Certainly Galdar had felt nothing like it. He loped along at Mina’s side, running with new-found strength. He could have run from here to Ice Wall without pause. He might have credited his energy to pure joy at regaining his severed limb, but he saw his awe and fervor reflected in the faces of the men who made that exhilarating, mad dash alongside him. It was as if they brought the storm with them-hooves thundering among the mountain walls, the iron shoes of the horses striking lightning bolts from the rock surface.
Mina rode at their head, urging them on when they would have stopped from fatigue, forcing them to look into themselves to find just a bit more strength than they knew they possessed.
They rode through the night, their way lit by lightning flashes.
They rode through the day, halting only to water the horses and eat a quick bite standing.
When it seemed the horses must founder, Mina called a halt.
The Knights had traversed well over half the distance. As it was, her own roan, Foxfire, could have continued on. He appeared to actually resent the stop, for the horse stamped and snorted in displeasure, his irritated protests splitting the air and bouncing back from the mountain tops.
Foxfire was fiercely loyal to his mistress and to her alone. He had no use for any other being. During their first brief rest stop, Galdar had made the mistake of approaching the horse to hold Mina’s stirrup as she dismounted, as he had been trained to do for his commander and with much better grace than he’d used for Ernst Magit. Foxfire’s lip curled back over his teeth, his eyes gleamed with a wild, wicked light that gave Galdar some idea of how the beast had come by his name. Galdar hastily backed away.
Many horses are frightened by minotaurs. Thinking this might be the problem, Galdar ordered one of the others to attend the commander.
Mina countermanded his order. “Stay back, all of you. Foxfire has no love for any being other than myself. He obeys only my commands and then only when my commands agree with his own instincts. He is very protective of his rider, and I could not prevent him from lashing out at you if you came too near.”
She dismounted nimbly, without aid. Removing her own saddle and bridle, she led Foxfire to drink. She fed him and brushed him down with her own hands. The rest of the soldiers tended to their own weary mounts, saw them safely settled for the night. Mina would not allow them to build a campfire. Solamnic eyes might be watching, she said. The fire would be visible a long distance.
The men were as tired as the horses. They’d had no sleep for two days and a night. The terror of the storm had drained them, the forced march left them all shaking with fatigue. The excitement that had carried them this far began to ebb. They looked like prisoners who have wakened from a wonderful dream of freedom to find that they still wear their shackles and their chains.
No longer crowned by lightning and robed with thunder, Mina looked like any other girl, and not even a very attractive girl, more like a scrawny youth. The Knights sat hunched over their food in the moonlit darkness, muttering that they’d been led on a fool’s errand, casting Mina dark looks and angry glances.
One man even went so far as to say that any of the dark mystics could have restored Galdar’s arm, nothing so special in that.
Galdar could have silenced them by pointing out that no dark mystic had restored his arm, though he had begged them often enough. Whether they refused because their powers were not strong or because he lacked the steel to pay them, it was all the same to him. The dark mystics of the Knights of Neraka had not given him an arm. This strange girl had and he was dedicated to her for life. He kept quiet, however. He was ready to defend Mina with his life, should that become necessary, but he was curious to see how she would handle the increasingly tense situation.
Mina did not appear to notice that her command was slowly slipping away. She sat apart from the men, sat above them, perched on an enormous boulder. From her vantage point, she could look out across the mountain range, jagged black teeth taking a bite out of the starry sky. Here and there, fires from the active volcanoes were blots of orange against the black. Withdrawn, abstracted, she was absorbed in her thoughts to the point that she seemed totally unaware of the rising tide of mutiny at her back.
“I’ll be damned if I’m riding to Sanction!” said one of the Knights. “You know what’s waiting for us there. A thousand of the cursed Solamnics, that’s what!”
“I’m off to Khur with the first light,” said another. “I must have been thunderstruck to have come this far!”
“I’ll not stand first watch,” a third grumbled. “She won’t let us have a fire to dry out our clothes or cook a decent meal. Let her stand first watch.”
“ Aye, let her stand first watch!” The others agreed.
“I intend to,” said Mina calmly. Rising from her seat, she descended to the road. She stood astride it, her feet planted firmly.
Arms crossed over her chest, she faced the men. “I will stand all the watches this night. You will need your rest for the morrow. You should sleep.”
She was not angry. She was not sympathetic. She was certainly not pandering to them, did not seem to be agreeing with them in hope of gaining their favor. She was making a statement of fact, presenting a logical and rational argument. The men would need their rest for the morrow.
The Knights were mollified, but still angry, behaving like children who’ve been made the butt of a joke and don’t like it. Mina ordered them to make up their beds and lie down.
The Knights did as they were told, grumbling that their blankets were still wet and how could she expect them to sleep on the hard rock? They vowed, one and all, to leave with the dawn.
Mina returned to her seat upon the boulder and looked out again at the stars and the rising moon. She began to sing.
The song was not like the Song of Death, the terrible dirge sung to them by the ghosts of Neraka. Mina’s song was a battle song. A song sung by the brave as they march upon the foe, a song meant to stir the hearts of those who sing it, a song meant to strike terror into the hearts of their enemies.
The song continued, a paean sung by the victors in their moment of triumph, a song of reminiscence sung by the old soldier telling his tale of valor.
Closing his eyes, Galdar saw deeds of courage and bravery, and he saw, thrilling with pride, that he was the one performing these heroic feats. His sword flared with the purple white of the lightning, he drank the blood of his enemies. He marched from one glorious battle to the next, this song of victory on his lips.
Always Mina rode before him, leading him, inspiring him, urging him to follow her into the heart of the battle. The purple white glow that emanated from her shone on him.
The song ended. Galdar blinked, realized, to his astonishment and chagrin, that he had fallen asleep. He had not meant to, he had intended to stand watch with her. He rubbed his eyes, wished she would start singing again. The night was cold and empty without the song. He looked around to see if the others felt the same.
They slumbered deeply and peacefully, smiles on their lips.
They had laid their swords within reach on the ground beside them. Their hands closed over the hilts as if they would leap up and race off to the fray in an instant. They were sharing Galdar’s dream, the dream of the song.