Fire - Kristin Cashore [136]
But on the northern front, the fighting took place on the open, flat terrain north of the city, where there was little advantage to cleverness of strategy. The ground and the visibility warranted full-out battle, all day until dark fell. Almost every battle ended with the royal side in retreat. They were fierce, Mydogg’s men, and both Mydogg and Murgda were there with them; and the snow and ice were proving to be no friends to the horses. Too often the soldiers fought on their feet, and then it began to show that the King’s Army was vastly outnumbered. Very slowly, Mydogg was advancing on the city.
And of course, the north was where Brigan had gone, because Brigan always went wherever things were going most badly. Fire supposed he needed to be there in order to give rousing speeches and lead the charge into the fray, or whatever it was commanders did in wartime. She resented his competence at something so tragic and senseless. She wished he, or somebody, would throw down his sword and say, ‘Enough! This is a silly way to decide who’s in charge!’ And it seemed to her, as the beds in the healing room filled and emptied and filled, that these battles didn’t leave much to be in charge of. The kingdom was already broken, and this war was tearing the broken pieces smaller.
Cansrel would have liked it. Meaningless destruction was to his taste. The boy probably would’ve liked it too.
Archer would have reserved his judgment - reserved it from her, at least, knowing her scathing opinion. And whatever his opinion, he would have gone out and fought bravely for the Dells.
As Brigan and Nash were doing.
WHEN NASH’S FRONT guard clattered through the gate, Fire was ashamed to find herself running up to the roof, stumbling, uncontrolled.
Beautiful horse, she cried out to her companion. Beautiful horse, I can’t bear this. I can bear Archer and Cansrel if I must, but I cannot bear this too. Make him go away. Why must my friends be soldiers?
Some time later, when Nash came to the roof to find her, she didn’t kneel, like her own guard and the roof guard did. She kept her back turned to Nash and her eyes on the horse, her shoulders hunched as if to protect herself from his presence.
‘Lady Fire,’ he said.
Lord King. I mean no disrespect, but I beg you to go away.
‘Certainly, Lady, if you wish it,’ he said mildly. ‘But first I’ve promised to deliver about a hundred messages from the northern front and the city - from my mother, your grandmother, Hanna, Brocker, and Mila, for starters.’
Fire imagined a message from Brocker: I blame you for the death of my son. A message from Tess: You’ve ruined your beautiful hands with your carelessness, haven’t you, Lady Granddaughter? A message from Hanna: You left me here alone.
Very well, she thought to Nash. Tell me your messages, if you must.
‘Well,’ Nash said, somewhat bemused, ‘they send their love, of course. And their heartbreak over Archer, and their relief that you’re alive. And Hanna specifically asked me to tell you that Blotchy is recovering. Lady—’ He stopped. ‘Fire,’ he said. ‘Why will you talk to my sister and my brothers but not to me?’
She snapped at him. If Brigan said we talked he was being disingenuous.
Nash paused. ‘He didn’t. I suppose I assumed. But surely you’ve been talking to Clara and Garan.’
Clara and Garan aren’t soldiers. They aren’t going