The Hermetica of Elysium (Elysium Texts Series) (43 page)

“I had planned on getting all four. The odds would still be ten to one, but after a dead sentry was found I had to work fast. They were aroused and looking for me by that point. I saw you by the fire. I had planned on running up, grabbing you, and darting into the trees, but the forest there was not thick enough. Instead I tied rope about knee high between the trees nearest my escape route hoping to jump the rope with you and slow my pursuers when they hit the ground behind me.”

“Where did you get the rope?” she asked.

“Oh. Yes, that’s right. You see, they did have the sense to put a guard on their wagon horses, but he was not a good choice. He was stretched out on the ground taking his rest after supper. I just stepped on his neck. After I freed the horses I took their picket lines.”

“You just stepped on his neck.”

“Yes.”

“And you took the picket rope.”

“Yes. That is how I made the trip lines.”

“Why didn’t you take their horses? We could be riding!” Nadira shook him in frustration.

“No. The horses could not make speed across this country, and we would be foolish to keep to the roads. They would make noise and leave an easy trail. If we had horses right now, where would we be hiding them? How would we feed them?” He touched a calloused finger to her forehead. “Think. I did bring something for us. The French pack plenty of food in their supply wagons.” He reached inside his shirt and handed her a hard roll. “It’s not much, but it is what I could grab in the time I had.”

Nadira did not answer. Nothing tasted better than that hard roll. For the first time in many months she felt safe. She shifted closer to him, draped her arm around his chest, and listened to his steady heartbeat until she fell asleep.

They awoke together when they heard the farmer approach the shed to milk his cows. They lay very still until he finished raking the animals’ bedding and lowered the bar over the door. Montrose waited until he heard the man enter his house before squeezing her hand.

“We need to get down and find our direction before the sun sets. We are heading for Rieti.” Montrose slid from the thatch to the ground and held out his arms for her. She kicked her feet until she began to slide on her backside toward the edge. After she was safely in his arms, he set her down and then pulled her behind him as he made a break across the open yard. They ducked behind a haystack.

“We will follow the road, but from a distance, north to where the aqueduct crosses the river.” He pointed.

“Why are we going to Rieti?” she asked.

Montrose stopped. “We are trying to find Garreth and Alisdair. I thought you knew that.”

“Do you know where they are?” Nadira frowned.

Montrose took her hand and led her to a small copse, hidden from the road. “No. I do not. But that is the likely place to hear news of them. You gave me leave to think they might be on this road pursuing our pursuers. Is this not true?”

Nadira sat down beside him. “Yes, but I think they are in that direction.” She pointed to the east. They sat there in silence for a long while. Finally, Montrose spoke.

“Very well. I will not leave this country if you tell me Garreth and Alisdair are close. Since I cannot say where they are, we must act on your information.” He added reluctantly, “Wherever it comes from.”

“Let us go back, then. When we see the French we will know they are near behind them.”

“You want to go back toward the French.” He turned his head and eyed her like she had lost her mind.

“Yes. Toward the French,” she said with a decided nod.

Montrose stood up and started back east toward the road. Nadira stood up and ran to him, walking backwards in front of him.

“Don’t be silly. We can go east without walking in the road. Stay covered.”

“Not really, Nadira. Look on ahead. We came from across that country.” He swung his arm out to the south. “If you look ahead, you see there is very little cover. This land is cultivated from the edge of the river right up to the sides of the road for acres. There is the occasional tree,” he pointed to the tree as they passed it, “but for the most part, if we are to go east, we must walk along this road. The cover is to the north. Look.”

“Perhaps the French turned back, and will not even be on this road,” she offered.

“Perhaps I shall sprout wings.”

“They might. You might.” She was gratified when she heard him chuckle. Encouraged, she kept it up. “They might have returned to camp and explained my escape as aided by demons.”

“Now that’s not funny, Nadira.”

“I think it is. My lord, you wouldn’t believe these people. You won’t believe what they did to me, thinking I was consorting with their devil.”

“Oh yes, I would. I’ve been there.” He waved his right thumb at her.

Nadira winced. “Of course. I will be glad to get out of here, but when we find Alisdair and Garreth, where will we go?”

“I think I want to take you home to England with me.”

“That sounds nice. Are there no Black Friars there?”

“None.”

Nadira sighed. “I’m trying to imagine that.”

“It has been a long while since I’ve been…there.” His face darkened.

Nadira was poised to ask him about his home when something like a cold hand clutched at her heart. She stopped. “Look.” She pulled on his arm. Montrose stopped and looked far ahead where she pointed.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Wait. Come off the road.” Nadira pulled him sideways. “They are coming.” Montrose did not argue, but moved quickly off the road. As he had feared, there was little cover.

“How long until they see us?” he asked.

“Not long. Let’s get down in the shadows.” Nadira pulled him down the slope and into a gully. Montrose went on alert, his hand on the hilt of his sword; his eyes focused far down the road. Nadira crouched down beside him. The bank of the gully was too high for her to see over but she saw the French coming nonetheless. She saw them approach their hiding place, and she saw the horses snort and shy away as they passed. She plucked at Montrose’s sleeve.

“Hmmm,” he said, not taking his eyes from the road.

“My lord. It doesn’t matter. They will find us here, no matter what we do. Or where we try to flee.”

“What?” He looked down at her now.

“The horses. They will smell us and shy. The French will find us in this hollow and there is nowhere else. It is no use.”

He did not ask the obvious question; instead he asked softly, “What then, Nadira?”

She closed her eyes.
The horses are coming, they
see us, swords flash in the twilight, but I feel
no fear.
Nadira opened her eyes.

“What is it?” He lowered himself beside her, searching her face.

“They are coming, but we are not in danger,” she said incredulously.

“How can that be?” he frowned.

“I don’t know. You will have to trust me.”

“Last time I trusted you…”

Nadira felt a stab of remorse. “I know, I know. But last time I was blind and selfish and childish and petulant. You were right then. You knew it was time to leave the tower. I was only thinking of myself and my own desires. This is different, though.” Tears came to her eyes. “I am so sorry about that, my lord. So sorry. So sorry.”

His huge hand came down softly on the top of her head and stroked her hair. “I don’t blame you for that. I blame myself. I should have scooped you up, kicking and screaming, and carried you off. Better me than Di Marco’s men.”

“Oh, you are so right,” Nadira pulled his hand to her cheek. “Let us flee, then. Maybe I am wrong this time, too.”

“I hear hoof beats. We have to decide soon.”

“You decide. I will follow you.”

“Never mind. They are here.” He pulled the long sword from the scabbard and tested his grip on the pommel until he was satisfied. “This is an inferior blade, but the better of the two I took from the French. I should have gone for the leader. He had Damascus steel. This one,” he turned it, eyeing the length of the blade, “it will do.” He lifted the sword and swung an arc out from his body to get its balance. “You say we will win this battle.” It was not a question.

“Yes.”

The sun was low, but enough light remained to see a group of horsemen coming from the east. They were coming fast, at a gallop. In mere moments they would be right over them. Nadira sank back, pressing her back against the gully wall. Clumps of earth fell around her, filling the gaps in her soft shoes. Montrose moved in front of her, the sword and his thigh at her eye level.

The sound of the hoof beats grew louder until the sound was right over her head. Montrose leaped up and was gone. Nadira heard the horses neigh and stomp. More crumbles of dirt cascaded over her face, collecting in her ears and décolletage. She heard the shouts of the French, the sounds of dismounting and pulling on jangling bits. The stomp and jungle of boots and spurs mixed with the grunts and snorts of the disquieted horses.

Nadira tried to obey his order to stay low, but a gauntlet reached down from above and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her to her feet. A moment later a French soldier was down in the gully with her. She tried to call out to Montrose, but he was down slope, engaged with two more of the French. Her adversary dragged her out of the ditch and up to the road, pinning her arms behind her. Below, she could see Montrose swinging the sword with both hands, keeping both of his opponents from closing in. Nadira could not take her eyes from him. First one stroke, then another. He was using the sword like an axe, forcing the French to move constantly on the rough ground lest they catch the full force of the blow. Behind her the French commander sat his horse watching the melee. Apparently he was confident that no more than two men would be needed to take Montrose.

Nadira knew better.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

H
ER
captor was watching the battle below as Nadira scanned the road. Two more horsemen were coming from the east. Dust rose in the air behind their galloping hooves. The commander turned in his saddle to look behind him. To Nadira’s surprise, he wheeled his horse about and raised his arm, shouting to the men who were engaging Montrose near the river.

Immediately Nadira’s captor yanked her toward his own horse. The two men below backed away and climbed up the slope, leaving Montrose leaning on his sword, panting.

The two horsemen rode up and dismounted. One of them immediately drew his sword and took a position in front of the commander, his lathered horse dancing behind him. The other sailed off his horse before the beast had even come to a stop; the reins made an arc over its head and slapped the ground at Nadira’s feet. His sword was in his hand, and all five men faced the west where Nadira could now see an advancing band of horsemen. She tried to count. From the distance and in the fading light it was impossible to tell. None paid the slightest attention to Montrose who was making his way cautiously back up to the road.

Nadira’s captor squeezed her arm. His eyes darted back and forth. She knew he was looking for a place to tie her up so he could have both hands free.

The French commander raised his arm, “Halte!”

Five horses carrying five lightly armored knights came to a dusty stop before the French. Nadira’s captor began to tremble. He pulled her in front of his body like a shield.

Below her, Montrose stopped climbing and lowered his sword, waiting. The newcomers lined up abreast and drew their swords one after the other. The sound of all the metal scraping together sounded like a chord as all five weapons were brandished. The chord hung in the air. The five were all tall and fair. Their breastplates glittered in the sun; they wore no identifying marks on their shields. Nadira was struck by the hard look in their eyes. Not one of them appeared apprehensive. They showed no fear, no anger, and no intent. They simply sat their horses with swords drawn, staring at the French as if daring them to make the first move.

The commander shouted once, and with a cruel snap of the reins, wheeled his horse about. He spurred the animal into a great leap and with one bound he closed the distance between him and Nadira. The soldier holding her pushed her toward the oncoming horse and stepped back out of the way. The next stride of the charger would take the commander right over her. She could see his eyes beneath his helmet. He was coming for her. In the next bound he would have her. Already his arm was coming out, his hand opened to grasp her as he flew by. In the instant of her realization the flow of time seemed to stop. The gloved hand was reaching, reaching for her neck in unnatural slow motion.

He was going to ride off with her. He would take her back to the French king where she would be bound hand and foot and guarded with more care. She would be a prisoner for the rest of her life. As the glove neared her face the full horror of the situation filled her heart.

She was being stolen again.

The full force of her being rejected that possibility. With all her heart, with all her soul, with all her mind she screamed.

“No!”

Her hands flew up, palms out before her face as if she could push the enemy away like an insect. To her utter amazement, the horse, the French knight, his gloved hand blew sideways onto the road, tipped like a great wind might blow a ship on its side. An instant later Nadira could see the gray underbelly and flailing hooves of the breached charger, his rider pinned beneath him in the dust.