It was at least a thousand men, armed and provisioned, and travelling west, which meant that they were being sent to supply a garrison. These were the sorts of war preparations that he had not seen at Ravenel, the filling of storehouses, the recruitment of men. War happened like this, with an arrangement of defences and strategy. The news of the attacks on the border villages would not have reached Kastor yet, but the northern lords knew well enough what to do.
Makedon, whose attack on Breteau had thrown down the gauntlet for this conflict, was likely presenting these troops to his Kyros, Nikandros, who must be in residence in the west, maybe even at Marlas. Other northern men would follow suit.
Damen returned to his horse, mounted, and picked his way carefully along the wide, rocky stream bank to the shallow cave that, to his searching eyes, appeared empty at first. It was a well chosen spot: the entrance was hidden from most angles, and the danger of discovery was low. An outrider’s job was simply to ensure the terrain was clear of any obstacles that might impede an army. It was not to check every crack and crevasse on the unlikely chance a prince might be squeezed in there.
There was the dull rattle of hooves moving on stone; Laurent emerged from the shadows of the cave on horseback, his manner carefully casual.
‘I thought you’d be halfway back to Breteau by now,’ said Damen.
The negligent posture didn’t change, though somewhere in it was a well-hidden hint of wariness, of a man en guarde, as though Laurent was ready at any moment to bolt. ‘I think the chances that those men would kill me are fairly low. I’d be too valuable as a political game-piece. Even after my uncle disavowed me, which he would, though I’d quite like to see his reaction when he heard the news. It would not present an ideal situation for him at all. Do you think I’d get on well with Nikandros of Delpha?’
The idea of Laurent let loose on the political landscape of northern Akielos did not make for appealing thoughts. Damen frowned.
‘I wouldn’t have to tell them you were a prince to sell you to that troop.’
Laurent held his ground. ‘Not really? I would have thought twenty was a little grown up for that. Is it the blond hair?’
‘It’s the charming temperament,’ said Damen.
Though the thought existed: If I took him with me to Akielos, he wouldn’t be given as a prisoner to Nikandros. He’d be given to me.
‘Before you carry me off,’ said Laurent, ‘tell me about Makedon. Those were his standards. Is he riding with the sanction of Nikandros? Or did he break orders when he attacked my country?’
‘I think he broke orders.’ After a moment, Damen answered truthfully. ‘I think he was angry and struck out at Breteau in independent action. Nikandros would not retaliate like that, he would wait for an order from his King. That is his way as Kyros. But now that it’s done, you can expect Nikandros to support Makedon. Nikandros is like Touars. He would be well pleased by a war.’
‘Until he lost one. The northern provinces are destabilising to Kastor. It would be in Kastor’s best interests to sacrifice Delpha.’
‘Kastor wouldn’t—’ He stopped. The tactic, sprung from Laurent’s brain, might not immediately occur to Kastor, as it would mean sacrificing something he had worked hard to gain. If the tactic didn’t occur to Kastor, it would certainly occur to Jokaste. Damen had known, of course, for a long time, that his own return would destabilise the region even further.
Laurent said, ‘To get what you want, you have to know exactly how much you are willing to give up.’ He was regarding Damen steadily. ‘You think your delightful Lady Jokaste doesn’t know that?’
Damen drew in a steadying breath, and let it out. He said, ‘You can stop stalling for time. The outriders have passed by now. Our way is clear.’
*
It should have been clear. He had been so careful.
He had watched for the pattern of the outriders, and he had made certain of their retreat, following the lines of the army. But he had not accounted for mistakes or disruption, for a single outrider who had come off his horse and was making his way back to the troop on foot.
Laurent had reached the opposite bank; but Damen was only halfway across the stream when he saw a hint of red in the undergrowth close to Laurent’s horse.
That was all the warning he had. Laurent had none at all.
The man lifted a crossbow and shot a bolt straight at Laurent’s unprotected body.
In the awful blur of motion that followed, several things happened at once. Laurent’s horse, sensitive to sudden motion, to the hiss of air, the rustle and swish, violently shied. There was no sound of a bolt thudding into a body, but that would not be heard anyway over the horse’s scream as its hoof skidded wrongly on one of the slippery, water-smooth river stones, so that it foundered and went down.
The sound of a horse hitting wet stony ground was a crash of flesh, heavy and terrible. Laurent was lucky enough, or knew well enough how to fall, that he was not crushed by the horse’s weight, as might easily have happened, smashing his legs or back. But he had no time to get up.