by Frank Tuttle
Evis spoke. “Do you know the actual location of the alarkin’s tomb, sir?”
“Naturally. I built Werewilk upon it. It seemed the best way to keep the site under careful scrutiny.”
I fought back a shiver. I’d been sleeping over the grave of a monster. Buttercup was even now dancing over its tomb.
“Does Buttercup—the banshee know that?”
“I have very little knowledge of the banshee’s abilities. But if it was drawn to the resting place of its master, it seems it would have been drawn here millennia ago, does it not?”
“Makes sense. From what I hear, she only showed up thirty years or so ago.”
Hisvin nodded. “Which coincides with the last attempt to disinter the alarkin. I suspect the banshee was brought to Rannit at that time by a sorcerer who, sadly, fell quite ill soon thereafter.”
“Bad case of a fatal head wound?”
“Indeed. The banshee escaped. I presume it has been living in the forest since then. My own attempts to capture it failed, time after time.”
Evis perked up. “Does it have access to magic of its own, perhaps?”
“It may. I simply cannot say. And I refuse to place myself in close proximity to the creature. If the alarkin is indeed alive, doing so would expose myself to it, and that has proven universally fatal to the persons who have risked it.”
“So. We hold the House. You slay the sorcerers. And when they’re puffs of smoke, we hope the army itself just shrugs and walks away, is that it?”
The dead man sighed. “You damn me with your lack of faith, Finder. While I cannot simply dismiss all our foes with a single wave of my hand, I am who I am. I shall not be vanquished easily, or quickly.”
“Glad to hear it.” There came a sound from the House—Buttercup, winding up for a good long shriek. “Sir, unless there’s anything else, we’d better get back.”
“Sounds like your banshee girlfriend is getting anxious,” said Evis. His grin, even in the dark, was toothy and wide.
Hisvin rose. We did too.
“I doubt we shall speak again until this is done,” he said. “I wish you both luck.”
Evis and I chorused the same to the Corpsemaster, and he turned and walked away.
I wiped sweat from my forehead.
“Bet you wish you’d stayed home.”
“What, and miss all the fun? Victor. Sara. You can join us now.”
Two halfdead, clad in loose black, glided out of the cornstalks on either side of us.
“You heard nothing of that,” said Evis. “Not a single word.”
Two single nods, and not a whisper of sound.
“What’s out there?”
“Five hundred men. Three catapults.”
“Sorcerers.” That from Sara. “We counted six.”
Evis pondered that. “What of escape? Is there any way to move through their lines?”
“None. The estate is encircled. The circle is closing. By dawn, they will be at the House.”
“All right. Return to Rannit. Inform the Elders. Make no mention of Hisvin.”
Silence. Evis frowned.
“Did you hear me?”
“We heard,” said Victor. “But our orders are to remain at your side.”
“Your orders are to return to Avalante this instant.”
Victor shook his head. “Only if you accompany us.”
Evis growled something at Victor in a language I don’t know. Victor replied calmly in the same tongue. The other halfdead, Sara, repeated Victor’s brief reply.
Buttercup wailed again, louder and longer, this time.
“We’re going to have to continue this fascinating debate of House dynamics inside, people,” I said. “Bad things are going to happen if Buttercup slips loose and winds up in the yard.”
Evis snarled and whirled, making for the secret door in a very unvampirish huff. I motioned for Victor and Sara to follow, and they fell behind Evis in silence.
I brought up the rear. A wind rustled the cornstalks. I thought of the two dead men still nearby, and I hurried back to Darla, Toadsticker’s hilt in my hand.
Chapter Seventeen
Mama eyed the dagger Hisvin had given me with a potent Hog scowl.
“I ain’t never seen the likes of that, boy.”
“Me neither,” added Gertriss. “It…it looks back.”
I took the thing and wrapped it in a dishrag and put it in my jacket pocket.
Buttercup smiled up at me. She’d shown no interest in or fear of the dagger. If she understood what had been said about it, she also showed no interest or fear in that.
We were seated in the kitchen. The oven had been moved back, which cut off the damp smell from the tunnels. Biscuits were cooking inside it, which made the scene almost homey, except for the knowledge that a siege and assault by sorcerers was due with the sunrise.
Gertriss had managed to trim Buttercup’s fingernails. The banshee even wore a ring now. It was fashioned from a twist of yarn and the jewel was a gumdrop, but Buttercup showed it to me with the gravity of an heiress. Shoes were still a problem, Gertriss reported. Oh, the banshee would parade around in them for a few minutes, giggling and clapping, but she quickly lost interest and stepped out of them as soon as she spotted something shiny.
Lady Werewilk had met us underground. I stalled until we were assembled in the kitchen while I decided what to tell and what to hide and what the Hell we were going to do to prepare for a war that had the likes of Encorla Hisvin questioning his own mortality.
In the end, I’d spilled most of it. I hadn’t used Encorla’s name, didn’t mention that he’d laid the Faery Ring or had a long-time hand in Werewilk’s history. I didn’t mention alarkins or artifacts, although the Lady guessed right away that something old and sorcerous was involved.
And I’d told her about Buttercup. And the dagger.
I hadn’t wanted to tell that. But the Lady was my client. I don’t lie to my clients. Especially when Evis would have revealed all of it anyway, in my presence or outside it.
“So the banshee may be the key to all this?”
The Lady is good at keeping her face blank. I resolved never to play cards with her.
“She may be. I’m not convinced of that. Others are.”
“And that dagger has the power to kill her.”
I just nodded.
The Lady took a sip of coffee. “I will have no murder in this house,” she said. “Certainly not of my guests. Most especially not of poor wild creatures who have seldom known kindness. You need not fear for her, Finder. Like you, I refuse to spill innocent blood in the interest of expediency.”
I felt a knot loosen in my gut.
“I’m very glad to hear it, Lady. But in the interest of safety, I’ll volunteer to take the banshee out of your House myself. I think we could slip away, if we leave now.”
“You would die. It is too late for flight.”
Victor had spoken. His voice was dry and flat. Sara, seated beside him, nodded beneath her black hood.
“You managed to sneak past them.”
“I am a vampire. Even so, we moved ahead of them, not through them. You would die. There is no doubt.”
Darla squeezed my hand, which was already numb from being held and squeezed and clung to.
“Fine. No early morning hikes in the dew, then. I guess we get ready to fight.”
“They are many. They have siege engines. And sorcery.”
“We have some small sorcery of our own.” Lady Werewilk grinned. Marlo made frantic shushing noises.
“The time for secrecy has long since passed. I cannot simply stand by and watch my House be assaulted without employing every means of defense available.”
“You know the law,” began Marlo.
“The law is subject to interpretation,” said Evis, smoothly. “In fact, if Lady Werewilk were to engage in some minor acts of the arcane while in the employ of Avalante, I believe the likelihood of any legal action in the matter is quite low.
”
“Practically nonexistent,” I added. “Hell. She might even rate a medal.”
“Indeed.” Evis allowed himself a tight-lipped smile, aware that his audience was human. “You may proceed without fear of prosecution, Lady. I speak for Avalante.”
The Lady rose.
“Oh, Lady Werewilk. One more thing. I quit.”
She laughed. “Now, Finder?”
“You hired me to find out who was surveying your land. I’ve told you as much as I can about them. No need for you to keep me on the payroll.”
“Fair enough. Marlo. Pay the man. I do hope you’ll accept my invitation to remain here, as my guest, until this is over.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Lady.”
She pushed back her chair and sailed from the room, Marlo close on her heels.
Evis sniffed the air. “I believe the biscuits are about to burn.”
“What would you know ’bout biscuits,” muttered Mama Hog.
“Enough not to burn them.”
“Oh hush, both of you.” Darla let go of my hand and rushed to the stove. I opened and closed my fingers a few times to make sure they still worked.
“Throw a couple of those on a plate, will you, Darla, my dear? Then bring them upstairs. I get terribly grumpy if I have to go to war without a nap first.”
“You’re gonna sleep, boy? Now?”
‘For an hour or so, Mama. Unless you can think of something better to do.”
“We can be a sharpenin’ blades and piling furniture against the doors.”
“We could start boiling water to pour down the trap doors, in case they find the tunnels,” added Evis.
Mama cackled. “Good idea, boy. I likes that one.”
Evis smiled. “Then you’ll love what I have in mind to put in jars that can be tossed from upstairs to the lawn,” he said.
“Lamp oil?”
Evis nodded. “With soap mixed in, to make it stick.”
Mama slapped him on the back. “I likes the way you think, boy.”
I hustled Darla out of there, before they started hugging.
Later, Darla and I watched the sunrise.
As sunrises go, it lacked spectacle. The window was so thick we could barely see through it in the first place. And then there were the trees, which drank up the sun as it climbed.
But some light crept through nonetheless. First came the dawn, red and slow, and it gave way to day. There was no warmth in it. No bird song, either. Just a pale grey light that seemed reluctant and shone cold.
Darla was at my side, leaning against me. Her hair was mussed and her eyes were red, but she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
I told her so. She smiled and called me a liar.
And then the first siege engine broke from the trees, and men came shouting with it.
Horses galloped into the Lady’s charred and unkempt lawn. There were more shouts. I could make out movement, but not detail. There came crashings and the neighing of horses, and then the chop-chop-chopping of axes biting into trees.
Darla regarded it with a sleepy sort of detached curiosity.
“They’re clearing the trees so the catapults can fire.”
“You know the very words to melt a girl’s heart.”
“That’s me, all right. Charming to the last.”
“Is this the last, Markhat?”
I forced a smile. “Not a chance, Missy. All they’ve got are catapults. The Corpsemaster has worse than that in his pajama pockets, and you know it.”
“Maybe. But if it is, I love you, Markhat.”
Masonry shattered, down below. The horsemen were using ropes to topple the ward statues.
“This is the part where you tell me you love me too,” said Darla.
“You know I do.”
“I don’t know anything unless you tell me.”
“I bought you velvet gloves for Yule. If that isn’t love, I don‘t know what is.”
She turned to face me.
“I am not going to die without hearing the words, Markhat. Give me that.”
Hammers joined the axes as the catapult began to take shape. Footfalls sounded beyond my door, rushing from the stairs and down the hall towards us.
“I love you, Darla Tomas. Happy now? There is an invading army forming up on the lawn, you know. They have a catapult. Did I mention they have a catapult?”
She smiled. “So we’ve established that I love you, and you love me. Agreed?”
“No arguments here.” Knocks fell on my door. Mama bellowed my name.
Darla didn’t let go when I made to turn away.
“When men type people and women type people fall in love, they often start setting certain dates.”
Mama, bless her heart, gave the door a shove and barged on in, bellowing and stomping.
“Boy! Wake up, damned if they ain’t about to start flingin’ rocks—”
Darla skipped away from me, a hint of triumph on her face. Mama blushed and shut up.
“It’s all right, Mama. We were just about to get dressed.”
Mama gobbled something apologetic and backed away. I grabbed a shirt and hastily donned it, while Darla glided to the fancy bathroom and closed the door.
“You said something about rocks and the flinging thereof.”
“They’s pushin’ machines out of the woods. Three so far. Men an’ horses everywhere.”
I sat and pulled on boots.
“We knew this was coming, Mama. And you know who’s on our side.”
Mama snorted. “The one we ain’t naming ain’t on nobody’s side but his own.”
I found Toadsticker hiding under the couch and yanked him free. The Corpsemaster’s dainty dagger went in my right boot, where I planned for it to stay.
“What’s going on downstairs?”
“Them painters is paintin’. The rest of the lot is runnin’ around with swords they don’t know how to swing. The Lady has took to her wand-wavin’ room. Her man is stompin’ around givin’ orders and getting’ mad when nobody pays him no mind.”
I had a good idea who was foremost in paying Marlo no mind.
“Evis and crew?”
Mama cackled. “Boy, I got to say, that Evis is a likeable feller, if you can get past that face. He’s made up a batch of sticky lamp oil and if he’s as good at throwin’ as he thinks he is we might just set them cat-a-pults on fire before they get them built.”
“Victor and Sara?”
“Who?
“The other two halfdead.”
“Ain’t seen hide nor hair of them. Reckon they’re about, though, getting’ ready to spread some vampire nasty when the doors go down.”
Darla emerged from my bathroom. Her hair was combed, her clothes were fresh and the red was gone from her eyes.
“We’re engaged,” she said, without preamble.
Mama barked a laugh and slapped her knee. “And high time, I reckon.”
“Don’t look so terrified, darling. It happens all the time.”
“I don’t look terrified.”
“Last time I seen bug eyes like that, boy, they was in a toad a coach run over.” Mama grinned and bowed. When she straightened up, there was a dried owl in her hand. “Upon this joining, I confer my blessing.”
Something exploded out on the lawn. Tiny bits of sod pecked at the window.
“Downstairs, ladies. War starts early, in these parts.”
Darla took my arm. “Let’s get it done quickly, shall we, dear? We have rings to pick out.”
I’ve never hurried toward the sound of battle with such eagerness.
Downstairs was pandemonium.
Gardeners and stable boys and carpenters and cooks were charging from window to window and door to door, shouting and knocking holes in the plaster with their makeshift armor and tripping over each other everywhere the hall got narrow. Half a dozen dogs trotted happily behind them, not sure what game it was they were playing but determined to enjoy it anyway.
Marlo brou
ght up the rear, bellowing and cursing and red-faced. He carried no weapon, but his hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, and I figured he was one shout away from grabbing the nearest of the staff and beating them until they listened.
I parked Darla at the foot of the stairs and charged into the fray, grabbing Marlo by his elbow.
“Let me show you an old trick my sergeant showed me.”
The mob reversed and was upon me, responding to a shout that troops were at the door. They weren’t, but I planted myself in the way, smiled a big wide smile, and laid out the first two males who got within arm’s reach of me.
That halted the charge. And like the Sarge used to say, a bloody nose never killed anyone.
“Shut up. All of you. Shut up and be still and listen, or you’ll get the same, and worse.”
One of the men I’d disciplined muttered something uncomplimentary. Marlo responded with a boot to his gut.
“You can’t see a damned thing out of any of these windows. And since they don’t open, they might as well not be there. So I want you, you, and you—” I pointed three worthies out at random, “—to find some tools and go to the top floor and take out a window on each wall. Got that? Just smash the damned things until they break. We can’t defend the House blind like this.”
“But the Lady—”
“I speak for the Lady,” snarled Marlo. “And this man speaks for me. He wasn’t asking, either. Get hammers, get upstairs, get moving.”
The trio conferred briefly about workrooms and hammers and then off they went.
Marlo’s face was the color of fresh cut beef.
“What else?”
“The rest of you barricade the doors. Start with the main doors, but don’t forget the side doors. Mr. Marlo, is there any furniture you want spared?”
“Hell no. Break it all to splinters if you have to. Just keep the doors from coming down.”
“You heard the man.”
A surly-eyed gardener in the rear of the pack perked up.
“What if they set the place afire? What do we do about that?”
“Slate doesn’t burn, Burns, and if you keep up with that sort of talk I’ll haul your whining ass up to the roof and throw you down myself.”
