18

Ash

The only thing keeping me from panic as I ride, hands bound, rain falling, is Kaylin doubling behind me. We don’t speak, but his presence, the way he leans forward and turns slightly so his shoulder presses against my back, makes me feel like there is hope. Plus, there’s his handiwork on the headland to remember. I know what he’s capable of. But with his hands bound, the scouts ready to skewer us at any false move, and his weapon taken from him, how can he possibly save us?

“Wars are won in the will, not the weapons.”

This is hardly the time to philosophize. And speaking of war—Gollnar in league with Aturnia? When did this happen? It’s another thing to warn Master Brogal and the Magistrate about, but how I can’t imagine. It is very likely we are being marched to our demise.

“You don’t have all the facts.”

What does that mean? Facts like the exact number of warriors in the camp? How we will be tortured? My stomach’s in my throat.

“Other facts,” my inner voice replies.

The rain falls harder. It runs off my head and down my nose, giving me a terrible itch. We’re on Rita, third back from Marcus, who is being led behind the captain. They must know exactly who he is now. Palrion gold and the Baiseen Magistrate’s family seal on a savant far off route to Aku equals highly prized captives, most likely spies.

“And not very good ones.”

I agree with my inner voice on this. The next time Marcus plans to travel across enemy territory, I will do the packing. But in all fairness, this jaunt to Mount Bladon was never planned. “So goes the path,” I say under my breath.

“Don’t give up, lass.” Kaylin speaks so softly, I barely hear the words, but they ring warm in my mind nonetheless.

“Thank you.” When I turn to acknowledge him, he seems surprised. There is so much more to say than a simple thanks, but I turn back, not wanting to draw attention.

Only Marcus and I know of the military encampment in the valley. If the others knew, they might be inclined to think up a way to escape before we’re surrounded by a thousand swords, which by my count will be in three minutes. I have to try something.

“Then do.”

I look over my shoulder, around Kaylin, at the scout riding behind us, and smile. He has light skin and curly, reddish-blond hair escaping his bone-colored knitted cap. He wears an Aturnian coat, baggy riding pants, and sheepskin-lined boots, all darkening in the rain. His face is sharp and angular—but less severe than the captain’s. I hold my brightest smile in place. “It would be so nice to have someone to chat with, you know? I’ve been traveling with these scholarly savants for a full month! They are terribly reticent to converse.”

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t tell me to shut up, either, so I keep going.

“How far to your camp?” I ask in Palrion to make sure my party listens. I feel Kaylin straighten. “Just ahead? It’s hard to see around the trees.” I glance forward and note Samsen’s ears all but prick as well. “I caught a glimpse of your site from the plateau,” I go on. “Quite impressive. I particularly like your spotty horses. Such a large herd of them.”

The scout nods, and his horse, a black mare with tiny white speckles over her round rump, flutters her nostrils.

“You must have a huge galley tent to feed such a horde.”

Kaylin knees me in the back of the leg. Too much? “Perhaps—”

“Silence!” the captain says from the head of the trail. His look is not friendly or tolerant. I close my mouth, hoping the others have a better idea of what we’re in for, that it will spur them to some action. In any case, a few strides down the track reveals all as the enormous camp comes into view and speaks for itself. To the left of the trail, through the trees, I catch sight of flagpoles and the three banners flying from them that we saw from the summit—the Aturnian stars, Gollnar horse, and the twin, overlapping circles or suns. As I wanted to tell Marcus, it’s new and belongs to no realm I know. But I’ve seen the image three times since docking in Clearwater. First on the notice at the apothecary, then these flags, and finally tattooed on the inside of the captain’s wrist. I have no idea what kind of political mishmash this represents. Most likely I will never find out.

“Quite pessimistic.”

True, but in my defense, it’s where the facts point.

That, and being bound and taken captive.

I realize, even as the thoughts come and pass, that I’m incredibly calm, all things considered. Shock? Suspended belief, perhaps?

My inner voice has no answer.

As we descend, the rows and rows of brown hide tents come into view, only a few minutes’ ride away. Beyond the camp are rolling hills covered with horses, a thousand of them at least. My blood goes cold, and the rain makes me shiver. Although that could be the fear catching up to me.

Kaylin, on the other hand, remains unruffled behind me. He should be highly alarmed by now. His grip, where his tied hands hold a fold of my coat, relaxes, which is reassuring, but as the descent continues, the trail curves westward and “city-size” suddenly seems a conservative estimate for the enemy camp. Beside the fields of horses grazing in the hills are at least a hundred mounts being ridden in formation around a vast parade ground. The numbers are too many to count. This is no military exercise or even show of force.

It’s an all-out war campaign, and we are being taken straight to the heart of it.