The eagle started a dive, but its path took it to the ground a few miles north of Rienne and her tiny army. So it's just an eagle after all, she thought, swooping down on a rabbit that spent too long in the open.
The thought made her scan the sky nervously, thinking of the Blasphemer's dragons. Some dragons remained with the horde, she knew, despite her best efforts. From the air, they could lead the barbarians right to the survivors as they moved across the plains and fields.
"Lady?" Cressa said, concern creasing her brow.
"Thank you for the report." Rienne sighed. "I wish you had brought better news."
"There's one more thing." Cressa seemed reluctant to say it. "Most of us are tired. I'm not, of course, but I saw a lot of people who could barely stay on their feet. Many of them are wounded. I think they're wondering if we might stop and rest soon."
Rienne rubbed her temples. "Rest where?" she wondered aloud. "How far away from the Blasphemer's horde is far enough? What if they're right behind us?"
Once again Cressa's face fell, as though Rienne's lack of a clear plan was a personal attack on her idealism. And again Rienne wanted to say something to comfort and reassure her, but this time nothing came to mind. Even keeping up the appearance of hope was beyond her.
"All right," Rienne said. "We clearly need to make camp. I'm glad you're not tired, but I can barely lift my feet off the ground anymore."
Cressa laughed. "I'm almost too tired to breathe!"
"Well, I have one more task for you. Find a couple of scouts and ask them to find a relatively safe place for us to make camp. Can you manage that?"
"Of course!" Cressa gave another awkward salute and hurried off, clearly less exhausted than she claimed.
The eagle was circling overhead again, and somehow that gave Rienne comfort, as if it were keeping watch over her little army. "Thank you," she whispered to it, and she imagined she heard its answering cry.
Three scouts went out at Cressa's suggestion and found a defensible position for a camp, at the top of a low hill with a good view of the surrounding fields and the forest behind them. They also brought word that what looked like another group of Reachers was making its way toward their position. They estimated that group at about fifty, which almost doubled the count of the battle's survivors. They were still at least an hour away, so Rienne set people to work on establishing a camp large enough for a hundred and twenty-odd. The professional soldiers set up watches and basic fortifications, while foresters and farmers gathered food and set up simple shelters.
As the sun disappeared behind the smoke that blanketed the western sky, Rienne watched the eagle plummet to the ground again, back in the direction of the forest. She watched the spot where it went down, waiting for it to rise up again. It took far longer than she thought it should, but at last it took to the air again, wings beating furiously. A moment later, she saw another group of people near where the eagle went down. They were walking over a rise, and heading more or less directly toward the camp. She looked up at the eagle again, positive now that it was more than it appeared. Perhaps it was a druid, not just following her band of survivors, but searching the land for others and pointing them in the right direction to join Rienne's army.
When the first group the scouts had spotted reached the camp, Rienne's impression was confirmed. She met them at the edge of the camp, and a young man stepped forward to talk to her. A bandage wrapped around his shoulder showed blood soaking through.
"Lady Dragonslayer," he said, dropping to one knee and bowing his head.
"There's no need for that," Rienne said. "On your feet. What's your name?"
"Sergeant Kallo, lady. Is there any more room in your camp? These people are exhausted."
"We saw you coming, and made sure to leave room for you all. You're most welcome."
"I am grateful, and at your service."
"How did you find us, Sergeant?"
"A Sky Warden in the form of a bird flew down and told us to follow him. He said that survivors of the battle were regrouping nearby."
Rienne's heart leaped in her chest. "What was his name?"
"I'm afraid I didn't catch it."
"A dark man, darker than me? With long black hair and a neat beard?"
"Yes, that sounds like him."
Kyaphar! It seemed he had survived the crash of Jordhan's airship after all. Might he have saved Jordhan as well?
"Please make yourselves comfortable in our camp. Sergeant. You're the ranking officer here, so I'm happy to relinquish command to you."
"Oh, no, lady. I'm just a sergeant. I wouldn't presume to give you orders."
Rienne sighed. She didn't particularly want the responsibility of commanding this tiny army, but there didn't seem to be any hope of escaping it. "Very well. Cressa here will show you the camp. Rest well, and tend to your wounds, but I'd like to consult with you at sunrise."
"I would be honored. Thank you, lady."
Kallo bowed, and Rienne returned it, feeling foolish and awkward. Despite her noble birth, she'd never been comfortable with the formal manners of the nobility, the elaborate etiquette of their social affairs, and particularly the subservience of others. She'd always been happiest delving into the caverns of Khyber with Gaven, far removed from family intrigue, social obligations, and manners. She smiled as Kallo walked away, thinking of Gaven and their utter disregard for polite manners while exploring the deeps.
The eagle wheeled in the sky, and Rienne imagined that it was beckoning the other group of survivors, urging them onward to something like safety. Somehow, she reflected, she had become a rallying point for the remnants of the Eldeen forces. As a girl, she'd been socially awkward, impatient with conversation because she always knew what people were going to say, and she had immersed herself in her training with the sword to insulate herself from interactions with other children. She had ended up with Gaven because both families wanted an alliance, and both families had problem children they couldn't otherwise marry off. Together, they had utterly disregarded their families' expectations and flitted off together on their adventures, prospecting dragonshards for House Lyrandar, circumventing the normal trade with House Tharashk. They had been young, impetuous, rebellious, and very much in love. Through years spent with Gaven, she managed to dodge the responsibilities of life in a noble family of Aundair. Then when Gaven went to Dreadhold, she'd been swallowed up in those responsibilities again-twenty-six miserable years filled with formal occasions and business negotiations. At least after a few years her parents had stopped trying to arrange engagements with other men.
Gaven had escaped, and it was like old times again-traveling across the countryside at Gaven's side, from the edge of the Mournland to Sharavacion and Stormhome and the Starcrag Plain, then all the way to the interior of Argonnessen, the grandest adventure of her life. And then Gaven disappeared, and suddenly her life was different than it had ever been before. She was alone in the Land of Dragons, neither doing family business on her own nor adventuring at Gaven's side. She had discovered new reserves of strength and independence in herself, and for the first time in her life she'd felt like she was pursuing a destiny that was uniquely hers, something the world needed her to do, which only she could do.
Now she began to wonder whether that destiny really had anything to do with slaying the Blasphemer at all. Perhaps it was more about providing leadership and hope to these people in the aftermath of the utter desolation of their homeland. She could see it on the faces of the people she saw in the camp-the sacredness of the land was part of who they were, their identity as a people. These weren't Aundairians, she realized, though their political independence from Aundair was only forty years old. They were part of the Eldeen Reaches, part of its land, and it was clear from the way they carried themselves and the expressions in their eyes that the devastation of the Blasphemer was a wound from which they might never recover.