There was no reprieve. Colloe stood a pace behind him, a scowl like liquid thunder on his face. "Where is the Ragnyr?"
It was tempting to keep my mouth shut because I remembered the argument in the orchard all too well. But when Fendur released me, I got a look at his face. Concern, worry, desperation. I tried to imagine how they felt seeing me without him. Their hearts must have been in their throats, wondering if they were too late, if he was dead already...
"Hill three," I said, and jerking a thumb at the distant mass of rock. "You had better hurry. He has a score of northerners, but they are only armed with pickaxes."
Fendur and Colloe were heading for their horses before I had even finished speaking. The animals were tied to the back of the carts in neat lines. Nightmare was the only one with any battle-training, but for speed, the stocky geldings would suffice, so the two Iyrak swung themselves into their saddles and let the horses settle beneath them.
"What are you waiting for?" Colloe demanded of the others. "Mount up!"
Half of the warriors seemed inclined to obey the command just because it was a command and Colloe had a loud voice. The other half, Fendur included, looked straight to Anlai, who snapped, "Hold."
He looked to me. "If Tem's over there, who set the fire?"
"A friend of mine. I think they may have started a rebellion of their own."
Poor hill one. I was willing to bet they had no idea what they were doing, and Tommas had bullied them into it, somehow. I had certainly not detected a defiant vibe among them — more like defeatist and meek.
"Do you really expect us to believe you made a friend, Lyra?" he demanded, smirking. When I simply raised my eyebrows and refused to take his bait, he told the northerners, "Split. Two with me, two with Colloe. One wagon each."
"Aye," came the replying chorus. Colloe frowned, but he couldn't very well object. Tem had left Anlai in charge, not him, and to disobey him was to disobey a direct command. Not that he had any problem doing that in the orchard...
I drifted away from Anlai as the warriors scrambled to obey. If both Iyrak were going to Temris, I figured we would get to keep Eirac. With enough range, he was worth three or four men. So I caught his arm and leaned close to murmur over the commotion, "Take a shot at our onlooker, would you?"
He frowned at Lord Freedrik, who was at the very edge of bow range. "That's a fair way. No promises."
"I don't care if you miss — just get him moving."
Eirac pulled the bowstring to his cheek and squinted at the distant figure. He loosed, but Freedrik had been watching. He turned and walked away, slowly and calmly, and the quarrel buried itself in the mud where he had been standing.
The archer shrugged at me, and I smiled back. I didn't want Freedrik dead yet. It would have helped throw the Anglian forces into confusion, but it would be even better for him to die in full of the view of his army.
Eirac climbed onto the wagon then, taking the driver's seat and flicking the horses into motion. The load appeared to be food — to get them through the gates — but I knew better. Underneath the apples were scores and scores of blades, and the flour sacks hid wooden shields. And all of it had been forged right here, by the slaves themselves. My lips quirked into a little smile. And then there was Anlai astride his grey gelding, offering me a hand as if he wanted me to get on.
Frowning, I looked around. The other wagon was already moving — it was a score of paces away with the Iyrak galloping out in front. Nightmare was still tied to the back, and Amber was still tied beside him since it was difficult to separate them without getting a hoof lodged somewhere important. So I had lost my horse, and it didn't look like they had brought any spares.
I took Anlai's hand grudgingly and borrowed the closest stirrup, and I managed to scramble onto the saddle in front of him, my legs pressed against the gelding's shoulders. The horse wasn't accustomed to two passengers. He bucked once, violently. Only Anlai's grip on my belt kept me in place.
"Ark and Saqui?" I asked because they were nowhere to be seen.
"Infiltrating the Anglians," Anlai said dryly. "They thought they could do more damage from within."
Well, their talents did not exactly lie in open combat. And I supposed that anyone they could murder or poison now, quietly, would be one less warm body to face in the shield wall later.
"Glyn is guarding Melia on the ridge. They will ride for the Pass if things don't go our way," he went on, no doubt anticipating my next question.
I nodded. They were safe — safer than the rest of us, anyway, and I was glad that they would have a chance at survival. My own prospects were not looking so hopeful, especially when Anlai kicked the horse into a trot, then an energetic, rocking canter. We were riding straight for the smoke, and I didn't even have a blade in my hand.
The corps member who had stayed urged his horse into a canter, too. Three of us against however many soldiers were battling the revolt in those tunnels. It did not feel like good odds. I just prayed Eirac would arrive in time to feather a few of the bastards.
We were close. I could see the soldiers — a dozen of them, perhaps — massing around one of the tunnels. They were tight-knit, their shields overlapping and spear points levelled. But they couldn't advance any further because the tunnels were too narrow for more than one man to walk abreast. And one man, armoured or not, armed or not, would be so very, very vulnerable to a mob of angry slaves.
Half of the soldiers turned to meet us. It was the back row, so they held no spears and they looked like the lesser warriors, the ones with the least experience. Lucky for us, because we were the least prepared, tiniest warband of Cambrians who had ever ridden.
Anlai pressed the handle of his shield into my hand, and I squeezed the leather-wrapped steel until my knuckles turned white. I hadn't been taught how to charge a shield wall while riding double on a horse without a drop of battle-training, but that was half the thrill of it.
The gelding wouldn't charge home into the wall — horses didn't, as a rule — so Anlai turned him at the last minute, and he skidded to a halt with his right side facing the Anglian shields. And from there we traded blows with the soldiers. Anlai used his sword to hack at exposed necks, faces and hands, drawing blood more often than not, and I used the shield to turn the blows aimed at the horse and our exposed legs.
Between them, Anlai and the other northerner dispatched the six soldiers and then urged their horses over the corpses to get at the other six. They had their backs to us, trusting their comrades to guard them, so my shield went unused in the second round. Only one of them even got a chance to turn and face us, and he died with Anlai's sword through his eye.
It was only afterwards that I noticed arrows in some of the corpses. Eirac was stood beside the cart, bow hanging loosely at his side. He threw me a mocking salute when he caught me watching. Next, I turned my attention to the tunnel and the rebels within. No one had emerged or even stirred themselves to come out now that their aggressors were dead. It was too dark to see much, but I was certain there was someone inside, else the hundreds of slaves from hill one had vanished into thin air.
"Anyone in there?" I called.
No reply. Not even a whisper of sound. There was something off about this whole thing. The other northerner reined in his horse alongside and busied himself with tying linen around a gash in his forearm. Just the three of us, and it was so very quiet.
"Off the horse, Lyra," Anlai told me, smirking. "Go and fetch your little rebel friends."
I offered an indignant look, but it went unheeded. He hoisted my left leg over the horse's neck and gave me a little shove, and it was all I could do to land on my feet. I swore at him, and his laughter rang in my ears
"Hello?" I tried again. "I'm not a bloody Anglian, by the way. Anyone?"
And still — nothing. Gods' sakes. I was losing my patience, and I was losing it fast. I returned Anlai's shield to him, since I didn't want to spook anyone, and then I stopped at the tunnel entrance and peered inside, hands on my breeches.
"Look, I'm coming in, so please don't stab me, you useless lummoxes."
Anlai seemed to be resisting the urge to laugh at me now, albeit lazily. Every so often I would hear a snigger or guffaw. Ignoring him (with some difficulty), I edged into the tunnel entrance. Inky, choking gloom. The air in here had been thick enough without the smoke. Now, every breath set my lungs to burning.
I barely made it five paces before a glimmer of metal in the darkness stopped me in my tracks. If I squinted, I could just about make out a row of faces, and a row of faces behind that one, and another row of faces and another—
It was utterly packed. The majority of the slaves from hill one seemed to have squeezed themselves into that one tunnel. Men, women, children — everyone. They stared at me, and I stared back because I wasn't sure what else to do.
The soldiers had been containing the rebels, not fighting them. These men hadn't been ready to die. Most of them were brandishing pickaxes, but very few had any aggression to go with their weapons. They were crouched there with their pale, worried faces, and I could almost taste the fear in the air.
These people weren't rebelling against anything. They were just trying to survive.