A small trail opened toward the river. The grass was recently trodden down, and I knew troops had passed this way. Hills rose in both directions, so I hoped I could find another place to perch, a bird above the fray, and do what I could to cast.
The path opened into the field, and I had only begun to get my bearings when a large cinnamon-colored blur nearly ran over me.
“Damn it to sweet hell and beyond, Sophie!” Sianh’s voice ricocheted over my head as I stumbled backward and nearly slammed into another horse, his charcoal-gray flanks quivering with excitement.
“Sorry, I—I’m sorry,” I stammered. Horses and riders surrounded me like a flock of very large, very well-armed sheep. I backed myself into the safe corner created by a pair of trees.
“I was clear not to get in the way,” Sianh barked. “So why did you leave your position and end up very much in the way?”
“I was fired on,” I said. “Artillery. Well, not me, exactly, they were aiming for the cannons beside me—”
“Beside you! Of all the incompetent—that lieutenant will be a private by morning.” He paused, directed a complement of dragoons around him to return to the field, and resumed speaking to me as though nothing had happened. “They were not supposed to be in that position. It was in clear view of the Royalist artillery across the river. Thrice-damned fool.” He shook his head. “No matter at the moment. We are moving, and you will need to find a better vantage point.”
35
BEFORE I COULD ASK WHERE HE WANTED ME TO GO, THEODOR joined us, his horse’s ears pricked as though waiting on orders, too.
“Well met,” Sianh said with a hint of relief in his cordial smile.
“And the same,” Theodor said, his eyes resting on me for a long time, his relief written far more plainly on his face.
“They are on the retreat,” Sianh said. “It is clear they have sustained heavy casualties. But they are not surrendering, not yet, and I fear that they have a very good defensible position.”
“But we press it anyway,” Theodor said.
“We must.” Sianh swallowed. “Their point of retreat is Westland Hall.”
Understanding washed over Theodor’s face. His family’s home. His noble birthright. “Of course it is.” He slumped, resigned. “It’s better ground to defend than anything else near Rock’s Ford, and Galatine Divine bless it, the old fortified cairn still stands.”
Sianh nodded in agreement. “Sophie, the light infantry are moving quickly to cut off as much of the retreat as possible, or at least harry them on their way. Do you think there is anything you can do?”
I tested the edges of my concentration, checking my reserves. I was far from fresh, but there was still energy left. “I’ll do what I can.”
“From this position,” Sianh warned. “Just up this hillside. Any farther toward the fighting, and an unexpected flank or redirection, and you could be caught on the wrong side of the lines.”
“Understood.”
“Then I will ride with the dragoons to see if we can manage to cut off the rest of the retreating Royalist infantry. Theodor, direct the artillery in moving toward…”
“My family home. Yes, understood. I know the best ways to keep the guns from getting mired down.”
I caught Theodor’s hand, reaching up from the ground toward what felt like an impossible height, impulsive and yet necessary. “Be safe,” I whispered as I began calling a charm for luck and speed over the dragoons, the hooves of their mounts already pounding the hillside. Energy surged through me and the charm intensified.
“What was that?” Theodor’s hand stiffened. “It felt—as though I was casting, for a moment.”
I dropped his hand. I hadn’t meant to draw out his unwitting support for my charm. “It was me. I’ll explain later, but you should go. You’ve an errand with some six-pounders.” I essayed a smile, and he returned it with a grim nod.
The hill gave me a clear view of our light infantry, arrayed in formation to slow the retreat of a large segment of the Royalist forces. They fired rapidly, with deft timing resulting in near-constant volleys. The Royalists only returned fire sporadically, but I saw what I was sure Sianh noted, as well—units coalescing into companies and bayonets fixed on their distant muskets.
I pressed more luck on the dragoons. The only chance to stop the Royalist retreat and force these troops into surrender—and prevent them from joining their comrades at Westland—was for the dragoons to sweep their flank. Even then—I was no tactician, but I knew it was far less than certain.
Theodor barked the orders at the artillery on the rise of hill behind me, calling on them to begin the descent. The trail around the base of the hills to approach the east ford of the Rock River from the rear was longer than approaching it from the front, but it was also protected. We couldn’t afford to lose our guns; capture by the Royalists would have been devastating. Companies of infantry remained with the guns, in reserve, though I knew how badly they might be needed on the field itself.
I held the charm strong, undulating golden over the galloping horses, and swept some onto the light infantry, as well. I felt as though I were watching a tapestry or painting, red-and-gray uniforms dotting dead-pale grass, the colors guiding my actions. Speed, accuracy, strength—I could pour all these into the charm, but the farther it moved from me, the more the golden light waned.
No farther—Sianh had been clear, and I had no intention of disobeying. The diffuse charm was as strong as I could make it. My fingers twitched, calling up something else, calling dark sparkle. What would be effective? I demanded. What would compromise the capability of the Royalist troops? I didn’t ask if it was right; I didn’t think about the men in the blue and brown uniforms arrayed below.
Most of all, I didn’t think about how many might be very recent graduates of the military academy.
I reeled a curse as I held the charm, my dexterity at holding both surprising and even thrilling me. I could send it over all the Royalists on the field, a cloud settled over the troops. Or, I considered, it might do more good in a single, decisive impact.
I had more control over a small projectile of curse at this distance. I surveyed the field; a unit of grenadiers guarded a redoubt near the ford itself, holding the route open for retreat. A company of our light infantry moved toward them. I manipulated the curse, imbued with inefficacy and weakness and deep, dark luck, into a loose ball of black magic like a clod of sticky mud and sent it sailing toward the mass of men inside the earthen fortification.
My control over the charm wavered for a moment, but I held it, weakened but steady, as I guided the curse toward the Royalists. The officer of the grenadiers was unaware of the curse even then settling around him and his men, drawing tight around them, sinking into their uniforms and, as I focused with urgent intention, into the fuses of their grenades.
I trembled—I didn’t know what to expect next. If their hands slipped, if their footing grew unsteady, if their slow match flickered and waned, I was too far away to see it. For a long, dreadful moment nothing seemed to happen. I pulsed more charm over the advancing dragoons and the light infantry, who were still firing, and I fed more energy into the curse. My stomach clenched, from nerves or from the effort of keeping curse and charm magic distinct from one another, I didn’t know.