass away. Shigeru looked down at the man as he bent over the horse’s left forefoot.

‘I should send him away and do that myself,’ he said ruefully. ‘A man should attend to his own horse.’ He paused, then allowed himself a weary grin. ‘But I’m just too damned tired.’

Horace smiled in return. ‘It’s good to be the Emperor,’ he said and Shigeru regarded him cynically.

‘Oh yes indeed. Look at the excellent time I’m having. Warm, comfortable travelling conditions. Plenty of good food and drink and a soft bed at the end of the trail. What more could I ask?’

He and Horace shared the small joke but Shukin lowered his gaze. ‘I’m sorry, cousin,’ he said bitterly. ‘You don’t deserve this.’

Shigeru reached over in the saddle and laid a gentle hand on his cousin’s shoulder.

‘
I’m
sorry, Shukin,’ he said. ‘I’m not complaining. I know you’re doing your best to keep me safe. I’ll be grateful for a straw bed in a leaky hut in some small village tonight.’

‘Unfortunately, that seems to be what’s in store for us,’ Shukin agreed. ‘A little further up this rise, the road levels out and forks. Left leads to the falls and the crossing. Right leads us to a timber cutters’ village. We’ll turn right.’

‘One thing,’ Shigeru added doubtfully. ‘Will this rain have any effect on the crossing? What if it causes the river to rise? Should we perhaps try to get there even if it is in the dark?’

But Shukin shook his head without any sign of uncertainty. ‘It’s not heavy enough for that. The water doesn’t build up because it escapes so easily at the falls.’

Shigeru smiled at his cousin, understanding how heavily the responsibility for his Emperor’s safety and wellbeing was lying on the Senshi’s shoulders.

‘Well, my friend, there’s no sense in bemoaning what we can’t achieve today. Let’s get on with what we can achieve and find this village. As Or’ss-san mentioned earlier, at least we’ll have somewhere dry to sleep tonight.’ He included Horace in the smile.

Shukin nodded and turned to issue a command to the small column. As they moved out, Horace noticed that Shukin now had a determined set to his shoulders. Not for the first time, Horace reflected on how the Emperor’s good-humoured, unselfish response to setbacks could inspire so much more loyalty and effort from his subordinates than blustering and bullying could ever achieve. It was a valuable lesson in leadership, he thought.

It was another difficult two hours on the trail, riding, slithering, sliding and stumbling before they reached level ground once more. Shukin called a brief halt while horses and men caught their breath for a few minutes. He consulted his map, with one of his troops holding a waterproof cape over him. There was barely enough light to see the details on the sheet, Horace thought, but the Senshi warrior folded the map away and pointed down the trail.

‘Ten more minutes,’ he said.

A little while after, they saw the glimmer of lights through the trees, flickering intermittently as branches, moving in the wind, interposed themselves between them. Then, abruptly, they were in a clearing, at the beginning of a small group of thatched-roof cabins. Warm yellow light glowed through the waxed-paper window panes of the houses and smoke curled from several chimneys. The smell of woodsmoke spoke to Horace of warm rooms and hot food and tea. Suddenly, he was eager to dismount.

As he had the thought, he became aware of movement in his peripheral vision. He looked to the side and saw doors sliding open as dark forms materialised on the wooden porches that fronted the houses.

The villagers were emerging from their homes to welcome the strangers who had arrived among them.

At least, Horace hoped they were planning a welcome.

Wolfwill
had been sailing east for two days, and Toscana was far behind them. The strangely rigged ship, with a curving triangular sail whose boom was set at a steep angle to the vertical mast, was swooping eagerly over the small waves, with the wind on her beam. The sail had been trimmed right round until its curved, swelling length was almost parallel to the line of the ship itself. The rigging hummed with the wind of their passage and the deck vibrated slightly underneath their feet. It was an exhilarating feeling, putting Will in mind of one of the low-flying seabirds that accompanied the ship for hours each day, planing easily just above the surface of the sea, with hardly any perceptible movement of their wings.

The Araluans and Selethen were gathered in the prow, leaving the main deck clear for the sailors to work the mast and sails. With this wind and this speed, there was no need for rowers, although the ship could mount eight long oars a side, in case the wind should drop.

Even Halt had joined them. Wisely, none of them commented on the fact that this was the first they had seen of him in the past two days. Evanlyn, Alyss and Will knew the delicate nature of Halt’s stomach in the opening hours of any sea journey and they had appraised Selethen of the grey-bearded Ranger’s touchiness on the subject.

Halt eyed them balefully. They were all being so obvious about not mentioning his sudden reappearance that it was even worse than if they had commented, he thought.

‘Oh go on!’ he said. ‘Somebody say something! I know what you’re thinking!’

‘It’s good to see you up and about, Halt,’ Selethen said gravely. Of all of them, he was the most capable of keeping a straight face when he said it.

Halt glared at the others and they quickly chorused their pleasure at seeing him back to his normal self. But he could see the grins they didn’t quite manage to hide. He fixed a glare on Alyss.

‘I’m surprised at you, Alyss,’ he said. ‘I expected no better of Will and Evanlyn, of course. Heartless beasts, the pair of them. But you! I thought you had been better trained!’

Which was a particularly barbed comment, seeing how Alyss’s mentor had been none other than Lady Pauline, Halt’s beloved wife.

Alyss reached a hand out and touched his arm gently.

‘Halt, I am sorry! It’s not funny, you’re right…Shut up, Will.’ This last was directed at Will as he tried, unsuccessfully, to smother a snigger. ‘There is nothing funny about
mal de mer
. It’s a serious business.’

Halt was a little taken aback when he heard that. He thought he had nothing more than seasickness. An annoying problem, admittedly, but one that passed within a day or two of being at sea. But Alyss seemed to believe it was something far more exotic. And the more exotic an illness was, the more life-threatening it might be.

‘Malldy-mur?’ he said with a twinge of anxiety. ‘What is this Malldy-mur?’

‘It’s Gallican,’ Alyss told him. She had used the phrase because she knew how much Halt hated the word ‘seasick’. If one were wise, the word was never even uttered in Halt’s presence. She glanced at the others but they offered no help. None of them would meet her gaze.
You got yourself into this
, they seemed to be saying.
Now you can get yourself out.

Halt was right, she thought. They were heartless beasts.

‘It means…“seasick”,’ she finished weakly.

‘I thought you spoke Gallican, Halt,’ said Evanlyn.

He drew himself upright with some dignity. ‘I do. My Gallican is excellent. But I can’t be expected to memorise every obscure phrase in the language. And Alyss’s pronunciation leaves a little to be desired.’

The others hastened to agree that no, he certainly couldn’t, and yes, her pronunciation certainly did. Halt looked around them, feeling that honour had been suitably restored. It has to be admitted that, in a sneaking way, while he hated the discomfort of seasickness, once he was over it, he enjoyed the attention and sympathy that it created among attractive young women like Evanlyn and Alyss. And he liked the fact that Will tended to walk on eggshells around him when the problem was mentioned. Keeping Will off balance was always desirable.

Things took a downward turn, however, as Gundar, seeing Halt upright for the first time in two days, stumped up the deck to join them.

‘Back on your feet then?’ he boomed cheerfully, with typical Skandian tact. ‘By Gorlog’s toenails, with all the heaving and puking you’ve been doing, I thought you’d turn yourself inside out and puke yourself over the rail!’

At which graphic description, Alyss and Evanlyn blanched and turned away.

‘You do paint a pretty picture, Gundar,’ Will said and Selethen allowed himself a smile.

‘Thank you for your concern,’ Halt said icily. Of all people, Skandians seemed the most intolerant of seasickness – or, as he now knew it, malldy-mur. He made a mental note to get Gundar on horseback as soon as they reached Nihon-Ja. Skandians were notoriously bad riders.

‘So, did you find Albert?’ Gundar went on, unabashed. Even Halt was puzzled by his sudden apparent change of subject.

‘Albert?’ he asked. Too late, he saw Gundar’s grin widening and knew he’d stepped into a trap.

‘You seemed to be looking for him. You’d lean over the rail and call, “Al-b-e-e-e-e-e-r-t!” I thought he might be some Araluan sea god.’

The others had to agree that Gundar’s drawn-out enunciation of the name sounded very much like the sound of Halt’s desperate, heartfelt retching over the side. Halt glared at the sea wolf.

‘No. I didn’t find him. Maybe I could look for him in your helmet.’

He reached out a hand. But Gundar had heard what happened when Skandians lent their helmets to the grim-faced Ranger while on board ship and he backed away a pace.

‘No. I’m pretty sure he’s not there,’ he said hurriedly.

Selethen, ever the diplomat, thought it might be time to get everybody’s minds off Halt’s stomach.

‘This is an interesting ship, captain,’ he said to Gundar. ‘I can’t remember seeing one quite like it. And I’ve seen many Skandian wolfships in my time,’ he added meaningfully.

Selethen was the
Wakir
, or local ruler, of one of Arrida’s coastal provinces. He’d usually seen wolfships while they were engaged in raiding his towns. Gundar was oblivious to the reference. But, as Selethen had suspected, like any Skandian, he was eager to talk about his ship.

‘She’s a fine ship!’ he enthused. ‘Built her myself, up on the banks of a river in north Araluen – remember, Will?’ He looked to Will for confirmation. Gundar and his crew, having been shipwrecked on the north coast, had been conscripted by Will to assist him in the siege of Castle Macindaw. As a reward for their services, they had been granted permission to stay in Araluen while they built a new ship for the journey home. Will had also been instrumental in making sure that timber, cordage, canvas, tar and other materials were supplied to them at the bare minimum price.

‘I remember well enough,’ Will agreed. ‘But she was square-rigged then. This new sail arrangement is something quite different.’

‘Ah yes, the
Heron
sail plan. It’s really something,’ Gundar agreed. ‘We kept the hull and changed the mast, sails and rigging.’

‘Why do you call it the
Heron
sail plan?’ Alyss asked.

Gundar beamed at her. He had met Alyss at Macindaw as well, and been rewarded by a kiss on his bearded cheek when they were reacquainted in Toscana. Gundar was partial to being kissed by beautiful blondes. But he sensed there was something between this particular one and Will, so he took things no further.

‘It’s named for the original ship rigged this way. The
Heron.
Not really a ship at all – she was only three-quarters the size of a wolfship. But the mast and sail plan were a brilliant new arrangement. It was the brainchild of a young Skandian lad. A genius, he was.’

‘I’d heard he was half-Araluan,’ Halt put in dryly.

Gundar eyed him for a moment. Most Skandians these days chose to forget that they had sneered at the design when they had first seen it.

‘Maybe he was and maybe he wasn’t,’ Gundar said, then continued, with a total lack of logic, ‘But it was the Skandian half that came up with the design. Everyone knows Araluans know nothing about ships.’

‘Really?’ Halt said.

Gundar glared at him. ‘Well, of course. That’s why so many of them start heaving their guts up the minute they step aboard.’

Will saw the conversation heading back into danger. ‘So tell us about this design. How does it work?’

‘The most important part of it is that it lets us sail into the wind,’ Gundar told them.

‘Into the wind?’ Halt said. ‘How can that be possible?’

Gundar puckered his face in a frown. He was reluctant to admit any shortcoming in his ship, but he knew that if he didn’t answer truthfully, his audience would see through his boasting eventually.

‘Not really
into
the wind,’ he admitted. ‘We can sail across it, gradually making ground against it. We’re able to move at an angle to the wind so we can still make progress when it’s on our bow. No square-rigged ship can do that.’

‘So that’s why you were constantly changing direction yesterday when the wind was against us?’ Selethen asked.

‘That’s right. We move diagonally to the wind. Then after a while, we switch and go the other way, gradually zigzagging in the direction we want. We call it tacking.’

‘Why?’ Alyss asked and he frowned again. He’d never queried why the manoeuvre he’d described was called tacking. Gundar was an accepting person, with a non-inquiring mind.

‘Because…that’s what it’s called,’ he said. ‘Tacking.’

Wisely, Alyss pursued the matter no further. Will hid a small smile with his hand. He knew Alyss and knew that Gundar’s answer was totally inadequate to her inquisitive mind. He thought it best they should move on.

‘So how does it actually work?’ he asked. Gundar looked at him gratefully. This part he could explain.

‘Well, the young Skandian lad who designed it,’ he glared quickly at Halt, daring him to challenge the inventor’s nationality again, ‘had spent a lot of time studying seabirds, particularly the shape of their wings. He thought it might be a good idea to stiffen the front edge of the sail like a bird’s wing, and shape the sail itself so it was triangular, not square.

‘So he shortened the main mast, then designed that flexible curved boom you see that sits on top. The boom strengthens and supports the leading edge of the sail so that we can face it into the wind. A traditional square-rigged sail would simply flutter and vibrate and lose its shape. But with the boom, the sail forms a smooth curve so that we can redirect the driving force of the wind much more efficiently. The result is, the ship can move at an angle to the direction the wind is blowing from. In effect, we can sail against the wind.’

He paused, seeing a few questioning faces, then amended his statement. ‘All right. Across the wind. But it’s a huge improvement on the old square sail. That’s unusable once the wind is any farther forward than dead abeam.’

‘But you’ve duplicated that thin top boom and the sail,’ Evanlyn said. And she was right. On the deck, lying fore and aft, was another boom, with its sail furled around it. It lay on the opposite side of the mast to the boom that was currently in place.

Gundar favoured her with a smile. ‘That’s the beauty of this design,’ he told her. ‘As you can see, the sail is currently on the starboard side of the mast, with the wind coming from the port side, so it’s blown away from the mast into a perfect curve. When we tack…’ He glanced quickly at Alyss but she kept her expression blank. ‘The wind will be on the starboard side, forcing the sail against the mast, so that the perfect wing shape would be spoiled. So we rig another boom and sail on the port side. Then, when we tack, we lower the starboard sail and raise the port sail. The two are linked by rope through a pulley at the masthead, so that the weight of one coming down actually helps us raise the other one.’

‘Ingenious,’ Halt said at length.

Gundar Hardstriker smiled modestly. ‘Well…most of us Skandians are.’