She glanced at the prisoners huddling together in the gloom, shivering as much in fear as from the oncoming chill. Like all those souls I left to drown in the bowels of the slave ship, she thought, hands clutching her reins until they ached. It would be so easy . . .
“Release this lot an hour before we march,” she ordered, wheeling Jet about and galloping back towards the villa.
? ? ?
They covered a hundred miles in three days, the Battle Lord insisting on a pace that saw many soldiers collapsing at the end of a day spent on what many now referred to as the “blood road.” The march had made Lyrna intimate with the varying moods of her army. The Nilsaelins were the most vociferous grumblers, issuing a collective groan of relief and exhaustion at the conclusion of the second day. The Realm Guard were the most disciplined on the march though also the most fractious in the evenings; fistfights over card-games or petty disputes were still annoyingly common. The Renfaelins were by far the most cheery, their encampment rich in song and laughter most evenings, providing a stark contrast to the muted efficiency of the Cumbraelins, though their relative quietude had assumed a grim determination since the temple. They marched at a faster pace than all the other contingents, Lyrna having acceded to Lord Antesh’s request to lead the column, and would often be two or three miles ahead by nightfall. Also, judging from the way they would cluster around the few priests among them come evening, news of Lady Reva’s survival seemed to have birthed a resurgence of piety.
“I find myself ashamed, Highness,” Antesh said on the evening of the third day. She had sought him out during her nightly tour of the camp, finding the Cumbraelins more respectful than usual, their bows deeper though their ever-cautious gaze still lingered.
“Ashamed, my lord?”
“After the storm, when we thought Lady Reva lost, I doubted the Father’s purpose in bringing us here. At Alltor everything had been so clear, she seemed to shine with His love. But if He could take her from us, how could He bless this endeavour? I thought perhaps it might be punishment, a judgement on our willingness to ally with you. Now I see how foolish that was. She would never have guided us along a false path.”
Hearing the certainty with which he coloured every word Lyrna resisted the impulse to ask if, in fact, her Lord of Archers worshipped a goddess rather than a god. “She is a truly great soul,” she said. “I long to see her again.”
She inclined her head and moved away but Antesh reached out, his hand stopping just short of her sleeve. “Highness, if I may. I know you have no belief in the Father, in truth I doubt you have much truck with your own Faith either. But know, although you may not feel his love, he gives it nonetheless.”
Lyrna found herself beset by the unfamiliar sensation of not knowing what to say. She had never been comfortable around displays of devotion; her infrequent meetings with the late Aspect Tendris had been a considerable trial, as had her exchanges with Aspect Caenis, though he had provoked as much pity as discomfort. Lives dominated by the spectres of ancient dreams, she thought. But it never seems to make them happy.
“Be sure to thank him for me,” she told Antesh, putting an edge of finality into her tone and turning away.
“There was one other thing, Highness,” he said, moving to her side, then drawing back as Iltis gave a huff of warning. “Lady Reva,” Antesh went on, “I worry she might become hostage to our intentions. By all accounts this vile Empress of theirs will not baulk at putting her to death should we attack Volar.”
Won’t your World Father reach down and save her? Lyrna smiled to cover her annoyance. “I will not allow that to happen.”
“So you have a stratagem? Some means of securing her release?”
“Indeed I do.” Take the city and trust in the girl’s deadly abilities to ensure her own survival. She extended her hand to forestall his next words. “Please assure your archers there is no greater purpose for me than securing the Blessed Lady’s life, even at the risk of my own.”
Antesh hesitated before sinking to one knee and pressing his lips to her hand. “I shall, Highness.”
? ? ?
The following days saw the rolling hills flatten into undulating farmland, much of it dominated by fields of redflower, stretching away like an endless crimson carpet broken by the occasional villa or small town, most showing signs of hasty abandonment. This region also held another singular distinction in the poles with which the Empress had chosen to adorn the road.
“Little wonder they won’t fight for her,” Baron Banders commented, squinting up at one of the rotting corpses dangling above. “Could be we’ll have a clear road all the way to Volar.”