"We should return to the capitol. This was a mistake."
The wagon drivers were standing about like country louts. Fools for confusion and horror. Perhaps they were. Country louts, not fools. Yet he couldn't excuse them for it. Difficult times demanded strong men, and if they were not strong men, they belonged with these other dead swords on the side of a road that until today held no meaning or purpose other than the bland purpose of any other road. Eragos lifted his flambard out of the snow with a hard stare. In the pure water turned frozen flakes the blade had taken on a mirror polish all its own. Perhaps he was imagining it. Saddlebags, gone. His cloak wet and thin against the cold. Under it he wore nothing but the short, long-sleeved coat and breeches he'd purchased in the capitol. And yet the hard spirit of war was still alive in him.
He would think that a monarch could summon more of it.
"Forgive my impertinence, your highness," Eragos ground the tip of the sword into the hard-packed ice at the edge of the road and rested his hands on the pommel. "But whoever is tracking you will expect one of two movements. Onward, along this route, or back to the capitol. The citadel no longer offers the safety of its walls, not when an entire company of men can be corrupted to such a foul purpose. And in your own home."
The sting of hard wind on his forehead, the rush of blood in his ears, all of it gave him more courage than he should have possessed in the here and now. He was nothing to this king, and less to the White Rider that advised the king. Yet he could not let this foolishness proceed.
"And if you'll forgive me a second time, highness, danger cannot move you from this path. Danger brought you to it. Danger to your people, danger to your home. Seeking safety now would be to abandon your duty as the ruler of your lands."
Such a hard look came from this monarch that Eragos almost offered to wander off alone, himself, into the great white wild. Certainly it was preferrable to receiving death at the order of the king. Something in him did not doubt this man's courage. He'd gone out in the battle to find his daughter, to protect her. There was nothing wrong with his nerve. The naked blade looked right in his hand, even if he was a decade or two beyond his prime years. There was still courage in him, and strength to do what was necessary to secure the peace of his home. Later, perhaps, there would be time to count the cost. Every second they tarried on the road was another second they-
"You chose him well enough, didn't you?" the king asked with a touch of asperity in his voice. "You're both right. We'll leave the wagons and continue on across country. I know my own lowlands better than these ruffians. You men, drivers! Unhitch the horses! Take saddles from these poor dead beasts if you have to."
"Oh, you're hurt," and the princess' hand found his jaw to tilt his head down. "Isn't there anything you can do for him, Vera?"
"It's nothing," he muttered, and then added in a clearer voice, "My lady."