“No, it wasn’t because I went after you before Arietta,” Kleef said. “Malik was in trouble, and Arietta wanted to go after him because he had the Eye. But I went after you first, and she had to jump in to save Malik. I chose you over duty.”
“You chose … me.” Joelle felt her stomach drop, for she knew what Kleef was about to tell her-that he could not be hers and remain true to his god-and he was right. It would have been a terrible failure for any follower of Helm to put his own desires before his duty. But for a Chosen of Helm … well, that had only happened because of who Joelle was, because of the power imbued in her as a Chosen of Sune. “And now, you’re choosing duty.”
Kleef nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But if I am a Chosen of Helm, I have no choice.”
“Don’t be silly, Kleef. You always have a choice.” Joelle kissed her fingers and touched them to his cheek. “But you’re making the right one.”
Kleef’s face brightened with relief. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m glad you understand.”
“Better than you know.” Joelle forced a smile. “Duty first. Even heartwarders understand that.”
Joelle turned her horse away and started toward the front of the column, where Arietta was riding with Faroz and her fellow nobles.
After all, someone needed to tell Faroz about the orcs.
CHAPTER 11
The river Arrabar was in slow flood as the sea of fallen stars seeped back to the Vilhon Reach, turning grassy plains into marshes and stands of timber into islands of yellow leaves. A hundred leagues distant, a jagged ridge marked the line of earthmotes the goddess Chauntea had dropped across the valley to hold the sea back and give her worshipers time to bring in the harvest. Closer by, a cluster of thatched roofs marked the location of a drowned village, and it seemed clear to Arietta that had the caravan tarried to rest along the way, it would never have reached the river in time to cross. As it was, the stone bridge ahead was nearly submerged, with its abutments hidden below the surface and muddy water lapping at the haunches of its arches.
“What a happy sight!” said Malik. He was riding next to Arietta, between her and Joelle. “Now that we’ve made it, perhaps Faroz will let us take the time to cook our meals before we eat them.”
“We haven’t made it yet.” Joelle pointed to the far end of the bridge, where Kleef and twenty more guards were galloping ahead to scout the ground on the far side of the river. “This would be a good place for an attack.”
“Who is there to attack us?” Malik asked. “Even Kleef has not seen an orc for three days. Perhaps we have finally outrun the brutes.”
Arietta and Joelle turned to Malik simultaneously, both of them with a single eyebrow cocked in doubt. The orcs had been trailing the caravan for a couple of tendays now, mounting raids so frequently that Faroz had hired more guards at Xorhun. Arietta had even forsaken her place at the front of the column, choosing to ride with Joelle and Malik so she would be available to help defend the Eye.
After a moment, Arietta said, “I fear that’s wishful thinking, Malik. Those orcs wouldn’t quit that easily.”
“Why should they not?” Malik asked. “They are on foot and the caravan is mounted. It is a wonder they keep catching us at all.”
Malik had barely spoken when an alarm cry rose from the far bank of the river. Arietta turned to look and, fifty paces up the slope, saw a mob of stooped figures charging from a copse of duskwood trees. With stocky bodies armored in leather and thick gangling arms bearing two-handed axes, there could be little doubt they were orcs-and almost certainly orcs from the same horde that had been shadowing the caravan.
Arietta saw Kleef draw his sword and spur his courser into a charge. The other guards hesitated, clearly surprised by the maneuver, then grabbed their own weapons and raced after Kleef. Only a single rider remained behind, a gaunt figure in robes who dropped his reins and gestured, then drew something from a sleeve and flung it toward the orcs.
A thunderous crack rang out across the river, followed by a brilliant flash that flattened dozens of orcs. Kleef reached the mob a few breaths later, his huge horse pounding through a tangle of fallen orcs as he whirled to face those who were still standing. His great blade began to rise and fall, flinging heads and limbs and broken axes in every direction, and Arietta felt her heart rise into her throat.
Which was only natural, she told herself. Kleef was not only a courageous warrior and an honorable man, he was a fellow-in-arms. Surely, even her mother would have understood that.
Still, Arietta did not let her breath out until the rest of the guards had reached the mob and taken positions on Kleef’s flanks. The horsemen quickly formed a line and became a galloping, wheeling wall of death that stopped the orc charge cold-even if it did fail to send the survivors running for the trees.
“It looks like they’re serious this time,” Joelle said. “Have you ever seen orcs fight like that before?”
“Never,” Arietta said. “But then, I haven’t seen many orcs fight before-only the ones who have been attacking the caravan.”
Joelle smiled and started to reply, but stopped when the sound of galloping hooves rumbled up the road ahead. Arietta dropped her gaze to the near side of the river and found Faroz’s golden-eyed second-in-command-a genasi earthsoul named Majeed-leading two dozen guards up from the bridge.
“Keep moving!” Majeed waved a hand toward the river, the energy lines on his skin blurring into a fan of golden radiance. “We cross now!”
For a moment, the caravan seemed too confused to obey. But, as Majeed and his men continued past, cries of alarm rose from the back of the column. Arietta strung her bow, then twisted around in her saddle and saw a second mob of orcs pouring from a tree line above and behind them. Like their fellows on the far side of the river, they were broad-bodied and muscular, with stooped postures and arms that reached almost to their knees. Most were armed with two-handed weapons-either battle-axes or spiked clubs-but some carried slings or crude bows instead.
Instead of mounting an uphill charge as Kleef had, Majeed and his men joined the rearguard and quickly formed a battle line across the hill. A wizard raised a wall of fire between them and their enemies, and the orcs vanished behind a blockade of crimson flame.
By then, the caravan was pouring onto the bridge. Taking care to keep abreast of Malik and Joelle, Arietta nocked an arrow and began to watch the terrain along the caravan track. Twice before, the Shadovar had taken advantage of an orc raid to come after the Eye, and though they had lost warriors each time, she was not fool enough to think they would hesitate to try it again.
Arietta was almost at the bridge when the cane grass downwind of the trail began to quiver. At first, she thought the motion might be caused by water seeping into a low-lying pocket of ground, but then the stalks began to divide, as though someone were running through them.
“Ambush!” she cried. “They’re invisible!”
Arietta loosed her first arrow past Malik and Joelle-drawing cries of surprise from both-then heard the guttural groan of a wounded warrior. In the next instant, a flight of stones and arrows came arcing toward the caravan, and the grass grew thick with charging orcs.
“Down!” Joelle yelled.
Arietta was already flattening herself behind her horse’s neck. She heard arrows whizzing over her head and felt her mount shudder as a stone bounced off his skull. He stumbled for an instant and nearly fell, then regained his footing and sprang forward. She glanced up to see a ribbon of blood running down the side of his head.