Kushiel's Dart - Jacqueline Carey [286]
"For luck," she said, amused. "This goddess you serve, she is a powerful one."
I hoped so.
We were riding to war.
SEVENTY-TWO
No D'Angeline need march, of course; it was not our battle. We could have set sail, gone the long way around, avoiding the Straits to set course for lower Siovale. But it would have been a coward's course, and in truth, we'd have had no word to bear. By the time we made landfall and won through to Ysandre, the Cruithne would have crossed the Straits or died.
Drustan was willing to ride to the aid of Terre d'Ange; we D'Angelines could do no less for the Cullach Gorrym. Quintilius Rousse left half his men with the ship, with instructions to bring word to the Queen if we failed.
The rest of us would follow the battle.
The Dalriada ride to war as if to a party, laughing and shouting and jesting, decked out in splendour and finery. The lords fight in the old style still, with war-chariots; it was something to behold, a Hellene tale sprung to life. The Cruithne are quieter, but just as deadly, fierce eyes and battle-grins gleaming in their blue-whorled faces.
Twenty warriors, Dalriada and Cruithne paired in twos, rode in advance on the swiftest horses, leaving at angles in a vast semi-circle to compass Alba. They carried the twin banners under which they fought, the Fhalair Ban, the White Mare of Eire, white on a green field, and the Cullach Gorrym, the Black Boar on a field of scarlet. We cheered as they left, twisting in the saddle to wave bold farewells, knowing themselves most likely to die. If they succeeded, they would spread word, bringing allies to swell our ranks as we marched eastward.
Some would succeed. Some would die.
Drustan watched them go in silence. Fifty men, no more, had come with him to Innisclan, fighting free of Maelcon's forces, protecting the Cruarch's heir, his mother and sisters. A full two hundred had begun the journey. His blood-father had been among them, slain at the hands of the Tarbh Cro. Maelcon's mother, Foclaidha, was of the Brugant? who followed the Red Bull; it was her kin who came, overrunning Bryn Gorry-dum, starting the bloodbath.
Setting Maelcon on the throne.
No wonder, I thought, the Lioness of Azzalle had sought to treat with Foclaidha and Maelcon. They would have understood one another. I wondered about Marc de Trevalion, then, and whether he'd been recalled from exile, whether or not his daughter Bernadette was willing to marry Ghislain de Somerville, whether or not Marc agreed. I wondered whether or not war was declared, if d'Aiglemort was at large, and about the deadly vipers of House Shahrizai. I wondered, indeed, if Ysandre still held the throne. Who was to say? I wondered if the Royal House of Aragon had sent troops, and how many.
I wondered what Waldemar Selig knew.
It was a terrible thing, to be so far and know so little, but I could not help wondering. I rode with Hyacinthe and Joscelin, Necthana and her daughters, and others of the Twins' household, behind the advancing army. We'd have choked on their dust, in a D'Angeline summer, but it was late spring in Alba and a rain fell near every day, damping the dust and greening the earth. A full mile wide, our front line stretched, straggling and undisciplined, travelling at the foot-soldiers' pace.
We marched and marched, and ate what we could, the army foraging while the peasants cursed. Drustan's Cruithne shot for the pot, their arrows finding game with deadly accuracy. None of his folk ever went hungry.
And the allies came, flocking to the banner of the Culloch Gorrym.
Handfuls of Decanat?and Corvanicci, Ordovales and Dumnon? flying the Black Boar, and our numbers grew. And then a wild band of Sigovae and Votadae from the north, defiantly waving the Red Bull; fair-haired, with height and lime-crested manes like the Dalriada and the blue masques of the Cruithne; and bad news, too, of tribes among the Tarbh Cro loyal to Maelcon, and six of Drustan's outriders slain.
Maelcon knew; Maelcon was raising an army.
Maelcon was