The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [160]
And maybe they didn’t. Leshya seemed to have escaped without being seen.
Maybe part of him wanted to be caught. This way, at least, the Sarnwood witch wouldn’t get her way.
But what if Fend was right?
It was hard to even consider that. It was also moot; it no longer mattered what he thought.
A bell or so before dawn, the monks broke down the tent and lashed him over the back of a horse, then set off at a fast trot. There was a lot of shouting about formations and such, so Aspar figured that Emfrith must be giving better than Harriot had imagined he would. He wished they would set him upright so that he could see.
They reached a ridge top, and the horsemen started forming ranks.
Aspar smelled autumn leaves.
A sudden marrow-scraping scream went up, and he tried to lift his head higher. Then something knocked the horse out from under him. Blood came down like hot rain, and he had to blink it out of his eyes to see.
Gasping, he tucked his legs up and brought his bound hands from behind, cursing at the pain, eyes searching wildly for the source of the horse’s disembowelment. But all he saw were the stamping hooves of other horses, and all he heard were screams of pain, terror, and defiance.
He got his hands under his boots and pulled forward, then started working at the knots keeping his feet together.
As he did that, the fighting moved away from him. By the time he could stand up, it was well down the ridge, leaving only carnage behind. Almost twenty horses were down, and nearly as many men. He took a dirk from one of the corpses and whittled through what remained of his bonds. He found a throwing ax on a headless body and stuck it in his belt.
From his vantage, he could see two battles being fought. One was up on the ridge with him, albeit farther down. He could see only part of it, but he could make out a couple of greffyns and an utin tearing at what remained of Harriot’s rear guard.
Most of the rest of the army of the Church lay dead in the valley below, sprawled side by side with dozens of dead and dying sedhmhari. Only a few dozen men remained, and he recognized some of them as Emfrith’s horsemen.
That was his fight, then. He started down the slope as quickly as he dared and as his legs allowed him.
He picked his way through the corpses, and by the time he reached the knot of men, only half a dozen of Emfrith’s men were still on their feet. They faced about ten churchmen, three of them still mounted. Of Winna there was no sign.
One of the knights saw him and wheeled his way but was unable to come to a full charge because of the heaped bodies. Aspar took the ax out of his belt and hurled it from four kingsyards away. It smacked into the knight’s visor, and his head popped back. Aspar followed close behind the missile, grabbing the man’s arm, hauling him out of the saddle, and slamming him to the ground. Then he stabbed the dirk up under the helm and though his neck.
With bleak purpose he turned to the next man, and then the next…
When it was over, Aspar, Emfrith, and two of his warriors were all that remained.
But Emfrith didn’t have long. He had been stabbed through the lungs, and blood was choking out with his breath.
“Holter,” he managed to gasp. “You have a berry for this?” He was trying to sound brave, but Aspar could see the terror on his face.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not, lad,” he said. “Do you know what happened to Winna?”
“Leshya took her before the fighting started. Said you had sent for her.”
“I sent for her?”
Emfrith nodded. “Some of the knights broke off and went north. I think they may have gone after them.”
“Maybe. I’ll find her.”
“I wish I could help.”
“You’ve helped plenty,” Aspar said.
“Be good to her,” Emfrith said. “You don’t deserve her. You’re a damned fine man, but you don’t deserve her.”
“I know,” Aspar said.
“It’s a good death, isn’t it?”
“It’s a good death,” Aspar agreed. “I’m proud of you. Your father will be, too.”
“Don’t you tell him. He’ll hang you.”
Aspar nodded. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “You understand?”