The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,6
an admirable job of fending off the soldiers. Five of them lay dead, their leather and steel uniforms crusted with dry blood as they formed a loose semicircle around her father’s body. Her father was slumped forward on his knees, the tip of a sword protruding from his back.
She knelt down next to him and felt for his pulse, though judging by the smell and discoloration of the skin, she already knew she wouldn’t find it. After a moment, she carefully leaned him back and pulled the sword from his chest. His face was relaxed in a way it never had been in life. Typically his mouth had a hard, thin set to it. But in death, it was open and soft.
“One day I will return as you now return,” she whispered. “Until then, I will…”
Would she travel light where her father was concerned? Could she? Even now, so many conflicting emotions boiled within her. They’d had many arguments, particularly during these last few years after she’d been accepted by the Lady Marzanna as a Ranger. But despite all their disagreements, he had been her father, her hero, and the most magnificent man she’d ever known.
“Daddy…” Her voice warbled as tears once more coursed down her face. “I wish…”
If wishes were fishes, I’d never be hungry. That’s what Mikhail used to say, usually in a mocking tone when Sonya had been complaining about something. It angered her now as it had always angered her then, but that anger brought focus, as it was meant to do. There were more pressing concerns than her regrets, such as finding her mother and brother.
“The dead are with the Lady,” she admonished herself. “I must look to the living.”
She emerged from the house with a cold, burning intensity in her heart.
It wasn’t difficult to locate the wagon tracks and the cluster of indentations from iron-shod horse hooves. The tracks led east, most likely toward the imperial garrison at Gogoleth. She could tell by the depth of the depressions that some of the horses had been riderless for the return trip, no doubt thanks to her father thinning their ranks. She saw no sign of her brother fighting back. Perhaps her father had forbidden him to use magic. He could be stubborn like that. Or perhaps Sebastian had merely been too frightened to use it. He could be cowardly like that.
Regardless, Sonya’s best hope of rescuing her surviving family was to catch up to them before they reached Gogoleth. Weary as the soldiers no doubt were, and with their ranks depleted, she was fairly certain she could take them. And if she could slip a bit of metal to Sebastian, he might even pluck up the courage to assist her.
She returned to Peppercorn, who snorted and stamped his hoof eagerly as she unhitched him from the post. She stroked his warm neck for a moment.
“Yes, Perchinka. It’s time to run.”
She untied her bow and quiver from her saddle and slung them across her back. Then she vaulted into her saddle with a pointless flourish that had always made Mikhail roll his eyes. Thinking of him, she turned and gazed back at the open barn door for a moment.
“Spasibo,” she said, which meant thank you. It was inadequate, but the only other way she could hope to show her gratitude for all he had done was to live without fear and serve the Lady Marzanna, as all Rangers must. Then she touched her heels to Peppercorn’s sides and they began their pursuit.
4
As further testament to the orderly efficiency of the imperial cavalry, the carriage that carried Sebastian and his mother reached Gogoleth early the next day, just as the captain said they would. Sebastian hadn’t been to the capital in years. He remembered as a child being simultaneously frightened and delighted by its frenetic pace and boisterous inhabitants, so different from the placid farm life to which he was accustomed. But at this hour, the streets were nearly empty. Without all the distractions, he was able to fully appreciate the buildings themselves, a fascinating mixture of grand old Izmorozian black stone structures beside bright new wood buildings built by the Aureumian Empire in the aftermath of the war. The best of both worlds, he thought.
They swiftly crossed the city and passed through the eastern gate to the imperial garrison, which comprised four buildings spread across the short stretch of land between the city’s outer wall and the Sestra River.