“Want a hand, milady?” A young man held out his hands.
“Thank you.”
She raised both hands. He seized them and pulled Filigree to her feet. Her right ankle screamed in pain as it bore the pressure of her whole body.
“No trouble,” he assured her. He lifted a hefty backpack and strapped it on. Then he picked up a sack in each hand and started off.
Filigree put one foot in front of the other.
On the lunch break she just collapsed where she was. Hips, knees, and ankles were screaming. When the pain faded enough she took some roasted vineroot from her pocket.
A herald called out a five minute warning for the end of the lunch break. Filigree stood with the help of a tree and walked. She reached the front when the whistle blew.
The lunch rest didn’t make up for all the walking she’d already done. More and more people passed her.
Most were good about going around her. The teams of men pulling the wagons likely would have been politer about asking her to move out of the way if they weren’t so short of breath.
The wake of the wagons was a nice empty stretch to trudge along in. Her friend Buttercup was in the last wagon. They traded waves.
Buttercup’s wagon pulled ahead. That wasn’t usual for them. Normally Filigree had to slow down for Buttercup.
The next vehicle Filigree had to move aside for was a travois pulled by two of the royal guards. Countess Ribbon was strapped to it. Filigree waved in reply to Ribbon’s “Good day.”
Break time meant lying down now. When they started up again a teenage girl with a water bottle offered Filigree a drink. She declined. This trip was enough of a pain without having to pee in the woods. When the girl kept insisting Filigree took a sip just to make her go away.
Walking behind the travois made Filigree glad she was walking. The contraption was two pikeaxes with a harness holding them together. If orcs attacked Countess Ribbon would be left on the ground while the guards took their weapons and charged off.
Watching the grimace on the countess’ face as the travois bumped over a tree root motivated her to keep walking.
As the travois pulled ahead Filigree found herself walking with the rear guard. Heavy fighters shouldering pikeaxes. She’d heard their banter as they came up. The usual coarse language of young men. They quieted as they came closer to her.
A pair of royal guards came up beside her. “Are you tired, Mistress?”
Filigree looked them over. Pikeaxes. Backpacks. A tangle of ropes and boards looking like the pieces of a travois.
“I’m fine, lads. Just getting used to all this walking.”
They didn’t bother her with conversation but stayed with her. Even as the rest of their squad of fighters moved ahead.
Filigree pushed her legs harder. If she fell behind the rear guard she’d wind up on a travois whether she liked it or not. Her hips and knees shrieked with pain as she swung her legs harder. She focused her eyes on the ground ahead of her to make sure she didn’t trip.
“Make room, boys,” said a new voice.
Filigree looked up. “Hello, dear,” she said to Lady Verbena.
The apprentice healer watched Filigree’s walk for half a minute.
“May I touch you?” she asked.
Filigree nodded. She didn’t stop.
Verbena put a hand on each side of her hips.
Warmth flowed in from the hands. The pain in the hip joints faded. Her thighs moved smoothly in the sockets, not sticking as they had for the past decade. The knees screamed as she swung the legs harder. Her face twisted with the pain.
“Hold up a moment.” Verbena squatted, touching the knees and ankles. “Try now.”
Filigree stepped out. None of the joints hurt. Not the big joints. Some foot bones twinged, but that was nothing compared to what she’d been dealing with all day.
She tripped over a root and laughed. She’d seen it, but not lifted her foot because it was far away.
“Better?” asked Verbena.
“Oh, God, yes.” She gave the healer a hug. Not a firm one, her elbows and shoulders would complain about that if she did. She walked briskly away. Over her shoulder she said, “Come on, boys. I’m not waiting for you.”
***
Crusher and Newman boosted Pliers up to catch the bottom branch of the tree. He pulled himself up and climbed to thirty feet off the ground.
“That’ll do,” said Newman. “Drop the rope.”
“There’s room for more in here,” said Whippet, holding up the canvas bag with the package of jerky.
“No, we just want the ones in plastic. That way scavengers won’t smell them. Put those bundles of arrows in.”
The cache was hauled into the tree. Pliers looped the rope around it to hold it firmly to a branch.
When he returned to the ground Newman led the patrol to the bluff edge. They had a full view of the river and its far bank.
“Take a good look. Spot some landmarks. Memorize them. Look upstream and downstream. Memorize the bends.”
Newman let them look until a couple let their attention wander.
“The next time we come through here there will be a thousand orcs chasing us. We’ll be out of food and low on arrows. We’ll need to grab the cache and get across the river as fast as we can. So whoever’s on point, could be any one of you, has to say ‘turn left’ or ‘turn right’ the moment you reach the bluff.”
He paused. They were all paying attention now. To him, not the river.
“A wrong turn then will get us all killed. So study that damn view until you’re sure you can make the right call.”
They turned back to the river.
After a moment Whippet said, “Best landmark I see is those two fallen trees making a vee at the base of the bluff.”
“Can you point it out?” asked Crusher. “I was looking at that big boulder on the river bank.”
“There.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s pretty close to the boulder. We can look for them together.”
Joyeuse said, “I see them too. That’s a good downstream landmark. We need one we can spot if we’re upstream.”
The discussion continued without intervention from Newman. He listened, feeling the bonds of the team forming, and hid a smile.
***
Her patched-together guts made lying down and standing up painful for Goldenrod. Once she was vertical she was fine. Walking didn’t bother her at all. She strolled in the center of the crowd with a book open in her hands.
Peripheral vision was enough to keep her from running into trees. After a few painful stumbles she adopted a high-stepping gait that cleared roots and deadfalls.
No one walked near her. Killing with a word already had most people wary of her. The tale of what she did in the fight with the elves circulated in hushed whispers and versions of varying accuracy. Her husband was on a suicide mission. And her friends were all busy with keeping the evacuation moving.
That bubble of privacy kept anyone else from hearing her muttered comments as she read through the book. “Oh, that’s what ulathu means.” “This doesn’t make sense.” “Bastard had no morals at all.”
Goldenrod didn’t notice the call for lunch until she almost walked into some people sharing a picnic blanket.
“Are you all right, Your Excellency?” one asked.
“Yes, sorry, just distracted.” She turned to the right and walked a few yards to an empty spot. A tree had a three way fork in a branch. She shoved the book she’d been reading into the fork, spine-up.
Her backpack went next to the tree with a thump. She knelt down, bracing both hands on the trunk to hold her torso vertical as she lowered herself down. Then she turned around to sit on the ground, stifling a moan of pain.
Mostly stifled. The two on the picnic blanket cast her worried looks. Goldenrod ignored them. She took a book and a slice of fish jerky from the backpack.
As she read she took a bite of jerky and a sip of water. Then she chewed. And chewe
d. And chewed. She’d been lectured by Burnout and Verbena in chorus on the fragility of her esophagus. She kept chewing until the food felt liquid.
She wasn’t surprised when the 5 minute warning came before she finished the chunk of jerky. She put the remainder in the backpack. One hand held the book as she pushed against the tree to painfully lever herself back to her feet.
Bending down to pick up the backpack hurt almost as much as standing. Another jolt of pain hit as the pack swung around and landed on her back. Getting the other arm through the straps didn’t hurt, she just had to juggle the book from hand to hand without dropping it.
Then everyone was walking again. Goldenrod started moving with them, waiting for the positions to shake out before starting to read again.
“Your Excellency? You forgot your book.” It was one of the picnic blanket couple, pointing at the volume lodged in the tree branch.
Goldenrod glanced back. “Oh, I don’t need that one. There’s nothing useful in it for our situation.”
“You’re just throwing it away?” Picnic guy was shocked by this sacrilege.
She shrugged. “It’s too heavy to carry as a luxury. You can have it if you want.”
Picnic guy wore an over-stuffed backpack, had a bundle wrapped in the picnic blanket under one arm, and dangled a heavy bag from the other. He looked at the book, sighed, and trudged after his partner.
Goldenrod walked on. There wasn’t anyone next to her so she opened her current book and resumed reading.
***
The first orc band they found wasn’t trying to be stealthy. They tromped along, breaking branches in their way, and discussing something in their grunting language.
“How they hell do they catch deer?” whispered Borzhoi.
“They’re probably quieter when they’re hungry,” replied Newman.
Leadsmith quipped, “Or horny.”
Newman’s glare kept the chuckle silent. He said, “Drill Alpha.”
The rest of the patrol faded back to set up the ambush. Newman and Leadsmith advanced toward the orcs, hiding from view as best they could.
Leadsmith chose a bramble bush as his firing position. He loosed an arrow into an orc as the band passed by.
A screech and answering grunts said he’d hit.
Newman held his nocked arrow in case an orc sprinter came close enough to be a threat. The duo faded through the woods to rejoin the patrol.
The ambush was well set up. Newman only spotted half of the patrollers as he moved through to take his spot at the rear.
He located the rest in a few minutes of listening as he kept still. Breathing, scratching, a rustle as a leg moved. But they were doing a damn good job.
Pliers and Whippet were loudest. They had no hunting experience so they were learning stealth from the other patrollers. Joyeuse could be very quiet, but he couldn’t hold it. Every few minutes he’d have some audible twitch.
Deadeye said, “They’re not coming.”
“Not on the direct path,” agreed Newman. “They might be circling around.”
“Either way we don’t want to stay here.”
“We’ll go back to the contact site, see if we can spot them.”
The contact point was easy to spot. The orcs had milled about, trampling a circle in the undergrowth. Then the trail continued in the direction they had been going.
Newman made a circle gesture as he followed the footprints. The patrol spread out, looking in every direction.
About a hundred yards along a bloody arrow lay on some moss. Leadsmith wiped it off with some leaves and put it back in his quiver.
A blood trail started there, ending fifty yards later at the body of an orc. The arrow hole in the chest was the only wound.
Orcs didn’t go into shock. If an arrow didn’t hit anything critical one could run around for hours before dying of internal bleeding. Pulling the arrow out accelerated the bleeding.
“I don’t think this bunch heard how arrows work,” said Newman.
***
“Good morning, Lady Aster.”
“Your Majesty!” The young woman bowed hastily, almost losing her balance as the basket on her back shifted.
King Ironhelm put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “My lady, we need your help.”
She flinched, then stood tall. “You need me to fly somewhere?”
“Yes. We have scouts looking for the best path for us to take. Best for the wagons. But they’re worried about the mountains. We could go through a pass and find it takes us down to a sheer cliff. Scouting that out on foot would take too long. We need you to find the best way.”
Aster took a deep breath. “I’ll have to talk to the scouts to know what to look for.”
“Falchion is head scout. He’ll give you everything you need.”
The king reached out and lifted the basket from her back. He swung it onto one shoulder. The straps were too tight to fit over both.
Aster bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Then she lifted a foot into the air and moved away.
The scouts were older than she expected. Falchion gathered them in for her briefing.
“Gentle slopes,” said a leathery woman. “It’s worth going miles out of our way to avoid steep terrain.”
A man with a little salt in his dark beard added, “It would be great if you found a path the wagons can go over. We’re expecting to leave them at the mountains and hand carry everything from there.”
The others grew more detailed. When they started to repeat themselves Aster tried to end the conversation. Then she realized she didn’t need to.
“Thanks for the help. I’ll let you know what I find.” She rose straight up into the forest canopy, knocking a shower of leaves onto the scouts. Aster stopped as her head poked out of the tree.
“Anybody out there?” she muttered as she pivoted through a full circle. No dragons in the sky. She went up a dozen feet, high enough to see over the trees to the horizon, and turned again.
Just birds.
The knot in her belly relaxed. She tilted forward and skimmed south over the trees, leaves brushing her feet. The forest she left to the scouts. She looked to the mountains past them.
The planned route for the evacuation followed the river bluff and then the shore of the lake puddled against the mountains. She followed it until the trees petered out into scrub at the base of the ridge.
Past the lake she could see the river disappearing into the cleft in the mountains. The rumble of the waterfall on the far side was audible from here. It drowned out the soft sounds of the wind and leaves. She could still hear the birds coughing at each other.
After another check of the sky, Aster flew through the pass right above the edge of the lake. This one wouldn’t do. A wall of rock blocked the middle. Strong men would have some trouble climbing it. The sick and weak wouldn’t be able to get through at all.
The other side curved down into the mountain slopes. Aster landed and walked to where she could see the ocean.
It stretched out to the horizon, vast and empty. She smelled salt on the crisp breeze. No ships or whales in sight, just rolling waves turning white-capped near shore. The islands sticking out of the water looked like they’d been made in the same explosion that produced the rim mountains, irregular chunks of black or grey rock.
She spotted their destination easily. It didn’t look like a castle. More a sand castle that had been rained on. But it felt safer than any other place she’d seen.
Hopping down the slope let her see the seaward side of the mountains. No dragons perched on them.
Several deep breaths gave Aster the nerve to lift up over the slope. Seen from above, the crater wall rippled as it descended to the ocean. Sheer cliffs alternated with gentler slopes. A few spots even had sandy beaches.
The ripples crossed and bent enough to let someone zig zag from pass to water without having to descend a cliff.
Aster dropped down and approached the castle island. Seaweed and barnacles along the shore
line marked the high tide lines. The waves hit a cliff about ten feet below the line.
Was this low tide? Or would the ocean ebb more?
Aster paused to scan the sky and horizon. She wished someone else would learn to fly. This would be less scary with a partner.
Spray struck her face as she flew over the waves. This would be rough water to swim through. The waves were two feet high, sometimes more.
The surf would be loud if the waterfall wasn’t drowning out all other sound. Aster was getting used to the background roar. When she tuned it out the whole scene seemed eerily silent.
She reached the beach across from the castle inland. Aster laughed. A narrow stretch of rock connected the island to the beach. The middle was still underwater.
Aster found a boulder to sit on. The tide kept going out. The isthmus appeared. It was wide enough for a cart—if they could figure out how to get one to this side of the mountains.
We’re going to have to figure out the tide table, Aster thought. That’s going to be tough with three moons.
She lifted a couple of feet off the boulder, her legs falling straight under her. Turning to face the slope she followed a ripple to the right, trying to match the path people would take down from the pass.
Seaweed and barnacles changed to lichen and then bare rock. The ripples of rock had a liquid appearance, like a mound of melted candle wax scaled up. At the top of the slope a solitary fern sprouted from a crack. It was the last spot of green for a mile left or right.
Time for another scan of the sky. Nothing except a few birds.
The waterfall demanded her attention. Aster flew closer for a look at it.
The scouts mentioned a theory that something had blasted a notch in the crater rim. That fit what she saw. The water fell straight down, landing on a pile of rough boulders that would fill a major league stadium. Water foamed and sprayed into the air as it forced its way through the sharp rocks.
A barrel wouldn’t be enough to survive that.
The War Revealed (The Lost War Book 2) Page 13
