Ammey McKeaf

by Jane Shoup

  “No, we have to help them,” Ammey cried.

  Someone grabbed and began pulling her away. She couldn’t see who it was. “Unhand me! We have to help them.”

  “They’re beyond help! Don’t be foolish.”

  She knew it was true, but she couldn’t stop resisting. She’d had her fill of being ordered around. She yanked away, only to be grabbed differently. There was pressure on her stomach followed by the sensation of being lifted. The man had thrown her over his shoulder and was hurrying away. Choking on smoke, fury and embarrassment, she pounded the man’s back. “Put me down!”

  He responded with a series of slaps to her rear end made more effectively stinging because of the thin fabric of her leggings. It worked to increase both her humiliation and her ire and she pounded harder. So did he. When he finally set her down in a smoke-free clearing, she launched herself forward at him. He must have been expecting the move because he grabbed her wrists, whirled her around and sat her on the ground. Hard.

  “You hit me first,” he stated. “And there is nobody left to help!”

  Even scowling, he was extremely handsome, which only served to increase her humiliation. His hair was brown, his eyes a rich golden brown, and there was a small cleft in his chin. She loathed him.

  The black man, obviously the leader of the band, knelt on one knee before her. “We have much to do, little hellcat, so perhaps you could simply tell us who you are and what you and your friends back there were doing.”

  “Or perhaps you can tell me who you are and what you are doing,” she retorted. Her behind was smarting and her face hot with mortification and rage.

  “Forzenay’s the name,” he replied.

  She gaped.

  “You’ve heard the name, then.”

  “You’re Forzenay’s Five?” she bit out. “That’s what you’re saying? Forzenay’s Five? The assassins?”

  “At your service, m’lady,” the black man replied. “This is Stripe,” he said, gesturing to a man with a deep, stripe-like scar on one side of his face. “Kidder, Graybil, and you’ve already met Vincent,” Forzenay finished, gesturing to her captor.

  “Charmed,” Vincent said sardonically. He studied his open palm a moment and then blew on it.

  She was tempted to flail at him again, but they would only restrain her. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, directing the question to Forzenay. “Why didn’t you help them?”

  “We did help,” he replied. “In a discreet enough manner that Corin’s men would not know.”

  “You helped?” she repeated, her voice dripping with scorn. “Discreetly?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You did not help my friends. You did not help that woman I heard scream. Perhaps you were too discreet. When the victims of a massacre do not even realize you exist—”

  “Who are you?” Forzenay spoke sharply, interrupting her tirade.

  “I am Ammey McKeaf,” she replied, raising her chin slightly.

  “Ah.” Forzenay’s gaze roamed her face. “Yes. I should have seen it.”

  “Daughter of the McKeaf?” Vincent asked dubiously.

  “That’s right,” she replied, hoping he was experiencing a moment of fear thinking what her father would do to him.

  “Your father is a good man,” Stripe spoke up.

  “A good friend,” Kidder added.

  She frowned suspiciously. “You know my father?”

  “Listen to the doubt in her voice,” Vincent scoffed. “Why would we lie?”

  “I don’t know you, so how could I possibly know that?”

  “It’s a valid point,” Forzenay conceded.

  A loud crash from the village shook the ground, a painful reminder of an unspeakable loss. Ammey shook her head and tears filled her eyes. “All the people.”

  “No,” Forzenay said with a shake of his head. “We learned of the plan to sack Wydenyl and arrived in time to warn them,” he explained. “I heard the woman, same as you. Things go wrong, but most got to safety.”

  She blinked in surprise. “Truly?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Yes.”

  “How did you learn of the attack?”

  “We’ve been tracking the architects of the raids for awhile. As your father knows.”

  “We’re on the same side, Ammey McKeaf,” Stripe said.

  “Surprise,” Vincent interjected funnily.

  Kidder squatted to be on eye level with her. “Why are you here?” Except for wide, light blue eyes, he really wasn’t remarkable looking in any way. But those eyes. If she hadn’t known better, she would have called them innocent eyes, like those of a child.

  “There have been attacks,” she stammered. Her frayed nerves were suddenly playing havoc with her powers of speech. “My father thought I would be safe here.”

  “You should have been,” Graybil replied grimly, staring at the leaping flames in the distance.

  “Corin will pay for this,” Forzenay declared. “It will force opinion against him. Even those who were unwilling to declare before will have to after this.”

  “We should move on,” Stripe said.

  Forzenay held up a hand. “In a moment. What attacks?” he asked Ammey.

  “Rhuoque Castle was attacked,” she replied hesitantly.

  Forzenay’s expression went cold. “When?”

  Ammey shook her head, trying to think clearly. “Yesterday? No, the day before, I think.”

  “Rhuoque is south,” Stripe said, looking at the others. “That’s not the men we were following, nor any that we know of.”

  “You said attacks,” Forzenay repeated, his gaze never leaving Ammey’s.

  She nodded stiffly, but she could not utter a word. Her throat had closed.

  “Where else?” Forzenay pushed.

  “Thender,” she managed weakly.

  Forzenay searched her face. “Thender?”

  “Thender Castle?” Kidder asked quietly. “Was attacked?”

  Ammey looked away. Tears began flowing again and she angrily wiped her face. “Not the castle,” she replied thickly. “The daughter.”

  “The daughter of the house was murdered?” Forzenay asked.

  She nodded.

  “Was it Corin’s men?” Forzenay asked. “Is that what your father thought?”

  She nodded again.

  “Was it the same men who attacked Rhuoque?”

  She used both hands to dry her face, unknowingly smearing streaks of dirt across her face. She sniffed and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “When did this happen?” Forzenay asked.

  “Yesterday,” Ammey replied. “Afternoon,” she clarified.

  “Can you tell us what happened?”

  She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Julia and her escort, two guards, were set upon. Her men were killed.” She swallowed. “Then Julia was t-taken to Vhahas—”

  “Take your time,” Kidder said gently.

  “Except the place is on fire,” one of them muttered.

  Ammey kept her eyes on the ground. “She was savaged and murdered.” After a moment of silence, she added, “There were s-seven or eight of them. They thought…by the tracks.”

  “So there are at least three units in the valley,” Vincent said.

  “At least,” Graybil agreed.

  Forzenay stood. “You’ll come with us.”

  She looked up and saw he was talking to her. She drew back. “What? No! Where?”

  “Into Vihlae Forest. To the council of Elpis.”

  She gawked in astonishment. “The witches?” She looked at the other men, stunned to see they all looked in earnest.

  Forzenay held out his hand to help her up. “They do not call themselves witches.”

  She ignored his offer of assistance. “I have to return home.”

  “If the Seidhkona tells us it’s safe, you’ll be returned to the Forge,” Forzenay stated. He took hold of her arm and pulled her to her feet.

  “You cannot force me to
go,” she uttered, trying to remain calm and reasonable.

  “Actually, I can.”

  “My father and brothers need to know what—”

  “Your father needs to continue what is begun,” Forzenay interrupted. “He has more responsibility than any man should, as do your brothers. They will know about your men soon enough.”

  “Those men were friends.”

  “We are truly sorry for your loss.” He urged her onward.

  “We, at least, have to bury them.”

  “There’s no time.”

  The five men had surrounded her and hustled her forward, which was maddening. “But I have nothing. Our horses were taken. With my pack.”

  They ignored her.

  “I am not your responsibility,” she insisted, resisting them.

  “You are unless and until the Seidhkona tells us otherwise.”

  Ammey whirled around to Vincent. “Stop pushing me!”

  “Perhaps you’d rather be carried again,” he challenged.

  “Ammey,” Forzenay rejoined. “After what just happened and what we’ve learned, we cannot allow you to return home on your own and we cannot delay an audience with the Seidhkona.”

  Ammey edged away from Vincent. “Who is this Seidhkona?”

  “Milainah, leader of the council,” Forzenay replied.

  “No, I mean what is she? What is she to me? You have no right to—”

  “There is no argument to be won here,” Forzenay stated flatly. “We cannot leave you and we must seek Milainah’s counsel.”

  “Why?”

  “You ask too many questions,” Vincent spoke up.

  “You’d be full of questions, too,” Kidder said.

  Ammey looked at Kidder, appreciative he’d spoken up for her.

  “They know things,” Kidder explained.

  “We understand what you’ve been through,” the one called Graybil said. “But you are safe with us.”

  The extraordinary thing was that she did believe him. It made no sense. After all, if they were who they claimed they were, they were assassins. Assassins on the side of right, but still assassins. They do what’s necessary and what no one else wants to do was what her father once said. He’d never shared that he knew them, though. He’d never said they were friends.

  She saw horses tethered ahead. Ammey followed Kidder, having decided he was the nicest in the group, but Vincent, who had already mounted, yanked her off her feet as she walked by and positioned her in front of himself. Sideways. Of all of them, he was the one she wanted the least to do with and she told him so.

  “Too bad,” he replied as he spurred his horse into motion.

  She shoved back against him and maneuvered her leg over the horse’s head to face front and feel some small measure of control. Unfortunately, his arms clamped around her. “I can ride,” she complained. “I don’t need to be held.”

  He tightened his grip, practically cutting off her air supply. “Any other complaints, your ladyship?” he said directly at her ear.

  The sensation of his moving lips and warm breath against her ear caused a strange sensation throughout her body that shook her composure even more than it already was. She kept her suddenly warm face away from him as much as possible.

  ~~~

  Keary, the blacksmith, had always been one that had to know the worst of a situation and he had to know how the village had fared. Why they had been a target, he could not fathom, but Forzenay’s Five had claimed it was so and the village fathers had believed the warning.Villagers had been instructed to take only that which was most essential to their survival and go and most had. His wife and daughters had taken food, cooking implements and bedrolls while he had taken his most prized tools, his hammers, anvil and tongs. He’d spent too long breaking them in just right to leave them behind.

  He smelled smoke before he got to the clearing, but he kept going, mentally preparing himself for the damage he was likely to see beyond the wall. He made it to the clearing and stopped abruptly, his mouth ajar. Not only was the wall gone, so was most of the village. Keary’s bowels churned at the sight of the blackened ruins.

  He stared uncomprehendingly at strange looking bundles on the ground until he realized they were bodies. The bodies of those who had failed to heed the dictate to vacate the village. He dropped to one knee and pressed a fist against his mouth, grieving for lost lives and the loss of their village. Movement drew his gaze to one particular body. It was Raeka. Her face was blackened with soot and she was badly injured, but she saw him and began to scoot toward him, wanting to live. “Help me,” she cried.

  He struggled to get to his feet, anxious to help her, but a shriek above him halted his movement. He choked back a strangled cry and shrank away from the sight of hideous, pasty-white, somewhat-human looking creatures with blue-black wings circling the village. Their wingspan was awesome, making them wider than they were tall. One of the creatures dove to the ground and descended on a corpse claws first, ripping at clothing and flesh. The thing turned its repulsive, misshapen face to and fro, as if suspicious of intruders, before bending to feast on the meat it had exposed.

  Raeka screamed in terror as two creatures circled her. Keary could do nothing but helplessly watch as one of the creatures leapt on Raeka, pinning her down, its head at her throat. Raeka’s cry was instantly silenced. The other creature came at her body and then two others landed and moved in. The first flared its wings and screamed in fury, but it was not intimidating enough to stop the others from lunging and fighting over the prize.

  Keary crawled backwards on hands and feet until he hit a tree, then used it for support to get to his feet. Whimpering, he turned and took off in a run. He’d made it a few dozen paces before he felt his stomach begin to heave. The vomiting did not slow him. He never stopped running.

  Chapter Four

  The group rode until late afternoon. Ammey had tried to hold herself upright and as far from Vincent as possible, but weariness had won out and, for many miles, she had leaned against him. He held the reins loosely in one hand while his other rested on his thigh, barely touching her hip.

  It was nearly dusk as they reached Vilhae Forest. It loomed before them, massive and dark and seemingly impenetrable, but they found a path and rode in single file. Kidder went first, Forzenay second and they were third. At first, it was too dark to see anything. The air was cooler, thick with humidity and fragrant from the foilage. As Ammey’s vision adjusted to the dimmer light, she took in the gnarled trunks of ancient trees and the dizzyingly high canopy above. Birds twittered musically and the sounds seemed to echo. Either there was a shimmering green cast to the air or her eyes were playing tricks on her.

  “Here,” Kidder spoke up. He dismounted in a clearing.

  Vincent reined in his horse and dismounted, pushing against Ammey as he did. She’d become far too aware of his body and resented it. When he reached up to help her down, she primly dismounted on the other side. It was far too late for him to be chivalrous now. She suspected he was experiencing irritation as he noticed the amusement in the faces of the others. Good, she thought with satisfaction. He stretched and retrieved his canteen to drink, trying to look nonchalant.

  The clearing wasn’t large and they were all gravitating toward a patch of sunlight. “What are we doing?” Ammey asked.

  “Waiting,” Forzenay replied.

  Stripe offered Ammey his canteen and she thanked him, glanced at Vincent with disdain, and drank. Stripe gave Vincent a mildly reproachful look, which Vincent answered with a lift of one brow. Ammey was aware of it all since they’d formed a circle. She stood across from Vincent, who was blatantly staring at her. She refused to give him the satisfaction of looking back at him. Forzenay bowed his head and closed his eyes and then the others did the same. Ammey followed their lead, but quickly looked behind her when she felt soft fabric brush against her. A woman stood there close enough to touch her.

  “Welcome,” the woman greeted.

  A few other
females also stood amidst their small group. It was as if they had materialized out of thin air. The women started toward a path that, unless Ammey was mistaken, had not been there before. Forzenay gestured her forward and so she followed the women. He followed her, as did the others. The path was strewn with fragrant flowering vines. She wanted to reach out for them, but restrained herself.

  When the woman ahead of her stepped aside, she saw they’d reached a wide open gathering area with elegantly carved benches under ivy-covered gazebos, and swings built for two on vines extended from the limbs hundreds of feet above. A line of women stood waiting for them and beyond them were long tables where food and drink were being set out. Ammey stepped aside to allow the men to assume the lead, although Vincent insisted she go before him.

  “Welcome,” the woman in the middle of the line greeted as they reached her. Her long, dark hair was worn loose and fell past her knees. Ammey couldn’t make out her age. Thirties? Forties? She was striking.

  “Milainah,” Forzenay said to her with a bow of his head. “Thank you for seeing us.”

  “I hoped we would see you again, Forzenay.” She looked at each of the other four men. “All of you.”

  “Your warning saved our lives,” Forzenay stated. “We are ever in your debt.”

  “There is no debt. We are one in the struggle.”

  Forzenay gestured toward Ammey. “May I present—”

  “The daughter of the McKeaf,” Milainah interjected as her gaze fell upon Ammey. The woman’s deep gray eyes suddenly turned milky silver.

  Ammey’s breath caught. Chillbumps rippled on her skin.

  “We’ve been expecting you,” Milainah said.

  Ammey felt frozen in her gaze.

  “You are all in need of sustenance and rest,” Milainah said, glancing over the group. “Please.” She gestured to the tables. “There will be time for all we must discuss,” she said to Forzenay.

  The Five all deferred to Ammey who moved forward uncertainly. She chose a seat and most of the other men filled in around her. Bowls of silky-feeling water and drying cloths were brought around for them to clean their hands, and then came offerings of bread, hunks of mild, white fish and a mixture of nutty grains and greens. The amber-colored drink that was served was unfamiliar to Ammey. It was sweet with a pungent after-bite and it affected her immediately, making her slightly dizzy.