by Steven Gould
Leland pulled his back hip off the line and skipped in, suddenly standing beside the soldier as the blade passed him. Leland’s near arm swept over the guard’s and his bicep slammed into the soldier’s face. The man went over backward, his feet flying out from under him. Leland kept moving, bypassing the other soldier before he could react. “Take care of him, would you?” Leland called over his shoulder. He turned into the gate room.
The remaining guard looked both directions, torn. Marilyn moved in toward him, offering her head as a target. The guard jerked his blade up and cut down reflexively. She entered, sliding off the line, and turned, tenkan, trapping his sword hand by her hip and twisting around to take his balance. He stumbled forward and she reversed, stepping back as she swept his hand and sword across her front in a wrist lock and turning again.
He screamed and dove over his own arm to relieve the pressure, slamming into the wall and leaving the sword in her hand.
Her heart was beating fast and she wanted to jump up and down and say, “Look what I did!” But he wasn’t there to see it. Or to catch you if you failed. She found herself grinning like an idiot.
The man she’d just thrown tried to get up again and she lifted the sword. “You look tired,” Marilyn said. “Why don’t you rest?”
The soldier settled back against the wall, cradling his wrist.
There was a shout from the room Leland had entered and the sound of something breaking, then a series of grunts and crashes. She held her breath, listening. There came a clanking sound followed by the rattle of a chain and the sound of something dropping. The ever-present sound of rushing water increased momentarily, followed by the sound of grating stone.
Marilyn backed away from the man until she could see into the room. Leland was standing by a speaker tube that came down from the ceiling. There were three men scattered around the room either groaning or unconscious. One of them was upside-down against the wall, his legs folded back over his head.
Leland glanced at her and smiled without taking his ear away from the tube. “What now?” she asked.
“We wait.”
Sylvan came back into the courtyard to find the hostages shivering against the wall, watched by three squads. “What are they still doing here?”
“We didn’t know where to put them, sir.”
Sylvan cursed under his breath. The watch captain who’d been privy to his plans was supervising the search for his father, Leland, and Marilyn. “Put them—”
There was a groaning from the front gate, the sound made when it lifted on its hydraulic pivot.
What now? He yelled up to the gate captain, at his post on the gate tower. “Who ordered the gate opened? Is someone coming?”
The gate captain yelled back. “Nobody on the road. I didn’t order it, sir!”
The fugitives. Well, it would do them no good. It wasn’t as if they had someone outside waiting to take advantage of the unlocking of the gate.
He pointed his finger at the coronet in charge of the hostages. “Take two squads down to the watchroom and lock the gate. If the fugitives are still there, capture them.”
“Yes, sir! My squad and Chumley’s. Peterson, your squad has the hostages.” He led them off at a run, using the stables entrance to the main structure.
Sylvan looked back up at the gate captain. “Are you sure there’s nobody out there?”
“Yes, sir. They’re fighting in the village but nobody’s headed this way.”
“Any word from Fort Bayard?”
“I’ll send a runner to check.”
Dammit. I should’ve brought all the troops with me. His father had directed him to leave them in the valley to slow the enemy advance. If Laal cavalry broke through at the village, they could be here in ten minutes. He yelled up at the gate captain. “Get some timbers and wedge the gate, just in case the—”
Both halves of the main door slammed open and a howling mob—that was the only word for it—of men and women charged forward armed with a motley collection of weapons, gardening tools, and kitchen implements. They made straight for the gate, sweeping over the four guards stationed there and, while the majority of them, perhaps twenty, formed a perimeter around it facing out, six of them threw themselves at the gate, pushing it open.
The guards on the walls opened fire, but immediately other arrows shot from the slits on the side of the main door, dropping two of the archers and forcing the others above to take cover in places where they couldn’t shoot down into the yard.
Where did—the prisoners. They let all the prisoners out. Poorly armed as they were, there were almost as many of them as there were Cotswolders in the entire station.
The hostages struggled to their feet and Sylvan, about to order their guards to attack the forces at the gate, drew his sword and screamed, “I’ll kill the first one of you that moves.” He was about to turn, to use this same threat to force the mob to close the gate, when the massive stone half cylinder dropped into its locking grooves with a thud he could feel all the way across the yard.
Damn you, Father. How could you let this happen?
“Through the stables. Get them inside,” he shouted to the squad. “If any of them give you trouble,” he said deliberately, “kill the children.”
The index mark on the great iron shaft rotated to the open mark and Leland threw the lever. The rushing water sound changed and the shaft dropped. For a second Marilyn thought the grinding noise overhead was a prelude to the ceiling collapsing, but then it stopped. Leland jumped away from the lever and started rummaging through a chest in the corner.
“What are you do—sit down!” The guard with the injured wrist was trying to stand and Marilyn skipped forward, raising the sword. He subsided. She backed up again to see Leland turning a clevis pin on the heavy chain where it joined the top of the sluice gate.
“Are you going to drop it back in?”
“Yes.”
“Won’t that let them close the gate again?”
He shook his head. “No, there’s a slot below the channel. It’ll drop all the way down, past the water. It’ll take days to fish it up even if they figure it out.” He got the pin loose but the weight of the iron sluice gate kept it from releasing. Leland stepped back and, using the wrench as a hammer, slammed into the link, once, twice; then, on the third blow, the pin flew across the room, the chain flew up through the block, the gate fell into the slot, and the counterweight smashed its wooden cradle to pieces.
Leland dropped the wrench and said, “Time to go?” Marilyn looked back down the hall—there was movement at the corner. “Yes.”
They left the room, moving down the hall in the other direction at a run.
Chapter 24
NINJYO: COMPASSION
When they were finally in touch, Koss detached his headquarters’ unit and rode with them to the edge of Brandon-on-the Falls to meet the Eight Hundred. He already knew of Leland’s decision to infiltrate the Station and feared the worst—that, like Ricard, Leland had fallen into a trap.
Gahnfeld assembled his units on the snow-covered soccer fields south of town.
With a slight shock he remembered seeing them there in just this formation, the evening they’d frog-marched back from the Black after escorting Siegfried out of Laal—the night of the fall Harvest Festival.
They were wearing ponchos, turned light side out, and their breath steamed in the cold air.
Koss searched their faces, looking for children they’d sent out to the plain, but the faces stared back, unimpressed. These weren’t children anymore.
“Myron.”
“Uncle.”
They saluted formally, then Koss studied Gahnfeld’s face. “Rough trip?” Gahnfeld nodded. “Rough enough.”
“Any word from Leland?”
Gahnfeld sighed. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
Koss shook his head. “We’ve heard from Marshall de Gant. They’ve bypassed Fort Bayard. Their advance units will be here by the end of the day.
> “Hmmm. That’s faster than I thought. To tell you the truth, I’m surprised they came at all.”
Koss looked at the lines of men. “No comment. I don’t know what happened. I’m reserving judgment.”
Gahnfeld said nothing.
“You did well, Myron. You brought far more of them home than I’d dared hope.”
Gahnfeld’s voice broke. “It wasn’t me! Leland did it all!” He straightened and cleared his throat. “I want permission to advance on Laal Station.”
Koss looked out at the men again. Those within earshot were watching him intently. Did they all come back alive to die at home?
“Permission granted. We’ll be right behind you. Hit them hard.”
Leland went through two guards at the back stairway. Marilyn, a step behind, didn’t see what happened, only that she had to jump sideways suddenly, flattening herself against the wall as the first body came down the stairs, then the second. Leland never stopped and Marilyn struggled to catch up.
They emerged into the main corridor to see some of their own people closely following a group of Cotswolders as the enemy backed into the Great Hall.
Irma, one of the Laal kitchen staff, saw Leland and said, “They’ve taken hostages into the Great Hall. Women and children from the village.”
Leland walked forward. “What do they want?”
Irma looked at him doubtfully. “Well…they want to talk to you. It’s Sylvan.” Marilyn felt her lips draw back from her teeth. She remembered her guards and the troops at the aid station. Sylvan would kill without hesitation.
Leland said, “How many hostages? How many soldiers?”
Irma said, “Perhaps twenty-four hostages. Twenty soldiers.”
Marilyn stepped up to where she could see Leland’s face. It was a blank mask, devoid of emotion.
“What’s happening in the rest of the Station?” Leland asked.
“Well, there’s a group of them holed up in the gate tower and a bunch of them down in the cellar. It’s hard to say how many others are around, but they’re individuals, scattered, and we’ve been picking them off as we go.”
“Where’s Bartholomew?”
Irma shuddered. “He’s in the back courtyard. He wanted to cool the corpse off in the snow.”
“Did you tell Sylvan his father is dead?”
“Hell, no! I was afraid if he found out, he’d start killing for sure.”
Good call, Marilyn thought.
There was the sound of fighting from the stairway behind them, the one Leland and Marilyn had just climbed from the basement.
Irma smiled grimly, the worried look on her face dropping briefly. “Looks like Robert and Allen caught up with the crowd in the basement.”
Marilyn blinked. “Only two of them?”
“No. They’ve got half our guys. Robert and Allen also have bows.”
Leland, seeing a look of incomprehension on Marilyn’s face, said, “Those two…well, they know how to use a bow.”
Irma laughed shortly, then looked back at the entrance to the Great Hall.
Leland said, “Send somebody to fetch Bartholomew and the body. Also, we need somebody with axes to go get the Glass Helm. Marilyn will show them where.” He glanced at her for confirmation.
She nodded.
He smiled briefly and said, “As soon as they’re done below, get Robert and Allen up into the musicians’ gallery. But have them hide and wait unless I point at someone like this.” He held out his fore and index fingers together.
Irma duplicated the gesture.
Leland clapped his hands together and said, “Please hurry.”
The first thing he noticed was how scared the soldiers looked, even more scared, it seemed, than the hostages. The second thing he noticed was a piece of bamboo, still leaning in the nook behind his father’s chair. It was yellower than the last time he’d seen it, less green.
AREN’T WE ALL?
Tell me, Michaela, do you feel any compulsion to obey this man?
He finally turned to face Sylvan, standing stiffly before the right fireplace behind a living barrier—an arc of guards with drawn blades themselves standing behind another living barrier: the hostages.
NOT REALLY. THE IMPRINTING WAS QUITE SPECIFIC. SIEGFRIED IS…WAS A VERY “ME” PERSON.
“Where is my father!” Sylvan’s voice was a touch strident, and Leland noted how it made the soldiers even more nervous.
Is it his voice or his missing father that bothers them most? Leland kept his voice light and calm. “Hello, Sylvan. Did you enjoy your stay in Noram?”
Sylvan didn’t take it well. After stepping down from the dais and pushing between the guards, he grabbed one of the hostages, a young, extremely pregnant woman, by the hair and put his dagger to her throat.
“I asked you a question!”
Leland took a deep breath. “I’ve sent for him. He’ll be here in a moment.” He wondered how long it would be until Robert or Allen was in the gallery. “What are you trying to accomplish here?”
“Where is the Helm?”
WELL, NOW WE KNOW WHAT HE’S TRYING TO ACCOMPLISH.
“Oddly enough, I’ve sent for that, too.”
Sylvan took his knife away from the woman’s throat but still kept his fingers entwined in her hair. “What happened down in the cellar? When my father put the Helm on you?”
The woman’s eyes were wide open and she was breathing rapidly, her face beaded with moisture. There was fire in both fireplaces but it wasn’t that warm in the room.
Leland shrugged. “It didn’t work.”
“I know that. Why?” He raised the knife again.
“Perhaps it’s broken.”
Sylvan’s face paled.
He was counting on the imprinter to get him out of this mess.
APPARENTLY.
“We’ll see if it’s broken,” Sylvan said. “Where’s Marilyn?”
Leland felt a palpable blow in the pit of his stomach. He’ll try it on Marilyn.
TRY IS THE OPERATIVE WORD. IT HASN’T BEEN RECHARGED.
“Marilyn is bringing the Helm.”
Leland heard the door hinges creak and turned.
It was Bartholomew with the late High Steward of Cotswold. Siegfried’s face was drained white, and the cloth they’d wrapped around his midriff was soaked in blood. He was starting to stiffen, either from rigor mortis or his time out in the snow, and there was no doubt in anybody’s mind that he was dead.
HELP HIM. He could feel Michaela’s urge to walk forward, to share Bartholomew’s burden.
No. He turned back to Sylvan. “So, what now, High Steward?”
HIGH STEWARD?
He’s his father’s heir.
Sylvan exhaled slowly. Under his breath, so low that Leland almost didn’t hear him, he said, “I thought he couldn’t be killed.”
Leland thought about his father’s bones in the cell below. “Believe me, I know the feeling.”
He waited a moment, then said, “It’s over, you know. Your enemies are closing in from all sides. My troops from the south, Koss from the west, de Gant from the north, Toshiko from the east. But you might still live after this.
“But not if you harm a single hostage.”
He raised his voice. “None of you will live if a single hostage dies.”
Sylvan laughed harshly. “Ignore him. He’ll sing a different tune in a—ah, my fiancee.”
Leland turned. Marilyn had entered the room carrying the Helm still wrapped in Leland’s extra shirt.
“Bring it here!” Sylvan said loudly.
Marilyn ignored him, bringing it instead to Leland.
Sylvan raised the knife again, wrenching the woman’s hair back to expose her throat. The woman gasped, then cried out suddenly, her hands going to her abdomen.
SHE’S GOING INTO LABOR!
“Bring it here!” Sylvan snarled.
Leland accepted the bundle from Marilyn and pulled the shirt from it. It gleamed in the light from the windows and the
fireplaces.
“BRING IT HERE!” Sylvan screamed.
Marilyn flinched, her eyes on the woman, and she started to reach for the Helm.
Leland stepped forward instead, before she could touch it, and walked slowly toward Sylvan, carrying the Helm at waist level.
“What good will it do you, Sylvan? You did know that you can’t even go home, right? Roland is closing on Montrouge even as we speak. By this time next week, the nation of Cotswold won’t exist. What you should ask yourself is ‘Will Sylvan Montrose exist next week?’”
“Shut up!” Sylvan said.
Leland stopped two meters in front of Sylvan and held it out, gripping the slight bulge where it covered the neck.
The hostage jerked and Sylvan swore. “Hold still! Do you want me to cut your throat?” The woman whimpered, then groaned deeply.
There was a splashing sound and Sylvan said derisively, “Did you just wet yourself?”
“Her water broke,” Leland said, speaking slowly and emphasizing each word as if he were talking to a mental defective. “She’s having a baby.”
“What?” Sylvan looked down, taking the knife back from the woman’s throat.
Leland let the Helm drop slightly then whipped it back up and down, smashing it into Sylvan’s wrist. The knife fell to the floor and, swearing, Sylvan shoved the woman forward, at Leland, while he stepped back and drew his sword.
Leland caught her and stepped back, first pulling her, then pushing her behind him. “Take her to Irma,” he said without taking his eyes off of Sylvan. He heard Marilyn helping her across the room, talking in a low soothing voice.
Sylvan turned to one of the other hostages and raised his sword. “Is this what you want? How many of them will I have to kill?”
Leland stepped forward again. “You want the Helm? Or do you want to kill women and children?” He dangled the Helm by one finger.
DON’T DROP IT!
Why the hell not?
“Or are women and children the only thing you can kill?” He let the Helm drop back to his side and deliberately turned his back on Sylvan.
