Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [191]
I wished I could, for that bedamned oath preyed on my mind. “No, my lord. Believe me, I have not forgotten. You know full well that the Maghuin Dhonn cannot afford to take such things lightly.”
“Good.” He waved me away. “Go.”
I inclined my head. Cusi caught my eye as I straightened, giving me the hint of a sweet, trusting smile that made my heart ache for her all over again. Ah, gods! She was young, so young.
Following the urging of my diadh-anam, I located Bao and the others half a league down the road. He rose to embrace me, his cheek pressed against my hair. “Was Eyahue able to aid you?” he whispered into my ear.
“Aye,” I murmured in reply. “He was. It seems we have the means to incapacitate the priests for an hour’s time without harming them. But I fear it will not be an easy feat to accomplish.”
Loosening his arms, Bao kissed me. “In our lives, what is?”
I smiled ruefully. “Precious little. Is all well with you?”
Bao nodded. “I do believe your missing prince has come into his own, Moirin. If we survive this, he’ll make a fine ruler.”
For a mercy, it appeared to be true. The mood in the D’Angeline contingent was calm and resolved. There were no more factions between them. Since his decision, Prince Thierry seemed to have matured into his role as a King in exile, taking on a mantle of authority that he had not possessed before.
It heartened me to see it.
I prayed it was not too late.
On the fourth day of our march, we passed our first settlement, a small fishing village along the banks of the river.
The villagers stared, for which I could not blame them. They stared at the vanguard of men marching in bright, shining armor; they stared at the Quechua in traditional gear who followed. They stared at Raphael in his feather-canopied litter, and the stoic bearers who carried it. Most of all, they stared fearfully at the black tide of ants that accompanied us.
So it went.
Jungle gave way to lowland plains. The ants scoured the earth, augmenting their diet with aught they could devour. Despite the vast supplies our porters carried, it was not enough, never enough. Storehouses along the way, meant to protect the folk of Tawantinsuyo from starvation, were raided and emptied.
Days passed; and then weeks. The swift chasquis running relays might be able to make the journey in mere days, but our plodding caravan could not.
Rumor ran ahead of us, carrying the bitter truth. The chasquis sent forth from Vilcabamba had spoken truly.
Lord Pachacuti the Earth-Shaker and his black river of death were a reality.
Our first pitched battle came in the foothills of the mountain range in which the capital of Qusqu was located. Determined to test his opponent, the Sapa Inca Yupanqui had sent several thousand of his best warriors to make a stand in a low, flat valley. They outnumbered us three-fold or better.
It was no contest.
I saw it from a distance, on the slope of the hill that led into the valley. The Sapa Inca’s men were arrayed in a line across the far end of the valley. Raphael called for a halt. Keeping the ants in reserve, he sent forth a herald, a barrel-chested fellow with a deep, booming voice. The herald strode down the hill and within earshot of our opponents.
“The Divine Lord Pachacuti offers you mercy!” he cried. “All who wish to join him are welcome! Lay down your weapons, and they will be returned to you in exchange for your loyalty!”
The Sapa Inca’s men roared in refusal, beating their wooden shields with the butt-ends of their clubs.
The herald repeated the offer once more, and once more, it was refused. He returned to our company, and our warriors parted ranks so that Raphael’s litter might be brought to the forefront of their lines.
The litter was lowered, and Raphael stepped forth from it. He wore a long red tunic of fine wool, a great collar of gold, and a flared golden headdress atop his tawny mane. As much as I had come to loathe him, I had to own that he cut a stunning figure. Standing atop the hillside, he raised one hand, then lowered it in an abrupt