Kushiel's Mercy (Imriel's Trilogy #3)

Kushiel's Mercy (Imriel's Trilogy #3) Page 63

We waited.

Liberio’s soldiers scuttled under their burden. Dim figures peeled away from the fighting on both fronts. I couldn’t tell if they were Amíl-car’s men or Carthage’s. Both, I thought. Metal clashed on metal. I settled my buckler on my left arm and drew my sword. Our fellows wrestled the gangplank into place, bridging the trench.

“Now!” Aureliano shouted.

He led the charge, spear lowered. One by one, we followed.

Single file.

This was the hardest part, the worst part. I fell in behind Sidonie. The speed of our passage had blown her hood back, loosened her hair. It streamed, silver in the moonlight. I saw a figure racing to intercept her on foot, wielding a throwing-axe. I dug my heels hard into my mount’s flanks, passing her. I rode him down before he had a chance to throw, trampling him. My mount balked and shied.

“Go!” I shouted at Sidonie, pointing with my sword toward the improvised bridge.

She went.

Several of Aureliano’s men passed me. I wrestled my mount under control, cursing him. The rearguard checked their horses, yelling at me. I rejoined the column. We thundered toward the trench, toward the gangplank. Overhead, the moon shone, placid and bright. All around us, men fought and died.

One, two, three . . . I was the ninth to cross. I could feel the planks dip and give under the weight of my mount, but they held. A Carthaginian soldier veered out of the darkness unexpectedly, jabbing at me with a thrusting spear. I kneed my horse hard and it swerved.

“Fall in!” Aureliano was shouting. “Fall in!”

We obeyed, all of us. Falling into the formation he’d ordered: four ranks of three. Or mayhap three ranks. I didn’t know if the rearguard had made it, and I didn’t know if the archers meant to hold the bridge were following. I didn’t dare look. All that mattered was that I could see Sidonie in front of me, alive. And in front of her was Aureliano and his line, clearing the way with lowered spears. Astegal’s infantry fell away before their onslaught, unprepared.

And beyond, the bridge across the Barca River.

Somewhere, more horns were raising an urgent cry. Ahead of me, a racing figure hurled a javelin. The soldier to the left of Sidonie went down, his mount rolling and squealing horribly.

“Move!” I shouted at the soldier on my left. “Move up!”

He hesitated.

I swore and urged my mount past him, cutting him off. Not such a bad horse, really. I fell in beside Sidonie, taking my place at her side. I saw a Carthaginian archer kneel, taking aim in the moonlight. His bow twanged. I twisted in the saddle, leaning low, and caught the shaft on my buckler.

And then there was the bridge and a double line of men determined to defend it. Aureliano rode them down without hesitation. The soldier to his right went down. I chopped mercilessly with my sword, hacking at blurred faces in the moonlight, shoving at them with my arrow-pierced buckler.

We cleared the line.

We crossed the bridge, dark, moonlit water sliding beneath us.

Behind us, more bows twanged. Ours or theirs? I couldn’t tell.

“Ride!” Aureliano’s voice rose. “Ride for your damned lives!”

It was a strange and surreal flight, hurtling ourselves across the moon-drenched landscape. We rode at a hectic pace, clinging to our saddles. Bit by bit, the sound of fighting faded. Pursuit was coming, but not yet. We followed the road as it curved along the coastline, rising into the foothills.

Within a quarter of an hour, there was dense pine forest crowding the western edge of the road. Not long after they appeared, Paskal drew rein and whistled sharply. Our company halted.

“Here?” I asked Paskal.

Our guide shrugged. “Better sooner than later.”

“Good luck,” I said to Aureliano. “Give them a good chase.”

“Thank you,” Sidonie added soberly. “More than I can say. May the gods be with you and your men.”

Aureliano gave a brusque nod. “And you, your highness.”

That was all. There was no time to waste or spare. Aureliano raised one hand in farewell and ordered his men to move. Paskal beckoned for us to follow, turning his mount into the forest.

We had to travel slowly. The dense pines blocked out the moonlight until there was barely enough to see by. Branches reached for us, prickling and tangling as we made our way between the trees. The foothills weren’t steep, but the grade was deceptive. Our horses had been ridden hard, and I could feel mine laboring. The slow pace made my skin itch.

But we were alive.

And the very factors that slowed us protected us. The road had been utterly blocked from our view within twenty paces. The thick pine mast muffled the sound of our horses’ hooves. There was no way the Amazigh could suspect we’d turned off the road, no way they could track us here at night.

Not long after we entered the forest, we heard the sound of hoofbeats in the direction from which we’d come. Many hoofbeats, racing along the road. The sound rose and rose, then faded as they continued onward.

“Astegal’s cavalry,” Paskal said in a low voice.

“Likely,” I said. “Pray for your friends and press onward.”

I don’t know how long we rode that night. Hours. I found myself haunted by the memory of my long search for Berlik, wandering through the endless Vralian forests. And I thought, too, of the night that Clunderry had staged a cattle-raid, the night that my bindings had broken and I’d ridden into the woods alone, compelled by Morwen’s summons. And then there was the night I’d entered the standing stones with Morwen, that terrible night, and the race through the woods afterward.

It was a relief when the grey light of dawn began to filter through the trees. Paskal halted. “The forest should break in another league.” He pointed westward. “Unless I’ve led us astray, there is a shepherd’s hut where we can take shelter for a few hours. Can you keep going, your highness?”

“Yes.” Sidonie looked weary, but her voice was adamant. “Thank you, messire, but you needn’t ask. I can ride as long and hard as need be. Just don’t let the horses founder.”

Paskal glanced at me for confirmation.

“She means it,” I said. “On both counts.”

So we pressed onward. The going was easier in daylight, and despite my misgivings about his youth, Paskal was a good guide. We emerged from the pine forest to bright green hills, a stone hut visible in the distance.

“Well done!” I commended him.

He smiled with pride. “I can always find my way to anyplace I’ve been. My mother says it is because birds sang to me in the womb while she carried me.”

“That’s lovely,” Sidonie murmured.

Paskal’s smile widened. “Thank you, your highness.”

He led us down the valley and up the far side to the shepherd’s hut. After being trapped in besieged Amílcar, I had to own, I felt my heart rise at the sight of all that open space surrounding us, green hills as far as I could see. We were exposed, but no one could come upon us unseen, that was a surety.

There was a little stream where we were able to water the horses. Paskal carefully laid out the contents of his packs: a measure of grain for our mounts, bread and cheese and sausage for us. I bade Sidonie sit on the lumpy pallet in the hut and set about building a small fire in the pit in the middle of the floor. Elua knows, after Vralia, that was a skill I’d mastered beyond compare.

“Do you want to take first watch or shall I?” I asked Paskal after he’d fed the horses.

He looked surprised. “I will keep watch, my lord.”

“Oh, no.” I shook my head. “Paskal, we’re dependent on you to reach Roncal before Astegal’s men. Once they discover they’ve been tricked, they’ll ride like the devil. We need you with your wits and astonishing bird-sense about you. That means we’re sharing duties, you and I.”

“My lord!” he protested.

“Imriel,” I said. “How old are you?”

Paskal flushed. “Nineteen.”

“Gods,” I muttered. He seemed younger; but then, I doubted he’d lived through anything close to what I had by the time I was his age. “Just do as I say, please.”

“First watch, then.” He glanced at Sidonie. “I daresay her highness would appreciate it.”

With that settled, Paskal went outside to keep the first watch, while I joined Sidonie on the lumpy pallet. “Are you all right, love?” I asked softly, folding my arms around her.

“I’m fine. I could keep going if we didn’t need to breathe the horses. And I don’t mind taking my turn at watch.” She shivered a little. “My first real glimpse of war, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry.” I tightened my arms around her. “Sorry you had to see it.”

“No.” Sidonie was quiet a moment. “No, I think it was important that I did. Important that I understand what it is that I’ve asked Aragonia to do and what I will ask the Euskerri to do. Not only in abstract terms of freedom and country, but the real cost of blood and horror.”

I pressed my lips to her hair. “You’re going to make a remarkable Queen someday.”

Sidonie rested her head on my shoulder. “Not for a long, long time, I hope. My mother’s a remarkable ruler in her own right. I’d be more than happy to spend the balance of my days as a remarkable heir.”

“That, my love, isn’t in question,” I observed.

After that we slept for a time. It felt like only a few minutes before Paskal came to wake me with a tentative shake, but I could see that the sun had shifted. I freed myself gently from Sidonie. Paskal curled up in a blanket on the other side of the hut, and I went outside to keep watch for another hour or so.

I hated to wake them. The little fire I’d built had warmed the hut until it was almost cozy and they both looked so peaceful: the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange and the nineteen-year-old soldier-lad with a good sense of direction on whom our lives currently depended. But the horses were rested, the day was fleeting, and we had nearly a hundred leagues to cover before we reached Roncal.

“Time to go,” I said.

A short time later, we were on our way.

Fifty-Nine

We pushed the horses as hard as we dared on that journey. It was far from the worst trek I’d known in my life, but it wasn’t pleasant. The little villages that clung to the sides of the hills were few and far between, and those we encountered offered nothing in the way of comfortable lodgings.

In the villages, we were greeted with a mix of suspicion and awe. I was apprehensive each time we entered one, remembering the hostility in New Carthage and the attempt on Sidonie’s life. Here in the north, it was better. They hadn’t felt the sting of defeat yet. But neither were they willing to wholeheartedly believe a wild tale from the lips of two D’Angelines and a lone half-Euskerri guide riding out of the hills. And even if I’d been inclined, I couldn’t play out my transformation from Leander Maignard’s semblance. I had abandoned the last of his tattered, scorched attire in Amílcar, and I didn’t trust a pair of eardrops and a couple of gaudy rings to sustain Ptolemy Solon’s spell for any length of time. I’d pushed my luck far enough.

So Paskal and I continued to sleep in shifts, in villages or out of them. There were several nights when we were forced to make camp in the open, sleeping on the cold, hard ground. I didn’t mind on my behalf and Paskal seemed a hardy sort, but I knew Sidonie was uncomfortable. She wasn’t accustomed to this sort of hardship. Still, she bore it without complaining.

On one such night, she came to join me while I kept watch during my shift, wrapped in my cloak.

“Unable to sleep?” I asked.

Sidonie nodded. “It’s perishing cold without you to warm me.”

“You could huddle with Paskal,” I suggested.

She smiled. “I’d rather sit with you.”

I opened my cloak. “Come here, then.” We sat together in companionable silence until I could feel her growing warmer and relaxing beneath my arm. “I wish I had my flute,” I said. “I could charm you to sleep.”

“Do you still remember the tune?” she asked.

I tried to hum the charmed melody with which Morwen had haunted my dreams in Alba, the song that had won my freedom in Vralia, sending my gaolers to sleep. But the notes and the cadence were gone, slipping from my memory. My voice faltered and at last I shook my head. “I’m afraid it’s gone.”

“Too bad,” Sidonie said. “It might have been useful.”

“Mayhap D’Angelines weren’t meant to meddle with magic,” I said.

“Mayhap,” she mused. “Or mayhap we never bothered, content with the magic that lay within ourselves and the arts Elua and his Companions taught us. If we’d known more, if we’d been wiser in the ways of the arcane arts, we might not have succumbed to Bodeshmun’s spell.”

“Or I might have been able to protect myself from Morwen’s charm instead of having to rely on the ollamhs,” I agreed.

Sidonie stirred. “We could found an academy to study it. That could be our legacy, you and I.”

“Oh?” I smiled into the night. “I thought our legacy was going to be ensuring the enduring survival of House Courcel by providing it with a multitude of heirs.”

“I see.” She laughed. “How many?”

“Hordes,” I said promptly. “Hordes and hordes of brooding boys and haughty girls who will grow up and surprise everyone, including themselves.”

“Well, I don’t see why we can’t do both,” Sidonie observed. “After we finish saving the realm.”