Moaradrid's troops had searched us then, with far more energy than the guards outside the palace. To my surprise, the brute who patted me down had left my bag of coin alone. Probably he intended to loot it from my corpse later. Now that I'd never get to spend it, the weight against my chest was just another irritation.
Moaradrid's first act upon recovering the giantstone had been to order Saltlick to sit away from us and keep absolutely still. The soldiers had trussed him anyway, perhaps not sharing their master's faith in the pebble he prized so highly. Yet Saltlick hadn't twitched so much as an eyebrow, either during the ordeal or since. Small wonder Moaradrid was obsessed with having the giants on his side. Size and strength was one thing, but no money could buy such blind obedience.
The rest of us had been placed with the other captives. If they'd looked pitiful from a distance, they seemed doubly so close up. Most were too juvenile or ancient, too starved or sickly to have done much damage to anyone besides themselves. Every last trace of resistance vanished when they realised it was Estrada being shoved down in their midst. They'd had hope before, however slim. Now their defeat was beyond doubt.
If they'd needed further proof, however, the tight circle of Moaradrid's soldiers around us would have sufficed. Assuming he hadn't completely abandoned the siege of Altapasaeda, they could only be a proportion of his full force. Yet in the narrow confines of the valley, it felt as though Estrada's pitiful band of rebels sat huddled at the feet of an army the likes of which the Castoval had never seen. Their rough clothing and scraps of armour might as well have been the silks and silver-filigreed plate of Panchetto's Palace Guard.
Moaradrid and Mounteban stood some distance to our right and a little way up the embankment. They'd been engaged in hushed conversation ever since our capture. Every so often, one of them would glance in our direction. Once, Mounteban waved towards us in some unreadable gesture. Soon after, Moaradrid cursed loudly and distinctly. It was obvious they were discussing us, but I'd no way to follow the debate, except that nothing in their expressions indicated it was good.
I'd been expecting Moaradrid to come and speak to us eventually, to gloat over his victory or to introduce our forthcoming tortures. I was surprised when it was Mounteban who broke away and marched through the intervening crowd, clearing a path with his broad shoulders and barked orders. The soldiers showed him barely more respect than he did them. He stopped, hands on hips, within the perimeter of troops. His gaze swept over all of us, but settled on Estrada.
When he spoke, his tone was oddly subdued. "Understand… you're lucky to be alive. If you want to stay that way you'll listen carefully to what I say."
Estrada's only response was to turn her face away.
"I know what you think. Mounteban, the criminal, has sold his friends for money and power. It isn't true. Yes, I went to Moaradrid, I admit it. I went to talk, as one man of influence to another. Because I'm a traitor to our cause? No. Because this plan was madness and would get us all killed. I tried to tell you, Marina, and you chose not to listen. Well, now you have to. This so-called war has been a farce from the beginning. Moaradrid is not the man you think he is."
Alvantes's voice erupted from behind me. "He's a tyrant and a killer."
"Perhaps. But he's wants only one thing, and that's the crown. All he intended here was to bolster his army with the giants before he marched against Pasaeda and the king. It was we who imagined we were being attacked, we who forced a confrontation. Even then, he'd left without more bloodshed. If it weren't for a gutter thief who should have been hanged years ago, that's exactly what he'd have done."
I'd been trying to keep my mouth shut, but that caught me by surprise. "Wait, this is suddenly my fault?"
Mounteban ignored me. "This can end now. You haven't been harmed; your possessions have been left alone. You can all go home. Marina, you can still be mayor. Alvantes, you can keep your position. Moaradrid hasn't the desire or the resources to hold the Castoval. He'll leave with the giants, and never bother us. All he asks is our cooperation."
Estrada turned back to him. I could never have imagined such violence in those still brown eyes. Her words came in a single long hiss: "What has he promised you?"
For a moment, it looked as though Mounteban would deny the accusation. Then he said, "I'll be mayor of Altapasaeda."
Estrada gave a high laugh. "Of course you will."
Mounteban's expression wavered between shame and anger. He dropped to his knees in front of Estrada. His voice was so low that only the nearest of us could hear as he said, "Will you listen! He's spread his forces too thinly. Moaradrid can't hold the Castoval and he knows it. If he doesn't go after the king now, the king will come for him. I think he was ready to have me killed before he lost his temper and murdered that oaf Panchetto, but since then he's been only too eager to listen.
"There's more… he hasn't said anything, but I'm sure he's run out of money. I doubt he's paid his armies since they came south, he's hardly feeding them, and any fool can see they're restless. He's obsessed with the crown, and every day he's watched it slip further from his grasp. He wants nothing from the Castoval but to leave it far behind."
Mounteban was focused so intently on his speech that only at the end did his realise Estrada was ignoring him. Her eyes had caught on something in the distance beyond his shoulder. Before I could look to see what she was staring at, her gaze snapped back to Mounteban's face. She bent forward, bringing her mouth almost to his ear. I leaned in too, trying to catch her whisper.
"Castilio," she said, "I hope they kill you first."
There was something so hypnotic in Estrada's hatred that I didn't think to wonder who "they" were. Neither, apparently, did Mounteban. He just stared with horror at the face too near his own. Only when the noise from behind us became overwhelmingly loud did he tear his eyes from hers. Then his mouth slid open, though no words came. He leaped to his feet and — with surprising speed for so large a man — bolted towards the eastern bank.
Estrada fell back, as though the effort of so much rage had drained the last of her strength.
Moaradrid's troops were shouting on every side, all at once. Their feet were already churning the road into a quagmire, but no two men were moving in the same direction. The general drift seemed to be away from us, towards the mouth of the ravine. Someone cried out nearby and was abruptly cut off.
My whole body felt taut. I hardly dared to hope.
I recognised the hum of arrows beneath the other, louder sounds. The shots were coming from above; for once, we weren't the ones being fired at. Hooves thundered, but the racket was approaching, not receding. The cries from around us were becoming an overwhelming wave of panic. The thought of being trampled frightened me more than the clamour of violence rising from every direction. I closed my eyes and threw my arms up over my face.
"Keep still!"
I opened my eyes to a blade a hand's breadth from my nose. Just before I started to scream, I realised it was Estrada's stiletto. Her searcher clearly hadn't been as rigorous as mine.
"Put your hands out. It's the Altapasaedan Guard, Damasco."
I thrust my wrists out where she could reach them. "Ow! Be careful."
The stiletto wasn't designed for cutting. Estrada's slip had nearly cost me my thumb. Fortunately, the rope was cheap and rain-sodden. Another slash sent it flapping away in coils.
One of Moaradrid's Northerners chose that moment to stumble backwards into the pile of our weapons, scattering them in every direction. Most clattered beneath the feet of his companions, adding to the chaos, but one short sword skittered within reach. I darted to grab it before it was kicked away. A clumsy slash dealt with the cord around my feet.