She led him to higher ground, grateful that his movement eased as he walked. If necessary she would be able to ride, but she would let him rest as long as she could. She moved to the top of the small hillock, the better to survey the area, take stock of her position and formulate a plan. The most important thing would be to see who still survived.
“Ah, there you are,” came a familiar Bremondine burr through the smoky haze. Gikka dropped back the hood of her cloak and shook back her mannish loose hair, and at once, she and her horse emerged from the gloom. “And just where I said you’d be, so please you, as hale and blush as you’ve any right to be, considering.” She brought Zinion up beside Alandro while she scanned the horizon. “How fare you, lady?”
“Confounded, to be sure,” Renda said, rubbing the back of her head, “cut and bruised with battle but otherwise unharmed.”
“Seems we’re as baffled as you, all of us, but most with no knock on the head to thank for it.”
“Where are the others?” Renda looked across the battlefield. “Where is the duke?”
“Ah, no,” Gikka said, “you’ll not find them there. Come.” She turned southeastward, and Renda followed. “The duke lives, though the gods only know how.”
“I saw him only for a moment. I tried to reach him, but I was too slow.”
“I’ve in mind it was by his design, that, the stubborn wretch. He had to know you’d try.”
Renda watched Gikka scrutinize the demons’ bodies as they passed, no doubt with an eye toward making sure they were dead.
“Nestor gives out that His Grace took a bit of a spill on his adventure and would rest whilst we gathered up to leave,” Gikka continued, “more by way of keeping anyone from questioning him than for his recovery, says I.”
“He lives. That is what matters. No one saw anything?”
The Bremondine shook her head. “Muddled notions of a wicked jolt and some sharp shakes in the ground. Not much besides.”
Renda frowned. It could be no coincidence that Trocu should ride out alone and that suddenly the armies should be dispersed in terror.
Light, too much light.
“No mention of any odd light or colors?”
Gikka shook her head again.
“You were watching? Or the boy?”
“Aye, I was on watch, up high in the coral, mine eyes right upon His Grace as he rode out, the sheriff shouting behind him and bellowing at Nestor to stop him. Next I know, I’ve the boy Chul shaking me awake off the very ground, himself to have risen to meet the dawn even in spite of the shock,” she chuckled darkly. “Bloody Dhanani.”
She led Renda over a hillock well south of the Lacework and eastward. From the top of the hill, they had a clear view of the battleground and the bodies as they lay.
“To the good,” Gikka continued, “what demons did not die outright fled back the way they came, screaming and wailing such that I’ve no doubt they won’t stop ere they hit the far Byrandian shore, and maybe not even then.”
They paused while Renda looked over the field from this higher vantage. Far to the northwest, the bodies lay in chaos where the knights had cut them down, falling left and right, limbs splayed, heaped as they fell. But outside where they’d fought, most of the bodies had their heads more or less to the east, like so many trees blown over. They’d been running away. They had trampled each other in their panic.
Gikka glanced at Renda. “Aye, fright was ever the means to take them, sure, but we’d given up hope of it, what with the mages to mind them. We’d settled in for a long night, us, with no hope of making the run we’d planned. Then of a sudden, off they’ve gone, at a wee bit of a shake in the ground.”
“It was quite strong enough to knock all of us senseless. Was it Dith’s doing?”
Gikka laughed. “Sure if they were going to run on Dith’s account, they’d have gone long since. No, methinks it was something else. Sure not the sight of a lone man on horse, even if it is our duke. Whatever it was, I wonder if mayhap we should have run, too.”
Renda licked her lips and turned Alandro eastward. “Gikka, you know the duke is not like other men. You remember…”
Her squire sighed. “Renda, I remember my Duke Brada nearly dead at the hands of such another army of demons. He were barely alive as I found him in Kadak’s fortress, torn and tortured to pieces. Even he and the power he brought to bear against Kadak at the end would not have been a match for mages and demons allied. His was not the hand as took Kadak’s life, and right well you know it.”
Renda looked away. Did she? And if it was not the duke’s hand that killed Kadak, whose was it?
“And begging your pardon,” Gikka went on, “but Trocu, great man that he is, is not yet his father’s match, not by any measure.” She laughed bitterly. “Do you know, for all this, it were probably no more than the bit of a shake in the ground as set them off, maybe the landbridge settling all on its own, and His Grace there to look the hero for it.”
“Very likely.” After a moment, long enough to change the subject, Renda asked, “What of the others?”
“We lost a few, Renda. Sure I’ll not complain. We could have lost more, but every one lost is a hardship.”
Renda shut her eyes in dread. “Tell me.”
“First, know that your father lives.”
Renda nodded. “Praise B’radik.”
“B’radik, nothing,” the Bremondine spat, “it were a near thing, and it took Laniel, Chul and me, all three, to hold him back from his death.”
“What happened?
Gikka explained to Renda how the sheriff had discovered that the mages were keeping the demons from fear and were making them almost invulnerable.
Renda frowned. Of course. It was not something she would have anticipated, given that Kadak’s demons had killed all the mages they encountered. Such an alliance would have been impossible on Syon. But having seen it, Gikka’s explanation made perfect sense. “But how did this nearly get my father killed?”
“Well, hearing this, Dame Liddy takes it on herself to pluck out the mages one by one, to let the demons know fear again, aye, and ease your way? A fine proud plan, that. But her arrow pops a mage’s protections, and all at a shot, like they set themselves to just this end, comes lightning and fire and destruction and mayhem awash over the archers. Narrowly missed your father, though not by his doing, for he goes flying into the maelstrom, comes pulling out Grayson, nearest to him, who was badly burned. We had to hold your father back from going after Liddy and Peringale, who were as good as ash as they fell. B’radik, fie. No hand of Hers was helping to hold him back.”
“As ever,” Renda replied, ignoring her blasphemy, “you have my thanks.”
“Daerwin of Brannagh is near as dear to me as he is to you, Renda. I’d not let him fall, not while I yet draw breath.” She shook her head. “I just wish he would not run headlong toward his death at every turn. Is the missing of your mother as gives him rash courage, and his fear of losing you as well.”
She nodded, hating the dry lump of grief that lodged in her throat.
“Will Grayson live?”
Gikka shrugged. “Laniel holds it likely, though he won’t be as pretty as he was. Hard upon this chaos it was that His Grace came riding through our midst and out into the battle, not hearing a word to stop him, and none of us able to give chase.” She nudged Zinion forward again. “Of the swordsmen as rode with you, only Kerrick and Amara live for certain. Came riding in at daybreak, they did, just as I was mounting to leave, leading Qorlin between them. Amara and Laniel did what they could, and he lived yet as I left to seek you, but…” She shook her head. “The poison was already well along with him. I’d not expect him to survive.”
Liddy. Peringale. Qorlin. Not to mention Mida and Benn. “What of Vonn?”
Her squire frowned and looked down.
“Gikka?”
“Renda, he…” She looked up at Renda, and the fear in her eyes was unmistakable. “Well, he is dead, too, but the how of
it is Kerrick’s to tell––him or Amara––and I’ll let you draw your own mind about it. I’ve thoughts of my own as terrify me to the winds, but I’ll not be tainting your mind with ‘em. Best you hear for yourself and judge.” They crossed over a low ridge, and below, they could see the riders moving eastward over the broadest part of the grassland trampled flat by the passing of a thousand demons. As they had during the war with Kadak, they raised their swords in silent salute to her as she approached.
They stopped only long enough for Laniel to rub some unguents on Alandro’s sore limbs and to make sure Renda was all right after the blow she took to her head. Jath brought Zati, Qorlin’s horse, for Renda to ride while Alandro recovered, and soon they were moving again.
For several miles, Lord Daerwin only held his daughter’s hand as they rode, unable to speak more than the occasional “Praise B’radik.”
Nestled in a pouch before him on his saddle rested his harrier, Colaris, with his back and wings generously swabbed in salves to fight infection and ease the pain. With his free hand, Daerwin caressed the drowsy bird’s chin, one of the few places that was not injured, and occasionally fed him bites of dried fish.
Behind them, Laniel and Amara rode beside the pair of makeshift travois in which lay Grayson and Qorlin. The priest had said that by day’s end, Grayson would be fit to ride again and would no doubt prefer to be mounted since the travois was far from comfortable for a conscious patient.
To their surprise, Qorlin had not yet died, and they entertained cautious hope that perhaps he might yet live, in spite of their not having any way to treat the actual poison. They had cut away as much poisoned tissue as they could without crippling him and leeched out what they could of the rest with poultices of dried peachwillow bark mixed with the grasses that grew around them, in the hope that his body could fight what remained. His convulsions had stopped, and by now he was able to take sips of water.
Gikka and Dith rode near each other in companionable silence, near but not near enough for Zinion to take fright. Occasionally, a few words would pass between them in Hadric, a touch, a smile.
Chul supposed lovers took privacy as they could, even if only in the language they whispered to each other, but that particular language, even in murmur, set his teeth on edge. Finally, the Dhanani had removed himself to the back of the formation, behind Kerrick who was deep in his own thoughts, behind the duke and Nestor, to ride with Jath and the spare horses.
He had not spoken since Chul and his horse fell into place beside him.
Nothing. You saw nothing.
He had not had a chance to talk to Jath since the prisoner’s escape, and he was not certain what he could even say, but he felt he had to say something. He felt as if he’d learned an awkward secret, or part of one, and he was not sure how to incorporate that knowledge into their friendship. Until they spoke of it, it would crowd out all other conversation.
He tried to hurt Damerien.
“You carry a knife,” Jath said finally in Brymandyan.
Chul looked at him curiously. “Of course I carry a knife,” he replied in the same tongue. “I am Dhanani. All Dhanani carry knives.”
Jath met his gaze and smiled gently. “But it worries you to know that I have one, as well.”
Chul considered. If Jath carried a blade, it would not bother him. A blade, he could understand. This was something different. “It is not the same.”
“Is it not?” Jath cocked his head. “You can kill. I can kill.”
“It is not the same somehow.” Chul shook his head, working to find the words he had learned. “I do not know what to think.”
“Yet you seem to have made up your mind anyway.”
“Jath.” Chul swallowed hard. “I kill with a blade. You kill with a thought.”
“You kill with a thought, too. Your knife is nothing without thought to guide it.” Jath glanced at him. “Besides, it’s never as simple as killing with a thought.”
The Dhanani looked away, remembering when he killed the Wirthing knight outside Brannagh, remembering his decision to strike and how once the decision was made, the blade seemed to fly on its own as if it had been simply waiting for permission. He remembered feeling the man’s life bleed away under his blade. He also remembered feeling nothing, neither exhilaration nor remorse.
“If it will ease your mind,” Jath said at last, “know that I did not kill the prisoner.”
Chul looked at him for a moment, then turned back, the relief evident on his face. “When you said he tried to hurt Damerien, I thought….”
“I know.” He smiled sadly. “People have a way of misunderstanding what I say. The truth is, I should have killed him, Chul, and I would have, in just that way, but I was slow. A quicker mind than mine protected Damerien, for which I am ashamed.” As they rode, Jath looked out over the field, over the withered mummified bodies of several mages. “This time,” he smiled coldly, “I was fast enough.”
“Lord Windale saw more of what happened than I.” Amara kept her eyes locked on the lengthening shadows and sipped at a cup of water. The sheriff had called a stop to rest the horses, and Amara used it to walk and to stretch her own legs as well as to check the two injured men.
“Aye,” Renda said softly. “And I shall ask him of it directly, but for now, I would hear from you what you saw. What became of Sir Vonn?”
Amara gently peeled away the Bilkarian poultice and dried Grayson’s burned chest with a clean cloth she’d found in the priest’s bag. She showed Renda the skin of the knight’s chest where it was raw and tender, but no trace of the burn remained. “With no help from his god at all, Laniel can heal wounds nearly as fast as the B’radikites and far faster than I.” She shook her head in amazement. She put a fresh poultice across Grayson’s chest, bound his shirt across it and drew up the blanket over him. “By morning, he should be able to take horse, and another day gone, he should be able to fight.” She looked out over the darkening hills ahead. “A good thing, I think.”
“Aye, so it is,” Renda nodded patiently, watching Laniel feed sips of water to Qorlin and bathe his forehead with wet cloths in spite of the chill in the air. “This is unknown territory for all of us. We will need every hand if we are to survive,” she said, and looked at Amara pointedly. “And every bit of information we can bring to bear.”
“Yes. Yes, I know. The truth is, I… saw very little, my Lady.” She wiped her hands and retrieved her cup to drink. “You should better ask Ker––the Viscount.”
Renda’s eyes narrowed slightly. Was Amara on such friendly terms with the viscount, to use his given name? She chuckled slightly at herself and drove the first wisps of jealousy away. Why shouldn’t Amara be on such terms with him? After all, not only had they served in the war together, but she had spent a season with him defending his family castle. For all she knew, they were lovers. She set that thought aside for later consideration.
“I shall ask him, in good time. But I would know from you, above all, that we did not leave Sir Vonn yet bleeding out amongst the dead.”
“That we did not, my Lady,” Amara murmured. “You have my word upon it. He is dead. Please do not press me for more, for i’faith, I do not know what it was I saw, and I would not mislead you. I know only that his blood is the last upon my sword.”
“Your sword?”
“Aye, mine and Lord Windale’s as well.”
Renda absorbed what Amara had said. “Did you mistake each other in the haze of battle? It has happened before in battle. We were under concealment. Perhaps…”
“No,” Amara nearly shouted. “The concealment had broken. The demons attacked us, and we fought them.” She looked forward, to where Kerrick rode, and lowered her voice. “It went this way. Vonn saw something and rode into the midst of the demons.”
“What did he see?”
She shook her head. “He shouted something, but I did not hear him. I had my own fight, as did we all, and when I had a moment to look, I could not see him. Neither could I s
ee you or the others.”
Renda nodded. “What next?”
Amara looked away.
“Knight,” Renda said softly, “report.”
“As I told Gikka, I cannot, truly, not with any reliability.”
“Just tell me what you saw or what you think you saw,” Renda replied, watching Amara’s uneasy glance toward where Kerrick sat beside the sheriff, “and let me weigh it myself.”
Amara nodded and lowered her voice. “I was fighting, and then I was not.” She shrugged. “Perhaps I took a blow to the head. I only know that I was senseless for a time. When I came to myself, I was alone, slumped over my saddle, sword still in hand, and Odra, my horse, was wandering aimlessly. Around me, I saw demons bleeding from their eyes with terror, some running headlong off the side of the landbridge into the sea, some trampling others to get away. I also saw some of the mages shrivel and die, and I saw their magic swallowed up into nothingness as they cast it.”
Renda nodded. She had seen the bodies, as well.
“I chased down some of the demons and killed them, but when I saw they were in full retreat and no longer fighting, I did not pursue them. I returned to guard the Lacework and to regroup in case the retreat was a ruse.”
“Aye, commendable and wise. But Amara…what of Vonn?”
Amara did not speak for a time. “Lord Windale and Sir Qorlin and I found each other first because we were still horsed. At once, we began combing the rubble for you and for Vonn. We caught Alandro for a time, but he broke free of us when––”
“Broke free of you?”
Amara nodded. “He broke free and bolted away just as we spied Vonn, afoot and coming from between the panicked demons. It made the other horses nervy, too, come to think on it. In the midst of all this comes Vonn, afoot, as I say, and carrying one of the huge battle axes, like a trophy. Qorlin rides forward to greet him, arms outstretched. We had won, don’t you see? The demons were in full retreat. He had no reason to fear…”
Guardian Last (Lords of Syon Saga Book 2) Page 35
