The other assassins were bottled up behind the two who’d ambushed her, but they’d be on top of her in no time. Reaching for the pommel of the saddle, Raisa tried to remount but found her arm nearly useless, the pain too stunning to manage it. Instead, she hooked down the crossbow and raced in among the tumble of rocks at one end of the canyon. She began to climb, her breath hissing between her teeth, tears running down her face. Whenever she stretched and moved and reached up, the bolt in her back shifted and the wound blazed with pain and her head swam.
She was putting off the inevitable, but she was too angry to care. To be taken so close to her destination by the traitors who’d murdered Edon Byrne was unacceptable. The only way to avenge his death was to survive, but just now that was looking less and less possible.
She climbed until she could climb no further, then wedged herself into a crevice. She set her crossbow next to her right side, her Lady dagger on her left. They could pry her out like a mollusk from the cliffs along the Indio. She’d make them pay a small price, at least.
Did they know she was wounded? Maybe not.
She felt blood trickling down her back from the entry point under her left shoulder blade. Oddly, the pain in her back was diminishing, replaced by a spreading numbness. Had the point damaged a nerve?
She heard someone shouting from below, someone she couldn’t see.
“Let’s not prolong this. You’ll never get away on foot. Surrender now, and you’ll not be harmed. Resist, and I make no guarantees.”
Right, Raisa thought. We do have our faults, but stupidity doesn’t run in the Gray Wolf line. She made no response.
After a long moment, she heard the officer shouting out orders. The men would be spreading out, searching the canyon. She heard rock clattering on rock, men swearing, the sound of them climbing all around her.
Then, across the canyon, one of the renegade soldiers came into view, hoisting himself onto a small ledge. Straightening, he looked around. When he saw Raisa, he grinned, crooking a finger at her.
“Merkle!” he shouted, looking back the way he’d come. “Up here! She’s—”
Raisa lifted the crossbow and shot him through the mid chest, as she’d been taught. He stumbled backward, disappearing from sight. She heard the others shouting when he hit the ground.
That might slow them down a bit, anyway, she thought. She felt peculiar, her thoughts tangled and slow. Her lips and tongue were numb, and she could no longer feel her fingers on her left hand.
She blinked away a double image, and then she knew. Poison. The arrow point was daubed with poison.
Eight on one isn’t enough, then, she thought. No. We have to use poison. So much for notions of fair play. If she’d had any to start with.
Her stubborn confidence drained away. How could she fight poison? It would be plant-based, likely of clan make. The clans produced some remarkable poisons.
She’d bled a lot at first, but she no longer felt blood trickling down her back. Was that good or bad? If she kept bleeding, might she bleed out some of the poison?
It was potent, all right. Her vision blurred and rippled, and her muscles twitched. The rocks around her shivered and quaked. Wolves moved like shadows through the darkness, whining, pressing their warm bodies against her as if somehow they could keep her in the world.
She could only hope she’d be dead before they found her.
Now she heard more commotion down below, men shouting at each other. What was that all about?
Time passed—in her muddled state, she wasn’t sure how much. She thought they would have found her by now. It had gone quiet in the canyon.
She fingered the Lady knife. When someone comes, you stick them. When someone comes, you stick them. Raisa repeated it over and over so she wouldn’t forget.
Amon always said that was the purpose of weapons practice—to train the muscles and nerves so that in a fight they do what they’re supposed to do without conscious thought.
She heard Amon’s voice in her head, low and desperate. Rai. Don’t you die. Don’t you die on me, Rai. Stay alive. Stay alive. Stay alive.
Her hand fluttered helplessly. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I did my best.
Most of all, she regretted her parting with Han. There was so much she’d wanted to say to him, confess to him. She’d wanted to create a truth between them to replace the lies. Now he’d likely never know what had happened to her. How she really felt about him. Who she really was.
She tried to fix on Han’s face, to hold it in her mind—the brilliant blue eyes under fair brows, the oddly aristocratic nose, the pale scar jagging down one side.
Tiny pebbles cascaded past her, pinging on rock. Someone was coming, climbing down from above. Her hand scrabbled through the dirt and closed on her dagger.
C H A P T E R N I N E
A HUNT
INTERRUPTED
Sometimes a descent is trickier than the climb. Ragger wanted to move faster on the downhill side of the pass—not a good idea where snowdrifts concealed imperfections in the trail that ranged from small ravines to major boulders.
The beaten-down trail continued. The horsemen seemed to be traveling at a breakneck speed. Some of them split off into the surrounding woods, while others continued on. Were they still chasing someone? Or splitting up so they’d be harder to track themselves?
Finally the trail dropped below the tree line, and the relentless wind abated somewhat. Han was grateful and apprehensive at the same time. The pine forest closing in tight around him made him jumpy.
He came up on a small rise overlooking a series of ridges that sloped away to the Vale, like waves on a frozen sea. He’d have to find a camping place soon, despite his worries about weather. Clouds piled up to the north, but the sun still glittered over the horizon, streaming over the razor-sharp western peaks. The wrinkles in the landscape cast long blue shadows over the snow. It was already dark in the canyons. The firs had faded to black smudges in the shadows of the peaks.
Han heard the sounds of the chase before he saw the hunters. A trick of the landscape amplified sound so it reverberated up from below: the clatter of hooves over rock, men shouting to one another, even the thwack of crossbows.
It must be the raiding party whose tracks he’d been following all day—the ones who’d killed Captain Byrne and the other bluejackets. He’d guessed right—they’d been on the hunt, and now they must have flushed their quarry.
Was it one last surviving bluejacket? They couldn’t let even one win free?
Fighting off the voice that said, Not your business, Alister, Han edged Ragger forward until he could look down over the valley below. It was deep and bowl-shaped, dropping to an iced-over streambed at the bottom. It had burned over at some time in the recent past, so it was relatively clear of trees.
As he watched, a single horse and rider emerged from the trees and galloped across the clearing, the rider practically horizontal in the saddle. She was a woman, by the size of her, dressed like the dead soldiers and riding a similar horse. She stuck to its back like a burr, and horse and rider zigzagged across the clearing, confounding the aim of the archers behind.
Six more riders appeared, perhaps a hundred yards behind the girlie, baying like hounds on the scent of blood. The crossbows sounded again, and bolts arced overhead and slammed into the ground all around the girlie and her horse before they disappeared into the forest on the far side.
Han watched, transfixed, until they were lost in the trees. The sounds of the chase diminished until the clearing was once again quiet and empty, save the bolts that stood quivering, black against the snow, evidence that it hadn’t been a dream.
Ragger snorted impatiently and tossed his head. Han spoke to the gelding, absently soothing him as he tried to make sense of what he’d just seen.
Those in pursuit rode upland military horses with shaggy winter coats. They had the look of unbadged bluejackets, too—carefully nondescript. They’d be trying to prevent the girlie from reaching safety
in Marisa Pines, just a few miles away.
They were aiming to kill, six on one. The bluejacket girlie rode like a clan warrior, but there was no way she’d escape. It was a private life-and-death contest that had nothing to do with him.
He told himself he should ride on, grateful that the chase would keep them occupied while he took a different path.
But what had he told Rebecca when she’d asked what he meant to do when he returned to the Fells?
I’m tired of people in power picking on the weak. I’m going to help them.
Han didn’t know the story behind what he’d seen. Still, whoever she was, he had a greater stake in helping that girlie in a six-on-one fight than in shilling for a queen he hated.
It sort of related to why he was here. Byrne had been captain of the Queen’s Guard, and father to the intensely honest Amon Byrne, and this girlie was all that remained of his company. And Amon Byrne had been a friend and commander to Rebecca.
Without a conscious plan, he heeled Ragger into motion, skidding sideways down the slope to where he could follow after. He started out careful, but soon found himself driving his heels into Ragger’s sides, afraid he would arrive too late.
The chase came to an abrupt end a mile farther down the trail in a small glen littered with broken rock. Han could hear men shouting to each other. Looping Ragger’s reins over a laurel bush, Han dismounted and pulled down his longbow and a sheaf of arrows. He scrambled up the side of the canyon, over ice and rock, and then forward until he could look down into the ravine, squinting to make the most of the failing light.
The fugitive’s riderless horse stood to one side, head down, sides heaving, coat steaming in the frigid air. At first Han thought he was too late, that the girlie was taken. But the hunters dismounted all in a blood frenzy, loading their crossbows and drawing their blades. Apparently they’d brought their quarry to bay. Perhaps the horse had stumbled, and she’d been thrown.
Or maybe she’d been ambushed. On recounting, now there were at least eight men in the canyon.
One of the men raised a fist, signaling the others to wait. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted into the blind end of the glen. “Let’s not prolong this. You’ll never get away on foot. Surrender now, and you’ll not be harmed. Resist, and I make no guarantees.”
Ha, Han thought. The girlie saw what happened to her friends. She’d be a fool to take that offer.
The man waited. There was no answer save the rattle of frozen leaf in the wind. He shrugged and nodded to his men. They swarmed forward into the rock debris at the end of the ravine, thrusting their blades into the underbrush, poking into crevices and behind boulders, wading through snowdrifts to their waists, working their way ever higher on the canyon walls.
Suddenly, a soldier on one of the ledges across the canyon from Han shouted something, then staggered, stumbled, and fell, screaming, arms windmilling wildly. He landed on his back on a slab of rock on the floor of the canyon. One of his comrades scrambled over the rocks to where he lay.
“Corporal Merkle!” he shouted, his voice shrill with indignation. “The bloody bitch put an arrow in Jarvit.”
Corporal? Han thought. They are military, just as I thought. Why would they attack Byrne’s company? Shouldn’t they be on the same side?
The hunters now looked more like the hunted, muttering to each other, swiveling their heads, scanning the rock walls of the canyon and huddling low to present a smaller target. They seemed more than willing to allow somebody else the glory of finding the hidden archer.
Merkle swore and jabbed a finger toward the right rear of the canyon. “The bolt had to come from somewhere over there,” he snarled. “She’s just a chit of a girl, you cowards!”
“She kilt Lieutenant Gillen a’ready,” Merkle’s friend whined. “I’m just sayin’ she’s more dangersome than you think.”
Han’s head came up in surprise. Gillen? Mac Gillen? If the girlie had really killed Gillen, that was a service worth rewarding. Any enemy of Mac Gillen is a friend of mine.
The soldiers stood, still grumbling, shooting glances up at the wall of the canyon where the girlie must lay hidden. They seemed to have little appetite for this job.
“You did for Captain Byrne, didn’t you?” Merkle sneered. “You’re in too deep to back out now. She gets away, you’re in a world of trouble.”
With black looks at their corporal, the soldiers resumed their search, albeit more cautiously this time.
So it was true. Gillen and a group of renegades had murdered their commander, and all of those traveling with him. Likely, Byrne had been the real target, and now they wanted to finish the job so no one would go back carrying tales.
Han made his decision.
Circling the rim of the canyon, he took up a position opposite the corner where the girl must lay hidden, closest to Corporal Merkle.
He’d need no magic for this job.
Han fitted an arrow to the bowstring, drew it back to his ear, and released. At that close distance, the shaft from his longbow spun Merkle half around before he toppled facedown in the snow.
Han was moving before the officer hit the ground. Shouts went up from the men below, echoing against stone. If he could draw the bastards away, perhaps the girl could find a way out of the canyon and escape. But with the loss of Merkle, the men in the canyon couldn’t seem to organize a pursuit or retreat. They milled about, brandishing hand weapons and launching a few belated arrows toward Han’s former position.
Han chose another target and loosed. Ran a little farther and loosed again. Two for two. Bedlam ensued. Three of the remaining four soldiers scrambled for their horses, while the fourth fell dead with an arrow in his eye. Han shot the last three in various stages of mounting their horses.
“Guess you’re not used to targets that shoot back,” Han said. He waited a few moments to see if there was anyone he’d overlooked. One of the fallen soldiers shoved to his knees and crawled painfully toward a bay gelding that stood nearby. Han’s arrow had caught the bluejacket just beneath the rib cage, and he left a smear of blood on the snow as he crept forward, one hand extended in a pleading manner. The bay stood, tossing his head, rolling his eyes, warily watching the wounded man’s approach.
Nocking another arrow, but keeping the tension off the string, Han descended toward him, leaping lightly from ledge to ledge, until he was perhaps a dozen yards above him. Taking his time, he set his feet, drew back the string, aimed carefully.
The soldier wheezed a greeting to the bay, and the horse extended his head toward him, snorting curiously. Lunging forward, he got a grip on the stirrup. Laboriously, he began to haul himself to his feet.
Han’s arrow went clean through the back of his neck, and the man died without another sound.
Slinging his bow over his shoulder, Han circled around to just above where he assumed the girlie must be hiding. “Hey, there! Are you all right?” he called.
There was no answer.
“They’re gone.” He peered into the canyon, trying to spot her on a ledge lower down. “You’re safe now. I…ah…chased them off.”
Still no answer. Then again, why should she trust him?
Swearing softly to himself, he dropped over the edge and half slid, half scrambled down the slope, clutching at juniper to slow his descent, flaying his fingers in the process. On a narrow ledge, a man’s height above the floor of the canyon, he found a large puddle of blood, purple-red in the snow. Ice crystals were already forming around the edges. Next to the puddle was the fletched end of a crossbow bolt. She must have broken it off.
No.
“Where are you? I know you’re hurt. Please. Let me help you.” Han knelt, scanning the ground. A scattering of crimson drops led him back into the underbrush.
“I’m coming,” he called. “Don’t shoot me.”
Sliding the longbow from his shoulder, he set it down. Cautiously, he pulled the branches aside, crawling forward on hands and knees, kindling a wizard light on the
tips of his fingers to show the way.
She was wedged into a crevice in the rocks, knees drawn up under her chin, a knife resting across her knees, the useless crossbow by her side. She was very still, scarcely breathing, like an animal that hides in the open. Had the light not caught the blade, he might have missed her. But when he got too close, she waved the knife. “Stay back,” she whispered. “Leave me alone. I’m warning you.” She swallowed, licked her lips, lifted her chin stubbornly. “Come any closer and I’ll cut your throat.”
It was Rebecca Morley.
“Rebecca?” Han whispered, amazed relief warring with dismay. He sat back on his heels, his mind churning. His eyes fastened on her knife. Its design mimicked the sword he’d taken from Captain Byrne. The knife was probably his too.
How had she ended up with Captain Byrne? Could Byrne’s bluejackets have been the “rovers” Simon saw in Fetters Ford? But what would they be doing there?
“Rebecca.” Han leaned forward, extending his hand, and she raised the fancy knife again, looking wild-eyed. “Don’t you know me? It’s Han.”
Han realized that he looked like no one’s hero. After weeks on the road, he was shaggy and stubble-faced, lean and grubby. He knew that he too was out of place, probably the last person she’d expect to see.
But still recognizable, right? After all, he’d recognized her.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, unconvincing even to his own ears. “I won’t hurt you.”
She waved a hand dismissively to show she didn’t believe him. She was in bad shape. The snow around her was spattered with blood. One side of her face was purple with bruises, as if she’d been beaten. The other was bloodless and pale. Her hair was shorter than he remembered—it had been cropped since he’d last seen her.
The green eyes were cloudy and confused, the hand holding the blade tremoring.
“What have they done to you?” he murmured, fighting down nausea and fury. She was a blueblood, after all. It wasn’t supposed to work like this.
His mind raced. Had she escaped from the Bayars? Had the Byrnes rescued her? Had Amon Byrne been among the dead at Way Camp and he hadn’t noticed? Or was Corporal Byrne out in the woods somewhere, dead or wounded?
The Seven Realms- The Complete Series Page 100
