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Springbuck, aware that Duskwind had been the Prince s lover before she d
become his. That she might see the whole situation differently didn t occur to
him.
One morning he picked up his friend s trail few failed to note and recognize
the plumed Alebowrenian war mask and Fireheel and caught up with him in the
stables of the palace. The Prince was enthusiastically discussing Bar with
curious sentries.
Even if it weren t blessed with unfailing keenness, he said, flexing the
weapon through short, glittering arcs, a fine blade it would be. It s light
enough to cut rings around any bulky broadsword, heavy enough to cleave armor,
but will match steps with a darting rapier if the man who holds it has a
strong enough wrist.
He reluctantly yielded Bar for practice strokes by one of the bolder
men-at-arms, then noticed Gil leaning against Fireheel s stall and went over
to him.
We are ready to leave on the morrow, Springbuck said. Will you be coming
with us? His expression was hard, but when he saw consternation in the
American s face he smiled and said, I think I know what troubles you, but it
shouldn t. Duskwind well, Duskwind I loved once; but she is her own woman and
she and I have both grown and changed. You chose commendably, both, and your
happiness makes me glad. I don t blame you for taking time from our
mustering.
Gil relaxed a bit. Of course I m coming, he said, Got a more important
reason for winning now.
So do we both, the Prince said.
* * * *
They rode out in the morning sun with Reacher at their side and Bonesteel,
Dunstan and a host of men behind. There were banners and flags in abundance:
the snarling scarlet tiger of Coramonde, Springbuck s proud stag s head,
Bonesteel s token, a nine-pointed green star on a field of white, and
Reacher s, a raised fist holding a broken chain, picked out in silver on
black. On the breast of Gil MacDonald s armor, the Lady Duskwind had caused to
be put a device for him, a saber like that of the shoulder patch he d worn in
the 32d cavalry.
They were a mixed group. Troops of fleet, light dragoons flanked to either
side and spaced along the formation, swift security against a sudden attack.
Their riding harness creaked and their bits jingled as they paced the column.
Imperceivable in the distance, prowler-cavalry scouted their way.
There were squadrons from the forces of Freegate, independent-looking men
with gleaming lances, each with an emblem of his choosing limned on his shield
and designs on his armor and his mount s furnishings as if he were an approved
knight, since they did not hold this prerogative to be limited to a designated
few in the Free City.
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A brigade of staunch foot was included, with two battalions of pikemen much
used in war, who wore ghastly death s heads on their chests and backs,
enameled on their byrnies. And the fearsome Kisst-Haa led five of his scaly
kin, their fangs and green hides shimmering in the early glow, their eyes like
amber lanterns. They d been frequent visitors to the fields of war and had
offered up many enemies on the altars of battle. But although they were loyal
to Reacher and went out to fight for the same cause all men there served, the
downfall of Yardiff Bey, still men shied away from them, giving wide berth.
But they were inured to this, and ignored the unwarranted suspicion.
The Horseblooded rode at the rear of the array, mixing and mingling in the
antithesis of rigid military order. But no one doubted their vigor in the use
of arms in contention; all had seen them at practice. Their voices were lifted
in sweet singing as they came, hair flying behind them, but their scimitars
were keen and their spearheads caught the sun and threw it back in fragments.
With them was Andre deCourteney, more content to listen to their songs and
laughter on the route than to match the discipline of the regular soldiery.
The wearying march across the Keel of Heaven took longer than had the
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