She was about to kick her horse forward when a rider thundered up on her left. ‘Highness!’
Abrastal stared. A damned Letherii! ‘That was a long ride – what news?’
The messenger – a Bluerose Lancer – saluted. ‘Felicitations from the prince, Highness—’
‘Felicitations? Gods take me – sorry, go on.’
‘Highness, the Pure Forkrul Assail is dead. Only mixed-blood Assail remain in command. The prince hereby informs you that he has disengaged his forces from the Kolansii positions. And that he has established dug-in defences along the onager line on the valley floor and will commit a third of his remaining forces there—’
‘Excuse me, a third?’
The Letherii nodded. ‘Prince begs to inform you, Highness, that he is on his way to your position.’
Abrastal looked round, and then cursed. ‘Take a moment to rest your horse, sir, and then ride with all haste back to Prince Brys. Inform him he’d better hurry.’
But the messenger wasn’t interested in resting, and he wheeled his weary horse round and set out at the gallop.
Damn but those lancers know how to ride. And damn me, young man – if we both survive this, I’m going to give you a ride you’ll never forget .
Abrastal sighed, and then shook herself. With a low growl, she kicked her horse forward. ‘My standard to the front! Get on with you – follow your damned queen!’
Someone had found clothing and armour for the prince. With Aranict close by his side, he stood on the high ground and watched his troops swarming to entrench all along the line of onagers. Lines of soldiers were moving the wounded back on stretchers, while still others retrieved serviceable weapons from the field. And overseeing it all, a young man riding a K’Chain Che’Malle.
Brys was still struggling to regain himself – he did not know how Aranict had managed to save him, or how she even survived her descent into that lifeless warren. While still only half conscious he had heard fragments of conversation, and it seemed that the three foreigners, Faint, Precious Thimble and Amby Bole, had all had a hand in his resurrection. And then he’d caught the name Mael .
Old man, we owe you so much. Why are we Beddicts so important to you? But … it wasn’t me you did this for, was it? It was for Tehol. Your chosen mortal, the one you would have wanted as your own son .