Page 98 of A War of Three Kings

Our progress is a slow crawl, as the scouts call a halt and scan the grasslands each time we near the crest of a hill, where we would become visible for miles.

Fynbar rides at my side. “We could reach Windkeep before nightfall. It’s on the other side of that thicket.”

“Is there nowhere to take cover or stop to rest? These people look ready to collapse.” I toss a glance over my shoulder, fear curling within my stomach.

He doesn’t get the chance to reply.

The enemy’s horns blow long, high-pitched notes, reverberating through the plains from the south. My heart stops as I swing in my saddle. A warband darkens a not-too-distant hilltop. There are so many mounted warriors that their number disappears behind the hill.

My blood freezes. There is nowhere to hide, not even in that scraggy thicket ahead that is sparse enough for horses to gallop through. With most of our people on foot, we cannot outrun them.

We have to fight.

Chapter 25

Keira

“Keep moving!” I yell, racing my mare across the line of people. “Archers! To our back! Give us cover when that force reaches us.”

Another high-pitched horn responds to the first. A stab of panic jolts through me. That horn came from the west. Two warbands are closing in on us.

I turn wide eyes toward the guards, who stare at me with ashen faces. I pin Fynbar with a look. “Tell me about the landscape here. Are there difficult places to traverse where we could lose them? Forests, ravines, swamps?”

“We are close to the Deadman’s Marshes, are we not?” an Appleshield Guard asks.

“They are called that for a reason,” Fynbar snaps.

“Can you get us through them?” I ask.

“I know the way, but it will be difficult with a hundred people. They have to follow us exactly, or they will be lost. And I cannot account for the ghouls that might come for us.” His voice wavers.

“You will lead us that way,” I demand.

We run for our lives across the landscape, but still move too slow with much of our number on foot. The enemy’s horns bellow again and again, calling and responding from both directions.

They move in on us until the pounding of hundreds of hoofbeats is almost deafening. We are three-quarters of the way through the field when the western warband erupts over the top of a hill and charges for us. There are dozens of warriors on horseback, the metal of their armor and drawn swords glinting in the afternoon sun.

Time seems to slow to an impossible crawl.

Each of those snarling faces beneath their helmets becomes visible. I hold on to my steed with my thighs alone and nock an arrow to my bow, steadying my aim as they fly toward us at a gallop.

“Archers. FIRE!” I scream, releasing the arrow at the enemy.

The host moves so fast that we only make a handful of hits, and none are deadly. I explode the grasses beneath their warhorses, creating divots in the ground and toppling two of their beasts. Mothers of Magic hit them with gusts of wind or attempt earth magic to trip them up, but none are trained in battle. We are all depleted and terrified.

Right when I fear they are going to trample over us at breakneck speed, the band swiftly banks, missing a collision but forcing us off our trajectory, back to the east. The enemy does a loop and charges us again, feinting at the last possible moment and forcing the direction we run in.

They are herding us like sheep, straight toward that much larger force.

I grind my teeth. If I don’t think of something, they will capture us and kill anyone who isn’t of interest.

They are looking for hostages.

Perhaps for me personally.

I gallop to my guards at the front of our pack. “Get us closer to that thicket. I want the enemy near the trees when they loop around.” I turn to the bulk of the priestesses and druids. “On my signal, everyone is to channel their raw power into my wield.” I don’t stop to analyze their already drained expressions or the shaky gait of their running strides. The fact that they may not have much left to give.

The next time we are charged and herded, our guards pull us back toward that thicket. When the enemy loops around us, their number is brought to the edge of the woods as they turn their warhorses around to prepare for another assault. Some brush under the branches of the ancient trees.

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