Child of Flame
Page 337

Was that a growl of thunder in the distance? She couldn’t decide whether a storm would make things better, or worse.
The wagon jostled along the trail in an even rhythm, jarred by an occasional bump. None of this bothered Blessing, who finally got bored, curled up among the lumpy sacks, and fell asleep after making Anna promise to “wake her up for the battle.” Anna envied the child her ability to sleep so easily. The load of grain made a sturdy pillow, and Anna was able to fashion a little awning out of tent cloth so that Blessing’s head remained in shadow as the wagon rolled along through changes of light and shade.
A group of at least one hundred Lions marched ahead of them and, in front of them, perhaps one hundred Polenie horsemen with their colorful striped tabards. Lord Wichman and his brother, with the Saony legion, rode too far ahead to see from here.
There was just room on the track for two wagons to move forward side by side. For a while, Anna watched the painted wagon belonging to Bayan’s mother, but the beaded covering over the window never parted to reveal a watching face. Six male slaves marched behind the wagon. Two walked at the front, leading the oxen which pulled it. In this heat, they had all stripped down to loinclothes. They were probably the most comfortable people there: no armor, no weapons. If they were nervous, they didn’t look it. She tried to imagine what feelings they had, but even though once in a while one would glance at her, feeling her gaze on him, not one ever cracked a smile or turned his lips down in a frown. They just walked, obedient to their mistress’ will.
The rest of the train followed in their dust, supply wagons, a few carts holding injured soldiers, carts holding the pavilions and camp furniture of nobles who could not go to war without their comforts and other visible signs of their rank and importance, the closed wagons bearing the princess’ treasure, and several carts belonging to the church folk, which contained their precious vessels and golden altar cloths for the nightly service.
Lions marched alongside all the way down the train, together with other infantrymen. Now and again she caught sight of horsemen farther out in the forest. At the rear, she knew, rode Duke Boleslas and the remainder of his troops. Heribert sat on the open tailgate, lost in thought.
Lord Thiemo, Matto, and the other six of Sanglant’s soldiers designated to escort Princess Blessing rode off to the right, working their way through the trees.
“Why are all the infantry back here, Brother Heribert?” she asked finally.
Heribert started, as if he’d forgotten Anna was there. “I’m no expert in strategy,” he said with a smile, “but even I know that the Quman are all horsemen. Best to engage them on the field with cavalry.”
“Why did Zacharias have to ride with Prince Bayan?”
“I thought you didn’t like him?”
“I don’t. I think it’s better he’s taken away. He’s worse than a heathen. He used to be a good God-fearing man, and now what is he?”
“A very troubled one, I fear, and as good as he can be, in his heart. Nor should you hate him, child. He’s done you no harm.” She frowned at him, not liking to be lectured. “I’ll say no more,” he went on. “Since Zacharias was a slave to Bulkezu for seven years, Prince Bayan wants him nearby in case he sees or hears anything of importance, so he can warn Bayan.”
“But not Prince Sanglant.”
“Prince Bayan is the commander of this army. That is, I mean.” Amazingly, he blushed. “Princess Sapientia is the commander of this army, and I beg you, Anna, do not ever mention that I said otherwise.”
Surprised to hear a cultured noble cleric beg her for anything, she began to answer when shouts and the blast of a horn sounded from the rear. Heribert hopped off the wagon, stumbled, and righted himself just as a rider galloped past, heading forward along the line.
Lord Thiemo cut in close, followed by the others. “It must be a Quman patrol,” he said to Anna, glancing at Blessing. “Nothing to worry about.”
Lewenhardt had an arrow held loosely in his bow, and he was scanning the woods nervously, but through all that open woodland Anna saw no sign of winged riders. From the rear, the clash of arms rose singing on the wind. A few arrows fell among the wagons, and as she stared, shocked, at a white-fletched arrow skittering over the ground, a hard thunk shuddered the wagon. An arrow quivered in the side, the entire point buried in the wood. Chustaffus, who had refused to be left behind at Walburg even though his injured shoulder had crippled his sword arm, shouted in alarm as an arrow skated a hand’s breath past his nose, and he rocked back, barely able to stay mounted.