“Do not do that,” Alba said. “It will drive her mad, and she could be shot. Let them run away.” She held the reins of her mount, her face pale and her eyes wide, but her voice impossibly calm. “They will make their way home.”
I wasn’t sure I believed her, but I didn’t have any better options. I released the reins and the horse bolted alongside Alba’s mount. Without speaking, I resumed climbing the hill. I found a vantage point where I could see the troops moving across the field, the influx of Royalists, and could appreciate with full, dreadful clarity the magnitude of our situation.
The Royalists had us pinned on the road between the hills, where the space to maneuver narrowed and our retreat was limited to one direction—back the way we had come. The baggage blocked a swift retreat, though the oxen already moved under the steady direction of their drivers.
“Is there anything you can do?” Alba whispered urgently.
“I don’t know yet,” I snapped.
“It’s imperative that we deploy your particular weapons quickly. We don’t know if they might have Serafans in their ranks.”
“I am well aware! Don’t harass me.” I closed my eyes, centering myself, and then opened them again onto the scene as a volley rang out from the Royalists. They were in full lines moving down the hillside now, a gentle slope that still gave them the advantage of high ground. The horses still chewed through the badly prepared Second Regiment, but our men were drawing themselves into formation. I couldn’t help them. They were clustered too closely together, the flashing sabers of the horsemen and the disciplined bayonets of our men clashing in close quarters. Any charm I settled over our men would aid the Royalists, too—and I certainly couldn’t use a curse.
Instead, I focused on the infantry pressing hard against the First. Biting my lip, I drew dark lines of curse magic and pressed it toward the oncoming Royalists, trying to push it into the wood of the muskets. It resisted, as I had expected, and I pressed on it harder until the dark glitter permeated the oiled stocks.
It didn’t seem to have much effect. They fired again, and the volley sounded no quieter than before. Dozens of men in our lines fell, but they returned fire quickly, by unit, in rapid succession. Pride rose in my chest even as the Royalists advanced—the First was working exactly as Sianh had said a disciplined unit should under fire.
But the Royalists were still gaining ground, and my strategy of cursing the muskets didn’t seem to be making a dent in their advance as they fired again, and again.
I changed my strategy, settling layers of golden light on the First and, as they formed in reinforcing lines on the wing, the Third.
“We may not have to retreat,” Alba said quietly. “And they would have surely utilized casting by now if they had it.”
I didn’t answer. Musket fire peppered the field from the hill opposite the Royalist advance. I thought at first that it was echoes, but my heart fell as I saw that thick lines of Royalist infantry moved into position on the opposite hill, as well. And then, with resounding clarity, the report of artillery pieces filled the small valley between the hills.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no.” I pushed more of myself into the casting, thicker gold, brighter light, but it was no use. At least, no discernable use—perhaps, I thought as my stomach clenched, it was helping the Third and then the First fall back in orderly, careful formation.
Then the horse troops wheeled and cut into the flank of the Third. It was close enough that I could see Theodor’s shock and Sianh’s rapid change in commands. I could see blood on saber edges, and carved limbs and red seeping into uniform coats. Even as the Third reassembled to refuse the oncoming onslaught from the mounted troops, the artillery thundered again and twenty men in the ranks of the First fell.
There was too much. I couldn’t guess where to turn next. The drummers changed their cadence, and the flags on the field shifted suddenly. The Third split its ranks and the First poured through their lines, dragging wounded and pushing toward the rear.
Retreat.
I exhaled hard through my nose and turned my attention to the rear, to the baggage. It was still blocking part of the way, but all I could do was send broad waves of golden light to settle on the wagons as though blessing the backs of the great, hulking beasts as they trundled out of the way. The retreating troops pressed hard on them, the bottleneck an invitation for the Royalists.
“We should retreat, as well.” Alba’s voice beside me was pale.
“Just a moment.” I pulled all of my reserves and sent a cloud of pure white charm over the retreating troops. Calm. Order. Strength. If they panicked, we would lose more men, baggage, maybe everything. The retreat was inevitable. It had to be controlled.
I saw Sianh shouting even though I couldn’t hear what he said, and the rear ranks of the retreating men turned and began firing in swift discipline. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. They were covering the retreat, in perfect military bearing. Gold and white layers of light clung to them, a cloud burrowed into their coats, bleeding into the air around them. The charm wouldn’t last, but their stoic stand didn’t have to last long, either.
“Let’s go,” I said, mouth dry. Any longer and our route to escape might be cut off.
Alba didn’t reply. I turned to grab her arm.
She wasn’t beside me.
Instead, Alba lay on the ground in a pile of gray wool and crimson blood. I dropped beside her with a choked scream, searching for the wound that had produced so much blood. She didn’t respond as I called her name, over and over, and patted her hand. I took a shaking breath, pushing back panic, and pressed my fingers against the veins lining her inner arm.
Nothing.
“No, no, this can’t be right.” I shoved her veil aside, letting her ashy blond hair spill over her neck. “You can’t be.” I looked for a pulse under the curve of her jaw, but I quickly stopped.
A round wound marred her skull. Her white veil was soaked red; on the slope, the rivulets of blood had coursed down her body, but she had died instantly where she fell. I felt a low, instinctual cry of pain and fear rising in my throat and, more, saw the black curls of curse drawing close as I reached out in unintentional anguish.
I pushed both the magic and the tears back. The Royalists pressed down both hills, convening on the road, but they might spot me at any moment. I couldn’t let that happen any more than I could let the Royalists capture our cannons or ammunition. I was an asset. I had covered the retreat of our army and baggage, and now I had to save myself, too.
I had to reduce the calculations to rote metrics, because there was no other way I could leave Alba lying on the hillside by herself.
I turned and ran toward the baggage train, rolling out of the bottleneck as our soldiers formed in ever-improving ranks to refuse the Royalists trying to follow us.
“Sophie!” Theodor wheeled his horse as I reached the baggage wagons. “Are you all right?”
Blood stained my hands and my skirt. I nodded as I broke into tears.
45
OUR RETURN TO ROCK’S FORD WAS, AS SIANH SAID, A MANUAL-perfect example of orderly retreat. The baggage pushed ahead with the main contingent of the army at as rapid a pace as they could, with companies of each regiment in turn falling back to cover our race back to Rock’s Ford.