“Right all, for our part, the squadron’s drill is simple: same delegations as last time, we each take to the field and create interest to draw a carrior. I am on Team Sound again, everyone else in the same positions as last time. You two, guard the munitions experts no matter what happens. No coming in to intervene – even if you think there is danger for the squadron at any time. Your prince commands it. But let nothing happen to these experts.” At last, his eyes found hers for a moment, but he looked away quickly. “All clear?”
“All clear, Your Highness.”
“Good.” He rode out first, not needing to look and confirm everyone rushing to follow him. They had dressed him as a hero today, and he looked it – plated armour coloured red with a gold badge to the right of the chest, his black hair freshly washed and gleaming. He looked like a knight from a storybook. Ash cleared her throat and spurred her horse on, so she wouldn’t fall too far behind.
There was a white jousters’ tent in front of them, perched on the edge of an arid, uneventful strip of ground. Opposite, a desultory cluster of nobles sat on benches beneath a long, rectangular tent. To Ash, they looked absurdly overdressed and a little lost – and not a single Faireweather among them. Somewhat more confidently posted was a striped royal palanquin next to them, bunting flapping gaily, in which the king sat glowering, blonde forelock in place, like a child in his fort. He and everyone else was looking onto the empty piece of ground, and Ash had to remind herself that she might be about to die, to keep herself from smirking.
The duke pulled his horse up, and gestured to one of the armoured guards, nodding for them to dismount. As they did so, the same colourfully dressed man from last night, even more colourfully dressed now, walked to stand before what was passing for the “crowd” and began to hail them as learned experts, “dangerous in the art of killing monstrous flying beasts”, hailing from far and wide to demonstrate their “craft” to the castle.
“Who is he talking about again?” muttered Derrick as the nobles clapped wanly. It was clearly a difficult job to get them truly excited about two people they had seen at breakfast every day for a week.
At the duke’s nod, Ash and the rest of the party walked to stand directly in front of the king’s palanquin. Absurdly, one of the guards came with a frayed cushion and, on top of it, were Ash and Derrick’s crossbows. They hadn’t seen them since their first day in the castle, and as Ash looked at them, she felt the sheer weight of what they were about to do come crashing down on her. She had never “performed” for anyone else like this before – what if something were to go wrong?
The man with the cushion knelt awkwardly with a metallic clang on the ground, and the duke passed them their crossbows and the small amount of iron bolts they had had with them. “Go with God and with the Path!” the duke shouted to no one in particular and went to stand at the palanquin.
Ash and Derrick bowed and, as the prince and his men rode up, made a show of bowing and curtseying to them too. Rize, at least, got some applause, and he raised a hand in thanks without smiling. For the first time, Ash noticed how unified he and his team were, how clearly absolute their loyalty to Rize was without him ever having to raise his voice. She watched as they all dismounted at exactly the same time effortlessly, walking out into the centre of the field. The prince pointed various people into various positions, and a hush fell.
What happened next seemed completely bizarre to Ash. All at once, and with completely serious faces, the men began causing pandemonium. Rize and the five or so men standing nearest to him began shouting and clanging on things, while a little further away five more men pulled looking glasses out into the sunlight and began flashing them about, also yelling. A third group nearby unceremoniously dropped a rank-smelling armload of offal into the sand.
“What are they doing?” Derrick whispered out of the side of his mouth; still trying to look like a smiling munitions expert with the side of his face that faced the king’s palanquin.
“I think they’re trying to call carriors.”
“What a nice problem to have.”
It seemed to have worked – less than five minutes later, they all heard the raspy, throaty “caw” of a carrior not too far away. The nobles squirmed, tittering nervously, in their seats.
“Listen Ash, we don’t have many bolts here – four each at most. We’re going to have to make them count.”
“Agreed. I only have three. What’s the plan?”
But before Derrick could answer, it was upon them.
The carrior must have come out of the sun for, suddenly, it was everywhere, swooping down from behind the nobles’ tent towards the field so fast she could not breathe. Its shadow covered the ground, almost close enough to take them, when it pulled up and circled around. Magnificent, crisp swirls of black and white marked the feathers of the bird, as big as a murderous, flying horse. Magpie, a portion of Ash’s brain told her, though the rest of her could not think.
The shape seared the whole world into sudden blinding focus, backlit by nobles’ screams. Just a few days in a castle had made Ash soft – she felt her whole chest and throat constrict in fear at the sight of the huge thing and felt, rather than heard, a thin whimper come from her as the carrior circled around.
The prince had made some convoluted hand signal to his men and had taken a looking glass from one man. Behind him, each of the men were slowly drawing dull-coloured blankets onto their shoulders and walking backward towards the white jousters” tent as he sparkled brightly in his armour in the sun.
“Derrick, what’s the plan? The prince will leave the field last, we need to distract this thing.”
“I’m thinking Ash! I’ve faced as many magpies as you.”
Which was to say – none. Neither of them had been bright or shiny or plump enough to attract magpies in their foraging, but apparently the castle did so regularly. Without having to agree on it, they both began walking at the same time towards the area directly below the shape circling in the sky.
“Rize, get off this field.”
“Not without my men. Magpies are crafty ones, and quick. I recognise this one – it’s particularly aggressive. She often attacks with – woah!”
Out of nowhere, a second magpie swooped at the guard closest to Rize. Thick, dark talons the colour of cold ashes knocked him over easily, despite his armour. Before Ash could think, her hand shot out, holding its stubby Expansion iron blade. As if from outside herself, she watched her arm come down and hack at the foot of the bird.
It darted away, screeching. With an “oof” the man was down on the floor, stunned but alive. The other magpie, the first one, was swooping close now. Without asking, Ash ripped the helmet from the head of the stunned man and through it, gleaming, into the air. In the precious second it caught the magpie’s shine-loving gaze, she turned to Rize.
“How similar to crows or ravens?”
“Very. Closer to crows I think.”
“Good. Give me your sword and that looking glass.”
“But –”
“Rize, I swear I am not trying to un-man you on the field. I just know how to do this, and you don’t. trust me. Please.”
To his credit, the prince gaze Ash his sword in front of his father and onlookers and everything. She nodded her thanks, then turned on her heel just as the enormous magpie landed on the ground yards away with a force that seemed to shake the earth.
It – she – was beautiful, even Ash could see that. The milky white that splashed her beak, neck and sides sparkled against the pitch-black gloss of her plumage. Beautiful, except for the murderous orange eyes that were trained on Ash before the bird launched again into the sky.
Now that she knew what she was dealing with, she knew what would happen next, and felt the reassuring pressure of Derrick’s back come up against hers as they moved in a slow circle, crossbows raised.
Out from the blinding sun came the carrior’s mate, directly above them. At the same time, they each let one crossbow bolt fly.
The wounded bird was flapping jaggedly away, but the female was not. Screaming with rage and fury it hurtled at them faster than thought, coming so low to the ground that its murderous long tail swept the white jousters” tent onto its side as though it were nothing but a handkerchief. Inside it, guards were shouting, trapped, the bright sound of their fear only encouraging the bird on.
“The wing!” Derrick was yelling. “Let’s get it to the ground!” Before she could stop him, he darted out in front of the carrior and jumped, shooting a bolt mid-air in a perfect line right at the bird’s wing. For a moment it occurred to Ash just how good he had become, and how strong, his aim true as any knight’s, sunlight dancing off his chestnut hair as he landed on his feet again.
The bird let out a blood-curdling shriek, Derrick’s bolt firmly lodged in the meaty connecting tissue between right wing and side, and it flailed to the ground, shrieking again as it landed on the leg Ash had stabbed.
Unfortunately, it landed too close. Rize was directly in its path and he jumped, but the other wing flapped out and sent him flying. The bird turned to face the prince, lying half-insensible in the dirt.
“Derrick! Help!”
Ash ran as she had never run in her life. She ran straight towards her partner, her childhood friend, standing just a few feet closer to her than the prince and, directly behind Derrick, the bird.
Through some alchemy, he understood. He somehow knew what she was going to do even as she ran full speed straight into him. At the last second, Derrick ducked down and laced his hands together. As she jumped, he caught her foot and launched her up.
What the crowd must have seen, Ash had no idea. An airborne, screaming, flying maniac in lurid red and yellow. But for her, it was a moment in full colour and one of the brightest, fiercest moments of her life.
She vaulted into the air and landed, yelling, on the confused bird’s back, fingers scrabbling wildly to try and find purchase in the soft, glossy feathers. All the world was black and white, and Ash could do nothing but hold on as the “winged monster” for seconds that felt like months, as it bucked beneath her like an infernal horse.
“Now!”
Slowly Ash’s head cleared. She looked up. It was Rize, he was on his feet again, shouting to one of his men who hadn’t managed to get trapped in the tent.
“Throw me a rope!”
Once he had it, the prince circled around and threw the rope, which somehow Derrick caught on the far side of the bird.
There was only a moment where the bird was immobilised before it shook them off, but it was enough. Ash lurched around to face the back of the bird’s head and, without thinking, took her crossbow and shot it straight through its skull.
It juddered, splattering bright red across the pristine white tent in front o f it, then was still. Everything in the world went still.
“Hear hear! Hear HEAR!”
Who was shouting? Ash untangled herself from the feathers, stumbling from the carrior’s back, in time to see the king, out of his palanquin, striding towards them. She thought he was coming for his son, for Rize, but he stepped right up to her and grabbed her hand, raising it like a champion knight’s high into the sky.
The nobles screamed with applause and, to her right, even Rize and Derrick were clapping. Ash smiled, tried for a curtsey, and promptly fainted on the tournament floor.
Chapter Twelve
Who did this
Brown eyes, black eyes. Two blurry heads, one dark and pale as winter and one like autumn.
“Ash?” said one or both of the blurry heads.
“What happened?”
“You sort of fainted.”
“And the king has approved castle-wide production of Expansion iron crossbows and bolts. That also happened.”
Ten minutes later the four of them were back in the same room where she had been shouting in in her undergarments just an hour ago. The duke, Rize and Derrick didn’t seem to be feeling as shaky and weak as she was. They were talking loudly, faces bright:
“I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“Nor I. The way you two moved, and for two birds too! Ash, the way you launched yourself at that thing, I thought for sure it was over…”
“What about Derrick, jumping and shooting like that? Good lord…”
Derrick looked pleased as peaches with the whole conversation. “Well, it was our first magpie situation,” he said as shyly as any maiden. “I’m just pleased no one lost any men.”
“I’ve never seen my father so exhilarated – he normally sleeps through duels and jousts. I think he misses his own days fighting out in the fields, he did a tour in our army when he was young. You couldn’t have gone about getting him interested better – he’s virtually going to be demanding Expansion iron bolts by the end of the week!” Rize laughed, seeming unfazed by how close he had come to dying on that field.
The duke was smiling too. “You both did excellently.”
Ash just nodded, feeling like water tipped out on the floor. The boys, still jostling each other and patting shoulders, started to walk out the room. Ash followed behind, no longer caring about the ridiculous red and yellow costume she was in. She just wanted quiet, somewhere peaceful to wash the blood off of her, and to sleep.
Before she would let herself do so, there was one thing still on her mind. Pushing through her exhaustion, she stalked through the corridors, trying to remember the way to her destination by recalling the sullen, guilty look on Derrick’s face the day she’d caught him sneaking around.
At last she found it and rapped on the door.
Mary Faireweather’s eyes widened at the sight of blood-splattered Ash in her soon-to-be-vacated chambers, but she said nothing. Ash sank onto a chair and said what she had been thinking since the morning.
“I thought all ladies were trained basic self-defence in their lessons. Yesterday, someone assured me this wasn’t the case.”
Mary Fairewether blanched further, eyes almost popping out her head, but Ash carried on.
“The conversation yesterday, it made me think of you. Meet me in my room for supper tonight. I’ll ask the kitchens to bring food up to my room for us both. I have some basic self-defence that I thought you already knew, that I’d like to teach you.”
Before the lady could answer, the munitions expert trudged out her rooms to bathe in peace.
***
The next morning dawned unclouded and hot, with Ash and forty other people outside the castle walls by the time the first rays of dawn were just pinkening the edges of the sky.
“Alright, who has dug the ground before?” Derrick was asking twenty or so men in the crowd, with one or two hands going up. “My team’s goal today is to extract enough clumps of iron from the ground to fashion picks. It won’t be easy, but when we have Expansion iron picks it will go a lot faster.”
Ash nodded and turned to the rest. “Everyone else, we’ll be doing target practise with the two crossbows we have, just to get you used to them. Derrick will be helping you make them tomorrow, as I don’t have the first idea how to do it, and then we’ll start training properly. I plan to have each of you kill a carrior of your own by the end of the month.”
They were dark words, but the men smiled readily at Ash and bustled about chatting, as they got ready for their first practise. Perhaps it was just being outside two days in a row for the first time in who knows how long – she could feel the tension of those castle walls rolling off of her too.
In the distance, Ash could just make out four or so palfreys cantering towards the horizon. The Faireweathers – riding out into uncertainty with no carriage, no guards and no royal favour. At least with a daughter with some rudimentary dagger skills and evasion tactics among them. I
n her heart, Ash wished them well.
A thwang sound rang through the air behind her, and Ash turned to see a man at the front of the two lines queueing before two targets had loosed the very first arrow. She nodded to him, smiling. He walked to the back of the queue as the second man took aim with the crossbow.
“You’ll notice that we’re doing this outside, in the very same field as yesterday,” said Ash walking between the two columns. “You’ll also have noticed that there are no glass ceilings here, or Pathfinder magic to protect you. At any moment, a carrior could come winging down on us. Good. You’ll have to be prepared for that in real life, so you may as well start getting used to it now. Just for today, if anyone so much as thinks that they see a carrior on the horizon, you inform Derrick and I immediately and give us the crossbows to handle. Until then, gentlemen, let fly!”
And they did. Crossbow bolt after bolt went singing through the air and, slowly, Ash watched the stiffness go from their shoulders. In just a few hours, whichever two men happened to be at the front of the columns could be seen chatting with one another, gesturing comfortably with the crossbows as if they were extensions of their arms. It was good, and Ash caught Derrick’s eye and smiled.
“Alright, I think we’ve had enough for one day. Once we’re back inside, Derrick will teach you how to –”
“Excuse me, my la – um, Miss – but this man here says he heard a carrior.”
“It was faint-like, but I heard it coming from back there.”
As if to prove his words, a raven carrior burst into view as it flew out from behind the nearest castle wall, screeching.
The world lurched into slow motion for a moment, as Ash saw with sudden clarity the frightened, young face of the guard standing closest to her, face upturned to the monster in the sky.
Then, abruptly, the world returned to normal. Just as she was grabbing her crossbow from the guard, the carrior changed direction sharply and winged its way right over them and out of sight, scooping dangerously low to the ground for some other prize out of view.
Ashes Slowly Fall Page 10
