“If one feels that a friend is to be chosen merely at one's convenience,” Rhillian said coldly, “then one has no friends.”
The Nasi-Keth gave a look of contempt and walked for his horse. The Ilduuri captain did too. Some of his men exchanged quiet words with their captain, patting his shoulder, offering support. Some glared fury at their superior in the green cloak.
When all of the party were mounted, including Daish, the Nasi-Keth led them across the bridge. The rain grew heavier still. Thunder grumbled, and blue light flashed huge, mist-shrouded mountains into startling relief. The suspended bridge swayed beneath them, but seemed little strained at holding so many horses at once. Hooves clattered on wooden planks, and from far below came the rushing of the river. It was the first time Sasha had seen the Ipshaal; the greatest river in Rhodia descended from the mountains of Raani before it cut north, to divide Enora and Rhodaan from Saalshen. A barrier between lands and peoples that had shaped the destinies of all.
Halfway across, the soldier who had escorted them in rode up to the Nasi-Keth man's side, knife in hand, and calmly cut his stirrup. The Nasi-Keth stared at him, and asked an alarmed question in Ilduuri.
Cutting finished, the guardsman sat upright, sheathed his knife, and gave the other man an almighty shove. He went sideways, his cut stirrup offering no salvation, and fell screaming off the side. If there was a splash below, the roar of churning water smothered it from hearing.
The soldier turned to the party behind, all stopped, frozen in shock. “Gets awful slippery this bridge, in the rain,” he told them. “Best watch where your horse puts its hooves.”
THIRTEEN
In the hills beyond Tracato, the Elissian pursuit finally caught them. Riding in mid-column, Sofy heard the yells and massed hooves as they crested the ridge and came tearing across the fields. Jaryd was on them immediately, leading the countercharge. Tracatan men followed him, ex-Rhodaani Steel cavalry, some Nasi-Keth with cavalry skills, a few with the serrin art of horseback archery. Two were Larosan knights, the survivors of Sofy's personal guard, armour gleaming in the sun as their huge horses strained up the slight incline.
Wagons and horses in the column about her began to run, frightened families whipping their horse teams up to speed. Sofy went with them, as much to avoid being run over as anything, throwing frightened glances over her shoulder as she went.
She saw Jaryd hit the first Elissians so hard a horse crashed and tumbled. Behind him went Asym, the Isfayen carving men from their saddles like a cook cleaving meat from the bone. Then she was jostled by a man with children sharing his saddle, desperately fighting for space on the road. Sofy clung to her reins, seeing chaos and tangles up ahead. She was too good a rider to be stuck in this mess, she thought, and steered herself off the road, between runners on foot, and along the side of a vineyard. Then she stopped to gain a better look at the fight.
Elissians were flowing past Jaryd's defenders, who now milled higher up the slope, fighting crazily against some, but unable to contain the rest, now racing between trees downslope of the road, and others galloping along the road itself. Terror gripped Sofy to see the advance, nothing between them and the fleeing column.
On the wagons to the rear of the column, men with bows were drawing and attempting to fire backward, to little effect. Elissian horsemen came thundering upon screaming city folk, riding them down as they ran. Wagons were overtaken, their drivers hacked from their seats. Sofy stared about frantically as people ran, cried, and collided. Were there other warriors who could fall back and help? Had some fled ahead, instead of fighting? How could she think such men cowards, when she was doing that herself?
Jaryd's fighters had vanished, she realised. She hadn't seen them coming back, and now they were lost amidst the poplars and ash along the narrow valley. She kicked her horse and galloped at speed, dodging others who ran or rode here, hoping to get ahead and…and what? Do something valorous, while running to save her neck? But what else could she…
Commotion ahead cut the thought short. Wagons careened off the road, one crashing into a tree and sending passengers flying, another overturning as Elissian men fell upon the column, breaking clear of an orchard to gallop amongst the fleeing city folk with flashing swords. Panic ensued. Wagons tried to turn off the road, and Sofy dodged them madly. No one wanted to go that way, but they could not turn back. They were trapped.
Sofy stopped and peered through orchard trees, back toward a farmhouse. Could she ride toward it, and hope she would not be seen?
The Elissians were barely a hundred paces ahead of her, spinning their horses, killing in a frenzy, trampling any who were close. Some now galloped her way, back along the column, people running before them in terrified waves. Fifty paces.
A new horseman crashed from the trees and into the leading Elissian. Jaryd. The Elissian's horse jostled sideways into a collision with a wagon, and Jaryd split the man's head all over the wheels. He spun, hammering another Elissian with his shield, then a skilful spin of his horse, a quick spur and leap past the other's blade, and a cut that took that Elissian through the shoulder.
The Elissian hung on for dear life, shoulder wrecked, his horse bolting in terror straight at Sofy. There was nowhere for her to go, and it dodged first, straight into the orchard trees, thrashing and slowing in the branches.
Jaryd and now Asym were fighting back along the column, killing as they went. Sofy had never seen its like. Truly she'd never appreciated what greatness meant, as a warrior. Men had told stories of Jaryd on horseback in lagand tournaments, then remarked snidely that lagand was not warfare. Lagand had always horrified her with its unnecessary brutality. Now she watched as Jaryd, Asym, and several companions hacked and bludgeoned their way up the column, with furious violence somehow as graceful as a dance.
And then he was coming back, galloping past her, and she had a glimpse of his eyes, burning within a blood-splattered face. He barely saw her, racing to the rear of the column to deal with the attack there. About her, folk were leaping from wagons, grabbing the wounded Elissian still mired in the orchard trees, dragging him from his saddle. There beneath her mount, ordinary men and women wrestled the wounded man down, tore off his helm, pinned his arms, and beat, stabbed, and tore at him with screams of rage and fear. Soon there was blood everywhere and, as they got at his weapons, torn shreds of flesh.
Sofy set off after Jaryd, too dazed to think. Tracatans huddled amidst the trees and milled about the farmhouse walls, hugging children and staring at the galloping horsemen who went racing up and down the road, hoping they were friendly, fearing they were not. By the time she reached the rear of the column, the Elissians were fleeing. Defenders on horseback were chasing. On the road, she saw Jaryd once more, and Asym, amidst a number of riderless horses. Bodies were strewn across the road. A few were Elissians. Most were not.
In his saddle, Asym looked satisfied. He gave a yell in Telochi and clashed shields with Jaryd, a mutual salute. Jaryd looked around, breathing hard, dripping with blood that was not his. His shield bore countless new marks, and he seemed to have some pain in that arm, shaking it off even now. The huge blade in his fist was blood-streaked, and bore several new notches. He saw an Elissian still moving upon the road. Jaryd dismounted and drove the blade through the fallen man's chest with a two-handed thrust. He pulled the blade out with brutal contempt and remounted. And looked at Sofy.
Seeing him, Sofy realised something that she had never appreciated before in her life. Glory was not just some awful word that silly men invented to excuse their crimes. Glory rode a horse, and saved the helpless from terrible enemies by slaughtering them, without mercy, and with great fire. Glory was awful, and frightening. But it was real, and looked at her now with heaving shoulders and burning eyes.