A stream of vitriolic curses announced Synton’s arrival. Yozef looked up to a snarling almost-white face. The litany of what Synton intended to do to every living Kolinkan abruptly ceased.
“How is she?”
“Not good,” said Carnigan. Yozef was busy with Maera’s wound and at that moment was oblivious to the others.
“We beat them back for now,” said Reezo, accompanied by his hand-wringing twin. “But there’s no reason to think they won’t try again. I don’t know how many more times we can hold them off.”
Synton snarled and spit to one side. “How did those fuckers get behind us?”
He stood up. “Thala, could you help Yozef with Maera? You’re the only one here with any medicant training.” He then motioned for the others to follow him a few yards, where they gathered in a tight circle.
“It’s time for Yozef and Maera to leave,” Synton said only loud enough for those close to hear. “I agree with Reezo. We’ve actually done better than I feared, but if they have still more men, there’s no way we can hold them off much longer. To save the Paramount, he needs to go now while others delay the Kolinkans.”
“And there’s Maera,” said Carnigan. “Let’s see what Thala says, but I think Maera’s going to need serious medicant attention in Grastor, or she won’t make it.”
“There’s nothing to decide,” said Reezo. “The Seaborn men will remain and hold off the Kolinkans as long as we can. The rest of you need to take all of the horses and ride as hard as possible for Grastor. There’s only a few hundred yards more until the land turns into open country before you get to farmland on the way to Grastor. You can push the horses and change as they get exhausted.”
“But without horses, how will you escape?” asked Zalzar. The hetman’s adviser had helped wherever he could during the fighting—attending the wounded, distributing dead or incapacitated men’s ammunition, and checking their horses’ hobbles.
Reezo didn’t directly answer but stared grimly at Zalzar, who within seconds realized the answer to his question. The older man’s face turned to stone. His eyes glistened.
“I don’t have many men left who can fight,” said a voice from the back of the circle.
Faces turned to see a Pewitt dragoon.
“I am the most senior Pewitt man left. There aren’t many of us, but we’ll stay and help. We can’t let it be known that we left it to Seaborn men to save the Paramount. Not after our other men made their sacrifice earlier.”
Synton reached out to grasp the Pewitt man’s hand. “Sorry, but I don’t know your name.”
“Ulmar Rynston. Sergeant. Pewitt 1st Dragoon Battalion. I fought at Orosz City.”
“And where are you from, Ulmar?”
The man smiled sadly. “Nowhere you’ve ever heard of. A village in central Pewitt. Alwyn’s Dell. All of my family lives there.”
“Ulmar, I swear like I’ve never sworn before that I will visit Alwyn’s Dell and tell your family I was proud to serve with you. I’m sure the Paramount will do the same.”
“Thank you. They will appreciate it. I do have a request. I have one man who was grazed on the head by a musket ball. He can’t see clearly. I don’t know if it’s permanent, but he’ll be of no use. If possible, take him with you. He should be able to hold on to a saddle if someone leads his horse. Of course, cut him loose if he slows you enough to endanger the Paramount.”
After another firm handshake, Ulmar left to talk with his remaining men.
“I have a similar case,” said Reezo. “A Seaborn dragoon lost his dominant hand during the last attack. He lost a lot of blood and is in great pain but is conscious and might be able to hang on to a saddle. I know he’ll want to stay, but it’s pointless since he can’t do anything useful in a fight anymore. Take him with you if you can. My other wounded men either can’t travel or can still fire and reload a rifle.”
Thala walked up to them. “Maera’s not in good condition. There’s really nothing I can do for her here. I’m sure she needs surgery, which will have to be in Grastor. The bleeding seems to have already slowed. I hope that’s a good sign.”
“Yes, but getting her to Grastor means she has to be on a horse,” said Synton.
“I’ll carry her,” said Carnigan. “I can hold her with one arm and control the horse with the other. I’ll probably have to change horses because of my size and her added weight.”
“That’s probably the best that can be done,” said Thala. “We have her wound bound, but there needs to be constant moderate pressure on it to control bleeding. I’ll show you how much pressure and where when we get the two of you on a horse.”
Thala looked around. “So. Is it decided? Yozef and Maera will go on ahead to Grastor?”
Reezo took his sister’s arm and led her away. Zalzar was about to follow, then stopped, intuiting the twins needed a few moments alone. He saw Thala vigorously shake her head. Reezo put a hand on her shoulder, which she angrily shrugged off. Words were exchanged, hot at first from Thala, soft from Reezo. They talked more. When Thala’s voice quieted and her shoulders had sagged, Zalzar walked up to them.
Thala looked at the adviser. Tears trickled down her cheeks.
“Does it have to be this way, Zalzar? There’s nothing else we can do? How can I leave Reezo here?”
“There’s nothing I can say, Thala. The Paramount has to be saved. Maera, too, if possible, but mainly the Paramount. We all agree we can’t hold here much longer. I assume Reezo has already given you the reasons why you can’t stay. Yes, I know you could fight, but one more is not going to make that much difference, and your family would lose you to no real purpose.”
“But then that’s the same argument for Reezo,” said Thala as she groped for another outcome.
“You know that’s not true, sister. How could a son of Yulan Seaborn save himself and leave clansmen?”
“But you’re the hetman’s son!” Thala choked out, looking at Reezo.
“An extra son and not that important. We both know that. Both Santee and Mykroft would be fine hetmen, perhaps better than me. Please, Thala. Understand this. And you have something important to do when you get home. Tell mother and father I love them. Well . . . tell that to everyone in the family. Now, please. Go and save the Paramount.”
With a sob, she enveloped her brother in a fierce embrace, then released him and ran back to Maera.
“She’ll feel guilty, Zalzar,” said Reezo. “Do what you can to help her with that. It’s the same with you. There’s no purpose to your staying, and you’re far too valuable to the clan to be lost here.”
“I’ll try,” said Zalzar, while wondering whether he would succeed with either Thala or himself.
CHAPTER 38
NEARER MY GOD TO YOU
When Thala returned to where she had left Maera, preparations to escape were well underway. Leaving would be Yozef, Maera carried by Carnigan, Synton, Toowin Kales, Gowlin Reese, Zalzar, and Thala. Carnigan lifted the blanket-wrapped Maera gently from the ground. A hole was cut in the blanket so Carnigan could lay a large hand against the compress on her wound. Synton finished quickly cleaning Maera’s blood off Yozef’s hands, using water from a bladder, and dried them with a shirt of unknown origin. Yozef walked alongside Carnigan, a hand resting on Maera’s blanket.
Toowin and Gowlin had their horses ready. Besides a second mount for everyone, the two guards would each lead two saddled horses with no riders—the extra horses for Carnigan. Blood soaked Gowlin’s right leg, and he pressed on the thigh.
“Almost the same exact spot as the bayonet I got at Orosz City,” said Gowlin, complaining loudly to Toowin. “I guess if I’m going to have a limp, it might as well stay with the same leg.”
They quit talking at the approach of the remainder of those leaving.
Carnigan handed Maera to Yozef while the big man climbed into a saddle. Toowin had chosen the largest horse available, but still the animal shifted uneasily at the weight . . . more so when Maera was added.
After the last horse had been handed to its rider, the three Seaborn men helping with the preparation saluted the Paramount and jogged back toward the defenses. Yozef returned their salutes, but the men didn’t see it. They also never looked back.
Yozef was the last to mount. But before that, he walked over to Reezo, who had accompanied them this far. He stood before the youth, searched for appropriate words, and failed.
“You need to leave, Paramount.”
Yozef’s throat felt too dry for words, but he swallowed, then forced a cough.
“Reezo is a fine name. Even a Paramount would be proud to have a son of that name.”
He fought the urge to embrace Reezo. Grown men might do that with a boy, but not with another grown man about to do grown men’s work beyond what’s normally expected.
Yozef mounted the horse whose reins Synton held. His horse was facing the direction of the defensive position. He couldn’t see over the rocks to the men, living, wounded, and dead, but he could see the top of the Paramount’s flag waving in the brisk breeze that had risen in the last half hour. The cloth was not as it had been. Half a dozen musket ball holes had created enough loose thread ends that fraying had already begun. Yozef hadn’t commented when he heard Synton tell Reezo that they would leave the flag planted and flying so the Kolinkans would believe the Paramount was still present.
Yozef turned his mount and followed the others. Within minutes, they passed through one last open space separated by constricted passages. Before them lay low, grass-covered undulations not quite high enough to be called hills. A quarter-mile farther, they stopped briefly. Yozef turned his horse to the direction they had come from and raised a hand for silence. Without the clatter of hooves over rock or sod, the creak of leather gear bending and rubbing, or voices, they could hear musket and rifle fire. But Yozef thought his ears picked up something else. Synton looked at him with a questioning expression. Yozef’s hand forestalled words. He wasn’t sure, so he wrapped the reins twice around his saddle’s pommel and cupped both ears with his hands. Now he was certain. Faint. Words coming and going. Sometimes rifle and musket fire drowning the voices.
Nearer, my God, to you, nearer . . .
. . . for your gracious gifts,
I feel nearer . . .
. . . God . . . my soul.
Nearer to you, my God, nearer to you.
. . . if darkness comes,
I draw nearer to you
“They won’t be forgotten, Yozef,” said Synton. “Now all we can do is get to Grastor and save Maera.”
They moved on, finally at a faster pace once clear of the rocky, winding passage. There was no road or trail . . . not yet . . . but the softer sound of hooves on dry grass seemed to portend safety, though it was an illusion. Yozef wasn’t sure, but within minutes he thought the distant gunfire had gone silent. He lagged slightly behind the others and stopped to cup his ears again. Nothing. He didn’t stop again. The distant silence explained everything.
Sooner than Yozef anticipated, they came upon a farm. A surprised family stared from the fields and their porch at horses and riders coming from the south.
Yozef moved closer to Carnigan so he could see Maera’s face.
“She’s holding on, Yozef. I can feel her heartbeat. Still strong. And she’s warm, much like you were at Orosz City when the medicants didn’t understand what was happening. The compress also seems to control the bleeding.”
The nano elements she must have, thought Yozef. Thank you, alien whatever you are, for giving them to me. I wonder if they knew the elements were transferable? That must be what’s saving her. It’s not the compress. It’s the nano elements somehow doing repair work and reducing the bleeding.
What he feared and didn’t know was how much damage there was and what was happening inside her body. He worked not to imagine what the musket ball had done and where it now lay. His will failed him.
Ten minutes later, Carnigan called out. His horse was faltering. They stopped to let him change mounts.
“Everyone whose horse is weakening, let’s go ahead and change,” said Thala. “We should push the horses to their limit now. We’re only five miles from Grastor.”
Five miles! thought Yozef with dismay. We must have been only about eight miles to the city from where we stopped to stand. Eight stinking miles!
Seemingly within minutes, they topped a low hill and saw the sea and Grastor in the distance. To Yozef, all the horses seemed to change their pace. From moment to moment, he’d thought they were slowing or speeding up. They lost sight of the city once off the hilltop, then picked it up again occasionally. The farms were more frequent. Every few hundred yards, Yozef looked over his shoulder, not shaking the fear that the Kolinkans had followed them even this close to Grastor.
They couldn’t have that many men, could they? Yozef wondered with trepidation.
Only a third of a mile trailing the Paramount’s party, Orno Kistek reined in his horse, cursed bitterly, and fired his pistol into the air. A hundred yards ahead, the forward riders heard the shot, reined in, and looked back. Kistek waved for them to retreat. He had already pushed the pursuit farther than he wanted, hoping to somehow salvage the mission. That hope dissipated when he saw more farms and caught no sight of the pursued. The Caedelli leader had escaped at the cost of most of the men with him, plus more than a hundred Kolinkan dead and seriously wounded.
“We did the best we could, Orno,” said Maklos Bota, the mission’s second in command. “There’s no way we catch them before they reach Grastor, and we don’t have enough men to attack the town. We knew this idea was too complicated.”
“I would have called it insane,” said Kistek. “Only the idiots around our ruler would think this plan was easy.”
Bota shook his head. “Everything had to go right for it to succeed. Now it’s time to get as many of our remaining men as possible off this damn island and head back home.”
There was no time for discussion.
“We’ll pick up the wounded on the way back. All the other men should be straggling along the route. We’ll head straight for the Nollagen harbor. The town should be deserted. We’ll send riders ahead to signal the ships to meet us.”
Kistek took one last look in the direction of Grastor, almost as if hoping the Caedelli would suddenly appear from a nearby hiding spot. When it didn’t happen, he cursed again and slapped the reins against his horse’s flank. It would be hard hours of riding to get back to Nollagen without killing all the horses.
Yozef’s eyes strained every second for signs of Grastor. Fields of grains, turnips, and other crops became continuous. More people stopped to stare. A man riding a horse rode up to them. Yozef could hear voices, and the man talked to Toowin, the last rider in their group. The unknown man cursed and dropped back to meet another man and a woman on horseback. Seconds later, the three riders broke in different directions and galloped off. Toowin came alongside.
“They will spread the word and rouse people to arm themselves in case the Kolinkans are still coming.”
Another mile passed. Word raced ahead of them. Yozef shut out everything said by people they passed or who caught up with the Paramount’s party. He assumed they were asking what happened and perhaps offering help, but all that mattered was getting Maera to the medicants.
Carnigan turned his head to look in Yozef. “She’s stirring. I think I heard a moan.”
“Hang on, Maera,” urged Yozef. “We’re almost at Grastor. Carnigan’s holding you, and I’m right here.”
Yozef was certain it had taken hours for them to cover the last few miles, although if he had had a watch, he would have seen the time was only minutes. Farms became more tightly packed, then edged into houses with gardens on the outskirts of the city. Yozef searched in vain for signs of a cathedral spire. He assumed the Caedelli version of a hospital wou
ld be nearby. Thala, as if reading his mind, called back over her shoulder.
“We’re almost there. We’ll come to the hospital this side of where the new cathedral is being built. The old one was too damaged in an earthquake to repair.”
People now lined the streets. Several riders they’d picked up along the way rode ahead of the group, shooing spectators aside. The overlay of hundreds of voices probably approached a din—not that Yozef noted.
They wove through Grastor streets. When they turned a corner, Yozef recognized a version of a cathedral complex. At one of the buildings, a cluster of men and women stood with a stretcher carried by two men. Yozef and his party reined in their spent horses.
In his urgency to get to Carnigan and Maera, Yozef leaped off his mount, almost collapsing when his knees didn’t fully absorb the ground’s jolt. His help wasn’t needed. Men and women medicants surrounded Carnigan’s horse before it came to a complete stop. Gentle but firm hands took Maera from Carnigan, laid her on the stretcher, and moved quickly inside to a treatment room. When Yozef tried to follow, a grizzled medicant stopped him.
“Best you wait here, Paramount. We’ll take care of her.”
CHAPTER 39
STARING INTO THE ABYSS
Distant lightning provided the only illumination under the overhang of the Grastor town medicant center. The occasional flashes offered only a slight refuge from the night that wasn’t as dark as Yozef’s psyche. Rain lashed the building. The sound would have drowned out normal conversations, not that there were many among a dozen men crowded out of the rain, but the Paramount was an island. Most men stood no closer than ten feet to him. For some, it was out of respect. For others, darkness and the storm shielded them from what they had seen in the Paramount’s face.
A Dubious Peace Page 55
