76

Ash

If I hear Marcus say, “Ride on,” one more time, I’ll purposely spill from the saddle, hit my head on the ground, and never rise again. In years to come, they’ll find my skull and spine curled like a child, with scraps of fabric scattered about, pale and rotting from seasons of decay. They’ll think I was a soldier in the Aturnian Army, maybe even savant. The black-robes might carve whistles from what’s left of my arms and legs. Wouldn’t that be something?

“A tad dramatic, no?”

“Ride on!” Marcus yells.

“Dakin deep,” I curse but stay in the saddle. One more time, though, and that’s it.

I’ve lost track of the days and nights and the number of horses I’ve sat. This one is a dark bay with straight shoulders and a relentless, choppy stride. Each hoof fall hammers my backbone like corn popping in a pan. I won’t be surprised if all my bones are knocked ajar and I’ll need months of healing to recover. Pins and needles prickle my limbs, and what used to serve as sit bones are now raw stumps. Our horrific journey to Aku, with its mercenaries, scouts, and near drowning in the Ferus River doesn’t compare to this nightmare that won’t end. I would like to say something to the others, if just to commiserate, but the cold and exhaustion silence me—and the hunger. I’m almost thankful for the tailbone pains; they at least distract me from the gnawing in my empty stomach.

After a series of hills and valleys, we slow to a walk on the nearly spent horses.

Marcus raises his arm and halts at the bottom of a valley. “A short rest, then we keep moving.” He looks hollow, a ghost of himself. I guess we all do, even Kaylin who gazes yearningly toward the eastern seaboard. We’re drawn and haggard, dark circles under our eyes.

“Nearly there?” I feel certain we crossed into the realm of Palrio a few hours back.

Marcus nods, and Samsen confirms it. “Home realm.”

I want to cry.

Kaylin finds a clear spring and returns with full waterskins. He must have immersed, as his hair is wet, eyes clear and revived. We water the horses and build a fire at Piper’s insistence.

“There must be a hot meal,” she says, shaking out the last bag of oats and cracked wheat into a pot. “Little point arriving at Baiseen’s gates in time only to drop dead before delivering our warning.”

There’s no salt or cream or honey, though the gruel is warming and fills a gap. After the bland meal, I stare at the coals and hold my hands up to them. The others are silent. Tyche curls up and dozes next to me.

“We might beat Tann yet,” Marcus says, scraping his bowl. “If we keep going tonight.”

“There’s a chance my phantom could make the flight from here,” Samsen says, “though I’d have to stay in its perspective…”

Meaning we’d have to leave him behind, unless we tied him to his horse or—

“Out of the question,” Marcus says. “I’m not leaving you for the Aturnians to find.”

I have no strength to argue. None of us do. At least we’re getting better at the theft. Between Tyche and Samsen’s callers and Belair and Marcus’s warriors, it has become a smooth business to lure riders off the road and knock them out. Piper suggested a few days ago that we call mounts in from isolated paddocks. It sounded like a good idea at first, but we tried it only once, finding out the hard way that not every full-grown horse in Aturnia is broken to ride. What a fiasco. We’d lost two hours of daylight that morning, and Piper was nearly trodden into the ground.

The whole business is worse for Tyche. She remains mute, for the most part, a contrast to the young girl she’d been before the attack on Aku. I have no time to talk with her about Yuki’s death, not to mention the Mar who saved her life or the possibility of the next Great Dying. It feels like a huge store of knowledge long hidden was coming to light and now it might all be lost again. Certainly, the references from Aku are gone.

“One problem at a time,” my inner voice counsels.

You’re right.

Finally, Kaylin speaks up. “We have to make a choice.”

“We do.” Piper levels her eyes on Marcus and summarizes the situation. “We are approximately thirty leagues northwest of Baiseen. We can either carry on, hugging the west coast, or cut east and follow the larger, more trafficked East Road to Cabazon and across to Baiseen.”

Everyone speaks up. Some are for and some against, and I’m uncertain where I stand.

“The west coast is severe terrain,” Kaylin says. “Also, the settlements are few and far between. If we lose a horse or two and can’t replace them, it will slow us down, and these are already spent. They have to rest.”

“Five days and you’re an expert on horses?” Marcus says.

Kaylin rubs his shoulder. “A city dweller could tell these animals are done.”

“What about the marauders?” Tyche asks as she sits up. Her eyes are round and black in the firelight, her face filthy.

Everyone stares for a moment, surprised to hear her speak.

“Who told you there were marauders?” Marcus asks.

“Savants from Nonnova. The west of Palrio crawls with Gollnarian thieves, they claim.”

“My realm isn’t crawling with any such thing,” Marcus says. “It’s our best option. Going east will take too long.”

“True,” I say, seeing his logic. “It would be hard to slip past unnoticed that way, and we have no travel documents, not to mention the little problem of our uniforms. We’ll be shot on sight as Northern Aturnian soldiers.”

“Why not follow the Waindown River—” Kaylin begins but everyone protests. He holds up his hand. “Hear me out. We could skirt the foothills of the Hugon Mountain Range and come out north of Cabazon.”

“Too risky.” Marcus breaks a branch and tosses it on the fire. “Without an update on the temper of the realms, we can’t go shouting out about a pending Aturnian attack to just anyone. The roads could be full of sympathizers, or non-savants.”

My ears burn. “Meaning what?”

“Non-savants?” He rolls his neck. “They’re mostly uneducated. Given to panic.”

“Subtle,” Kaylin says, staring at the fire.

“Is that what you think of us?” I stab the ground with a stick.

Belair jumps in to help Marcus. “No matter who we encounter, word of an Aturnian attack will be received in a mixed way, especially if it reached the east coast cities before we’re in Baiseen. We have to know the status quo first.”

“Exactly,” Marcus says.

Their babble does nothing to appease me. “I wouldn’t worry so much about us non-savants,” I say. “We’d hardly have the presence of mind to organize an uprising, being uneducated, and…what was the other thing? Given to panic?”

“I didn’t mean you.” Marcus looks confused. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

I open my mouth to speak, not sure where to start.

Kaylin raises his hand, signaling for silence. Without explanation, he disappears into the night.

Marcus motions to Piper and Samsen, and they silently melt into the surrounding bushes as well.

Kaylin returns soon after with Piper and Samsen behind him. “Trackers.”

“Be ready to ride,” Marcus says. “We leave now.”

My eyes widen. “Who comes?” I ask, buckling my sword back on.

“Northern Aturnian troops.”

Belair helps me pack up the cooking gear without cleaning it. “They must want their horses back.”

“The fire.” Marcus goes to kick dirt onto the flames.

“I can do it,” Tyche says. “No smoke.”

She raises her phantom silently, and it leans in to her, rubbing its nose on her cheek. They chant softly, and the fire vanishes without a trace, plunging our camp into darkness. I have to wait a moment for my eyes to adjust, then I lead Tyche to the picket line where seven horses stand, hind legs cocked, eyes closed, steam rising from their backs. I tighten the girth on my tall military mount and on Tyche’s horse, too. She scrambles up into the saddle without complaint, but I can’t stifle the groan as I do the same. The horses sigh, resigned. In moments we are riding out of the valley, single file under a third-quarter moon.

When we reach the crossroads, Marcus points west, the trackers making the choice for us. “We cut across to the coast. Samsen, keep watch from above, and lead them falsely if you can.” His jaw is set. “They have broken the treaty by their presence here. It’s an act of war.”

I roll my eyes. “I think we might have beat them to it when we stormed through Aturnia, North and South, stealing horses and knocking troops down like chaffs of wheat.” I know he doesn’t want to hear that right now, but I say it anyway.

Marcus isn’t listening. His eyes take on a faraway look, and then he says those bones-chac’n words I hate, “Ride on!”