Bronze Summer

49

The Second Year After the Fire Mountain: Autumn

After the landing that became known as Midsummer Invasion, Qirum quickly broke through the crust of defences on the south coast. Hopes that the invaders would be hampered by the marshy country and the relative scarcity of food stores proved unfounded; scouts and nestspills fleeing his advance reported that he marched north with shocking speed. The Trojan knew Northland, and was well prepared.

And soon Qirum was building what was rumoured to be a city in the very heart of Northland: ‘New Troy’, only days to the south of the Wall itself.

All this came in the course of another difficult summer without sunlight, another summer of hard scavenging on land and sea — a summer soon terminated by early frosts. The Trojan was feared by all, understood by nobody. Many believed he was the embodiment of the little mothers’ abandonment of the world. Nobody but a few hotheads wanted to fight him.

Then Qirum offered to talk.

The emissary from New Troy was a tough-looking Hatti soldier called Erishum. In a smoky chamber deep within the Wall, he and his two companions addressed the Annids in their conclave. Milaqa was summoned to attend, with Deri and Teel.

Milaqa thought the three men from New Troy looked utterly out of place here. Fully armoured, bristling with weapons, heavily muscled, they were like lions among young deer. Yet Raka faced the men bravely, though she was dwarfed by them, and spoke well and clearly.

Teel murmured, ‘An embassy from a king! The newest king in the whole world, I imagine.’

Deri was disgusted. ‘Just another brute from a pack of brutes — but a tough one.’

‘Yet he appears to have come here offering peace between us.’

‘Peace, brother! There can no more be peace between us and the cattle-folk than between fire and water.’

‘But he is not talking of peace,’ Milaqa murmured. ‘Maybe my Trojan is better than yours, uncle…’ The priest who was translating Erishum’s Trojan and Raka’s Etxelur tongue spoke clearly enough for all to hear. ‘I think the word the priest gave as “peace” was not quite that. Not “treaty” either.’

Teel eyed her. ‘You spent more time than any of us with Qirum; you should know what he means to say if anybody does. Then what is the man offering?’

‘The word is more like “challenge”.’

The Annids who surrounded Raka didn’t really know what the warriors wanted. None of them understood a warrior-prince like Qirum, Milaqa realised. But any opportunity to avoid further bloodshed should be taken.

An agreement was reached. A party would be sent to New Troy to hear Qirum out. And as Raka pondered who would travel, Teel wormed his way forward and whispered urgently in her ear, pointing back at Deri and Milaqa.

It was quickly decided that the elder Annid Noli, representing Raka, would lead just three people back to New Troy, with Qirum’s warriors, drawn from the group who had earlier travelled to Hattusa: Teel himself, Deri who since his defiant fighting on the day of the Midsummer Invasion had proven himself a symbol of Northland’s robust defiance — and Milaqa. Milaqa who had been able to translate Erishum’s phrasing more accurately than Raka’s own translator. Milaqa who, as everybody seemed to have heard by now, knew Qirum himself more closely than anyone in Northland. She wasn’t given the chance to refuse.

As the meeting broke up Milaqa felt a swirl of emotions. She was still just eighteen years old. Here she was about to walk into the very heart of an epochal conflict. And once again she would be dealing with Qirum, the most exciting, terrifying, disturbing element in her life.

Mostly she was resentful. ‘You’re using me,’ she accused Teel. ‘Again. Because you think I have a connection to Qirum.’

‘Well, you do.’ He grinned at her anger. ‘You always did. And you helped him escape in Hattusa. I could say this is all your fault.’

She flared. ‘I’ll never apologise for saving a life. Kilushepa plotted to have him killed — his reputation destroyed — it was all lies, and you know it.’

‘Fine. But what did you think would follow?’ He laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Oh, it’s not your fault, little Crow. You’re right, an impulse to save a friend can never be wrong, whatever that friend chooses to do with the life you give him back. And, yes, I’m using you. I have no choice. In such times one must use every available resource. But I haven’t forgotten I’m your uncle. I know I’m supposed to protect you, not lead you into danger. Forgive me.’

‘Forgive you for what?’

‘For the next time I do it. You should get ready; Erishum wants to leave tomorrow.’

Milaqa went straight to the Scambles and got comprehensively drunk.