In the firelight and shadow, Kerian realized the woman was Kagonesti. Tattoos wound between the bruises and scratches on the sun-browned skin of her neck and throat, the creamier gold of shoulder and breast. The prisoner looked up, her glance skittering around the common room. Her eyes had a haunted, hunted look in them.
Bueren touched Kerian’s arm. “Hush,” she whispered. “If you do the wrong thing, or even say the wrong thing, you could get her killed. Her, yourself, or the rest of us.”
Eyes on the Knights, the two hounds held their posts. The elf at the window and the two villagers shot glances at each other, looked away, and then quickly abandoned their tables with a skitter of coins. Like shadows, they slipped behind the Knights and their prisoner and out into the chilling night.
Bueren looked up, keeping her expression neutral, her voice level. “Sirs, can I get you food and drink?”
The tallest Knight flung back his visor and removed his helm. His bald pate glistened with sweat, and his scarred face was hardened by the habits of cruelty, eyes cold as stone and narrow, lips twisted in a sneer. He shoved his prisoner forward, so hard she fell to her knees. On elbows and knees, she stayed there, head hung, catching her breath. In her ragged breathing, Kerian heard low groaning.
Bueren gripped her arm, held her back.
The other Knights removed their helms, a dark-haired youth and a red-beard in his middle years. They wore merciless expressions. In another time, in the days before the Chaos War, the Knights of Takhisis admitted only the sons and daughters of nobility to their ranks. Men such as these would not have been allowed to muck out the stables of a Knight’s castle, let alone take a Knight’s oath. The Dark Knights had been hard warriors in the cause of their Dark Queen, dauntless in pursuit of her Vision, but they were Knights, and they had prized honor and all the noble virtues. In these dragon days, these godless times, the Knights of Takhisis-now the Knights of Neraka-must fill their ranks however they could. It was rumored- though no one in Qualinesti could imagine the rumor true-that in some places even half-ogres wore the black armor.
“Sir Egil,” Bueren said, striving to sound casual as she acknowledged the bald one. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Won’t you and your men take that large table in the middle there? I’ll bring drinks-”
“Ale!” snapped the dark-haired one, his voice cracking.
“Dwarf spirit,” growled the red-beard.
In the corner by the hearth, Stanach Hammerfell never budged, not even a twitch of his hand, but Kerian thought she saw the faintest flicker of scorn in his blue-flecked dark eyes.
Bueren jerked her chin at the woman on her knees. “What about her? You’re not going to just leave her there, are you?”
Sir Egil shrugged. He strolled past the prisoner, kicking her absently. The dark-haired boy did the same, though kicking with more enthusiasm. Red-beard grabbed the woman by the rope binding her hands and dragged her to her feet. He shoved her ahead of him to a small table near the bar and tied her by the hobbles to the chair. His eyes were small and mean, like a pig’s, when he narrowed them meaningfully at Bueren Rose.
“She don’t get nothing, that Kagonesti bitch. No water, no food. I won her, and she bit and cut me tn rne ngxii, so now I get to say. Ain’t no one goes near her, hear?”
The younger Knight wiped his drooling mouth with the back of his hand. Kerian’s belly shivered in disgust as he turned his gaze upon her.
Bueren poked her sharply. “You. Didn’t you hear? They want food.”
Kerian stared, Bueren gave her an impatient shove toward the kitchen. “Go on. Tell my father we have customers out here. Three plates, piled high.”
Kerian nearly stumbled over Bueren’s father as she went through the swinging door into the kitchen. She knew Jale as well as his daughter-a little deaf Jale claimed to be, but he heard most of what went on in his tavern. His face slick with sweat from laboring over the steam pots, spits and baking ovens, he handed her a laden tray.
“Out with you. Go feed them before there’s trouble,” he said in a low voice.
Kerian balanced the tray on her hands and turned back to the door.
“Wait!” Jale slipped her knife out of her belt, and threw a food-stained white towel over her shoulder-in all lands, dragon-held or free, the badge of a tavern waitress.
As she had seen Bueren do many times, Kerian managed the door with her hip, kept the burdened tray level, and returned to serve in the tavern. She put a plate of food before each of the Knights. Already boisterous with drink, the Knights filled the tavern with their shouted oaths and rough curses. Kerian bore the jostling and lewd comments. She managed to keep her temper when the red-beard’s arms encircled her waist, his hands sliding swiftly up. Eyes low, she wrenched away, hoping he would think her cheeks colored with embarrassment rather than anger.
The one called Sir Egil rocked his chair back on two legs, picking his teeth with his dagger. The dark-haired young man licked his lips.
“Come here, girl.” Red-bearded Barg’s eyes grew colder.
The boy snickered, rattling dice in the pouch. Spittle glistened on his lips, and he licked it away. Sir Egil yawned.
“Don’t,” groaned the prisoner.
Kerian turned.
Barg shouted, “Shut up, you!” in the instant before an empty pewter wine pitcher hit the floor with a clanging thud.
Swift as a rabbit out of the snare, Kerian leaped to retrieve the pitcher. Her fingers closed round the handle, and Stanach held up his right hand, showing broken fingers in the firelight.
“Damn thing just fell out of my hand,” the dwarf said, snorting in disgust. He glanced at two gravy-stained napkins piled on the table. His voice louder, his tone suddenly irritated, he said, “Clear this mess off the table, will you, girl?”
Kerian picked up the napkins, nearly dropped the long-bladed knife tucked between them. With wide eyes she made what she hoped were convincing apologies for neglecting the dwarf and his companions. “If I can bring you anything else-”
Stanach just turned away as though she weren’t there. Haugh leaned across the table to say something to him about how he was tired and would be going upstairs.
Kerian didn’t hear the rest and didn’t try to. In her hands now she held a weapon, at the back of the kitchen, she knew, was a door that promised escape. In their furtive way, the dwarf and his companions had told her they were with her, whatever happened next. Pitcher in hand, knife hidden, she now passed the prisoner, the bruised Kagonesti woman. She glanced at Bueren Rose. Her friend’s eyes widened slightly.
Like petals falling from her hand, Kerian let one of the napkins drop. She bent to retrieve it, and her cheek was right beside the prisoner’s knee. “Be still. Follow.”
Kerian grabbed the prisoner by the wrist and yanked her to her feet.
“Hey!” shouted Barg.
The woman’s knees went out from under her. Kerian pulled her up again as Sir Egil cursed and the dark-haired boy howled high, like a wolf. “Hey! Barg! Get ‘em!”
Steel flashed, silver glints and red, and chairs clattered, tumbling over as the Knights jumped to their feet.
Gripping the prisoner’s wrist, Kerian bolted for the side door. She sidestepped Nayla, a dog, and a startled Bueren Rose. A hand grabbed Kerian’s shoulder, hard enough to leave bruises. Barg pulled her back, a long knife in his hand. Flashing, his blade came up, ripping the sleeve of her blouse as she jerked away, scoring the flesh of her right arm.
The Knight growled low in his throat and grabbed at her again. Hard around the waist he held her, his mailed arm digging into her flesh. She smelled blood, her and his, and the crimsoned blade pressed against her throat.
Bueren screamed. Her father, entering the room, shouted, and the youngest of the Knights darted in close. “She’s mine! Give her over!”
Barg laughed. Kerian kept perfectly still. Against her throat pressed a blade with the taste of her blood still on it. In her hands, unseen and covered by gravy-stained na
pkins, she gripped another. Without moving, she tried to see the Kagonesti prisoner, spotted her sagging on the floor, looking worse than she had when she’d come in. Long elf eyes met, flashing. The woman had been beaten, surely worse, but she remained undaunted.
Kerian’s blood sparked. Swiftly she squirmed in the Knight’s grip, flung back and jammed her knee into his crotch.
Barg howled. In the same moment, Kenan pulled away. She grabbed the prisoner by the wrist, yanked her hard. The woman came up groaning, but she came up. On her feet, she stumbled, and Kerian pushed her toward the side door leading out to the privy.
A mailed hand dug into Kenan’s shoulder. She felt breath hot on her cheek as Barg dragged her back, a long knife in his hand.
“No!” the prisoner cried.
Kerian ducked and turned, trying to free herself. The Knight’s grip dug into her flesh.
Blood ran down her arm. Roaring her pain, Kerian leaped toward her captor, her knife suddenly alive and glinting bright sparks. She lifted, she plunged, and she saw shock turn Barg’s eyes glassy.
The steel slid softly into muscle, slipped between ribs. The blade scraped bone. Barg’s eyes went wide, and he dropped away. The tavern swelled with voices as Knights swore and cried murder.
Kerian shot for the door, hot blood on her hands, and grabbing the gaping prisoner.
Chapter Seven
The woman’s name was Ayensha, “Of Eagle Flight,” she said, gasping the information as they ran out into the yard.
Ayensha pointed up the hill. “The forest.”
Kerian cursed under her breath. In moments she was lost, blind in the night and falling over rocks. Ayensha slipped ahead of her, still groaning to breathe. Behind, the night filled with outraged shouts, with torchlight and the sound of horses stamping and bridles ringing.
“North!” cried the dark-haired boy, his voice high with skittery laughter.
“No, south!” shouted Sir Egil.
Kerian tripped. Ayensha of Eagle Flight pulled her up. Over their shoulders, down the hill, they saw torches like little red stars. Furious voices carried up the hill.
“Keep running!” Ayensha pushed Kerian ahead. “Use your hands, use your eyes.” Her voice dropped low. She pulled her torn shirt together, shivering in the chill breeze.
They ran the climbing forest in darkness. Kerian tripped over stones. Often she stumbled into trees; brush snared her, and tangling roots. Cold air stung her cuts and scratches. Her right arm stiffened, throbbing with the pain of a knife cut Behind them and below, the lights of torches ran along the road, swift in the night. Sir Egil and his men searched south, then turned to search north.
“Look,” said Ayensha, pointing. The lights stood still, bright and sharp. The Knights had returned to the Hare and Hound, unable to find their quarry on the road. Small in the night, the tavern’s windows showed as orange gleams. “We have to put distance between us and them.”
Panting, Kerian said, “Why? They don’t dare follow us. Their horses won’t be able to take this slope in the dark.”
“No,” said Ayensha, leaning against a tree. She wrapped her arms loosely around her middle. Sweat ran on her face, plastered her hair to her forehead, her neck and cheeks.
More than sweat, Kerian thought. Silver tears traced through the dirt and blood and bruises on Ayensha’s face. She seemed unaware of that.
Like fire, the woman’s eyes shone fierce and desperate. She shoved away from the tree. “Let’s go.”
Kerian hated the darkness as though it were her enemy. She hated it with each step she took, despised it each time she fell, each time she staggered up again. A woman of the city, she was used to kinder nights and darkness tamed by hot, high, warming fires on streets outside the taverns, the cheerful flames of torchbearers leading a lord or lady’s litter through the streets, the glow from windows of houses high and humble. Here night was complete, blinding.
Ayensha was not troubled. Kerian began to think the woman had the eyes of a cat. Night-eyes, the Wilder Elves called that. Kerian herself used to have the same skill, a long time ago in Ergoth. She fell again, this time so hard the breath left her lungs in a loud whoosh. Fiery pain shot up her right arm, blood sprang from the knife wound again.
“Up,” Ayensha ordered between clenched teeth.
Kerian rose, and they traveled on. When she stumbled, she righted herself. When she hurt, she closed her lips tight to cage the groan. Once she fell and did not rise quickly, and saw Ayensha watching. In the woman’s eyes, pity.
“Come on, you’ve got to keep going,” she insisted.
Kerian followed Ayensha, running, falling, and climbing up again till all the night became an aching repetition of pain and anger and finally the simple numbness of exhaustion. It was then, with surprise, that she saw a glint of silver through the tops of the trees, a small shining. Her weary mind could not think what that shining was or imagine the cause.
“The moon,” Ayensha whispered. She turned her face to the silver, her bruises and cuts showing black in the stark light. “Ah, gods, wherever you are, thank you.”
Kerian watched the half-moon rise, and she watched the world around appear as though by magic They had come far, and indeed, high. Around them now was more stone than tree, and the stones soared past her height. Some stood so close together they formed little shelters. Against one of these boulders, Ayensha leaned, but very carefully. The woman’s face shone white as bone in the moonlight, her lips pressed into a thin line against pain.
“Sit,” Kerian said, by habit still whispering.
Ayensha looked around, numbly. Kerian took her arm and helped her to a seat on a broad flat stone, helped her put her back to another. Sighing, the woman leaned her head against title rock and closed her eyes.
Listening to the weary rhythm of her heart beating, Kerian pressed her own back against a tall broad pine, the tangy scent of sap filling her, tickling awake old memories of the dark upland forest of Ergoth. Her breath staggered in her lungs, hitching. Muscles of her arms and legs twitched with exhaustion.
“Ayensha, where are we headed?”
Eyes still closed, Ayensha said, “Nowhere. Not now. We’re finished running for the night.” She took a careful breath and pushed away from the boulder. “We hide here, in the rocks, till morning, then see how things are and go on when we can.”
An owl cried, not the mournful hooting reported in minstrel’s songs and poet’s verse, but the startling, rattling cackle of a raptor hunting. Wide-winged, the owl swooped out of a nearby pine, tail spread as it sailed low. Behind her, Kerian heard the sudden dash of something small through the brush, then a high, despairing scream. The owl rose, a rabbit caught in its talons, the corpse swinging. The sight caught Kerian hard by the throat.
“Come on,” Ayensha said. It seemed she hadn’t marked the small death at all She pushed up from her seat, looked around, and pointed to a stand of three tall boulders. “There. Help me.”
Kerian put Ayensha’s arm around her shoulders. Though they did not walk more than a dozen yards, to Kerian it felt like miles the distance growing with the weight on her shoulders. The two tallest boulders leaned together, their tops almost touching, the gap between an entrance like a doorway without a door. It seemed wide enough for two to pass through. Kerian shifted Ayensha’s weight and started through. She had not taken two steps before the woman hissed, “Stop!”
Startled, Kerian did stop, looking at her companion. Again, she saw pity in the woman’s eyes.
From between clenched teeth, Ayensha said, “Check inside. There could be a fox denning there or a lynx or bear.” She pulled away from Kerian and balanced with her hand against one of the tall stones.
Kerian didn’t think any of those things were true, but she put her hand to the knife at her belt-the knife slipped to her by the unpleasant dwarf, she suddenly remembered, wondering briefly what happened to him and his two companions in all the commotion-cold fingers gripping the bone handle as she slipped the weapon from t
he sheath.
“Wait here,” Kerian said, firmly as though the idea of looking were her own. She snatched up a handful of stones from the ground and pitched in one, then another. She stopped to listen, heard only the wind, and tossed in a third.
They peered into the darkness, the little cave smelling of ancient leaves and ancient earth. Faint and far, moonlight drifted through the cracks between the leaning stones, not sharp beams but a pale diffusion. Kerian took a moment to let her eyes adjust, then helped Ayensha to sit. She went outside, by moonlight found fallen boughs of fragrant pine to make a soft bed, and helped Ayensha to lie down. So weary was the woman now, so filled with pain, that she could not speak to say whether that helped her or to agree that it was good to be out of the wind or to say whether she felt a little warmer. She lay in silence, hunched over in pain. Once her breath caught in a small sob.
Kerian sat silent, her right arm throbbing, her hand on Ayensha’s shoulder. In the quiet, she heard wind, again the cackle of a hunting owl, again the sudden scream of a rabbit’s death. Shuddering, she held her breath and listened more closely to the night. As her heart quieted, she heard what he had hoped for-the faint, musical trickle of water sliding down stone.
“Ayensha,” she whispered.
Ayensha groaned.
“Lie still, I’ll be right back.”
Kerian found water behind the little shelter, a trickle shining with the light of the half-moon, like silver running.
She washed her wound clean of blood, washed her hands and dried them on her shirt. She had only her cupped hands to carry the water, icy and tasting like stone. Still, with two trips, she managed to soothe Ayensha’s thirst. She checked the woman’s injuries and knew at least one of her ribs was broken, maybe more. She could only hope that organs had not been damaged. Across Ayensha’s ribs Kerian saw the distinct print, in black bruising, of a hard boot’s heel.
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