Restoration (Rai Kirah) by Carol Berg Page B

unhealed injury, I told myself. And yet how long would it have taken to say I was no longer the man he had seen defeat the Lord of Demons? That I could not fight beside him because I was afraid my weakness would endanger him? No words are more difficult for a warrior, and before I could force them out, the sea of Derzhi warriors had parted to let him pass, and then closed up again behind him. “I’ll be there, my lord,” I called after him, but I couldn’t tell if he heard me.
    I stood watching the mustering troops without seeing them, my desire to run after the Prince and tell him that of course I would stand with him, battling with my need to come up with a sensible alternative in a hurry. But as my eyes drifted over the teeming crowd, a patch of bright green drew me out of my thoughts—the woman in green again, an island of stillness in the center of fifty warriors who were checking saddle girths, attaching waterskins to their saddles, settling weapons in sheaths, donning padded leather vests under their haffai. As if drawn by enchantment, I jumped down the steps and hurried toward the woman, determined to find out who she was and why she was watching me.
    Before I could get near her, five warriors rode through the courtyard gates in a spurt of red dust, pulling up at the side of the yard not twenty paces from me, ready for the Prince to assign them a position. Their leader was short in the saddle, but broad shouldered and hard muscled. His braid was blond, and his square face was dusted with freckles, making him appear much younger than his twenty-seven years, even with his current severe countenance—Lord Kiril Rahilezar Danileschi zha Ramiell, Aleksander’s charming and honorable cousin.
    Aleksander walked past the young lord without a glance, stopping to speak to Malver for a moment. Then the Prince strode briskly among the assembled garrison, inspecting their arms as they stood beside their horses. As he nodded his approval at each warrior, the man would mount up. Malver rode over to Kiril and bowed his head respectfully.
    “I’ve brought a levy of my personal guard,” said Kiril coldly, “though the Prince’s summons seems to have gone astray. I’ll not have it said that I failed in loyalty to my fallen Emperor.”
    “Your warriors are not needed, Lord Kiril,” said Malver.
    “Not needed?” blurted Kiril. “Has Prince Aleksander such a surfeit that he can pick and choose? I will fight for my uncle’s honor.” Kiril urged his horse forward, as if to force himself into the Derzhi column, but Malver positioned his own mount across the young noble’s path. “You will not, my lord. The Prince says he will have women carry swords at his side before he will permit you to do so.”
    Kiril flushed the color of a desert sunrise. Setting his jaw, he jerked on the reins and spoke a single harsh word to his men. The party started toward the gates. I slipped around the edge of the yard and caught Kiril’s ankle before he could follow his warriors out of the gates. He snapped his head around, his hand flying to his knife.
    “Keep moving, my lord,” I said. “And look away.”
    “By Athos’ head! Seyonne!” Even in his surprise Kiril kept his voice low, and he quickly averted his eyes, fixing them on his warrior’s backs and holding his horse to a walk. I moved alongside him, keeping out of sight between his horse and the wall.
    “He’s going to lose today, my lord. You know it.”
    “Damned prideful donkey.” The young man’s voice was near breaking. “He won’t let me go with him. If he’s going to die anyway...”
    “Prince Aleksander will not die,” I said. “I’ll see to it. But his men ... whoever is left ... they’ll need someone to handle their surrender. I must be able to tell him that they are not abandoned. Do you understand me?”
    Kiril glanced down at me, his blue eyes wide. “I think so.”
    “I’ll send news when I can.”
    Kiril nodded thoughtfully, and I saw the