“Brennan and I will remain for another month at least,” said Kehinde. “We’ll be assisting the locals as they draw up a charter for the governance of Lutetia. You can find us if you need us.”
“May Fortune smile on you in your search,” added Brennan.
Bee led the way with a lantern. We ventured through the shattered remains of the grand encampment that days ago had been the scene of so much life. A scorched vendor’s cart lay tipped over, wheels broken. A dog nosed through the ashy remains of rounds of cheese. The shine of my candle’s flame surprised a scurry of rats swarming a corpse, burrowing in through eyes and mouth. Thin children knelt beside a soldier, tugging a ring and a watch from the body.
Lights rose and fell as might tiny fire boats atop waves, marking the paths of men and women who also searched. We discovered a half-conscious man with a crushed foot and torn scalp. This nameless soldier Rory and I hauled awkwardly between us as he slipped in and out of awareness, calling for his mother. He was a Lutetian, no taller than me, and very young. I could not bear to leave him, and I was grateful when we found an old man driving a cart with wounded men in it bound for Red Mount. We sat on the tailgate and bumped along, helping the man gather in more wounded until the wagon was full.
On the Cena Road, men with lanterns were pulling corpses off the road to allow traffic through. Bee tied her shawl over her mouth and nose. “Doesn’t the stench trouble you, Cat?”
“I don’t have the leisure to be troubled.” I hopped off the wagon and hailed an older man with an avuncular face. “What happened here, Uncle?”
“The Tarrant lord Marius and his troop made their last stand, is what happened. Too bad, for he fought well.”
“Is the lord dead?”
“How should I know, lass? I heard he was chopped to pieces, and I heard he was wounded and carried off by the Iberians. This is no place for lasses on a night when men are drunk with blood and victory.”
“I’m looking for my husband.”
He sighed. “May the Three Mothers aid you in your search, then. Good fortune.”
As he trudged away, I called after the wagon. “Rory! Bee! Bring the lantern. We’ll know a cold mage is close if the flame dies.”