“Not a chance, not with Jaelle and Vanessa still dead to the world. One chervine bleat and they’d be on us. They’re probably sitting around in that inn they told us didn’t exist, whetting their knives,” Camilla said gloomily. She stood with her hands on her hips, scowling, thinking it over. “Stack all the loads against the back door—” She pointed. “Slow them down. We’ll be ready for them at the front. Magda, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Whether it was Cholayna’s stimulant or the adrenalin of danger, Magda had no idea, but she felt almost agreeably braced at the thought of a fight. Camilla had her knife out. Magda made sure that her dagger was loose in its sheath. It had been a long time since she had faced any human enemy, but she felt it would be a good and praiseworthy deed to kill whoever had cut the throat of the harmless midwife.
She began to help Cholayna stack the loads, but Cholayna stopped. “I have a better idea. Get the loads on the animals. Have them all backed up against that door. Then, when they come at us, if Jaelle and Vanessa are awake by then, we can ride out right over them! If not—we can get free, as soon as the first attackers are out of the way.”
“Not much hope of that,” Camilla said, “but you’re right; we have to be able to get the hell out of here without stopping, to load and saddle up the animals. We’ll do that, but keep an eye on that front door, because that’s where they’ll come.”
“Stack up a few loads against it,” Magda suggested.
“No, they’ll know we’re warned then, and come at us with knives ready. If they come in here thinking we’re all asleep and ready for the slaughter, we can get the first couple of them before they have much of a chance at us. Anything that shortens the odds against us is fair under these circumstances.”
Camilla started hoisting loads onto chervines, while Magda saddled her pony and Jaelle’s. Cholayna went to help Camilla with the packloads, taking away everything before the door, and Magda knew, with a shiver down her spine, that Camilla was clearing the space for a fight. She had seen Camilla fight; had fought once at her side… Her head still throbbed faintly, but otherwise everything seemed blindingly lucid, everything she saw sharp-edged and fresh. She started to put a saddle on Camilla’s horse, realized it was Vanessa’s saddle which was larger, and made the exchange, saying to herself, I’ll be saddling up chervines next if I’m not careful.
The horses were saddled; the pack animals loaded. If they do kill us, at least they’ll have some trouble getting at our stuff, she thought, and wondered why she thought that it mattered.
Camilla hunkered down where she could face the door, her fingers just resting on her sword. The Renunciate charter provided that no Comhi’ letziis might wear a sword, only the long Amazon knife, by law three inches shorter than an ordinary sword; but Camilla, who had lived for years as a male mercenary, wore the sword she had worn as a man, and no one had ever challenged her.
She grinned at Magda. “Remember the day we fought Shann’s men, and I said you had dishonored your sword?”
“Will I ever forget?”
“Fight as well as that and I’m not afraid of any bandit in the Kilghard Hills.”
Cholayna, half-smiling, leaned against the wall nearby. “Do you hear something?” she asked suddenly.
Silence, except for the high whistle of the blowing snow and wind roaring around the eaves of the building. Some small animal rustled in the straw. After the frantic activity of the last few minutes, Magda felt let down, her heart bumping and pounding, the metallic taste of tear in her mouth.
Time crawled by. Magda had no idea whether it was an hour, ten minutes, half the night. Time had lost its meaning.
“Damn them, why don’t they come?” Cholayna’s voice came tight through her teeth.
Camilla muttered, “They may be waiting till we put out that last light. But Zandru whip me with scorpions if I’m going to fight in the dark, and if we have to wait till morning, so be it. I’d just as soon they never came at all.”
Magda wished that if there was going to be a fight, it would come and be over with; but at the same time, she was remembering in sharp-edged detail her first fight, feeling the appalling pain of the sword slicing along her thigh and laying it open. She was, quite simply, terrified.
Camilla looked so calm, as if she actually relished the notion of a good fight.
Maybe she does. She earned a living as a mercenary for God-knows-how-many-years!
Then, in the silence, she heard Cholayna’s breath hiss inward, and the Terran woman pointed at the door.
Slowly, it was pushing inward, the wind howling around the edges. A face peered around the edge; a round, scarred, sneering face. Immediately the bandit saw the light, the cleared space and the women awaiting him, but even as his mouth opened to give a warning yell, Cholayna leaped in a vaido kick, and his face burst, exploding blood; he fell and lay still.
Camilla bent to drag the man, unconscious or a corpse, out of the way; another bandit rushed in after him, and she ran him through expertly. He fell, with a short hoarse howl. The man who pushed in after him got his neck broken by a swift slam of Magda’s hand.
“You haven’t forgotten everything, anyway,” Cholayna whispered approvingly.
There was a lull, and then the man whose belly Camilla had split groaned and began screaming again. Magda cringed at the terrible cries, but did nothing. He had been ready to cut all their throats as they slept. She owed him no pity; but as Camilla stepped toward him, her knife raised to silence him once for all, he fell back again with a gurgle, and the barn was almost silent again.
There are certainly more of them out there, thought Magda, sooner or later they’ll rush us all at once. They had been lucky: Magda had killed her man, and the one Cholayna had kicked, though possibly not dead, had at least had all the fight knocked out of him…
The door burst open, and the room filled with men, yelling like so many demons. Camilla ran the nearest one through, and Magda found herself fighting with her knife at close quarters. Cholayna was in the center of a cluster of them, fighting like some legendary devil or hero, kicking with frequently deadly accuracy. Magda’s next opponent ran in over her dagger and drove her backward, off-balance; she felt his knife slice into her arm and kicked out wildly, then slammed her other elbow into the base of his throat and sent him flying aside, unconscious. She could feel hot blood trickling down her arm, but another bandit was on her already, and there was no time for pain or fear.
One of them, running toward the horses, literally stumbled over Jaelle; he bent swiftly with his dagger, and Magda flung herself on him from behind, shrieking a warning. She pulled her knife across his throat with a strength she had never imagined having, and he fell, half-beheaded, across Jaelle—who woke, staring and mumbling uncomprehendingly.
As quickly as that, it was all over. Seven men lay dead or unconscious on the floor. The rest had retreated, possibly to regroup, Magda did not know which or, at the moment, care.
Jaelle muttered, plaintively, “What’s going on?”
“Cholayna,” Camilla ordered, “get into your pack, try to get one of those pills of yours down Jaelle and Vanessa! That was just the first onslaught, they’ll be back.”
Jaelle blinked and Magda saw her eyes come into focus.
“We were poisoned? Drugged?”
Cholayna nodded, imperatively gesturing for Jaelle to swallow the stimulant capsule. Forcing it down, Jaelle exploded, “Damn them! They had the nerve to haggle with us over the price of the food and wine, too!” She got out of her sleeping bag, tried to haul Vanessa to her feet; then gave it up, and grabbing up her knife, Jaelle came to join Camilla. She still looked groggy, but the stimulant was taking effect.
Magda thought, We were lucky with the first fight, and Cholayna is one hell of a scrapper for her age! Nevertheless, there’s no way the four of us—even if Vanessa could be waked in time—we can’t kill off an entire village! We’ll die here… But was that so, she wondered; now that the villagers knew the
women would be no easy pickings, could they bargain for their lives? Looking at Camilla’s face, she knew the swordswoman would entertain no such notions; she was prepared for a fight to the death. What other defenses did they have?
They would probably rush them all at once. Magda was aware of pain now in her wounded arm, and her head was beginning to throb. The man Camilla had gutted began, unexpectedly, his terrible moaning again; Camilla knelt and quickly cut his throat.
Cleaning the knife on the dead man’s ragged coat, Camilla stood up, fingering her sword. Magda felt she could almost read her mind, knowing the mercenary’s code of honor. Camilla was more than ready to die bravely. But I don’t want to die bravely, Magda thought. I don’t want to die at all. And I don’t want Cholayna’s and Vanessa’s lives on my conscience if I don’t! Is there any alternative—?
Then, with a dreadful sense of déjà vu, she saw a face peer round the door, as if they had returned to the very beginning of the fight.
Think, damn it, think! What good is it having laran if it can’t save your life now!
A bandit rushed at her, knife upraised. She struck hard, felt him crumple away under her—but they were outnumbered. Desperately she reached out with her laran, remembering an old trick; suddenly seeing, like an image painted behind her eyes, the fireside at Armida, and Damon telling them about a battle fought with laran, long ago.
Jaelle! Shaya, help me!
Jaelle was fighting for her life with a bandit in a red shirt. Magda reached desperately, wove an image, saw the bandits recoil; above them in the barn a demon wavered, no Darkovan demon but an ancient devil out of Terran myth, with horns, tail, and a mighty stink of sulphur… The line of men broke and surged back. Then Jaelle linked with her, the minds of the freemates locking into one; and suddenly a dozen fanged demons armed with swords faced the bandits. The villagers faltered again, fell back yet again, and then with a howl, turned and ran. Some even threw down their weapons as they went.
Vanessa chose that moment to sit up. Staring about the barn with bewilderment, she saw the demons, emitted a strangled squeak and buried her head in the blankets.
The stink of sulphur still lingered. Cholayna ran quickly to Vanessa, urging her to get up. Camilla said, “That ought to hold them for a while! Not for long, though. Let’s get out while we can!”
Swiftly they scrambled to their horses, Vanessa still shaking her head and mumbling dizzily. Magda checked her bleeding arm. Nothing, she supposed to worry about; though blood was still oozing slowly from the cut. If a vein was severed, she told herself, it would be a steady flow, and if the artery had gone, I’d have bled to death already. She tore a strip from the bottom of her undertunic once she’d clambered into her saddle; she tied the tourniquet swiftly, anchoring it with her teeth to keep both hands free.
Clumped together on their horses, chervines on lead reins, they moved toward the door. Jaelle said, “Wait—” and Magda felt the touch of her laran, “let’s make sure they don’t get in here for a good long time… ”
Magda looked over her shoulder at the face and form of the Goddess, dark robe glittering with stars, jeweled wings overshadowing the dark spaces of the barn, her face haloed and her eyes piercing, sorrowful, terrifying. She did not envy the villager who tried to use that barn again, even for an innocent purpose. Where had she found the image in her mind? On the night of that first meeting of the Sisterhood?
They rode together out of the barn into the wind and blowing snow. A few villagers huddled together, watching them go, but made no move to stop them. Maybe they still saw the demons she and Jaelle had created.
All at once, Magda was fearfully sick and dizzy. She held to her saddle with both hands, trying to avoid falling from her horse. Her wounded arm—the same arm she had scraped raw in the fall, she realized for the first time—stung with pain, and her head throbbed as if every pulse of her blood were a separate stone hurled at her forehead; but she clung to the saddle, desperately. The important thing was to put as much space as humanly possible between themselves and that miserable, damnable village. She tried to hang on with one hand and pull her scarf over her face to protect her eyes a little from the stinging wind—without much luck. She bent forward, huddling her face into the neck of her jacket, riding in a dark nightmare of pain. She hardly heard Camilla’s voice at her side.
“Margali? Bredhiya? Are you all right? Can you ride?”
I sn’t that what I’m doing? Would it make any difference if I said I couldn’t? she tried to say, irritably; but her voice would not obey her. She felt that she was fighting the reins, fighting the horse that would not obey her. Later she knew that she had fought and tried to hit Camilla when the older woman lifted her bodily from her horse and into her arms. Then Magda’s mind went dark and she fell into a dark dream of screaming demons pinioning her to a cattle-stall while a banshee-faced kyorebni tore with a fierce beak at her arm and shoulder; then it pecked out her eyes, and she went blind, and knew no more.
* * *
Chapter Sixteen
She was wandering in the gray world; alone, formless, without landmarks. She had wandered there for a hundred thousand times a hundred thousand years. And then, into a universe without form and void, there were voices. Voices curiously soundless, echoing into her throbbing brain.
I think she’s coming around. Breda mea, bredhiya, open your eyes, speak to me.
No thanks to you, if she is. This was Jaelle’s voice, and it occurred to Magda in the formless grayness that the emotion which formed and inhabited and throbbed in Jaelle’s voice now was anger; right-down, gut-level, honest wrath. You say that you love her so much, yet you do nothing to help…
There is nothing I could have done. I am no leronis, I leave that to you.…
I have heard you say that before, Camilla, and I believe it no more than I did then. If it is your fancy, as it may well be your privilege, to say at all times that you were born without laran and to maintain it when it harms none but you, so be it; but with her very life at stake—
Her life? Nonsense; the goddess be thanked, she breathes, she lives, she’s waking—breda, open your eyes.
Camilla’s face came out of the grayness, pale against a clear, cold starry dark. Magda said her name shakily. Behind Camilla she could now see Jaelle; and then the fight and its aftermath came back to her.
“Where are we? How did we get away from—from that place?”
“We’re far enough away that it’s not likely they’ll come after us,” Cholayna said, somewhere out of Magda’s sight. “You’ve been unconscious for four or five hours.”
Magda raised her hand and rubbed her face. It hurt. Camilla said, “I am sorry, Margali—I had no alternative. You would not let me take you off your horse to carry you before me on my saddle—you seemed to think I was another of those creatures from the village.” She touched, tenderly, the sore spot at the point of Magda’s jaw. “I had to knock you out. While you were healing her, Shaya, couldn’t you have done something about that?”
“You don’t know anything about it.” Jaelle’s lips were still tight and she was not looking at Camilla.
Her fingers strayed to the narrow crimson seam of the knife scar along her own face. She said, “I have repaid you for this, at least.” Years ago Magda had discovered her own laran in helping Lady Rohana to heal it. Then she asked, “How do you feel?”
Magda sat up, trying to assess how in fact she did feel. Her head still ached; apart from that, she seemed quite all right. Then she remembered.
“My arm—the knife—”
She looked curiously down at her arm. It had been skinned raw in the fall, later laid open by the bandit’s knife, but there was only a faint pale scar, as if long healed. Jaelle had called upon the force of her laran to heal the very structure of the cells.
“What else could I do? I slept through most of the fight,” Jaelle said lightly. “And Vanessa didn’t really get herself awake until we were an hour outside the village; I don’t think she rea
lly believed there had been a fight until she saw your arm, Margali.”
“Was anyone else hurt?”
“Cholayna’s nose was bloodied, but a handful of snow stopped that,” Camilla said, “and one of the bastards cut open my best holiday tunic, though the skin was not much more than scratched under it. Jaelle’s ribs will be sore for a tenday where you squashed that bandit against her chest.” Magda vaguely remembered, now, trying to pull a bandit off Jaelle and cutting his throat in the process.
It was blurred, like a nightmare, and she preferred that it should stay that way.
“We were lucky to get out of there all alive and well,” Jaelle said. “Camilla, I owe you an apology.”
“Nine times out of ten you would have been right and the place as safe as a Guild-house,” Camilla said gruffly.
“And still you insist you have no laran?”
Camilla’s pale narrow features flushed with anger. “Drop it, Shaya,” she said, “or I swear by my sword, I will break your neck. Even you can go too far.”
Jaelle clenched her fists and Magda felt the anger again surging up in both of them, like tangible crimson lines of force woven into the air between the women. She strained to speak, to break the tension, but realized that she could hardly sit up, hardly manage a whisper.
“Camilla—”
Jaelle let her breath go. “Hellfire, what does it matter? You heard the warning, kinswoman, call it what you will. I don’t doubt it saved all our lives. That’s what matters. Vanessa, is the tea ready?” She set a steaming mug in Magda’s hand. “Drink this. We’ll rest here till it’s light enough to see our way.”
“I’ll stand guard,” Vanessa offered. “I think I have had enough sleep for a tenday!”
“And I will stand guard with you,” said Jaelle, sipping from another mug. “These three have a fight behind them, and they deserve some rest. We’ll offload the beasts till morning, too. Cholayna, is there any dried fruit?”
The Saga of the Renunciates Page 96
