Page 96 of A War of Three Kings

It takes too long for us to pull the injured onto horses; many of them need to be tied in place. Each time I hear the rumble of explosions, my heart rate spikes. Panic ripples through me that we will lose our window of time to get out.It is no relief when we are finally on the move, because our pace is too slow.

Most of us are on foot.

There aren’t enough horses.

The roars of the battle chase us across the rolling hills that lead north. The sounds fade, but I swear they are imprinted in my head and scream at me from there instead.

My boots chafe against my ankles as I run with our host across that never-ending field of grass that gives us no cover at all. I hold the lead of a horse that carries an injured man, with a line of other horses tied to his. I thank the gods that the druids and priestesses have always insisted on walking everywhere, because these healers on foot don’t slow our progress. There must be two hundred of us altogether.

My breaths come out hard and shallow. Sweat drips down my back as the mild sun bears down on us. The people fleeing beside me are pale and wide-eyed, their lips cracked, showing signs of dehydration. We cannot stop here.

The forest becomes visible as a dark band in the distance, an oasis of hope.

Lord Desmond’s army won’t be able to reach us in there. It is too dense. They might not try to chase us, with the majority of our army forced to take the grasslands around these woods.

We race for the treeline like the Wild Hunt of the monstrous Shadow fae are on our heels. I glance over my shoulder. The horizon has turned black with the armies behind us. Lord Desmond has breached the North. It is only a matter of time before their advance units on horseback scout out these plains. Anxiety ripples through my entire body like lightning, and my heart leaps erratically.

I maneuver myself to jog beside Caitlin’s mount, ignoring the squelch of blood in my boots and the sting of my torn flesh. At the midpoint of her pregnancy, she was easy to convince onto a horse.

“Do we cover our tracks leading to the forest?” I grunt out. “Is it worth the time and effort?”

“No. I don’t believe they will follow us in,” she says. “We are too few.”

“They will have scouting parties to ambush us on the other side of the forest. Especially if they guess Father has sent his daughters ahead of him,” I huff.

“Then we need to make sure we are not caught.” She frowns down at me. “This forest is vast. You take the western hunter’s trail, and I’ll take the central one that leads to the hidden priestesses’ sanctuary. I’ll take those who are more injured with me, and they will benefit from the stopover. It’s a shame it doesn’t have any portals.”

My mouth dries up, but I force the words out. “I’ll head straight to Windkeep and will bring reinforcements from the city to escort you out of the sanctuary.”

I squeeze her hand. We leave so much unspoken between us.

Our two parties split when we reach that blessed line of the woods. The entrance is overgrown with branches and moss, and we require local soldiers to guide us through.A foreign pursuing party could become lost here, as the path seems to disappear completely at times.

I force us forward until the sunset turns the sky orange and pink through the canopy. Until the injured sway in their seats and even the able-bodied look ready to collapse. We make camp in a small clearing by a gurgling creek, interspersed by narrow trees offering protection from the elements.

The healers use the last of their energy to pull down the injured from their horses onto beds of packed leaf litter. We have nothing more than our cloaks for protection and warmth overnight. No tents or sleeping rolls, and precious few medical supplies.

I select lookouts from the guards with us and send others to pick large stones out of the creek, which I heat with the dregs of my fire magic to keep the wounded warm while they sleep.I check on my grandmother multiple times, but despite the paleness of her skin and the way her hands shake, she insists on changing the bandages of the injured.

Full dark has hit by the time I sit on my cloak and eat my ration of bread. I peel off my boots and stockings. My feet look horrendous, swollen and speckled with blood. I try to wipe them with a wet cloth, drawing in sharp gasps with the sudden stinging pain each time I pass over an open wound.

“You know, this is your first command post.” Diarmuid sits beside me, dropping a full water skin in my lap.

“It is the first of many things,” I say as complete physical and emotional exhaustion washes over me. I shake as the memories of today crash into me. All that death and pain and destruction, all for one man’s pride and another’s greed.

Diarmuid takes one of my feet in his hands. “Let me fix this for you.”

“Surely there are other people who need you more than me,” I grind out. Even his softest touch hurts.

“I have already seen to them.” He rubs a poultice into my flesh, which burns with fire and ice. I try to drag my foot back, but he grips it tightly around the ankle and holds it in place, muttering beneath his breath.

“How do you have healing magic when we descend from the Autumn Court?” I ask.

“I don’t,” he says softly. “The poultice has healing properties and I accelerate it by adding raw magic.”

I close my eyes, and the sight of faces splattered with blood flashes beneath my lids. Of soldiers in my house’s colors pierced with arrows and falling from the wall. Run through by enemies’ blades right in front of me. I see the battlements crumble a level below me and all the people on them freefalling into plumes of black smoke and tumbling masonry. I will never,never, forgetthe looks of pure fear in their wide eyes and the lost screams from their open mouths.

I drag in a sharp breath and my eyes fly open again. Severe shakes overtake me. “I can’t believe we left our father there, to that enemy horde with their explosives.” My voice breaks. “I left Aldrin. Diarmuid,I left him. I don’t know if he is still alive.” Each breath tears out of me painfully as my chest constricts.

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