‘She’s going down,’ Kest said, pointing.
Out on the field, several Avarean warriors had lost any pretence at composure. Apparently they didn’t like the idea that Chalmers had not only got lucky and somehow managed not to run away, but that she would ride past them a second time? That was too much and several of them grabbed at Arsehole as he went by. My copper-flanked Tivanieze surprised them all by leaping away from their grasp, even as he kept following the line, allowing Chalmers to guide him rather than fleeing like a mad beast. Damn, but he was a good horse. But the Avareans grew smart: further down the line, several of them leaped out before she reached them, ready to grab her. Chalmers tried to hold her seat, but they were too big for her and dragged her down to the ground.
‘Saints,’ Brasti swore, ‘look at what they’re—’
‘Shut up,’ I said.
My distance vision may be shit, but even I could tell what was happening: four Avareans, big bastards, had each taken one of Chalmers’ limbs and they’d begun pulling in different directions. It’s not easy to sever a human arm or leg by sheer force. This was their show of strength, their way of mocking her act of courage.
‘Damn you, Falcio,’ Brasti said. ‘Let me—’
‘It’s too late,’ I said. ‘You’ll never reach her.’
‘This is on your head.’
As if I didn’t know that.
‘You believe this will strengthen the resolve of our side?’ Kest asked me. I marvelled at the way he could keep calm at a moment like this. If I were him, I’d be beating the shit out of me.
‘I don’t care about resolve,’ I replied.
‘Then what—?’
‘There!’ Nehra said, pointing to the right, where some dozen figures on horseback were breaking ranks from the Avarean force. There were roars of outrage as they raced along the front line, heading straight for the men holding Chalmers, weapons drawn high – swords, maces, a staff here, a spear there. Most military regiments wield the same weapon for efficiency, but of course, these weren’t regular soldiers. You could tell that by the long leather coats they wore.
‘Son of a bitch!’ Brasti swore.
Several Avareans, realising what was happening, tried to block their path, but the riders were moving too swiftly; they were, after all, well trained in evasion. They took out those who got in their way, and when they reached the men trying to tear Chalmers apart, they struck with speed and certainty. Three of the men let go at once, reaching instead to draw their own weapons. One man didn’t. His arm landed a few feet away in the snow, spraying blood.
A moment later Chalmers was draped across a saddle and the dozen men and women were pounding towards us, with Arsehole, my brave, lunatic horse, a few yards behind, doing his best to keep up despite the arrow sticking out of his rump. In the distance behind them, I could see the Avarean commanders executing the men who’d broken the line when they’d tried to tear Chalmers apart.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Brasti said, as the rebel Greatcoats rode past our own cheering lines towards the hill where we stood. ‘How could you know they would—?’
‘He didn’t know,’ Kest said, his eyes on me. He looked neither impressed nor forgiving. ‘He bet that girl’s life on this gambit.’
‘Songs will be sung for a century about her ride,’ Nehra said, the faraway stare in her eyes telling me she was already composing the words.
If Chalmers died, I doubted that would make me feel better.
Moments later, thirteen Greatcoats rode up to where we stood. They’d broken ranks to save Chalmers, which I might have appreciated more had we not been in this mess because of them. The one bright spot was the rider who was bearing Chalmers: Quillata, the King’s Sail, Seventh Cantor of the Greatcoats.
‘Falcio,’ she said, nodding to me as she rode up. ‘Does this belong to you?’
I lifted Chalmers from the saddle. Her eyes were closed, her face so pale I thought she might be dead from the fright. Brasti spread a saddle-blanket on the snow and I placed her upon it as gently as I could.
‘She’s alive,’ Quil said to me. There was a quaver in her voice I didn’t recognise.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
She shook her head, and now I could see she was trying not to weep. You have to understand, Quillata is made from raw iron, bent and shaped according to her own will and nothing else. She is as hard a woman as this world has ever made, but when she looked down at Chalmers, her voice broke. ‘She kept saying she needed to go back.’
‘What? Why?’ Brasti asked.
Quil turned and looked at Arsehole. ‘She said she needed to make sure her horse was okay.’
One of the other Greatcoats laughed at that, but I didn’t. I bent down and as I lifted Chalmers up so that I could take her to her tent, Quil and I kept staring at each other. For all the disputes over the direction of the country or who should or shouldn’t rule, at least we agreed on one thing. We all knew what a Greatcoat was.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
The Return
‘You can open your eyes now, Chalmers,’ I said, laying the girl down on the cot in one of Ethalia’s medical tents. ‘Come on now, you’re safe. Open your eyes.’
Her entire body was shaking, as if she were still lying across Quillata’s horse, thundering across the field.
‘Leave her be,’ Brasti said, putting his hand on my shoulder and trying to pull me away. ‘She’s been through enough.’
I shrugged him off. I love Brasti dearly but he’s never understood people like me – people like Chalmers. He does what he does because it’s in his nature. Chalmers wasn’t brave by nature; she had to fight for it, to claw at her own fears until she could force them to back down. If she let herself retreat, even for an instant, all that would be gone.
‘Greatcoat, report,’ I ordered.
Brasti grabbed at me again. ‘Falcio, I swear if you don’t back off I’m going to kick the shit out of you, and it’ll be for the good of all humankind.’
‘Greatcoat, report!’ I bellowed.
The girl’s eyes flickered open. I doubt she could have seen me through the flood of tears, and the shaking hadn’t abated at all, but her voice was clear as a bell when she replied, ‘Chalmers, granddaughter of Zagdunsky, called the King’s Question.’ She swallowed, then added, ‘What the fuck do you want now, First Cantor?’
I took one of her trembling hands in mine. ‘A hundred more like you.’
She smiled weakly and stared at the remains of the sleeve of her fake greatcoat, ripped off when an Avarean had grabbed her as he tried to tear her apart. It wasn’t just that sleeve; the entire thing was in tatters now. ‘You owe me a new coat.’ she said.
‘I do at that.’
Uncertainty returned to her gaze. ‘Arsehole . . . is he—?’
‘Unkillable?’ Brasti asked. ‘Gwyn barely had the arrow out of his rump before the dumb beast was already jouncing around the camp looking for someone to play with.’
Chalmer’s smile became a grin as she looked at me. ‘Take care of my horse, would you?’
‘You want a new coat and my horse?’