“Horsemen?” snorted Zarif disdainfully. “The fools are barely able to sit their mounts. A good puff of wind would be enough to unhorse the lot of them.”
“Perhaps,” said Adella. “But they are still four to our one and closing fast.”
“What can we do?” asked Shannon. “We’re already pushing as fast as we can.”
Adella nodded grimly, her eyes locked on Lady Sellma as she lay exhausted in her makeshift litter now tied to the back of a horse, surrounded by her four grandchildren. The old woman stirred as if sensing a threat, her tired eyes peering into the gathering gloom.
“Then we must give them something to slow their pace,” Adella answered coldly.
* * *
Garzith Pal, Sub-Chieftain of the Balthor Tribe, smiled slowly as his eyes made out the prize cowering in the prairie grass before him. He and his men had ridden hard and fast on these accursed animals in pursuit of the prisoners, and now the first fruit of that effort was beginning to show.
Even though they had tried desperately to cover themselves with prairie grass, he could just see three figures cowering upon one of the plainsmen’s make-shift litters. They had clearly hoped that the grass and the hazy dawn would shield them from their pursuers. The first cast-offs, thought Garzith with a cruel grin. He had known the raiders would start to jettison their slowest people once it was clear his squadron was closing, though he had expected they would have been made much more obvious in the hope that the pursuers would be forced to drag them along. Fools. Dead or alive, these hostages would still serve Regnar’s purpose so long as not one of the group escaped to bring the truth to the captive states.
“Three,” grunted Durthnar, his lieutenant. They were all tired from the two day ride, and the weariness hid any emotion in the man’s voice, whether elation or disappointment. They had wasted a full day before they found the trail, but fear had supplied the speed they needed.
“A good start,” Garzith answered. “There will be more.”
“Aye. But I wonder how many others we may have missed in the darkness.”
Garzith’s eyes rose in alarm at that thought, and it was now Durthnar’s face that bore the grin. Both knew that if a single prisoner were to escape, Garzith would be broiled alive and forced to watch while parts of his flesh were fed to the rock goblins. Command of the squadron would then fall to Durthnar.
“Come,” he growled. “We’ll ask your question of these three.”
A gesture and the squadron moved on, closing in upon the litter. When it was obvious they had been spotted, one of the trio threw off the grass and held up her hands in anguish. It was the old crone from Kargos, and with her was a young girl of perhaps six and a young man with bandages around his eyes, his head cocked to try to hear better.
“Good morn to you, mother,” Garzith smiled as he reined in his mount. He spoke the Plains Speech better than most Northings. “Have you lost your way?”
“Have mercy!” the old woman cried. “For sweetness sake, have mercy upon us! We never wanted to flee. And now that witch woman has cast us off like so much dung!”
Garzith grinned and answered in his thick accent, “Do not fear, mother. We shall pay that bitch well for you in a little time. How many others has she cast off before you?”
“Others?” the old woman repeated doubtfully. “Why…why no others. We were the slowest.”
Garzith heard the lie in her voice, and he and a dozen of his men slowly dismounted.
“Come now, the truth,” he said harshly. “You’ll tell us soon enough. You’ll beg to tell us, if only to silence the shrieks of the child.”
Horror stuck the trio and the old woman clutched the child to her breast in a hopeless gesture of protection. The young man produced a dagger and held it out before him, a pathetic attempt to ward them off.
Garzith grinned, drawing his heavy scimitar. “We have no need of a blind man.”
He lifted the blade and stepped forward, then frowned slightly as something moved in the earth directly before him. The last sight he ever saw was a silver blade slashing upwards out of the loose turf, slicing into his chest and piercing his heart.
Garzith died instantly.
But no drop of his blood touched the prairie.
In an instant, Adella was struggling to her feet, shaking off the dirt that had hidden her as she wrenched Bloodseeker free from her first victim. This was the one critical moment when she was vulnerable, and she needed surprise to hold her enemies until she had gained her stance. The dead man was big and heavy, threatening to topple over and pin her, and she thrust with all her strength to move him to the left. The next instant, he was gone, Bloodseeker was free, and Adella was on her feet.
The nearest Northing rushed forward, battle axe raised, and he was an easy kill as Adella darted inside and sent the silver blade slashing through his belly. She used her momentum to roll to the side, cutting through both hamstrings of a third, stunned Northing, the barbarian howling with pain as he fell, a quick pivot sent the sword thrusting into the man’s back to put an end to his screams
Jhan had ripped the bandages from his eyes and produced a sword to go with his dagger, and to the left, another Northing bellowed as Shannon’s sword sliced upwards out of the turf and into his stomach.
The Northings hesitated, shaken, looking around to see what other enemy might leap out of the very earth at them, and they gave Adella the vital moments she needed.
“Come, my lovely,” she said to the pulsing sword, alive with the blood of three men. “Come. Give me my share.”
A geyser of red flame abruptly burst from the blade of the sword, shooting upwards and outwards towards the mass of still mounted Northings. The horses reared back in terror, knocking into other mounts in a chain reaction, and several of the riders were thrown to the ground. One’s arm was engulfed in red flame, and the rider threw himself shrieking to the ground to be trampled to death as the rest of the squadron reared and scattered in panic.
Suddenly, from a tiny rise off to the right, there came a shout as Zarif and his horsemen released the horses they had been holding quietly against the ground, and with amazing agility, the dozen plainsmen were in their saddles and charging wildly down upon their disorganized foe.
Adella, however, wasted no time in watching. She sprung forward and cut down the nearest Northing while his mouth was still gaping in shock, and a second beside him died just as quickly, his one feeble blow striking nothing but air. Two others leaped back into the saddle, intent on making their escape, but the sword was now in a blood frenzy, lusting for the lives of the Northings. She launched herself at the first rider, actually pivoting off the horse’s rump as she swept Bloodseeker one-handed, the sword unerringly passing through the neck of the barbarian, his headless corpse riding off to complete its escape. Next came a wild crash as Zarif’s company collided at full speed with the milling Northings, and Adella had to leap out of the way as men and horses both went down. She turned to find more enemies and was surprised to see no more than half a dozen of the Northings riding away as fast as they may, Zarif’s men in hot pursuit.
She forced a reluctant, pulsing Bloodseeker back into its scabbard as Zarif approached.
“Well, we’ve a few more horses and a few less pursuers,” Adella said with a small grin. “After one more attack, we’ll all be mounted. How many men did you lose?”
“Only one by the looks, with another wounded,” Zarif answered. “These scum came to butcher the helpless, not to fight warriors, and they were certainly not prepared for your little greeting.”
“What have your scouts seen of the rest of the pursuit?”
Zarif paused. “More than two hundred Northings afoot, and moving fast. I think they must have emptied all of Nargost Castle. They have our trail, that is certain.”
Adella turned to look at the horizon that hid their enemies from sight, and Shannon came to join her
“How soon?” Shannon asked.
Zarif shrugged. “That depend
s on how much these new horses help us to pick up our pace. Without them, then enemy would be upon us in less than a day.”
“Then let us waste no more time in prattle,” said Adella.
“Adella, we must rest,” Shannon called after her. “The warriors have fought a desperate battle, the hostages are exhausted, and the horses are leg weary. We’ve had only a single stop since we’ve set out.”
“We’ve an hour left of daylight, and we’ll travel an hour after that,” the woman said over her shoulder. “Then you’ll get four hours of rest. Now let’s move!”
CHAPTER 19
Condemned to the Flames
The report of the scout was better this morning. As she watched from the rear of the column, Shannon could tell Zarif was not unduly alarmed by the man’s news, but she could also tell that both were nervous, uncertain about at least one aspect of the enemy’s activities. A moment later, both men approached Adella who had also come to watch the interchange, and Shannon casually joined them.
“The Northings are still closing, but not as quickly,” the Captain said. “These extra horses are proving a true blessing, and we are losing no more than five miles per day to the enemy.”
“How far back are they?”
“Fifteen miles.”
Adella thought for a moment and then she said, “In three days, we’ll have crossed the border into Strallia, but that will be no help. If we meet a patrol of the Strallians, they’ll likely either turn us back or hand us over to the Northings. But there is other news as well?”
So Adella also had read the men. Zarif nodded. “Yes, the enemy has spread out into three pursuing columns. One has moved more to the south, another to the north, and the third continues on the same path.”
Adella’s eyebrows rose. “They’re expecting us to break. Why?”
“Perhaps they know more of our welcome in Strallia than we do.”
Adella nodded slightly, but Shannon could tell the woman wasn’t convinced. As she thought about it herself, she realized the Northings could not possibly be sure what impact the presence of some twenty fleeing nobles from various neighboring realms would have on the allegiance of the Strallians, regardless of any current treaties.
“We’ll try sprinkling a few bags of gold in our path and see if we can make an ally of greed,” Adella said lightly, turning back to the column. Zarif was clearly a little surprised by the woman’s casual reaction, but he rode to give the order to scatter the gold coins through the prairie grass. Adella had gone over to one of the horses walking along carrying two small children, and she began to rig a small supporting sling to the back of the saddle to allow the horse to perhaps carry one additional rider.
Shannon follower her over, studying her carefully, a dozen old unasked questions at play in her mind, now with a new one added. She looked at the leather armor, at the way the woman was calmly working on the saddle, and finally at the deadly form of Bloodseeker in its ready scabbard on her back. The sword. Shannon’s eyebrows flew up in sudden understanding.
“You can get out of here, can’t you?” she asked shrewdly. “With that sword. That’s what you’ve been planning. You could get yourself and maybe even a few others out of here. Except not the hostages.”
Adella stopped to stare at her for a moment, before going back to her task. Finally, she said, “You know little of magic and nothing of Bloodseeker, girl. You’ve already seen the sword will share its spoils, but not to help its wielder avoid battle, and certainly not to save others. It shares in order to keep me fighting, to keep me feeding it blood. It seeks ever to join battle, not escape it.”
The woman continued adjusting the sling, the conversation over, but Shannon was becoming adept at reading the woman, at least in distinguishing between a half-truth such as she had just told and a bald-face lie. Still, if Adella had a way to escape and yet stayed with the fleeing party, it either meant she was having a change of heart or there was more value to be extracted here.
“Why have you stayed with us?” Shannon pressed, though the words were more for her own ears. “Old women in their dotage, pampered girls wearing five-layered gowns, and children barely out of diapers. What chance have they on the open plains? Why have you stayed with them, even as the enemy closes?”
“Fire and death, but you are an ungrateful wench!” Adella exclaimed. “I’ve a mind to ride off now and leave you to watch the Northing wolves feed on this flock of sheep!”
“Why?” Shannon repeated, quite unaffected by the threat.
Adella finished her work on the sling then turned briefly to the girl and said softly, “The people of the Mountains of the Winds have a saying. I don’t have to outrun the bear. I just have to outrun you.”
With that, she moved up the column, leaving Shannon to mull over the proverb and the unanswered questions.
“Mother,” asked one of the boys on the horse beside her, addressing a woman walking off to the side. “Mother, what is that?”
Shannon glanced up to see the boy pointing directly behind them, and she turned and followed his finger. There was a long black smudge of smoke rising into the sky behind them.
“Oh dear heavens…!” the mother cried, and others echoed her terror.
“They’ve fired the prairie grass!”
A glance at the sky, a sniff of the wind, and they all knew the truth.
“Mirna have mercy upon us!” cried a woman.
The entire company of horsemen came charging back to the rear to see the deadly pall themselves, and even the horses were uneasy, wanting to put their tails to the smell. Adella and Jhan came rushing back to see as well.
“They’ve sent the flames of Hell to chase us,” breathed Zarif.
“Then we’ve no time to waste,” said Jhan. “We have to keep ahead of it.”
“Idiot!” snarled one of the horsemen. “You can’t outrun that! A prairie fire can catch a galloping horse when the wind is right.”
A nervous pause followed, emphasized by the growing smell of smoke.
“What can we do?” asked Shannon. “Run and pray the wind changes?”
“No chance of a wind change,” answered Zarif. “Not this time of the year. Though we’ve luck in that this hellish canopy overhead seems to have taken some of the power out of the wind.” He paused, studying the distant pall of smoke. “Our only chance is to get around it. Head south and hope the breezes from the mountains keep it pushed to the north.”
“Except that’s exactly the route they’ll be expecting us to take,” said Adella reluctantly.
“We’ve no choice,” Zarif answered. “At least we know now why they broke their column.”
“Yes, I’m so relieved,” Adella said dryly. “Get these people turned to the right! Head south! Move! Move fast and leave everything you’re carrying behind, including all the sacks of treasure!” She glanced at Shannon. “That should tell you how serious the situation is.”
* * * * *
“The tribunal has weighed carefully all the facts laid before it,” the High Justice said slowly, his words heavy with the gravity of the situation. “We have read the sworn statements of warriors and heard the testimony of men of faith, and we have spoken with each other at great length over the views they have put forward. We are…”
Darius found his eyes going from the hard faces of his judges to the window where the tops of the trees flowering in the courtyard were just visible beneath a warm blue sky dotted with a few puffy balls of cotton-clouds. The windows were just wide enough to let him squeeze through sideways, and the tops of the trees were close enough that one huge, dangerous jump would put him among their branches.
I think the sky is bluest in the springtime, Darius thought to himself. I wonder why that is?
“…to the charge of treachery against the lords and peoples of the Southlands, we find the defendant guilty as charged. While his intent may be open to question, the practical impact of his divisive and unrequested intervention in our affairs have done grave damage…”
The courtyard of the castle was guarded by a single drawbridge that was always down and accessible to all traffic during the day. The guards, like all their kind, had grown complacent over the years with no foes strong enough or brash enough to challenge the defenses of Ringimore Castle, and even if the call to raise the gate were issued immediately, it would take a full minute before the day-dreaming guards would begin to act on the order. Andros, he knew, could climb and clear the gate even at a full thirty degree angle, and the horse would already be waiting for him when he dropped from the tree branches.
To ride such a horse at a full gallop through the crisp spring air, filling the lungs and glorying in the sunshine, thought Darius. Is there any finer pleasure in all the world?
“…to the charge of heresy against Mother Church,” the Chief Justice continued to drone, “we find the defendant guilty as charged. He stands condemned by his own words, as well as the voice of the accursed sword he carries. We are all of one mind that…”
Sarinian. Darius actually smiled. It was good to hear someone other than himself refer to the Avenger as accursed, to acknowledge the pain and death administered from that savage blade was no different from that delivered by a barbarian’s ax. It would take but a single word to bring the Avenger back to him, wherever it might now be stored, and there were few who would dare to face him with that gleaming weapon once more in his hands.
Do I truly hate that sword as much as I claim? Darius wondered, trying to be fair. Isn’t its pronouncements no more than the honest justice a court of men seeks to bestow, a court very much like this one?
“Finally, in the matter of the murder of Duke Boltran of Maganhall,” the Chief Justice was saying, his voice rising slightly to attract every ear in the courtroom. “We find the defendant to be complainant in his murder. While no blows from his sword were found upon the corpse, reports of witnesses make it clear that he struck Lord Boltran at least three times and inflicted magics upon the helpless body. We have determined….”
Young Boltran. The pain shot through Darius like a fresh wound each time he heard the name. He had been only a few years older than Shannon, and he had trusted Darius as a son trusts a father. I knew the dangers, none better. And yet I still let him stand in the open with the illusion of safety from a body guard of noble sons and a blind fool of a paladin. Being compliant in the young Lord’s death, of that I truly am guilty.
Upon This World of Stone (The Paladin Trilogy Book 2) Page 23
