Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [312]
And we did.
It must have been a fearsome sight, that wall of Black Shields moving forward undaunted. Not all of them did, for some of Percy de Somerville's L'Agnacite archers had found their targets. It took me like a spear to the belly, to guide my mount around the body of a slain Camaeline cavalryman, lying in the road with glazed eyes still open, his hand clutching his shield's grip. I, who did not even know his name, had sent him here to die.
Still we marched, and a second volley of arrows fell from the sky, and a third. A dozen men took grievous wounds despite their shields, until we drew close enough that Percy de Somerville ordered his archers to retreat through the ranks and sent his own pikemen, a thousand strong, to square off against our approaching forces while he moved two-thirds of his cavalry round to flank and enfold us. The countryfolk who had marched so boldly at our side huddled close behind the Queen's Guard, uncertain and fearful.
Somewhere, on the distant white walls of the City of Elua, there was shouting and the sound of horns, but it was faint and far away, and our tiny company was islanded amidst de Somerville's soldiers, a bristling forest of pikes facing us. In the stillness, Ysandre de la Courcel gave a silent prayer, only her lips moving.
"Herald," she said faintly, then. "Give the proclamation."
The inner ranks of the Unforgiven shifted, allowing him a space in the vanguard from which to deliver his message to the Royal Army. He drew a breath that must have strained his lungs to bursting, shouting, "Make way for Ysandre de la Courcel, the Queen of Terre d'Ange!"
With a roar, the pikemen of Percy de Somerville's army attacked, surging forward in a vast wave; surged forward, and broke, against the implacable wall of Black Shields, the Unforgiven of Camlach. All around and behind us it was chaos, de Somerville's cavalry forced into milling confusion by the presence of unarmed citizens fouling their course.
"Ys-and-dre! Ys-and-dre!"
The pikemen of the Unforgiven drove a wedge into de Somerville's infantry and the cavalry pushed from behind, widening it, and the Queen of Terre d'Ange rode into the gap. Amaury Trente, shouting orders, paused to glance around wild-eyed. "Queen's Guard!" he cried. "Now!"
They had fewer coins left than I would have wished; but enough. Each man among them had hoarded a cache. Theyspent them now, pressing close behind Ysandre and the ranks of the Unforgiven, jostling the knot of nobles they enclosed—including me—and hurling their remaining stores with slings of homespun cloth. Showers of silver coins burst into the air, scattering over the assembled forces of the Royal Army, who checked themselves out of sheer surprise at this unprecedented rain from heaven.
I had hoped for nothing more.
In the startlement that followed, Ysandre de la Courcel's party pushed forward, surrounded by the riders of the Unforgiven ... and the ragged chant of the villagers began to make itself heard.
"Ys-and-dre! Ys-and-dre!"
At the outer edges of our company, the skirmishing slowed to a halt. The hurled coins, the cries of the commonfolk and the black shields of the Unforgiven had opened an aisle into the heart of the Royal Army.
"I cannot do it!" It was Brys no Rinforte who spoke, the Cassiline, his voice strung tight and frantic. His hands trembled on the reins and his mount shifted nervously beneath him. "Your majesty, I have failed you once; I will fail you again! Do not ask me to do this thing!"
"Stand down, Cassiline," Ysandre said gently. "I do not ask it."
I heard Joscelin's indrawn breath; he caught my eye, deadly sober. I nodded. We had learned to speak without words, he and I, a long time ago. I knew what he intended. "Your majesty—" he began.
"No." Ysandre held up one hand. "No, Joscelin," she said, quietly. "It is mine to do alone."
He checked himself, pausing. The Unforgiven held then-position, faces grim with resolve. A murmur like a swelling current passed through the vast forces of the Royal Army,