(eng) Karen Azinger - Silk & Steel 06 by The Prince Deceiver

Author:The Prince Deceiver [Deceiver, The Prince]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

33

Jordan

The days fell into a relentless rhythm. Riding from dawn till dusk, Jordan snatched hasty meals with her captains and then spread her bedroll around the campfire, always sleeping with her weapons close at hand. At night, she dreamt of Stewart, but her dreams proved unreliable. Most times she dreamt of their last night together, lying entwined on his sumptuous camp bed, other times she dreamt of their wedding bower at the Crimson Keep, but too often she woke with a scream hovering on her lips, plagued by visions of death and bloodshed. Shaking and covered in sweat, Jordan told herself they were only nightmares, only her imagination, yet she fretted over the terrible odds. War was a grim undertaking where numbers mattered. Forty thousand, how could the north muster so many? Ten to one, the odds hammered her mind. Such impossible odds, yet somehow the enemy had to be stopped. Jordan glared at the heavens, unsure if she should laugh…or weep. Any seasoned general would say the enemy's numbers alone ensured a bitter loss, but the consequences of defeat were too terrible to imagine. Somehow she had to find an advantage, something beyond swords.

Marching to a steady drumbeat, her war host reached the Snowmelt River, the icy-cold divide between the southern kingdoms and the Domain of Castlegard. This time of year, the river glowed like green jade, a sure sign the cold waters swelled with glacier melt. Beautiful yet treacherous, the springtime thaw made the Snowmelt wild and unpredictable, a raging barrier between the north and the south. Needing a better view, Jordan cantered to the nearest hilltop, her officers trailing behind. From the wooded bluff, she gazed upon the river. A broad ribbon of jade-green swirled with white she watched as treacherous eddies formed and disappeared, small whirlpools compounding the river's danger. As she watched, a felled tree came roaring downstream, tangled branches reaching toward the sky like a desperate hand. The tree was immense, yet it sped by in a few heartbeats, proof of the river’s fierce power. And then she saw a sheep, bloated and dead, floating feet up, caught in the river's embrace.

Beside her Rafe whistled, his gaze tracking the dead sheep. “The enemy’s going to cross that?”

“Not here. Closer to the coast, the curves of the Serpentines tame the river.” Jordan considered the stories she’d heard. “They say the curves slow the Snowmelt but they also make the river tricky with sandbars. If the Snowmelt can be crossed, it will depend on the luck of the sandbars.”

“Perhaps luck won’t favor the Mordant.”

"What are the odds of that happening?"

Rafe looked away.

Jordan sighed. “We can’t leave it to luck. We’ve got to be sure.” Spurring her horse to a canter, Jordan led her army along the river's southern bank. Conch shells blew and the army hastened their pace, battle banners rippling in the wind. They searched for any place the enemy might ford. Thankfully the Snowmelt remained a wild, unbreachable barrier. Jordan beseeched the gods to keep it so.

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