scabbard at her waist, the blade in Malahi’s possession. Even so, it reminded her that she was no longer quite the helpless girl she’d once been. “And make sure she knows the truth about the man she’s bargained with.”
60
KILLIAN
Icy water dripped down the back of Killian’s neck, and he winced as a blast of sleet-filled wind hit him in the face. He spared a longing thought for his fur-lined cloak, but the aging soldier he’d lent it to needed it far more than he did. If only he had two hundred more to give.
The weather had turned foul overnight, a blizzard of wind and sleet that was bound to turn to snow by nightfall, likely thanks to the summoner’s meddling with the winds on the coast. What was already a hard march delayed by the need to build bridges over streams of blight was made worse by a road now turned to muck, and his hopes of reaching the ford by nightfall were diminishing by the second.
His war-horse’s teeth snapped in his direction, but Killian only pushed the stallion’s nose away before glancing up at the two exhausted greybeards perched on the black brute’s back. The pair probably weighed less than Killian in armor, but the other horses were showing the strain of carrying two riders, heads hung low, the mules pulling the small catapults no better. There was no helping it. There was no time to stop. No time to rest.
Two thousand men and women marched at his heels. Five hundred Gamdeshians. Three hundred old men who’d made up the city guard. Six hundred soldiers the High Lords had brought with them. And the rest were women who’d volunteered to fight. Some of them were warriors, but most were civilians here to give the families they’d left behind in Mudaire a chance to flee. A chance to live. There were some who’d call this army weak, but Killian knew better. These men and women had something to defend, and while they might die fighting, they wouldn’t break.
“Scout,” Sonia muttered from where she strode next to Killian, seemingly unaffected by the abysmal conditions despite having been born and raised in the balmy heat of Gamdesh. Likewise, the soldiers she led pressed onward without complaint, the loss of their comrades when the fleet was razed fresh in their minds. They wanted revenge.
Killian knew the feeling well.
Peering through the sleet, he watched the scout gallop toward them, the pace alone telling him all he needed to know.
The woman slid to a stop. “The advance force is only a few hours’ march from the ford, my lord,” she gasped, dismounting next to them and leading the tired horse.
“Shit,” Killian said under his breath, exchanging a quick glance with Sonia. The Gamdeshian captain knew as well as he did that if Rufina’s men made it to the ford ahead of them the battle was lost and Mudaire would be at the mercy of their enemies.
“Off,” he ordered the men on his horse, then swung into the saddle. “Archers on horses! The rest of you, double time.”
Sonia was already on Seahawk’s back, organizing the archers with the ease of someone used to command, and within moments the force was rallied around them. “We have less than an hour to make the ford and get that bridge down,” he bellowed. “Now ride.”
Digging in his heels, he gave the stallion his head, mud splattering high as he tore down the road. It wasn’t long until only Sonia kept pace, but that didn’t matter. The two of them alone could bring down the bridge.
If only that was all it would take to stop Rufina’s army.
The rolling farmland turned to forest, the branches giving some respite from the wind, if not the mud. The stallion leapt over a stream of blight that crossed the road, then slid, struggling to keep his footing. Then they were out in the open, the great ravine containing the Tarn cutting across the landscape. Killian stopped on the lip of the steep incline leading down to the narrow bridge spanning the river. The embankment on the far side was lower and not as steep, but as on this side, the road disappeared into the trees, hiding whatever marched upon it. Not that it mattered—his gut told him they were close.
Sonia behind him, he eased his horse down the slurry of mud and rock, dismounting next to the bridge.
“You call this a ford?” Sonia muttered, eyeing the churning rapids of the Tarn as Killian extracted