Page 196 of War Queen
It could be days before they reached the Mercian army, and that meant even more days to bring them back. Her desperation grew. Mikael needed help. She couldn’t lose him. Panic threatened again, but she pushed it down, inhaling deeply. She had to be smart.
What else could she do? She stilled, then turned to Bhastian. “You have to get to the eastern pass, where Katya waits, and tell her Mikael needs her in Bahoul. By the time he gets the messenger that we sent, then sends one of his own to her, he’ll lose at least a day.”
Bhastian looked uneasily at Titus. He’d already refused to leave her, but they had no choice. They needed Katya to bring the rest of the army to Bahoul. Reluctantly, he nodded. “I’ll rest my horse another hour or so, and I’ll go.” He looked back to Titus. “But you’ll stay. Regardless the task she tries to send you on.”
Titus nodded. When Bhastian was appointed captain of the Crest, she wasn’t sure how her Mercian guard would take answering to a Kharavian warrior. But the two held a mutual respect for each other and seemed to view managing her safety as more than a one-man job. When Bhastian was away, the Crest answered to Titus.
Her focus turned back to Mikael. It was only a small relief that Katya would bring the Kharavian army. He needed more. But Norah was at a loss for other options. The wheels of her mind turned as her desperation grew.
Her eyes landed on Sephir. That was it—
She jumped up and turned to Calla. “I need you to go to the Uru. To Tahla. The Kharavian army won’t be enough, and I don’t even know if they’ll make it in time.” She pulled the girl to the mare. “Take Sephir. You don’t need to wait. Go now!”
“But you’re the only one who can ride her,” Calla protested.
“Get on!”
The girl looked at the mare with her eyes wide, but she obeyed, and Sephir stood quietly as she mounted.
Norah clutched Calla’s knee. “Tell her to come and bring everything she has. Mikael needs her. I need her.” Then she drew to the front of the horse and put her hands on each side of the mare’s face, pressing their foreheads together. “Get her to Tahla. I beg you.” The animal gave a snort. Norah released her, and the mare tossed her head. Then she kicked up in a gallop toward the western pass.
Norah turned back to Titus. “We keep going. Now.” They pressed on after her army.
Chapter forty-eight
Raelcamelikeacurse of locusts, with more bodies than could be counted. They charged the stronghold of Bahoul. There were so many that Mikael couldn’t see the ground underneath them. Fifteen thousand men he had in the fortress. A quarter of his army—fifteen thousand men. Rael’s army had to be twenty times that size. At least.
And they swarmed.
But this wasn’t a seasoned army. These men of Rael weren’t soldiers. They’d been slaves, and now they were free. And while they fought with heart, heart wouldn’t protect them. Heart wouldn’t give them the experience they needed to survive.
They started their charge too early, and fatigue slowed them before they even reached the walls. His archers loosed arrows as they came into range, dropping them almost as quickly as they passed the threshold of reach. Mikael put the rest of his men along the walls to rain down arrows on those who got through. Not all his men were archers, but even the worst of them would hit a body down below in the masses.
The numbers kept coming. They reached the base of the fortress and started to lean ladders up against it. Mikael signaled the counter—another Mercian defense blessing. Large boulders with chains drilled through them were released off the battlements, swinging like a ball on a string. They arced across the stone face of the stronghold, sweeping anything clear from their path. Then they were hoisted back and released again. All along the wall these defenses were positioned. And his men could do this all day, and all night, as the bodies piled below.
But he wasn’t encouraged. It was a cruel strategy, but a common one—use the weak forces first to drain the enemy—use up arrows, spears, and energy. Cyrus had blood sport fighters from the Raelean arenas, like Cyrus himself. They’d be his best warriors. He’d bring them in the end. But right now, they were nowhere in sight. Which meant the end was nowhere in sight.
Her pace felt slower without Sephir, but Norah pushed on. It was another day without the Mercian army on the horizon, and she was on the verge of breaking. Each day it took to reach them meant a day more in returning. Mikael didn’t have that long.
And what had happened in Aleon? Adrian’s message had said they were being attacked. But who was attacking if not Rael? Japheth? She prayed they fared all right.
Titus urged her to slow, to rest, but she couldn’t. She hadn’t slept since they left the stronghold. Two days? Three days? More? She didn’t know what time was anymore. Her body ached, and she could barely feel her legs, but she drove them on. They couldn’t stop. She had to get to her army. Mikael needed them.
They took a rocky ridge to the top, but when they dropped down the other side, her horse stumbled, dropping to its knees.
Norah jumped off, almost falling herself. “No! No, no, no,” she begged. The horse moved to rise again, but its knees buckled, and it resigned to lie down. “No!” she pleaded.
“Regal High,” Titus called to her, “we have to stop.”
She ignored him, and petted the animal’s face, trying to coax it up again. “Please get up!”
“Regal High.”
“We have to keep going!” she snapped.
“Let’s rest for just a few hours, then we can pick up again.”
She couldn’t just… pause. She didn’t have time. Mikael didn’t have time. She stumbled the rest of the way down the ridge, continuing on foot.
