“Bad business, this,” Rotter said, looking down at the unconscious noble. “He’ll slow us down, sure enough. We may be at Hominum’s border, but orc raiders roam far and wide here.”
“Not to mention there might be other rebels around,” Arcturus said. “We can’t be certain that this lot were the ones chasing us.”
“Do you think Prince Harold made it?” Elaine piped up. “If these rebels were the ones chasing them, then they might be ahead of us.”
“Let’s hope so,” Arcturus said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
“I think my arm is fractured. Are you able to help carry him, Arcturus?” Alice asked, wiping at the blood on her face. “Perhaps the demons can pull him along, like a sled.”
“I’ve got no broken bones, but those two do,” Arcturus said, looking at where Gelert and Sacharissa were curled up together. “I think they’d struggle to keep up with us, let alone pull a sled.”
Both demons had almost definitely suffered broken ribs, and he could feel a constant dull ache of pain in his consciousness. He had only dared to heal Sacharissa’s back leg, performing his first healing spell moments after the battle.
“Bugger it, grab that end,” Rotter said, picking up the front of the stretcher and turning around. “If we were going to drag him we’d have built a sled, not a stretcher. Careful with the spear points.”
Arcturus did as he was bid, wincing slightly under the weight.
“Elaine,” he called, half turning his head to catch a glimpse of the younger girl, who had armed herself with a spear. “Thank you for saving us. We’d all be dead if it wasn’t for you.”
“Anytime,” Elaine said, and Arcturus couldn’t help but mirror the grin that spread across her face.
Then they walked on, into the rolling hillocks. Back to civilization.
CHAPTER
37
THERE WAS A BITING chill to the air as they trekked across the open countryside. It was a strange world, so close to the jungle’s edge yet immeasurably different from the tropics it bordered. What had once been a land populated by orchards, farms and homesteads had long been abandoned, leaving dense hedgerows, copses of fruit trees and ruined cottages.
They searched each ruin they came across, only to find little of use, the insides already looted by orc and bandit alike. Their only real find was a cart, the wheels loose and rusty, but still serviceable, giving Edmund a bumpier ride but providing a welcome relief for Arcturus’s and Rotter’s blistered hands as they travailed the overgrown cobblestone roads that crisscrossed toward the horizon. Soon Reynard was hitched to its front and the Vulpid pulled it faster than any cart horse would.
It was difficult to keep track of their direction, since they were forced to follow the various winding roads. Elaine was pleased to send Valens ahead to scout their course, borrowing Alice’s scrying crystal and calling out directions as the trails split and split again.
Though Sacharissa could be infused, Gelert could not, and his broken ribs hindered him. This forced them to stop for rest regularly, while Rotter climbed nearby trees and even the steeple of a nearby crumbling church to scout for pursuers—Valens was too far ahead to see behind them. It was at the first of these stops that Arcturus infused Sacharissa, saving her strength for whatever new dangers they might encounter.
They slept that first night within the church Rotter had climbed, for its stone roof was intact, unlike the other rotted ruins they had come across. Exhausted, they cleared aside broken glass and piled the pews against the door, shivering as the wind gusted through the gaping windows. A paltry meal of underripe apples was their only sustenance, and the small fruits were sour and unappetizing.
Arcturus was used to hunger, but the others could not continue on without a proper meal the following morning. Fortunately, there were still vestiges of crops, now growing wild and untamed beyond the parcels of land they had been seeded upon. Though much of the land was filled with thick clumps of wheatgrass that Arcturus’s friends had neither the time nor inclination to grind into flour, they were fortunate enough to see a cornfield in the distance. Soon enough they were burning their lips on blackened ears, cooked hastily over a small fire.
Rotter estimated that they would reach Vocans at midnight, though they had yet to decide upon their approach. Valens might have gone ahead to spy, but it was possible the Mite would be recognized, and they needed him to scout the paths just ahead of them. It was during this discussion that Arcturus felt the most guilty.
He wanted to tell them about Crawley—how the servant had asked him to choose a side, but he knew they would resent him for not telling them sooner. So he kept silent and hoped that Crawley was away making trouble in Corcillum and that the teachers and other students would already have secured Vocans. Then the others would never have to know.…
The sun was nearly set when they saw it—or rather, Valens did. Soldiers. Setting up camp in the roofless husk of an old barn, a dozen or so men warming themselves beside a fire. Arcturus and the others were crouched in the tall wheatgrass a few hundred feet away, listening to the distant sounds of laughter.
“They’ve got a sentry,” Rotter murmured, pointing at a shadowed figure in the scrying crystal. It was a man leaning against the wall outside. A glowing ember seemed to hover in the air beside his head; then Arcturus realized the soldier was smoking a rolled cheroot.
“Do we go to them?” Alice asked. “If this ‘General Barcroft’ has joined the rebellion, then these soldiers could be working for him.”
“Aye,” Rotter said, peering at the image. “But then, Sergeant Caulder and I weren’t. I reckon if these lads were rebelling, they’d be in Corcillum causing mischief.”
“We don’t need their help,” Arcturus murmured, though he was halfhearted in saying it. The fire looked so warm, and Rotter had argued against lighting one of their own so far, for fear of alerting the world to their presence. There were at least a hundred rebels unaccounted for, if indeed a second group had gone after King Harold, and then there were marauding orcs and brigands to worry about.
“Maybe we do,” Alice said, chewing her lip. “We’re vulnerable right now, I’ve fractured my arm, and with Sacharissa and Gelert injured, and Edmund…”
Her voice broke with emotion as she looked over at the unconscious noble. He had remained asleep, even after two days of travel, and their attempts to pour water down his throat had nearly choked the poor boy.
“Plus, you and I are probably nearly out of mana,” Alice continued, “and Elaine hasn’t learned to do more than wyrdlights yet.”
Her words earned her a scowl from Elaine.
“We’ll be far safer walking into Vocans or Corcillum with this lot than alone,” Rotter agreed. “Let me greet them, see what they’re about. If I feel we can trust them, I’ll call you in. Otherwise, I’ll say I’m going out for a piss, then we’ll bolt.”
“It’s as good a plan as any,” Arcturus said, thinking longingly of the fire inside. Even at the stable, he had slept beside the warm horses, buried in their straw. His new cloak was thick, but he still shivered as the wind gusted past them, carrying the sound of the soldiers’ laughter.
“Go on,” Alice said, looking at Edmund. “The sooner we get Edmund to safety, the better.”
“Right, wish me luck,” Rotter whispered.
He gave them a wild grin, then stood and held his sword high in the air, approaching the barn slowly.
“Ahoy,” he called. “Have you a place by your fire for a lost comrade?”
“Who goes there?” the sentry shouted, and Arcturus could see the man shuffle forward, a crossbow pointed at Rotter’s face.
“Private Rotherham of the Tenth Platoon, under Sergeant Caulder,” Rotter said. “We were ambushed a day’s march from here. I’m the only survivor.”
The man kept his crossbow up.
“Who ambushed ye?” the man asked. “That’s no uniform I recognize.”
Arcturus cursed under his breath. Rotter was still wearing the black cassock he had taken from a rebel. They had been too tired to realize.