Cnán found a partly open path through a stand of older trees. Almost immediately after they entered the shelter of the woods, cursing as they plunged in and out of the dense, prickly shrubbery, it became obvious that the knights had no idea what they were doing. Nor did Cnán.
All were inclined to view Istvan’s actions with the utmost skepticism and argued among themselves whether their noisy movement was a mere feint; Eleázar reached the conclusion they were trying to draw the pursuing Mongols into a killing ground.
Percival said nothing. His plan was far from clear to the others—if he actually had a plan—and so the group spent several dangerous minutes reeling about, losing sight of each other, then regaining it, never knowing if the horseman approaching through the heavy brush was a lost member of their band or a Mongol scout.
“Nobody can fight in here,” Istvan muttered, his words slow and slurred. His head passed through a slanting moon-beam, and he looked up and gaped with half-lidded eyes. A finger swipe of blood marked his face. He was still half-possessed by his mushrooms.
Cnán asked Percival if this was the moment he had spoken of earlier, when they would sacrifice themselves so that Feronantus’s team might go on its way unmolested. If that were the case, she planned to disappear. At last, Raphael prevailed on Percival to explain his thinking and to please stop assuming that any of his companions had the faintest idea of what was in his mind.
Percival sidled away from brambles, then halted, only dimly visible. Cnán saw resolution in his posture. “We shall rejoin Feronantus,” he announced, as if this had always been obvious.
“If we can find him, which I doubt,” Eleázar said. “We shall be leading the Mongols directly to the others.”
“Yes,” Percival said, “and by the same token, we shall then have sufficient numbers to destroy them utterly.”
“It would be…polite, at the very least, to give Feronantus a bit of warning before leading a company of furious Mongols into his camp,” Raphael pointed out.
“I will ride ahead,” Istvan began, spinning about on his roan, crashing through the brush—but faltered, as even he saw the fallacy.
“Not in these woods,” Eleázar said dryly.
“Cnán shall go before us, swift and quiet as always,” Percival said, “and we shall trail behind, slowly and noisily. Go now!”
This was the moment at which she would have gladly abandoned them all to the fates they deserved had it not been for the startling detail of Percival staring straight and steady into her eyes as he gave her the order. And so, grumbling, she led her pony between the trees. She could no longer see where she was going, but her feet could tell which way was downhill. At some point, she would have to recross the river—in the dark. She reckoned the best time for that was now. The Mongol company had only just made it over to this side. All of their energies, for the last little while, had been directed to that goal. They had braved risks and worked hard to achieve it. It was a simple fact of human nature that they would be strongly disinclined now to turn around and cross back, particularly if the evidence of their senses told them that the enemy, or at least the slowest and noisiest part of it, was right here.
Once she had crossed the river, she traveled at a pace that she’d have been proud of on any other evening, but every time she paused to make water or to leave an exhausted pony behind came the rumble of hooves not far to her rear.
The Mongols were driving Percival and his company, or being dragged along in their wake; either way, both groups were moving at desperate speed, and since Cnán’s only responsibility was to arrive in advance of them, she had to do likewise.
In the hours before dawn, as the sky brightened, she found that she was able to ride at a quicker pace. Cnán’s remaining horses were fresher than the knights’, which had been embroiled in this running skirmish ever since nightfall. The hoofbeats behind fell away, caught up again, swung to the east, then back to the west. She half believed they would circle around her and reach Feronantus, all of them, in a furious, fighting mob.
But she galloped into the Shield-Brethren’s camp before the sound of the approaching combatants had grown loud enough to alert them. R?dwulf was on watch while the others slept. He recognized her from a distance and so greeted her with smiles and gestures rather than singing arrows.
“I hope you have finished darning your socks,” she said.
“We’re done with all that,” Taran said evenly, from a relaxed squat. R?dwulf came around from the opposite end of the camp, bow in hand. “Why are you alone?”
“Percival sends his fond regards,” Cnán said. “He’s leading a small army of Mongols directly toward you and hopes that this will prove no special inconvenience.”
Taran rose to his feet.
R?dwulf asked, “How far back?”
“You might have time for a good piss,” Cnán said.
CHAPTER 12:
CHASING SHADOWS