In the Dark

Chapter 2

Riccardo's arm was jostled with every step his gryphon took under him. It had taken an hour for it to become unbearable, and gritting his teeth against the pain was no longer enough to get him through. Flying would make for a smoother ride, and he considered it but lost his voice every time he looked at the back of his father's head. His father would not likely take to the idea.

"Our place is at the front," his father told him once. "That is where a leader should be. Would you have someone else take your place at the helm? To do so would show weakness."

His father certainly had strong opinions on what a leader should be, and where they should be, and Riccardo knew asking for the relief flying would provide would only earn him the same comments that were typical of situations before.

There would be no mercy for him, now, either. And so he bit his tongue and rode wearily at his father's flank, thankful that Taizong, at least, had a much smoother gait than the earth-shakingly heavy footfalls of the giant maned elk. Taizong moved much more cat-like, stalking over the ground in light and rhythmic steps. The maned elk were like boulders in the way they simply mowed everything in their path with their large, cloven hooves.

Despite Taizong's smooth gait, Riccardo could feel himself beginning to feel sick at the pain in his shoulder. He didn't have to wonder if anyone else was struggling with the pace, though. His ears turned to face behind him at the sound of soft complaints among their soldiers. Pitiful, little moans of complaint escaped their people at the roughness of the road on their injured bodies. He heard someone in the back complain to another of hunger. They hadn't brought nearly enough blood for how many were injured in the fight.

"Father," Riccardo called. Finding his voice finally. He nudged Taizong to speed up to be right at his father's side. "Will we be making camp at sunrise?"

Demetri looked across at Riccardo, their eyes level from the back of their respective mounts. "No," Demetri answered shortly. "We'll ride through the day."

Riccardo wasn't surprised, but he was frustrated with the short answer. "Can't you hear our soldiers," he asked, lowly, knowing better than to allow too much audience in on this conversation.

"Making camp will not fill their stomachs," Demetri said, eyes narrowing slightly. "Their best chance is to get them home as quickly as possible."

"Traveling will only make it worse," Riccardo continued to argue.

"Until you are king, you do not make decisions," Demetri said, lip curling slightly back over his fangs.

Riccardo could feel the anger rising in his chest, but beyond his father's gaze, he could see the eyes now on him as well. Ivan's and Ruben's both with unreadable gazes, mirroring his father's. It deflated him immediately, and he looked forward again. "Yes, father," he said.

It was enough to end the argument.

Behind the head of the army, Riccardo could still hear the groans and moans of their soldiers, though, and he commiserated with them as his own injury throbbed and complained with every step. Despite this, he didn't dare say another word against his father's decision. Whether he liked it or not, the plan was made with no room for his arguing.

--

Despite everyone's wishes against it, the journey home was not without incident. For several hours, the army made the slow journey over bumpy, poorly tended roads that often were lost to them in the snowy landscape of their homeland. Their only saving grace was that they were less than two days from their home. However, against the cold and bumps of the wagon wheels against the ground, the hungry and injured vampires had poor resilience.