by Shannon Hale
“Undone,” said Selia, as if the word were a mournful song.
It all happened in a moment. Ungolad growled, his voice touching every corner of the chamber. He raised his sword and ran to Ani, hacking down at her neck. The blade was caught and slowed by Ani’s twisting, invisible armor, and she had a moment to turn away from his stroke. His sword came down hard on the stone floor. Ani swung around to face him again. She held the winds circling her body and searched the room for more, but his blow had disrupted and loosed some. The Bayern soldiers stood as if bewitched, watching the strange wind, their sword tips resting on the ground. She saw Ungolad’s eyes. He would strike again.
“Geric,” she said, and turned to see him already advancing, shouting a warrior’s cry as he ran. But he was too far away. Ungolad ignored him and raised his sword again.
“Ungolad!”
Ungolad stopped his stroke at the familiar voice. He turned and looked. Talone stood in the doorway, the swords of soldiers pointed at his chest and the soldiers looking to the king for sign of what to do.
Talone, red faced and sweating, shouted as though over a great din, though the hall was quiet, the soldiers confused. He banged his sword on his shield and shouted, desperate to keep Ungolad’s attention. “Come on, you mercenary, you coward, you slayer of cook-men and women without weapon. Fight me! Fight me!”
Ungolad’s snarl changed to a smile, and his eyes betrayed a loss and a madness that Ani had never before seen. He rushed to his former captain, and the guards released Talone to meet Ungolad’s strike with his own sword. Behind them, struggling through the crowded corridor came the workers, lifting crooks and staffs and shouting, “For her! For the yellow lady! For the princess!”
The shout broke the silence. The soldiers raised weapons and the Kildenreans charged, hacking their blades at any who stood near them, hoping to cut down others before they were cut down themselves. Instantly battle was engaged. Every Kildenrean fought, and for every Bayern two more soldiers stood at his back. Terne killed his soldier and met Ani’s eyes. He advanced, his anger and desperation pushed before him like a hot breath. He knocked aside one soldier with his shield arm, and he pointed his sword at Ani. Her skirts were still now. Her wind had dissipated into a coolness on her face. She backed away and stumbled against the dais steps. She looked around her for a weapon and found none. And then Geric was there.
“I will have you, little prince,” said Terne.
Geric raised his sword against Terne’s attack. Terne leapt forward and then stopped, his eyes suddenly like a fish’s, dim and shallow. He fell forward from the impact of the javelin in his back. Ani blinked. Razo stood several paces behind him, his arm still outstretched with the throw, a look of wonder and horror heavy on his young face.
Geric pulled Ani to her feet and put his shield arm around her protectively. They were in the midst of battle. On all sides sounded the deadly rings of sword on sword, the dull thuds as javelins met flesh, the eerie echoes of groans, and the grim noise a weapon makes when it breaks skin and cracks bones. A Kildenrean rushed toward them with sword flashing. Geric parried his blows and kicked him away, backing Ani toward the wall.
“Are you all right?” he said.
“Yes.”
He held her closer and pressed his cheek against her head. She closed her eyes briefly at the comfort of his touch, her heart warming at the feel of his exhale on her brow.
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes again to look over the scene. Everywhere, Kildenreans sprawled motionless on the floor. Hul lay in a heap, his head bowed over his death wound. Redmon and Uril were lifeless bodies at the feet of the king’s soldiers. But several combats still raged, and the sight of one of these dried the exclamation on Ani’s tongue. She pressed Geric’s arm and pointed.
In the center of the room, Talone barely met Ungolad’s onslaught. He was on his knees, defending with shield and sword, being pushed down to the ground. He grabbed Ungolad and held him close, their swords locked. Talone’s sword gave a little, and Ungolad’s blade entered his shoulder. Ungolad withdrew it, bright with Talone’s blood, and shouted a laugh.
“Here!” said Geric. The prince ran to Ungolad, hoping to distract him with a new enemy before he could finish the job of death. “Here, I will fight you.”
Ungolad nodded. “Yes, you. You would have touched Selia. You would have shared her bed.” Ungolad’s face became serious. Without seeming to move, he swept his blade before him. Geric was there with his own blade, and the two met with a clash like a bell to battle. The prince was taller than Ungolad and nearly as broad, but Ani thought it likely that Geric’s swordplay had never left the training fields, while Ungolad was an experienced killer.
Ani looked to make certain that Talone was out of danger. Two soldiers near him had taken hold of his shoulders and legs and carried him from the room. None stepped forward to aid the prince in his fight against Ungolad, so Ani grabbed a javelin from a fallen guard and prepared to join the fray. Two pairs of hands grabbed her shoulders and stopped her short. She protested and turned to see two of the king’s guards. They pulled her back against the wall.
“Princess Anidori,” said one, “you’ll stay with us. The king wants you safe.”
“But, Geric. Why do you all stand still and let that traitor fight him?”
The older of the two shook his head. “It’s the prince’s battle and his first. It’s his honor, and I won’t interfere.”
The cacophony of many battles died out, leaving only one. The bodies of Kildenreans were scattered across the floor. The soldiers of Bayern stepped back toward the walls, creating an open circle in the center of the room like a stage. Ungolad did not look around to see his fallen comrades. His eyes never left Geric’s, and he swung his sword with strength and confidence, pushing Geric back and down, down, the broad man standing over him and striking again, again, again. They locked swords, and Ungolad curled back his lips in an animal grin and spat in the prince’s face.
“I fight a boy,” said Ungolad. “She would never love a boy.” Spittle dripped off his lip.
The soldier holding Ani groaned. The room was breathless. The king, his brow wet and his sword tip dripping blood, took one step forward and hesitated. Ungolad pressed, and Geric was pushed to his knees, their arms shaking, their faces sweating with exhaustion and pain. Ungolad raised his shield arm and struck Geric in the head. He fell back.
Ungolad pulled back his sword for a deathblow.
“Honor,” whispered Ani.
Wrapped around her hand and wrist were every breeze and draft, every movement of air that had touched her since Geric had left her side, and she begged of it now a new course, quick and sure. A bolt of wind like a dull arrow thumped Ungolad in his chest. He stumbled backward and, shifting his eyes, saw Ani and cursed. Geric had time to stand and shake his vision straight before Ungolad was on him again. He blocked with his sword and pushed Ungolad back. The next time, his sword was too slow and he blocked a strike with his shield. Ungolad’s shield hand suddenly held a dagger, and he stuck it in Geric’s side. Geric cried out and kicked Ungolad away, and the dagger pulled free from Ungolad’s grasp and fell clanging across the floor. Geric grimaced and advanced again.
There was power behind Geric’s strike now, as though the wound gave him strength, and the fight became as real as the pain. He was on the attack, pushing Ungolad onto the dais. Ungolad defended with his shield, and when his shield dented, Geric’s sword slipped down it to bloody his fist. They locked swords, and Geric kneed Ungolad in the belly. Ungolad lost his balace and stumbled backward against the dais steps, falling against the seat of the throne. Their swords locked again. With a shove Geric sent Ungolad’s sword slipping down his own with a painful peal of metal. Geric shook off Ungolad’s sword, found an opening, and then pierced Ungolad’s leather jerkin clean through.
Ungolad sat heavily in the throne. His sword dropped to the ground with a cry that echoed in the corners of stone. He looked around wildly.
“Selia,” said
Ungolad.
His hand found the wound in his middle. He held it there, and the blood slipped through the cracks between his fingers. He looked up as if he saw Selia standing there before him, and he held up his red hand, showing her the death blood, showing her the color of his heart, a final pledge. He slumped and died.
Chapter 22
Geric sat on the dais steps and let his sword and shield drop. The echo was dimmer than Ungolad’s had been, the noise finding not bare walls but snuffed out by a room full of people. The king put a hand on his shoulder.
“Stand up, son.”
The king picked up a misshot javelin that lay on the floor, brought it down hard on his knee with a loud snap and once again to break it clean through. He dropped the pieces at Geric’s feet.
“Sword,” said the king.
Geric held out his sword, the tip murky with blood. A soldier at the king’s right cleaned it on his own tunic and handed it to the king.
“I give it back to you to wear in defense of your people and your land and your sovereign. May it be quick and thick with the blood of your foes.”
Enna came to Ani’s side. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said. “What does it mean?”
“It was his first kill,” said Enna. “A javelin bonds a boy to a community. A sword makes him a man.”
“I think he was already a man,” said Ani, rubbing her tired eyes.
The other workers stood near Enna. When the fighting ceased, they had gathered behind Ani. She looked at them now. Razo was stunned and tired, his thoughts seemingly caught in that moment when he had fired a javelin at Terne’s back. Ratger had a scratch on one cheek, and Offo held a hand to his arm where there was a little blood. They had all chosen to not merely make an entrance, but throw themselves into the fight.
“This’s a grim sight.” Enna looked about the room, bodies slumped and crumpled, their bleeding stopped by stones and carpets.
“Where’s Selia?” said Ani.
The king heard her and looked around. Geric sheathed his sword at his side and stood ready, a hand at his bleeding side. Razo grumbled, “Oh, that’s just perfect.”
“How did you let that murderess escape?” The king’s voice trembled with anger.
“Through the secret door,” said Ani. She remembered now, the draft that she had used as an arrow against Ungolad. It had carried images of cool stone and musty cloth and anger and a girl in yellow.
“First body,” said the soldier at the king’s side, “search the estate. Second body, secure the wall. Third body, inform the gate guards and then report to me. Go.”
Soldiers in ordered groups ran from the room, and the sounds of their boots running in the corridors bled through the stone walls.
“Sly little cat,” said the king. “She knows the punishment for treason. She named it herself.”
“She’ll be found, sire,” said a soldier. He paced to the chamber door and stood waiting for the first report.
“Get that thing out of my chair,” said the king. Two soldiers removed Ungolad’s body from the throne and wiped off the blood with a tunic torn from one of the fallen. The king sat down, his elbows on the rests, his head in his hands.
“Sire,” said Geric.
The king waved him toward the door. “Go on, son, you’re not doing me any good by bleeding.”
A gray-haired soldier held a white handkerchief swiftly turning red to Geric’s side. He bade him lean upon him, and together they walked across the chamber. Ani watched him, wondering, Will he come to me now? Should I go to him? She hesitated, and Geric left the room, his eyes on the ground. Later, she thought. She hoped.
Servants were gathering fallen swords and javelins in their arms like wood for a bonfire. Ani took a breath and approached the king and tried to avoid looking again at the bodies that lay at her feet and made her eyes itch and the room tip unpleasantly. Already estate workers were dragging away the bodies and rolling up blood-spotted carpets. Ani was feeling rolled up and blood spotted herself, but her friends stood at her back.
“Sire.” She spoke again in the Bayern accent, having found that it felt most natural. “I’ve a bold request.”
The king looked at her without raising his head. “It would seem, my dear, that you’re in a good position for making bold requests.”
“There’re men in my company who’d like to receive their javelin and shield. I ask for them, and also mercy for Ratger, who left his post at your gates to come with us on this errand.”
“All those boys?” said the king.
“Yes, Razo here slew Terne before he could slay me, and Offo and Beier and Conrad . . . Where’s Conrad?”
“Conrad?” said Enna.
The workers looked from one to another, bewildered. “He was with us,” said Razo.
With dread they looked through the bodies for sight of Conrad’s orange cap, freckled face, and boyish hands. Among the Kildenreans there were three Bayern soldiers, but not Conrad.
Someone screamed. Ani looked behind the throne. The tapestry thumped, and a high voice shouted curses.
“Lift it aside,” said the king. Two soldiers jumped to the task, unveiling Conrad standing in the portal, his hands full of pale hair. Behind him, prostrate on the ground, he dragged Selia. His hands were bleeding from her fingernails and his face was red from exertion, but his eyes met those of his friends and suggested a glimmer of humor.
“Look what I found,” he said. “The pretender yellow girl, though she’s not so yellow as ours now that I get a look at her. But she scratches like a cat.”
The soldiers were upon her and in moments had her standing with her arms pinned behind her back. Conrad released her hair and put his hands to his mouth, nursing the scratches. Ungolad’s body was one of the few still in the room. It lay near Selia’s feet, partially covered by a stained rug. She glanced at it, then returned her gaze to the king, no recognition registering on her face.
“Let me loose,” said Selia. Her voice sounded falsely sweet and tight with anger. “Let me loose, sire, I promise I will leave. You don’t want to kill a lady. I’m a lady.”
The king wrinkled his brow and sighed. “You may save your breath, lady. The crime of treason has been named, and the punishment you yourself have specified.”
Selia looked at the king, panic alive in her eyes, and she stomped and screamed as though even then the barrel-held nails pierced her skin. Her face contorted red and purple, and she thrashed against the soldiers’ holds.
“Enough,” said the king, his hands covering his ears. “We’ll talk of this later. I want this child out of my hearing.” The king gestured, and the soldiers carried her from the room, spitting and swearing vengeance. She did not meet Ani’s eyes.
Selia’s howl faded down the corridor and all were quiet, listening, until Enna snorted and said, “And a meow to you, too.”
“Did you see that I caught her, Enna?” said Conrad. He dabbed a bleeding scratch against his tunic and smiled with pride. “By her hair and all. I saw her sneaking away, and I thought, That’s the one what tried to kill our goose girl, and there’ll be no more of that. So I ran after her and found her trying to get through a window.”
“Sire,” said Ani, “this is the goose boy, Conrad.”
Conrad stuck out his hand to shake, then dropped it and bowed gawkily.
“She’s the real yellow lady,” he said, pointing at Ani, “and I’m sorry I ever thought otherwise.”
A draft left Ani’s hand and nudged Conrad’s cap off his head. He looked at her with mild panic, and she grinned. “Nicely done, Conrad.”
They were each escorted to a room with, to Ani’s delight, a real mattress and enough pillows to make her body forget the cruel slats of her hard little bed in the west settlement.
When morning declared its fullness in Ani’s east window, she rose and bathed and sat in a much too comfortable chair with her back to the light, letting its heat dry her just washed hair and sipping from an endless pitch
er of iced grape juice. She was just thinking about skulking down the corridor in search of the others when her door was rapped and opened by Enna.
“May I enter?” she said.
“Enna, you’re not going to get formal on me now. Last night Ratger bowed to me, and Razo asked my leave to depart to his room.”
“At least Conrad’ll never bow,” said Enna, sitting beside Ani. “I’ve never seen him so content as he was last night, bleeding hands and all. He almost looked smug.”
Ani smiled. “Keeping geese was too dull for him. He’d make a fine peace-keeper.”
“Yes, I think he’d stay in the city, unlike Finn and some of the others whose faces seem full of the Forest.”
“Oh, Finn’ll never leave the Forest, especially not if he could accompany a certain lady there.”
Enna smiled and stretched her feet to reach a spot where a sunbeam warmed the floor. She cleared her throat before speaking. “Isi, you’ve spoken to the prince? To Geric?”
“He . . . I . . . no.” Ani sighed. “He’s stashed in a sickroom somewhere, getting that dagger wound tended, and I was afraid to ask to see him in case, you know, in case he didn’t really want me to.”
“Of course he does,” said Enna.
“Well, I don’t know, we were friends, but there were lies between us, and what if he was happy he was going to marry Selia?”
“Not likely,” said Enna.
That was just the response Ani had hoped for, though she was uncertain if it was true. She poured grape juice for Enna into a white cup. The juice sliding against the sides of the cup looked like thick blood against pale skin. Ani shivered.
“What a day it was,” she said.
“Yes,” said Enna. “Do you think they’ll really stick that Selia into a barrel studded with nails?”
“I do. I think they will. We’ve seen them hang traitors and murderers up on the walls, and she’s both. I don’t know what to think of it, Enna. I don’t know how to feel. Sometimes I catch myself thinking, But she’s a friend. And then I remember, no, no she’s not, she never was. She really did kill. She really would’ve started a war so that she could wear rubies on her brow.”
