Men In Chains

by Virginia Reede

  From the other direction, smoke billowed from what must have been other balconies, although they were blocked from view. Korin was in charge of supervising the defense of the balconies on that side of the house, and Delinda sent up a silent prayer to the Goddess for that good woman’s safety. Some of the smoke seemed to be coming from a lower floor, and Delinda realized with alarm that one or more of the windows may have been breached.

  “There may be soldiers in the house,” she said to Ostyn. When he would have gone inside, she stopped him. “No, I need your eyes here. I will come back when I can.”

  Delinda turned and scooted through the small opening and into her own bedchamber. As she had feared, muffled shouts and crashes could be heard from behind the closed doors that led to the gallery overlooking the great hall. She swiftly crossed to the doors and opened them, running to the gallery’s rail to see what went on beneath.

  In the smoky light streaming through an open window, she could see a group of armed women fighting with a much larger group of men and women, who were using everything from tables and chairs to fire tongs to ward off the swinging swords. She saw one of her own people fall—was it one of the twins?—and started toward the stairs when a voice, colder than ice, stopped her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Did you really think,” said Bloduewedd, stepping out of the shadows that had concealed her, “that your little group of slaves and misfits could fend off an army?” Delinda felt a cold tingle as the dark power that flowed from the older woman encircled her. Summoning her own power, she brushed it aside, but not before she felt its tendrils prick her mind, corrupt and seductive.

  “Hardly an army, Bloduewedd,” said Delinda, trying to keep her own voice steady. She saw something glitter as the Rahntadrine let the arm she held behind her appear around her body to reveal a sword, which seemed to glow and glitter with a red light in the semidarkness. Her own sword lay on her bed, useless behind the closed doors. She had never been particularly good at swordplay, but she doubted the same could be said of Bloduewedd.

  Seeing where Delinda’s eyes had fallen, Bloduewedd smiled and raised her sword in front of her. “Are you looking at this?” She turned it so the jeweled hilt glinted. “You should recognize it. It was a gift from your mother to her sweet, helpful apprentice.” When Delinda’s eyes widened in surprise, she went on. “You did not know? Morenna was sorry for me, you see. Her family had so much wealth, while my own,” she brought the sword down swiftly in a movement that made Delinda flinch, “had nothing. Like all landed women, Morenna was expected to learn the rudiments of swordsmanship, but she had no aptitude. I, on the other hand…”

  Bloduewedd made another of the flashing movements, but this time Delinda was better prepared and did not react. “I showed great talent for the art. So the silly fool gave me your great-grandmother’s sword. She said it was a shame for it not to be handled by someone who would appreciate it. So generous, your mother. So weak.”

  “If you mistake generosity for weakness, then you are the fool,” said Delinda, bringing a flash of anger to Bloduewedd’s eyes. “If you are planning to use my grandmother’s sword to kill me, then be done with it. You can see I am unarmed.”

  “Unarmed?” said Bloduewedd, and again Delinda felt the dark rahnta surge around her like an unclean tide. Again she pushed it away, a bit more vigorously this time. “Your weapons may be invisible to others, but we both know better, do we not?”

  Delinda inclined her head, acceding to the point. “Nevertheless, Bloduewedd, you have a sword and I do not. Is it because you fear to face me on equal footing?”

  “You forget yourself if you think your power could match mine, even without this sword,” snapped Bloduewedd, stung by the insult. “But I would be a fool indeed if I were to give up any advantage, even if it is unnecessary.”

  Throughout this verbal sparring, Delinda had felt their two powers pushing against one another, testing and prodding, much as their words did. In the back of her mind, she wondered why their powers did not join, as hers had with Korin’s on the first occasion they had touched. Had Bloduewedd’s been so changed by years of mingling with the dark rahnta that it no longer recognized its kinship to a similar power in another?

  Tentatively, Delinda pushed against the surface of Bloduewedd’s power, like a finger poking into water. To her surprise, it yielded easily, and she explored its cold, unpleasant feel for a moment before she felt herself abruptly expelled, as if the pliant surface had suddenly hardened and snapped shut. She was pleased to see the anger that seethed on Bloduewedd’s face.

  “You dare to test my power,” spat Bloduewedd. “You would tamper with that which is beyond your understanding! I am many times stronger than I was in your mother’s day, and she was no match for me.”

  “My mother did not know what you were until it was too late,” replied Delinda, unperturbed. She had the feeling Bloduewedd had only been able to push away her power so easily because she herself had not been expecting it. If she had wanted to, she felt sure she could have held her ground. “She was too good to see evil in another, especially one to whom she had given her trust. I do not think you would find me so easy to fool.”

  “Oh, no?” said Bloduewedd. “Just how do you think I found out about your pathetic little plan?”

  “I know precisely how you found out,” replied Delinda, pleased when she saw—and felt—Bloduewedd’s surprise. Seeking to press this small advantage, she continued, “Are you so sure I have not known about your spy all along? That you and your soldiers and Reliants have not walked into a carefully planned trap?”

  Bloduewedd snorted in derision but Delinda felt the thread of uncertainty that entered her power like a tendril of smoke. She hoped her own bluff was not as easy to apprehend, but she was beginning to realize that while Bloduewedd could feel her power, the other woman was not able to ascertain her thoughts and emotions as easily as Delinda could feel hers.

  Perhaps the years of sharing power through the Eye of the Goddess had made Bloduewedd’s own personal power less guarded, less opaque. For her part, Delinda knew the precise moment when Bloduewedd tired of verbal taunts and determined to put a quick end to the conversation.

  Delinda moved quickly as Bloduewedd sprang, the sword moving so fast it was a blur. She dove out of its range, knocking over a pedestal and the vase it supported as she somersaulted to come up on her feet. Quick as a cat, the Rahntadrine changed direction and moved her sword in a backhanded swing that missed Delinda’s midsection by inches.

  Dodging to her right, Delinda tried to shoot through the gap between Bloduewedd and the wall, toward the doors of her bedchamber, but the older woman was lightning-fast and before she knew what had happened, Delinda found herself pressed against the wall with Bloduewedd’s sword at her throat.

  With no time to think about it, Delinda instinctively pushed all of her rahnta forward to the place where the tip of the sword pressed against the skin of her neck. PAIN! FIRE! The images entered her mind unbidden. She had never before used her power for anything other than the lessening of physical or emotional distress and had been unaware it could even be used for the opposite of those things. Neither had she known it could pass through something not alive, like the metal of the sword in Bloduewedd’s hand.

  Bloduewedd screamed and the sword flew out of her hand, clattering over the edge of the staircase. Grasping the hand that had held it, she retreated from the startled Delinda, flexing her fingers and peering at them in disbelief. They were blistered as if from a great heat, as was the palm. With eyes full of fury, her next words were hissed rather than spoken.

  “So, Delinda, I am not to have the pleasure of killing you with your mother’s sword after all,” she said between clenched teeth. “So be it. You have dared to match your power against mine, and you shall feel the consequences.” So saying, she launched herself at Delinda, their mutual power meeting and causing the air to crackle and spark as the two waves of rahnta, light and dark, crashed together
with a force greater than either woman had ever imagined.

  * * * * *

  Jeryl ran up the hill and into the clearing opposite the main house’s front entrance. Since all of the seamen could not fit into the shore boat at one time, they had to make two trips, and he was too filled with terror for Delinda’s life to wait. As he stopped to catch his breath the sight he beheld was, at first glance, normal. A second, harder look revealed that all windows were tightly shuttered and smoke rose from the opposite side of the house in, thankfully, small streams.

  Jeryl turned to check the progress of the weapon-burdened men who followed. Letta had almost reached the top of the rise, and he saw the second boat had arrived on shore and was being hastily pulled up. As Letta cleared the top of the rise and saw the smoke, she gave a cry and would have rushed forward, but Jeryl reached out with a restraining hand.

  “Wait,” he said. “I am as anxious to get up there as you are, but we will do Delinda and Ostyn a greater service if we wait until the entire group can form and make some kind of organized effort.”

  As Jeryl and Letta stood gazing at the house, they were startled when several running figures appeared around the left side, near the construction site for the new building. They were closely followed by two horsewomen who, even as the pair watched in horror, struck down the runners. Again, Letta would have run toward the fray and again Jeryl restrained her, even as he chafed with his own impatience.

  When Cristof finally arrived with the last of the men, still breathing heavily from the short climb from the beach, they took only a moment to consult before they headed off as a group in the direction of the side of the house around which the horsed soldiers, having dispatched their prey, had disappeared. Letta wanted to be in the front line with Cristof and Jeryl, but was placed firmly at the back.

  “We have been trained to use these weapons,” said Jeryl, who well understood using her gender as a reason would be ridiculous. “You have not.” The weapons—swords, cutlasses and even a few maces—were indeed held with confidence by the grim-faced crewman. Letta sent up a prayer to the Goddess that none of these fine men, willing to fight for strangers, would be hurt or killed by Grenda’s soldiers.

  As they rounded the corner of the house, finally gaining an unobstructed view of the side of the annex and the fields that lay to the south, their horrified eyes met a scene of chaos.

  Mounted soldiers with swords and spears galloped through the fields, driving men and women armed with farm implements or, having dropped their weapons in flight, nothing at all, ahead of them. Bodies lay on the fields, some of which, Jeryl noted, wore armor. Two men faced a group of horsed women, wielding swords inexpertly and shielding the flight of others behind them.

  With a signal from Jeryl, half of the crewman split off from the group and followed him as he charged to assist the brave defenders. Almost stumbling over a body that lay near the open cellar of the new building, he looked down and was astonished when he recognized Grenda, obviously dead. He realized her enormous horse stood riderless only a few steps away. Without thinking, he altered his course and, grabbing the pommel of the saddle, swung himself from the ground onto the great beast’s back with less effort than he had ever mounted his small mare using a stepping stool.

  The horse responded instantly to his urgings and pounded toward the flagging defenders, followed by Jeryl’s crewmen. As he drew closer, Jeryl saw his earlier assessment of the men’s swordsmanship had been at least half wrong. One of the men danced and pivoted with the sword as if he had done so all his life. Even as Jeryl approached, one of the soldiers’ swords was knocked from her hand and, as the man completed his turn, Jeryl saw his face. “Duwall!” Jeryl shouted. Duwall looked up, initially alarmed at the sight of the enormous horse pounding toward him then smiling in delight when he saw who rode it.

  “Outlander! Better late than never!” Duwall shouted back, before ducking to avoid a thrust from another soldier. Jeryl rode straight at the woman who, following the direction of Duwall’s greeting, saw him too late to react. Jeryl swung his sword and knocked the woman to the ground, from where she did not stir. He turned to face another woman who, having no sword, quickly turned and galloped away. Duwall rapidly mounted the horse whose rider Jeryl had dispatched, and brought it around to face Jeryl. The rest of the men arrived, puffing with exertion.

  “Friends of yours?” asked Duwall, indicating the crewmen.

  “My crew,” replied Jeryl. “I’ll explain later.”

  “No need to explain, outlander,” said Duwall, grinning broadly. He seemed unaware of the blood that soaked his clothes and splattered his face. “As long as they’re on our side, I’m glad you brought them.”

  “Where’s Delinda?” asked Jeryl, terrified of what the answer might be.

  “Haven’t seen her for a while,” said Duwall. “She should be inside the house, if she stuck to the plan,” he added, seeing the concern on Jeryl’s face. “You will be wanting to go after her, but I do not think Bloduewedd’s people have gotten inside yet. We need to see what’s happening on the other side of the stables in the north fields. I think that’s where most of the soldiers and Reliants ended up after the logs came down.”

  “The logs?” asked Jeryl.

  “Another thing that will have to wait until later,” said Duwall. “Tell your men to follow us—and grab horses if they can ride and any are about.” Without waiting for Jeryl to concur, Duwall spurred his horse and headed between the house and the end of the annex. After making sure his men understood what was wanted, Jeryl followed him.

  As Jeryl passed the open space between the annex and the courtyard, he paused momentarily at the shocking sight of the pile of logs, horses and women that lay there, some of the latter two still moving as they lay pinned beneath the weight of others. Two horses milled in the courtyard, unhurt but having lost their riders. He resumed his pursuit of Duwall and rounded the end of the stables to see a similar situation existed in the north fields as had in the south.

  Mounted women, not all of them armored, drove poorly or unarmed men and women ahead of them. At the sight of Jeryl and Duwall’s arrival, some of the non-soldiers hesitated or stopped altogether. Jeryl guessed these were the Reliants, and their enthusiasm for fighting was probably considerably lessened when their opponents were horsed and armed.

  Duwall and Jeryl rode toward the closest soldiers, and were soon followed by two more crewmen on horseback. The rest followed, waving maces and swords and howling in unison. As the soldiers and remaining Reliants turned to see well-armed and expert riders thundering toward them, their shock and dismay was plain.

  Those defenders who were still armed, seeing the arrival of reinforcements, stopped fleeing and turned to fight. Within moments, the tide of the battle on this side of the long buildings changed, with the pursuers becoming the pursued, and Reliants and soldiers alike heading for the cover of the woods.

  Despite his unusual lack of trepidation about riding and the great battle horse’s obvious comfort and familiarity with pursuit and the wielding of flashing weapons, Jeryl soon saw it was Duwall who was leading the defense. He rode like he was part of the horse and swung the sword with deadly grace and accuracy.

  Jeryl stopped and engaged one soldier who was attempting to come in from the flank, ducking just in time to avoid a blow to the head. He managed to knock the woman from her horse before she could take a second swing. When she scrambled to her feet and turned to face him, sword high, he prepared to ride down on her when his gaze was distracted by the sight of smoke billowing from a balcony of the main house, previously hidden from his view by the corner of the structure.

  It was not the balcony itself that caught Jeryl’s eye, but the ground-level window below it. An armored woman was stumbling out of it, closely pursued by two men who were attacking her with what looked like fireplace hardware. There are soldiers in the house, he realized, and, spurring his horse, galloped toward the open window as fast as the horse would go. His puzzled opponent w
as left standing, sword raised, alone in the middle of the field.

  * * * * *

  Sweat dripped from Delinda’s brow as she struggled against Bloduewedd’s clawing hands and swirling magic. Although her own strength was greater than she had ever imagined, the furious, hissing Rahntadrine wielded a power more malevolent and keen than she would have thought possible.

  As Delinda fought to shield herself from both physical and magical attacks, small stabs of power continued to slice through her defenses, sending flashes of burning pain through her body and her mind. So far she had been able to stop Bloduewedd from doing any serious damage, but since her opening blast of rahnta-driven pain and fire, she had been unable to land another direct strike on Bloduewedd, be it with fists or power.

  As the stabs of pain became more frequent, Delinda felt her strength flagging. How long would she be able to maintain the shield of crystalline power that had so far prevented Bloduewedd from penetrating her flesh or her psyche?

  Delinda knew she must strike back, but to do so required her to use some of the power currently keeping her mental shields in place. Those shields were already slipping, so it seemed she had little choice but to try to land another blow while all of Bloduewedd’s concentration seemed bent on destruction rather than self-protection.

  Drawing back mentally, Delinda took a great breath and prepared to push all of her Rahnta, now tingling throughout her body in great, rending waves, toward Bloduewedd like water being forced through a pipe.

  PAIN! FIRE! she thought and, hearing Bloduewedd’s gasp and feeling the grasp on her shoulders lessen, she pushed again. WEAKNESS! For a moment, the grasp loosened even further and Delinda pulled herself away. To her dismay, Bloduewedd seemed to recover almost instantly, and took the moment when Delinda was no longer shielded to launch herself forward and fasten her hands around her throat.