Florian Laveaux's Arc

Chapter 11 of 12

They rode hard down the cart tracks, following the deep ruts south through the pass. The mountain walls narrowed around them. Griffin rode point with Daveth. Niniva and Leandre flanked the prince. Florian kept close to BelloSaros, machete drawn, the horse blowing hard beneath him. The tracks grew fresher. Broken shell fragments littered the road. Then Florian saw it ahead through a gap in the rocks: a wooden cart heaped with pale eggs, driven by a hooded figure in black, the horse whipped to a run. BelloSaros shouted the charge. Arrows came from the rocks above before the words finished. Cultists in dark robes rose from the ledges on either side, bows drawn. Daveth wheeled his horse and loosed an arrow up the slope. A robed archer fell. Niniva drove her horse straight at the cart. Leandre raised his round shield and covered her flank. Griffin cut left toward the rocks, sword out, aiming to break the line of archers. Florian heard the arrow before he saw it. A hard, wet sound. BelloSaros grunted and slumped in the saddle. The shaft stood out from his chest, high on the left side, near the heart. His shield arm dropped. Florian caught the prince by the belt before he fell. "Get him out," Daveth shouted. He loosed again. Another cultist dropped from the rocks. "Ride back to camp. Now." Florian pulled BelloSaros against him and turned the horse. Niniva's voice cut across the pass, flat and clear. "Go. We hold the cart." Griffin looked back once. His face did not change. He gave a short nod and rode at the archers. Florian kicked the horse hard and ran north the way they had come, one arm locked around the prince, the other on the reins. BelloSaros breathed in short, wet pulls. Blood soaked through the blue tunic and ran down Florian's wrist. He reached camp at dusk. He dragged the prince from the saddle onto the bedroll inside the tent. He cut the tunic away with his machete. The arrow had gone in shallow, turned on a rib. Not the heart. He broke the shaft, held the wound closed, and worked the head out with his fingers. BelloSaros bit down on a leather strap and did not cry out. Florian packed the wound with yarrow from his basket, then mugwort, then feverfew. He stitched it with a curved needle and gut thread. He bound the chest tight with clean linen. BelloSaros slept. His breathing evened. Florian sat beside him and watched the tent flap for the others. Hours passed. Griffin came in first, sword still in hand, blood on his sleeve that was not his. Daveth followed. Then Niniva and Leandre, dragging the hooded driver bound at the wrists. The cart was theirs. The eggs were safe. And the man who had taken them was alive to be questioned.