by Barb Hendee
In the time of the humans' Forgotten, the ancestors of the flesh I wear stood with those who opposed the Enemy. We fought beside them… for them.
His kin offered no sympathy.
Only to preserve balance. Only to preserve this world as a whole. This is not such a time—but a blink in eternity—and you let mortality corrupt you.
This is no more than Life itself, predator and prey in the cycle of survival. You would save an instant and risk losing all time!
The pounding of hooves carried to Chap's ears.
A lead rider closed on a trailing peasant woman. His mace arced down, and Chap heard the distant crack as its iron head broke the back of her skull. She pitched forward and slammed down limp into the grassy earth.
The mace arced upward, trailing blood and torn hair.
Chap snarled so loudly it drowned all other sounds from his own ears. His spirit threw a spiteful reply back to his kin.
Cower in your Eternity, if you wish… I do not agree!
Wynn shuddered, though she did not know if it was from the chill breeze or what she saw upon the field. Even so, spite smoldered inside her toward Magiere. Chane was gone. Magiere, with her irrational instincts, had killed him. Wynn could not let go of her pain.
A gust blew through the gate. The shiver of her small frame increased, and an ache expanded sharply in her head.
A multitude of voices speaking in sync came from too far away to hear—or was she hearing them? It sounded more like the buzz of insect wings or the rustle of autumn leaves through an orchard. It filled her awareness until she became dizzy, like the night that…
This had happened to her once before.
Chap paced before her in agitation, fur on the back of his neck standing up. As Wynn watched him, she heard—felt—a lone set of insect wings or one single rustling leaf answer back to the others.
A rider out in the field struck down a fleeing man with the butt of his mace.
Wynn saw Chap's muzzle wrinkle back from clenched teeth, but any sound he made was smothered by the curses and gasps of people in the street. A lone buzz of wing or leaf sounded in Wynn's head as Chap turned in circles that made her vision spin for an instant. What was he doing? She stood still, no longer shivering, and not wishing to move at all in the vertigo passing through her, sickeningly reminiscent of the night in Droevinka when she'd foolishly used thaumaturgy to give herself mantic sight… to see the elemental Spirit layer of the world.
Chap's snarl came late behind the curses of several border guards. Ears flattened, the dog lunged forward, and two startled guards backstepped as he spun to face Leesil.
The single leaf-wing buzzed in Wynn's head with a deafening roar.
She clenched her eyes and covered her mouth against a dry heave. A realization fought its way over the nausea turning rock-hard in her stomach. That sensation in her skull, that single thrash of leaf-wing countering the chorus of the others…
It had come from Chap.
Chap lunged forward, snapping and snarling. Two Stravinan guards leaning into the gateway jerked back out of his way. He closed off his awareness of his kin and spun to face those in his charge and care.
Wynn stood silent, a hand over her mouth, staring at him in panic.
Magiere's pale features were strained around blackened irises as she clutched Leesil's wrist in a tight grip.
Leesil's breath came hard and fast.
Chap did not need to dip into Leesil's memories. He still felt shame pouring over him from the half-elf.
"We can't take mounted soldiers in the open," Magiere warned.
Chap's frustrated bark stuttered into a growl of anger.
Leesil pulled from Magiere's grip and shouted, "Go!"
Before the word faded from the air, the border stream's fringe ice shattered beneath Chap's paws. He splashed through chill water, racing up the slope and into the field.
"Chap… Leesil, no!" Magiere shouted, too late.
The dog hit the stream at a full run. Leesil breached the gate before anyone could stop him, slinging his cloak aside as he ran.
Fear for Leesil flooded through Magiere, but then anger boiled with a hunger rising in her throat as she turned on Wynn. Before Magiere could say a word, Wynn jumped as if startled. She looked pale, almost sickly, but she met Magiere's gaze.
"You stay put!" Magiere commanded, and her own words sounded guttural and slurred.
"Magiere," Wynn said, eyes wide and round, "you must control yourself."
The cloud-streaked sky and the whites of Wynn's eyes burned Magiere's sight worse than snow under a brilliant sun. Everything was far too bright, and she felt tears slide down her cheeks as a dull ache filled her jaw.
"Magiere!" Wynn called.
Magiere backed one step toward the gate. She felt the cold on her face and stripped off her cloak to let it fall. Chill air helped settle her. The clouded sky above the city remained sharp but less bright. It no longer pained her vision as she pulled her dhampir nature under control.
"Stop her," commanded a rough voice.
A large hand settled on Magiere's shoulder. She instinctively slammed her elbow back, and it sank into padding beneath leather. The man stumbled clear as she veered toward the gate. Two more guards stepped in her way. The first drew his saber, shrugging his cloak back.
"We are not Stravinan," Wynn shouted from behind Magiere. "There is no risk of a war declaration if she crosses the border."
At that, the second guard hesitated and looked with uncertainty to the bearded colonel. The other guard stepped forward with his sword drawn. Magiere readied to charge, and then the young captain grabbed the man by the wrist of his sword arm.
"Captain, you heard my order," snapped the colonel, and he stepped in behind the first hesitant guard. "There'll be no proof we're blameless if anyone interferes on foreign soil."
Magiere caught something strange passing over the tall captain's face. Beneath the front lip of his helmet, his brow wrinkled at his superior's words. For an instant he seemed confused. His expression smoothed just as quickly.
"Too late for that," he answered. "The man and that dog have seen to it."
He heaved his grip upon the guard with the saber, and the man stumbled sideways, off balance.
Magiere rushed forward, shouldering the hesitant guard as she passed. He stumbled back into the colonel, and the two tangled long enough for her to clear the gate. She drew her falchion at a full run.
Chap was well ahead on the field, and Leesil raced up the stream's far slope. Magiere let hunger rise in her throat, and her stride quickened as she splashed through the border stream.
This wasn't the first time Leesil had thrown himself into a dangerous situation for an innocent, but he'd never done so on this scale. And the look on his face as he jerked free of her grip—like a suffering panic had pushed him into blind rage. She'd seen him determined in anger, or most often coldly vicious when necessary. Now he charged blindly at armed riders?
It was stupid madness! What had gotten into him?
Magiere saw the older boy and girl ahead of the other fleeing refugees. Both staggered to a halt in fear at the sight of Chap charging toward them. A rider closed quickly behind them, horse mace whirling at his side. Magiere was about to shout when the girl darted away, fleeing from the oncoming dog. The rider pulled his reins hard against his horse's neck, veering after her.
Magiere looked across the field, searching all directions, but Leesil had vanished from sight.
From all around Wynn, the sounds and sights of imminent battle filled her senses.
Border guards scrambled to assemble beside the gate under the young captain's commands, as the elder colonel glared out to the field, his teeth clenched. A cluster of pikemen came first, followed by archers. The two priests appeared as well, accompanied by a third. The colonel shoved them back as they tried to hurry out the gate ahead of his men. The gathering obscured Wynn's view, and she lost sight of Magiere, Leesil, or Chap.
"No
one breaches the border!" shouted the colonel as the pikemen rushed out. "Hold, unless the enemy enters the stream. Get the refugees to safety once they reach our shore."
Wynn could not stand there and wait, doing nothing. She snatched up her canvas sack and scurried over to stash it at the base of the city wall. As the priests stepped in behind the archers heading out, she followed. The colonel grabbed her by the arm.
"Not you," he said sharply. "It's enough those priests are always meddling."
"I have some skill at tending the ill and injured," Wynn retorted, and tried to pull free of his grasp. "I can help. If this is as dire as you think, then you need all the help you can find."
"Not you!" he repeated. "No more outlander nonsense."
"Let her be… sir," came the young captains voice.
Wynn twisted about to find him standing within reach, gaze locked on his superior with only barely contained resentment.
Saber drawn, he now carried a round shield painted white with a slanted blue bar across it. Long-faced and long-limbed, he was so tall beneath his furred cloak that Wynn's head would not reach his shoulder. Blond hair trailed from beneath his polished helm with its gold prong above the noseguard. He appeared like an armored autumn tree, perhaps an ash, like those of Wynn's homeland, and he waited for his thinly polite demand to be answered.
The old colonel's full attention was on his subordinate. "You've enough to answer for—"
"And so will you, sir," the captain cut in. "If she's an outlander, then we've no right to stand in her way."
"Unless she's a threat to the safety of our people."
"I am no threat to you," Wynn shouted. "I must find my friends, and I can help with those fleeing for refuge. Now release me!"
The colonel stared down into Wynn's eyes. "Your friends caused enough trouble for one day."
"She had no part in that," snapped the captain. "Let her go, sir, or I won't be the only one facing a tribunal when this is over."
For a moment all Wynn heard was the soft clench of the captain's gloved hand upon the hilt of his saber. He stared so intently at his superior that Wynn could not look away to see the colonel's reaction.
The colonel released Wynn's arm and shoved her forward. She stumbled toward the captain, who took a tense step in her direction until she righted herself and turned about.
The colonel's cold look was for the captain alone. Abruptly he turned away to the remaining men around the gate.
"Archers to the slope!"
"If you're coming," said the captain, and Wynn whirled to face him, "then get moving. But you, girl, stay behind the lines."
As he headed out the gate, Wynn rushed to join him. "Thank you… Captain. And my name is Wynn."
The captain cocked one eyebrow. A smile began to form on his lips, but it never quite appeared.
"Stasiuo," he returned. "But my sisters call me Stasi. Now do as I say… Wynn."
Magiere veered left after the girl's blind flight, and Chap and the mounted soldier closed rapidly at an angle. The soldier swung his mace over from the far side, but Chap was well out of reach. The dog leaped at full speed for the horse's head.
Chap's jaws closed on dangling reins below the horse's jaw, but his head slammed into the side of the horse's face. The mount twisted, jerking sharply away from the impact. The sudden motion slung Chap under the horse's neck like a pendulum.
His body arced upward on the far side. The horse screamed in panic and jerked back the other way. Chap's momentum and weight snapped the reins in half, and the sudden release tossed him into the air.
Magiere saw Chap squirm to right himself. He came down, hitting the earth on his back with a yelp. The sudden release from the dog's weight threw the horse off balance, and it lost its footing. The rider leaped clear as the animal fell and skidded over the winter grass.
Magiere passed close to the older boy, who stood staring after his fleeing companion. When he started to go after the girl, Magiere grabbed the back of his coat, spun about, and flung him in the direction of the stream. He tumbled across the ground through a patch of lingering snow.
"Run, you idiot!" she shouted, not waiting to see if he obeyed.
The soldier that Chap had downed was on his feet again, running after the girl. Shouts and other sounds of flight and panic followed behind Magiere as she bolted after the girl and her pursuer. Earth-shuddering hooves grew louder behind her.
As the girl scurried toward the distant border stream, the soldier jerked a triangular battle dagger from a sheath on his hip. His horse mace was still gripped in his other hand. Magiere let hunger drive her, and then a familiar howl filled her ears.
Chap raced by on her right, heading back the way she had come. Magiere didn't break stride at the whinny of a horse behind her, and then the thunder of its hooves faltered. She glanced back once to see Chap clinging to its neck, trying to down it. There was no time to help him or watch the outcome, and she kept on. The soldier closed the gap on the fleeing girl, bur when he caught sight of Magiere, he slowed and turned to face her.
His dagger was too high, aimed at her face. He swung the mace, and Magiere caught it at the base of her falchion. When he thrust with the dagger, she slapped it upward with her free hand, then clenched her fist and struck.
The crack of Magiere's fist against his face was so loud it startled her. The force threw him backward off his feet, and he spun a full turn before landing on his back. She dropped on him, pinning his arms with her knees before he could roll away. Magiere gripped the falchion with both hands, its wide point posed above the soldier's chest.
And she froze.
He was young—too young. No more than a year or two beyond Geoffry, who'd helped serve in her tavern. His face was split across the cheekbone from her fist, and blood had smeared down to his jaw. No anger or fear showed in his eyes, not even resolve for his own death. He lay limp beneath her as if relieved that he no longer had to fight.
Mail vest and underpadding sagged on his thin frame, and were likely made for someone stouter. He wore no other armor, and his leggings were faded and overpatched. Dark rings of fatigue surrounded his young eyes, and his cheeks were sallow and sunken with hunger.
Yet he was here, killing women and children.
Magiere lashed out with her fist, cracking him across the jaw.
His body jerked once as his head whipped sideways, and then his eyes rolled as he went limp. There was no time to wonder what instinct made her to leave him alive. Magiere lunged to her feet and snatched up the horse mace, kicking the dagger out of reach.
The girl still fled for the border, now joined by the boy. Even the young soldier's mount had run off. Ahead of the fleeing children, riders harried the other refugees. Chap's angered howl carried across the field from among them.
Magiere turned away, searching the grassy field for any sign of Leesil.
Wynn shifted from one foot to the other behind the line of six archers upslope from the stream. Below, a matched number of pikemen stood their ground one pace back from the water's edge. Captain Stasi paced behind : them, speaking to each with a pat of a shoulder or a nod, but his voice was too low for Wynn to hear. She would have appreciated a few words of encouragement for herself.
At the far left end of the archers stood the priests, the Sluzhobnek Sútzits. Two stood back with their cowls down, a middle-aged woman and a young man. The younger shifted nervously like Wynn, while his mature companion remained as still as the third priest in front with his cowl still up. When the woman glanced toward Wynn, her cowled companion noticed and did likewise.
His features were hard to see, but Wynn made out the tuft of gray-white hair above his clean-shaven face. Though tall and straight, he moved slowly with the care of age as he gave her a polite nod and raised a hand in acknowledgment. Wynn returned the gesture, but her natural curiosity for all new things, particularly the people of this faraway land, remained dormant in the face of what lay before her. A distant scream pulled her gaze back across th
e stream.
"Hold until I say," shouted Captain Stasi to his men.
A scattered group of women and children raced across the field toward the stream's far slope. Behind and closing were riders with long maces swinging wildly. The archers startled Wynn as they drew and set their first arrows. Her mouth went dry.
She had been with Leesil and Magiere on the road for several moons, yet the fights she had seen were not like this. Waiting and watching was worse in this moment than scrambling through a dank forest trying to save herself from ambling creatures of the dead. War was practically unknown in her homeland of Malourne across the ocean. She felt alone among the soldiers, until the first child nearly tumbled down the far slope and into the stream.
A second refugee splashed into the water, a woman, wailing out for sanctuary.
One pikeman upended his lance and inched forward. His boot toe cracked the stream's fringe ice and sank into running water.
"Keep coming!" he shouted.
He leaned forward, stretching out a gloved hand toward the thin little girl, perhaps ten or eleven. She floundered as her patched skirt soaked in the cold water.
The eldest priest hobbled downslope. His two companions rushed by him as the mounted riders charged over the lip of the far slope. A second woman cradling an infant in a wool blanket waded into the stream, followed by two young boys. They veered right at the pounding of hooves closing behind them.
Wynn could not move. Breath caught in her dry throat.
"Hold the line," shouted Stasi, but he was already running along the shore toward the woman with the infant.
Wynn fixated upon the mother, no older than herself. The woman's mouth gaped from gasping air as she trudged to midstream. One of her boys hesitated at the far side, too afraid to wade in. The other clutched his mother's skirt from behind as he sank chest-deep and was pulled sideways behind her by the current.
The flicker of a hand ax tumbling through the air pulled Wynn's gaze skyward. She never saw where it came from, but she called out, "Captain… behind her!"
