Insharah pulled his horse to a halt. It was close to dawn, and there was just enough light to see the horsemen waiting for him ahead.
Forty or fifty men.
He motioned the eight men who rode with him to wait, then urged his horse forward. When he got to within four or five paces of the group ahead of him, he reined in.
“Who goes there?” he called out.
“Perhaps we wonder the same thing,” said one man, now pushing his horse forward to meet Insharah. “Ah,” he said as he rode up, “you are Insharah. What is this, have you been sent out to scout for the rebellious generals? Or have you deserted with a few of your friends?”
“Neither, Risdon,” said Insharah, recognizing the man as one of Armat’s leading commanders. “I bring the remainder of the army to Armat, to aid him in his quest to liberate Isembaard.”
Risdon smiled, a brief glint of teeth in the dim light. “The entire army, Insharah?” He peered dramatically behind Insharah. “What, eight men only? That’s all that’s left? Did Maximilian eat the rest for his breakfast, then?”
“The rest follow an hour’s ride behind,” said Insharah. “I rode out ahead, as I knew Armat must be close.”
“Why should Armat trust you?” said Risdon. “You are close friends with Axis, and thus too closely allied to Maximilian for Armat to greet you easily.”
“I admire both men,” said Insharah, “but my loyalties are to Isembaard.”
“And to Armat,” said Risdon softly. “You forgot that important little bit.”
“And to Armat.” Insharah pulled out his sword, making the men behind Risdon draw theirs as well.
Risdon continued to sit relaxed in the saddle.
Insharah rode forward a pace and held his sword out to Risdon, who accepted it only after a long moment.
“You will be watched,” said Risdon. “You surely didn’t expect to be welcomed with open arms into Armat’s camp.”
“I am Armat’s man,” said Insharah.
“We’ll see,” said Risdon.
Isaiah woke at dawn, stiff from a night spent on the ground. He sat up, stretching slowly to unbend his muscles, and looked at Hereward.
He would not have been surprised to discover her dead. She’d lost so much blood, and was so weak, that a night spent in the cold could easily have killed her.
But even though she was lying very still, Isaiah could make out the movement of her chest.
She breathed, at least.
Isaiah stood, stretching his back as he looked around. There was movement on the eastern horizon, now faintly stained with pink.
Skraelings probably, looking for food.
Food.
He and Hereward had very little left. Hereward had existed for days while she waited for him by living off supplies from the riverboat. But while the boat had been well stocked from the kitchens of Aqhat, most of the food had been spoiled in the horrific Skraeling attack—neither Hereward nor Isaiah felt much like eating grain sodden with clotted blood—and what remained was now almost exhausted. They would need food soon.
Isaiah looked once more at Hereward, then bent down, picked up his sword, and trotted off into the lightening landscape.
Two hours later Hereward stirred, then, with some difficulty, rolled over toward the fire.
Isaiah sat there, cooking something in a pot on the coals.
It smelt like meat, and Hereward’s mouth watered.
“Isaiah?”
“How are you?” he asked.
“Alive,” she said. “Just. Isaiah…what is that you’re cooking?”
He grimaced. “Four Skraelings had run down an antelope to the north. I managed to chase them off…there are a few mouthfuls left. Not much, I am afraid, and not the choicest bits.”
“It smells good, nonetheless.” Hereward looked at Isaiah more carefully. “You’re injured.”
“Not badly. One of the Skraelings caught my arm with its claws. It will heal soon enough.”
Hereward struggled to sit up, overbalancing slightly as she almost blacked out with the effort.
“Isaiah, please, go on without me. You can leave me here. You don’t need me to hold you up.”
“Such a tempting idea,” Isaiah said, allowing a little humor to creep into his voice, “but I can’t do that. You’re all of my Tyranny I have left.”
He was rewarded with a small smile.
“This is almost cooked,” he said. “Do you want—”
“I would eat it raw!”
Isaiah smiled—that was her desperation for blood talking—and dished out some of the barely cooked meat into a bowl.
“Insharah,” Armat said. “Risdon tells me that you have decided to join us.”
Insharah paused just inside the door of the tent, and saluted with his clenched fist across his chest.
“I am loyal to Isembaard,” he said.
“Well, that is as may be,” said Armat, “but why are you here?”
“Because you, too, are for Isembaard.”
Armat said nothing, watching Insharah carefully.
“I bring the remainder of the army,” said Insharah, “save for some few thousands who decided to remain with Maximilian.”
“So also Risdon informed me. Did you not kill Maximilian?”
Insharah blinked. “No. I…I asked his permission to leave his command so that—”
“Don’t treat me like a fool, Insharah. Do you honestly want me to believe that Maximilian just waved you good-bye happily and with warmest best wishes?”
“He did not want to hold us against our will,” Insharah said. “He knew how desperate we were to aid our families. He did, indeed, wish us well.”
“But you didn’t tell him that you were riding toward me.”
“Not in so many words, my lord, but he must have realized we’d join up with you.”
Armat turned away, pretending to toy with some maps on a table so that he could think.
Ravenna had let him know that Insharah and the army were on their way to join him. She’d told him that she’d interrupted their sleep with nightmares of the cruelty their families endured, and thus Armat was not in the least surprised to discover Insharah in his tent, and approximately two hundred thousand men within a few hours’ distance, but he was surprised to hear of Maximilian’s willingness to allow the army to go.
Maximilian was either smarter than Armat had given him credit for, or he was a complete fool.
Armat himself was not such a complete fool that he believed the latter option. Maximilian was up to something, but whatever that “something” was, Armat knew he would not discover it from Insharah, who was enough of a fool to think that there was anything left worth trying to save in Isembaard.
“Well then,” Armat said, turning about with a genial smile on his face, “I shall admit myself glad to have your company again, Insharah, and that of the men you drag at your heels.”
“When will we march for Isembaard?” Insharah said.
“When we are strong enough,” said Armat. “There are more men yet to join us, and supplies to organize. Now, go find Risdon and get him to organize you some breakfast, and tents and horse lines for the men soon to arrive.”
Insharah saluted again, and walked over to the door. He paused just as he was about to duck through and looked back to Armat.
“Axis SunSoar and Georgdi were in this area,” he said, “together with a large force of Lealfast. Have you come across them?”
“I slaughtered them,” said Armat. “They were fools. But lose that look of dismay, Insharah, for Axis still lives. At my pleasure.” He paused. “They wanted to stop us, Insharah. They did not want us to go home to Isembaard.”
“Axis—”
“Axis is none of your business. Now leave me.”