Flame reminded him somewhat of Spit in his love of the run, tossing his head and snorting in appreciation as they galloped south, the mass of horses around them raising thunder from the earth. Dahrena rode at his side, having snapped a curt rebuke at Adal when he suggested she stay with the army. They managed to keep up with the Eorhil, though the North Guard and Orven’s men were obliged to trail in their wake by a half mile or so. The onset of darkness forced a halt after they had covered some twenty miles.
No fires were lit, the horsemen simply sitting or standing with their mounts, waiting for daylight. Dahrena had immediately slipped from her saddle and wrapped a cloak tightly about her shoulders as she sat on the grass. “Shan’t be long,” she said to Vaelin with a small smile before closing her eyes.
“Is this really necessary, my lord?” Adal asked, worry etched into his face as he stared at Dahrena’s unmoving form.
“I do not command her, Captain.” The blood-song gave a soft murmur, a note of anger and resentment, but also something else, something that now appeared obvious in the intensity of the captain’s gaze. All the years at her side and he’s never told her, Vaelin wondered.
Dahrena gave a soft gasp, opening her eyes and blinking rapidly. “They’ve stopped,” she breathed, slumping forward a little. Adal stepped closer to steady her but she waved him away, climbing to her feet with a groan.
“The Volarians?” Vaelin asked.
“The Realm Guard. Stopped on a hill some sixty miles directly south of here.”
My brother makes a stand, Vaelin thought. The song was quite clear, Caenis had command of the Realm Guard’s remnants, and they were tired of running.
“Remount!” Vaelin called, striding to Flame and vaulting into the saddle. “We ride through the night!”
They kept to a trot until the sun rose then spurred to a full gallop, Vaelin driving Flame hard although the horse’s flesh seemed to sing with joy as he struck out ahead of the Eorhil. After an hour’s ride the ground flattened out into rolling plains, a low hill visible on the horizon and a large dust-cloud rising in the east. Sanesh Poltar managed to urge yet more speed for his mount, pulling ahead of Vaelin and raising his strongbow over his head then waving it towards the east. A third of the Eorhil host immediately peeled away from the main body, striking out in a parallel course to the approaching dust-cloud.
Vaelin could see the Realm Guard on the hill now, standing three ranks deep, a few banners waving. They were too distant to make out the sigils but he knew the one in the centre bore a wolf running above a tower.
The Volarian cavalry came into view shortly after, dark-armoured figures riding tall warhorses, charging with lances levelled. Sanesh Poltar waved his bow again and another contingent of Eorhil separated from the host to charge directly at the Volarian flank. Vaelin followed the war chief as he led the remainder into the ground between the Realm Guard and the oncoming Volarians. On either side of him Eorhil warriors all notched an arrow to their bows with smooth unconscious precision, still at full gallop. They rode to within a hundred paces of the Volarians and loosed as one, no commands had been given. The arrows descended onto the leading companies in a dense cloud, horses screaming and falling as they struck home, men tumbling from the saddles to be trampled by their onrushing comrades. The Volarian charge faltered as the Eorhil continued to loose from the saddle, skirting their ranks and sending arrow after arrow into the mass of men and horses.
Vaelin reined in and watched the unfolding spectacle. Whoever had command of the Volarian horse was evidently quick in recognising a hopeless cause; assailed on three sides by horse archers and outnumbered into the bargain. Trumpets sounded amidst the roiling companies and they drew back, striking out for the only open ground to the south. The Eorhil, however, were not done.
Sanesh Poltar kept his contingent on the Volarian right flank whilst the two other wings continued to assail their rear and left, the arrows falling in a continuous rain, claiming ever more cavalrymen and horses. Vaelin watched the mobile battle fade towards the south as the North Guard and Orven’s men galloped past to join in the deathblow.
He turned Flame and trotted towards the hill where the Realm Guard were still standing in ranks. Their discipline held until his face came into view, whereupon they broke, running towards him with a great cheer, clustering around, joy and relief on every face. He nodded to them, smiling tightly at the babble of acclaim, nudging Flame forward until they came to the hill where a lone figure stood below a tall banner. He broke free from the clustering soldiers and guided Flame up the slope.
“Sorry, brother,” he said, dismounting at Caenis’s side. “I had hoped to get here sooner . . .”
He fell silent at the look on his brother’s face, eyes glaring amidst the dirt-covered visage of a man who had known nothing but battle and torment for weeks. “This all happened,” he said, the words spoken in a coarse echo of the voice Vaelin had known since childhood, “because you left us.”
Adal’s scouts brought news of three battalions of Volarian infantry to the west. It seemed the Volarian commander had split his force in his eagerness to finish the Realm Guard. Vaelin ordered the Eorhil to cut off their line of retreat and sent word to Count Marven ordering him to crush the enemy force with all dispatch. Time they were blooded.
“Five regiments,” Caenis reported in a clipped voice, the tones used by a subordinate to a superior, lacking familiarity or affection. “Or what remains of them. The Thirty-fifth is the most numerous with a third of its men still standing.”
“Is it true?” Vaelin asked. “About Darnel?”
Caenis gave a short nod. “We were drawn up for battle, the Volarians coming on in strength. When Darnel’s knights appeared we thought it a deliverance. There was no warning, they just trotted within a few hundred paces of the left flank and charged, smashing it to pieces. As of that moment we were undone. The men stood though, every regiment stood and fought, most to the death. I don’t have the words to do them justice. Lord Verniers might, if he still lives.”
“Verniers?” Vaelin asked. “The Alpiran Emperor’s chronicler. He was there?”
“At the King’s command. Grist for his history of the Realm.” Caenis met his gaze for the first time since their meeting on the hill. “He had an interesting story to tell and many questions, especially about our time in the Order.”
“What did you tell him?”
“No more than you did, I suspect.”
“How did you get away?”
“We rallied, launched a counter at the Volarian centre. I gambled their general would be careful enough of his own person to halt the advance and gather forces to his defence. As luck had it, I was right.”
“Your men are alive thanks to you, brother.”
“Not all, we lost many on the march.”
“Gallis? Krelnik?”
“Krelnik during the countercharge. Gallis in the retreat.”
Vaelin wanted to offer some words of commiseration, share memories of the grizzled veteran and the former climbing outlaw, but Caenis had taken his gaze away, staring rigidly ahead once more. “I regret asking you to march again so soon,” Vaelin said. “But we have business at Alltor.”
His brother’s expression didn’t change. “As my lord commands.”
Is this how it will be from now on? Vaelin wondered. Brotherhood turned to hate by lost Faith?
His gaze was drawn by the sound of drumming hooves as Nortah rode into their makeshift camp at the gallop, Snowdance loping in his wake. Perhaps this will lighten his mood, Vaelin thought as Nortah leapt from the saddle, striding towards Caenis with a broad grin.