What, indeed? He straightened up and stared at it, discomfited. It felt as solid under his hand as the Horseriver staff Fara had broken, but it had not come from the outer world, and Ingrey doubted he could carry it back there, beyond the borders of the Wounded Woods. He was equally doubtful that it would survive the dawn, presaged by a faint gray tinge in the mists that drifted through the gnarled trees. Ingrey's hallow kingship was more bounded by space and time and need than Biast perhaps realized, or the prince-marshal would not look so uneasily at him, Ingrey thought.
He was disinclined to hand his standard humbly to Biast, politically prudent as that might seem. It was Wolfcliff not Stagthorne, it was a thing of the night not the day, and anyway, anyway…Let him earn his own.
“In the Old Weald,” said Ingrey, “the royal banner-carrier guarded the standard from the death of the old king to the investment of the new.” And now I know why. “Then it was broken, and the pieces burned on the pyre of the dead king, if events made such ceremony possible.” And if not, he began to suspect, someone had made it up as best he could out of inspiration, urgency, and whatever came to hand. He looked around a little vaguely. “Ijada, we must cleanse this ground as well, before we leave this place. With fire, I think. And we must go soon.”
“Before the sun rises?” she asked.
“That feels right.”
“You should know.”
“I do.”
She followed his gaze around. “My stepfather's forester said these trees were diseased. He wanted to fire the woods then, but I wouldn't let him.”
“It is your realm.”
“Only till dawn. Tomorrow it is yours again.” He glanced aside at Biast, to see if he took the hint.
“Perhaps it is as well,” sighed Ijada. “Perhaps it is necessary. Perhaps it is…time. What, um,” she moistened her lips, “what of Wencel's body?”
Learned Lewko said uneasily, “I don't think we can carry it out with us now. Our beasts were used hard yesterday, and will have burden enough getting us back to the main roads. Someone will have to be sent back for it. Should we build a little cairn, to protect it from the wild beasts and birds till then?”
“The last Horseriver king never had his warrior's pyre,” Ingrey said. “No one here did, except for a few trapped in burning huts that night, I suppose. I don't know if burying them all in pits was a theological act of Audar's, or part of his magic and curse, or just military efficiency. The more I learn of Bloodfield, the more I think no one really knew, even at the time. It is late; it is the last hour. We will fire the woods.” For Wencel. For all of them.
Ijada moistened a cautious finger and held it in the air. “The wind's a little in the east, such as it is. It should do even if the rain doesn't come on.”
Ingrey nodded. “Biast, gentlemen, can you help Fara get out? Can someone collect the horses?”
“I can do that!” said Hallana brightly, and took everyone but Oswin aback by stepping up onto the mound, turning to the four quarters, and calling loudly and rather maternally through her cupped hands, “Horses! Horses!”
Oswin looked a trifle pained, but appeared not in the least surprised when after a few minutes a crashing and crunching through the undergrowth announced the arrival of their several abandoned mounts, trailing reins and snorting anxiously. Jokol and Lewko, at Ingrey's nod, had quietly collected more dry deadfall from the margins of the clearing and discreetly piled it around Wencel's body. Lewko took charge of Wencel's purse, rings, and other items of interest to his future heirs at law. Ijada tucked the broken pieces of the Horseriver banner atop the pile. Hallana helped the widowed princess mount her horse. The company straggled into the foggy shadows in the direction of the marsh. Fara never looked back.
“Yes,” said Ingrey. “Make for the gate of thorns. We will catch you up.”
Gravely, Ijada took the standard, backed a few paces, and held the black-and-red banner in the fire till it caught alight. She handed the staff to Ingrey. Ingrey gripped it tightly in both hands, closed his eyes, and heaved it skyward. He opened his eyes again, grabbed Ijada's hand, and prepared to dodge whatever fell back. If anything.
Instead, the staff spun up and burst into a hundred burning shards, which rained down all around.
“Oh,” said Ijada in a tone of surprise. “I thought we would have to walk through the woods with torches for a while, finding dry brush piles…”
“I think not,” said Ingrey, and began to tow her toward Biast, who was staring back wide-eyed in the growing yellow light. “But it's time to go. Yes, definitely.” Somewhere in the woods behind them, something very, very dry went up with a roar and a fountain of sparks. “Briskly, even.”
Biast's horse jittered despite its weariness, but the prince-marshal kept pace with them as they wound through the misshapen trees back toward the marsh. He eyed Ingrey and Ijada as if trying to decide which of them to pull up behind him on his horse and gallop for it, if the wind shifted. Happily, in Ingrey's view, because he did not have the energy for another argument tonight, the faint breeze didn't shift, and the ring of fire crept out from its center at no more than a walking pace. They reached the edge of the woods if not well in advance of the flames' steady destruction, sufficiently so.
Lewko helped Ingrey down from Biast's horse. Ingrey was shivering badly now, in the dawn cold. Seeing Lewko draw Ingrey's arm over his shoulders to escort him to the campfire, Hallana abandoned Fara, who was being hovered over by Hergi as well, and hurried to them. Ingrey found her low mutter of Dratsab! more alarming than his own weakness.
She frowned medically. “Get him hot drinks and hot food, swiftly,” she ordered Bernan and Oswin. “And whatever blankets and cloaks we have.”
Ingrey sank down on a saddle pad, because standing was no longer quite feasible.
“Has he spent too much blood?” Ijada asked her in worry.
Hallana replied, a little too indirectly, “He'll be all right if we can get him warmed up and fed.”
Hergi appeared with her leather case, and Ingrey endured yet another washing and rebandaging of his crusted right hand, though the wound was closed-again-and the bruises green and fading. Others bustled about with what seemed to him needless excitement, scavenging food and blankets and building up the fire. Ingrey was tired, breathless, and dizzy, and his chilled shaking threatened to spill the odd-tasting herb tea from his cup before he could get it to his numb lips, but Ijada plied him repeatedly with refills and what bits of fare the camp could supply. Better still, she huddled under his blankets with him to share the warmth of her own body, warming his hands with hers. Eventually the shudders stopped, and then he was merely very, very tired.
“I had escorted Hallana to interrogate Ijada that night. We were talking together when Ijada became most upset, insisting something dire must have just befallen you.”
“I could not feel you anymore,” Ijada put in. “I feared you had been killed.” She would have inched closer, but they were out of inches already; her arm around him tightened instead.
“Horseriver stole our bond.”
“Ah!” she breathed.
Lewko raised a curious eyebrow at this, but elected to go on with his narrative. “Lady Ijada insisted we go investigate. Hallana agreed. I…decided not to argue. Your Rider Gesca also decided not to argue, at least not with Hallana, though he followed along for the sake of his warden's duty. We all four walked up to Horseriver's palace, where they told us you had gone to the hallow king's bedside. Then up to the hallow king's hall, where we found Biast at his father's deathbed saying you had all gone back to the earl's. We knew we had not missed you in the dark. Hallana got, well, the way she gets sometimes, and led us to the earl's stables.”