Chapter 28 #2
Heavy boots fill the wide roads as they change from maintained cobble to worn stone to age-trodden dirt.
Rattling tracked carts are pulled by strong oxen in an orderly manner.
Serra is called to dip in and out of our group to fix any that break, though their number (by her own words) is pleasantly few.
The clattering of horse hooves echoes across the hills and farmlands of Halice as we ride.
Meanwhile, Michelle darts about with a sketchbook on her lap – so focused half the time that Giulia or Royah take her reins to lead the horse on her behalf.
Occasionally Michelle rides out from the group with Giulia and Royah to get a decent view for her artwork.
There are three other battle artists and scribes who volunteered for duty, and they hurry back and forth, talking to each other very quickly as they document everything.
Gentle blue skies stretch from east to west, the sparse clouds swirling overhead as a teasing wind plays with the ends of my hair. My thighs ache from the ride, my back and shoulders cramp and the reins somehow grow heavier in my leather-clad hands.
But I refuse to complain, refuse to slow us down even a step.
I stop only when Idris relays the order, taking water when offered and quietly attempting to walk off my discomfort.
If Idris spots my aches and pains, he says nothing, instead providing a stoic kind of distraction as he talks about the lie of the land and the traps he and Savino have planned to leave behind in case we lose the battle.
Apparently, that’s really why Emilia and Alfieri are here, as they are to be set up only by the most trusted of the troops.
These traps won’t be enough to fully destroy the invading army, Idris explains, but will hopefully do enough damage to demoralise and disorganise the invading forces.
Perhaps enough so that a siege against the city would carry at least even odds.
That soul-sucking, parasitic feeling of complete uselessness itches at my hands, screams in my ears and threatens to clog my throat.
My tongue struggles to find questions that don’t sound stupid or ridiculous.
I have nearly nothing to offer now, so I mostly nod at Idris’s explanations, heart pounding at the very immediate reality of the war that’s finally arrived.
The dark, evil spectre that has been the object of my waking nightmares is looming, as visible and ghastly as I ever thought.
There was no undoing it, no avoiding it. Not now.
When Idris is needed to solve problems or hear reports from scouts, he leaves me with Tahira, Royah or such a tight and crowded guard formation I can barely see the road ahead.
Tahira and Royah seem to be in great spirits, sometimes chatting, sometimes singing songs in languages I don’t recognise.
I spot Royah’s hand pressing against her middle on more occasions than I’d like; all this riding can’t be good for her wounds.
Royah and Tahira jovially sing what seems to be a silly song, from the laughter they finish up with, and I clap at their performance. We’re several hours deep into the afternoon, and the sun will start to drop soon.
“Bravo,” I say, the horses hooves still plodding methodically around us. “So what was this one about?”
“Ah, about a man who thinks he’s tricked a beautiful woman into marrying him, but it turns out that beautiful woman was a Calaka – a trickster spirit that preys upon the greedy, gluttonous and guileless,” says Royah with a cackle. “It doesn’t end well for him.”
“I see,” I respond.
“Doesn’t Halice have any good songs? The kind everyone knows?” Tahira asks.
“Sure, but they’re more nursery rhymes sung to infants or small children,” I answer. “Other than that, hymns are probably the most well-known. They probably wouldn’t go down well right about now.”
“That’s a shame. Singing is a great way to keep morale up on a war march,” Tahira muses, gathering her reins in one hand as she reaches down to adjust her boot.
“We’ll just have to translate some of ours,” Royah decides, hand drifting to her middle again, pressing against the clearly uncomfortable wounds beneath her travelling jacket.
I swallow, remembering the dresses we were wearing that night, how flimsy and unprotected we were.
Suddenly my silly riding jacket makes me feel practically naked.
“Why aren’t you wearing your armour? Aren’t you worried about being attacked on the road?” I ask curiously. Tahira smiles, shaking back her dark curls.
“It’s really inconvenient,” Royah answers with a snort. “Getting in and out of it properly requires a little help, with the laces and clasps.”
“I spent enough time helping her with her braids two days ago. The cramp in my hands was awful,” Tahira says as Royah rolls her eyes at her best friend and leader.
“Michelle offered to help too. You didn’t have to— Speaking of, where did she go?” Royah’s attention is suddenly entirely absorbed by her ardent search. I point up to a hill ahead where you can just about see her horse and Giulia’s under a small cluster of trees.
“I don’t see any guards… I’m just going to go check,” Royah says, turning back to look at Tahira who gives her the okay. Royah flashes me a grin before spurring her horse into a trot towards her Fated. Tahira urges her horse into step with mine.
“The Fated bond really is something,” Tahira muses as she watches Royah trot away. “To have your entire being revolve around someone in such a way.”
“It’s world-altering,” I agree quietly. “Nothing is ever the same again.”
The two of us walk for a few moments in silence, accompanied by the trundling carts and the thud of horses’ hooves on a dry and dusty road. Tahira talks quietly, breaking the comfortable companionable silence.
“To answer your question properly,” Tahira explains, “travelling in our full armour would make it sweaty and dirty, make it more likely to be damaged and then not ready for the real battle. Plus, it’s heavier, which puts more strain on our horses, particularly when they’re going to be going such a distance.
But don’t worry, if we do get attacked on the road, we’re not without armour or weapons. ”
“You aren’t,” I agree quietly, picking at the cuff of my gloves.