I nearly punched him.
I took hold of Leger’s arm instead, saying to Haton, “A pleasure to meet you, sir. Please enjoy the evening and the company of my town. But if you will excuse me, I must speak with my alsman.”
They seemed a bit put out but relented. I stepped toward the door before I could hear any more laughter. Sahin and my bodyguards followed me toward the keep. The bowyer was no better than I was at hiding his dark mood.
Leger asked him, “Animosities, Sahin, for my bringing so many Zoviyans?”
“Pardon?” he replied. Perhaps realizing his scowl, he added, “Oh, no. None, now that I have met them. You brought us quality men. The Chaukai and Enhedu will be made rich providing all the food and basic materials they need, and your idea of spreading them out into the villages will make each a smaller version of Urnedi. I worry only that some in their number might serve other Yentif interests.”
“How they said goodbye to Bessradi did not satisfy?”
“Yes, if all of it is true. The sabotage Haton’s band wrought makes trust easy. But are you so certain none were caught and all did as they claimed?”
I came to a halt in the darkened street and turned to hear Leger’s answer.
“Yes,” he told us. “Haton and I spoke with each man on the way here. A few had to abandon their plans, but none were caught, none operated alone, and everyone is accounted for. My action against the orchard was by far the most overt and direct. The rest were innocuous actions taken against unguarded targets.”
“Give us one,” I said, despite his promise to those men that he would never repeat what he had heard. I was dying of curiosity. Sahin was as eager to hear it.
Leger hesitated, but surrendered to a degree, offering, “Leaving out the specifics, imagine unguarded bridges that only bear heavy loads when crops come in for processing. Imagine sections of a sewer blocked with enough debris that even the smallest rain would flood storerooms in the next neighborhood. Imagine adding ground glass to garbage a greedy man uses as filler for his livestock feed. Imagine collecting and raising rats for a season and then letting them all go in an empty warehouse you know shares its cellar with six others that are not. Imagine lye, rust, dye, mercury, ink, or any other similar thing that could be dripped or dropped or left in just the right place for it to be mistaken for something else.”
Sahin was grinning. “Oh, my.”
“Yes, bowyer. And we got away clean. I am as confident of the refugees we swept up in Alsonvale. They are no different than the men we rescued from Almidi. There will be those in their number we will have wished we’d left behind, but none are here now on behalf of our enemies.”
I asked, “What chance is there the association will be recognized as the cause of all the damage? Having the whole group pull up stakes on the same day must be suspicious.”
“The same could be said for the other tens of thousands who quit the city. The Yentif will not be able to put the finger on Haton’s band just for their leaving. And I agree with them that the chaos of so much sabotage and so many missing labors will have the Yentif struggling all season just to keep the city functioning. Whatever plans Bendent and Parsatayn had for after the fire have been set right on their ear by its spread and its failure to claim all the senior princes. Evand will be a thorn in their side for some time.”
“Enough,” I said, not wanting to hear another word about the dead. They did not hear my plea.
“It did not take them very long to get to Rahan,” Sahin remarked.
Leger shrugged. “He had only his scribe for protection. Prince Evand has 2,000 loyal Hemari buttressed around him. Until Bendent and Yarik can come up with a way to get to him, they will be scrambling to put the blame for it all on someone else.”
“Enough,” I barked, and they froze in place.
“Barok, what is wrong?” Sahin asked.
“Would you enjoy tales of your kin being burned alive and hunted?” I seethed.
They bit their lips, kicked at the ground, and slowly began to apologize. I had no interest in hearing it.
“No. Leave it. This day has been too long for you to make it any longer. Impress me, instead, tomorrow morning with tales of how you organized the greencoats, established a camp for the new men, and convinced the rest of Urnedi to continue working even though they have not yet been paid.”
My bodyguards moved to follow.
“No,” I ordered. “You are relieved.”
If they said anything as I stalked away, I did not hear it.
Up in my apartment, I slammed the shutters on the sights and sounds of the party and gave the bed a kick before I pitched my clothes into the corner, crawled as deeply beneath the blankets as I could, and pressed pillows against my ears.
Sleep came in a solid black mass full of vivid dreams. I awoke before the dawn beside a restful Dia, still haunted by the sizzle and pop of a hundred brothers being cooked in quiet granite ovens. Part of me delighted in the sound, but worse was the thought that even this terrible damage done to my family had not helped my cause against them. I had doubled Enhedu’s manpower thanks to the hard work of my alsman, but Enhedu was still the fall of a lazy Yentif foot away from being squashed. I could perhaps count on the turmoil of fire, sabotage, and assassinations to keep me beneath their notice for a while longer, but I would be a fool to think myself safe.
How could I defeat them?
I needed counsel. I needed to see Kyoden. I began to move, and the impetus carried me to the stable and out into the forest beneath a crescent moon. The ride was refreshing, the sun rose, and the closer I got, the better I felt.
I heard someone behind me upon the trail. My bodyguards were riding out after me. Their presence added to my confidence. At least the men around me were ones that I could trust. In Enhedu, I was safe.
Another sound to my left brought me to a halt. I heard a voice and a crunching of brush to my right. These were not my greencoats. I was being surrounded—surrounded by men who meant to kill me. Whether they had come with Leger or before and had been waiting for an opportunity, it did not matter. The foolishness of an unaccompanied ride had allowed them their chance. I found anger and felt the weight of my sword at my hip. A snarl bent my face. I wanted blood. I wanted to give some of the hurt back, and here was my chance.
“You come for me,” I yelled and drew my blade. “I am here. Claim me if you can.”
Three riders came into view around a hilly bend in the forest trail. The first let fly an arrow, but it turned wildly on one of the many branches between us. Three. They would need to be the finest swordsmen alive to be enough for me, I urged my horse toward them and got a better look at my foes. Two were encased in blued steel.
My boiling blood went ice cold. Against Hessier I was doomed. I wheeled my horse again, and this time I fled. I heard calls and crashing all around me. Where had they come from?
I raced down the trail and turned west upon another. Distance, all I needed was distance and to circle out of their trap and back to Urnedi. I pushed my horse, but the unfamiliar trail was narrow and forced me to slow as the thick branches scraped and grabbed. The trail bent over a small hill, and when I reached the far side, I found two riders blocking my path. They called out and stood their ground. Those behind me crashed down the trail. I caught a glimpse of the barbute helms of the Hessier.
I looked south through the dense trees and underbrush. Forcing my horse through would be folly.
The Chaukai who guarded the bridge. Rot. The Chaukai were all in town.
Better yet, the yew.
I searched the north side of the trail and spotted a boar trail and hope. I turned my stout pony and urged him through the trees toward it. If I could make it north and east onto the main road, the bridge was not far.
The draining feel of the Hessier was in my neck and shoulders. I had to keep my distance. I rode the trail at a reckless pace and faster again into an uncluttered stand of oak that carried down to the tall reeds of a dry bog. I spotted the m
any trails carved by the frequent passage of the pigs that ruled the place and raced madly along one. The tall reeds and grass hid us as we fled, and I heard a pair of the animals crashing their way out the west side of the bog. I found a way north and exited into the thick green of a low hill. I stopped to allow the flight of the boar to be the only sound.
I patted my calm horse’s neck and peered through the trees. I could see the stand of oak above the bog and within it the silhouettes of the Hessier and their proud Akal-Tak. Their pace down was even and without urgency, like gentlemen on a leisurely hunt.
They must have men on the bridge. They were forcing me north, forcing me into a trap. The Hessier had only to get close, and it would be over.
“I am not such easy prey,” I whispered and angled away from them over the hill. If men did wait for me upon the bridge, I would kill them.
I crested another hill while the half circle of voices closed in, and I made my way northeast to the road that I needed. I found it occupied by a single rider to the south. He called out to the rest as I galloped north into the wide clearing before the bridge. A trio of horsemen waited upon it. None were Hessier. I charged them. One fired an arrow that went well wide. As I reached the bridge, his second shot cut the air along my horse’s flank. The other two had their horses turned sideways to block the bridge and protect the archer behind them. These men were soldiers. I ducked behind my horse’s head in case the archer managed another quick shot.
My horse’s hooves clapped loudly upon the stone. The rising sun was behind my right shoulder. Perfect. I grinned and angled right, putting one of my attackers between myself and the archer and the sun in all of their eyes. The archer backed his horse to get clear but could not get a shot before I was upon them.
My stalwart pony shouldered his way between the pair that blocked my path, and my swordsmanship was tested from both left and right. Only the weight of my steel allowed the speed of the maddened parries. The archer had his bow drawn, but my horse collided with his. It backed up, and the man’s shot went foul.
I hated my first thrust but had no other. The quick stab pierced the throat of the archer’s mount, and already backing up, it reared and fell. I steered around the kick of the screaming animal to avoid the others and thrust deeply into the archer’s back.
The others pressed around either side of the dying man and horse, both very near the rail as they came. I did not wait for them, but asked my horse to charge the man on the left. My stallion leapt forward, colliding sharply with my opponent’s mount. The thrust prepared for me became a waving of arms as the horses careened away from each other. Another nudge and yell had my pony’s hooves clattering again upon the bridge, and the second collision with my opponent’s horse sent its weight over the bridge’s wheel-high rail. Man and horse screamed until they struck the water below. The last man stabbed at me before I could turn, and my parry was another wild one. His second thrust put the tip of his sword into the back of my saddle. I whipped my sword around behind me, and he screamed. His sword clattered upon the bridge. My horse came around smartly, and the unarmed man could do nothing to prevent the thrust that killed him. He folded and tumbled onto the bridge, and his horse cantered away.
The zip of an arrow prevented celebration. Eleven men and two Hessier were already in the clearing before the bridge.
“Too late,” I shouted and fled toward the yew. I fought the close touch of the Hessier and was glad my horse did not seem to mind them. He was more concerned by the sound of the dying horse and only too happy to race away. I gained some distance, and the black grip faded.
Each familiar branch and log that lay in wait became a friend. After a crash and cursing behind me, I gained some ground and caught sight of the yew.
“Can you hear me?” I called to my kin. “I am hunted by men of Zoviya. Wake Vesteal. Wake and help me slay them.”
The yew forest came into view, and already the ghosts were waking, curling free of their trees like black smoke from the hot smolder of wet wool. The air was heavy and impossibly warm. I pulled up and dismounted, expecting the pony to bolt. The stout Fell stood his ground, but I decided not to leave it to chance. I ran beneath the Mother Yew to wait for the killers to enter my lair.
They did not make me wait long, nor did my waking kin. Their moans became a stabbing shriek as the riders thundered into the yew, and the molten ash of my family’s tortured souls leapt like lynx upon them. The men screamed and pulled at their reins, but it was too late. Blood sprayed wildly, and bodies tumbled to the ground. The horses reared, fell, panicked, fled, and not one rider remained in the saddle when they raced away. My kin collected upon them and were savage in their vengeance. Bits of flesh and founts of blood flew high from the seething black cloud.
Slowly their madness softened, but as I smiled, the Hessier stood up through the dissipating swirls of ash and drew their swords.
“There are more. Hessier walk in the woods,” I shouted to my kin.
‘Cannot,’ Solon shrieked as he circled away from the demons. ‘They keep away our touch. You must flee.’
“I will not.” I brought up my sword and took a step toward them. I saw them grin before the weight of their magic struck me. I fell to my knees. The numbness was hollowing, and my body refused me.
“Kinsmen, our enemy is here. Hear me. Give me the strength to fight them.”
My call returned the wail of the dead to the ancient forest. They leapt toward me, and the starkness of my despair was multiplied as the memories of the dead were again mine. The spirits filled me, fast and seething, the will of a murdered family became my own. A murdered people’s sorrow. A murdered people’s rage. I saw the bodies of wives and children, friends and comrades. I heard each of their names and relived how each had died. A million dreadful memories of other men warmed the cold from my body. My blood coursed hot and clean. I rose to one knee and then to my Edonian feet. Cascading swirls of the ashen dead cloaked my hips and legs.
The Hessier fixed their eyes upon me. Icy wind bit my face and chilled my skin. The collective will of the souls of my kin refused their magic and brought up my sword.
One said to the other, “This one is Vesteal.”
The other flinched and backed away. “We must tell Sikhek. There could be others.”
“Stand your ground. We’ll bring this one with us for him to question.”
Kyoden and his kin churned and seethed. The ghosts’ odium was a liquid, and I drank it in. The urgency and hatred exploded within me, and I leapt at the Hessier as they started toward me. A beat parry and lunge set the tip of my blade between the plated knuckles of the first’s hand, and his sword fell to the ground. He retreated clumsily, but not before I gave the unarmored gap between his groin and thigh the full length of a thrust. He made a sound like a coughing horse and crumbled to the ground. The other rushed me, but I parried and circled.
The swirl of hot ash curled thicker around my arms and hid my legs and feet.
Such advantage.
I attacked again and found elbow, thigh, bicep, and armpit. The half-dead thing growled and stumbled back.
‘Their flesh heals,’ Kyoden screamed. ‘Do not let them rest. Be quick.’
But my rapier could only prick them. I could not open such steel with my thin blade. I spotted nearby the weighty length of the tree branch that had knocked me from my horse the previous autumn. I snatched it up, hacked off the ungainly end, and charged.
The Hessier was only too happy to rush into my attack and thrust at my chest. I pivoted around my rapier and pushing his thrust down wide along my left side. This action brought the branch in my left hand far back and low, and the natural circle of my arm carried it around, high and fast. The Hessier was still recovering when the branch finished the wide arc and struck the side of his helmet. The blued pot was torn free, and the Hessier stumbled back.
But he rose and grinned. His sick gray flesh was taut, his eyes unblinking. He did not seem to mind the wide gash upon his temple or his
split ear. He had no fear of me.
“I once had a pair of gloves made from the skin of Vesteal children,” he said. “It is time for a new pair.”
Solon swelled inside me then, and the great and powerful ghost took over my body. I lost control of my limbs and my breathing. His wrath was boiling silver in my veins, yet we did not attack. We forced slow measured breathes, dropped the branch, and switched the rapier to our left hand.
“You were poorly made,” we said to the Hessier with a snide grin and held our sword arm and rapier in a straight line pointed toward his forward foot.
The Hessier stopped grinning, his eyes narrowed at the challenge, and he charged.
What are you doing, Solon? We are out of guard!
As the dead thing came, we retreated a pace through the cloak of wafting ash, raised our sword arm sharply, while bending it at the wrist to point the rapier straight down. The Hessier’s thrust came on the right, Solon twisted to the left, and our rapier carried strangely back along our right side as it steered away the heavy sword.
I saw the Solon’s stroke then wanted to cheer.
Take him, brother!
Our entire body coiled right, and our left arm bent and wrapped up around our neck while the Hessier struggled to reverse direction and recover his guard.
Our body uncoiled. Wrist, arm, shoulders, hips, and legs all powered the light steel edge around like a whip above the slow-moving broadsword, and chopped though jaw and neck. The head flopped onto one shoulder, gray blood spattered in every direction, and he dropped his sword. He teetered but still his steel-clad hands reaching for me.
Solon was not slowed by this terror. He sent the head bouncing across the forest floor with a quick stroke and he spun to find the second. It had not moved, selfishly recovering from his wounds instead of defending his fellow. He closed his guard to hide the gaps in his armor.
The shroud of our seething kin tightened and filled our ears with a thousand swordsman’s whispers. We circled instead of lunging at the wall of steel and edged close enough to bait him into an attack. The Hessier lunged, and our parry and counter slid into his armpit. He backed and closed his guard again.
Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series Page 43
