Frederic ducked his head.
The wagons halted, and a moment later Otto and Warner had both hurried up to them and each hugged Isana, Otto with warm relief, Warner with stiff, quiet determination.
“So you’re heading to Garrison?” Isana asked them.
Warner nodded. “We sent messengers to Riva, through the woods, where anyone watching from the air wouldn’t be able to follow them. But it will take them longer than by the air or the roads, so we’re heading out to fill in the gap ourselves.”
Isana looked back at the wagons, at the people filling them. “Great furies, Warner. You must have brought half of your holders.”
“A bit more,” Otto said, anxious. He wrung his hands. “Everyone able or who can do some useful crafting, Isana.”
“These people aren’t soldiers,” Isana protested.
“No,” Warner said, quietly. “But all the men have done their time in the Legions. Isana, if Garrison falls, there’s nothing that’s going to stop a horde from doing what it did to Aldoholt to every steadholt between here and Riva. Better for us to give our help and it not be needed than the other way around.”
“What about the children?”
“Some of the older ones led the youngers into the back country. Beggar’s Cave and such places. They’ll be safer there than in the steadholts, until this blows over.”
Isana blew out a breath. “What about Tavi? My brother? Has anyone seen them?”
No one said anything, until Frederic rubbed at his hair and said, “I’m sorry, Mistress. No one’s seen or heard from anyone that ran out the night of the storm. We figured you all was dead or—”
“That’ll do, Frederic,” Roth said, sternly. “The woman’s exhausted. Isana, you and this girl get in the back of the lead wagon, there. Otto, get something warm in them and around them, and we’ll get moving again.”
“Right,” Otto said, and took Isana’s arm. He reached down for Odiana’s, but the woman flinched from him and let out a high-pitched little sound.
“I’ll do it,” Isana told him and leaned down to touch Odiana’s chin. A broiling storm of emotion flowed up her from the touch, and Isana had to work to hold it away. She lifted Odiana’s face to hers and murmured, only moving her lips, “Get in the wagon.”
Odiana stared blankly at her, but rose when Isana tugged on her arm, and climbed up into the wagon willingly enough, settling in a back corner, eyes flicking out from behind her tangled hair to watch the other holders in it. Isana climbed in beside her, and a moment later, the wagon began rattling down the causeway again.
Someone passed her a heavy blanket, which she draped over the both of them, and a moment later a flask of something hot. She drank, some kind of spiced wine that burned in her belly but made her limbs feel warm and less tired. She passed the flask to Odiana, who had to hold it in her hands for a long moment, as though she had to work up the courage to drink, and who curled up beneath the blanket and dropped into what seemed to be an exhausted sleep a moment after.
“You look exhausted,” Otto said, from across the cart, his face sympathetic. “Try to get some rest. We’ll be in Garrison soon, but try.”
Isana passed him the flask and shook her head. “I’m not tired, Otto, honestly. I’ve too much on my mind.”
But after she sat back again, she leaned her head against the back of the cart, and didn’t wake up until the driver called back to Otto, “Holder! There it is!”
Isana jerked awake and sat up enough to see ahead of the cart. The morning was cold on her face and throat, and the icy coating on the ground gleamed in the pale light of a dawn that was not far away.
Smoke hung over Garrison like a funeral shroud.
Isana’s heart lurched into her throat. Were they too late? Had the fort already been attacked? She climbed up onto the driver’s seat of the wagon, even as the driver, one of Otto’s holders, began to cluck to the horses that pulled the wagon, slowing them from their fury-enhanced speed. Their breath steamed in the dim light.
As they approached, Isana saw a single young legionare on guard duty above the western gate of Garrison. A second look showed that he wore a heavy swath of bandages over his forehead and left eye, and that those bandages were so recent that they were still spotted with blood. A dark bruise discolored his cheek, though it looked a day old, at least. As the group of wagons and horses closed, the young soldier leaned out, staring at them.
Warner raised a hand to the guard. “Hello the gate! Let us in!”
The young man stammered, “Sir, you shouldn’t be here. The Marat are attacking, sir. You shouldn’t be bringing holders here right now.”
“I know the Marat are attacking,” Warner snapped.
“We’ve come to help, and everyone here has something they can do. Let us in.”
The young legionare hesitated, but there was a motion on the wall behind him, and a man in a dented Centurion’s helmet appeared. “Holder Warner?”
“Giraldi,” Warner said, with a curt nod. “We heard you were having company and thought we’d invite ourselves over to help you entertain them.”
Giraldi stared down at them for a moment and then nodded. “Warner,” he said. “you’d be better off turning around and heading for Riva while you still can.”
His words silenced every holder on the ground below.
Isana stood up in the wagon’s seat. “Good morning, Centurion. Have you seen my brother?”
Giraldi squinted down and then his eyes widened. “Isana? Oh, thank the furies. Your brother is here. He’s inside at the east gate. Isana, the Count’s been badly wounded, and Livia is back in Riva with her daughter. Harger and the legion crafters did what they could, but they say without more skilled help he won’t live.”
Isana nodded, calmly. She let her awareness slowly out toward Giraldi, gaining the sense of the man’s emotions. Anger, weariness, and most of all despair hung on him like a coating of thick, cold mud, and Isana shivered. “I take it the Marat have already attacked.”
“Just their vanguard,” Giraldi said. “The rest of the horde will be here within the hour.”
“Then we’d best stop wasting time with talk, Giraldi. Open the gates.”
“I don’t know if the Count would —”
“The Count has no say in this,” Isana said. “And if the Marat take Garrison, they’ll be able to destroy everything we have. We’ve the right to fight to defend our homes and families as well, Giraldi, and every man here who is of age is a Legion veteran. Open the gates.”