I could see now what Braith had meant, speaking of the swarm as a ragged band on the edge of dissolution. Though I had little idea what constituted good health for a ghoul, I doubted I was seeing it now—hollow faces, straining ribs, the rotted remains of clothing—broken teeth—eyes too wild with hunger to think beyond the breathing meat before them. They might have been pitiable, were I not the meal they craved so intensely.
I did not even notice the dark ghoul-blood that speckled my arms and clothing until a drop hit my face with an audible hiss. I gasped, brushing frantically at the sting, only to feel it spread to my hands. Only then did I become aware of the prickling pain wherever the blood touched me. Well, there was nothing for it at the moment; I would simply have to endure. It seemed just in a way, that I pay in some part for the deaths I was meting out.
Whether by the design of the ghouls, or simply the flow of battle, my position shifted gradually away from Owain and toward the tower. I caught sight of Tristan, sword flashing as it rose and fell almost too quickly for my eyes to track. How silly my argument now seemed, that he would need my help on the battlefield. On horseback his broken leg hindered him little; it doubtless pained him, but he gave no sign. Still, the fight was young. If he tired or came unhorsed, he might find himself in direst need. I tried to keep track of his position, but my own opponents took all the attention I could give.
The first rush of ghouls had been mostly unarmed, perhaps lacking the presence of mind to bear a weapon. Those ghouls were mostly dead now. The remainder were stronger, quicker, and some carried clubs or even crude blades. My efforts with the sword became less distraction and more earnest self-defense, fending off blows from hooked shards of metal and the leg bones of animals. Inevitably, I did not always succeed. Pain tugged at me from my legs, arms, shoulders—I had no time to even survey the wounds. Winifred's muzzle was bloodied, now, but not with her own blood only; she had taken her teeth to any ghoul that ventured near enough, as well as her hooves, to the point of nearly unseating me.
"Elaysius!" I cried when I realized I had not seen him in some minutes.
"At thy service, lady," replied a breathless, ragged voice, and I saw him then, yanking his sword free of a downed ghoul's neck. His light was dim and flickering, and even in the bare glimpse I caught before Winifred spun me away, I could see that he was dark and blistered with ghoul-blood.
"Elaysius, you are injured, you should go—"
"Nay, lady, I am well enough! Look out—"
I turned my head, too late to dodge the ghoul leaping wolf-like for my throat, too late to bring my sword more than partially to bear—I blocked the creature's teeth but not his claws, and screamed as it dragged itself upward by the handholds it had made in my flesh.
Winifred shrieked, spinning and bucking like water down river rapids. The ghoul was thrown free, claws dragging as it went—slicing across my arms and torso, and across Winifred's flanks.
Her left hind leg collapsed, and we fell.
I could hardly hear my own shout over Winifred's screams of pain and the wet, growling babble of the ghouls. Was that Elaysius calling my name? I was on the ground and all around me were jagged, drooling mouths and reaching claws—
A single clapping sound seemed to penetrate all the unholy noise, and with it light, brighter than the sun, whiter than the moon. The ghouls recoiled, hissing.
"They will be blinded for a moment only!" Elaysius was tugging on my fingers, urging me up. "Run, princess, run for the tower!"
I turned to run, my fingers closing around Elaysius, but he yanked himself free. I could not turn back—already the ghouls were staggering after me, half-blinded but their feet as intact as ever.
I ran for the tower door, sitting blocked open with a bucket of seawater, dimly conscious of the wounds pouring blood down my stomach and legs, dripping down my fingers—empty fingers, curse me a thousand times, I had dropped my sword!
From the corner of my eye I saw Gareth, fighting through waves to the shore, face distorted with distress, crying "Winnie! Winnie!"
"No, Gareth, stay in the water!" I shouted, but could not stop to argue with him. The ghouls were close enough on my heels that the swipe of a claw pulled hairs from my braid.
At the tower doorway I deliberately put down a foot on the edge of the bucket, sending a wave of water across the feet and ankles of my pursuers. They howled in agony, and one fell to howl more in the puddle, but the rest continued after me, more enraged than discouraged by their injuries.
I made for the stairs, thinking that there, at least, they could not surround me. Along the way I dashed whatever water came to hand back toward my pursuers—cups, goblets, the painted pitcher—aiming for their eyes, and if my aim was poor they suffered nonetheless. On the stairs I gained some distance; their feet were injured and they seemed, perhaps, unfamiliar with the concept of stairs. They figured it out soon enough, however, and when I reached the top, I had only just time to dump the handy bucket of water down onto them, and shove my way through the trapdoor to the roof of the tower.
I slammed the trapdoor, and looked wildly about for something to stack atop it, or some weapon to wield when the ghouls inevitably came through. There was nothing. The only bucket of water here was the one I had just thrown down.
I ran to the edge, looking out over the battlefield in the frantic hope of somehow attracting attention and aid. I first saw Owain, not far from the tower, surrounded by a knot of scrabbling ghouls, but fighting vigorously. Further off, Tristan and Braith were fighting together—a sight worthy of a moment's consideration—on either side of a dense gathering of ghouls. Braith was on the ground, one wing odd-angled and bloody; this did not keep him from pouring fire into the crowd, while Tristan harangued them from the other side, so they could not flee.
By far the most arresting sight, however, lay in the very spot I had fled, where Winifred had fallen. She was on her feet now, if listing badly. I thought I saw a flicker of blue light from her shoulder; Elaysius.
And Gareth was defending them.
He had no weapon, not even the pitchfork I had last seen him with. He did not need one. The bodies of ghouls lay all around him, some torn into pieces, some sunk halfway into the ground. As I watched, another foolish pair of creatures attempted to rush him. Gareth gestured with his arms. One ghoul tumbled as the ground beneath him opened, then closed over him again. The other ghoul cried out as the very grass boiled up beneath him, coiled about his body and lifted, then tossed him, like a boy tossing a ball, over the heads of his prey and far into the sea.
Very well, Tristan, I thought faintly. Perhaps I was wrong about Gareth's usefulness in battle.
Behind me came the sound of the trapdoor crashing open, footsteps, and the bubbling, hissing breath of a ghoul.
He was badly hurt, his skin all blisters and blood, where it remained at all. One eye was a nightmare to behold; he could not possibly see through it. I had the advantage of height, but the ghoul looked stronger and heavier. Most importantly, in one ruined claw he clutched a stout wooden cudgel, while I had nothing but my own hands.
He came at me faster than I would have thought possible in his condition; I dodged, but barely, the cudgels' tip whispering across my shirtfront. I could not let him corner me—surely as long as I could continue to move away from him—perhaps as injured as he was I could simply continue dodging until he expired—
The tower's top was simply not very large, and there was no cover at all, no obstacles to throw between myself and the ghoul. I danced continually backward from him, moving in as circular a manner as I could, to keep the parapet beside and not behind me. I became aware that although the ghoul was slowed by his injuries, moving in erratic bursts, I was not unscathed myself. A variety of gashes and abrasions had made me slick with blood, and the wounds, at least a few of them poisoned with ghoul-blood, burned more with each step. My limbs did not always do quite as I directed now, nor as quickly. Nor did the ghoul seem to be expiring. In fact, judging by the incre
asing speed of his movements, the way his red eyes tracked my every twitch, he was rather drawing strength from the proximity of such easy prey.
We circled twice around the battlements without any of his fellows joining in, and I thought he must be the only survivor of that last tub of water on the stairway. Nevertheless, it became clear that I could only lose this game, for he had only once to overpower me, while I had indefinitely to outmaneuver him. I gathered what strength and nerve remained to me, and when next he lunged toward me, I darted not away, but toward my attacker. I ducked beneath the jagged teeth, slammed a shoulder into the worst injuries of his middle, and when he toppled to the side, made a dash for the open trapdoor.
My feet had scarce hit the steps when the ghoul's claws raked my scalp and dragged me upward by my braid. Screaming, I thrashed and kicked, and as the ghoul was more than half on the floor himself, had the satisfaction of connecting one boot to the blistered skin of his face. His grip loosened, and I scrambled away, feeling the knees of my trousers tear open on the stones. Still in motion, I pushed to my feet, put out a hand to steady myself—touched the parapet.
I was trapped against the parapet, with the ghoul rushing at me.
I hauled myself upward and missed his first attack by thin inches, and his second by thinner ones still. I scrambled onto the highest part of the crenellation, out of the ghoul's reach, and realized I could truly go no further. To my left and right were the lower parts of the crenellation, where the ghoul could attack me. Before me, the ghoul; behind me, open air, and the ground four stories below. No, more than that, I realized, glancing down; on this side of the tower the ground fell sharply down to the sea, and I would probably tumble the length of it, stopping only when I hit rocks and water at the bottom.
Oh, dear heaven, I did not want to die. I did not want to die and be eaten by this hideous creature. How could I let Tristan bear such tidings to my parents?
The ghoul was climbing after me now, slow and painful. I stood on the edge of the parapet, unsteady in the strong breeze, and tried to decide whether it was better to fight my opponent to the last, or leap down to the sea.
"Ariana!"
The word was hardly recognizable, voiced by the screaming roar of a dragon.
"Braith! Braith, help me!" I looked wildly around me—there he was, struggling through the air with one mangled wing. He barely cleared the battlement, landing atop the tower with graceless impact, spraying fire toward the ghoul.
The ghoul shrieked, lunged for me, and we both went over the side in a tangle of fire and blood.
"Ari!"
I had barely time to comprehend my fall before it slowed, Braith's talons tight around me while his wings more thrashed than beat overhead, his three other feet clawing frantically down the side of the tower. The ghoul, still clinging to me, sank panicked teeth into Braith's wrist. With a cry Braith snapped his jaws over the ghoul and snatched him away. I caught a tangled, tumbling glimpse of the ghoul clawing at Braith's muzzle and eye. Then I felt myself thrown, Braith deliberately aiming and loosing me—I hung in the air but a moment before landing on stone with lung-emptying force. My body rolled a few times, fetched up against a rail—the railing of the balcony outside my window. Gasping and all over afire with pain, I fought my way to my feet, just in time to see Braith and the ghoul crash into the water below.
"Braith!" I shouted—croaked, more accurately, still unable to quite draw breath—but he could not possibly hear me. I watched the water, clutching the rail with bloody hands, waiting for him to resurface.
Seconds passed. Air returned to my lungs. He did not resurface.
I became aware of sounds beneath the balcony, the clash of metal and gibber of ghouls. I could not bear to look away from the water.
Until the horse screamed.
I looked over the rail as Owain's armored horse bucked and spun in utter panic, a ghoul clinging to his underbelly. His efforts soon dislodged the ghoul, and the horse fled in terror—leaving Owain on the ground.
The ghouls were on him before I could so much as cry out, so thick that I could hardly see the prey they dove on.
I ran into the tower, pulled a tub of seawater from my chamber onto the balcony, and tipped it over the edge.
Awful shrieks and hisses, and clouds of foul-smelling steam, rose from the point of impact. When the tub was empty, I looked down again and saw Owain on his feet, unsteady and bleeding but upright, and thrusting his sword into the last ghoul still breathing. Looking up at me, he pulled off his helm, wiped blood and saltwater from his eyes, and gave a solemn salute.
I returned it, then turned and came down the stairs.
Owain met me at the tower door. "I think the only ghouls remaining are there with Tristan." He pointed with his sword, and I saw that Tristan was hacking his way through a tight knot of a half-dozen or so ghouls, who seemed to all be defending—
Of course. The queen.
Owain and I approached with as much speed as we could muster—more speed in his case than mine, especially once I stopped to retrieve the sword I had dropped so many nightmarish minutes before. I spared a glance for Gareth, who was no longer under attack. He seemed completely unscathed, and much occupied with Winifred and Elaysius. I could tend them in a moment, when this was finally finished.
Braith, a little voice in my mind wailed, Braith, but there was no point agonizing over what I could do nothing about. He would resurface, or not, regardless of whether I were watching, whereas Tristan I might still aid.
When I caught up to Owain and Tristan, they had surrounded the only ghoul still standing. I lifted my sword, uncertain why they had not already finished it—then stopped dead, as I saw what they saw.
The ghoul queen was no larger than a six-year-old child. She could not be mistaken for human—hairless, filthy and misshapen. Yet in the huge, dark eyes that dominated her face, the starved, half-grown figure of her body, the tiny clawed hands that labored to lift a broken weapon as tall as she was—in all this there was something that spoke unarguably of a little child. She looked from her weapon, to her opponents, to her fallen defenders littering the ground, and her tiny, hideous face distorted with grief and terror. I felt nausea stir in my belly as I realized her alien eyes were filling with tears.
"Tristan," Owain said. "Tristan, it is cruel to delay. You know what must be done."
"Yes," Tristan said tightly. "I know."
I watched, stunned, as Tristan swung down from his horse. He met the little queen's eyes unflinchingly, and stepped toward her, limping heavily, his hand outstretched. Each step made him gasp and shudder with pain, but he continued stepping forward, murmuring soothingly.
"Hello, little one... Easy, do not fear... Are you not hungry? Come, I know you are hungry. Poor little thing…"
I saw her watch his approach, saw her eyes focus on the weakness of his legs, the tremor of his hand. Saw the feral hunger rise in her eyes, not replacing the grief and terror but fusing with it. I wanted to cry a warning to Tristan, but too late, she was lunging—
My sword and Owain's met her in almost the same instant, with Tristan's only a moment behind. And it was over for the little queen.
Dropping my sword as if it burned, I turned on Tristan. "Are you mad? Could you not see that she would attack you?"
He was silent, face grim and quite pale.
"You did see," I said dully.
"She could not stay here, and she could not leave," Tristan said. "I do not think she could survive long without her followers anyway. There was one option only."
And only by acting in self-defense could he live with himself after. "I understand," I said. "I do, truly."
I turned and threw up into the grass.
Chapter 13
Ibegan to regain my equilibrium as Tristan bound my wounds, removing his armor and tearing his shirt for bandages. Owain, declaring his own wounds quite minor, had borrowed Star and gone off to make quite certain there were no more ghouls lurking. My condition was not as bad as I fi
rst feared—the burn of ghoul-blood had made them more painful than they warranted. Aside from a remarkable variety of bruises, abrasions, and shallow cuts, the only significant wounds were a pair of gashes on one arm, and a trio that stretched across my belly to the other arm. Enough to be getting on with, for certain, but less than the smorgasbord of injuries I had anticipated.
"What of you, Tristan? How badly hurt?" I asked as he bound the last of them—clumsily, but enough to stanch the bleeding.
"Little enough. I was on horseback, recall. I've a few claw marks on my legs, and that is the end of it. Poor Star is somewhat worse."
"I fear Owain's horse may be quite badly off. He threw Owain when a ghoul latched onto his belly."
"Owain never could control his horse. Do not fear, we shall see to everyone in their turn."
We made our unsteady way to Gareth, who stood at Winifred's side with an expression of awed confusion.
"Magic," he said when we came within earshot.
"Indeed." I ruffled his hair. "Who would have thought, our own little Gareth, a wizard? At the moment I can scarce introduce my mind to the concept. I believe we shall have to think on it later. Where is Elaysius?"
"Here." Gareth indicated a bundle on the ground, and I had a moment's sinking terror before I saw the blue light glimmering within it, rather brighter than when I had seen it last.
"I am well enough, princess," Elaysius called, voice weak but cheery. "Our young wizard hath called forth a gift of three-star plant for me, and I am better by the moment."
"Thank heaven," I said, acknowledging only then how much I had feared for my fairy knight. "I could make use of that blessed plant myself. I am freckled as a quail's egg with these burns."
A sound from the shoreline drew my attention, and I lifted my eyes to see Genevieve walking out of the water, coaxing along the weak and crumpled form of a white dragon.
I was running before I could draw breath. As soon as he was free of the water Braith was obscured by smoke and sparks; they had only just dispersed, his human form collapsing to its knees in the sand, when I reached him, dropping to my own knees to catch him as he fell.
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