A Promise of Iron by Brandon McCoy (best free ebook reader TXT) 📗

Steven and bedded him down next to me. He protested at first, but a cut apple changed his mind. I would not have a repeat of last time. I unbelted Nahdril and held her across my chest protectively. I leaned back against the tree and felt the chill of the night creep in as the fire slowly smoldered out. I buttoned my coat and closed my eyes.

Sleep took me, and as I feared, I found myself back in the dream. It was different now, expected, but I felt anxious still, impatient even, as if I was meant to see something. I reached the point of the dream where I was falling when a sound jolted me awake.

I opened my eyes and looked towards Steven; he was still lying next to me, but his head was up, and his ears were listening. This was no imagined sound as it had been before, no mass of shadow lingering at the edge of the camp. It was all around us and growing louder.

Twigs and needles crunched underfoot, the sound of branches bending back and snapping forward, an occasional whooping noise, animal-like, familiar. I dared to look to the tree line where shadows lingered safely from the moonlight. I strained my eyes to see and saw the occasional flash of light, like metal reflecting that same moonlight. Silhouettes moved in a continuous blur of shadow. The night stole all colors, but I caught a glimpse of greenish-gray skin as it wandered into a strand of moonlight. I saw the tattered clothes of simple craft and tall pointed ears. There were hundreds, a thousand perhaps, and they were marching north, north to Forhd.

Chapter Forty and Three

Summer 1272, Cyllian Imperial Count

There was no point in trying to leave my hidden valley while the Golmere marched. I could try to saddle Steven and escape, but I would be spotted long before we cleared the tree line. Steven was faster than even the fastest Golmere on foot, but at night in unfamiliar terrain, we were just as likely to stumble on a rock and fall lame as we were to escape. Golmere were quick, nimble creatures with sure footing and keen vision at night.

I considered what the old stable hand in Windshear had told me about Steven and his Alea. If he truly saw as well as the Mere did at night, I might risk it, but alone on the frontier, I wasn’t going to chance it. For now, we would wait. The shadow of the elder tree shielded us from sight, and they seemed content to avoid the valley and hide their movements through the trees. Although I couldn’t see them, their ruckus confirmed their size. They were a large force, several tribes at least, all working together with a common purpose.

That was a terrifying thought. For years the hatred and blood feuds between the different tribes had the Golmere fighting each other as much as raiding the lowlands. Their internal chaos kept the Westmarches a danger, but never a serious threat, not one capable of anything more than burning a wayward cottage.

I laid a hand on Steven. “Shhh boy,” I whispered with a finger to my lips.

He turned his pale blue eye towards me nervously.

We waited until we could hear no more movement. We waited until only the sound of crickets and the Ellish could be heard and then we waited some more. After I was confident they had moved on, I stood slowly and helped Steven back onto his legs.

“Easy boy,” I whispered as I placed the saddle on his back. “We need to warn Forhd. They are counting on us.”

For all I knew, Forhd would be burning by the time we arrived, surrounded by thousands of Golmere. Perhaps the horde that was gathering when we left had won the battle at the river, and this second group was just an occupying force meant to raid and pillage the rest of Belen?

I thought of Lira, then put the thought out of my mind. Any disaster of that scale would have reached Alerhold; there would have been messengers, riders. There would have been refugees streaming down the roads in flight. I forced myself to breathe as I considered. The garrison at Gent was already en route when we left Forhd two nights ago. When this horde attacked, we would need every spear we can get, and as much as I hated to admit it, I could do well with a hundred battle-hardened Imperial spears at my side.

I led Steven south, doubling back on the route I came from, then turned him east. I would need to find and follow the road if I had any hope of reaching Forhd ahead of the Golmere. They were following the Ellish as I did and cutting through the thick of Duncan’s Wood. They would not be traveling at their full speed either. It took me over an hour, but I found the old Illyrian road glistening in the moonlight like a serpent stretched across the countryside.

The old road was smooth, level, and paved with black stone so precisely cut that it interlocked without the need for mortar. It was one of the few remaining traces of the Illyrians, though the secret of its craft was lost with the Fall. Plenty of theories existed, some more fanciful than others involving dragons and secret weave. All I knew was it was a straight shot from here to the Woad. With a deep breath, I turned Steven north and nudged him forward. He ran hard and true until morning.

Dawn was breaking when the walls of Forhd rose upon the horizon. It was not the walls that drew my attention; it was the plumes of black smoke hovering over the city. I slowed our pace to which Steven breathed a sigh of relief; there was no use in racing now. We were too late. As the city grew larger, something struck me as odd. Apart from the smoke, I saw no