Cas could not blame the soldiers for mistaking him for dead. Certainly he felt close enough to it. It took very little acting on his part to let his limbs hang lifeless as they hauled him into the wagon. Though, when he landed squarely on a corpse's elbow it took a great deal of effort to keep from grunting. He tensed his muscles as they loaded more and more bodies atop his own, trying his best to create enough space around him to avoid being crushed. Finally, he heard some sort of exchange between the soldiers and the cart began to trundle along the beach. He felt as the wheels moved from soft sand to a gravelly path and the bodies atop him jostled about, digging their bones into him as if on purpose.
Revenge for being the only one to make it out alive.
He thought grimly. And then, quickly:
No, not the only one. She has to be alive. She has to.
With each pothole the cart encountered, Cas focused what remained of his strength on pushing himself out of the pile of corpses. Finally, the sun broke through and he could glimpse the road behind him which was — mercifully — empty. He pulled himself further out from the heap of bodies and waited for his opportunity. The road was lined with tall grass and shrubs which he knew from experience only looked soft until you crashed into them. While they would not offer the gentlest landing, they would be excellent coverage. He listened carefully for the sound of other riders but there was only the sound of the cart.
And what good would there be sending able-bodied men to guard the dead?
He smiled slightly to himself:
I am like Aanisah about to come back to life
.
The cart rounded a corner, the side of the road sloped away into a ditch of reeds and Cas seized his chance. He wrenched himself free of the tangle of bodies and rolled off the carriage. He let himself tumble recklessly — just in case there did happen to be a soldier keeping watch. But the sound of the cart faded into the distance and not a soul seemed to have noticed it was lighter one body. And, if the horse noticed, he surely would not complain.
Cas chuckled to himself and then groaned as he became aware all at once of the pain that radiated through his entire body.
Who'd have thought nearly drowning and falling off a moving carriage would hurt so much?
He lay for a few moments more in the grass, watching the clouds streak across an azure sky until the sun leapt from behind a cloud and he had to shield his eyes from its brilliance. He wanted nothing more than to rest there for a while, just a little while. Just enough for his bones to shed the chill of the sea that had stolen into them. Just enough for his sodden clothes to dry.
His mind went suddenly to Yanamari, the way her damp clothes had clung to her body that day in the brig when she bested him at swordplay. Never before had anyone looked at him that way and, if he could not save her, no one ever would again.
The sun disappeared behind another cloud and the sudden gloom sent a shiver along his spine. He sat up and pushed himself to his feet. There was no time to waste — he had to find Yanamari before Ekaitz's soldiers did. He pushed himself to his feet and started along the road, following it back towards the ocean. After a few miles, the breeze freshened and he could smell salt on the air. His pace quickened as he rounded a corner and then his feet froze in their tracks.
Chaos was strewn across the roadway before him: The bodies of three soldiers lay in the dirt, impaled by dozens of arrows. Perhaps only one or two had been fatal. The rest were pure overkill, shot at such close range that he was sure the tips went several inches through the corpses into the ground. A pained whinny drew his attention off the road where an upturned carriage had pitched into the gully. The horse that had been pulling the carriage was struggling to free itself from the shaft. Cas leapt lightly down off the road and advanced on the horse slowly, murmuring soft words to keep it from panicking further. The horse lay panting, its wide, brown eyes following his every move. Cas kept speaking gently to the horse as he undid the bellyband and collar, finally freeing the poor beast. The horse was on its feet in a moment and, in the next, as far away from the carriage as its hooves could carry it.
Cas cocked his head as he walked around the carriage — it was certainly a prisoner transport, there was no doubt in his mind. He rounded the carriage and found the door open, a single soldier pinned to the wood by arrows. This one, too, had been shot at close range. Cas leaned forward to examine the soldier when, suddenly, his eyes flashed open.
Cas staggered backwards and then quickly regained his composure.
"What happened?" He asked hoarsely, his eyes frantic as they darted from one wound to the next. There was no way he could save this man.
The soldier's eyes lolled.
He tried again, in stilted Irklazken:
Zer gertatu zen?
The soldier opened his mouth, his teeth red with blood, and began to mumble a reply. Cas could only make out parts of what he said:
Prisoner... captured... doan jendea...
"Who? Prisoner who?" He pressed.
The soldier managed to choke out one word before all life left his body: "Yanamari."
Cas sighed as the soldier's body slumped against the carriage, blood oozing from his wounds. He pushed the man's eyes closed and ran a hand over his own face.
They took her... rescued her?
He opened his eyes and stared at the arrows. There were at least twenty embedded in this man alone. These
free people
were clearly well armed enough not to have to worry about wasting arrows and angry enough to believe such wanton carnage justified.
Cas gave another quick, determined sigh and climbed back onto the road. He did not have to guess which way they went — he too had memorised the map and knew where
Santutegia Kala
lay — but at that very moment a group of mounted Irlazken soldiers appeared on the horizon. A cry came from the lead rider and a cloud of dust flew up around the horses as they spurred into a gallop. He swore under his breath and ducked low, disappearing into the undergrowth.
Though the mossy forest did its best to throw him off track, Cas kept his heading north as best he could. He did not stop to listen for the sound of soldiers on his trail. Even if he had managed to shake them, there was no time to rest. If his memory of the map was correct, a small fishing village lay to the north. His legs grew heavier and heavier with each step and he could only pray his strength held for a few more hours.
It was almost dusk by the time Cas' feet took him past the edge of the forest and onto a green meadow that rolled towards the ocean. The village lay at the foot of the pastureland, cradled in the rocky coastline which afforded it a natural harbour. There was a single ship at port — a great, towering vessel that seemed to dwarf the town itself. As Cas narrowed his eyes, straining to make out the ship's colours, a gust of wind unfurled the flag and the soldier laughed to see the Persian pennant streaming from the masthead.
"Shahzaman," he croaked, his throat parched.
He pressed ahead with renewed strength, gritting his teeth against the exhaustion that threatened to overcome him if he faltered even the slightest. He made his way into the small town, ignoring the curious glances that his ragged appearance drew from the villagers.
Cas staggered along the dock to where the ship was berthed and tried to call up to the ship but he could hardly raise his voice louder than a whisper.
He growled in frustration and then whistled out the call of an owl that had been the rebels' signal in the desert: "
Hoooo-ho-ho-ho-ho!
Hoooo-ho-ho-ho-ho!
"
A dozen faces appeared over the rail in a moment, crying out his name in chorus and hollering for the gangplank to be lowered. As soon as the plank touched the dock, Shahzaman rushed off the ship and positioned himself beneath one of Cas' shoulders so that he could help him aboard the ship.
"I thought
Asto Vidatu
had you this time, brother," Shahzaman said.
"Almost did," Cas murmured, each word grating against his parched throat.
