“You certainly did,” Eldan said agreeably. Then he widened his eyes, and his tone grew wheedling. “Come on, Kero, you need me along just to keep you humble.”
“I do not,” she retorted, stung. “And I don’t need you pulling any ‘mama, may I’ acts on me. But as long as you’re here, you might as well tag along anyway.” She was tempted to jump into the saddle without using the stirrups—
But that’s a youngster’s show-off trick. Besides, it wouldn’t impress him.
:I wouldn’t leap into the saddle like a young hero if I were you,: said the familiar voice in her head. :l’d have to match you, and I’m too old and tired for that.:
:Sure you are.: She’d answered him the same way without realizing it until she’d done so. For the first time in her life, Mindspeech felt as natural as audible speech. Even with Warrl it had been an effort, and seemed wrong, like trying to walk on her hands and eat with her feet.
She should have been alarmed by that; she should have been unhappy to be reminded that she had the Gift. The youngster training with Tarma would have been ready to gut him. The Kero of ten years ago would have ordered him out of her Company. But now—all that fuss seemed pretty stupid, and awfully paranoid. It was an ability, like her perfect pitch—and a lot more useful. Now talking by Mindspeech felt as if she’d been doing it for years, :besides, it’s about time you found out what military discipline is like. It’ll do you good. And while we’re in the field, it’s Captain. Not Kero, not Captain Kero. Captain. Got that?:
He nodded, swinging up into his Companion’s saddle. :Sorry, Captain. And I think I understand. This is a military command, and you need a different kind of attitude from everybody connected with your troops, right? Otherwise discipline breaks down. Heralds do things differently; we encourage familiarity, but we almost never get it.:
:Heralds don’t have to command a few hundred hot-blooded, hard-headed fighters, each of whom is at some time or other convinced he could Captain the Company better than you.: She sent Hellsbane out through the bushes to the field on the other side where the Skybolts were mustering. Eldan kept right at her side, as if they’d been doing this together for years.
:You haven’t had that particular problem for the past six fighting seasons,: he retorted, :Your people follow you the way no other Captain could command. Right now your only problem is that they are so confident in you that you’re afraid they won’t come to you when they think there’s something wrong with your strategy. So don’t start feeling sorry for yourself.:
Since that was exactly what she’d been confiding in the dream-Eldan in the last dream she’d had about him, she was understandably startled.
She reined Hellsbane in so fast that the horse reared a little, snorting, as she whipped around in the saddle to face him. “How did you know that?” she blurted, flushing and chilling in turn. “I haven’t said anything to anyone about that—”
:Except in dreams.: He had gone a little pale, himself. :They weren’t dreams, were they?:
Hellsbane reacted to her unconscious signals, and backed up, one slow step at a time. “I thought they were,” she said, and her voice shook. “I thought you were. I thought I was going crazy. I thought it didn’t matter. If I hadn’t, I’d never have said—done—half of what I did—”
“Why not?” he demanded, his Companion Ratha matching Hellsbane’s every step. The mare flattened her ears and snapped; the Companion ignored her. “Weren’t we friends, at least? I thought we were. Oh, I admit it, that was a dirty trick I played on you with the ransom, but I had no idea how desperate your situation was, I thought your Company and Captain were pretty much intact. If I’d known, I’d have had Selenay send you double, with no strings attached, and not because I felt sorry for you, no, but because we were—are—friends, and friends help each other. But after that—the dreams—I thought I’d made amends. I needed to talk with you, needed to be with you. I couldn’t let you just walk out of my life like that. Kero—I—I love you. I’ll take anything I can get with you.”
She forced herself to think rationally—after all, this wasn’t much different from the way he was Mindspeaking her now—and slowly relaxed. “I got you back with the ransom,” she reminded him, as she loosed her hands on the reins, and Hellsbane stopped backing.
He grinned at that, and nodded. :You certainly did, and cleverly, too. And I wish you’d been there to see the old goat they sent as the Guild proxy. He just gave me one look, and made me feel like a small boy who’s been caught trying to look up little girls’ dresses.:
She chuckled at the image he sent her; it was a Guild representative she barely recognized, but knew by reputation, which was formidable.
:But that’s not the point,: he continued. :The reason I kept coming to you is that I’m your friend before I’m anything else, Kero. Friends help each other; friends bring their troubles to each other, especially if they can’t take them anywhere else. And I confided a good share in you, didn’t I?:
She nodded reluctantly, once he’d called up the memory. “Did you really want to strangle that idiot that much?”
“Yes,” Eldan replied. “He made me angry, then made me look like a fool in front of a lot of people because I acted out of anger before I thought. I wanted to strangle him. You managed to persuade me that the best way to deal with him was to ignore him. But you know—I still want to strangle him.”
She laughed, silently, and shook her head. All she’d done with him was talk mind-to-mind—which was probably why she was no longer so awkward at it—and take and give advice. The same kind she’d have taken and given if they’d been talking face-to-face. That wasn’t so bad....
In fact, she’d enjoyed it.
I probably should be angry at him, but I can’t be. “Are you sure you’re up to this job?” she asked, after a long pause. “You don’t have to be my liaison. I’m not the easiest person in the world to get along with. And I wasn’t joking about calling me ‘Captain,’ at least in public.”
:I have my share of warts. I’ll call you anything you want. And you could do without me, you know. You’re just as good at Mindspeech as I am.:
“Not a chance,” she snorted. “Come on, tagalong. I’ve got a war to run.”
Then, shyly—
:I love you, too. But you knew that, didn’t you. I told you before. In dreams.:
:You did,: he replied promptly. :I can’t promise it won’t color things. But I can and do promise if it starts causing problems for either of us, I’ll get Selenay to assign you someone else. She—she knows about us. This was her idea.:
That put a whole new complexion on things.
:I’m a Captain first, and a lover second. But—there just might be room for the lover, now.:
:Only if it doesn’t interfere.: He was adamant.
So was she. :Only if it doesn’t interfere. So far it hasn’t. Let’s ride this out :
He smiled. :Captain, you’ve got yourself a bargain. And a recruit.:
* * *
Today the plan called for her Company and Selenay’s cavalry to combine, and give Ancar just enough of a taste of combat to make him think that they really were trying to keep him out of Valdemar. Then they were to pretend panic, and run for the next set of Guards, posted farther north.
The trouble was, that little taste turned into a rather large and painful bite.
They spent most of the day leading the enemy overland, keeping just out of range, exhausting his horses while they changed off on their remounts at noon, and had fresh beasts to his tired ones. Then, just before sunset, they pretended to make a stand, teased Ancar’s men into a charge, and retreated, under covering fire.
The spot for their stand had been carefully chosen; a rocky hillside with plenty of cover, and too many boulders for Ancar’s cavalry to charge. Kero watched with a critical eye, carefully gauging the weariness of Ancar’s fighters. She let three successive waves approach her position, and be driven back—waiting for Ancar’s officers to call in the tired men
for the night.
Instead, they kept coming; a fourth wave, and as the sun set, a fifth.
And under torchlight, a sixth.
They were running out of ammunition, energy—and still the enemy kept coming, though he left his dead and wounded in heaps at the foot of their stony shelter.
After the eighth wave had retreated, Kero put down her bow and sagged against her boulder with exhaustion. Her arms were like a pair of lead bars; her legs shook with weariness. And she was in relatively good shape. Selenay’s people, far more inclined than hers to risk themselves for a good shot, had managed to populate the rude shelter the Healers had assembled with their wounded. Not too many Skybolts wore bandages yet, but if this kept up....
She watched the torches bobbing and dancing out beyond firing range and longed fiercely for her mages. It looked—dear gods!—like they were massing for attack-wave number nine.
“I don’t believe this,” she muttered, staring at Ancar’s lines.
“I don’t either,” said Shallan from the other side of the boulder, in a voice fogged with fatigue. “They’re not human.”
“Or they’re driven by something that isn’t human,” Eldan said grimly. “The bastard has some kind of hold over them. They’d rather face our arrows than what he’s got over there.”
Kero turned around and looked over her shoulder. “Is that a guess, or information?”
Eldan looked like the rest of them; his white uniform was smudged and filthy, there was dirt in his hair, and sweat-streaked dust on his face. “A guess,” he said, staring past her at the enemy. “I’m not an Empath, like Talia. And they have some kind of shield over them that prevents me from reading their thoughts. But I think it’s a pretty good guess.”
“Seeing as they had one mage with them that was willing to charge right in after us, you’re probably right,” Kero said, turning back to look at the enemy herself.
“If they have mages, why haven’t they used magic on us?” Eldan wondered aloud. Kero gave him a sharp look out of the corner of her eye, but it didn’t look as if he was being sarcastic or asking a pointed question; merely as if he really was puzzled.
She shrugged. “Maybe because we’re inside Valdemar,” she said. “Maybe he only had the one mage. Maybe because he’s saving the mages for when he has a target worth their while.” She watched the milling of the enemy troops for a moment more, then made her decision.
“Tell Selenay and the rest that I’ve just changed the plan,” she told Eldan. “Get the foot troops out first, then Selenay’s horse, then we’ll play rearguard. We’ve got the advantage of knowing this country in the dark; they don’t. I don’t think they plan on stopping until every last one of us is dead, and I think we’d better get our rumps out of here while we have the cover of darkness.”
“Yes, Captain,” Eldan said—he didn’t wander off in a trance when he Mindspoke with someone like his fellow Herald had, he simply frowned a little, as if he was concentrating. “Selenay and the Lord Marshal agree,” he said after a moment. “The foot is already moving out.”
“Fine,” She turned to Shallan. “Pass the order. The retreat is for real.”
And dear gods of my childhood, help us. Because we’re in dire need of it.
Twenty-three
It was a retreat, not a rout—but only because no one panicked. That retreat didn’t end with morning, either.
When dawn broke, Kero sent scouts back, more because she believed in being too cautious than because she really expected anything.
She knew there was trouble when they returned too quickly.
The first one in saluted her, his face gray with exhaustion. “They’re right behind us, Captain,” he croaked, as she handed him her own water skin. He gulped down a mouthful and poured the rest on his head. “I swear by Apponel, there’s no way they can be behind us, and they are anyway. Some of ’em are dropping like whipped dogs, but the rest are still on their feet and it don’t look like they plan on giving up any time soon.”
She swore and gathered the officers; hers, and Selen-ay’s and together they goaded their weary troopers into another push.
That set the pattern for succeeding days—and sometimes nights—as they retreated farther north, and deeper into Valdemar itself. Every step westward galled Kero like spurs in her side. Never before had she hated to give up land so much. Always before it had been a matter of indifference; what mattered was the final outcome, not whether a few fanners were overrun and burned out. But this time was different. The farmers pressed everything Selenay’s forces needed on them as they passed, then abandoned their farms with unshed tears making their eyes bright. She knew these farmers as people, however briefly they’d met, and it made her seethe with rage to see smoke rising in their rear and know what Ancar’s troops were doing to the abandoned properties.
Every time she took provisioning from another farmer, and watched him drive off into the west with family and whatever he could transport piled up onto pitiful little wagons with his stock herded behind him, the rage grew.
It’s so damned unfair, she told herself, And I know that life’s unfair, but these people never did anything to earn losses like these. She’d never felt quite so powerless to help, before.
And she had never hated any foe other than the Karsites with the fierce hatred she developed for Ancar.
The fool drove his men as if they were mindless machines. She couldn’t imagine why they weren’t deserting in droves—unless the mages were somehow controlling them, either directly or through fear. That might explain why the mages hadn’t attacked Selenay’s army—they were too busy keeping Ancar’s own troops in line. She was a good leader—and she couldn’t hate men who were being forced the way these were. But she certainly could hate the kind of man who forced them.
Or the kind of man who tortured for the sheer pleasure of it. Eldan told her what he’d done to Talia—and she’d felt Need waking during the tale, with that deep, gut-fire rage that was so hard to control. But Ancar wasn’t within reach, so the blade subsided; though for once, Kero agreed with it.
But most important of all, one of the other officers in Selenay’s army who had once lived in Hardorn told her what he had done to his father and his people, and why they had left. Kero had encountered tyrants before, but never one who so abused his powers as this one. The way he drove his men was a fair example of the way he treated his people as a whole. Worse than cattle, for a good farmer sees his cattle cared for.
She finally called her Company together one night when they dared have a fire, and told them everything she’d learned, figuring that they should know what would happen to them if they ever fell into Ancar’s hands.
They listened, quietly. Then Shallan made a single, flat statement for all of them. “He’s an oathbreaker,” she said, her mouth set in a grim line. “And he’s just lucky we haven’t a mage with us, or I’d set the full Outcasting on him.”
Kero looked from one fire-gilded face to another, and saw no sign of disagreement. Several, in fact, were nodding. The Guild was full of people with disparate and sometimes mutually antagonistic beliefs. The one thing every mercenary in the Guild commonly held sacred was an oath. They reserved terrible punishment for an oath-breaker in their own ranks. For rulers and priests there was another form of retribution—the Outcasting. Kings were bound by oaths to protect their lands and men, usually from the time they were old enough to swear to the pledges, and Ancar had broken his oaths—as surely, and as dreadfully, as had the late, unmourned, King Raschar of Rethwellan, the monarch Tarma and Kethry had helped to unseat. Kero learned that night that she was not alone in her hatred of Ancar—as her troops had heard more tales from the Hardorn refugees, one and all, they came to share her cold rage.
It gave them an extra edge they’d never had before. But rage was not enough, not when confronted with the desperate strength of Ancar’s men.
They were worn thin by running alone, and when you added the steady losses, manpower that wasn’t
being replaced, you had another kind of drain on them.
Of course, Ancar was losing an equal number of men in those encounters, but Ancar could afford to lose them. Selenay’s army couldn’t.
Kero tried an ambush at one point, splitting her forces on either side of a river hoping to catch him with a good part of his men still in the water. But she’d discovered, only through the vigilance of the scouts, that he had outflanked her.
He brought his foot in to surround the ambush-party on his bank and only years of experience had enabled her to get them out again. Those years of experience had taught her to always have an escape route—in this case, an unlikely one, the river itself. Profiting from her escape by water, she’d engineered a more controlled version of the same, by making sure the ambushers were all strong and experienced swimmers, with horses capable of pulling the trick off.
Even so, the escape had been a narrow one, and their luck ran down from there.
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