Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series

by Blake Hausladen

  Geart was there, in a wide swath of lonely ground, lying just a few paces from the bottom of a bridge of fallen palisade logs that spanned the deep trench in front of the town’s wall. The terrible black grip lessened as we approached, but I could not understand this. All eight of the Hessier were there, running unhindered across the half circle of open ground, their spears and sword ready.

  “Get away from him.” I screamed, and urged my charging beast straight into them. Clever shrieked and pounced as they turned. Both of his front hooves met the chest of one and it was a clap of thunder. The Hessier tumbled away. Clever carried past, spun, and charged fresh across their number, turned and kicking with all his might as he went. Two had continued forward toward Geart. I spun us toward them and we rode them down.

  Another rushed in behind us, and Clever kicked out with the full length of his body. Both of his heavy steel shoes struck the evil thing’s helmet, and the metal pot was torn free.

  But then Clever screamed in pain and reared. A long spear was buried deep in his chest. Clever kicked out and down, broke the spear, and sent the Hessier tumbling backward. I screamed with fury and turned us, tried to get us free, but a second spear stabbed suddenly into his left side. I turned in time to see a third punch deeply into his guts.

  “No. Damn you,” I screamed and threw my spear at one, but it glanced uselessly off his metal shoulder.

  Clever screamed in pain, reared and kicked, and turned. The Hessier broke away again, but then my stricken friend stumbled and crashed forward into the ground.

  I struck the soft earth suddenly and bounced toward the deep trench. I coughed and wailed. Clever lay on his side between me and the Hessier. He thrashed madly as if it were still just he and I, charging alone and free across a sea of yellow grass.

  The Hessier crowded in and stabbed him again and again until he was still.

  I wept and crawled desperately away as they climbed over his bloody body. Through my blurred vision, I found Geart and scrambled toward him.

  “Get up,” I gasped, but only his lips moved. I fell across him and felt at once the white shimmer of magic once again. My stomach trembled, and a wholesome wave soothed my whole body. My belly burned. What is happening? This is not the blue light of Bayen. I grabbed at my stomach as the waking warmth cooked me. What is this miracle?

  I turned my head. I wished I had not. Above us stood the helmetless Hessier, his long spear leveled at Geart’s chest. He grinned down with pale gray lips and milky eyes.

  “No. You may not have him,” I screamed, rolled, and took upon my breast the thrust meant for our druid.

  I grabbed his spear, spit a mouthful of blood into his eyes, and held on with all that was left in me.

  94

  Colonel Leger Mertone

  The Battle of Urnedi, Day Three

  “Rise, guardsmen,” I screamed and shook the man. “Get up. Get up, you laggard. That is an order, soldier.”

  But Geart did not move, and I sank to the ground. Behind me a great groan of wood and a cheer of the enemy signaled the end. I thought to stand, but the magic of the Hessier struck us like a horse at a gallop and flattened me to the earth.

  I knew then the extent of my folly. You cannot fight the Hessier. My end would be the same as Kyoden’s. I blinked up at the blue sky and waited to see a Hessier stride into view and for the rush of the spear that would kill me.

  But it was Geart I saw. He stood, laughed, and made great angry fists.

  “Brother,” I choked, and he turned. He stared down at me strangely.

  “Fight them, Geart.”

  He ignored me, knelt slowly beside me, and touched my thirty star. He gasped and folded forward as if a great blow to the chest had knocked the wind out of him. He gagged and vomited onto the grass but then looked up alertly and rose.

  The air began to vibrate, and as quick as the slap of heat from an opened stove, the icy grip of the Hessier was gone.

  I sat up in search of him, but he was already sprinting toward the collapsed section of wall with nothing but a single tall spear.

  I managed to stand, but felt my age. Every joint screamed, my back was locked solid like a rusty iron vice, and my hands hung limply like over-chewed hunks of old meat. Barok was there with Selt, the pair just standing from where the Hessier magic had pressed them to the ground. Barok snatched up his sword.

  We looked back to Geart. The madman was alone in the press of the Tracians. He bashed them back and climbed up into the breach.

  “Hemari,” I bellowed at the sight.

  Barok and Selt charged after him the next instant, and I managed it, too, pulling my heavy sword free of its scabbard.

  But Geart stopped using his spear, and while arrows zipped past, he began to sing.

  “Get down, man,” I yelled as I ran, but he did not hear me.

  His song was like Avin’s verse, but before I could figure out who he was healing or why, he stepped down out of sight, and the soft blue glow of his song exploded. I was knocked off my feet and blinded, cooked through as if pitched into a raging fire. But the terrible heat was not the terror of burning flesh. Thirty-three years of aches were snatched from my body, and I felt as fit as the day I’d finished my fifty.

  But then the white flame was extinguished. I blinked in the sudden dim light of the sun and felt the renewed grip of the Hessier begin to tickle darkly along my flesh and into my guts.

  I leapt up before it could get worse and sprinted with Barok and Selt toward the breach.

  “No. Damn you,” I heard Dia suddenly cry, and then the pained scream of a horse. The sound of it made no sense. What was she doing beneath the palisade. We sprinted up onto the fallen wall.

  The half circle of open ground beyond the breach in the palisade was surrounded by Tracians, but they were few in number to the northeast. Great swaths of Fell-mounted Edonians blocked up the breach in the barricade. And behind the barricade to the east, Sergeant Furstundish and his troop of greencoats had scattered the Tracian archers in every direction.

  Dia had managed it. Somehow they had come a day early and ready for the fight.

  But to the southeast, the picture was grim. Bailiffs packed the road, and before them the Hessier crowded around Dia and her horse.

  The charger screamed, then fell, and Dia was thrown hard to the ground. I led us down the long ramp at a break-neck pace, but the Hessier had already moved around the fallen horse. We would not reach them in time. The first Hessier rushed in upon the pair.

  “No. You may not have him,” Dia screamed and took the heavy stab of his spear upon her breast. Barok bellowed with such rage that all the Hessier froze and looked up at him.

  The Hessier with the spear looked up at me with alarm. He was without a helmet, the side of his head torn. He tried to yank his spear free, but Dia spat her blood into his eyes, and refused to let go.

  I was upon him then, and the descent of my heavy sword cleaved his skull. Dark, cold liquid gushed wildly as he toppled backward.

  I leapt over him, charged the rest, and punched my sword through the caved-in breast plate of a second. The demon coughed and stumbled backward, but I was again struck blind by a terrible swirl of sticky blackness.

  “Get back,” Barok shouted and yanked me by the collar. “Stay close to Geart.”

  I staggered back, and the effects of their terrible magic were washed away. I blinked and got my bearing. Barok stood close on my left shoulder, his rapier ready. The seven Hessier stood in a broad line. They stared at us, and though I could not see it, I felt the gusts of icy air as their magic collided with Geart’s. His warmth seemed suddenly the last hot ember of a fire while winter raged. But small though it was, it held back their touch. One Hessier turned, his magic changed, and the many hundreds of bailiffs began to surge toward us.

  “Loose,” I heard Gern bark distantly. I smiled at the Hessier and waited for the white-feathered rain. It came in all at once, and the Hessier were peppered by the heavy arrows. One was struck throug
h the shoulder and neck, and another through the back of his calf and thigh. The Hessier bellowed, and the great gale of their magic shifted. Gern and his archers were silenced, the bailiffs kept coming, and a trio of the Hessier charged toward Geart.

  Selt sent an arrow between Barok and I, and the shaft stabbed straight through the thigh of the one closest to Barok. The prince leapt at him and managed to thrust his rapier through the narrow gap in his barbute helm. The Hessier screamed, but did not fall, and the prince’s rapier refused momentarily to pull free as the other two Hessier rushed toward him.

  I met their charge, bound up the blade of the first, and shouldered him into the second. The three of us went down in a tumble. I was the first up and hacked the arm of one clear through. But still he stood and raised his sword. I was out of guard. But before the Hessier could swing, Barok’s rapier stabbed deep into his armpit and neck, and then with startling ease straight into the gaping mouth behind the helm. The thing dropped its sword and crumpled onto the ground.

  The third that had charged us was up and bashed aside my sword, but another arrow flashed over my shoulder and clanged through the center of his breast plate with such force I heard it strike the inside of his back plate. I leapt in as he staggered back and chopped my blade upon the rivets of his helm. The barbute caved in with a sharp clang, the Hessier fell, and he did not move again.

  The yell of the charging bailiffs pulled my gaze up over the three we had killed and past the rest that stood selfishly recovering from their wounds. The bailiffs were too many.

  “I think they’ve got us,” Barok said as he stepped in close again on my left.

  The sudden report of too many bows spun our heads around. Back at the northeast breach of the barricade, the thousands from the villages had been left free of the dark touch long enough to draw and fire. The thick cloud of shafts arced in toward the bailiffs, but not all of them had been fired true.

  “Cover up,” I hollered at Barok and yanked him in close over Geart and Dia. Selt leapt off the bridge and into the trench. The prince and I brought up our shields just in time. Several arrows bit into the heavy wood, one clanged off of Barok’s helmet, and another bit through my greencoat and mail but was stopped by the padded shirt beneath.

  Behind the Hessier, the weakly-armored bailiffs screamed. A second and third flight was in the air before the Hessier could suppress Dia’s army, and the aim of each was better than the last. The bailiffs were slaughtered, and the very few who survived ran for their lives.

  Barok knelt over Dia, his head hung low. We did not have time for it, and I shouted at him, “Her killers stand here, man. Wake to it.”

  He rose with me, but as I pushed up off of Geart’s leg, the same hot wave of healing snapped through me. I would have stolen a second glance at Dia, but the clamor of rushing steel prevented it.

  Our enemy had lost all patience. Five of them remained, and their magic carried forward in great gusts of winter wind as they charged us. Their magic was terrible—its collision with Geart’s a great storm of rage and venom.

  The first Hessier was struck through his right eye by an arrow but kept coming.

  “That was my last,” Selt cried, and then they were upon us.

  I bashed aside the sword of the first and smashed my shield into the arrow that sprouted from the eye socket of the second. He crumpled, the icy touch of darkness let go of him, and I turned to see the prince dash alone at the rest. His sword flashed amidst tussling gusts of icy wind. He set one to his knees with a daring thrust while his shield took the heavy stab of a spear. He cleaved the spear in two, pivoted around the stab of another, and rammed his sword deep into the wide tear I’d previously punched into a breast plate. The freshly-wounded Hessier backed away, and Barok spun, setting aside one blade and another while the swirls of darkness intensified. His dance upon the edge of the darkness was madness, and I joined it.

  I shouldered one of the Hessier to the ground and leapt after the one that backed away. I feigned a thrust toward the same punctured breast plate, his guard came down, and I rammed my blade, instead, up through the slit of his helmet. The heavy steel stabbed straight through his chin and all the other crunchy things inside. The Hessier tumbled away, and the air around me warmed.

  Barok was yet a madman in the midst of three, their dance moving dangerously close to Geart. I charged back across and caught one unaware with a chop upon the back of his helmet, but the steel pot held. I swung myself around between Geart and the rest and rose up to strike the same helm, but another dashed in at me, cleaved aside my shield, and slammed his full weight into my chest. I lurched back but got my feet under me. We bound up each other’s blades and wrestled to a standstill while Barok’s blade continued to sing around us. We lurched left and right as we struggled, and our blades were thrown free. We crashed together again and tried to set the other off his feet.

  I was face-to-face with him then. One of his eyes had been marred by the stab of Barok’s rapier, the other sparkled. Winter air wafted about him, and the flesh upon my arms blistered from the cold that bit through.

  He grinned and hacked icy spit into my eyes. I dug in my feet and circled up his arms, held him, and prayed Barok could manage the rest. But the frigid caress of the darkness hollowed me. Memories of warm wine burned down my throat and into my belly. The suck of desire made me tremble. I began to lose my will. My balance faltered, and my feet slid back. I could feel Geart, just there behind me, his fire reduced to a single hot ember.

  But then there was a sharp clang, and a bit of the black cloud fell away.

  “Good man, Selt,” Barok cried. “Get behind me.”

  There was just the two of them left. My adversary’s grin was gone. He pressed his magic deep into my body. I was nearly spent. My legs curled.

  “Hold him, Leger,” Barok called. “Damn you, Chaukai, hold him up.”

  The Hessier flinched at hearing the word and looked once back at Barok.

  My fingertips were numb, but I slid an arm free, suffered a steel-fisted punch to the front of my helmet, but got my hand up into his face and stabbed a finger deep into his wounded eye.

  He shook and spat again but stumbled backward. One of his steel-clad fists grabbed the collar of my greencoat and mail. I did the same to him with my left, snatched my helmet from my head with my right, and slammed it with all my strength upon the side of his barbute once and again until his grip weakened. I discarded my helm, grabbed the bottom of his, and pried it free.

  “Barok, Selt,” I called, and clutched the Hessier close and tight.

  The demon spat again and tried to bite me, but his head and eye jerked right, and he screamed. I did not understand it until his head lolled back left and spilled cold gray blood across my chin and chest. The top of his head was cleaved away, but still he struggled. I reached up and got my hand into the break in his skull. His one good eye fixed on me briefly, but the sudden twist of my grip pulled free a great hunk of hair, bone, and flesh. The Hessier fell like so much rotten meat and steel.

  But then Geart’s flame died, replaced all at once with dread. The world froze into an ugly mud. I fell to my knees. My tired eyes found the remaining Hessier. His dead eyes pressed the evil into my throat, and I would have fled if I still knew my body.

  Barok and Selt lay off to my left, just as stricken. The Hessier made straight for Geart. He did not even bother to kill us as he passed.

  A sharp thunk of steel on steel startled me. The Hessier stumbled and the sickness of his magic faltered—an arrow sprouting from his back plate. I spun to see Gern alone atop the north tower.

  I snatched up my heavy blade. Bellowing, I stood through the heavy blanket of frozen hate, charged the demon, and with the strength that came from a million swings of a heavy axe, I chopped his helm and head in two. The broken sack fell to the ground, and the grip of evil vanished.

  I spun a quick circle. Barok and Selt slowly stood, Geart’s chest rose and fell, and Dia looked across, blinked once tiredly, and
managed a small smile. On the other side of the torn wall, I heard Sahin’s loud voice calling in the greencoats. Geart had healed us all.

  The rumble of Fell ponies surrounded us.

  We were victorious.

  95

  Arilas Barok Yentif

  The black touch let go all at once. I leapt up, flung away my savaged shield, and snatched up my sword. The rumble of Fell hooves moved quick and close.

  “Give me your horse,” I yelled at the first rider. He leapt free and handed me the reins.

  “On me,” I boomed and looked east. But the enemy was spent. The bailiffs lay in arrow-riddled piles along the road, and the men of Trace leaned upon their knees or sat dumbly upon the torn earth. A very few walked vaguely toward the road. The rest looked toward us.

  “Vermin,” I spat and tried to decide which group of them I would carve Dia’s name into first.

  But Sahin’s voice turned me, and I was confused by his appearance upon the fallen ramp of our wall. The potency of Geart’s magic was beyond understanding. Gern and half the town appeared upon the top of the palisade, and his father rode in through the Fells that continued to gather around us. The son saluted the father.

  I blinked. Dia was there as well, upright and seemingly unscathed. She helped Geart to his feet.

  “Dia, you’re alive,” I cried as we raced toward each other. “But the blood …” I whispered and stood straighter—tried to comport myself as a prince. All of Enhedu and Trace were watching.

  “The magic healed me,” she whispered back and put her hands upon her belly. I did not miss her meaning.

  I laughed aloud and very nearly snatched her up into a great hug despite the audience. I extended my elbow instead, and with a well-contented smile she took my arm.

  Sahin and Gern led Fana, Avin, and a hundred freshly-healed greencoats through the breach and assembled protectively around Geart. Their urgency was potent. Dia noticed as well, and we turned.