Blood of Assassins

by RJ Baker

  Ossowin glanced over his shoulder at the late sun as it set the clouds alight.

  “This night Rufra will not be here; he will be in a camp far away, and you cannot hold the Boarlord all night. He has many hundreds with him.”

  Annoyingly, he may have spoken the truth, but Nywulf did not care. “We can hold him longer with you than you can without us.”

  Ossowin stared down at us, as frozen in place as any hedgescare. I heard a scrabbling sound on the other side of the gates and Ossowin was joined by a woman. She said something to him and then put a hand on his shoulder, a small gesture that spoke of a lifetime’s partnership.

  He nodded, a picture of misery. “Open the gates,” he said in barely more than a whisper. “Let them in.”

  We had to dismount to pass under the bridge over the gates as it was not high enough for a mount and Rider. On the road behind the gates stood the villagers of Gwyre. The road was muddy, and the same grey mud coated the villagers’ legs from foot to knee. Some carried bows, but I only spotted three or four of the weapons. In all they were a bedraggled lot who watched us with wide and frightened eyes. Most had rags over the bottom of their faces, as if they could hide from the fate that awaited them by hiding their faces. Nywulf saw in our column then told them to unsaddle their mounts and drive them away. “We will not be riding away from here until Rufra comes to relieve us, and there is nowhere to stable them anyway,” he said, and he made sure the villagers heard him. “We’ll keep Xus and Dorlay for now, and round the rest up after Rufra arrives. Boros, check the wall – look for weak points.” I glanced around. Most of the houses had been built against the wall so their steep roofs made parts of the wall far higher. “Ossowin, how many archers do you really have?”

  “Seven,” said the woman standing by Ossowin.

  “You are?”

  “Aisleth, his wife.” She linked arms with Ossowin. “Everyone in the village can use a bow, but there are only seven I would trust not to panic and waste arrows.”

  “Thank you for your honesty,” said Nywulf. He turned to a woman unsaddling her mount. “Farriya, pick twelve to go with you and Aisleth’s seven. I want you to take down anyone trying to climb over the walls between the houses or coming down the roofs.”

  “Yes, Nywulf.” She pulled a hornbow from the case on her mount and started calling out names.

  “Blessed Nywulf,” said Aisleth, “can you get the children out before the Nonmen come?” Nywulf strode over to the gate and looked at the oncoming force. It was large, three hundred at least.

  “No,” he said. “If I try they will catch them and use them against us.”

  Aisleth nodded and moved closer to Nywulf.

  “I have been a soldier,” she whispered. “Your man will tell you the big house at the back of the village has weak walls, and I know you cannot hold this place all night.” There were tears in her eyes.

  Nywulf put a hand on her shoulder. “We are Rufra’s troops and we will hold for our king.” He glanced at her before adding, “Do you have children here?”

  She nodded.“One. My girl, Dinay.”

  “Does she ride?” She nodded again. “As well as anyone.”

  “Dinay,” shouted Nywulf, and a girl came forward, no more than twelve and thin, as all are in the Tired Lands. “You ride, girl?” She bobbed her head, shaking in her sandals as Nywulf grabbed me by the arm. “This is Girton, Dinay. He will introduce you to his mount, and you will ride to the king for me.”

  “You would give her my mount?” I said. “Why not Aydor’s? He—” I was silenced by Nywulf’s stare.

  “I would have this girl get safely to Rufra, Girton. Show me a faster and fiercer mount than Xus and I will put her on that.” I glared at Nywulf but I did not have an answer to his truth.

  “Very well,” I said. “Come, Dinay.” The girl was plainly scared of me, and though I was annoyed at Nywulf for making me send Xus with this child, I knew it made sense. I pushed her up onto a mounting block and brought Xus over, then put my hand over Dinay’s and got her to stroke the mount’s muzzle. After a few moments of growling and annoyed whistling, Xus allowed me to lift the child onto his back. I led them to the gates and took a moment to stare at the approaching force of Nonmen I could hear their screamed curses on the wind.

  “I am sorry for taking your mount, Blessed,” said the girl. She could hardly speak but did not look away from me or hide her face as some children would. Her brown eyes were wide with fear and her hands trembled on the reins. She was more scared of me than she was of the Nonmen, and I felt small and cruel. I used Xus’s bridle and stirrup to pull myself up. Xus growled at the unfamiliar weight on his side.”

  “Listen to me, Dinay.” I forced a smile. “You strike me as a brave girl.” She nodded. “Then I am glad it is you I must give Xus over to. Now, you must ride like you have never ridden before. Xus is the fastest and the fiercest mount that has ever lived, do you understand?” She nodded again. “Give him his head, steer him south and he will look after you until you meet King Rufra. No one will catch you, and if someone tries then I pity them as Xus will let no one hurt his rider.” The girl returned a fluttering smile, only for it to be driven away as what I had said sunk in.

  “I will meet the king?” she stuttered the words.

  “Aye. Rufra is a good man, Dinay. He is my friend and he will be yours too.”

  “A king will not want to speak to me,” she said. “I am only a farm girl.”

  “And I was once a thankful with nothing. Do not worry. Rufra does not judge a person by their origins, and he will see that you ride Xus and know you must be special. He knows I would not let just anyone ride my mount, and he knows how few can master Xus.” She still looked worried. “Some of his best Riders have been thrown from Xus’s back.” I leaned in and whispered, “Even Master Nywulf,” and got another smile. “But look at you. Xus sits quite still for you.” Spots of drizzle were collecting in her black hair, like jewels. “Your task is important, Dinay, Tell Rufra we are here and we are under siege. Tell him Girton Club-Foot says he is not to dawdle.”

  She mouthed the words I had spoken and then said very quietly, “Blessed, will you look after my mother and father?”

  I did not know what to say. I knew the chaos of battle, the fear, the confusion, how difficult it was to keep track of those by you who you had known for months, never mind a couple of strangers you had only just met. Why should I lie to the girl? Why give her false hope?

  “I will do the best that I can,” I said, because I knew it was what Rufra would have said. The girl smiled at me and I smacked Xus on the rump, sending the mount careening out through the gates. I watched him run and felt another body come to stand by me.

  “That was well said, Girton.”

  “It was a lie, Nywulf,” I replied.

  “Sometimes we must lie.”

  “Aye.” I drew my warhammer. “How long do we have until the Nonmen are on us?”

  Nywulf peered through the drizzle into the increasing gloom.

  “A quarter-hour until they are here. The gates are flimsy and will not hold them long. Maybe an hour until the real fighting starts.”

  “How long until Rufra gets here?”

  “Too long,” said Nywulf, “but it always is. We will hold.”

  “We will?”

  “We must,” he said, and turned as Boros came up.

  “The walls are stout in most places, but one house at the rear of the village has been used to store grain, and its rear wall has a big hole in it to allow easy access to the fields. Hedgings curse farmers.” He spat. “They have ruined a good defence the better to bring in grain. I’ve got troops packing it with what they can and putting spears in among the packing. It’ll hold for a bit, but it’s going to end up being a way in no matter what.”

  “I’ll hold the house.” I turned. Aydor stood behind me, a stabsword in one hand and a huge shield in the other. He looked ridiculous.

  “How many will be needed to hold it?�
�� Nywulf asked Boros.

  “You won’t fit more than three in there without them tripping over each other.” He glanced at Aydor. “Maybe only two.”

  “I’ll find a place in the shieldwall defending the gate,” I said and took a step away from Aydor.

  “Dead gods,” said Nywulf, “you two are still the same idiots I tried to train in the squireyard.” He turned to me. “Girton, give me that warhammer.”

  “My warhammer?”

  “Unless you have another.” He strode forward and wrenched it from my hand. “Aydor, that stabsword, give it to me.”

  “This is my weap—”

  “I don’t care.” He pulled it from his hand and replaced it with the warhammer. Then he strode back to me and forced the stabsword into my hand. “This will be a hard enough fight even with you both playing to your strengths; we will not make it any harder. Girton, I need your speed in that house back there.” He pointed to the rear of the village. “Aydor, I need your strength to anchor my shieldwall around, and now you have the weapon you need to do some real damage.”

  Before I could complain, Nywulf turned away, shouting orders, assigning troops to the shieldwall, telling the villagers to hide their children and ordering every able-bodied man and woman to find a weapon. I mounted the wall as Nywulf put together his defences and watched the girl on Xus as he galloped as hard as he could. A small contingent had split from the main group of Nonmen, but they were on foot and would not catch Xus. I was more worried about Chirol as he rode at the head of his men, his boar-skulled head turning, watching the girl on Xus. Then he leaned in close to say something to a man running beside him and wheeled his animal round to ride in pursuit.

  “Fly, Xus, fly,” I said into the air, and it seemed the mount heard me. The girl leaned into him, and Xus ran as hard as he could. I hoped it would be enough.

  The main Nonmen force was near enough to Gwyre that I could make out their shouted threats as the gates to the village started to grind shut. It was time to prepare for battle. Below, Nywulf was standing on the mounting block and shouting to the troops and villagers assembled before him as the din from outside grew louder.

  “This man is Aydor!” yelled Nywulf, pointing at him. “Once he was a king who fought against Rufra for the crown, and now he chooses to follow King Rufra, because he has seen that it is right. Two days ago, the Nonmen, these same Nonmen that are outside your walls, attacked Aydor. He had only a small force and no village to shield him. He was outnumbered by far more than we shall be and yet he fought them off. He made them run as if Dark Ungar himself had come for them.” Nywulf’s gaze passed across the crowd before him, troops and frightened villagers. “And we will do the same this night!” he shouted. “The Nonmen only win because they use fear as a weapon. Without fear they are nothing more than mage-bent thinmen, stumbling into battle. Now, are you afraid?”

  I joined in with Nywulf’s troops as they shouted, “No!” The villagers’ response was less assured, so Nywulf made them shout it again and again until we were all as loud as one another: No! No! No! “The Nonmen will never take Gwyre!” he roared. “We will not let them! We do not fear them!”

  It was a good speech that Nywulf made that day.

  But, as he had said, sometimes we must lie.

  Chapter 20

  With Chirol gone to chase Dinay on Xus, his second in command stood outside the village of Gwyre, just out of bowshot. His shadow stretched out behind him as if he were a giant, and the villagers watched from cracks in the gate and the ramparts of their wall. Those who could not see listened carefully as the Nonman, Chadat, listed what he would do to them if they did not give us up to the Boarlord. It was not a pleasant list or one I have any wish to recount.

  Nywulf stood between Boros and I above the gate. I was surprised that Aydor had not demanded to be up there as Rufra had put him in charge, but he had happily let Nywulf lead, preferring to be among the men and women below. I did not complain, though I worried what poison he may be whispering in their ears. I remained the only one not taken in by his false humility. Nywulf had told Boros and I that he would not reply immediately to the Nonmen – he did not want to give them the honour of our leader speaking to them – and had told Boros he could say what he wanted until he interrupted.

  “Where is my brother?” called Boros. “It seems whenever we are likely to meet he finds an excuse to be elsewhere.”

  “The Boarlord will be back,” Chadat shouted, “and when he returns he will be wearing the skin of your messenger.” I heard a gasp from below.

  “A young girl sounds like his sort of opponent. Fighting children is all he’s good for – all any of you are good for. You should run now, Chadat, before you and your men are humiliated by a bunch of farmers.”

  “We shall cut you all to pieces!” screamed Chadat.

  “But to do that, you will have to get past the farmers, and I do not think you are up to it.”

  Before Chadat could reply Nywulf stepped forward, raising his voice to make sure all of the Nonmen could hear him.

  “Go,” he said calmly. “Rufra is on his way, and if he catches you here you will be trapped between us and him. He will smear the walls of Gwyre with your blood.”

  “You lie,” shouted Chadat. “If that were true you would not have sent a messenger. It is you who will adorn the walls of Gwyre, Nywulf, and you shall have a long time to regret your folly here just as Hallan had time to regret spying on Tomas.”

  “I do not lie,” said Nywulf. “If I do, may Xus strike me down now.” He waited, and those crowded around the gate held their breath in expectation.

  Nothing happened of course, as Xus the unseen is rarely so punctual. The rain continued to fall, torches still guttered in their sconces, throwing strange shadows, and if I fancied I saw Xus’s shadow cast then it was no shock that the god of death would be in this place in this hour.

  “It seems Xus does not want me yet,” said Nywulf. “Maybe it is your hand he will take and lead along the path to his dark palace.” He stood back and said quietly, “Girton.”

  I picked up the bow by my feet and strung an arrow, pulling on the cord once or twice to get a feel for the tension in the string and wood, glancing at a tree to gauge the wind, watching Chadat as he saw me test the bow. Alarm crossed his features but it quickly turned to amusement. He was sure he was out of range, and for most archers that would be true.

  But I am not most archers.

  I drew, asked Xus to guide my arrow, and let fly. Chadat gazed up into the sky, a big grin on his face, and he opened his arms as if to mock death, but Xus the unseen should never be mocked. A roar went up from Gwyre as the arrow took Chadat in the chest, punching him to the floor and pinning his body to the ground. As we climbed down the ladder Nywulf was already speaking.

  “Boros, sometimes you are an idiot and sometimes you are a genius.” He raised his voice. “Farmers’ clothes! I need farmers’ clothes. Bring them quickly, big as you can, whatever you can find.” Nywulf ran over to some villagers and Boros stared after him as though he had gone mad.

  “I suspect, Boros,” I said, “he means to dress the front rank of the shieldwall as farmers.”

  “Why? That won’t scare the Nonmen.”

  “No, farmers won’t scare them, but how often have you seen a shieldwall of real soldiers fall in the first fight?”

  “’Hardly ever …” A grin spread across his face as he realised what Nywulf was doing. “The Nonmen will think a bunch of farmers beat them.”

  “Exactly.” I heard Rufra’s voice echoing back from my past when we trained as squires together, and then, as if in reply, my master’s voice saying the same words: “Half the fight is always in your head.”

  My master, how was she?

  I was flooded with guilt. Was she suffering already from what I had done to her medicine? What if I died here and never got to correct the mixture? Why had I done it? I was such a fool. I would tell Mastal what I had done and make it right, whatever it took
.

  We will make her well.

  A scream came from outside the village, followed by the sound of hundreds of swords and spears beating against shields. Above the clatter I heard the high shouts of mettle-chanters and the wail of spinners as the chanters whirled them around in their frenzied dance, working themselves and the Nonmen up for the attack.

  “Open the gates,” shouted Nywulf.

  “But that is our only protection,” said Ossowin. From somewhere he had found leather armour and a spear; he at least looked like a warrior.

  “We will meet their first charge head on, and it will focus the attack in one place, at least for now.” There was a huge grin on Nywulf’s face as he went to stand by Aydor, who wore armour covered with sacking and farmers’ rags. “Let’s show these yellowers what farmers are made of,” he said and slammed down his visor.

  I joined the archers on the bridge above the gate. Nywulf was sure the Nonmen were not great tactical thinkers, and he was right. They slammed into our shieldwall in a great screaming wave but they were not disciplined or well equipped, they had a ragtag assortment of weapons and little in the way of armour. The small opening of the gates neutralised the advantage of their superior numbers, and our curving wall of brightly coloured shields held. We did not loose our arrows, not yet; our supplies were limited and they would be needed later. For now we crouched behind our shields, and when spears were thrown at us we threw them back. Occasionally a Nonman would scramble over the shieldwall, avoiding thrusting spears and blades and landing on the other side, only to be cut down by those waiting for just such a manoeuvre.

  Mostly I watched Aydor, I suspected he may use the chaos to kill Nywulf. Depriving Rufra of his most experienced man would be a shrewd move, but he was too busy with the Nonmen, and the more I watched Aydor the more he seemed made for the place he held in the centre of the wall. He was strong enough to wield my warhammer in a way I had never been able to, battering aside those that came at him, using the clawed haft to thrust between his shield and that of the woman on his right the way others would use a stabsword. When space opened in front of him he used his height to whirl the hammer around his head and bring it smashing down on those coming in to fill the gap. He was ferocious, lost in the battle, and it was partly his ferocity that won the first fight for us.