Dorylaeum: The Crusaders Chronicles: Book 2 by Saye Bryan

Author:Saye, Bryan [Saye, Bryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781736886861
Published: 2022-12-13T00:00:00+00:00

13

I awoke sometime around midday. Novella sat cross-legged beside me with my helmet in her lap. Her eyes—which I only now noticed were brown like Amina’s—were locked onto my own. She looked as if she wanted to speak yet knew I wouldn’t be able to understand her. Slowly, she held out my helmet, and the horse-head nose guard stared at me.

“Thank you,” I said, taking the helmet from her. A shallow dent ran from the crest to the rim, and I felt a lump on my head to match. She didn’t move, only watched me with those big brown eyes as I slipped on my leather coif and mail hook before gingerly placing the helmet onto my head, wincing as it lay across the bruise. I stood, and she leapt to her feet. I started to lift her into my arms, then stopped and instead held out an open hand. She hesitated, then took hold of it and pressed into me, her little head resting against my thigh as she sheltered under my arm.

Meri, Taline, Gevorg, and Petros were still sitting together in a corner of the fort, and I wondered absently if they’d moved at all while I’d slept. They seemed to have just woken and were eating the remainder of the dried fruit I’d given them earlier. I found Elric and Piccolo standing at the gate of the palisade. Or rather, where the gate had been. The two of them seemed to have worked while I slept, as the gate was now filled with timber ripped from the fort and stable, rising in a sloppy mound to block any entrance. They stood at the repaired palisade and gazed north through a thin gap in the logs.

“How long did I sleep?” I asked. No one spoke, and I soon saw why. They were not merely looking north, but instead watching the Saracens navigate the river crossing. Fifty men atop fifty horses sloshed through the shallow water, and I could clearly see White Hair at their lead. I knew then that I was right; we never would have made it to Dorylaeum.

Piccolo turned and met my gaze. “I told you we put our straw too close to the fire,” he said, then looked again at the Saracens. “Il fuoco è arrivato .”

“Il fuoco, ” Novella said suddenly, then followed his gaze through the palisade, squinting as she tried to spot whatever the words meant.

“She’s Italian?” Piccolo asked.

I shrugged. “She at least speaks it.”

We watched through the gaps in the palisade as midday dragged into early afternoon. The Saracens forded the river at a leisurely pace, crossing where the road met the water. A pair of riders remained behind to watch the road, and it was clear the intent was to ensure we did not bypass them and make our way north. No one spoke of our fear for John Mark. He hadn’t returned while I slept, and with the arrival of the Saracens, it seemed likely they’d found him. We saw no sign of him, and the Saracens gave nothing away as they finished their crossing.

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