Leda

Chapter Fifty-Two: Raising Havoc

Word of the night charge had spread through the camp like a forest fire. As Hal picked her way back towards her tent, the air seemed charged with anticipation...and laden with desperation. There were no illusions in the eyes of those men and women who buckled on swords, laced up gambesons, sharpened axes. If the charge were unsuccessful and Castor's army knocked them back into the snow, then they would die out here on the moors, victims of their own hunger. She quickened her pace.

"Hal, might we speak?"

Hal turned to find Lauré standing behind her. The maid must have been following, her footsteps muffled by the wet snow. Her face was pinched and pale, her delicate frame draped in sheepskins, her long hair twisted behind her shoulders into two tawny braids.

"Of course, Lauré. What is it?"

"Hal, I...I'd like you to speak to Magda."

"To Magda?" Hal summoned an uncomfortable smile. "What about?"

As the young woman stepped closer, Hal saw that her eyes were glassy with fear. "I'd like you to persuade her not to join the charge tonight," Lauré said.

"Oh, Lauré," Hal shook her head, her heart wilting. "Magda would not thank me for that."

"But what if she doesn't come back?" Lauré's lips trembled as she battled against her tears.

"Lauré, I believe that Magda has been preparing for this moment her entire life. To deny it would be...cruelty itself. Do you want her to forsake her chance of glory?"

"No! But I want her to live."

"Lauré...Magda owes it to herself and to all of us to lead this charge. That is the role Lord Roc has assigned her, and none of us can afford to be selfish." She pressed a finger to Lauré's lips to stall the maid's protests. "But if you truly want to help her, if you want to give her strength, then tell her how you feel. Go to her now."

A slow tear slid down Lauré's cheek. Hal brushed it away.

"You know?" Lauré asked.

Hal nodded. "It's plain for all to see. And it's written in her eyes too, if you care to read it."

Lauré bit her lip.

"If you love her, Lauré, tell her. But don't try to dissuade her from this fight. If she knows you're waiting for her, she'll do everything she can to come back to you."

Lauré nodded and then turned, her head bowed low as she picked her way back across the moor. Hal watched her go. Dusk was falling, braziers burning bright against the sky's void. She turned to push aside swathes of tanned leather and canvas, stepping into the relative warmth and haze of her tent.

"And me?" said Meracad, rising. "Will my love keep you safe?"

"You heard?"

"Enough. Enough to know you're wrong. It'll break her heart if Magda dies."

"Meracad..." Hal reached for her lover in the darkness, but Meracad shrank back. "There's no other way," Hal said.

"I think, Hal, you might have that phrase tattooed across your forehead like one of Kris's mercenaries. It's what you always say at times like this. There's no other way. There's always another way. You just refuse to see it."

"Really? Truly? Then perhaps you might have shared your strategy for victory with us sooner."

"We demand a parley. We send ambassadors in to negotiate with Castor. He's surrounded. He must see that."

"He has food, Meracad! He can afford to wait while we starve. And if Castor were the kind of man given to negotiation, Hannac would still be our home!"

"But I don't want you to go!" Meracad crumpled suddenly, breaking down in tears. "You have no idea, Hal. No idea how much this pains me! To have lost you, to have found you again and now...for you to walk right back towards death again."