for the flash of pain that crossed her face.
‘Did I imagine Froi’s arrows?’ she asked quietly. ‘I dream of them every night. I feel them.’
‘Where do you feel them in your dreams?’ he asked gently.
Quintana touched her head, her arm, her belly, her side, her shoulder, her thigh, her breast and her ankle.
Perri exchanged a look with Tesadora.
‘You remember exactly where they struck him?’ he asked, surprised.
Quintana didn’t respond and Phaedra caught her shudder.
‘She has a very good memory for detail,’ Phaedra said.
Chapter 23
The great ice lake of Charyn lay beyond Serker and once crossed, it would mark the entrance into north country. Froi could have imagined it glistening white under the spell of a blue sky during the winter months. But spring was creeping over the land, and the snow that had covered the lake had melted, leaving the ice below exposed. Froi could see parts of the lake were darker already from the first signs of the thaw.
‘Black ice,’ Perabo muttered, pointing. ‘Not a good sign for crossing.’
Gargarin dismounted. ‘Off the horses,’ he ordered. ‘We don’t want to be tangled up with these animals if the ground breaks beneath our feet.’
And so their journey across the lake began with caution and not a word spoken between them for most of that day, every step taken with the fear of it being the one that would crack the ice and break the lake’s surface in its entirety. The sound of the wind was their greatest foe. Froi was coming to hate its taunting whistle. If it wasn’t mingled with the cries of the Serkan slaughtered, it was warning them of its power. How insignificant they must have looked in the eyes of the gods. Not even when he had climbed the gravina had Froi felt so vulnerable to the elements.
The dying light of the day faded, and Froi watched until Gargarin and Lirah and Perabo were merely shapes around him.
Darkness brought with it new fears and its only benefit was that it blinded them to the vastness of the lake. More than anything, they were weary, and Froi knew he would never take the feel of solid ground beneath his feet for granted again.
‘Look,’ Gargarin said, some time deep into the night. He pointed, and they looked up to see a spectacular sky, the stars so low that Froi felt he only had to hold up a hand to touch them. He’d never seen a night sky so perfect, so milky and magical.
But what sunrise had to offer was worse than they could have imagined. In the far distance behind them, they saw riders beginning their journey across the lake. Bestiano’s army was closer than they had imagined.
‘It’s best not to run,’ Froi said. They still hadn’t reached land and he didn’t want to take a chance. ‘This ice won’t hold us all if they give chase.’
‘They’ll attack,’ Lirah said.
‘They’re out of range, so we just need to make sure that we keep up this pace.’
‘Can
Froi shook his head. ‘Too far and too many. I could wait for them to get closer, but unless Perabo can strike from this distance, I’ll be outnumbered.’
They turned to Perabo, but the keeper of the cave shook his head. ‘Only if they were closer, and we don’t want that. So we do as the lad says and we keep this distance between us. They could be travellers for all we know.’
But no one believed that the men on horseback weren’t soldiers. These were Bestiano’s scouts, sent out to assess and report back to their leader and the Nebian army. Froi tried to count their numbers. Perhaps eighteen or nineteen in total. Too many to fight on his own, even with Perabo’s help. Too many to stand on thin ice.
‘Keep walking,’ he ordered the others. They had to get off this lake soon. But before they could take another step north, two of Bestiano’s horseman broke free and came riding towards them. Froi retrieved his bow and took aim.
‘Go,’ Froi shouted to the others.
‘They’re holding flags,’ Gargarin said.
‘They can’t be trusted,’ Perabo argued.
‘Go,’ Froi shouted again, but he felt Gargarin’s hand on his shoulder.
‘Don’t shoot, Froi. Perhaps they come in peace.’
They watched and waited, Froi’s fingers clenched on the bow. At the halfway point between both parties, the two horse-men stopped. The first dismounted, but Froi could see there was another astride his horse.
‘There’s three of them, not two,’ Froi said.
Froi watched the first rider as he plunged a flag into the ice. They heard the moan of the ground beneath their feet, and before Froi could issue an order to keep on moving, the man on the second horse came riding towards them, leaving his two companions behind.
Froi knelt, his aim on the target.
‘Wait, Froi. Wait,’ Gargarin said.
Froi’s fingers ached from the hold he had on the longbow. Closer and closer the rider came until his face was recognisable.
The King’s rider approached, the flag in his hand still raised. His face was drawn, his eyes almost void of emotion. Almost, except for a flash of fear when Froi retrieved his sword and stepped forward to press the point of the blade against Dorcas’s cheek.
‘A message, sir,’ Dorcas said to Gargarin. ‘From Lord Bestiano.’
‘Oh, a lord now,’ Gargarin said.
‘A message, sir,’ Dorcas repeated. Dorcas never steered far from the script he was given to follow.
‘Yes, we heard you the first time, idiot,’ Froi snapped. ‘Do you want to know why they’ve sent you, Dorcas? Because they know I can easily kill you and they don’t care if you live or you die.’
Dorcas kept his attention on Gargarin, despite the pressure of the blade on his face.
‘If you would please surrender, Sir Gargarin. Only you. We have no need for the others.’
‘Just like that?’ Froi scoffed. ‘You ride over here and politely ask Gargarin to follow you? And he’s going to obey Bestiano’s wishes. Just like that?’
Dorcas swallowed this time. ‘No,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘Our Nebian friends are approaching. Four hundred men. They should arrive soon. If Gargarin of Abroi chooses not to surrender before their arrival, the Captain of the Nebian army will be forced into the uncomfortable position of … having to do something drastic and –’
Froi removed his sword and shook his head, turning away. ‘Let’s go,’ he called out to the others. ‘He’s too useless to be a threat and he’ll be too easy a kill. See Dorcas, you’re not even worth my time to kill.’
‘… and your brother dies.’
Froi froze. Gargarin made a sound, stumbling towards the rider. Dorcas pointed to a now-solitary man standing at the place where the flag was pitched into the ice. Although it was too far to see Arjuro’s face, Froi knew it was him. Dorcas raised his flag and waved it, and in the far distance beyond Arjuro, where the group of riders sat astride their horses, an arrow was lobbed into the air and landed within an inch of where Arjuro stood. Gargarin may have been out of attacking distance, but Arjuro wasn’t.
‘Regardless of what you do to me, sir,’ Dorcas continued, ‘your brother will die if you choose not to surrender. The moment the army arrives every soldier has been instructed to fire a bolt. Unless you surrender. No one wants the Priestling hurt, sir, but an order is an order. You can avoid the death of your friends here, but if you choose not to surrender, we cannot protect them.’
Dorcas turned his horse and galloped towards his men, leaving Froi and Gargarin in stunned silence. When Dorcas rode past Arjuro, Froi saw a movement from the Priestling and he imagined he spat at the guard.
Gargarin began to limp towards his brother, but Froi grabbed him.
