by Greg Keyes
“Fend is quiet,” Aspar murmured. A wind blew from Cal Azroth, and autumn was on it. “You'll both stay here and wait for me.”
“We'll do nothing of the kind,” Winna replied.
“There'll be fighting,” Aspar said. “You'll hinder me.”
“You need Stephen's ears and my sense,” Winna replied evenly. “We've both saved your skin in the past, Aspar White. There's nothing to say it won't need doing again.”
Aspar was figuring a reply to that when Stephen made an odd sound.
“What is it?” Aspar asked.
“You don't hear it?”
“Ney. I've only the ordinary sort of ears.”
“The blasting of the horn. It's returning.”
“Maybe another horn.”
“No,” Stephen said. “The same.”
“An echo? That makes no sense,” Aspar said.
“No,” Stephen said. “It does. He's coming. The Briar King is answering the call, and it's coming back with him.” Stephen's eyes held fear, but his voice was steady. “I think we'd best hurry, Holter. There's more at risk here than a queen.”
“Wait and maunt a moment,” Aspar protested. “Fend and his Sefry are in there, waiting to murder whoever comes through that gate. We'll go deliberately and cautious or not at all.”
Stephen nodded as if he understood. The next instant he gave Angel a hard kick and the beast was flying toward the open gate.
“Grim eat you and sceat you out,” Aspar snarled. But he gave Ogre the flank and followed.
He clattered into the corpse-strewn keep just behind Stephen. As he'd fully expected, he immediately heard the snap of bowstrings. He wheeled Ogre into cover behind the gate and leapt off the horse.
“Get down,” he commanded Winna. “Ogre will fight best protecting you. Stay under cover here.”
“Yah,” Winna breathed. She squeezed his hand. “Watch my love for me,” she said.
“Yah. I'll do that.”
He took out his bow and darted from beneath the door, painfully aware that he'd recovered only five arrows intact from his last skirmish. He'd gone scarce ten yards when a shaft hissed down from above and cracked against the courtyard stone. Aspar turned coolly, saw the shadow on the wall above, and took a full breath to aim. His shaft leapt starward at the same moment a second dart skinned along his arm. He didn't wait to see what happened, for he knew he'd hit.
Instead he turned and ran after Stephen, who was already in considerable trouble. Angel had taken a shaft in the flank and thrown the boy. He was trying to get up, but it was a miracle he hadn't yet been skewered, for arrows were skittering on the stone around him. Aspar found the source of some of those and hit the archer with his next arrow. It was a hard shot, and he could tell he hadn't pierced anything vital, but the man stopped shooting for the time being.
The rest of the killers were taking cover behind a second gate. Aspar counted five or six, and he could hear someone fighting on the other side, as well.
“Get some cover!” he shouted to Stephen, sending the Sefry ducking with another dart. He had only three shafts remaining, so he needed to close the distance. He paced toward the door, another dart on his string. It was easier than he thought, for the archers were plainly distracted by the ruckus Aspar couldn't see.
One peeped out, though, and Aspar gave him cause to regret it. He noticed Stephen had done what he'd told him to do, and was flat against the same wall as the gate. He also noticed Stephen was pointing at something behind Aspar.
“Holter!” the boy shouted.
Aspar didn't question, he just swung and stepped hard to the right, finding himself nearly face to face with Fend. The Sefry had a knife in either hand, and an expression half-turned between glee and fury. Aspar raised the bow in defense, but he was far too close to shoot, and Fend's knives were lightning, flashing toward him.
Aspar blocked with the bow as best he could, but the Se-fry's right-hand blade darted past the wood and drew blood on his forearm. Aspar managed a return blow with the bow; it didn't do Fend any harm, but it gave the holter space to draw out his dirk and ax.
Warier now, Fend circled, feinting with his shoulders. As-par turned with him, weapons ready.
“You're getting old, Asp,” Fend commented. “Slow. There's no challenge in this now.”
“That why you came at me from behind?” Aspar asked.
“Oh, I would have let you see me before you died. So you'd know.” He glanced toward Winna. “Pretty little piece of meat,” he allowed. “Almost as sweet as Qerla. Probably as faithful, too.”
Aspar grinned coldly. “I think I'll have your other eye, Fend.”
“I doubt that, old man. But you're welcome to try for it.”
Aspar's fury was so deep and complete that he felt glacially calm. He heard a little chuckle bubble from between his lips and was surprised.
“What's that?” Fend asked.
“You. Trying to provoke me, like a frightened little boy.”
“I'm just enjoying myself,” Fend said. “It's not so much—”
He didn't finish his sentence, but instead bounded forward. Aspar had noticed him drawing his rear leg up as they spoke. He caught the right-hand dagger with his own dirk and cut at the other wrist with his ax. He got a little of it and sent flecks of blood into the night, but Fend was nothing if not quick, and the cut wasn't deep.
The Sefry bounced fractionally out of range and then back in, slashing with his right and keeping the left back. Aspar let him come, fading from the blow and kicking sharply at Fend's forward ankle. He made solid contact, and his opponent lost balance. Aspar followed up, but rather than trying to recover, Fend went down tumbling. When he came back to his feet, he had only one knife.
Aspar thought that was good until he realized the hilt of the other was jutting out of his leg.
“Your aim is off,” Aspar said, reaching down and yanking the weapon out. It hurt, that, but the muscle on the front of the thigh was pretty forgiving. It probably wouldn't even bleed much. He tucked the dagger in his belt and closed on Fend again.
Fend, still looking confident, began a light-footed dance around Aspar. The holter turned, using slower footwork. When Fend came again, his left hand caught at Aspar's ax wrist, and Aspar let him think he was slow enough to be caught. As soon as the finger touched him, however, he suddenly swung away, avoiding a thrust toward his heart, and lashed with the ax. He made it in deep, digging a gouge into Fend's shoulder and feeling bone crunch. The Sefry gasped and dropped back, his eye widening in amazement.
“Yah, I reckon I'll kill you today, Fend,” Aspar said. “You had your chance when you threw your knife, and you missed it.” He started forward, still cautious.
They closed again, but there was something desperate in the way the Sefry fought now, something worried. It was fast and close, and when they parted once more, each had several new wounds. Aspar's were all shallow, but Fend had a hole in his ribs. Not deep enough to kill him anytime soon, but it probably hurt.
“Why Qerla, Fend?” Aspar asked. “Why did you kill her? I've never known that.”
Fend grinned, showing his teeth. “You don't know? That's delightful.” He coughed. “You're a lucky old man, you know that? Always lucky.”
“Yah. Very lucky. Are you going to tell me or not?”
“Not, I think.”
Aspar shrugged. “That's the only thing I wanted from you besides your life. I suppose I'll settle.”
“I have a little luck of my own,” Fend said. “Look to your lady.”
It was an old trick, and Aspar didn't fall for it until Winna screamed. Then Aspar wheeled and dropped, knowing no matter what was happening his enemy wouldn't miss the opportunity. Fend's second knife whispered over his head, but Aspar didn't care about him anymore. The greffyn had just entered through the gate. It was moving toward Winna, and Ogre was stamping, ready to meet it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE ARRIVAL
AS ANNE WATCHED THE KNIGHT adv
ance on Cazio, something seemed to dim in her even as the purple moonlight seemed to brighten, as if the darkness the moon was displacing sought a hiding place in her soul.
“He's going to kill Cazio,” Austra said. “Then he'll kill us.”
“Yes,” Anne said. She realized that they should have been running while Cazio fought, but something had stayed her feet. There might still be time; the Vitellian was certainly losing the battle, but he might last a little longer, long enough for them to escape.
But no, she was horsewoman enough to know how quickly she and Austra would be run down. Their first hope had been in an unnoticed escape, and their second had been Cazio. Neither had proved out. She eyed the knight's horse specula-tively—but no, a warhorse would never let her mount. It would probably strike her dead if she drew near enough to try.
“Can't we help him?” Austra asked.
“Against a knight?” But even as she said it, Anne suddenly felt a strange dislocation, as if she were two people—the Anne who had fearlessly ridden down the Sleeve, and the Anne who was starting to understand the consequences of life, who had just watched knights like this slaughter women as if they were barnyard beasts.
Once, she had imagined adventures in which, dressed as a knight herself, she had triumphed over evil foes. Now all she could see was blood, and all she could imagine was her own head lifting from her shoulders in a spray of it.
A few months ago she would have rushed to Cazio's aid. Now her illusions were dying, and she was left with the world that was. And in that world, a woman did not stand against a knight.
Austra gave her an odd look, one Anne didn't recognize, as if her friend was a stranger she had only just met.
The knight, meanwhile, lifted his sword over the fallen Cazio, who put up his own slender weapon in frail defense.
“No!” Austra shrieked. Before Anne could think of stopping her, the younger girl ran forward, snatched up a stone, and threw it. It glanced from the knight's armor, distracting him for a second. Austra kept running toward him.
Anne grabbed a fallen branch, cursing. She couldn't just watch Austra die.
Austra tried to grab the warrior's sword arm, but he cuffed her hard on the side of the head with a mailed fist. Cazio wobbled back to his feet, a little out of range, as Anne drew up and stood over her friend, stick in hand. The knight's visor turned toward her.
“Do not be foolish,” he said. Through the slits in his helm she saw contempt and moonlight reflected in his eyes, and a sudden dark fury raged through her. Her thoughts were whisper-winged owls, stooping on mice. How dare he, beneath the sickle moon? How dare he, in the very womb of night? He, who had violated the sacred soil of Cer and soaked it with the blood of her daughters? How dare he look at her in such a way?
“Man,” Anne husked. “Man, do not look at me.” She didn't recognize her own voice, so inert it seemed, so devoid of life, as if the dimness in her spilled out with her words.
The light in the knight's eyes vanished, though the moon was still there, though he had not turned his head. His breath caught, and rattled, and then he did turn his head, this way and that. He rubbed at those eyes, like two holes darker than moonshadow.
Men fight from the outside, with clumsy swords and arrows, Sister Casita had said, trying to pierce the layers of protections we bundle in. They are of the outside. We are of the inside. We can reach there in a thousand ways, slipping through the cracks of eye and ear, nostril and lip, through the very pores of the flesh. Here is your frontier, Sisters, and eventually your domain. Here is where your touch will bring the rise and fall of kingdoms.
Anne, confused and suddenly frightened again, stumbled back, shaking.
What had she done? How?
“Casnar!” Cazio shouted. Anne noticed he'd managed to stand, though not firmly. “Leave off your brave battle against unarmed women and address me.”
The knight ignored him, cutting wildly in the air.
“Haliurun! Waizeza! Hundan!” he shouted. “Meina auyos! Hwa … What have you done to my eyes?”
“Hanzish!” Anne said. “Austra, they're from Hansa!” She turned to Cazio. “Kill him! Now, while he's blind.”
Cazio had begun advancing, but now he stopped, puzzled.
“He cannot see? I can't fight a man who cannot see.”
The knight lurched toward Cazio, but even in his injured state the Vitellian easily avoided him.
“How did you do that, by the by?” Cazio asked, watching his erstwhile opponent crash into a tree. “I've heard a dust ground from the nut of Lady Una's frock—”
“He was going to kill you,” Anne interrupted.
“He has no honor,” Cazio said. “I do.”
“Then let us flee!” Austra urged.
“Will honor allow that?” Anne asked sarcastically.
Cazio coughed and a look of pain wormed through his brow. “Honor discourages it,” he said.
Anne shook a remonstrative finger at him. “Listen to me well, Cazio Pachiomadio da Chiovattio,” she said, remembering how her mother sounded when she was giving orders. “There are many more knights than this one, and we are in danger from them. I require your protection for Austra and myself. I require your aid in removing us from harm's way. Will your honor deny me that?”
Cazio scratched his head, then grinned sheepishly. The blinded knight stood with his back against a tree, sword out, facing no one in particular. “No, casnara,” he said. “I will accompany you.”
“Then let us go, and quickly,” Austra said.
“A moment,” Anne told them. She raised her voice. “Knight of Hansa. Why have you and your companions sinned against Saint Cer? Why did you murder the sisters, and why do you pursue me? Answer me, or I shall wither the rest of you as I have darkened your eyes.”
The knight turned at the sound of her voice.
“I do not know the answer to that, lady,” he said. “I know only that what my prince tells me to do must be done.”
At that he charged her. Almost casually, Cazio stuck out his foot, which the knight tripped over. He went sprawling to the ground.
“Have you more questions for him?” the Vitellian asked.
“Let me think,” Anne replied.
“The night wanes, and she is our ally. The sun will not be as kind.”
Anne nodded. She didn't think the Hanzish knight would tell her more even if he knew it. They would waste precious time.
“Very well,” Cazio said. “Follow me, fair casnaras. I know the countryside. I will guide you through it.” His brow wrinkled. “If you do not rob me of my sight, of course.”
Cazio's ribs felt as if they were aflame, but his blood, at least, did not flow strongly. He was able to set a good pace but could not run for any length of time. That was just as well, he knew, for running would only wear them all out.
Of course, there was no reason to expect the knights attacking the coven would come after them. If it was women they wanted, they already had plenty.
Didn't they?
“How many of these beetle-backed ruffians are there?” he asked.
“I'm not certain,” Anne answered. “Some thirty to begin with. Some were killed by the sisters of the coven.”
That was impressive. “And you've no idea why?” he asked.
It seemed to Cazio that Anne hesitated too long before answering.
“I don't know,” she said. “But I think they killed all of the sisters. The novitiates were hiding. I don't know what happened to them. Austra and I fled through the fane of Saint Mefitis, a cave that emerges near where you found us. Where are we going?”
“Back to the triva of the countess Orchaevia.”
“Can she protect us? I saw no soldiers there.”
“True,” Cazio replied. “She sent them away for the Fiussanal. But why should these knights pursue us?”
“Why shouldn't they?”
“Have they some especial grudge against you two? Did you endear them in some way?”
Aga
in, Anne seemed to hesitate. “They will pursue us, Cazio.”
“Why?”
“I cannot tell you that. I'm not sure I know why myself. But it is a fact.”
She did know something then, but wasn't willing to tell it. He looked at her again. Who was this girl, really? The daughter of some northern warlord? What had he gotten himself into?
“Very well, then,” he said. Whatever it was, he was deep in it now. He ought to see it through. Perhaps there would even be some reward in it for him.
Lady Ausa's robe lay coral on the eastern horizon and the stars were vanishing above. They were out in open countryside, easy prey for horsemen. He tried to quicken his pace. If Anne was right, and they were followed, returning to Orchae-via's triva would repay the countess in poor coin for the hospitality she had shown him. The place was defensible, but not by two swordsmen and a few serving women.
“There is an old estate nearby,” he considered aloud. Z'Acatto had dragged him to it one day in hopes of finding an unplundered wine cellar. They had found the cellar, but all of the wine had gone to vinegar. “It will make a good hiding place,” he decided. After all, if he couldn't defeat one of the knights in single combat, what chance did he have against ten, or twenty? His father had made the mistake of choosing to face the wrong enemy for the wrong reasons. He would not make the same blunder.
Anne didn't answer, but she was beginning to stumble. The sandals she and Austra wore were hardly fit for this sort of travel.
Lord Abullo's horses were well in the sky, pulling a burnt orange sun free of the horizon, before Cazio made out the crumbling walls of the ancient triva. He wondered if the well was still good, for he was terribly thirsty. The vinegar was all gone, smashed by z'Acatto in a fit of disappointment.
They had almost reached the walls when he thought he heard hooves, and a glance back showed two horsemen approaching. There was little need to wonder who they were, for the gleam of the now-golden sun on their armor was evident.
“They may not have seen us yet,” Cazio hoped aloud, leading them behind a picket of cedars bordering the abandoned mansion. “Quickly.” The gate had long since crumbled, leaving only the columns of the pastato, and walls that were sometimes knee high and sometimes higher than his head. Weeds and small olive trees had cracked the stone of the courtyard and pushed it up as Lord Selvans sought to reclaim the place for his own. In the distance, he heard the approaching percussion.
