Arrows were lit with torches and then shot into the planks of the bridge. The Boar Legion had soaked the bridge in oil as they crossed, so when the flaming arrows hit, the fire spread rapidly. At least fifty enemy soldiers were wounded or killed by the fire, while King Felix completed his retreat.
The army was half a day’s ride west of Orrock, but the army would march through the night. It was imperative that they reach the safety of Orrock’s walls before the invaders crossed the river and caught up to them.
King Felix had left the Wolf Legion, commanded by General Griggs, to man Orrock’s defenses and to see that the city was prepared in case of a siege. He only hoped that General Griggs had everything ready for their return. Griggs was a capable leader, but more suited for administration that military strategy, which was why King Felix had left his legion in reserve.
“What are your orders, my King?” asked General Yinnis.
“See to our retreat back to Orrock,” Felix ordered, wiping the sweat from his brow and then taking a long drink from his canteen. We must arrive before dawn. Get these troops moving before Offendorl finds a way across the river and cuts us off.
“But Sire, you are wounded. Surely you need medical care.”
“It’s nothing that can’t wait. Our priority is getting these troops moving. We can rest once we get into the castle. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes, my lord,” said Yinnis.
“And, General, give Commander Corlis temporary command of the Fox Legion.”
“Is General Sals dead then, sir?”
“I’m afraid so,” said King Felix.
The King saw a wave of emotion pass across Yinnis’s face, but the general nodded and rode away to oversee the retreat. Many of the officers in the King’s Army were friends. Their bonds stemmed not only from fighting side by side, but also because they were all the youngest children of noble families and understood one another. General Yinnis had obviously been grieved by the news that General Sals had been killed, yet he did his duty. King Felix and his officers knew there would be time for grief once the invasion had been turned back.
Felix took another drink and then turned his horse. He was surrounded by Royal Guardsmen who had found horses somewhere. The King didn’t question their methods. The Royal Guard had the right to commandeer whatever they needed to protect the King.
“Gentlemen,” King Felix said to his men, “let’s ride.”
They galloped away, following a path that angled away from the river but toward Orrock. The pain in Felix’s foot grew worse as they rode. In the battle, he hadn’t had time to think about the wound, but in the tedium of their ride through the night, the pain grew so bad it was all he could think about. His boot was leaking blood, but not as fast as it was filling his boot. The foot was swelling, and every jolt his horse made sent a spasm of pain up his leg. He tried propping his foot across the horse’s back but couldn’t find a position on the big animal that was comfortable. As the night wore on, hours in the saddle and lack of sleep made his whole body ache. His eyes felt gritty and his stomach soured. He longed for a bottle of wine and a soft bed, but his entire kingdom was at stake, so he forced himself to keep riding. It was the only option he had.
Chapter 28
Quinn didn’t complain, even though his body ached so bad he couldn’t hold down food while they were riding. Still, he rode as long as there was daylight. Zollin was moving toward Orrock, which meant he wasn’t going south with Mansel, so Quinn allowed Miriam to dictate their pace. She nursed him as often as she could. When they made camp she did everything, from rubbing down their horses to starting the fire and cooking their dinner. The first night they had stayed at a small inn, but after getting separate rooms, they both decided that they would prefer to camp so that Miriam could keep a closer eye on Quinn. They also enjoyed the privacy.
The fluid buildup in Quinn’s lungs didn’t improve quickly. The cough that racked his body from time to time made every muscle in his stomach and back incredibly sore. Just riding a horse became difficult, but Quinn refused to stop. On the third day, Miriam talked Quinn into getting a wagon. He had no coin, but Miriam was able to barter for an old wagon. They didn’t have much in the way of supplies, so they folded their blankets across the wagon bench and rode side by side. Miriam tried to get Quinn to lie down in the back but he flatly refused.
“I’m not an invalid,” he argued.
“But you might be if you get any worse,” she said.
“I’m drinking the gruel that hack of a healer gave you.”
“He’s not a hack. He said you needed bed rest.”
“I can’t, not while Zollin’s in danger.”
“You could lie down in the wagon,” she pleaded.
“No, I’m too stubborn to do that. Besides, I prefer sitting close to you,” he said, winking at her.
“You are stubborn, like an old mule. I guess it’s good that I’ve spent my whole life working with animals.”
They flirted shamelessly, but Quinn’s condition didn’t allow them to pursue what was obviously a very strong physical attraction. Quinn still felt twinges of guilt over Zollin’s mother, even though he knew that feeling guilty was senseless. Still, there were times when his happiness felt wrong. He liked Miriam, she was smart and attractive. Under different circumstances he would have wooed her with gifts and perhaps taken a more conventional approach to courting her, but he didn’t have the freedom to do things the way he would have liked. For the last nine months he had lived with the threat of constant danger, to himself and to his son. He longed for a time when he could relax and not worry about Zollin, but he knew that day would never come. Too many powerful people wanted Zollin, and, until that changed, Zollin would never be truly safe. Still, Quinn felt his time was over. His body just couldn’t keep up with the constant demands he was making on it.
They rode through the day, often waking before dawn and setting out as soon as it was light enough to see their way. They didn’t pass many travelers, and fortunately they weren’t accosted by outlaws. It seemed that the closer they got to Orrock, the emptier the land became.
“Do think there is really an invasion?” Miriam asked, trying to keep the worry from her voice.
“It’s difficult to say,” Quinn answered. “I think it is entirely possible, and the people who live here seem to think it’s true. I’m assuming that’s why they all left.”
They were riding through a small village that was empty of its residents. The inn was locked up, but the windows had been broken, and someone had obviously looted the establishment, most likely looking for ale.
“War seems so improbable,” Miriam said. “I mean, there hasn’t been a war in over three hundred years.”
“There hasn’t been a war between the kingdoms,” Quinn said. “But, there has always been fighting. We battle the Skellmarians and the Shirtac raiders. Baskla has fought the Shuklan forces trying to cross the North Sea. Ortis has held the Wilderlands against the Norsik. Even Osla has trouble with pirates raiding along the eastern coast at times. There will always be fighting to some degree.”
“That’s a very cynical point of view,” Miriam said.
“Maybe, but I’ve been there. I served in the King’s Army and fought Skellmarians up in the Great Valley.”
“You were a soldier?” Miriam asked.
“Yes, for a time, and promoted to the King’s Royal Guard. Then I met Zollin’s mother and decided to settle down.”
“What happened to Zollin’s mother?”
“She died giving birth to him. Something tore, and the midwife couldn’t stop the bleeding,” Quinn said sadly.
“Oh, Quinn, I’m so sorry.”
“Me too. It was a tough time. The village had a wet nurse who helped with Zollin, but it took me years to get over the loss. I’m sure I wasn’t a very good father.”
“Zollin is strong. I think you must have done a very good job raising him.”