As if to prove her point she slipped the collar around her neck and heard it faintly snick closed, as the wolf swallowed its tail. The gold was cold against her skin, the sensation odd. She had never wondered if court’esa objected to being collared. They were always such beautiful works of art. The more elaborate and expensive the collar, the more the court’esa was worth. Tam had been born and bred a slave and her reluctance seemed a little strange. Perhaps being nominally free since arriving in Karien had sparked a little rebellion in her. “Put it on, Tam. We’re running out of time.”
By the time Mikel returned, Adrina had written a short note to Filip and packed everything she planned to take with her. Considering the style to which she was accustomed to travelling, it was a pitiful bundle, but it contained her riding habit, her jewels and the small, sharp Bride’s Blade. She sent the boy on his way with the note and changed into the costume Tam had selected. It had a thin silver bodice and a split emerald green skirt. It left her midriff bare and pimpled with gooseflesh in the chilly air. Over that she pulled on Tamylan’s high-necked grey woollen tunic, and then Tam’s serviceable woollen cloak. The rest of her belongings she wrapped in the linen bag Tam used to take her laundry to the camp washerwomen. Tam was still dressing when she left the tent with the hood of her cloak pulled up to shadow her face. She hurried past the guards, who barely glanced at her. They had orders to stop the Princess Adrina leaving. Nobody had mentioned a servant hurrying off with her mistress’ laundry.
It was dark by the time she worked her way through the camp to rendezvous with Filip. It had been the most nerve-racking hour of her life as she stumbled over the uneven ground, around groups of soldiers, too bloodied and exhausted to challenge her right to be there. By the time she slipped away from the edge of the camp into the small copse of trees where Filip should be waiting, she was afraid she was going to be sick. Fear was not an emotion Adrina had much experience with, and she prayed fervently to whatever god might be listening that she would not experience it again for a long, long time.
“Your Highness?” Filip’s voice was a questioning whisper. She followed the sound and was relived to find Mikel waiting with the young Lanceman, his eyes burning with the excitement of his adventure.
“You’ve done well, Lanceman,” she said as she made out the three dark shadows picking at the sparse dry grass between the trees. “Mikel, go and keep an eye out for Tam.” The boy dutifully scurried off and left her alone with Filip.
“You are leaving, your Highness?” Filip asked as he led the horses forward. It was hard to tell from his tone whether he approved of the idea or not.
“I’ll not be a party to this monstrous slaughter any longer,” she told him. “Fardohnya has shed enough blood to satisfy the Kariens.”
“And what of the Guard, your Highness? When the Kariens discover you are missing...” He did not need to finish the sentence. She knew their fate as well as he did.
“I want you to cross the border tonight. Take every Fardohnyan in the camp with you who is still breathing. If they can’t ride, tie them to their saddles. When you reach Medalon, surrender to the Defenders.”
“Surrender?” Filip sounded horrified, but it was hard to make out his expression in the darkness.
“The Defenders will keep you prisoner for a time, but I doubt they’ll harm you. And you’ll eat far better there as a prisoner than as a free man on this side of the border. Tell them your religious beliefs prevent you from taking part in any further fighting. The Defenders have little experience with the gods. They should believe you.”
“And what if it is the Hythrun who find us first?”
“Then tell them Zegarnald ordered you to surrender,” she told him impatiently.
“The War God would never —”
“It doesn’t matter, Filip,” she snapped. “Just get your men away. I would rather have you alive and in the custody of the enemy than put to death by Cretin because I ran away. Do this for me and I will see every one of you rewarded when we get back to Fardohnya.”
“As you command, your Highness.” He sounded reluctant, but there was little more she could do. If they chose to disobey her, that was their decision.
She turned sharply at the sound of scuffing feet and was relieved to find Mikel returning with Tam. As the Karien boy watched in amazement, she shed the cloak and tunic to reveal the Fardohnyan costume underneath. Shivering so hard her teeth were chattering, she pulled out the fur-lined cloak and wrapped herself in it with relief. Tam shed her own woollen tunic to reveal a costume almost as decorative and just as flimsy as Adrina’s.
They were court’esa now, and the collar felt cold against her skin as she swung into the saddle and turned her mount south toward Medalon.
Chapter 30
Adrina’s escape from the Karien camp proved surprisingly easy. The troops were either too stunned or too tired to challenge them, and it was doubtful Cratyn had even thought to post sentries. They rode across the no-man’s land between the camp and the border without incident, chilly starlight illuminating their path.
From a distance, the battlefield looked like a surreal, alien landscape. Dark humps littered the ground as far as the eye could see, as if mad sappers had tunnelled the field, leaving countless mounds of black earth in their wake. It was only as they drew nearer that Adrina realised they were bodies, thousands of them, scattered across the landscape like discarded, broken dolls.
The smell hit them even before they reached the fallen soldiers. The heavy stench of blood and excrement hung in the still air, making her gag. Shadowy figures moved among the corpses. Men looking for fallen companions, camp followers looking for loot, women searching out missing loved ones, grim-faced Defenders seeking dying horses, ending their suffering with a quick sword thrust. Others searched for living bodies, friend and foe alike, for the life they might save or the hostage they might take. Huge bonfires on the far side of the battlefield threw a pall of black smoke over the whole nightmarish vista.
“We’ll have to lead the horses,” Adrina said as they reached they first of the fallen Kariens. “We can’t ride through this.”
Tamylan and Mikel complied silently and they began to pick their way forward, holding cloaks across their faces against the smell. The ground was treacherous, pockmarked with deep holes, dead soldiers and broken horses. There was not a red coat among them. The Defenders had either taken few casualties or their wounded had already been removed.
The battlefield covered a vast area. As they doggedly trudged on, hour after hour, Adrina began to wonder if it would never end. She stumbled along and tried not to think about the death surrounding her, or the grief that she had damned up inside for a time when she would have the luxury of giving it voice. Instead she pressed on, thinking only of placing one foot in front of the other, ignoring the soldiers who reached out to her, crying for help, or the lifeless eyes that stared accusingly at her as she passed by. This was not her war. It was not her fault.
The night went on forever and the smoke grew thicker as they neared the bonfires. Mikel was yawning, wiping streaming eyes, when Tamylan suddenly gasped. Adrina looked back and discovered the slave had stopped walking. She was staring at the fires, her expression horrified.
“What’s wrong?”
“They’re burning the dead!”
She had heard of the barbaric Medalonian practice of cremation, but had never seen it practised. The sight disgusted her. But she needed to be strong. Their survival depended on it.