A Time of War and Demons

by S E Wendel

She wouldn’t look at him, but he could see she blinked back tears.

  “I…” she barely had a voice, “I don’t know what I expected.”

  “I didn’t mean…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t mean that’s your sister’s fate.”

  Her smile was bitter. “Adena’s fate was already decided.”

  He dared not ask what she meant, not with her eyes so glassy. How many more Annekas would Larn need to satisfy himself?

  They worked together in silence for the stretch of an hour. She seemed so consumed in her thoughts, she didn’t notice her nails were blackened with fine Lowland earth.

  “Why don’t you ally with the Highlands?” she asked, tossing dirt haphazardly over her shoulder. Her voice startled him, she’d been so quiet. “You’re technically Highlanders after all.”

  He took offense to that. “No, we’re not.”

  She arched a brow. “Well, what are you then?”

  “Lowlanders.”

  “But you were Highlanders.”

  “Long ago. Almost beyond memory.” He leaned forward. “I fear your Highlands is nearly extinct.” He wanted to shove his words right back down his throat at the look she gave him for that. “What I mean is—”

  “No. No, you’re right. Sort of. The Highlands is weak. But it will rise again.”

  He grinned. “Like you?”

  Her eyes darted to his, but she remained perplexingly silent.

  “All right,” he said, shoving his spade into the earth. “You’ve asked your questions. Now I—”

  “I could think of more.”

  “I’m sure you could,” he said, smiling. “But you must answer me one now.”

  Her eyes were suspicious, but she grinned. “Very well.”

  “Are you happy here?”

  The play fell from her face. “No. Should I be?”

  Twenty-Two

  Lora, I found these in Father’s study while looking through the ledgers and thought you would be interested, what with your fascination with blood vessels. Or is it muscle tissue now? I lose track—it’s hard to fathom just how many parts there are to the body. I applaud you trying to memorize them all—is it even possible? At any rate, I hope this book—it’s ungodly long!—will cheer you up until I can do so myself.

  —letter from Ennis Courtnay to Lora Finnley

  Holding her breath, Lora tied off the end of the stitch into a knot. A neat row of puckered X’s now ran up her patient’s leg, and the man sighed in relief to see that she was finished.

  Lora smiled gently. “Nice and clean. It should heal well.”

  “Thank you,” the man said for the tenth time that afternoon. Lora listened calmly and began to clean his leg as he called himself foolish for the seventh time, recounting for the third time how he’d managed to gouge himself with his axe in an unfortunate firewood incident.

  It’d been a clean slice through muscle; painful, bloody, and a perfect opportunity for Lora’s first more advanced surgery. Sister Jenna presided over her work, though she’d proved less helpful than the treatise on proper stitching technique Lora kept at her elbow. While not her first stitch, it’d been her first experience suturing muscle. Pulling the delicate layers of the calf back together had been a task, and Lora was awash with relief that it was done.

  “You’re really not a Sister, then?” asked the man.

  “No, not yet,” Lora said, keeping her smile light and pleasant since Sister Jenna stood close by, cleaning the needles.

  Yet. A little word that brought such a sense of foreboding. Lora didn’t pretend to share all of Ennis’s sentiments about the Haven, but still, there was something about taking lifelong vows that made Lora’s stomach kick at the thought. It was so final. No going back. When she took her vows next winter, she would be part of this Haven until her dying day. Somehow the thought gave her less comfort than it had before. But what could be done? Ennis might be dallying, but Lora understood their circumstances. She wasn’t willing to risk being turned out of the Haven, then at the mercy of a Lowland warlord. No, at least this way, she had some say over her life, if fractional. At least this way, she could study and improve herself.

  A knock echoed through the Haven.

  Lora looked over her shoulder at Sister Jenna. Without lifting her head, Jenna said, “See who it is, Lora.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek, deciding not to remind Jenna she too had a perfectly usable pair of legs. Wiping her wet hands off on a cloth, Lora left the examining room to answer the door. She opened her mouth to begin customary Sisterly greeting, but it died in her throat when she saw Manek on the other side.

  She blinked, wondering if she dreamt. All she could think to say was, “Ennis isn’t here.”

  The ball of his throat rose and fell as he swallowed. “Actually, it’s Renata I need to speak to.”

  “Oh.” She stood there a moment longer, lamely wondering what in the world had brought Manek to their door.

  Finally, she remembered herself and ushered him into the Haven. She led him into the front room, startling Sisters Elarie and Aelia, who sat sewing by the far window. They looked at him through their lashes warily, and Manek, his shoulders pinched, gazed into the fire, only nodding when Lora said she would be right back with Renata.

  Walking quickly back down the hall, Lora tried to make sense of Manek’s sudden appearance. It was already widely whispered about in the Haven that Ennis now worked for Manek as a scribe. What her duties included was a favorite subject of gossip amongst the Sisters, though Lora tried to hush it whenever she could. Even so, she couldn’t help wondering herself, and Essa’s parting words to Ennis sprang to her mind. She chewed her bottom lip.

  Already dreading the coming conversation, Lora knocked on the last door of the hall.

  “Yes?”

  She eased the door open to find Renata and Adelaide tending to a woman and her newborn baby.

  “I’m sorry,” said Lora, “but Lord Manek is here to speak with you.”

  “Manek?”

  Lora nodded. “I put him in the front hall.”

  A frown darkened Renata’s face. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Just to speak with you.”

  She sighed. “Very well.”

  After a few parting words to the new mother, Renata and Lora headed back down the corridor to the front hall. As they neared the threshold, Elarie and Aelia met them, bearing their sewing baskets. They nodded at Renata.

  Manek stood just where Lora had left him, his hands folded behind his back. A tendon in his neck tensed as they entered.

  Renata bowed her head marginally. “Lora said you wished to see me.”

  “Yes. About Ennis Courtnay.”

  “Oh?”

  Manek cleared his throat. “Ennis has been working for me as a scribe for some time now, and she’ll be helping me with several projects.”

  “How industrious of her. No, Lora,” she said, stopping Lora from leaving the room and giving them privacy. “You’ll stay. It’d be inappropriate for a Sister to be in a room with a man who isn’t her patient.”

  “Yes, Sister.” Lora placed herself against the wall, just inside the room. She could see the front door out of the corner of her eye and thought she’d have just enough time to warn Ennis should she walk in.

  Manek looked between them, his face rather pale despite his tanned skin. Lora didn’t know if she’d ever seen anyone look so uncomfortable.

  “She’s a great help,” he said. “I hope you can excuse her from some of her duties here.”

  “Ennis is already away so much I hardly rely on her anymore.”

  “These projects will benefit everyone of Rising.”

  “I certainly hope so. To keep a divine daughter from her Mother is a grave sacrifice.”

  Manek frowned. “I didn’t think Ennis had taken vows.”

  “Not yet,” Renata said through pursed lips. “Though I’m sure you’d be happy if she never did.”

  Lora’s eyes went wide, her cheeks
flushing. “Sister, I don’t think—”

  “I would remind you, my lord, that should tongues wag, her downfall will be on your hands, not mine.”

  Manek returned Renata’s sharp eyes with his own. “And I would remind you, Sister, that you live in my house and serve my people. Ceralia may be your patron, but I’m your warlord. You’d do well to remember that.”

  “You don’t frighten me. Your power is earthly and your name will fade in the wind. The Eternal Mother sees all you do and will condemn you for your arrogance.”

  Manek looked about the room before settling his glare back on Renata. “And where is this Mother’s curse? All I hear is yours.”

  “How dare you?”

  “I’ve been generous to you, Sister, but that doesn’t mean my patience should be tested. I came to ask you to forgive some of Ennis’s duties because she’s needed elsewhere.”

  “The Mother won’t forgive you.”

  “When I meet her, I’ll explain everything. In the meantime, I won’t be dictated to by you. And I won’t have any more slanderous talk.”

  Renata’s face pinched, as if Manek’s words sat bitter on her tongue. “I can’t control what people say or think, but you can. I’d stay far away from Ennis Courtnay if you cared anything about both your names.” And with that Renata stormed from the room with a crisp, “Come, Lora.”

  Lora, however, didn’t follow, instead regarding Manek with curiosity. “What projects did you have in mind?”

  Manek’s hard face eased a little, eyes softening. “We’re going to build a wall.”

  Lora’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Stone or wood?”

  His sudden smile only piqued her curiosity more. “Wood. We’ll begin cutting the logs soon.”

  “I can’t see Ennis sawing.”

  “No,” he laughed, “she’s surveying for me. Overseeing numbers and the like.”

  Lora nodded. “She’s quite good with numbers, actually. Her father had her managing most of the ledgers.”

  “Yes, she’s mentioned that already.”

  The warmth in his eyes as he spoke of Ennis only made Lora worry. There was a softness to him when he said her name, something not there when he’d spoken to Renata. Lora again thought of Essa’s parting words, and her innards twisted with unease. What game was Ennis playing?

  The way he smiled politely at her and angled his shoulders towards the threshold told her that he meant to leave, but before he could, Lora blurted, “Do you have any physicians in Rising?”

  Manek shot her a surprised look. “Most seek the Sisters. There are a few other herbalists and at least three midwives.”

  “But there’s no separate physician, apart from the Haven?”

  “No, not since old Selric died.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you offering?”

  Yes, sprang to her lips, but she couldn’t get it out before the sound of a bellowing horn crashed through the front hall.

  Manek’s face went from day to night, eyes suddenly dark as a thunderstorm. In four long, hurried strides, he was at the door, wrenching it open.

  “Tell everyone to stay inside!” he boomed. “And lock this behind me.”

  “What’s going on?” she asked, her heart beating loudly in her ears as she came up behind him.

  “We’re being attacked.”

  Twenty-Three

  Tamea pulled back her robe, revealing a lush, fertile land just beyond her trees. The wanderers offered up their thanks, promising to greet her as a friend when next they saw her. Though the land she brought them to was already full of people, but she asked them to love one another, and for a time they did. Strife soon arose, however, when Dea visited each people and whispered lies into their ears. “This land is yours alone,” she said. “Tamea meant it for you. How can you share it?” And though families had already been made, the two peoples raised their swords against one another, and Dea smiled to see it.

  —Lowland legend

  Horns ringing in his ears, Manek threw himself onto Oren, barely in the saddle before he dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. They flew from the Haven, bounding towards the great house. Damn it all, why did it have to be now?

  People scurried in every direction, running for their homes. Some warriors had made it outside with their weapons, were looking about wildly. He called out to those he saw, told them to follow him.

  A sudden flash of golden hair had him reining in Oren. Ennis skidded to a halt in the mud, looking up at him with wide eyes while tendrils of her hair whipped about in the wind.

  “What’s happening?” she said.

  “Oltaraani raid.”

  “I thought you said—?”

  “Get to the Haven. Lock yourselves in and don’t come out.”

  “I could help.”

  He stared at her. That had been the last thing he expected from her.

  “No.”

  “You need all the fighters you can get.”

  He couldn’t argue with that and she knew it. When he looked past her, he saw about thirty men armed and ready. More were spilling out of their homes. There were over three hundred warriors in town. Double that number were spread over farmsteads and hamlets throughout the countryside, and miles away.

  Manek reached out a hand and she took it, pulling herself into the saddle behind him. “Stay with me,” he said.

  With more and more men gathering behind them, they galloped for the great house. His mother and father were already there, the doors to the armory adjoining the house thrown open. His parents bore out armfuls of weapons, offering them up to hasty hands. Manek caught the sheathed sword his father threw him.

  He stopped when he saw his mother’s frown, directed behind him.

  “Oh, for the love of—I’m helping you!” said Ennis, her hand held out for the bow and quiver Kasia had.

  “Give it to her,” Manek said.

  Kasia grimaced and quickly passed on the weapons but didn’t bat an eye when she gave Ennis a sword.

  Putting the sword on her back, Ennis tested the bow.

  “You’re good with that?” he asked as he anchored a spear on his boot.

  “Where it counts.”

  Nodding quickly at the hundred men gathered before the great house, they moved down the slope, out of Rising. The other men would have to catch up—they needed to form a line.

  He could hear the battle cry of the raiders, who were already halfway across the riverplain that stood between the south of Rising and the Morroley. Ten ships, twenty men each. The upper half of their faces were painted in black, their unarmored heads revealing cropped hair. Each man had a wooden shield and traditional Oltaraan short sword, and some bore spears.

  The line formed, those who didn’t have a bow bracing themselves against a spear or pike.

  “Aim!” he shouted, and bowstrings creaked. He waited for one heartbeat. Two. “Fire!”

  Just as the first arrows broke loose, the raiding party changed directions, running towards the northeast rather than meeting the Rising men. Only two arrows found their mark.

  Sending half his forces to go back through Rising, Manek led the others to cut off the Oltaraan raiders.

  “It’s odd they came in the day,” Ennis called over Oren’s pounding hooves.

  Manek nearly jumped, almost forgetting she was there. He suddenly regretted letting her ride with him—clad in her Sisterly dress, the weapons slung across her back were her only defense.

  He hadn’t time to reply, tossing his spear up, catching it above his shoulder, and hurling it into the nearest raider. Another man collided with Oren’s heaving chest, crumpling beneath the charging warhorse. More men threw themselves out of the way, narrowly avoiding Manek’s sword.

  He swung again, connected with something, jerked the sword out of flesh. Oltaraani swarmed around them while more broke away, heading again for the town.

  A snap against his back made him whip his head to the right. A man, his eyes bulging, stood beside Oren, an arrow protruding from his throat.
Ennis kicked him away.

  He just caught sight of her beginning to pull her sword out of its sheath before urging Oren further into the crumbling line of raiders. His men came up behind him, and together they pushed through. When he hacked left, Ennis swung right.

  Manek felt warm blood splash across his thigh—he didn’t look. Guiding Oren with his legs, he continued to turn them about, not letting anyone close.

  He heard someone cry out, “They’ve gotten to Rising!”

  Ennis’s head hit his back, and her arm snaked around his waist. She grunted, her fingers digging into his tunic. His heart leapt into his throat. He couldn’t grab her quick enough—she fell off Oren, two Oltaraani dragging her down.

  She landed on one knee, pushed herself back up with her hands. They both knew she was dead down.

  Jerking the reins, Manek had Oren turned around just in time to see Ennis’s sword clash with a raider’s. Warriors rushed him, forcing him to turn away. He drove his sword into one man’s shoulder. Kicked another. Oren reared and Manek leaned forward, going with the motion as Oren came down on a third man.

  Kicking the warhorse’s side, they lurched forward, made it back to Ennis just as she buried her sword to the hilt in the Oltaraan she fought. When she moved to pull it back out, it stuck.

  “Leave it!” he shouted and held out his hand.

  She took it. Both their hands were sticky with blood.

  He felt her chest rising and falling against his back and was glad to know she was there.

  Looking about, Manek saw most of the raiders on the plains had been dispatched, and those left were heavily outnumbered. “Fall back to Rising!” he called and dug his heels into Oren.

  Rising was already in chaos. Manek’s nose burned as they came upon two houses set aflame. The raiders had split into bands, were attacking individual houses and people rather than forming a cohesive line.

  His blood surged when he saw a raider kick down the door of a house and enter to the sound of screams.

  The men he’d sent back through town hadn’t been able to hold the raiders long, and as Manek and Ennis went riding further into Rising, he saw some had even penetrated to the town square. He turned Oren in that direction.