The squad leader rode to the side and just behind her.
They had only covered another fifty yards when an undercaptain moved his mount forward. “Squad Leader! What are you doing?”
“Following orders, sir. The captain told me to escort the Ancient through the formation before the easterners attack. What I’m doing, sir.”
Mykella gathered a touch more light to herself but did not stop walking.
The undercaptain looked at Mykella, then back to the squad leader. Then the junior officer swallowed. “Carry on.”
There are some advantages to military discipline … and legends, Mykella thought, continuing onward, now moving across the level ground of the ridge crest where the hill grasses, those that had not been trampled down, moved intermittently in the light breeze. While she was warm in the nightsilk jacket and gloves, it was early enough in the day that she was not feeling overpowering heat. Not yet. She didn’t want to take them off because, before everything ended, she’d need their protection. She could only do so much when she could not draw on the darkness. Even there, you can only do so much. It’s just more.
The space around the riders in the middle of the formation showed where she would find Cheleyza and Chalcaer, and she gradually turned toward them, worrying that the squad leader who escorted her might protest or raise an alarm.
He did not, even as Mykella neared the first guards of the command group.
“Who’s that, Squad Leader?” demanded an officer with gold bars and star on his collar.
“It’s an Ancient, sir. I was ordered to escort her out of the formation, sir.”
“An Ancient? Don’t they soar?”
Mykella could sense the doubt from the senior officer.
Another rider pressed forward, out of the formation.
“That’s no Ancient! That’s the so-called Lady-Protector!” Cheleyza turned her mount and urged the mare toward Mykella, pulling out a saber as she did.
Mykella stopped and linked her shields to the rock below the surface, marveling at the grace of the other woman’s movements. Salyna had suggested Cheleyza would be skilled, but it was another thing to experience such skills.
The mare slammed into Mykella’s shields. Neither shields nor Mykella moved.
The mare’s legs crumpled, and Cheleyza flew over Mykella. Surprisingly, to Mykella, Cheleyza rolled and staggered to her feet.
Mykella reached out with her Talent and rip-unraveled Cheleyza’s life-thread. After a moment’s hesitation, she unraveled the second thread, although she doubted the unborn child would have survived her mother’s death. Still, she wasn’t about to allow any possibility of fighting another war based on the child.
She turned to see Paelyt raise his rifle and fire.
“Die, you cursed Ancient! You worthless, deceptive bitch!”
Slowly, she walked toward the mounted officer, who kept firing. Each bullet that slammed into her shields was like a needle, not like the knives of the Ifrits’ firebolts, but painful.
As she neared Paelyt, she again extended her Talent and unraveled his life-thread. He slumped in the saddle.
Beyond Paelyt, Chalcaer turned, his face paling as he watched Mykella walk toward him with slow, deliberate steps.
He yanked a rifle from its holder, aimed, and fired.
Other riders began to fire, and the darts of fire, now like wasp stings, needled her chest and shoulders. For some reason, the nightsilk did not protect against those stings.
She kept walking. Chalcaer fired again, and once more, then slammed the rifle into the saddle sheath and drew his saber.
Mykella Talent-grasped his life-thread and twisted. Chalcaer’s mouth opened, but no sound issued forth as he slumped forward in the saddle, and his saber slipped from his lifeless fingers into the matted spring grasses.
The riders beside the fallen prince charged, and Mykella linked her shields to the stone beneath. One rider crashed into the shields, he and his mount suffering the same fate as Cheleyza and her mount, and the others began to circle her, as if uncertain as to what they could or should do.
In the distance to the east, she heard a trumpet triplet, the signal for the Southern Guards.
“Re-form! Re-form!” came a command from somewhere.
As riders milled around her, she knew she had to get to Skrelyn, a prince she did not know and had never seen. All she could do was trust her feelings. Despite the welter of pain and the reddish haze within her shields, she unlocked the shields from the stone and put one foot in front of the other, moving across the top of the hill between riders who scarcely saw her now that they moved to repulse the Southern Guard charge.
More than once she and her shields were knocked to one side or another, and several times she had to regain her feet.
“There’s the evil one!”
Mykella turned to see an entire squad riding toward her. In the second rank was a man in maroon and gold. That had to be Skrelyn, but in the press of riders, there was no way even to think about reaching his life-thread.
Instead, she hurled herself three steps to the left, almost directly in front of the charging mounts and, standing erect, with her shields again linked to the rock below, took the force of the charge. Horses piled up before her, and men were flung from their saddles.
Mykella concentrated on Skrelyn, who had tried to rein up, then angle sideways, before his mount was pinned between two others.
In that moment, Mykella struck, yanking his life-thread apart.
After that she just stood, amid the wounded and dying mounts and men, trying to hang on to her shields. She did turn, slowly, back to the east, watching as the dark blue uniforms surged uphill and into a far larger mass of riders.
Then, when a second wave of Southern Guards appeared to the south and charged the flank, the maroon-clad riders broke.
More mounts and men, some in green and gold, and some in maroon, rode past and around Mykella, seemingly ignoring her.
From the north, Mykella heard a familiar triplet, and she turned.
Riders in undress blues—auxiliaries—in a wedge formation—galloped up across the hillside, apparently from the northwest into the rear corner, such as it was, of the remaining Northcoast forces.
From the northwest? Mykella remained standing, puzzled.
“They’re everywhere!” yelled someone.
Mykella wondered, trying to make out what was happening through eyes that tried to dim on her.
The remaining Midcoast riders scattered as the blue-coated auxiliaries rode closer. Mykella tried to count—there were so few … far less than a score …
In spite of her determination, Mykella found herself sinking to her knees amid the packed mass of downed horses and men, amid the groans, the blood, and the feel of death, and the worse agony of dying. She kept trying to hold her shields … trying to hold on to anything, hoping that the blue-clad auxiliaries—or the Southern Guards—could reach her before she totally collapsed.
A red-haired figure in blue and cream reined up. “Mykella! Mykella!”
Red hair … should be blond … But Mykella could not even utter her sister’s name before the reddish haze merged with green and darkness … and the odors of blood, the feel of death, and the sadness of greed and treachery.
63
Mykella swam out of red pain and black heat to find someone blotting her forehead with a damp cloth. Her eyes watered, and she had to squint to make out Rachylana. After a moment, she could see more clearly. She was on a narrow pallet in a small room. She was still wearing nightsilks, but not the riding jacket or gloves.
“You’re awake! It’s been more than a day.” Relief flooded from Rachylana. Her eyes were red, although she was no longer crying, and Mykella could sense the sorrow.
“Salyna … Areyst?” Mykella’s voice quavered.
Rachylana shook her head.
Mykella shuddered.
“Not … Areyst…” Rachylana said quickly. “He’ll heal.”
“Salyna?
”
“She was … too brave. I felt … what you were doing. When I told her, she … she said the only chance we had was to attack from the flank when no one was looking. She waited … broke through … made me take the second squad. I just … kept them together … followed the green to you…” Rachylana swallowed. “Areyst led the Guards … He saw, more than I did, the green on the other rise. He told me … later … it had to be you. When the shooting started, he ordered the charge. He led it himself.”
“Why?” Mykella thought she knew.
“Against a larger force … he had to.” Rachylana offered a sad smile. “He had to for other reasons, too.”
Unhappily, Mykella understood that as well. “How badly … is he hurt?”
“A broken arm, but the bone didn’t splinter and come through the skin. Cuts and bruises.” After a pause, Rachylana went on. “Areyst … the Southern Guards, they couldn’t have done it without you. We were outnumbered three to one.”
“They were waiting for reinforcements? That was why they didn’t attack earlier?” Mykella’s voice was raspy and hoarse. “What … happened?”
“They broke…” Rachylana shook her head. “Then it was awful … too many bodies to bury properly … thousands … The captives … they’re still digging … mass graves … be another few days. They weren’t trained all that well, for all their numbers…”
Mykella let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“They found the bodies—Cheleyza, Chalcaer, and Skrelyn. How did you do it? There wasn’t a wound on any of them. I don’t mean killing them … but against all the others?”
“I had help.” That was a safe answer. “Can I see him?”
“He’s asked the same of you.”
Slowly, Mykella sat up and put her bare feet over the side of the pallet bed. She decided not to stand. She was still light-headed.
Behind Rachylana, the rough plank door swung open.
Areyst, his right arm bound to his body in a tight sling, stepped forward. His face was drawn, and his left cheek was a mass of barely scabbed cuts.
Mykella looked at him. She could hardly believe he stood there.
“Lady-Protector…” Broken arm and all, he knelt, his eyes on her.
She had only thought she’d paid for becoming Lady-Protector when she’d ascended that last step of the palace a season before. Rachylana had been right about romantic tales. They never mentioned the true costs … the thousands of dead, the lost hopes of the Ifrits from a dead world, the deaths of forty-odd half-trained women …
… and the loss of a sister who had given everything.
She and Areyst had much to repay. Some could never be repaid. As for the rest … they did have years in which to do so.
“Just … just your lady,” she finally said.
64
Mykella had spent all of Sexdi and most of Septi recovering in Viencet. Only late on Septi did she and Areyst ride back to Tempre with two companies of Southern Guards. Choalt followed with the remainder of the Guards and the captives late on Octdi.
Decdi morning, Mykella met in the formal study with Areyst. Both were bruised in more places than Mykella cared to think, and Areyst had scrapes and cuts on the left side of his face, in addition to his bound and splinted right arm. As he sat in the chair across the desk from her, she could sense his discomfort.
“You’re still determined to ride in the memorial procession?” she asked gently.
“You are,” he pointed out with a crooked smile.
“I’m not slashed up with a broken arm.”
“I will ride.”
Mykella knew better than to pursue that. “How many of the Guards did we lose? You couldn’t tell me yesterday.”
“Choalt had to wait for the casualty reports from each company. More than eight companies’ worth, and forty-one out of the sixty some auxiliaries. We’ll lose more in the next few weeks from their wounds.”
Nearly a thousand … and Salyna.
“What about Northcoast … Midcoast?”
“Choalt didn’t show any mercy at the end. With all the losses we’d already taken, we couldn’t afford it. Anyone who didn’t surrender immediately we cut down. He didn’t count closely, but they had to dig mass graves. It took three days with the men we could spare and all the captives. The best estimate was over five thousand men. We still have some four hundred captives, and probably two thousand survivors fled west. Most of the survivors were from Northcoast. Skrelyn’s forces took the brunt of our attacks.” Areyst shook his head, then winced as the movement jarred his arm.
And for what? Merely to keep things as they were, with all of us poorer?
“Do you plan to conquer Midcoast, Lady? You could, you know?”
“Conquer it? We could. But could we afford to hold it and govern it? I don’t think so. We’ll send an envoy with a full company of Southern Guards with simple terms, first to Hafin, then to Harmony.”
Areyst raised his eyebrows.
“Leave us alone. Allow our factors and Seltyrs to trade unhampered, without tariffs and harassment, and pay us ten thousand golds for damages.”
“That won’t…”
“Cover the costs? No, but they can pay it, and it won’t destroy Midcoast. We’ll send similar terms to Northcoast.”
“The Northerners might balk at that. They know we won’t ride over a thousands vingts to attack them.”
“We’ll suggest that any ruler who does not abide by those terms will not remain long a ruler, just as Chalcaer and Skrelyn did not.”
“You … can do that, can’t you?”
“Yes. I could get close enough to walk into Harmony unseen.” Although it might be a long, long walk. “It would mean some planning and some time away from Tempre. I’d rather not, but I’ve already done worse that I didn’t want to do. Besides, Joramyl siphoned off that much from our Treasury, if not more. We deserve it back.”
“Who do you want to send as envoy?”
“What about Commander Choalt and his picked company, with reinforcements?”
“That would be my inclination,” Areyst admitted, his eyes resting on her.
Mykella let herself enjoy his appreciation of her—for a moment. “We need to get ready for the memorial parade.”
“The Seltyrs wanted a victory parade,” he said.
“We won, and everyone lost. I’m not about to celebrate that. I want them to see how many empty saddles there are. Besides, when they get next season’s tariffs, if we had a victory parade, they’d complain even more.”
“You’re breaking tradition, you know?”
“By escorting Salyna’s caisson? I’ve broken a few already, and there will be more. She deserves it.” And so much more. “In a way, even if I didn’t recognize it then, she was the one who made me realize what I could be.”
“I thought that was the soarer.” Areyst smiled, an expression with just a hint of teasing.
“The soarer told me. Salyna showed me.” Mykella stood, then waited for Areyst to rise before walking around the desk and taking his good hand. She leaned forward and brushed his cheek with her lips. “And you encouraged me by accepting who I am.”
“You give me too much credit.”
She smiled. “You’ve earned it.”
After leaving her study, she returned to her quarters to prepare herself for the ordeal of the funeral procession and memorial service. She had no uniform to wear, unlike Areyst, and to wear one would have would have set the wrong impression. Instead, she wore her best nightsilk blacks, with a black-edged blue mourning sash of the kind that would be worn by the Southern Guards. She did add, in the sole gesture to tradition, the black shimmersilk headscarf that had been her mother’s. It was too hot for a cloak, and, besides, she did not wish to hide herself from her people.
A knock on the door to her apartments, and Mykella opened it to see Rachylana standing there, wearing the undress uniform of the auxiliaries, as well as a mourning sash.
; “Are you ready?” asked her sister.
Mykella nodded.
“They’re waiting in the courtyard.”
“Then we should go,” agreed Mykella.
As they started down the staircase to the main level of the palace, Rachylana said, “I’m staying with the auxiliaries.”
“You said that before. You don’t have to.”
“No. I have to. Salyna was right.” Rachylana’s laugh was short, hard, and brittle. “I wish she could have heard me say that. Things have to change, and they won’t if I don’t help them.”
“You’ll do well with the auxiliaries.”
“Did you know that yesterday, twenty more girls appeared at Southern Guard headquarters wanting to join?”
“No, I didn’t. That will help greatly.”
“Salyna would be pleased.”
“Yes … she would. She believed in the auxiliaries.”
Although she said nothing more, Mykella couldn’t help but reflect on how much the redhead who had loved flirting and balls had changed.
Once she reached the courtyard, Mykella mounted the gray gelding and checked her Talent shields. She hoped she wouldn’t need them, but for the rest of her life, she intended to raise them in any public appearance. Three of the auxiliaries formed up before Mykella and Rachylana, and three followed as they headed out of the courtyard and turned westward on the avenue leading to the Great Piers.
As they passed the reviewing stand where the crowds were already beginning to gather, Rachylana said, “It will seem strange for none of the family to be in the reviewing stand before the palace.”
“I asked Lord and Lady Gharyk to represent us on the top level, and the First Seltyr and the Chief High Factor to join them.”
Rachylana nodded. “You need to be in the procession. Without you…”
“Without Salyna, without you, without Areyst, without Choalt, without thousands of guards and auxiliaries—it wasn’t just me,” Mykella said firmly.
“But you held them all together.”
“Isn’t that what a Protector is supposed to do?” And what some, including Father, failed to do.
Lady-Protector Page 48