Fire - Kristin Cashore [23]
Prince Brigan turned in his saddle suddenly then, his eyes on some point in the clouds above him, and in that same moment Fire sensed the raptors. Brigan wheeled his black mare around and raised his hand in a signal that caused a number of the party to break off and pull arrows from their backs. Three raptors, two shades of fuchsia and violet and one apple-green, circled high over the river of soldiers, attracted by the vibrations, or by the smell of the horses.
Archer and his guards also readied arrows. Fire gripped her reins tightly with one hand, calmed Small, and tried to decide whether to put her arm through the agony of readying her own bow.
It wasn’t necessary. The prince’s men were efficient, and used only four arrows to bring down the fuchsia birds. The green was smarter; it circled irregularly, changing height and speed, dropping lower and lower and always closer to the column of riders. The arrow that finally caught it was Archer’s, a fast shot soaring downward and over the heads of the galloping army.
The bird monster fell and crashed onto the plain. The prince turned his horse and eyed the mountain paths, looking for the source of the arrow, his own arrow still notched in case he didn’t like the archer he found. When he spotted Archer and the guards, he lowered his bow and raised an arm in greeting. Then he pointed to the carcass of the green bird on the plain and pointed back to Archer. Fire understood the gesture: Archer’s kill was Archer’s meat.
Archer gestured back: you take it. Brigan raised both arms in thanks, and his soldiers slung the body of the monster onto the back of a riderless horse. She saw a number of riderless horses, now that she was looking for them, carrying bags and supplies and the bodies of other game, some of it monstrous. She knew that outside King’s City the King’s Army housed itself and fed itself. She supposed it must take a bounty to feed so many hungry men.
She corrected herself. So many hungry men and women. Any person who could ride, fight, and hunt was welcome to join today’s protectorate of the kingdom, and King Nash didn’t require that person to be a man. Or, more particularly, Prince Brigan didn’t. It was called the King’s Army, but really it was Brigan’s. People said that at twenty-seven Nash was kingly, but that when it came to bashing heads the younger brother was the one with the touch.
Far in the distance, the river of riders began to disappear into a crack at the base of another cliff. ‘The tunnels would have made for safe passage today, after all,’ Archer said, ‘in the wake of that lot. I wish I’d known they were so near. Last I heard, the king was in his palace in King’s City and the prince was in the far north, looking for Pikkian trouble.’
On the plain below, the prince turned his mare around to join the tail end of his fighting force; but first his eyes rested on Fire’s form. He could not have appreciated her features from that distance, and with the light of the sun glaring into his face. He could not have ascertained much more than that she was Archer’s friend, dressed like a boy for riding but female, with covered hair. Still, Fire’s face burned. He knew who she was, she was sure of it. His backward glare as he swung away was evidence, and so was his ferocity as he spurred his horse forward. So was his mind, closed to her, and cold.
This was why she had avoided meeting Nash and Brigan before this. It was only natural that the sons of King Nax should despise her. She burned hot with the shame of her father’s legacy.
CHAPTER FIVE
FIRE SUPPOSED IT was too much to hope that the king and the warrior would pass so close to their mother’s holding without stopping. The final portion of their journey took them across rocky hills crowded with the king’s resting soldiers.
The soldiers had not made camp, but they were napping, cooking meat before fires, playing cards. The sun was low. She couldn’t remember in her tired mind whether armies ever travelled through darkness. She hoped this army was not staying the night