The Star Of Saree

by A. J. STRICKLER

  Banging into the archway of the large room, Ashlyn saw four of the royal guard loitering there with a couple of buxom serving girls. They stared at her and the prince a moment then drew their swords.

  Ashlyn let go of the blind man as the four men rushed her. Dimitri lost his balance and fell against one of the large tables spaced throughout the room and rolled onto the floor. Parrying the first attack, she spun to the left, her shortsword ripping through a guardsmen’s throat as she turned. Ashlyn moved just in time to avoid an attack from another of the confused soldiers.

  She stepped to protect the prince. If he died, this whole trip would be for nothing. Three more of the guard entered the hall, drawn by the sound of the fight no doubt. If she had her knifes and hand-axes, things would be a little different, but unarmored with only a shortsword and dagger, Ashlyn knew things would not go her way.

  Kian and Beck burst from the kitchen. Beck’s saber took one of the men from behind and the Slayer’s dark blade rose and fell with frightening speed. The guardsmen fell before him one after the other. The kitchen staff ran out in to the hall, some screaming for help and others rushing from their sight. Ashlyn threw her last dagger. It punched through one of the guardsmen’s eyes and killed him instantly. Within seconds, a bell was ringing from somewhere deeper inside the palace.

  “Out now,” Kian commanded as he took the head of the last soldier in the hall. “There will be more coming, too many for us to get clear.”

  The swordsman scooped up the prince, slung him over his shoulder, and they ran through the kitchen. Ashlyn reached down and recovered her weapons and armor; she barely had time to swing her cloak around her shoulders as they burst out the door and into the freezing air.

  The snow still blew, but they could see men from the gatehouse coming towards them. Sprinting back the way they had come, the soldiers fell behind, unable to match their speed. Beck pulled the rope down and the trio scrambled over the wall, Kian still carrying the prince on his back.

  The deep snow on the other side slowed their progress. Ashlyn knew that any moment the guards would be turned out most likely on horseback. Even with the blizzard’s cover, they would be caught.

  Kian led them down the hill while she explained about the prince’s condition. How the Slayer saw in the blowing snow was a mystery. Ashlyn couldn’t tell if they were on the road that led down to Brova or not. It was hard to tell their location when everything was white, though she saw an orange glow down below.

  The others had set their fire, for what little good it had done. They had hoped setting the cathedral ablaze would have pulled men from palace to help douse the flames. She guessed no one had noticed the smoke in this weather. The fire had to be large for her to see it; Cromwell and Endra must have set fire to half the city.

  Kian slowed, the outline of people coming up from below halting his breakneck pace. It was Cromwell, Endra, and the others. The Slayer moved towards them, rejoining the rest of their sorry band.

  “They’re on our tail. I guess setting fire to the cathedral wasn’t much of a distraction,” Kian shouted over the wind.

  “No, the thing was half burned down and had spread to a couple of nearby buildings before anyone noticed. The city finally turned out to save their church, but it is too far gone now. Did you see any sign of the baron?” Endra asked.

  Kian shook his head. “No, but we weren’t in there too long, Ashlyn came up with a far better plan than the one I had.”

  Cromwell slapped her on the arm. “She is smarter than she lets on.”

  “Let’s skirt the city and try for our horses. If we can get to them, we might have a chance to lose the pursuit from the palace,” Kian offered.

  The Slayer set the prince down on his feet and held the man erect. “Endra, help me wrap him in my cloak or he will freeze to death before we get halfway to the horses.”

  “The prince can’t walk?” the shieldmaiden asked.

  “No, he has been tortured and his eyes are gone,” Kian answered, pulling off his cloak.

  “You’re going to freeze yourself without that on,” Endra cautioned.

  “I will be fine for now,” Kian said. “I have been cold before.”

  Ashlyn looked back up the hill as the others bundled up the prince. The snow was so heavy that they wouldn’t see the soldiers coming until they were on top of them. She hoped Kian was listening, maybe he could hear the horses or maybe smell them.

  “It’s over two miles to the barn, they will be on us before we get there,” Beck said.

  “Let them come. I’ll turn this hill red with their blood,” Cromwell said.

  Kian put the prince back on his shoulder. “We will deal with that when we have to, brother. Now we must move.”

  Everyone ran down the hill, stumbling through the deepening snow. Ashlyn was very glad she had kept her boots on when she changed clothes with the servant girl or her feet would be frozen. The wind carried her laughter away. The foolish thought had amused her. They would all be dead shortly, so it didn’t really manner if her feet were warm or not.

  The horses whinnied, stomping at the frozen ground. Steam blew from their nostrils as they walked among their fallen masters. A dozen Trimenian soldiers and nine horses lay scattered in the midst of a grisly red slush, the falling snow already beginning to cover their lifeless bodies.

  Kian flicked the blood from Silence’s edge and tried to gauge the distance to the barn. He guessed it was still over a mile until they reached their mounts. The swordsman thought about using the Trimenian’s three remaining horses. The prince could be set on one and two of them could accompany the blind man and start back now.

  It wasn’t a good idea. They would have no supplies for the journey to the rebel camp. Besides, this was their second encounter with the soldiers that had been sent out to search for them. It was better they stick together and try for their own horses. It was the wise thing to do.

  “Kian, over here,” Cromwell called out.

  He jogged over to where the Toran stood grimly appraising Pierre.

  “They have gone and ruined my finest set of clothes, Slayer.” The Celonian chuckled weakly.

  The swordsmen could see the large wound in the mercenary’s abdomen, and the red snow around Pierre steamed with his hot blood.

  Adisa knelt beside the man, trying to tend to the terrible wound. “Hold still, you idiot, or your guts are going to spill out.”

  “It wouldn’t matter much. Hell, the cold might even ease the sting,” Pierre grimly joked.

  Kian could see that the Celonian was in severe pain, his breaths coming in shallow gasps.

  “We must go,” Endra said, putting her hand on Kian’s shoulder and looking to the north. “More will come.

  Adisa bent down to help Pierre off the ground.

  “Don’t move me, you slow witted buffoon. I will stay right here, if you please.”

  Adisa frowned. “You have to get up. There will be more of soldiers. Even in this storm, it won’t be hard to miss this mess. They will find you and finish what they started.”

  “I doubt I will be breathing when those dogs find me,” Pierre said with resignation.

  Beck dragged the prince over to where they all stood, the blind man’s arm around his neck. “I don’t see the point of a debate. We need to keep moving, Kian. The rest of us don’t have your fortitude. We tire and if you haven’t noticed, it’s fucking freezing out here,” the one-eared mercenary said harshly.

  Kian gave the coldhearted mercenary a hard look. “Pierre is wounded. Would you leave him here like this?”

  Beck glanced down at the injured man. “Pierre is finished and he knows it. It was over when they put that spear in his guts. If we stay here, what we have done will be for nothing.” The mercenary tapped the dying man with the toe of his boot. “What say you, Pierre? Would you like a quick end, or do you just want us to leave you here?”

  “You son of a whore,” Adisa hissed. “You’re a devil of a man, Beck.”

 
; The mercenary spit on the ground and shifted the prince’s weight. “I don’t give a shit what you think, Adisa. You just don’t like the truth.”

  The bald warrior moved forward. “The truth is I’m going to kill you, Beck.”

  Cromwell quickly stepped between them and put his hand on Adisa’s chest. “Beck is a bastard, but he’s right, brother.”

  Adisa looked at the Toran furiously and knelt back down beside his friend. “Pay no attention to them. We will carry you if you wish.”

  The Celonian chuckled weakly. “Beck’s right, I am dead and I don’t feel the need to move just now. Go. I will hold no harsh feelings about it.”

  Kian nodded and pulled Adisa to his feet, pushing him away from his fallen friend. They slowly marched on through the snow in the direction of the old barn. The weary band hadn’t gone ten yards when Adisa grabbed Kian’s arm. “I am going to stay with the peacock, Slayer. I cannot let him die alone.”

  “It will mean your death; you cannot save him,” Kian said evenly.

  Adisa looked at the haggard band of warriors regarding him, waiting for an explanation. “I have known him a long time.”

  Kian clapped the dark-skinned warrior on the shoulder. Adisa was a man of honor, and Kian understood his decision. There was no sense trying to change his mind.

  “Damn you, Adisa,” Cromwell said, taking the man’s arm in a warrior’s grip. “Die well, my friend.”

  Endra kissed him on the cheek and Ashlyn hugged his neck. The other mercenaries said their quick farewells and followed Kian forward into the raging snow.

  Adisa knelt beside Pierre. “You have always been more trouble than you are worth, peacock.”

  “And you have always been ugly,” the Celonian said with a grin. “You should not do this, you baldheaded fool.”

  “I have always done what I wanted to. You know that,” Adisa said firmly.

  The two sat there in silence, neither feeling the frozen snow or the howling wind.

  It wasn’t long before the pair heard the jingle of horses. Twenty riders appeared from the cover of the storm. “I going to be busy for a while, my friend,” Adisa said, coming to his feet and dragging his broadsword from if scabbard.

  Pierre raised his head. “It looks that way.”

  The bald mercenary stepped forward. Widening his stance, he gripped his sword in both hands.

  Hearing a grunt behind him, Adisa glanced over his shoulder. Pierre was pushing himself off the ground, trying to use his rapier for support. He rushed to his companion’s side. Taking the Celonian’s arm, he helped him to his feet. “What are you doing, peacock?”

  “You wouldn’t leave me alone to die in this damn snow, and I’m a proper gentleman, it would be rude of me not to return the favor.” Pierre gritted his teeth and brought his sword to guard. Tears of pain and regret dripped from his eyes. Looking at Adisa, he coughed harshly, a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. “When we get to Hell, my dear friend, I intend to buy you a drink.”

  The horsemen spotted the two and kicked their horses into a gallop, the front rank lowering their spears.

  “Farewell, peacock,” Adisa said, his voice full of emotion.

  Pierre knees began to buckle, his balance failing. “Farewell, my brother.”

  * * *

  At least twenty riders pressed down on them. Their mounts were no more than fifty yards away inside the crumbling barn. “I will hold them while the rest of you get the prince out of here,” Kian shouted.

  “No, not this time. Beck, take Hastings and Tench, get Dimitri on a horse and head south,” Endra commanded, pulling her bastard sword from it scabbard. “We will catch up when we can.”

  Beck grabbed the prince from Kian, and the three mercenaries led the blind man toward the old structure.

  Cromwell and Ashlyn drew their weapons and flanked Kian and Endra. “You two aren’t going to have all the fun. These bastards are going to wish they stayed home by the fire,” the Toran said, shrugging off his cloak and stretching his shoulders.

  As soon as the riders caught sight of them, the soldiers tried to kick their mounts into a charge. The snow was so deep that the horses struggled to reach full speed.

  Kian and Ashlyn took advantage of the animal’s hindrance, leaping at two of the riders and knocking both men from their saddles. Cromwell and Endra moved in, slaughtering the soldier’s horses with their large blades, downing as many of the animals as they could.

  A handful of the soldiers broke off in the direction Beck and the others had gone. There was nothing they could do to stop them. By the time the fight there was finished, the soldiers would have disappeared into the storm. The mercenaries would just have to find a way to handle that bunch on their own.

  Several of the soldiers slid from their horses. Unable to control their mounts properly in the drifts was getting them killed. Kian spun Silence like an extension of his own arm, driving the dark blade into a soldier’s guts. Stepping to his right, he took another’s leg off. Kian could feel the black blade’s pleasure as it took each man’s life.

  Endra cried out as a spear tore across her shoulder. The shieldmaiden moved to strike back, but her attack was too slow. One of Ashlyn’s daggers sped through the air and into the spearman’s throat before the older woman could act.

  They fought like four demons, the icy wind beating at their resolve and the deepening snow slowing their attacks. Their sheer brutality and relentless courage was something the soldiers hadn’t counted on. The four warriors fought as if the world hung in the balance. Kian and Ashlyn’s attacks were like lighting, while Cromwell and Endra plowed into the soldiers with their heavy steel like the accompanying thunder. The white ground was stained crimson with the blood of the king’s men. Horses and men lay scattered in the cold powder, the warrior’s skill providing the soldiers with a bitter death.

  Kian pulled his Silence from the body of the last man he had faced. Casting a glance to his companions, the swordsman found Endra and Cromwell. The pair was winded and leaning on their swords, both warriors’ attention focused on the young woman before them.

  Ashlyn still fought two opponents. Kian moved to go to aid her.

  “No, Arradar,” Cromwell shouted. “Let her earn her glory.”

  Kian didn’t like it, but he stayed where he was. The swordsman had to admit that the young woman was spectacular. She had adapted her talents into an elegant style of combat. Leaping above a low attack, Ashlyn came down and buried her sword in the soldier’s chest. Quickly ducking a blow to the head from her other opponent, Ashlyn pulled her shortsword free from the dead man’s chest and rolled away. In one motion, she rose and flung the blade, sinking it into the last soldier’s forehead. Eyes wide, the man took two steps and fell dead. Ashlyn glanced at the three of them. Realizing she had an audience, the young woman spread her cloak and stepped back into a deep bow, as if she had just completed a grand performance.

  “Damn but she is as mad as a Viborg berserker, though I like her mettle,” Cromwell said with a grin.

  The young woman’s speed and accuracy was impressive. Kian could see that with a little training, Ashlyn could become a very dangerous warrior, if she didn’t get herself killed first. “Pick up your weapons up and get to the horses. We need to catch up to Beck,” Kian directed.

  “That one-eared bastard can handle a few soldiers,” Cromwell said, heading into the barn.

  “I know, but these might not be the only men out looking for us. We need to get as much distance between ourselves and Brova as we can. When this storm lets up, there will be soldiers all over the countryside.”

  “Aye,” Endra said. “I just can’t understand why there was so few of them? K’xarr said Serban had most of his mercenaries at the royal palace. These men are the palace guard. It’s very odd that the baron wouldn’t have set his own dogs on us.”

  “Don’t poke at our luck,” Cromwell said. “Fate seldom swings our way, I’ll not question it.”

  Entering the
old barn, they gathered their horses and struck out to the south. If their luck held, they might just catch up with the others.

  * * *

  As soon as the storm had passed, Tempest had taken to the woods, bow in hand. The camp had run low on fresh meat during the blow, so she and a handful of other hunters had gone out to try their luck. The white-haired young woman had proudly returned with six rabbits hanging from her belt and a large doe over her shoulders.

  The hungry rebels had taken the doe from her and quickly dressed it, putting the animal on a spit. Once the venison was roasted, it would be distributed to the hungry people of the camp. There were several large fires and a deer hung over each. The hunting had been good; everyone would eat well today.

  A few of the younger rebel hunters thought to have some sport with her. The men laughed and snickered, telling Tempest she would have to skin the rabbits on her own. She shook her head at their mischievous grins and stupid smirks. The fools had no idea how many animals she had prepared for the stew pot.

  Finding a large round of tree too big for the woodsmen’s axes, Tempest upended it to make a crude table. With practiced skill, she took out her hunting knife and set about her work. The childish rebels drifted away, disappointed the pretty girl didn’t have to ask for their help.

  Finishing her third rabbit, Tempest scratched at her nose with the sleeve of her buckskin jerkin, trying to keep from getting rabbit blood on her face. She was beginning to like the rebel camp. The people had finally warmed to the newcomer’s presence. Many were very friendly once she had gotten to know them. Some of the older women even watched the little children for her when she had chores to do. It was nice to have someone to talk to. Sometimes traveling with Kian could be very lonely. He was a fine man and a great warrior, but he wasn’t one for conversation.

  Things were better, but the same old problem always loomed, like an ax above her head: the blood. Once the people found out, she would be an outcast again at best. No sense worrying about it now, Tempest thought. It was nice to be around people again, and she had Pepca to spend time with.