by Jon Sprunk
Caim halted as a sudden pressure constricted inside his chest. He dropped to one knee and reached for his knives. Distant sounds reached his ears from the west, where a cortege of people climbed a stone road leading from the cliffs to the citadel gates. Eight men carried a palanquin covered by gauzy curtains, and a coffle of slaves trailed behind. When they neared the gatehouse, a horn blew from the high walls, and a troop of soldiers in black plate armor filed out.
Caim was about to move closer when the litter stopped. The curtains covering its interior opened, and a woman's face appeared. He took her for a shadow woman by her lustrous, dusky skin and deep black hair. She was slimmer than Sybelle had been, with sharper features and thin, arched eyebrows. When she gazed in his direction, Caim ground his teeth in frustration, knowing on some level that she had sensed his presence, just as he'd sensed her. He ducked down to create a lower profile and concentrated on hiding from her extramundane perception, pushing back against the pressure in his chest. It was an uncomfortable sensation, similar to scrubbing his skin with a stiff wire brush from the inside, but after several slow, deep breaths the constriction eased.
On the road, the woman looked about for another minute, and then let the curtain fall shut. The soldiers formed up and escorted the palanquin inside the citadel. The gates of the barbican closed behind the last slave in line, sealing the fortress.
Caim sighed through his teeth, weighing his next move. Continue on alone and cast the dice, or retreat and regroup. The stars were out, red specks scattered across the black sky like fiery embers stirred by a strong breeze. He got to his feet and headed back to the cliffs.
As he reached the top of the chimney and prepared to lever himself over the edge, Caim noticed something that made him stop in his tracks. The tugging in his head, which he had followed for more than three months and several hundred leagues, was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Josey ducked under a low-hanging branch, its pallid twigs curled like claws in the dark. She was bone-tired, but every time her eyes closed she saw them again-the hacking swords and axes, the maimed soldiers writhing on the ground, the cacophony of screams that filled the air and went on and on like it would never end.
“Majesty,” Brian said in her ear. “Are you all right?”
She nodded and tried not to think about his strong arm around her middle or the places her backside touched against as she rode before him in the same saddle. But those thoughts were comforting compared to the horrors that otherwise haunted her. She had always imagined two armies made a titanic crash when they met, but from her vantage on the hill she had heard only muted shouts and tinny clangs, the thwacks of the siege engines as they released their fury. The invaders had weathered the flights of arrows and missiles to pour over the earthworks like an army of ants, filling the trenches with the bodies of friend and foe alike. Josey thought it was going to end right then and there, but Argentus sent his reserves straight into the boiling heart of the fight, and the auxiliaries held the center.
But then a fiery explosion rocked the battlefield. Soldiers were hurtled into the air like dolls, their mutilated arms and legs flailing. Oily smoke wafted from the glowing crater where a platoon of her men had been standing a moment before. Josey looked to Hirsch, but the adept had his eyes pinched shut while he mumbled under his breath. She couldn't understand a word of it. She expected balls of fire from him in response, or lightning from the sky, not foreign mantras. Another explosion decimated a squadron of archers, and Josey searched for the source. Then she saw them advancing through enemy ranks, a company of horsemen in gleaming black armor. They surrounded a mighty figure of a man who could only be the enemy commander. He was clad from neck to heels in crimson plate and wore no helmet on his shaved pate. A bannerman rode behind him holding a standard-a black fist clutching a bolt of lightning on a bloodred field. The warlord lifted his arm, and yet another explosion tore through her troops.
Finally, Hirsch spoke. The adept looked exhausted, though he hadn't moved, but he yelled above the mayhem, “Go, lass! We'll hold as long as we can!”
Josey shook her head, determined to remain to the end. Then a rider plunged through the cordon of her bodyguards. Splashed in grime and gore, Brian thrust his bloody sword back into its scabbard as he reached down for her. “Majesty, we must flee!”
She hesitated, but then she thought of the life growing inside her and took Brian's hand. He swung her up before him, and they galloped down the back of the hill. Her last view at the battle had been of Captain Drathan trading sword-strokes with an Uthenorian warrior while Hirsch looked to the heavens.
Settling back into Brian's embrace, Josey blinked away the tears forming in her eyes. I have to be strong.
She wasn't exactly sure what direction they were going, and part of her didn't care. She was content to let him take control, just for a little while. Brian had found a forest near the battlefield, reasoning that the trees would hide their passage. From time to time she looked back at him as they rode. Brian looked older than before, his hair stiff with dried sweat and mud. Dirt encircled his eyes and ran across the bridge of his nose. Yet, even grimy and sweaty he was magnificent. Stop staring!
Josey forced herself to look straight ahead. “Are we being pursued, Sir Brian?”
“Most likely, Majesty.”
“Were you hurt in the fighting?”
He lifted his left arm. Some blood had leaked through the mail sleeve. “I'll be all right.”
That sounded just like Caim. Why couldn't men just admit when they were hurt? A little voice whispered in the back of her head. They do it for us. Just like you pretend to be strong for your people even when you feel like crying.
“Do you believe your father will have had any luck gathering more forces?” she asked.
“I don't hold much hope for it, Majesty. Even if my father sent out messengers as soon as he reached home, the nearest holdfast is three days away. I've been thinking on this.”
“And?”
“Perhaps it would be wiser to gather the realm's remaining forces in the south, ahead of the invaders. The northern provinces, I fear, are lost.”
Josey bit back on a sigh. She had been thinking the same thing, but had been afraid to tell Brian that she must abandon his home to the enemy. But I swear we will take back every inch of ground.
“Do you think any of our soldiers escaped?” she asked.
“Perhaps. The trumpets were calling retreat as we rode away, and the enemy didn't have much cavalry to give pursuit. If the gods are gracious, some on our side might have survived.”
Josey grabbed for the reins. “We should go back. We could rally the-”
“Majesty.” Brian gently gathered the reins back from her. “We cannot risk it. If you were captured, the war would be over.”
Josey huffed, but she knew he was right. They rode in silence for some time through the dark wood. Her mind wandered, wondering about her men, about Hirsch and Captain Drathan. About Caim…He's fine. He left you, remember?
Brian tugged their mount to a halt beside a shallow creek wending through the trees. A shelf of rock formed a small waterfall. Josey climbed down from the horse and stood, feeling a little useless, as Brian stripped the saddle and blanket from his steed, took off the bridle, and let the animal graze on the wild grass. While he inspected its hooves, she asked, “What can I do?”
“Do you know how to hunt? I could go for a juicy venison steak right now, or maybe some roasted boar.”
Josey bit her lip as he teased her. “No. But I can cook.”
It was a little lie, but she figured she had observed enough cooks in her lifetime to concoct something edible.
“No need for that.”
Brian opened the saddle bags he'd dropped on the ground and pulled out a wrapped package. Inside were long strips of jerky, the sort that soldiers ate on the march. He gave her one, and they sat down beside the stream.
“Sorry, Majesty,” he said. “But we can't risk a fire.”
Josey studied the jerky. It was stiff and leathery. Then her stomach overruled her brain, and she took a bite. It was salty and took a bit of chewing to eat, but she finished it and made Brian share another one. Then she dipped her hands into the creek and drank the cold water. It was divine. When she was sated, Josey folded her legs and felt a host of burgeoning aches in her thighs and calves. “So what do we do now?”
Brian leaned back from the water with dripping hands and face. He looked like a different man clean of the grime, his hair wet and pushed back….
“We'll rest and get an early start,” he said. “If we keep moving southeast out of the invaders' path, we should avoid their scouts. Then, whatever you command.”
Josey liked that he deferred to her authority, but he wasn't passive like some of the men at her court who primped and simpered like exotic birds. “What would you do?”
He sat cross-legged and took out his sword, and then began to run a small, flat stone across its edges. His eyes were dark in the night. “I would ride to Othir.”
Part of her agreed with him, wanting to retreat behind the capital's strong walls, but she shook her head. “It's too far. I won't surrender the entirety of the realm to these northerners. They would kill thousands.”
“Aye, but you would live to fight again. These Uthenorians may decide to go home after they've had their fill of plunder.”
“Master Hirsch didn't believe so. He said these men were different from the mercenaries of the north, that they were fighting for something other than gold.”
“Perhaps.”
He lapsed into silence for a few moments, and Josey leaned back on her elbows. A thousand things whirled about in her mind. How many soldiers had escaped the battle alive? Where was Hirsch? What were the invaders doing now? Would they wait for their wounded to recover, or keep marching? Was it going to rain tomorrow?
Brian cleared his throat. “Majesty, I've been searching for a way to talk to you.”
“You are talking to me, Sir Brian.” She smiled, allowing herself to relax, just a little. A tickle formed in her belly and floated up into her chest, warming her despite the chill.
“Yes, but this is difficult. See, when I first saw you, I only saw the empress. But since then I've gotten to know you better. I don't know how courting is done in the south. And we haven't known each other long enough to…” He rapped his knuckles hard against a thigh plate. “Light and Dark! I'm no good at this!”
Josey wrapped her arms around her knees. “I think I know what you're trying to say, but first you should know something.” Am I really going to tell him? Oh, heavens! “There has been someone else.”
He lowered his gaze and nodded several times. “Of course. I should have-”
“But he's gone.”
Josey swallowed as Brian moved closer. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead. She lifted a hand to her brow to hide it, and almost hit Brian in the nose as he leaned forward, mouth opening. He's going to kiss me! Is this what I want? Yes, I think so, but what about Caim and the baby?
Josey was torn, unsure what to do. Whether to let it happen, regardless of the aftermath, or put a stop to it. She started to close her eyes, but Brian jumped to his feet in a rustle of steel scales. “I'm sorry, Majesty. I did not mean to…I'm only a knight from a minor house.”
“That doesn't matter to me!” Josey blurted. Then, quieter, “It doesn't. But there is something else you should know.”
She stood up and touched her stomach. Her heart was pounding in her throat. What are you doing, Josey? You're going to scare him away. Maybe, but he should know the truth before he says anything else.
Before she could speak, Josey heard a sound from the trees, like something moving through the brush. A deer perhaps. Brian looked past her, and then lifted his sword. Josey spun around as a dozen men in rustic garb emerged from the woods. They came from every direction, aiming spears and swords and arrows. Brian tried to intervene his body between her and the ambushers, but there were too many of them. Steel rang out as he batted aside a sword pointed in her direction.
“Majesty,” Brian whispered. “Run when I attack.”
“No!” she hissed at him. There were too many for him. “Don't be crazy.”
“Just run and don't look back.”
Josey grabbed Brian's shoulder with both hands, trying to stop him from launching a suicidal act in her honor. They got entangled, and somehow Brian ended up with one arm around her waist and the other holding his sword up out of her reach.
“Throw down your blade!”
One of the ambushers had stepped out front. He was young, maybe a year or two older than her. Like the others, he wore simple clothing, a shaggy cloak over a buckskin shirt and breeches. He had a short sword with a wide, curved blade, which he held down by his side.
“Do it,” Josey said, and extricated herself from her protector. She was tired. Tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of always being afraid. Though it stung to admit defeat, she wasn't willing to throw away her life, or Brian's, on a final act of bravado. “Put down your weapon, sir.”
Brian frowned at her, but dropped his sword. However, when one of their assailants bent down to take the weapon, Brian slammed his knee upward, catching the man flush in the face and catapulting him back. Like a crack in a dam, the rest of the ambushers rushed in, and Brian vanished under a mob of punching fists and jabbing spear-butts. Josey cried for them to stop and pounded her fists on their backs, but the men ignored her. Too late she remembered Brian's dagger sheathed at her waist. When she reached for the handle, a firm hand closed around her wrist.
“That wouldn't be wise, milady.”
It was the youth who had called for them to disarm in the first place. He watched while his men pinioned Brian to the ground and bound him, but he didn't take the dagger from her. Because I'm no threat, right? Just keep thinking that, little boy.
Josey studied him, looking for a badge or device, but he wore nothing to show his allegiance.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Josey considered lying to pass herself off as some lesser noble's daughter. Brian's sister, perhaps. With luck, they might both be ransomed. But remembering those who had so recently fallen, she couldn't dishonor them with a deception. “I am Josephine, Empress of Nimea. And I would have the name of my captor.”
Quick glances passed between the ambushers. The young swordsman looked from her to Brian and back. “Tell us your true name.”
Josey lifted her chin and straightened up to her full height. “Josephine Frenig Corrinada, the first of my name, Empress of Nimea, Protector of Othir, Lady of Highavon. Now I ask you again, sir, for your name.”
The youth squinted. A faint crop of whiskers covered his chin. Dirt encrusted his neck and matted his long hair. His clothes looked like they had been slept in for days, if not weeks. His entire company, truth be told, was ragged, for all their bluster. He cleared his throat.
“I am Lord Keegan, high captain of the Free Clans of Eregoth.”
Josey rode with her head down in the dark, hands clasping the saddle horn. A grizzled woodsman with a bristly red beard held the reins of her steed. Brian strode beside her with his hands tied before him and a loop of rope around his neck. They had been traveling for two to three candlemarks, she guessed, deeper and deeper into a wood that proved more extensive than she first imagined. With every passing mile Josey became more and more confused. They should have met up with other enemy units by now, or even the main body. She found it hard to believe that the invaders could have outpaced them so swiftly, not with so many men on foot with all the wagons and such they would require to sustain their march. But if they weren't going to meet the warlord, then where?
The young leader, Keegan, walked somewhere at the head of the company. Lord Keegan, he had called himself, but Josey seriously doubted his claim to nobility. She considered calling for him so she could demand some answers, but before she could muster the will, lights appeared between th
e trees ahead. She smelled woodsmoke and cooking as the forest path opened into a wide clearing where a camp was laid out on the grass. She counted six fire pits and a dozen or so canopies lashed to tree trunks to make crude tents.
As the woodsmen filed into the campsite, Keegan approached her. Josey opened her mouth, but hesitated as he drew a long knife from his belt and stopped in front of Brian.
“I'm told southern knights value their honor above their lives,” the youth said. With a quick slash, he cut the rope binding Brian's hands. “If you try to escape, we'll put that notion to the test.”
While Brian massaged his wrists, Keegan turned to Josey. “Milady, we don't have much to offer, but there's hot food if you will please join me.”
With a look to Brian-who thankfully held his tongue-Josey dismounted. A familiar voice rang out through the trees.
“Majesty!”
Josey was almost bowled over as Iola ran up and embraced her in a fierce hug. Tears burst in the corners of Josey's eyes as the emotions she'd been holding in broke free. They hugged each other and sobbed for several minutes before Iola peeled herself away. Rubbing her wet cheeks with both hands, the girl made a formal curtsy. “Majesty, we didn't think…I mean, we feared the…Oh! We're so happy to see you, Majesty!”
“We?”
Josey looked past Iola to see a group of people sitting on the ground. Her tears threatened to flow again when Captain Drathan stood up stiffly and made a firm salute. Behind him were Lieutenant Butus, with a fresh bandage around his neck, and Sergeant Trenor and so many other faces she'd thought she would never see again. Forgetting about her captors, she went over to them. There were at least two score of her people here. Doctor Krav was working on a wounded soldier by the light of a lantern.
“How is this possible?” Josey asked. “How did you all survive?”