If he let the current take him, his armor would drag him down. The river was too deep and the bank too far. His horse lost its footing and began to swim, and the current pulled him under the bridge, the rushing roar of water blotting out every other sound. A body rushed past him, slamming into one of the wooden piles. The man was still alive, his mouth gaping in a rictus of terror as he tried to hang on to the bridge, but the river threw water over him and he slipped under the surface.
Tegusgal and his horse shot out from under the bridge, buoyed along by the increased churn of the river. His horse struggled, its head straining toward the opposite shore. It needed no encouragement from him. He held on to the reins, and a heartbeat later, he felt the animal’s movement stutter beneath him as its hooves found the bottom again. With a mighty surge the horse rushed the bank and emerged from the river.
He could not think of a more beautiful sound than the noise of hooves against stones. His horse grunted and strained as it clattered up the bank. Water streamed out of his armor, his clothes, and his saddlebags, and he wished it would run out faster. As soon as the horse reached level ground, he pulled back on the reins and forced it to stop. He didn’t want to look, but he had to see what was left of his men. Humiliation and outrage at what he saw ignited a fire in his gut. The knights were massing near the bridge, having completed their destruction of his men. They were moving the barrels already, pairs of men rolling them off the bridge. In a few minutes, the host would ride across the bridge, returning to Hunern.
Tegusgal had little doubt where they intended to go, and he dug his heels into his horse, urging it toward Hunern. He wouldn’t be able to get to his master soon enough to warn him of the coming assault, but he would be able to help Onghwe escape.
Escape. He spat, trying to clear his mouth of the bitterness of the word. If he survived, he would summon the wrath of the entire empire. He would make these knights pay with their lives.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
They followed the Khagan’s caravan. The track of hundreds of men and horses, along with an endless number of carts, was easy to follow. After two weeks of constant riding, they left the steppes behind and followed the tracks into a forest around the base of a tall mountain. The following day, the forward riders found sign of an extensive camp, and the company sequestered themselves in the forest while Cnan slipped into the camp to find news of the Khagan’s plan.
R?dwulf and Yasper were on watch, and they were surprised to see her so quickly. As she rode past their hiding place, they continued to eye the forest suspiciously. “Were you followed?” R?dwulf asked.
“No,” Cnan said breathlessly. “There is something else I have to tell Feronantus.”
“What?” Yasper asked.
“I found Haakon,” she said.
“Haakon?” Yasper was incredulous.
She nodded. “He’s a prisoner in the Khagan’s camp.”
The others, when they heard the news, immediately began to discuss plans for rescuing the boy. Feronantus cut that discussion short with a chop of his hand. “The Khagan,” he said. “What of his plans?”
“He is going to hunt a bear,” Cnan said. “In a valley north of here. They had an enormous feast last night, which means they are planning on heading out soon. Probably in the morning.”
“Then we leave immediately, and find the bear first,” Feronantus said. “That will be our opportunity-our only opportunity.”
The company fell silent, and though Cnan could tell that Feronantus wanted them to be moving, to be getting on their horses and riding north to find the bear and lay a trap for the Khagan, she had been with the Shield-Brethren long enough to sense why Feronantus was waiting. The company would ride faster once they were all thinking of the same goal.
Right now, there was another matter still on their minds…
“What about Haakon?” Raphael asked.
Feronantus stared at him, his gaze hard and unflinching, as if he was disappointed that it was Raphael who had finally voiced the question.
And yet, at the same time, Cnan knew Raphael was the only one who would have voiced the question on everyone’s mind. It wasn’t insolence that led Raphael to question Feronantus’s orders, it was a different quality entirely.
“Our mission is to kill the Khagan,” Feronantus said softly. “How does risking ourselves and exposing our presence aid our mission?”
“What happens after?” Cnan asked, surprised that it was her voice that broke the somber silence.
“After?” Feronantus asked her in return.
“Aye,” Raphael said. “After we kill the Khagan.”
Yasper groaned. “Do we really have to talk about this now?”
“We should never talk about it,” Vera said, her face hard. “It only creates fear. We all know what happens.”
Yasper stroked his beard. “Well, if you’re going to put it that way, now is the right time to talk about it.” He peered at Feronantus. “What does happen after we kill the Khagan?”
“Does it matter?” Feronantus asked.
“Look, you Shield-Brethren are an exceptional lot. Stoic. Iron-willed. Ready to die every time you draw your swords. Suicide missions like this are the sort of thing that brings everlasting glory to your name. But me?” Yasper tapped his chest. “I wouldn’t mind seeing the cities of the West again. Paris, I hear, is spectacular in the spring.”
Istvan snorted and spat. “Buda,” he said. “Paris is a shithole in comparison.”
Yasper pointed at Istvan. “This is the sort of impassioned discourse that makes this company so charming. Paris or Buda? Don’t you want to be able to see both and decide for yourself?”
“I have seen both,” Feronantus said quietly. His face was impassive, carved from stone.
“As have I,” Eleazar said. “And I would not mind seeing them again.”
Something in Eleazar’s tone touched Feronantus and his eyes flickered toward the Spaniard. “We have to find the bear first,” he said. “It is our only opportunity to lay a trap for the Khagan.”
“None of us are disagreeing with you on that point, Feronantus,” Raphael pointed out. “We joined with you on this desperate mission because we believed it was the right choice. We trusted you to lead us, to see us to victory. But we are not young initiates-wet behind the ears-who know little about soldiering. Our goal-as much as Yasper thinks otherwise-is not to die gloriously, but to live. A successful mission means going home again. All of us.”
“They’re going to kill Haakon,” Cnan said. “You know they will. After the Khagan dies, they’re going to kill every Westerner they can find.” When Feronantus did not speak, she grew angry. “You’re leaving him to die!” she shouted at him.
Feronantus whirled on her, his eyes blazing, and with a thick hand, he grabbed the front of her jacket and pulled her close to his face. “I have sent many-many-men under my command to their deaths. I have watched a good number of them die. Do not presume to lecture me on the morality of my actions, little Binder. I, alone, carry the weight of my decisions, and you have no idea how heavy that burden is.” He squeezed his hand, gathering the fabric of her shirt in his fist. “Yes,” he growled, “I am leaving the boy to die, because I must in order to save thousands of other lives. Lives of men, women, and children who I will never meet. These people will never know my name; they will never even know what I have done for them. What others have sacrificed for them. But in order to save them, I must let the boy die.”