The horse’s hooves kicked up dust from the road. The rider pulled the reins tight and came to a stop close enough that Ovid could have reached out and touched the animal. In the moonlight, the mounted soldier scanned the King’s Volunteers and then looked down at him.
“Our outriders spotted you hours ago and sent back word,” the soldier said, fine and neat in the uniform of the army of Euphrasia, emblazoned with the colors of King Hunyadi. His eyes narrowed. “Commander Damia Beck has sent me to discover your purpose. You’re not soldiers, that’s clear enough.”
Hands still on his weapons, Ovid glared at him. “Is it? We’ve among us men and women-and Stonecoats as well-who’ve marched from a dozen towns and cities along the Orient Road from here to Twillig’s Gorge. We’ve weapons and some of us training, and we’ve come to fight the invaders with our last breath. We’re the King’s Volunteers, boy. I doubt he’d have you send us away.”
The horse snuffled and sidestepped a few feet, perhaps unnerved by the presence of the leader of the Jokao. The rider, also, studied the Stonecoat for a long moment.
“Come with me to see Commander Beck,” the rider said. “Your troops remain here unless and until she or the king says otherwise. Is that clear?”
Ovid glanced at the Stonecoat, who nodded and withdrew back through the lines to join his kin. Then Ovid shouted for LeBeau, the swordsman who was one of his three lieutenants.
Without a word, LeBeau emerged from the troops and stood rigid, awaiting his instructions. They really were an army, now.
“It seems I must go and reassure this soldier’s commander that we support the king and not the enemy. Until I return, the King’s Volunteers are yours. And if I haven’t returned by dawn, attack the Atlantean invaders and kill as many as you can.”
LeBeau smiled thinly at that. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
The rider reached down for Ovid. “With me, sir.”
Ovid stared at his hand.
“There isn’t time for pride or propriety,” the rider said. “You’ve brought the king a great many soldiers. If you want them to be of use, ride with me.”
Ovid took his hand reluctantly and allowed himself to be assisted onto the saddle behind the cavalryman. The soldier spurred his horse and then they were galloping up the hill. From the crest of the hill, Ovid could see the ocean. Below them, the Orient Road wound through the sprawled camp of the Euphrasian army, with various battalions of infantry and cavalry divided like neighborhoods. Indeed, the army seemed like an entire city from that vantage point. Legends and Borderkind were scattered amongst them, though many had gathered to the south, not far from where soldiers had dug in to guard against nighttime assault.
The rider galloped along the road, then cut away on a straighter path between two large encampments whose banners flew from posts in the ground, showing that they followed different commanders. Like most residents of Twillig’s Gorge, Ovid had little experience on horseback, so he clung to the rider for dear life.
They passed a line of trees, beyond which lay a field of corpses shrouded in blankets and uniforms and ruined tents. Casualties of the Yucatazcan invasion. There must have been two or three hundred, at least, and there would have been others at the site of skirmishes all over southern Euphrasia.
“There will be far more blood spilled, come the dawn,” the rider said. “Are your volunteers prepared for that?”
“We’ve come a long way,” Ovid said coldly. “There has been plenty of time to think, and we’ve thought of nothing else. We’ll live free, or we’ll die. Atlantis cannot be allowed to prevail.”
The rider only nodded. Ovid managed to get his name-Ufland-but nothing more. Then the young cavalryman slowed the horse to a trot and guided the beast in amongst a group of tents set closer together than others, as though this battalion were themselves bonded more tightly. Ovid spotted two Northlander ogres.
With a tug on the reins, Ufland halted his steed. Ovid slipped off of its back. The rider followed suit, handed the reins to another soldier, and started toward the tent at the center of the cluster.
Before they reached it, something moved swiftly at the edge of his vision and he turned to see a Naga slithering toward him and Ufland. Ovid blinked in surprise, then the serpentine archer had reached him. Most would be terrified by the look on the creature’s face, but Ovid knew it as a grin. The Naga thrust out his hand and they shook.
“Welcome, Ovid Tsing,” the Naga said. “Your bow will be very welcome.”
“Thank you, Istarl,” Ovid replied. “I’m honored.”
This Naga had taught him how to use a bow when Ovid had been merely a boy. To see him now was strangely disconcerting, and yet comforting as well.
“Your mother is well?” Istarl asked.
Ovid gave a single shake of his head. “Returned to the eternal river,” he explained, referencing the Nagas’ beliefs about the afterlife.
The archer touched his forehead and then gestured to the horizon. “May her journey be gentle and sweet.”
Emotion welled up in Ovid’s throat. “Thank you, old friend.”
He might have discussed his mother’s murder, but the rider, Ufland, tapped his shoulder. Ovid turned to see a tall, regal woman emerging from the tent before them. Her skin was darker than night, and the moonlight shone upon her. She walked with one hand on the hilt of her sword, as if by habit rather than caution, and she strode toward them with a black cloak billowing behind her in the breeze.
A remarkable woman, that much was clear.
Ufland stood at attention and offered a short bow. “Commander, this is Ovid Tsing, leader of the militia on the Orient Road. They call themselves the King’s Volunteers.”
The rider could not quite keep the disdain from his voice.
Commander Beck silenced him with a hard look, and Ufland gazed at his boots. Ovid liked her for that. The woman studied him a moment, then looked at Istarl.
“You know him?”
The Naga’s serpentine lower half extended and he rose straight up so that he seemed also to be at attention. “I do, Commander Beck. Ovid learned the way of the bow from me and mine. He has courage and skill, though he is often far too serious.”
Commander Beck arched an eyebrow and studied Ovid. “Too serious? From a Naga, that’s saying something.”
Ovid said nothing. The moment lasted several seconds, then the commander glanced up the road, the way Ufland and Ovid had ridden.
“How many are in your command, Mister Tsing? How many in the King’s Volunteers?”
She gave them their name without a trace of irony.
“At last count, more than eleven hundred, Commander,” Ovid replied. “And nearly fifty Jokao.”
Commander Beck smiled, as though not quite sure whether she ought to believe him. “Stonecoats?”
Ovid nodded.
“Impressive, sir. More than a battalion, and Stonecoats besides.” The woman seemed to mull this over for several moments, glancing at Ufland and Istarl, then she looked out over the ranks of the army toward the ocean. Toward the Isthmus of the Conquistadors.
“Only His Majesty, King Hunyadi, can give you a commission. But in times of war, adjustments must be made. King’s Volunteers you call yourself, and King’s Volunteers you will remain. We will consider you Commander Tsing from this point forward, as you have an entire battalion and more at your back.”
Ovid blinked in surprise. But Ufland seemed aghast at the idea that volunteers would be given stature equal to trained professional soldiers.
“You have something to say?” Commander Beck demanded of the cavalryman. “Some difficulty understanding the odds against us tomorrow, or the stakes involved?”
Ufland lowered his eyes. “No, Commander. None at all.”
Beck nodded. She turned to Ovid. “Take his horse. Ride back to your volunteers. Break from the road and lead them to the ocean. Your battalion will move west at dawn and stop where the shore turns south and becomes the Isthmus. You’ll guard the army’s eastern flank, Commander Tsing, and watch for further Atlantean incursion from the water. If the invaders break through, you’ll send the Jokao first. They’ll likely kill a hundred Atlanteans for each Stonecoat that falls. If we’re to die, Ovid, we’re going to make the scheming bastards pay for every life lost.”