get it? I was their slave! I didn’t lie about that. They never let me out of those tunnels. They’d take me back in, and probably make me help fight you lot, even when everyone in there is going to die anyway.”
“Very convincing. There’s just one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t trust a word you say.”
Frost cursed and twisted her hand, but Ambrose kept a tight grip.
“Actually, I have a hankering to travel. South, I think. To Savaant. Maybe farther.”
“Well, we’re heading in that direction, so let’s keep moving.”
Frost sneered. “You love Catherine a lot, don’t you? But you know she’ll never be yours again, even if you save her life?”
“I know.”
“And there’s a good chance you’ll never reach her in time—or die trying. Love seems to cause a lot of pain and suffering.”
“And sometimes it’s beautiful too.”
“Hope I never suffer from it.”
Ambrose laughed. “I don’t think there’s much danger of that.”
They were walking fast along the side of a stream.
“I could do with a drink and a pee,” Frost said.
“You can have both, but I’m not letting go of your wrist.”
Frost looked at him. “I’ve been living as a slave with soldiers for years; you think that bothers me?”
But before Ambrose could reply, she had twisted free and jumped down the slope into the water. Ambrose raced after her, trying to grab her, but fell as she rolled away and splashed through the stream to the other side.
Ambrose got to his feet and stared across at her.
“You could waste your time chasing after me, or you could run to Catherine,” said Frost. “I know what I’d do if I was you.”
Ambrose watched her turn and run—away from him, away from the Brigantines, and, who knew, perhaps eventually to Illast or Savaant.
He headed south as fast as he could, trekking through the night, drinking from streams and following their flow southward. The sun had climbed a little above the horizon when he reached the plateau’s edge. He could see the land below: the river and the road that ran along the far side of it.
He’d made it.
He shielded his eyes to see better. It almost looked like the model in the war room. Rossarb was to the right, and around the town were Aloysius’s forces, and ringed around them were more forces—the Pitorian army.
They’re attacking.
He could see that the Pitorians closer to him were white-hairs, and, on a small hill not far from the River Ross, was a small, tented area. It was a command post. Would Catherine be there?
But then he spotted something else—soldiers running through the trees along the north side of the Ross. They had to be Brigantines, and, if so, they were positioning themselves around the white-hairs’ camp. Farther away, he could see more men running fast through the trees, but some leaped and somersaulted.
They’re not men; they’re the boys.
There were at least a hundred of them, possibly more. And then, down in the camp far below, he saw a small figure dressed in white.
Catherine!
Ambrose leaped down the steep side of the plateau. He had to get to her before the boys.
CATHERINE
ALSOP HILL, NORTHERN PITORIA
Fight to the death and then keep on fighting.
Brigantine saying
CATHERINE WALKED through her camp as the clear sky began to lighten with the new day. The imposing wall of the Northern Plateau was already touched by the sun, and the stone shone like silver. It was strangely calm. There was no wind. The river could be heard, but not seen.
To the west, the silhouette of Rossarb was just visible and, before it, the two armies ranged. Farther beyond them, Catherine thought she could see a faint shimmer of the Pitorian Sea. It was impossible to see ships from this distance, and certainly not the small scullers, but if the plan had gone well, they should have landed on the northern shore in the night and seized the forts there.
The battle had already begun, and yet here it felt calm. Catherine looked around at her personal guard, and beyond to the huge number of white-hairs before her, and felt pride that these men had chosen to fight for her against a common enemy—a man who had always been her enemy, her own father.
Horses were moving behind the Pitorian lines among herself, Ffyn, and Davyon, and even back to Tzsayn, and a rider arrived with a message.
The scullers have landed successfully and taken the forts despite stiff defense. Davyon and the blue-hairs are in position and ready to attack.