Page 57 of War Queen
The Bear’s armor now hung in the judisaept of the North, where his shield hung as well. Although it was a chamber frequently used by Salara and the council for matters of rule, the judisaept was a sacred place. Mikael had known it the moment he’d set foot in it. Along the high walls hung shields of bravery past. He had recognized the shield of the North King, Aamon. The Bear’s now hung beside it, the only shield not a king’s, just like his body was the only body not a royal’s to lay in the Hall of Souls. But he was worthy.
Mikael turned his thoughts home. When he’d left Kharav, he couldn’t shake the feeling he wouldn’t return. He’d been so sure that the battle to win back the North would be the battle that sealed his fate. Yet he hadn’t feared it. Mikael had never been one to fear death, but he did fear failure. He had feared not winning back the North for Salara. Now he feared not protecting Kharav from Japheth and Rael. If he didn’t make it to the canyons, that’s exactly what would happen, and the stakes were higher now. The North needed Kharav. Salara needed Kharav, especially without the Bear.
Mikael still couldn’t believe he was gone. He hadn’t wanted to leave Salara so soon after his death, with her still so raw and broken, but time was against him and there was nothing he could do. It would be a grief she would always carry, as would Adrian. The young bear’s signature smile hadn’t shown itself since the justice’s death. All his youth seemed gone. That’s what grief did—it stole one’s youth.
And Mikael carried a grief of his own—not just the loss of a great man, but also the loss of knowing his fate. He’d always thought it was a curse knowing he’d die, and how. But now with that knowing gone, he realized it had given him confidence and security. To be at a distance from the Bear—at a distance from his fate—had made him feel invincible. To know what his end was going to be meant that he’d known what wasn’t. It made him all the bolder. But now… his new fate could come at any moment. It could come now, with Rael and Japheth.
When he’d first left the North, he set his intention on visiting the seer as soon as he reached Kharav. But now, as the journey allowed his mind to think, he wasn’t so sure he would. When a man knew his fate, it became an obsession. And Mikael had obsessed for so long.
Their urgency to reach the Canyonlands pushed them to travel both night and day, resting only a few hours at a time, to sleep, and leaving them all the weaker if they did face a battle.
They had traveled rapidly to the North, warred a battle that had tested the limits of their skill and determination, and now they traveled rapidly home. Weary. Worn. It wasn’t a state the Kharavian army was accustomed to. Yes, they were warriors—the greatest of warriors—but their strength was the lowest it had ever been. Even the great warlord, Jarik, nodded off as he rode. Still, they pressed on. They needed to make it to the Canyonlands.
On the tenth day, the army’s spirit started to lift. Only two more days and they’d reach the pass. Mikael’s hope grew with each hour, but he dared not call it a victory yet. It would take time to get the army through. The western pass was narrower than the eastern pass, and it was the less favored of the two. But it was closest.
The sun broke through the clouds. The day was beautiful. Absent the circumstance, Salara would have loved being out for a ride. Only ten days had passed since he’d left her, but it was ten days too long, and an eternity longer before he’d see her again.
A shout rang out.
Adrian pulled up his horse abruptly. Mikael broke from his thoughts and straightened, following his gaze east to see movement on the horizon.
A single rider galloped toward them. Dust plumed behind him.
It was a Kharavian rider, driving his mount faster than a horse should go.
“Rael!” he bellowed as he drew closer. “Rael!”
Adrian cast Mikael a quick glance and reigned his horse closer. Jarik urged his destrier to Mikael’s other side.
The rider pulled up his mount, which was lathered with sweat and mud. Blood streaked the animal’s legs.
“Rael is coming,” the scout panted. His horse stumbled in exhaustion, and the warrior slid to the ground. His legs gave way underneath him, and he dropped to a knee, but he didn’t let it keep him from delivering the news. “They come with numbers much greater than ours.” He gasped for breath between words. “Twofold at least.”
A warrior close by grabbed the scout and helped him stand.
“How far?” Mikael asked him.
“A day’s ride at most.”
Two days it would take to reach the Canyonlands. One day until Rael reached them. Mikael’s army wouldn’t make it.
“Water,” the scout begged.
Another warrior stepped forward with a water skin, and the scout drank deeply, coughing between swallows.
“And Japheth is with them?” Adrian asked.
The scout shook his head. “Not that I saw. Only the banner of Rael.”
Mikael and Adrian looked at each other in surprise. “That doesn’t mean Cyrus comes alone,” Mikael said.
“We should rest the army,” Jarik said. “Prepare to meet him.”
“Or we could still get as close as we can to the Canyonlands,” Yassar, a field captain, said.
Jarik cut him a disapproving glance. “But that would leave our men without the strength for battle,” he argued. “This is an army of freed slaves—many have never held a weapon in their lives. Even if their numbers are three times our size, we can prevail, so long as we’re rested.”
“Unless they have the blood sport fighters,” Yassar countered. “Or if Japheth is with them. Then it won’t matter how rested we are.”
