“Aaieeeh!” With a cry, Edric jerked as if struck. His limbs stiffened. The horse beneath him flinched and jigged sideways.
“Catch him!” Graciela cried, as Edric swayed in the saddle.
Taniquel, who was on foot, rushed to the laranzu’s horse, holding out her arms. He fell slowly, as if through honey. His weight dropped onto her. For an instant she staggered, then caught her balance and braced herself to lower him to the ground.
Graciela knelt at Edric’s side. His face had gone pasty, his body inert. Taniquel could not see any movement in his chest.
“Is he breathing?” she asked anxiously. And what happened?
The younger woman’s face went slack, her eyes losing their focus. Her hands skimmed the air just above his body. With that odd laran sense of hers, Taniquel felt Graciela sink into rapport.
Graciela kept one hand, fingers spread wide, bare inches over Edric’s chest. The other twisted the neckline of her gown where it covered a pendant on a heavy silver chain. Power crackled through the air between the girl’s hand and the man’s body. Taniquel imagined tiny blue lightnings crossing the narrow space.
Edric gave a convulsive shudder. He gasped for air. The long muscles in his neck stood out like cords.
Sighing loudly, Graciela sat back. “The parting—” she said, her voice reedy with tension, “—it was so sudden.”
Then, seeing the look of puzzlement on Taniquel’s face, Graciela added, “He was linked to the sentry-bird when it was killed. An archer from King Damian’s army must have spotted it. It is bad enough for a handler to lose a bird he has worked with. But when his mind is linked to it, he becomes the bird—do you understand?—and if the tie is severed then, it is like being wrenched from his own life. I have heard of leroni who have suffered such a shock and become lost in the Overworld, so disoriented they could not find their way back to their own bodies.” She brushed Edric’s tousled hair back from his forehead.
“Edric . . .” At her touch and the sound of her voice, his eyes opened. Blinking, his mouth rounded into an “O” of surprise. He seemed not to know either of them, glancing from one to the other. Then he came to himself, eyes softening. He reached out to grasp Graciela’s hand.
“It was fortunate I was at hand,” she said briskly.
“Will he be all right?” Taniquel asked.
“He must rest,” the girl’s voice turned clinical. “And he must not fly the other bird for several days, perhaps as much as a tenday. That he recovered consciousness so quickly is a good sign.”
And I thought her a simple country girl because of her age and lineage! Taniquel scolded herself. In her own time, she suspected, Graciela would be as intimidating as Lady Caitlin.
“If the bird was recognized by one of Damian’s men and killed for it . . .” Taniquel murmured to herself. She got to her feet, not bothering to brush the grass and tawny seeds from her skirts. “My uncle must know of this.”
She hurried away, back toward her uncle’s tent.
A knot of men, including Rafael’s personal bodyguard, waited outside the royal tent. Rafael, as usual, had drawn back the door drape and sides, leaving little more than a pavilion.
By their expressions, the bodyguards recognized Taniquel as she approached. Their posture remained wary, hands resting on the hilts of their swords, eyes restless. Since Rafael had declared her Queen Regent of Acosta, they had treated her with additional deference, so they did not challenge her now.
“Please conduct me to the King,” she said politely.
The bodyguard sketched a half-bow and stepped back for her to approach. She dropped all decorum and darted to her uncle’s side.
“I come from Edric, where he has been flying the sentry-birds.”
“Yes,” he nodded, composed and somewhat distracted. “My aide’s been bringing me reports all morning.”
“Not ten minutes ago, Edric’s bird was shot and killed by Deslucido’s archers. Without Graciela’s prompt aid, he would have perished along with it.”
“I am sorry. The bird is a great loss.”
“The bird is nothing! He knows! Deslucido knows we have been spying on him!”
Rafael got to his feet in a burst of energy. “We must act at once, before he can regroup, or everything we have learned will be useless.” His eyes glittered like those of a cloud leopard which has scented its prey. “We will attack and we will keep attacking until he has nowhere left to run. And then we will put a final end to this menace.”
Taniquel had not realized an army could move as swiftly as Rafael’s did now. Everything seemed to be happening at once. Officers shouted orders as messengers darted throughout the camp, horses were saddled, tents taken down, gear laden, and bows and spears prepared. The first units of horsemen, Rafael’s vanguard, formed up even before the last carts were loaded.
After the sowing of the bonewater dust, Rafael had good reason to fear another trap. Edric, as senior laranzu, must therefore ride at the head of the army to scout out signs of laran weaponry. He looked pale but able to ride. Muscles made iron ripples along his jaw.
Edric left the remaining sentry-bird behind with Graciela. Taniquel thought that whatever reason Edric might have once had to hate Deslucido, he had a greater one now. She nodded to him as they rode together to the vanguard.
Rafael had not argued with Taniquel’s demand to ride with the army, and for this, she was grateful. By his own command, her colors flew at the forefront, a reminder that their mission was to restore her son as rightful king of Acosta.
Now as she cantered her easy-gaited white mare past the assembled men, Taniquel caught their expressions, snatches of words. Since they’d left Thendara, whispers had flown through the camp and across the countryside. Queen Taniquel, come to fulfill her promise, come to free us all! She had already become a legend, larger than life. Let them think what they liked, so long as they fought bravely.
Rafael gave the signal to advance. Trumpets sounded, and the first ranks surged forward. Taniquel’s horse leaped beneath her. Miles sped by, trot and canter, keeping the horses fresh.
Deslucido’s army had withdrawn from the funnel pass where the sentry-bird had last reported it, but the Hastur forces made their way uphill, just beyond the pass, to close with them. As the Ambervale army came into sight, Rafael ordered Taniquel to a safer position, to the side and up a little rise. Edric came with her, along with a team of hand-picked bodyguards. She couldn’t see much after the first few minutes for all the dust and confusion. From one instant to the next, she could make out the individual war cries of men, some of them yelling Acosta! Acosta,! horses neighing, hooves pounding, swords clashing.
“Can you see anything?” she shouted to Edric, although she could hardly hear her own voice.
He shook his head. As she watched, a pattern of movement gradually emerged. The black-and-white banners drew back while her uncle’s colors surged forward. Screams grew fewer. They must be giving way, on the run. What if it were a trap?
She glanced at Edric, who had closed his eyes in concentration. Something prickled the nape of her neck like a half-remembered thought. She felt his mind spreading out, questing. Finding nothing.
As one minute melted into the next, she knew she’d seen rightly. The Ambervale forces no longer fought to hold ground but only to cover their retreat. They moved in an orderly way, without any trace of panic. It was a calculated move, not a rout. Taniquel did not know how she knew this, unless she were picking it up from Edric’s mind. She had expected more fear, less organization, from Deslucido’s men, but what did she know of warfare? Perhaps all retreating armies were so deliberate.
Yet . . . she had studied the reports of the border battle, how the Hastur units had done exactly the same thing, withdrawing in order to lure their enemies along the valley where they could be surrounded.
Hastur trumpets sounded the advance. Despite her misgivings, exhilaration swept through Taniquel. She wanted to shout, to draw a sword and brandish it. It was all she
could do to keep to her place instead of charging along with her uncle’s men. Shortly afterward, word came for her to proceed along with the army. It felt wonderful to be moving again, to be doing something.
Deslucido’s forces seemed to melt in front of the advancing Hastur forces. Rafael’s generals kept their men in check to prevent an outright chase. A trap was still possible, even with Edric clearing every step of the way. It would be too risky, one of the lieutenants explained to Taniquel, to spread their forces over miles of territory, unable to draw up in any decent formation. Their rear guard, wagons and foot soldiers, followed behind. By the time they made camp, their enemy had outstripped them.
The pass opened into a flat, rough valley ringed by the remnants of badly eroded canyon walls. A stream made its way along a wash that must turn into a flood in bad weather. There was a little forage for the horses. The cooling air awoke the pungent smell of crushed grass. Rainbirds called from a bedraggled copse.
The camp settled into the familiar nighttime routine. Horses stamped and nickered along the picket lines. Taniquel handed her mount to the grooms and made her way to the tent which she shared with Graciela. It had, like Rafael’s own, come ahead of the rest on its own luggage cart. Her servants were already unpacking the small comforts afforded by her rank, a pallet bed, two cushions, a strip of carpet and a narrow leather chest containing a change of underclothing, cosmetics, hairbrushes, basin, and scented soaps for bathing. The water had not yet been carried in.
Taniquel paced the length of the tent, restless with a dull pressure in her head. She massaged her temples and the back of her neck, but found no relief. Despite the excitement of the day, she itched with inactivity. There was nothing for her to do. The grooms would tend to her horse. Rafael would plan the next strategy with his officers. Graciela was off with Edric and the sentry-bird.
It was improper for her to stroll through the camp, chatting with her own men, the way Rafael might do. In Acosta, she would have given propriety scant notice, but her uncle had spoken sharply to her about the necessity of royal dignity.
“Your name and the legend which is growing up about you are essential to your cause,” he said. Grudgingly, she’d admitted she could not throw away such an advantage for an evening’s diversion, and until now she had not regretted her promise.
Two moons shone in the sky where more stars appeared every passing minute. Taniquel followed her escort to her uncle’s tent. He had invited her to dine with him, as was their custom so far. Now, Rafael looked tired as he gave her his usual courteous greeting. The lantern light deepened the lines around his mouth and eyes.
He is no longer a young man. How much he had changed since she was a girl playing hoyden in his castle. The campaign had been harder on him than she realized. The years, or perhaps the recent stresses, had pared him to wiry leanness. His hair and neatly trimmed beard were more silver than red.
With a pang of guilt, she thought, He could have stayed safely in Thendara and left me to my fate. But he had not gone to war or even sent one of his sons merely to save Acosta. He went because Damian Deslucido was a threat to all of Darkover.
“Uncle,” she said impulsively, “will we truly be able to put an end to him? What if he keeps running? What if he locks himself up in Acosta?”
Rafael did not answer immediately. He dismissed his servant and took up the trencher of stew, a soldier’s mixture of grain, parched and then simmered with dried meat and whatever vegetables could be obtained locally. In this case, chunks of something yellow like carrots laced the mixture. It smelled sour, but when she took a bite, the mixture tasted sweet and slightly spicy. Warmth spread through her body and filled her head, easing the ache.
After they had eaten, Rafael said, “Now, then. The first rule of campaigning is that things change, often much faster than any of us would like. You never know what’s going to happen until you get there. The second rule is that no plan, no matter how carefully made, survives the first battle.”
At the tone of his voice, Taniquel relaxed; he was in a good humor.
“I have pledged to follow Deslucido wherever he goes, to—as you phrase it—put a final end to him. I did not specify how or when. Such things are not given to us to know. Here, have some more wine.” He refilled her glass. She could not remember having drunk the first one, but the garnet red was a good vintage and went down smoothly. Her belly felt full and warm. With every sip, the headache became easier to ignore.
The lanterns burned softly. Outside, men’s voices muted to a drone. From time to time, they raised in song and she found herself humming along to a tune whose words she should not, as a gently brought up lady, know. Sprawled in his chair, Rafael began a long rambling story about three Dry Towners and a leronis. Taniquel had heard it, or rather overheard it, in the armory at Acosta when the men had not known she was there. It was obscene, of course, but there was something wrong about her uncle, her mother’s brother, telling it to her. The prohibition against sexual relations, even jokes, between generations, still ran strong, a remembrance of the time of group marriages when any man of her father’s age could have actually been her father.
She put her goblet down on the little folding table with such force that the wine sloshed over the sides. The goblet tilted and then, before she could grab for it, fell over. Wine splashed across Rafael’s lap. He straightened up as if stung.
Taniquel clapped both hands over her mouth. What was wrong with them? Why were they acting this way? Whatever had possessed them to get drunk?
Humiliated, she dashed to the door flap, which had been tied back to admit the evening breezes. She ran a few steps into the camp before coming to a halt.
Night air lay thick and cool over the camp. In all directions, tents and firepits stretched out in the familiar pattern. Gone was the peaceful hum of conversation, the snatches of song. A man’s voice growled out a curse and a short distance away, another let out an inarticulate howl.
How dare they? How dare they? Fury pounded through her brain.
White-hot pain lanced through her temples. She staggered under its impact. Her breath came hot and ragged between clenched teeth. An invisible weight, crushing and inexorable, pressed in on her, brought her to her knees. Fingers digging into her scalp, she rocked back and forth. “Avarra—Dark Lady—help me!”
As if in response, memory flooded her. She had felt this searing pain in her skull once before, when Deslucido’s sorcerer led the attack on Acosta Castle. All that morning, the sensation of urgency had built and built. It ended at last in the compulsion spell to keep the gates locked. Until she realized what was happening, she had been as ensorceled as any of them.
Laran attack!
Now as she clambered to her feet, she remembered the hours of restlessness through the afternoon, the vague aching which escalated into this headache. Wine had dulled it, but only for a time. Or perhaps that sense of well-being was part of the attack, designed to lull them all into complacency.
Tell . . . Uncle Rafael . . . He must . . . take action . . . be ready . . . for whatever follows . . .
Another jolt sent her stumbling, tripping over the hem of her gown, clutching the tent pole to steady herself. She grabbed fistfuls of skirt and yanked them up, out of the way. Anger rushed through her—at Rafael, at Edric, at everyone in this loathsome camp. Her fingers twisted the fabric into knots. Adrenaline sizzled through her veins.
No! Fight the spell, not your own people! That’s what they want—for us all to be at each other’s throats!
Taniquel bit down hard on her lower lip, using the pain to keep her thoughts clear. From inside the tent came a cry of inarticulate rage. There, within the pool of lantern light, Rafael and his paxman, Gerolamo, wrestled. They strained against each other, grappling, fists pounding. One of them bellowed curses—she could not be sure which, the voice was so distorted.
She dashed toward them, resisting the urge to snatch up an eating knife from the table and plunge it into the back of the nearer man.
“Stop it!” she screamed, but their roaring drowned her words. They were beyond hearing, beyond all reason.
The struggling men pivoted, scrambling for leverage and clawing at each other. As the light fell across them, she saw Gerolamo clench one huge hand around Rafael’s throat. The tendons of his fingers stood out with effort. Rafael’s face contorted. No sounds issued from his opened mouth. He staggered, arms flailing, eyes bulging.
Taniquel still held her skirts high off the ground. With all the power she could muster, she aimed a kick at Gerolamo’s back at kidney level.
“Yaaah!” Gerolamo howled. His back arched spasmodically. As his body tipped backward, his knees buckled slightly.
In a flash, Taniquel saw his hand loosen on Rafael’s neck. She pivoted and stamped down on the back of one bent knee just as Padrik had taught her, using her weight to drive downward. The knee gave way. Gerolamo’s body slammed into her, and she lost her balance, going down in a flurry of skirts.
Something struck the side of her head. Gerolamo’s fist, she thought. Her vision whirled sickeningly. She tried to sit up. His heavy body pinned her legs. For a moment, she thought he had shifted his attack to her. Then he rolled free and lunged once more at Rafael.
Taniquel scrambled to her feet, tangled in yards of silk but managing to stay upright. A hem ripped.
Rafael crouched in a fighter’s stance, sword held at ready. The lantern light burnished the steel to molten gold.
“Have done, traitor!” he rumbled.
“No!” Taniquel cried. “Uncle, no! It’s not Gero! This is Deslucido’s doing, this anger!”
He turned his face to her, his features congested with dark, wild light. “And as for you, little minx—”
Gerolamo rushed at him, unheeding the blade aimed at his heart. Taniquel threw herself at Gerolamo. She knocked him sideways. They both went down again. Gerolamo rolled on the carpet, clutching one shoulder, bellowing.