‘I thought you’d be halfway back to Breteau by now,’ said Damen.
The negligent posture didn’t change, though somewhere in it was a well-hidden hint of wariness, of a man en guarde, as though Laurent was ready at any moment to bolt. ‘I think the chances that those men would kill me are fairly low. I’d be too valuable as a political game-piece. Even after my uncle disavowed me, which he would, though I’d quite like to see his reaction when he heard the news. It would not present an ideal situation for him at all. Do you think I’d get on well with Nikandros of Delpha?’
The idea of Laurent let loose on the political landscape of northern Akielos did not make for appealing thoughts. Damen frowned.
‘I wouldn’t have to tell them you were a prince to sell you to that troop.’
Laurent held his ground. ‘Not really? I would have thought twenty was a little grown up for that. Is it the blond hair?’
‘It’s the charming temperament,’ said Damen.
Though the thought existed: If I took him with me to Akielos, he wouldn’t be given as a prisoner to Nikandros. He’d be given to me.
‘Before you carry me off,’ said Laurent, ‘tell me about Makedon. Those were his standards. Is he riding with the sanction of Nikandros? Or did he break orders when he attacked my country?’
‘I think he broke orders.’ After a moment, Damen answered truthfully. ‘I think he was angry and struck out at Breteau in independent action. Nikandros would not retaliate like that, he would wait for an order from his King. That is his way as Kyros. But now that it’s done, you can expect Nikandros to support Makedon. Nikandros is like Touars. He would be well pleased by a war.’
‘Until he lost one. The northern provinces are destabilising to Kastor. It would be in Kastor’s best interests to sacrifice Delpha.’
‘Kastor wouldn’t—’ He stopped. The tactic, sprung from Laurent’s brain, might not immediately occur to Kastor, as it would mean sacrificing something he had worked hard to gain. If the tactic didn’t occur to Kastor, it would certainly occur to Jokaste. Damen had known, of course, for a long time, that his own return would destabilise the region even further.
Laurent said, ‘To get what you want, you have to know exactly how much you are willing to give up.’ He was regarding Damen steadily. ‘You think your delightful Lady Jokaste doesn’t know that?’
Damen drew in a steadying breath, and let it out. He said, ‘You can stop stalling for time. The outriders have passed by now. Our way is clear.’
* * *
It should have been clear. He had been so careful.
He had watched for the pattern of the outriders, and he had made certain of their retreat, following the lines of the army. But he had not accounted for mistakes or disruption, for a single outrider who had come off his horse and was making his way back to the troop on foot.
Laurent had reached the opposite bank; but Damen was only halfway across the stream when he saw a hint of red in the undergrowth close to Laurent’s horse.
That was all the warning he had. Laurent had none at all.
The man lifted a crossbow and shot a bolt straight at Laurent’s unprotected body.
In the awful blur of motion that followed, several things happened at once. Laurent’s horse, sensitive to sudden motion, to the hiss of air, the rustle and swish, violently shied. There was no sound of a bolt thudding into a body, but that would not be heard anyway over the horse’s scream as its hoof skidded wrongly on one of the slippery, water-smooth river stones, so that it foundered and went down.
The sound of a horse hitting wet stony ground was a crash of flesh, heavy and terrible. Laurent was lucky enough, or knew well enough how to fall, that he was not crushed by the horse’s weight, as might easily have happened, smashing his legs or back. But he had no time to get up.
Even before Laurent had hit the ground, the man had drawn his sword.
Damen was too far away. He was too far to get between the man and Laurent, he knew that, even as he drew his sword—even as he wheeled his horse, felt the powerful bunch of the animal beneath him. There was only one thing he could do. As the spray of water sheared up from under his horse, he hefted his sword, changed his grip, and threw.
It was, emphatically, not a throwing weapon. It was six pounds of Veretian steel, forged for a two-handed grip. And he was on a moving horse, and many feet away, and the man was moving too, towards Laurent.
The sword drove through the air and took the man in the chest, ramming him into the ground and pinning him there.
Damen swung off his horse, and landed on one knee on the wet stones beside Laurent.
‘I saw you fall.’ Damen heard the rough sound of his own voice. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No,’ said Laurent. ‘No, you got to him.’ He had pushed himself up into a splayed sitting position. ‘Before.’
Damen was passing a hand from the join of Laurent’s neck and shoulder down over his chest, frowning. But there was no blood, no protruding bolt or fletching. Had the fall injured him? Laurent sounded dazed. Damen’s attention was all on Laurent’s body. Concerned with the possibility of injury, he was only distantly aware of Laurent looking back at him. Laurent’s body was very still under his hands as the water from the stream soaked into his clothes.
‘Can you stand? We need to move out. It’s not safe for you here. Too many people want to kill you.’