The swordmaster’s mouth twitched. “Forgive me, my lord.”
“I already have. I believe it’s time you forgave yourself. We all shared equally in what happened during the night. And to be honest, I’m not certain there was anything else we could have done. The Solkaran’s deception didn’t make their arrows any less deadly. Until we defeated the archers, we couldn’t resume our pursuit. I thought you dealt with them as well as anyone could have. And your decision to light our arrows aflame was quite brilliant.”
“That was Lord Kentigern’s idea, my lord.”
Lathrop looked at Aindreas, raising an eyebrow. “Really.”
“Don’t look so surprised, Tremain. I still have occasional lucid moments.”
“So it would seem.”
Aindreas had to grin. Truth was, he had always liked Lathrop.
Gershon rode back to address the men, and though Aindreas couldn’t hear all that the swordsmaster said, he could imagine well enough. He had rallied armies himself, and the words never changed much. Judging from the earsplitting roar that greeted Trasker’s words, it seemed to work on this morning.
They started forward again moments later, and almost immediately began to gain on the enemy. It seemed that the Aneirans were slowing their pace deliberately, as if they suddenly understood that they were to be crushed between the two armies of Eibithar. Throughout the morning Gershon’s forces drew nearer to them, his soldiers singing so loudly that the Solkarans could not help but hear.
Aindreas kept an eye on the distant armies as well. They were fighting again, and though the distance was too great to make out much of what was happening, it didn’t seem that the battle lines moved at all. He could only imagine the carnage.
“Our soldiers may well tip the balance.”
He turned to find Lathrop riding beside him.
“They may indeed, if there’s anyone left alive when we get there.”
“I’m sorry to have to ask this, Lord Kentigern, but I feel that it is my duty as a loyal subject of the king. Can you be trusted not to betray us at the end?”
He should have expected this. It shouldn’t have stung at all. Just because he had chosen to turn from the path he had been on did not mean that the arrogance and self-righteousness of Glyndwr and his allies would magically disappear. Yet the question cut his heart like a blade, perhaps because he had always thought that Tremain was different from the rest, that he might have understood, even as he continued to stand with the king.
“Yes, Lord Tremain. I can be trusted. Before leaving Kentigern, I swore to you on Brienne’s memory that I would keep faith with you and your king. Do you honestly think that I would dishonor her in that way?”
“Aindreas, I’m sorry. But I had to-”
“No,” the duke said. “You didn’t.” He kicked at his horse’s flanks and rode ahead of the man. And for the rest of the morning he kept to himself.
By midday, they were once again as close to the Aneirans as they had been the previous evening. They were also near enough to the battle to make out the colors of the pennons fluttering in the wind above the armies of the realm. The purple and gold of Eibithar flew over the King’s Guard, and Aindreas also saw the colors of Thorald, Heneagh, and, of course, Curgh.
Seeing the brown and gold of Javan’s house, the duke felt his chest tighten with old, familiar pains-grief, fury, bloodlust. Maybe Lathrop had been justified in asking about his intentions after all. Could he really fight beside Curgh’s duke, beside his son?
His son didn’t kill your daughter. The Qirsi did.
He knew this to be so, but his hatred for the men of Curgh ran deep.
As the Solkarans drew ever nearer to Kearney’s army, they began to slow, then halted altogether. Aindreas saw a small group of Aneiran archers-perhaps a hundred-position themselves between their army and Gershon’s force. He could only assume that the enemy’s other bowmen had gone to the far side of their army to loose their arrows at the king’s men.
“Archers!” Gershon cried, and the word was echoed by the captains marching behind them. Within moments, several hundred of Eibithar’s bowmen had come to the front of the column, arrows already nocked.
At Gershon’s command the army resumed its advance until it seemed that the bowmen were within range of the enemy. Then the swordmaster called a halt and ordered the archers to begin their assault. The Solkarans tried to answer, but there were few of their bowmen left to face those of Eibithar.
“They’ll attack His Majesty first,” Gershon said, his voice taut. And it did seem that they would. Though their archers sent volleys of arrows at Gershon’s force, the swordsmen behind them appeared to be massing for an attack northward. “If they can fight through to the empire’s army all is lost.”
Before the Aneirans could strike, however, a great gale began to rise from the north, abrupt and unnatural.
Many of Gershon’s archers, who had been about to fire again, paused, glancing at one other with puzzled expressions. The swordmaster stared up at the sky, as if expecting to see some great beast swoop down upon them from the clouds. The squall continued to gain power, until Aindreas felt that he would be swept off of his mount.
“This is no natural wind,” the duke said, shouting to be heard. “It’s sorcery. I’m certain of it.”
The swordmaster nodded, staring up at the sky. “Aye, but who among the Qirsi is powerful enough to summon such a gale?”
Chapter Fourteen
Grinsa could see now that this was in fact two armies-the Aneirans had another force following on their heels-and even without seeing the banners of this second army, the gleaner had an idea of who they were.
“They’re trapped now,” Keziah said over the roar of their gale, reasoning it out for herself. Fotir gave a puzzled look and she added, “That’s Gershon behind them.”
“You’re certain?”
“I’d know the swordmaster from any distance. They must have followed the Solkarans from Kentigern.”
“Then we’ve hope after all.”
Grinsa nodded, his eyes fixed on the Aneiran captains riding at the head of the column. “There’s hope for the king and his men, yes, but our situation hasn’t improved much at all.” He glanced about quickly before staring at the captains again. The three of them had ridden a fair distance from Kearney’s lines to meet the Aneiran threat, thinking to protect the king from an attack on the rear of his lines. They were quite alone on this side of the Solkaran army.
Keziah frowned. “Of course it has. They’ll have to fight off Gershon’s assault as well as ours. How can that not help us?”
“We’re still three against hundreds.”
“When we first rode to meet them we thought we were three against thousands. Or had you forgotten that?”
“That was when I thought we had no choice!”
She glared at him. “So now you’ve changed your mind?”
“Can you do this?” Fotir asked. “Or are they too many?”
“We can do it.”
Keziah was still eyeing him, the wind howling all around them, though her hair remained still. “Then why does it sound like you’ve lost your nerve?”
He rounded on her. “Have you ever used your powers to kill a thousand men, Keziah? Or a hundred? Or even one?” She appeared to waver. “I thought not! Until you have, do not presume to judge me or my nerve!” Grinsa had never spoken to her so and he could see the hurt in her eyes, but at that moment he couldn’t have cared less. “If we choose to fight now, it will be my weaving that kills, and Fotir’s shaping! Even now, down to the three of us, you won’t bear the cost of this battle! So I’ll thank you to keep silent and do as I say!”
A tear rolled down her smooth cheek and she looked away, back toward the army of Solkara.
“Grinsa, she didn’t mean-”
“It’s all right, First Minister,” she said, her voice steady. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.” She swiped at the tear and faced the gleaner again. “Should we retreat then?”