Arianwyn and I followed the road for the first few miles. Though the mists were as heavy outside the walls as in, the route was marked by firestone lanterns. Here and there, one was missing, either having gone out or some ill fate having befallen the iron post to which it was attached, but enough remained that we could keep to our course without too much trouble.
We'd journeyed less than a quarter hour when we encountered the tail end of a people on the move. There were horses and wagons as far as the eyes could see, but above all there were men, women and children hurrying down the road as fast as their legs would carry them, hoping that in speed they would find salvation.
That road ultimately led to the Tressian fortress of Northwatch, and I wondered idly if the castellan of that citadel knew what was descending upon him. I didn't doubt he'd been told – Quintus or Karov would have seen to that – but no words expressed on paper could have done justice to the sight of so many people lost in a wilderness they'd thought would ever remain beyond sturdy walls.
Praetorians rode ahead, behind and at the sides of that great column. They attempted to keep it in order, but were too few to make more than a token effort. Fortunately, most of the refugees we passed were subdued by their plight. Others could muster only the effort to beg piteously for food or to offer me gold for my horse.
Yet there was always the potential for violence. As Arianwyn and I wended our way through the despairing ranks, a fight broke out as frayed tempers turned a simple argument into something dangerous. A burly man in a rich velvet tunic had beaten bloody a boy half his age, and now went to finish things with a dagger. I spurred forward, using the bulk of my steed to force the crowds apart, and hoisted the lad onto my horse. The bulky man stared murderously at me, but recognised me as a much more dangerous proposition than the terrified boy and let me be.
Riding to the edge of the refugee column, I gave the lad into the care of the praetorians, then decided Arianwyn and I would be best served by striking away from the road. We'd have to part company from well-trodden paths before too much longer anyway, and the crowds were slowing us down.
As soon as we left the road however, another problem arose. Whilst the roadway had been lit by lantern light, the plains were not. I was not a good horseman. The idea of spurring full-tilt into the misty darkness was not one I entertained with any fondness. Nevertheless, I pushed our pace as much as I dared, trusting to instinct and Ashana's blessings to keep us safe.
Fortunately, the mists soon fell away. Finally I felt the cool wind upon my face and heard the night come alive with the hundred subtle sounds of the untamed wild. Even better, with the departure of the mists, the light of the moon returned.
With the moon and the stars in sight, I could navigate far more reliably than before. There was more than enough light to see by, and I picked up my pace before remembering that Arianwyn and her city-dweller's vision wouldn't fare so well. In the end, we solved this problem by affixing a pair of lanterns to my mount's panniers so Arianwyn wouldn't lose sight of me.
Arianwyn proved a surprisingly capable horsewoman. Even so, I sought routes that followed the gentlest slopes, and avoided broken ground where rocky spurs jutted through the undergrowth. Often this led us on winding detours that I would have otherwise sought to avoid, but Arianwyn and I could afford the loss of time far more than we could an injury to ourselves or to our steeds.
The lions were still with us. I'd wondered if they'd be able to keep pace, or even function outside the city. As it was they proved as swift as they were tireless.
As we entered the Contested Lands, I extinguished the lanterns and dropped back to Arianwyn's side. Ruins dotted this part of the plains, the remains of farmsteads and villages razed across years of claim and counter-claim. Any one could house a nest of bandits, and I didn't need the lanterns giving us away. With the light gone, Arianwyn no longer saw enough to direct her own horse, so I took over her reins.
"I've never been so far from the city," she said. "Where are we?"
"Unless we're horribly off-course, that intimidating cluster of shadows to the south is all that's left of Torgovald." She stared at me blankly. "Torgovald? As in 'The Last Stand of Torgovald?" I saw no glimmer of understanding, and sighed. "If you believe the histories – and personally I don't – that's where the first real battle of the war was fought."
"And you don't believe the histories?"
"Not so far as the enshrinement of first battles, no. I'd imagine the real spark-point was some grubby skirmish in a village too poor to have a name. Not the manner of battle anyone wants to enshrine as the reason why so many have died."
"If you don't mind me saying, you seem entirely too cheerful."
I thought about that for a moment, but could marshal no argument against it. "You're right. I'd forgotten how much I missed being out in the world, away from what it pleases you Tressians to call civilisation."
She laughed softly "And there are no cities in your land?"
"A few," I admitted, "but I don't care for those either. The Sarans were nomads. I think wanderlust still flows through my veins. Maybe that's why I'm inexpressibly poor company when I'm cooped up behind city walls."
"One of the many, anyway," she agreed, leaving much unsaid.
We crested the next rise to find a great valley laid out before us, and a river running noisily southward through the outskirts of a ruined city. This was a desolation far wider and grander in scale than any other than we'd passed. Some buildings were little more than clusters of tumbled walls and jumbled stone, but further to my south I spied larger and grander structures. Some were easily as vast as the council palace in Tressia, and their elegant spires gleamed brightly in the moonlight. I brought the horses to a halt.
"There's a bridge a little way north of here. Until we get to the other side, don't speak unless it's absolutely necessary. If we're to find any kind of trouble, it'll be here."
She nodded, an apprehensive look creeping into her eyes. "I'll have Jaspyr and Fredrik scout ahead. That might save us from some unfortunate surprises."
I nodded my assent, and the guardians sprang off into the night.
I led our horses to the bridge at little more than a walk, my senses alert for anything out of the ordinary. I hadn't wanted to tell Arianwyn, but this wasn't just another set of ruins – it was the northern edge of Ardovo. This was the oldest of all Tressia's cities, save perhaps Callastair, and it had a reputation almost as grim as that ghost-haunted ruin.
I'd been there twice before: once on a scouting expedition, and a second time with an army at my back to exterminate a bandit clan who'd taken up residence. Both visits had been in daylight, and I confess the way the moon-shadows fell gave the place a more sinister aspect than I remembered. So malignantly did those ruins sit on the valley floor that I considered taking another route, but we needed to cross the river, and there wasn't suitable portage for leagues in either direction. I chose to press on, and prayed to Ashana for protection.
No sooner had we crossed Ardovo's outer boundary than the wind came alive with wolf-like voices. There was a hunger in those cries, and intelligence too. Were the tales about Ardovo true?
Seconds passed like minutes, and minutes were agonising eternities as we walked our horses slowly and soundlessly through the night. Every noise, every whisper of movement grated on the nerves, provoking imaginings of terrors hidden in the darkness.
It was bad enough for me, and I could at least see – what Arianwyn went through I could only imagine. Wolves would have been bad enough for a child of the city, and I was fairly sure whatever waited in the darkness was no mere wolf. Yet she didn't make a sound, nor do anything to give us away, not even when strange lights started danced across the ruined spires some way to our south. She took one of my hands in hers, and grasped it so tight I lost all feeling in my fingers, but it went no further.
Finally we were across the river and climbing the hills on the far side, the mysteries of Ardovo behind us. I hurriedly added it t
o the list of places that I never wanted to see again and led the horses on. Jaspyr and Fredrik, of course, looked completely unconcerned, though I saw a smear of blood across Fredrik's face. I wondered briefly what the guardian had encountered, then decided that I didn't want to know. By the time we'd reached the base of the next hill, Arianwyn had finally slackened her grip on my hand.
"I'm sorry about that." I flexed some life back into my fingers. "I didn't think it'd be so bad, but it seems not all of the rumours about Ardovo lack substance."
Arianwyn stared steadily at me. "If you had, would you have still brought us this way?"
It was a good question. "I suppose I would."
"Then there's nothing to apologise for. Except, perhaps, for not warning me," she said levelly. "But then, I'm starting to realise you're not above keeping a few secrets."
I'd wondered how long it would take for that to come up. "I'm sorry I told you I was an exile. It was true, after a fashion."
"Is that kind of truth often in fashion in the Golden Court?"
"More often than not. Am I forgiven, Miss Kallindri?" I asked, purposefully employing the pseudonym under which she'd initially presented herself.
"Yes Edric, you're forgiven. As you so politely pointed out, I'm hardly blameless in the field of fashionable truths. Just understand that if this doesn't work out for us, it will go very ill for you."
"If we can't stop Malgyne, I'll unlikely be in any state to suffer overmuch from your retribution."
Her eyes shone in the darkness."Who said I meant Malgyne?"
We made better time after that, and soon came upon a ruined mill, the charred wreckage of its sails twitching forlornly in the breeze. After Arianwyn had sent the guardians to check nothing unwelcome lurked within, we took shelter and ate a hurried meal of dried fish and bread.
We caught an hour's restless sleep in that place. By the time we were on the move again, the first rays of dawn touched the sky. An hour after that, we crested another rise to arrive at our destination, but too late.
"Please tell me I'm imagining this," Arianwyn moaned.
I'd have loved to. Beyond the crest was a wide plain, swarming with dark figures as two armies manoeuvred for battle.
To our left, serried ranks of gold and green stretched off into the distance. Wedges of longbowmen gathered between great shield-locked phalanxes. Hosts of cataphracts, their helms crested with black feathers, waited for the horn-call that would loose them to slaughter.
I knew that army. I'd served in it for years. I'd commanded a good portion of it. I knew all the heraldic designs borne forth on shield and standard, and the names of the lords and princes to whom the bearers owed their allegiance. It was the army of the Hadari Emperor – or at least a goodly part of it. It was what we'd travelled so far to find.
Yet any joy in this discovery was dashed by the presence of that other force. They marshalled under blue and silver, bearing not the heraldry of great lords, but of fortresses. They were an army not of scale, but of chain and plate, and they forsook the bowman's art for the untutored skill of the crossbow. I'd spent much of my life fighting others just like it.
"What in the world are you playing at?" Arianwyn demanded of countrymen who couldn't hear her words. "You're outnumbered!" And they were. The Tressian army was no more than a quarter the size of that which opposed it. "And we're supposed to be at peace," She shouted as an afterthought.
She turned to me, sounding no less exasperated. "Come to that, where have they come from? Karov said there wasn't an army nearer than the Thrakkian border."
I peered down at the plain. The battle had yet to begin in earnest, but the sparks were flying. The two vanguards were already at work, Toriana plainsmen on their swift black horses vying with Tressian outriders on their caparisoned mounts. Both sides were content to harass the other for now, but men were already dying. The slaughter would soon begin.
"We should probably look on it as a bonus. We came looking for one army. We've found two."
"Provided they don't wipe each other out." The determined look I'd come to know so well had crept into her eyes. "We need to stop them."
"How?" I enquired mildly. "They're not going to back down just because we ask them to."
"I think that depends on how you ask," Arianwyn chided. "You deal with your countrymen, I'll deal with mine." She took a deep breath, and furrowed her brow. Suddenly, her body blazed with light. "I don't think anyone's going to argue with me."
In a spray of mud, she spurred her mare downhill and towards the Tressian lines, Jaspyr and Fredrik loping along behind.
I stared after her, shaking my head in wonderment. We'd been too long trapped in the mists of Otherworld – I'd forgotten how striking Arianwyn could be when she tapped into her birthright. In fact, I'd almost forgotten she was capable of such things. No less remarkable was her renewed confidence. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman I'd practically bullied into impersonating Sidara before the cathedral. Maybe she was finally growing accustomed to the power and what it represented. Perhaps, I thought uneasily, she was becoming a little too accustomed – not that there was much I could do if she were.
My eyes tracked Jaspyr as he sprang onto a fallen log then sprang away. Finally, I knew what had nagged at my mind about the guardians. It wasn't bad, far from it. Indeed, there was hope in that revelation – at least if I was right. A blaring horn drew my mind out of its meanderings. It wouldn't matter whether I was right or wrong if the two armies obliterated each other.
I approached my countrymen from the rear. There was already plenty of danger I'd be mistaken for a Tressian scout, and no point at all in compounding things by riding headlong into the advancing ranks. Leaves crunched beneath hooves and mud sprayed as I barrelled down that hill. Against all odds, I managed not to fall from the saddle, and soon after reached the base of the hill.
The first challenges split the air. It was the first time I'd been addressed in my own tongue for many months – Jamar had always insisted on Tressian whilst in the city – and the words fell strangely on my ears. Arrows were nocked, and spears levelled. I'd soon be dead if I didn't convince them I was a friend.
I slowed my steed to a brisk walk, and shouted back that I was a member of the royal guard with urgent news for the Emperor. The havildar in charge of the picket line bellowed at me to dismount – clearly he wasn't convinced.
Rather than obey, I threw back my hood. I was a special envoy to the Emperor, I told him again, and was to be allowed through.
The havildar was plainly torn. He didn't want to earn the Emperor's disfavour, but nor did he want to set a potential assassin loose. He didn't recognise me, that much was obvious – otherwise I'd expect to have been allowed straight past or shot down like a dog, depending on the havildar's love of the royal family in general, or my brother in particular. Accidents were easily explained. On the other hand, I was obviously one of his countrymen, and that seemed to swing things in my favour. The havildar barked a command, bows were lowered and I spurred through the picket line and into the army's heart.
I knew that I didn't have long before I was challenged again – this time more forcefully. I needed to find someone who'd listen, and I needed to find them quickly. The Emperor, my uncle Eirac, was my first choice, but I saw no sign of the imperial bodyguard. Was he in one of the ornate tents some distance to the rear? Whatever had provoked this battle, the Tressians were clearly the aggressors – my people were fighting practically on top of their own encampment.
With no sign of the Emperor, my next best chance of success lay with whichever warleader commanded the army. That almost certainly meant the person I sought was somewhere in the front lines. The Tressians had long ago concluded that an experienced general would best direct a battle from the rear, but my own people still placed far greater worth in him riding at the head of the charge. We'd lost a lot of warleaders that way, yet tradition wasn't easily overcome by something as prosaic as needless death.
I spu
rred my horse through the mud. Haste would only garner suspicion, and I had a hard enough task ahead without being shackled and chained until the battle was done. I suddenly remembered I was still wearing Tressian attire, and was more glad than ever of the cloak concealing it.
I rode past a formation of archers, and a phalanx of spears, but the only looks I received were those given by men locked in that peculiar state between boredom and apprehension. The havildar commanding the phalanx regarded me a touch longer than most, but he looked away again without so much as a word.
"Halt! Identify yourself!"
The words and the sound of a sword being unsheathed came as one. I turned to see a cataphract break ranks and spur towards me. The crimson of his cloak and the luxuriance of his crest betrayed him to be a man of rank. The tone of voice warned of a man with a suspicious cast of mind
So much for subtlety. Coming to a halt, I turned my horse to face my challenger. There was a fair chance I knew the face beneath the concealing helm. Advancement beyond a certain rank lay in the gift of the royal family – I'd certainly had enough petitioners over the years, through official channels and otherwise – and such could hardly be achieved by a worthy who didn't recognise his own crown prince.
This fellow clearly didn't make the connection. Worse, he'd scented something untoward in my purpose, and meant to capitalise upon it. "What's your business here? Answer me!"
"You must speak with..."
"Answer me!"
Anger swirled in my stomach. I'd known this would be difficult, but I hadn't anticipated so infuriating an obstacle. Would no one in this wretched army recognise me? There was little point announcing who I was without that recognition to fall back upon, for who believes a man who claims to be a prince in his moment of need?
Shadow of the Raven (The Reckoning Book 1) Page 41
