It had been a while since Josuke Chikanari had had time for a ride like this.
Not a hurried one, with orders snapping back and forth and scouts darting ahead like nervous birds. Not a ride hemmed in by walls or narrow passes where every hoofbeat had to be measured.
Just open land, damp from rain, the road stretching ahead and the wind pushing lightly against his cloak.
He laughed under his breath at the sly thought that slipped through his mind.
It might be the last one.
The idea lingered there for a moment, stubborn as a burr caught in wool.
Josuke shook his head slightly.
Pessimism had no place with them today.
Behind him, the column stretched along the road in uneven lines, dark figures against the pale morning light. Horses snorted softly. Leather creaked. The low rhythm of hooves on damp earth rose and fell like a quiet drum.
All the resistance of Karun was riding to war.
Well. Not all.
Twenty had stayed behind in the mountains, guarding what remained and keeping watch over the powder stores. Someone had to ensure the last hope of Karun did not vanish in a careless moment.
But nearly two hundred were riding now.
Two hundred men who had spent years hiding in caves, barns, and abandoned halls. Two hundred who had sharpened blades in silence and waited for the day when silence would no longer be required.
Josuke glanced back once, briefly.
The column bent around a shallow curve in the road. Riders moved in pairs and small groups, speaking quietly when they spoke at all. Most did not. The mood was too steady for chatter.
They had the gunpowder.
They had the weapons.
That had to be enough.
His gaze drifted ahead again.
Hopefully Rii had made contact with Mino's group by now. If not, Mino would likely head into the corridor—Eguchi thought—and they would meet somewhere around there.
Unless Mino kept going.
Which would be the most irresponsible option on the map.
Josuke scowled faintly to himself.
He could picture the route as clearly as if the lines were still spread across the table in Sarai. The burned southern forest, the narrow break between the trees, the long slope toward the capital beyond. Every path had been traced and retraced until the ink itself had begun to fade.
Mino knew the plan.
Everyone knew the plan.
Still…
Mino Harai had never been famous for obeying plans when curiosity got the better of him.
Josuke exhaled slowly and adjusted the reins in his hands.
Something shifted in the corner of his eye. He glanced over.
Eguchi rode beside him with the same quiet steadiness he carried everywhere. The older man's posture had not changed since they left the mountains, though the hours had stretched longer than anyone liked to admit.
"Tired?" Eguchi asked quietly.
Josuke laughed.
"Alive," he snorted.
Eguchi smiled, the expression brief but genuine.
"Good."
For a few moments they rode in silence again.
The clouds had begun to thin since morning. Strips of pale sunlight slipped between them, touching the wet fields beyond the road. Somewhere far behind the column a rider called out to another. The sound carried forward and then disappeared beneath the steady rhythm of hooves.
Josuke felt the weight of the sword at his side shift slightly with the movement of the horse.
Two hundred riders.
Gunpowder hidden in the packs.
A corridor ahead.
War, finally, instead of waiting.
He lifted his eyes toward the road and urged his horse a little faster.
The others followed without needing to be told.
~~~
They waited until the gorge went quiet.
Not quiet in the way it had been during the night, when every drop of rain and shift of stone had seemed like a warning. This quiet was different. The kind that settled after movement had passed through a place and continued on.
Kishi stood near the mouth of the gorge and watched the empty ground beyond it.
Taro stayed where she had told him to stay.
The splint she had made held his ankle steady enough that the pain no longer flashed every time he breathed. It was still there, though, a deep, dull pressure that reminded him with every shift of weight that running through ravines had been a poor idea.
He watched Kishi. She had not moved for several minutes.
Finally, though, she turned.
"They are gone."
The words came flatly, like the conclusion of a calculation.
Taro let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Good."
Kishi walked toward the horse.
The animal lifted its head as she approached, ears flicking once. It did not shy away. Kishi reached out and caught the reins, unlooping them from the narrow spur of rock where she had tied them.
Taro pushed himself carefully to his feet.
The ground tilted for a moment when his weight settled onto the injured ankle. He steadied himself with one hand against the stone wall and waited until the pain settled back into its slow throb.
Then he limped toward her.
The horse was broad-backed, dark-coated, and entirely uninterested in either of them. It lowered its head again as if the world had already become tedious.
Taro looked at the saddle.
Right. He knew how to do this.
He placed his good foot in the stirrup and pushed.
The attempt failed immediately.
His injured leg refused to take the weight and he dropped back to the ground before he had even lifted himself halfway.
Kishi watched.
He tried again.
This time he made it slightly farther before the same sharp jolt shot through his ankle and forced him back down.
Taro stepped away from the stirrup and rubbed his forehead.
"Um…hang on."
Kishi did not comment.
He tried a third time.
The result was exactly the same.
Before he could step away again, her hand caught his arm.
The grip was sudden and strong.
"Hold," she said.
He grabbed the saddle automatically.
Kishi shoved upward. Hard. Roughly. And inconveniently.
Taro scrambled awkwardly into the saddle before he could argue. The movement jarred his ankle hard enough that his vision blurred for a second, but when it cleared he found himself sitting where he was supposed to be.
He looked down.
"Thank you."
Kishi had already stepped back. Taro gathered the reins loosely and glanced at her.
"You're coming."
She shook her head. "No."
Taro blinked.
"No?"
"I run."
He stared.
"You're joking."
Kishi did not appear to find the idea amusing.
"I will keep pace."
Taro looked at the horse. Then back at her.
"That's not how this works," he muttered, half to himself, half to her.
She tilted her head slightly.
"I have run farther."
The calm certainty in her voice made it difficult to argue.
Unfortunately, he had to.
Even if she was the rakhai.
"Kishi," he said carefully, "the capital is a day away."
That was what he thought, anyway. He hadn't been there since…since…
But he'd heard plenty about it.
"Yes." She locked eyes with him.
It struck him that maybe she had never been there at all.
"If I ride slowly enough that you can run beside the horse the whole time–"
"I will not slow you."
"You will," he said, too sharply for his own comfort.
She said nothing.
Taro sighed and adjusted the reins again. They felt good in his hands.
"If we ride together, we get there faster."
"No."
The refusal came instantly.
He frowned.
"Why not?"
Kishi glanced at the horse. The look she gave it was not the one she used when watching enemies or animals in the forest. It was sharper. Suspicious.
Taro followed her gaze.
Another thought occurred to him.
He looked back at her.
"You've never ridden before."
Kishi's eyes snapped to his face.
"Of course I have."
"You're standing on the wrong side."
She glanced down.
Then immediately stepped around the horse to the correct side as if she had intended to do that all along.
Taro waited.
Kishi looked at the stirrup.
Then at the saddle.
Then at the horse's head, as if confirming the creature had not changed shape in the last ten seconds.
Taro tried not to smile.
"You haven't," he said quietly.
Her eyes narrowed.
"I have no reason to."
"That's fair."
The horse shifted its weight and exhaled softly.
Kishi's hand rested briefly on the saddle. The tension in her shoulders was subtle but unmistakable.
"You will fall," she said.
"I won't."
"You are already injured."
"That's why I'm on the horse."
The silence stretched.
Finally Taro cleared his throat.
"If we don't move soon, Tadashi might decide to come back and see where Genjo's horse went."
That landed.
Kishi's gaze shifted toward the open land beyond the gorge. For a moment she seemed to weigh the distance, the time, the possibility of riders appearing again.
Then she stepped closer.
"Move."
He shifted slightly in the saddle.
Kishi grabbed the back of the saddle and pulled herself up in a single smooth motion.
The horse reacted immediately.
It shifted sideways, surprised by the unfamiliar weight. Taro grabbed the mane instinctively as the animal snorted and stamped once.
Kishi froze. Her hands tightened around herself like they could hold her there.
The horse settled again after a moment, ears flicking back and forth as if mildly offended.
Taro glanced over his shoulder.
Kishi sat very straight behind him, leaving as much distance between them as the saddle allowed. Her expression had gone completely still. Her legs rigid around the horse.
Taro suppressed another laugh.
Hopefully she couldn't read that much of his mind, or he was probably about to be dead.
Thankfully, she was distracted.
"You see?" Her upper cheekbones twisted like she was scowling. "Not…enough room."
"It's fine."
Kishi did not appear convinced.
Taro nudged the horse gently.
The animal stepped forward.
Kishi made a small sound.
He pretended not to notice.
They rode slowly out of the gorge.
The open ground beyond it felt wider than it had that morning. The mist had lifted almost entirely now, leaving the hills pale beneath the growing light.
Taro guided the horse onto the narrow path that wound away from the rocks.
Behind him Kishi remained silent.
For a few moments.
"This is…not normal," she hissed into the air behind him.
Taro almost laughed.
"That's called walking."
"Hm."
The horse flicked its tail. They continued south.
Somewhere in that direction, Taro guessed, the capital was waiting.