defiantly, but held his tongue. Adrina’s heart was pounding as they walked away, expecting him to call them back. She risked a glance over her shoulder and discovered the man had moved away towards another group of looters. She let out a breath she had not realised she was holding and glanced down at Mikel.
“That was very noble and very foolish. In future, try to curb your enthusiasm for protecting me.”
“But your Highness, I —”
“Don’t call me that!” she hissed. “You must call me Adrina. At least until we are away from here. We are trying to be inconspicuous!”
“I’m sorry, your... Adrina.”
“That’s all right. Just be on your guard.”
“Seems a bit rough,” Tamylan said, as she trudged along beside Adrina.
“What do you mean?”
“You just told an enemy officer your real name, yet you chastise the boy for trying to protect you.”
Adrina stared at the slave for a moment, not sure what surprised her most – Tam’s blatant criticism or the fact that she could have been so stupid.
“I never thought...”
“Not thinking is what got us into this mess,” Tam pointed out grumpily. “First you don’t think if you can sail a ship. Then you don’t think about threatening the Karien Crown Prince. Then you drag us across a battlefield in the dead of night —”
“That will be enough, Tamylan. You forget yourself.”
“Not as often as you do,” the slave muttered under her breath, but loud enough that Adrina could hear her.
It was almost dawn by the time they passed the last of the bodies, but Adrina’s relief was short lived. At least the men on the battlefield had been mostly dead. Now they would have to get through the Defenders and the Hythrun who were alive and on their guard.
They swung into their saddles and moved off toward the scattered crowd heading away from the field. With luck, they could mingle with the other camp followers and go unobserved. A few people glanced at them enviously. They were mounted on Fardohnyan horses, but Adrina had decided she would claim they had rescued the beasts from the battlefield if they were challenged.
Daylight finally turned the sky the colour of pewter as Adrina and her companions left the battleground behind. They rode at a shambling pace amidst the looters and the walking wounded, tired, hungry, thirsty and emotionally drained. The war camp and the tent city lay before them, and beyond that, another two or more weeks to the Glass River. Perhaps there, with luck, a Fardohnyan trader would be waiting, making the most of the profits of this war, before Hablet joined the fray and turned them into enemies.
Nobody challenged them, or even cared about them, it seemed. The only time anything caught the interest of the people around them was when a man and a woman galloped past on glorious golden horses. Both were tall in the saddle and rode with the ease of those born to ride. The young woman wore dark leathers, much as the old tapestries depicted the Harshini. She had a thick long braid of dark red hair, and both she and her companion wore grim expressions. At their passing, several civilians fell to their knees, but the pair did not notice.
She looked at Mikel, who was on the verge of falling asleep in his saddle.
“Mikel, do you know who they are?”
“Who, your... Adrina?”
“That man and woman who just rode by.”
Mikel looked in the direction of the rapidly dwindling figures of the horses and shook his head. “I’m sorry, your... Adrina. I didn’t see.”
“No matter.”
Adrina put the pair out of her mind and allowed herself one glance over her shoulder before fixing her eyes forward. She did not need to be reminded of the past hours. The images of the battlefield would stay with her forever.
Chapter 31
In the cold morning light, Damin Wolfblade surveyed with disgust the carnage that was the remnants of their first serious engagement with the Kariens. It was not what he expected at all. The air stank of smoke and death. Even the sky was grey with low, sullen clouds that gazed with disapproval over the battlefield. Like Tarja, he had never faced a battle on such a scale, and the aftermath left him strangely unsettled. Although he could not fault the tactics of the Defenders, this had not been a real battle. It was like killing cattle in a corral. There had been no opportunity for personal glory, no chance to fight for the honour of the War God. He had lost one man to injury and that through a fall. The Defenders had lost a dozen men and perhaps fifty were injured. It had been a thoroughly unsatisfying affair.
Lord Jenga was well pleased, though. He had faced down a numerically superior enemy and not just prevailed, he had triumphed. The Defenders were in a buoyant mood. The Kariens were decimated, the Fardohnyan contingent destroyed. Of course, the Kariens still had countless men to throw at them, but they might think twice before launching such a suicidal frontal assault again.
Damin suspected the reason for the victory lay as much with the coercion laid on the enemy by their own priests, as with the brilliance of the Medalonian defence. Even when the odds were hopeless, the Kariens did not have the wits about them to retreat. All they could do was keep moving forward into the arms of certain death.
“My Lord.”
Damin turned to his captain wearily. He had not slept in two days and it was starting to tell on him. “What is it, Almodavar?”
“Lord Jenga wishes to see you. There’s some disagreement over your orders regarding the Fardohnyans.”
Damin nodded, not surprised by the news. He turned his mount and rode toward the command pavilion at a canter. The sooner this was sorted out, the better.
“Lord Wolfblade, is it true you ordered the Fardohnyans buried?” Jenga demanded as soon as he appeared in the entrance. The tent was crowded with Defenders, most of them congratulating themselves over their victory.
“I did. They are pagans, my Lord. It is sacrilege for them to be cremated. You may do as you wish with the Kariens, but the Fardohnyans deserve better.”
“They fought with the Kariens,” Jenga retorted. “They deserve nothing. In any case, I’ve not the men or the time to spare burying anyone. I’ll have an epidemic on my hands if that field isn’t cleared soon.”
“Then my men will bury them, my Lord. And I’ve no doubt there are plenty of pagans in your camp who would aid us.”
Jenga snorted something unintelligible and turned to an officer seeking his signature. He signed the document before turning back to Damin.
“Very well, bury them if you must. I’ve broken enough laws lately for another to mean little. But do it away from here. And don’t use my Defenders. Not that there are many who would countenance such a barbaric practice.”
“Your respect for our religious customs is touching, my Lord.”
Jenga frowned but did not reply. Annoyed, Damin strode from the tent. His men had fought as long and hard as the Defenders. They would not be pleased with an order to bury nearly five hundred Fardohnyans in this cold, hard ground.
“Damin!”
He stopped and waited as R’shiel caught up to him, surprised to find her here. He had expected her and Brak to be long gone. “I heard what you said to Lord Jenga. You did the right thing.”
