by J. P. Ashman
‘How do we do this?’ Correia said, eyes past Hud, to the group parked on the road.
‘Correia—’
‘What?’ Correia glared at Hud. ‘Don’t,’ she said, before Hud could say anymore. ‘Just don’t. Plans are what we need, what we’ll discuss, not feelings or emotions or losses…’
Hud watched the war within the women she barely knew. She watched the hardness crack, but no sooner had those cracks appeared had Correia smoothed them over. Smoothed over, Hud thought, not hardened or repaired, despite Correia’s face. She wears her mask well. Too well. Hud thought of her own face. Scars and such. So different to how it had been years ago. She thought about the mask she often wore too, to hide her fears and hesitations, to ensure her knights, men all, followed her without question. She thought of the few she let in. The knights closest to her that she allowed the mask to fall away for, on occasion, so they knew she was real, human, vulnerable even. They had to know. They had to feel for her as she felt for them, to know that she valued them and would die for them as they would for her. As they had… She fought back tears at the thought of those lost. Her closest. There was but three left, the two who’d flown at first light and the one slumped in his saddle alongside the cart on the road behind her. She had brought her best, her longest serving to retrieve Correia and now, with war looming, she felt alone. Despite the numbers she commanded in Royce’s Reds, all but three of her true friends were gone. Her brothers. For that’s what they’d become. Steeling herself, like Correia was, Hud gritted her teeth and nodded once. Perhaps she’s already lost the ones she’d reveal her true self to, as have I. There’s no time for it now.
‘We need to get you to Royce and on to Wesson, no matter the cost.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
You’re not making this easy, woman. Hud sighed. ‘And do you think I look like I can make that journey, Correia? Does my one remaining man look like he can?’
It was Correia’s turn to grit her teeth. Jaw muscles bunching, she shook her head.
‘I’m suggesting something I’ve never done before, nor even thought of.’
‘Go on,’ Correia said, blood-soiled arms folding across blood-soiled chest.
Hud winced and leaned forward, patting the neck of her hippogriff. ‘Take my steed and choose one other able bodied man to take my knight’s pegasus. You don’t need to guide them, they know their way and are fit enough to carry you.’ Correia made to speak, but Hud continued. ‘They’ll not fare well in another fight, nor are you trained to fight aback either mount—’
‘I know that—’
‘Listen, will you?’
Correia snarled, but she nodded all the same.
‘Avoid any contact with any enemy, Correia. No matter how easy it may look to be; no matter how tempting after what we’ve… well.’
‘Well,’ Correia repeated.
Both women took in deep breaths and held each other’s gaze.
‘What will you two do?’ Correia asked, arms remaining folded; defensive.
She’s not arguing the point or questioning my idea then. ‘We’ll stick with Mits and your men for now and I’ll figure out what to do as I go. I’m not sure when I’ll be fit to do anything but sit on that cart. I took more damage than is visible in—’
‘I understand,’ Correia said, not coldly, but it was clear she wanted to get on with their plan.
Hud slid from the saddle, painfully, and was surprised to have Correia help her to the floor. ‘You understand you’ll be leaving your injured,’ she said, passing the reins to Correia.
‘I was anyway. Seems to be what I’m good at.’
Hud scoffed. ‘Please.’
Correia rocked back.
‘You’re not the only commander to leave injured and move on. You’re not the only one to lose men in the field. I lost—’
‘The man you love?’ Correia snapped, face red, bottom lip quivering. ‘The man you just realised you loved. Just realised, Hud. Too late!’
Hud’s stomach turned. Oh love, she thought, feeling her own lip going. She shook her head. ‘Not quite,’ she managed, ‘but close enough. Brothers lost, practically.’ She could tell Correia didn’t dare speak for fear of breaking. For fear of losing her mask completely. Correia nodded and chewed her bottom lip, nostrils flaring in grief more than anger. Hud wanted to hug the woman, which wasn’t something she wanted to do often, of anyone, but she wanted to. She needed it herself, after all. But she didn’t. They both stood strong, eyeing one another, helping one another find their stoicism and resolve once more.
‘It’s decided,’ Correia said.
Hud had waited for the woman to speak first, for fear of breaking her with any more words. ‘It’s decided,’ Hud agreed, nodding with it. She felt incredibly weak. She hated the thought of her mount being ridden away by another. Not even her knights rode her. She feared never seeing her again, but forced it all down and away. It was the only way. Royce had ordered Correia to him before she was to move on to Wesson, and Hud must have it done, if not see it done. She also knew she could ride no more. Nor could her remaining knight. She looked over the red fur of her wolf-skin and saw the man standing, stroking his mount. Stroking it and leaning against it, left arm hanging at his side, useless.
‘Dislocated?’ Correia asked.
‘He thinks so. I think so and you do too.’ Hud turned and offered Correia a weak smile.
Correia nodded. ‘Best see to him then, and yourself. You’ll be able to strip armour and do that on the cart. Mits and his men can help with that. I’m taking de Valmont.’
It was Hud’s turn to nod. ‘Come,’ Hud said, turning and heading back to the road, ‘I shall tell you what you need to know so you can ride her to Royce, successfully.’
‘I appreciate that,’ Correia said, leading the hippogriff, which pulled at the reins as they walked.
‘It’s not for your benefit, but hers,’ Hud said, a wry smile playing across her scarred face at the fond memories, recent and old, of her mount’s quirky ways.
Fal watched Correia and Amis launch into the sky atop their gifted mounts. It made him think about the gifted mounts they’d received in Broadleaf Forest, from the elves. Correia seemed to do well at being given things despite the amount she took from people. The lives she took and threw away. Dignaaln had been right to tell Fal to watch how she used folk. The emissary had been right to tell Fal that she would lose more of his friends, leave more behind, if she ever came for him at all. Well, he thought, watching the winged beasts carry her and her new companion away, she might have come for me, or rather for information, but it didn’t take long for her to prove Dignaaln right. Starksy boy and then Sav. And now? Now Gleave and me too. Left again, and for what? Because the Earl of Royce has clicked his fingers, sent his red dogs to fetch her. How quickly we are forgotten.
‘What?’ Fal snapped, realising Gleave had been trying to talk to him. Gleave flinched then scowled, although the expression was replaced with one of sympathy. Oh, here we go, Fal thought. He’s going to attempt to engage me in friendly chat or banter, as if all was well, as if—
‘Fal?’ Gleave said again, brow creased. The cart lurched forward and they rocked at the motion. ‘You keep disappearing somewhere; drifting off.’
‘And?’ Fal said. What The Three has it to do with you?
Gleave heaved in a breath.
‘Leave him,’ Hud’s knight said, wincing as the archers helped him off with his armour to see to his wounds. His words were weak. He was weak. ‘He’s clearly not wanting to talk.’
‘What’s it to you?’ Fal said, turning on the man. He snarled at him, scoffed and laughed. ‘You’re all the same,’ Fal said, slumping back down into the cart to watch the clouds.
‘All the same how?’ the knight said, iron in his tone.
‘Steady now.’ Gleave held his hands up, one per man.
‘Since when were you the peacemaker, Gleave Picton?’ Fal couldn’t stand hearing Gleave’s voice, let alone have
him try to talk to or defend or placate, or anything him. ‘Leave me be.’ Fal heard Gleave start to say something else, but Hud cut him off with a comment Fal missed. He’d given up bothering to listen, for now. Watching the clouds, he thought about the instruction he’d overheard Hud giving Correia and her new man, Amis de Valmont. Fal grinned. Now there was a man that interested Fal. Not as clean-cut as he makes out, Fal reckoned. A fair fighter, that much had become clear, but not as emotionally delicate as he likes to project. To get the women? Fal shrugged. Do I really care? Sighing and tapping the back of his head against the wood of the cart, Fal thought about his shorn hair, which matched the stubble of his face. He brushed at the bristles with his fingers and winced, catching nail-less and mangled tips on the sharp bristles; he’d removed his bindings, sick of how they made him feel. Shut up and keep your head down, Fal, he thought, cursing himself for snapping so much at everyone. Keep your head down and do as Dignaaln asked you, nothing else. And so he waited, for the cart to cross the miles and the sky to darken until they made camp, where he could listen to the group’s innate babbling about shit and bollocks before grabbing some much needed sleep. For there was a lot approaching in his life. Deeds to be done and masters to please.
***
Errolas was worried, Salliss could see it in his eyes. Eyes searching the white clouds and blue skies above Landon Hill for sign of Correia and the others. Salliss was happy to have been accepted into Lord Temn’s castle and the earldom of Royce without trouble. It helped that they had two of Royce’s Reds escorting them, although the men were far from friendly towards her. She couldn’t help but laugh at that, being that their captain was also a mage. Witch. She ran the word around her mouth, whispering it to herself. She was indeed a witch: a witchblade. The Queen’s elite, witches all. But so too was Captain Hud. They just used different terms for what they did in Altoln.
‘Salliss?’ Errolas asked, looking across the bay pegasus they were brushing down.
They don’t mind me grooming their mounts, she mused, before smiling at the handsome elf. Handsome? The thought shocked her. Not because he wasn’t, but because it had popped into her head, after all the time she’d spent with him. ‘Yes?’ she said, sure her face flushed red.
‘Your whispering, I…’ He trailed off and smiled.
‘Could hear it,’ she finished for him. Errolas nodded. ‘Musing aloud,’ she said. Her Altoln was flowing better than ever. It was one thing to be taught it and to speak it on occasion, it was another thing entirely to be surrounded by it.
Errolas smiled again and continued brushing the proud pegasus. The animals were calmer when he was around. Bred in Royce and trained in the same ways as destriers, the beasts were positively terrifying up close. Snapping their teeth at stable hands, at anyone that passed for that matter, and threatening to lash out with iron-shod hooves at any given opportunity. Even their thick wing-arms, for want of a better name, could land quite the blow. Salliss had seen it already. The poor lad who’d attended them as soon as they’d landed in the castle’s yard had been knocked from his feet by one. Salliss could have sworn she’d heard ribs break. She fretted about the young lad now she came to think of him. He’d been rushed off to the infirmary after the incident, although the knight whose pegasus had lashed out seemed more concerned with the animal’s wing than the boy. Bastards, she thought, and brushed a little harder at the beast’s dark brown neck. The pegasus huffed, its hide shuddering, right across its flank.
‘It’s been too long,’ Errolas said, eyeing the sky once more. Stopping brushing, he walked out into the centre of the yard and squinted.
‘What is it?’ Salliss asked, doing the same. She shielded her eyes with her free hand, a cloud revealing the late afternoon sun.
Errolas sighed and shook his head. ‘Nothing.’ He pulled his delicate lips into a tight smile and looked at her. ‘Let’s eat,’ he said, taking her by the shoulder and guiding her towards the food hall where the knights had gone.
‘I thought you would never ask.’ She smiled back. Smiled too much, she feared, flushing once more. ‘They will be here soon, I am sure,’ she said, trying to comfort Errolas. ‘Correia probably wanted to spend more time with Gleave and Fal before leaving them…’ She noticed Errolas’ face drop at the mention of his Orismaran friend. ‘Errolas?’
He wore his tight smile again and motioned for her to enter the hall. ‘I’m fine,’ he said, following her in.
I don’t need to be a witchblade to know that’s untrue. ‘Alright,’ she said, leaving him to his worries. ‘Let us eat.’
Chapter 54 – Landon Hill
The hippogriff started to descend. Correia was doing her best to snuggle into the red wolf furs Hud had given her. It was freezing, almost literally, despite it being summer and southern Altoln. The sun was dropping to the horizon, so she figured it would be getting colder as they flew on, but she wasn’t sure how much more of it she could take; how much more of anything she could take. Correia shook that sort of thinking away and moved her shoulders under the furs, doing her best to stop her teeth from chattering at the same time. The wolf fur stunk, but she was glad of its warmth.
‘There!’
Correia looked across to Amis, who was as wrapped as she was, albeit less slumped and huddled in his saddle. His back was straight, arm outstretched. She wasn’t sure how he dared let go to point. Correia had flown with both gloved hands on the reins the entire journey. Steeling herself and leaning out a little, vertigo threatening to take her, she looked down, squinting against the wind, and saw the shape of a castle on the horizon. Not a huge one, but a castle all the same, a spread of buildings falling away from it, the town rolling down the hill like a spillage of homes and stores and smoke producing smithies.
‘Landon Hill?’ Amis shouted, both hands back on the reins of his pegasus, despite the animal, like the hippogriff, deftly guiding them towards the castle below.
‘I don’t know where these animals have brought us,’ Correia shouted back, too cold to think of memorised maps or topography. She was too cold to care. ‘I don’t know,’ she shouted again, ‘but it’s red brick, so it’s in Royce’s earldom for sure.’ The red bricks of the structure looked like the castle was made of iron and rusted solid as they glided towards it.
‘I keep thinking they’ll start to shoot at us.’ Amis laughed with the shouted comment. The laugh was half humour, half fear, Correia knew.
‘I’m sure they’ll know,’ she replied, unsure of her own reassurance. I hope they do. The thought of arrows spiralling up to meet them, perhaps even ballistae, made her think for the umpteenth time of Sav. And each time it took her a heartbeat to get to his fall; his death… his sacrifice for her. Each time she had a flare of wonder and excitement and warmth at what they could be when all this was over. And, every time, came the fall and the cold and dread and emptiness— no, not emptiness. Guilt. Guilt and hate and self-loathing for his loss; for Starks’ loss too, and Mearson and Tom and the rest. But most of all Sav’s. Her Sav. The thought kept coming to her: her Sav. Kept slapping her in the face and threatening to throw her from the saddle to plummet to the ground that now rose to meet them. The furs did nothing to take the chill from her tear-streaked cheeks. Sniffing for the hundredth time, Correia pictured her father, and brother, Edward, and what was to befall Altoln in the coming months, if not years of war. Stop your selfish melancholy, woman. Anger washed through her like liquid fire. There’s more to all this than you and your feelings. It’s why you shouldn’t have let yourself—
The hippogriff screeched high-low, startling Correia from her thoughts.
‘Here we go,’ Amis called.
Correia gripped the reins tighter than ever, knuckles surely white under her near on useless-in-the-cold gloves, and gritted her teeth. Red walls with patterned crenellations shot up to meet them as the beasts flared their feathered wings and spiralled down into the outer bailey, where Correia breathed a sigh of relief to see familiar faces looking up at them: two stern fac
ed knights, a woman and a relieved elf. She heard a bell ringing and realised it must have been for them. Crossbowmen dotted the walls, tracing their descent with loaded weapons of varying sizes. Mounted men-at-arms sat atop destriers at one end of the yard, moving away only when one of Royce’s Reds shouted that all was well.
As the crossbowmen stood down, the winged mounts touched down, and Correia felt an overwhelming rush of relief. It had been different with Hud in control of the hippogriff. Scary, but exhilarating, whereas this time it had been plain terrifying. ‘Errolas!’ Correia heard herself shout through numb lips.
Errolas ran ahead of the two red knights, using his elven ways to calm the hippogriff and pegasus he rushed towards. Reaching them, he took both sets of reins and the animals settled, nuzzling equine head and giant beak against his neck and chest.
‘Errolas,’ Correia said again, as he frowned, eyes turning skyward once more. She saw the witchblade and knights do the same.
‘Correia…’ he began to ask, before drinking in the emotions playing across her face.
She fell from the saddle, the weight of it all, and her injuries, proving too much. She’d had the chance to fall and she didn’t stop it, couldn’t stop it. The last thing she felt and saw was Errolas catching and cradling her like a babe, before exhaustion took her.
‘Well, Lady Burr?’
‘I don’t know, Lord Temn.’ Correia felt anger more than frustration now. She didn’t have all the answers and she was becoming sick of everyone demanding them of her. She’d slept well – that annoyed her, angered her – and she’d eaten well. Had the others, back on the road to Castle Bratby, or wherever Mits was taking them? Were they even on the road, on course? She shuddered and she drank, yet another glass of southern red.