The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,157
unnerving, even after he had grown accustomed to the undead. “You’ll want to keep that clean, I should think.”
“Thank you again,” she said.
“This is why you asked me to come along, after all,” said Jorge. “I better see to the others.”
Jorge took his kit of bandages and restoratives and attended to each of the necromancers in turn. The others had never been as friendly or welcoming as Rowena, but they were far too weary from blood loss to turn down aid.
The Uaine warriors, meanwhile, were making their final preparations for battle. Now that they’d taken the blood, they only had about eight hours before it lost its efficacy. They were already climbing aboard the remaining rafts behind the sluagh gorta.
“Jorge!” bellowed Tighearna Elgin Mordha from the final raft. “Time ye sent yer signal!”
“Yes, Tighearna!” He returned to his pack and carefully removed the small firework. He was no artist, and certainly no Viajero, so it was clumsily made. But he hoped it would work properly and not merely blow his hand off.
He planted the small stake into the ground a little ways from the campfire, then took a smoldering twig from the fire to light the fuse. Once the fuse flashed and began to crackle, he backed quickly away, just to be safe. He watched tensely as the fuse worked its way up, doing his best to ignore the expectant looks of the Uaine. They had apparently never seen fireworks before and were very curious about the whole thing. Of course, if it failed, he was certain they’d never let him live it down.
At last the fuse reached the black powder and the firework shot into the air with a hiss. It rose over fifty feet before bursting into a ball of glittering yellow and white. The Uaine warriors cheered and clanged their swords together.
“Hopefully Sonya saw that in Gogoleth,” Jorge said as he returned to where Bhuidseach Rowena still sat by the fire.
Mordha shouted something in Uaine. Jorge turned to Bhuidseach Rowena and asked what it meant.
“It means… eh… Ride the river!” She gave him a somewhat stern expression and weakly shook her fist in a half-hearted attempt to imitate Mordha’s passionate tone.
“Ah,” said Jorge.
The necromancers were in no shape for battle, so they stayed behind with the camp, guarded by the elite Dìonadairean Bàs warriors, which was an honor guard dedicated to protecting them. Now the Dìonadairean Bàs waded into the river and took hold of the rafts. When Mordha gave the signal, they shoved the rafts toward the center of the river, where they were swiftly caught up in the strong current. Somewhat haphazardly, the train of rafts, bristling with warriors and sluagh gorta, began the journey downriver toward Gogoleth and the garrison.
Jorge watched the rafts grow farther and farther away until they were no longer visible, then he sighed and looked back at the fire.
“Do ye wish to join yer friends in battle, rather than nurse the Bhuidseach?” asked Rowena.
Jorge shook his head. “I’m no warrior. I know our cause is just, but I see no glory in battle, and take no joy in death.”
“’Tis a luxury to have such views,” said Rowena. “One which the Uaine canna’ afford. Battle is all we know and all we treasure. Everything else is but a means to carry it further.”
“Will it ever be enough?” asked Jorge. “Will you ever rest?”
“Does Death ever rest?” she asked.
64
Sebastian stood on the garrison’s observation platform with the three generals and watched the ball of yellow-and-white fire explode in the air roughly a mile north of Gogoleth.
“What in God’s name was that?” General Bonucci took off his tall hat, allowing his bald head to gleam brightly in the late-winter sunshine.
“A signal of some sort, I expect,” said General Zaniolo. “These Uaine certainly don’t appear to be very subtle.”
“So much the better.” General Marchisio leaned over the platform and shouted to the adjunct who waited below. “Inform the commander that the enemy has commenced their attack.”
“Yes, sir!” The young officer saluted sharply, then hurried away.
“It doesn’t make sense, though,” said Zaniolo. “Now that they are aware of our… tactical advantage”—he gave Sebastian a significant look—“their best chance would be to sail swiftly down the river hoping to catch us unprepared and attack before Captain Portinari can muster a magic assault large enough to wipe them all out.”
“It does seem foolhardy,” said Marchisio. “Now that they’ve signaled their advance, we’ll be watching them come down the river toward us.”