Valdemar 06 - [Exile 01] - Exile’s Honor (47 page)

Alberich and Myste imposed themselves as a barrier between Selenay and the path to her father's side; the rest of her escort crowded in, hemming her and Caryo in among them. “Stay
here!
” he bellowed at her, trying to get her attention. “Selenay! Heed me!”

She had no intention of doing any such thing. He could see it in her eyes, wild with fear and grief beneath her light helm. She hit out at them with mailed fists, flailing at them as she sobbed and cursed; she sawed at Caryo's reins, she even tried to fling herself off Caryo's back and follow on foot. But there were no divided loyalties among those who were protecting
her.
However suicidal Sendar's action might be, however much their hearts and minds cried out to follow him and protect him, their
duty
was with Selenay. To keep her safe. And if there was one thing that a Herald understood—or a Guardsman—

—it was duty.

She wept and fought their restraining hands; she hit and screeched at them, with the background of the chaos of battle nearly drowning out her screams. She actually caught Alberich a glancing blow across his chin, and Herald Keren a direct hit that would leave her with a black eye soon. She called them cowards, traitors, and worse. She ordered them to let her go, pleaded with them, threatened them with imprisonment, whipping, death. He paid no attention to what she said, not because she didn't mean it, because of course, she
did,
but because it was irrelevant. No matter how much she cursed them now or hated them later, they
would
keep her here, out of the fighting.

Satisfied that her bodyguards had her pinned, if not under control, he edged Kantor out of the tangle and let Myste take his place. The danger to
her
was not less with Sendar down on the battlefield. If anything, it was greater.

He pulled his own sword and stood lone guardian for a moment over the group, his eyes raking over the hilltop, looking for help. He was in luck; there were still a few of the Royal Guard who stood hesitantly nearby, milling a little in confusion.
They
were not mounted, not swift enough to follow Sendar on his headlong plunge toward the fighting-zone; they were torn between trying to battle their way toward him and staying to guard the Heir. Alberich solved their hesitation for them.

“To Selenay!”
he roared at them; given clear orders, they gratefully obeyed, and made a second line of defense in a half-circle around her, weapons at the ready, a line of four archers kneeling in front of another five swordsmen.

He turned back to the group around Selenay; she was still in danger, if the enemy archers took it into their heads to shoot. Perhaps only the fact that the Tedrel commanders wanted her alive had kept them safe so far, for they were the
only
members of the command group still on the ridge. Everyone else, the Lord Marshal included, had followed Sendar. He wanted to look—but Selenay's safety came first.

“Get her
down!
” he shouted, “On the
ground!
” and enforced his order with Mindspeech. No telling which of them would hear—but the Companions would.
Caryo
would.
“On the ground, unhorsed, get her down! Form the turtle!”

The others fell back a little, as Myste half-lunged and half-fell off her Companion, taking Selenay and the banner with her, while Caryo helped by giving a buck and a twist to dislodge her rider. Myste and Selenay disappeared as Keren and Ylsa spilled off their mounts and formed the turtle over them with their shields. The Guardswomen looked uncertain for a moment. “You four, ahorse stay—help me!” he shouted at them, and they stayed mounted.
:Kantor, I want the Companions and us between the enemy and Selenay, but behind the Royal Guard. Make a circle.:

:Right.:
The Companions, now without riders, made a square of their bodies around the turtle. “Yourselves space out,” Alberich ordered. “Bunch not, but knee to flank go—Companion, Guard, Companion.”

Garbled and heavily accented as his words were, they evidently figured out what he wanted; with riderless Companions between them, they wedged themselves into the circle, facing outward. Under the turtle of shields, there was still a lot of movement and raised voices, but nothing was coming out, so Alberich dismissed the struggle from his mind.

He looked sharply toward the battlefield; in the middle of the fighting, where it was at its most heated, the King's banner still waved. But—but
their
lines were now on the verge of the little stream, not behind it. Sendar's charge had carried the entire line of battle forward; insane as the move had been, it looked as if it might have had the desired effect.

He saw the faint movement above the heads of the milling fighters on the other side of the stream, behind the Tedrel lines, and acted on instinct.

“Shields up!”
he shouted, and put his over his head as example. The others did the same.

Just in time; arrows clattered down on them, force in nowise spent by their long journey. The movement he'd seen
had
been the arrows arcing up to clear the battle lines from the Tedrel side.

The arrows fell harmlessly, thanks to his instincts; the shields, their armor, their mounts' armor, kept anyone from being hurt, and under the turtle, Selenay was completely safe. It sounded like being caught in a terrible hailstorm, however, and the first volley was followed within a moment by a second, a third—

:She's stopped fighting. I think the arrows have scared her.:
said Kantor.

Good. One less thing to worry about.

“The turtle stay under! Shields up!” he ordered, as another rain of arrows clattered onto the upheld shields. He did not look behind him to see if he was being obeyed; he knew that even if Selenay rebelled, the Heralds would make sure she stayed put. Myste would sit on her to make certain of that.

An unfamiliar mind-voice touched his inward “ear.”
:For once being clumsy paid off; if I'd tried to hang onto her and pull her onto my saddle, she'd probably have gotten away from me, but she couldn't do anything about my falling off with her.:

:Myste?:
He was astonished. She'd never tried to Mindspeak to him before.

:Don't worry, she can't get away from me now; I outweigh her by quite a bit. She might be a little squashed, but she can't get me off of her.:
Although he was nothing like an Empath, he was astonished by the complex emotional overtones that came with her words. Amusement at her own expense, pain, anger, grief, frantic worry for herself, more worry about Selenay and Sendar, and over all, terror held rigidly in check. And yet, her thoughts were so clear, he could hardly believe it.
:Even if they get this far, they'll have to get through me to touch her, and there's a lot of me to act as a shield.:

He didn't ask if she was all right; she wasn't, none of them were.
:Are you hurt?:

:My lenses are broken, and I think I broke my ankle, but that's the least of our worries. Don't call anyone, and don't try and get me out of here for now. I won't be moving anyway until this is over, or unless you have to haul her out of here and run for it. Promise me, though, if that happens, make sure I get back in my saddle? I'm curious about these Tedrels, but not
that
curious.:

:You have my word.:
He wanted to try and summon a Healer for her, for she must be in excruciating pain, but she was right, and with luck her armored boot would hold her ankle well enough in place that no further damage would occur until they had the luxury of worrying about it. Given the kinds of terrible wounds being inflicted out there in the zone of fighting, a broken ankle counted as “minor.” There was no doubt that Myste
knew
what the right answers were, and was giving them, even though she probably was howling inside with terror and the “right” answers were the last thing she wanted to supply.

Probably? Given the level of terror and pain he sensed, she was howling deep in her own heart, all right. Years ago, when she refused to learn weapons' work, this was the
last
thing he would have expected out of Trainee Myste.

And in that, he had done her a tremendous disservice. . . .

He turned his attention back to the battlefield, and for the first time, felt his heart rise, just a little.

The tide of battle was turning.

Sendar's charge had paid off in unexpected ways. The Tedrels had given up whatever battle plan they'd originally had, and were concentrating on trying to take him down. This had the effect of concentrating all of their attention on the center of the line, and gathering in fighters from the rest of the field as they
all
tried to be the one to take the King. Those who had been hired or recruited were the worst, for their motive was profit, not the gain of a new homeland. Even if the true Tedrel commanders had not put a price on King Sendar's head, these men would
think
there was, and anticipate a golden reward for killing him.

In the meantime, pulling away toward the center meant that the Valdemaran forces were able to draw in to enclose the Tedrels on three sides. The thick press of Tedrels toward the King gave the Valdemaran archers somewhere to aim for, and they were taking advantage of that—those that were not already aiming for the
Tedrel
archers.

When the enemy is in range, so are you. . . .
And there was only so much room in the King's immediate vicinity. The vast majority of those struggling to get at him could not actually fight
anyone
because of the press of their fellow fighters; they were tied up without being of any use. But the long Valdemaran pikes could reach
them,
and so could the spearmen, the archers, and the warhammers.

The sight of their King in danger was enough to put extra strength in the arms of Valdemaran fighters. The sight of the King within reach had drawn the Tedrel leaders down off
their
hill.

The Lord Marshal was in the thick of the fighting, and so was Talamir; there was no one to ask permission of.

He hesitated. But only for a moment.

:Are there any Heralds with bows
and
the Fetching Gift left here?:
he asked Kantor, with an idea so impossible, it just might be able to work.

:Ah—:
Kantor paused; it was going to take a lot longer for Companion to speak to Companion in all of this mess. And he didn't want to distract anyone who was right in the middle of the melee either. He waited, watching the line of fighting swaying, slowly, like a sluggish snake. Retreating a little
there,
bulging a little
there—

:Have them shoot for the Tedrel commanders, and put Fetching Gift behind it.:
Whether they could even
do
that, he had no idea, but if they could, it would be something no Sunpriest would think of guarding against, if it even
could
be guarded against.

If there are any Sunpriests still helping them.
He had to wonder, in the back of his mind, if the reason his Gift had suddenly broken through was because the Karsite Sunpriests had abandoned their erstwhile allies as soon as the Tedrels were fully occupied with Valdemar. . . .

He hoped so. If the priests decided to mix in with this, it would make things so much worse.

At this distance, he couldn't see anything other than the dark purple blot under the purple Tedrel battle banners; he couldn't make out individual arrows, and he
wouldn't
see anyone fall if they were hit, so he didn't even trouble to try to watch for it. He would know if anything happened by the tide of battle.
:If there are any Animal Mindspeakers still here, ask if they can spook the Tedrel horses.:
One more bit of damage; the officers were all ahorse, and even if his arrow trick didn't work, if he could drive them off, there would be less control on the battlefield.

He didn't want to interfere any more; the rest of the Heralds were the only way the various parts of the Valdemaran Army had to communicate with one another. Things were falling apart on their side badly enough as it was.

Instead, he kept his shield above his head, although there were no more hails of arrows. The Valdemaran archers were doing that much, forcing the Tedrel archers to duck under cover, or even into a full retreat. And he kept Kantor turning in a slow circle, watching not only to the front, but to the rear and the sides, looking for a suicidal charge into
their
ranks, assuming that there could still be an attempt to capture or kill Selenay. Of course, the Tedrels might not realize Selenay was still here; her battle banner was on the ground, dropped when Myste lunged for her, and the only white uniform on this hilltop was Alberich's.

Then it came—

On the left; attackers, fresh, unwounded, and seasoned, hidden in a ditch full of bushes and about to emerge.

It wasn't
much
warning, but it was enough; he turned to the left, spotted movement and shouted, pointing with his sword to get the attention of Selenay's guards.

And they just popped up out of nowhere, a band of twenty, thirty—forty?—more?—suddenly
materializing
as if conjured—but they hadn't been, of course; they'd found cover and slipped through the lines, avoiding detection by avoiding fighting. It was a trick he'd used himself, and so had the bandits he'd fought.