Fire Falling - Kova Elise (полные книги TXT) 📗

The road they marched upon eventually came to a T against the Great Imperial Way, a road that ran from the border of the Empire in the North to the sea in the South. The host turned left and began to head in a northwestern direction. Laid stones made their path wide enough that the entire host could ride and march abreast, eleven to fifteen men side-by-side.

It wasn’t until they hit the forest that a horn blew long and low. The whole of the host slowed their pace, and the leaders called for a change in formation.

Major Reale waved out her arm to the right. “Make a space,” she called, and they obliged.

Vhalla focused ahead; the whole army kept on while cleaving a hole down the middle. Aldrik, to his father’s left, slowed his horse and the soldiers marched forward around him. Then the Emperor stopped his mount, and finally the golden prince. The Imperial family fell into place among the ranks.

Prince Baldair stayed in the middle front with all the sword-bearing soldiers. The Emperor rode behind him among the pole-arms. A few rows after was Vhalla and the crown prince, who now occupied the space between her and the major. His War-strider was a large creature, and her waist was on the same level as Aldrik’s knee.

She glanced up at him, and caught his eyes on her at the same time. Vhalla gave a small bow of her head.

“My prince,” she said respectfully. He barely nodded and turned back to the major. Vhalla looked forward. She wanted to believe that it was simply chance how the formation had lined up, but she was too smart for that. The man to her left gave nothing to chance.

In truth, she was fairly certain it was the safest place to be in the host—near the center, next to one of the most powerful sorcerers alive. Vhalla told herself that relief was the reason for the warmth that relaxed her shoulders at the thought that he’d be near her.

The legions had slowed to little more than a walk and the banners were struck. The time for pomp had ended, and everyone seemed to settle in for the long trip north. The war had been raging for four long years, and victory was one winter away. At least, the Emperor had said such.

Vhalla glanced behind her; in between the two back legions moved supply carts. It seemed a large amount of supplies for a victory that was only supposed to take a few months. She mused if the Emperor hadn’t been entirely true in his time estimates.

The forest became denser, and soon they rarely passed any houses. Occasionally game and hunting trails stretched out from the road, but there was little else. The trees fractured the light from the Mother Sun, splotching the road ahead. Chatter began to fill the air, and it was a fairly peaceful ride.

But Vhalla didn’t know if she could feel peaceful, she didn’t know if she could sit easily in her saddle and prattle on about this or that. Every shift in her armor reminded her why she was there. She was a soldier now, property of the crown.

“How long has it been since you’ve been out of the city?” Fritz asked. The Southerner had other plans than to let her sit silently and wallow in her misfortune.

“It’s been a while,” Vhalla finally replied.

“Really?” he seemed genuinely surprised. “How often do you go home?”

“The last time I went home ...” Vhalla’s words trailed off, thinking of a farmhouse amid a field of golden wheat. She’d sent a letter to her father just a few days ago, trying to get word to him faster than rumors could fly. The thought put a lump in her throat, as though she’d somehow tarnished the happy memories her family had made in their home with her sorcery and crimes. “For my coming of age, I think?”

“What?” Fritz was aghast. “Fifteen? It’s been three years since you went home? My mother and sisters would have my skin if I didn’t come home for three years.” Fritz laughed his infectious laugh.

Vhalla cracked a smile. “You have sisters?” As an only child she sometimes wondered what it’d be like to have a sibling.

“Four of them,” Larel chimed in from Fritz’s right. She seemed to be much more comfortable on the horse now that it was barely moving. “And you should see them all together. Thank the Mother they’re not all sorcerers or it would be the Charem family against the world.”

“You’ve met them?” Vhalla’s curiosity compelled her to ask.

“Once.” Larel nodded.

“How long have you known each other?”

The two exchanged a look before turning back to Vhalla.

“Seven years,” Larel said.

“Eight years,” Fritz proclaimed.

They both glared at each other.

“No, it’s seven. You came the year after my coming of age.” Larel counted on her fingers.

“No, eight, I just turned thirteen,” Fritz argued.

“Yes, you turned thirteen, but after we met.”

“You two remind me of an old friend and me,” Vhalla mused softly.

“Who?” Fritz asked, oblivious to the sorrow that laced her words.

“His name was Sareem.” She fussed with Lightning’s mane.

“Is he at the palace?” Fritz tilted his head.

“He died on the Night of Fire and Wind.” Vhalla was momentarily assaulted by her nightly visions of her friend’s battered and broken body. It was her fault. She’d been too slow and he’d been waiting for her.

“I’m sorry, Vhal. Was he someone special?” Fritz asked, pulling Vhalla from her self-inflicted mental abuse.

“He was a good friend—special, like a brother.” Vhalla physically shook the images from her head, feeling another set of eyes fall on her from her left. Her sanity couldn’t handle another question on Sareem so she decided to take control of the conversation. “How long will we ride today?”

“Another two or three hours,” said a voice, dark as midnight.

Vhalla turned and looked up at the crown prince. “That’s all?”

Aldrik nodded. “It will take some time for a host this size to stop and set up camp. We don’t want to do it in the dark.”

Vhalla nodded and turned away before she became too entranced by him. Fritz and Larel began to talk between them, but Vhalla excluded herself from the conversation. She felt exhausted and passed the rest of the day in a daze.

When the sun was two-thirds of the way through the sky, the trumpet bellowed twice, calling for an all-stop.

“Make camp on the left side,” Major Reale barked, and the Black Legion followed her order.

Aldrik split off and dismounted between the Black Legion and the pole-arms. His father’s tent was erected in the center of the forward legion, and Aldrik’s went up at the edge.

The more experienced soldiers who knew what to do began to set up tents. The Imperial family members’ tents were significantly larger and rose up in a square with a pyramid roof. Groups of people ran over to assist each royal in setting up their temporary home.

It was a nice feeling to be out of the saddle. Vhalla stretched out her legs, ignoring the stiff ache, as she tied Lightning to a low-hanging tree branch. But she suspected the horse was smart enough not to run.

“Vhalla, we’re sharing,” Larel called, walking over to her with a bundle of canvas in her hands.

Relief settled over her as Vhalla pulled her bedroll off Lightning’s saddle. Larel was with her. She felt guilty that the woman had become her keeper, but Vhalla was too mentally and physically exhausted to waste much energy on such a small guilt.

Seasoned soldiers took personal effects from their saddlebags, like blankets or small pillows, and made themselves comfortable in their cramped spaces. Some regarded her with curiosity, some ambivalence, which was better than the one or two dirty glances she received even within the Black Legion.

Larel drove two posts, which suspended a length of canvas, into the ground. The product was a simple triangular tent. Privacy came in the form of two flaps in the front and back that could be tied closed. It was barely big enough for their two bedrolls.