The Price Of Command v(bts-3 Read online

  At that point it would probably get to steel, and at that point, Kero herself would join the affray.

  The fight was still uneven—but now they had a chance.

  :Don’t go chasing any Shadow-Lovers, you!: said a voice in her mind. :I don’t share with anyone!:

  She looked behind her; Eldan’s Companion Ratha shouldered Shallan’s mare aside so that he could take her place. Shallan shrugged, grinned, then made a mocking bow and backed her mare away.

  :You’ll have to keep up with me if you want a chance to enforce that,: she replied. :I don’t wait for anyone.:

  :Then what are you waiting for now?:

  :Nothing.: She lifted her hand and signaled Geyr, who blew the charge, and behind her, at the Healer’s tent, she heard the explosions of their own fireworks. Evidently someone had thought quickly enough to set off their own return signal. Whpever it was, she blessed him.

  The first line of archers bore down on the lines, followed by Selenay’s heavy cavalry and the Skybolts’ light mixed with Heralds and Selenay’s light. Dust rose in a blanket from beneath their horses’ hooves, making a yellow haze over the battlefield, and making it hard to see anything. Kero counted under her breath; waiting for the archers to reappear.

  At the count of one hundred, they came charging up out of the cloud, turned their horses, and prepared to charge again. Kero strung her bow, made sure the quiver at her saddle-bow was full, and spurred her horse to join them just as they made the turn.

  She lost Eldan immediately as he vanished in the chaos; she trusted to Hellsbane’s sure feet to keep them from going down. They sent arrows up over the solid dam of milling bodies, and hoped they wouldn’t hit anything friendly.

  Then it was time for sword-edge, as a running line of foot hit them from either side with a shock. Kero cut down at a pikeman trying to hook her out of her saddle; Hellsbane reared and bashed in the skull of another as he hooked her neighbor, a Valdemar regular. A sword came out of nowhere and she parried it, then kicked its owner in the teeth.

  Five men converged on her; she got two, and Hellsbane got one—but one got underneath her, because the melee was so thick the mare couldn’t maneuver. Kero saw it coming, the same move that had gotten one of Hellsbane’s predecessors—and she could do nothing to stop it.

  The mare screamed as a sword sought her heart—then collapsed, as the blade found it.

  Kero launched herself out of the saddle as the horse buckled under her, rolled under another set of hooves, and came up looking for anything with four legs and no rider.

  There—a flash of something pale, yellow—no saddle, but that had never mattered to her. Must be one of ours; couple of the scouts ride bareback—The horse seemed to sense her need; it plunged directly toward her, trampling fighters in its way, and stood still long enough for her to seize a handful of mane and drag herself up onto its back.

  And just in time—

  Daren stuffed the message into the cylinder, and Quenten sent the skinny little dog Kero’s Lieutenant had left with them off across the field. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw how fast the the beast moved; like a streak of gray lightning.

  I hope to hell she gets that, he thought, Quenten said one of the mages was going to put directions in the dog’s head—

  Never mind. Either she gets it, or she doesn’t.

  “Are you ready?” he asked the putative leader of the nameless men. The man nodded curtly. “Good luck to you, then,”

  “’Tisn’t luck we be lookin’ for,” the man replied, and rode out to the head of his troops. Daren shuddered. He hadn’t liked what he’d seen in the man’s eyes.

  There’s someone who is not coming back, and doesn’t care, and the gods help whoever’s in his way.

  At an unspoken signal, the troops rode out, with Daren, the officers, the Rethwellan foot coming behind. Those riders would be the first thing that Ancar’s men saw—and they should assume that they were their own allies, coming up along the wrong flank. That should confuse and anger the officers, who would assume that the cavalry officers were ignoring their orders.

  They passed the orchards that had screened their approach from the enemy, and as Ancar’s lines came into view, Daren saw that the plan was working. The officers couldn’t see what was behind the lines of horse, and they were shouting something at the lead riders.

  This was what was happening at three points on Ancar’s line: southeast, due south, and southwest, with Daren’s foot hiding behind the eastern riders. Daren waited, and the riders kept their beasts at a slow walk, waiting for the signal.

  It came, in a burst of colored fire overhead and to their rear. The riders broke into a gallop, skeining away into the west like a flock of birds, leaving behind the foot that they’d hidden. They would go on to attack the western and southern flanks, leaving the east to Daren.

  Daren’s trumpeter blew the charge, and while Ancar’s men were still staring in confusion, the infantry, weary from having been carried on horseback all night, hit their lines with a clash of metal-on-metal.

  They were too tired to make it much of a charge, but they were much better off than they would have been if they’d come all this way on foot, instead of being carried pillion or sharing one of the riderless horses. Daren spurred his horse after them, intending to join his men on the line—at odds like these, every sword was going to make a difference.

  His gelding’s hooves thudded on the dry ground in time with his pounding heart. All of the enemy nearby seemed to be engaged, he looked around for a target. He thought he could see a melee to his right; with horses boiling in and out of a cloud of dust, but it was hard to tell if it was just a confused lot of escaped horses or a real engagement—he turned his gelding in that direction anyway—

  And a wild arrow shot his horse out from under him. He felt the horse start to go down; tried to save himself, but the poor beast somersaulted over, throwing him from the saddle into a bush.

  He fought clear of the branches, and looked around frantically for another set of reins, knowing he had to get up above the foot so he could see what was going on.

  There—A white horse galloped out of the dust-cloud and headed straight for him as if he’d called it. He didn’t even stop to marvel at his good luck; he just grabbed for the dangling reins and—looked up.

  Met a pair of blue eyes that went on forever, with a jolt like taking a mace to his skull—oh, my—:I am Jasan,: said an imperious voice in the back of his head. :You are Daren. I Choose you. Now get the hell up here on my back before you get killed!:

  He didn’t remember doing so, and the next thing he knew, he was up in the saddle, and looking around for some of his own people. His attention was caught by an embattled little group on the edge of the general melee.

  “My lord?” someone shouted, and he turned. It was his aide, trying to get his attention. Somehow his own personal guard had managed to catch up with him; he didn’t remember that, either.

  He looked back to see if the group still fought. It was fairly obvious that this group held someone important; they were besieged on all sides, and most of the fighters surrounding them kept trying to pull the members of the group from their saddles, rather than trying to kill them.

  Centermost was a woman; she was armored, but she’d evidently lost her helm. Her gold hair gleamed incongruously in the sunlight, confined only by—Dear gods. That’s the royal coronet.

  She was giving a good account of her herself, slashing at those around her as if she’d been taking lessons in mayhem from his old teacher Tarma. But at those odds, she and her defenders weren’t going to last too long.

  Over my dead body. “Come on!” he shouted, and started to drive his spurs into his—

  Dear gods—

  His Companion launched himself at the Queen’s position before spur could even touch flank.

  :Don’t do that. Don’t ever do that. Don’t even think about it.:

  The wind of their parsing whipped the words of apology out of
his throat, but it didn’t matter; they hit the enemy from behind, with Jasan doing as much fighting as Daren. For the first time Daren had an idea what it was like to have a warsteed.

  :Indeed.: Jasan turned a man’s head into red ruin with his forefeet, fastidiously dancing aside to avoid the blood. :A warsteed. I think not.:

  :Sorry,: Daren replied weakly, and then he was much too busy to think, much less reply.

  Then—there was no one in front of his sword, and nothing under Jasan’s hooves; Selenay was sheathing her sword and looking in his direction with a thousand questions in her eyes. Jasan blew out a breath, and relaxed.

  The Companion paced gracefully toward the Queen of Valdemar with his head held high and stopped just close enough for Daren to reach for her hand and kiss it properly—and there was no doubt in Daren’s mind that this was what his Companion expected him to do.

  He pushed back the visor of his helm, and wiped the blood from his own right hand, and started to reach—

  —and met Selenay’s eyes. Selenay’s bright, blue, eyes. And felt the words freeze on his tongue.

  :Hmm,: Jasan said, smugly, in his mind. :See something you like?:

  And from the look on the Queen’s face, she was having a similar tongue-tying experience.

  Kero rode up beside Geyr, and slapped his arm to get his attention. “Get out there—” she shouted, waving at the lines of Ancar’s fighters, who were now turning tail and running, heading for the east and even casting aside weapons and shields in order to run faster. Already some of the Skybolts, carried away by battle-fever, were spurring their tired horses to follow.

  “Sound ‘Assembly’!” she yelled at him “Get those fools back here before they founder!”

  Geyr nodded, and cantered his horse after them. Kero sagged in her place, suddenly exhausted. It wasn’t easy, riding a horse without saddle or reins—doing so in battle was doubly hard. She was just as glad now that her cousins had taught her how and drilled her in it till she was ready to drop.

  But this had to be the most remarkable beast she’d ever sat; better than any of the Hellsbanes. It was uncanny, the way it had seemed to read her mind and act accordingly. She looked down at the back of the beast’s head, so covered in yellow dust that it was impossible to say what color it was.

  “Well, love,” she said, patting his neck. “Hellsbane’s gone to the Star-Eyed’s pastures, but you seem to have been sent by the Shin’a’in Lady herself. Let’s get a look at you.”

  She swung her leg over the horse’s shoulder, and slid down to the ground, then turned with one hand on the horse’s shoulder to look into its eyes.

  Its—blue—eyes.

  And it was not yellow, as she saw when it shook itself and shed the dust in a cloud; it was white. Tall, blue-eyed, and white as the purest of summer clouds.

  “Oh, my—” she said weakly, caught in those eyes, as the eyes were caught in her gaze.

  :I am Sayvel. You are my—look out!:

  But Kero only turned in time to see the mace coming at her too quickly to block—

  “Hydatha’s tits!” Daren happened to look away from Selenay’s eyes just in time to see the “dead” man leap to his feet, and swing his mace down on Kero’s head.

  Jasan reacted faster than he did; before he managed to get out more than a simple “No!” the Companion had twisted around like a weasel and was charging Kero’s attacker at a gallop.

  The man saw them coming, but had no chance to do more than raise his arm ineffectually before he was under Jasan’s hooves.

  Not just Jasan’s hooves; another Companion shouldered him aside, and began pounding the man into red dust.

  Daren jumped off Jasan, with Selenay right behind him and went to his knees beside Kerowyn’s body. He felt under her chin, then her wrist, for a pulse—Dear gods, oh dear gods, she’s not breathing—I can’t feel a pulse—

  Then he was shoved aside by a man in filthy, blood-flecked Whites, a man who pounded Kero’s chest, then clamped his mouth over hers to force air into her lungs.

  Daren still had Kero’s wrist, when, suddenly, he felt the steady beat beneath his fingers, and she coughed and took a long breath. He got out of the way, as the Herald fumbled with the chin-strap of her helm while Selenay loosened her throat-guard. The other Herald was cursing the helm, and cursing her, and swearing as the tears poured down his face that if she died, he was going to kill her.

  Her eyes opened just as the Herald got the helm off, and she looked straight up at him.

  “That’s a little extreme, isn’t it, ke’a’char?” she said mildly, just before her eyes rolled up into her head and she passed out.

  Daren decided that this was a good time to go collect Kero’s troops, and take over the mopping-up.

  Kero tugged at the hem of her pristine white tunic, and looked out over the grounds of the Herald’s Collegium from her vantage point atop an old observation tower. She scowled as she realized what she was doing, and clasped her hands behind her back. As she did so, her hand brushed Need’s hilt. She left it there for a moment, but there was no sign from the sword. She half expected the blade to demand to be passed to Elspeth when the fighting was all over, but it hadn’t stirred at all since that single moment of recognition.

  Well, the tradition is that the sword passes when the new bearer is about to go do something dangerous, and Elspeth’s not likely to go running off on her own any time soon. But I can’t say as I’d miss the damn thing too much.

  Ancar—or rather, his army—had run back home to Hardorn with tails tucked between legs. Bobbed tails; those suicidal farmers Daren had brought in had done an immense amount of damage before they were cut down. Valdemar was safe for a while, at least—and there would be more tying Valdemar to Rethwellan than just a promise.

  Selenay was absolutely head over heels in love with—of all people—Daren. And he was just as disgustingly smitten as she was. You could hardly get them apart. Eldan swore it was a lifebond.

  I’ll have to remember to tell her he snores when he’s drunk.

  Talia and that man-mountain of hers were giggling about the situation every time Kero saw them. Even Princess Elspeth seemed to find it all very amusing; Kero wondered how amusing she’d find it when she suddenly had infant sisters and brothers to tend. Selenay was no old hag, and fertility ran in Daren’s family.

  Oh, well, Faram is just going to have to learn to get along without the best Lord Martial he’s ever had. I don’t think you’re going to be able to pry Daren out of Valdemar without a crowbar.

  She caught herself tugging the hem of her tunic again, and scowled down at it. “How in hell can I be a Herald at my age?” she demanded of the air. “I’ve got things to do, I’ve got a life and responsibilities!”

  But unless she wanted to give up Sayvel—Never!—she was going to have to stay in Valdemar.

  “But what am I going to do about the Skybolts?” she asked aloud.

  :I don’t know, dear, the problem’s never come up before.:

  “That’s because you idiot horses never Chose a merc Captain before,” she replied acidly. “These aren’t just people I order around; I’ve led them for ten years, they’re practically my children! How can I just abandon them, put them in the hands of somebody else—somebody like Ardana, who didn’t give a damn and could take them right into disaster?”

  :None of your seconds are like Ardana,: the Companion pointed out.

  “But none of my seconds have half my training, either!” She paced back and forth, just about ready to throw herself off the walls and be done with it. “They’re not ready, and I’m not ready. It’s either leave you, or leave them, and how can I make a decision like that?”

  :You’re the only one who can.:

  “I told you she’d be up here.” Geyr’s black head peered over the edge of the observation platform. “Captain, this obsession you have with heights is damned unnatural.” He climbed into view, followed by Shallan, Scratcher, and a tumble of his little dogs.

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