Kushiel's Mercy

I rode him down before he had a chance to throw, trampling him. My mount balked and shied.
    “Go!” I shouted at Sidonie, pointing with my sword toward the improvised bridge.
    She went.
    Several of Aureliano’s men passed me. I wrestled my mount under control, cursing him.
    The rearguard checked their horses, yelling at me. I rejoined the column. We thundered toward the trench, toward the gangplank. Overhead, the moon shone, placid and bright.
    All around us, men fought and died.
    One, two, three . . . I was the ninth to cross. I could feel the planks dip and give under the weight of my mount, but they held. A Carthaginian soldier veered out of the darkness unexpectedly, jabbing at me with a thrusting spear. I kneed my horse hard and it swerved.
    “Fall in!” Aureliano was shouting. “Fall in!”
    We obeyed, all of us. Falling into the formation he’d ordered: four ranks of three. Or mayhap three ranks. I didn’t know if the rearguard had made it, and I didn’t know if the archers meant to hold the bridge were following. I didn’t dare look. All that mattered was that I could see Sidonie in front of me, alive. And in front of her was Aureliano and his line, clearing the way with lowered spears. Astegal’s infantry fell away before their onslaught, unprepared.
    And beyond, the bridge across the Barca River.
    Somewhere, more horns were raising an urgent cry. Ahead of me, a racing figure hurled a javelin. The soldier to the left of Sidonie went down, his mount rolling and squealing horribly.
    “Move!” I shouted at the soldier on my left. “Move up!”
    He hesitated.
    I swore and urged my mount past him, cutting him off. Not such a bad horse, really. I fell in beside Sidonie, taking my place at her side. I saw a Carthaginian archer kneel, taking aim in the moonlight. His bow twanged. I twisted in the saddle, leaning low, and caught the shaft on my buckler.
    And then there was the bridge and a double line of men determined to defend it.
    Aureliano rode them down without hesitation. The soldier to his right went down. I chopped mercilessly with my sword, hacking at blurred faces in the moonlight, shoving at them with my arrow-pierced buckler.
    We cleared the line.
    We crossed the bridge, dark, moonlit water sliding beneath us.
    Behind us, more bows twanged. Ours or theirs? I couldn’t tell.
    “Ride!” Aureliano’s voice rose. “Ride for your damned lives!”
    It was a strange and surreal flight, hurtling ourselves across the moon-drenched landscape.
    We rode at a hectic pace, clinging to our saddles. Bit by bit, the sound of fighting faded.
    Pursuit was coming, but not yet. We followed the road as it curved along the coastline, rising into the foothills.
    Within a quarter of an hour, there was dense pine forest crowding the western edge of the road. Not long after they appeared, Paskal drew rein and whistled sharply. Our company halted.
    “Here?” I asked Paskal.
    Our guide shrugged. “Better sooner than later.”
    “Good luck,” I said to Aureliano. “Give them a good chase.”
    “Thank you,” Sidonie added soberly. “More than I can say. May the gods be with you and your men.”
    Aureliano gave a brusque nod. “And you, your highness.”
    That was all. There was no time to waste or spare. Aureliano raised one hand in farewell and ordered his men to move. Paskal beckoned for us to follow, turning his mount into the forest.
    We had to travel slowly. The dense pines blocked out the moonlight until there was barely enough to see by. Branches reached for us, prickling and tangling as we made our way between the trees. The foothills weren’t steep, but the grade was deceptive. Our horses had been ridden hard, and I could feel mine laboring. The slow pace made my skin itch.
    But we were alive.
    And the very factors that slowed us protected us. The road had been utterly blocked from our view within twenty paces. The thick pine mast muffled the sound of our horses’
    hooves. There was no way the Amazigh could suspect we’d turned off the road, no way they could track us here at night.
    Not long after we entered the forest, we heard the sound of hoofbeats in the direction from which we’d come. Many hoofbeats, racing along the road. The sound rose and rose, then faded as they continued onward.
    “Astegal’s cavalry,” Paskal said in a low voice.
    “Likely,” I said. “Pray for your friends and press onward.”
    I don’t know how long we rode that night. Hours. I found myself haunted by the