The moon lay above the foggy horizon, a silver-white blur through
the clouds. Padreic expected snow again before morning. Smoke-pale
fog sat thick to the height of a man's waist. Padreic, though tired
from the day's work, lay awake. The camp was bedded down in a tight
perimeter, with double the sentries. He would take no chances.
The breeze ruffled at the tent's tied flap. Padreic launched himself
upright, knowing full well there was no breeze for the fog.
A shade stood before him, and he felt his body freeze. He grew
cold as he realized he could not move - his mind tried to will
him to move.
“Do not bother to struggle...” came a death-like
whisper. The shadow took on the features of a handsome woman of
about forty, her mode of dress - bare skin - chilled him more than
his immobility. The apparition smiled. “You have done me
a great service Son of Panaria. I had wondered how to turn Illia's
murder to my benefit. You performed perfectly. Her retched band
sought to curry favor before the Festival. Foolish woman. Did she
not know she would draw my attention? I thank you for her death,
although I did arrange for you to be here to accomplish it. You
had much too much trouble killing her though, and I see your strength
is waning, only thirty men? Shameful.” The apparition smiled
and tsked. Padreic bent his will to moving, afraid the witch would
plumb the depths of his mind. “Your forebears were great
men, valiant and intelligent. I doubt not they would have perceived
my ruse.” She stretched languorously, the fine, full curves
of her body drawing his attention, even though it repulsed him. “You
should feel so, for you are a man, and thus susceptible to the
temptations of the flesh. Too bad we are such staunch enemies,
Padreic...”
“Burn... in...hell...you bitch!” Spit between gritted
teeth, it was all he could do to get it out. The apparition laughed,
a throaty, husky sound.
“Oh, no I will reside in this world for quite some time,
unlike you, my good Captain.” She paused, as if something
had occurred to her. “Where have you hidden the daughter
of Kharad? Surely she isn't dead? I would have heard about that.
Where is the little soldier girl, now?” Her stare grew intense.
Padreic furiously tried not to think of Teneil, but in the end
it proved useless. Claws ripped through his brain as the witch
raked for what she sought. Her nipples stood hard and she flushed
as his pain flooded her own senses. “Oh. Ah, there she is.
I see-” The woman's eyes widened, then grew cunning, a smile
crept across her shadow-face. Padreic would have reeled from the
pain could he but move. “I shall enjoy the chase...but first
I will have my pleasure from you.” She put Padreic back onto
his cot and let the one part of him she wanted move. She mounted
him and produced a crescent shaped knife, with jagged serration
on its blade.
It was Padreic's screams that woke the camp and set the alarm
sounding. No sooner did his first peel of anguish echo through
the draw, than did a hail of black arrows begin a steady rain down
of the camp. From the perimeter rushed a horde of weapon wielding
men screaming into the night. The sentries, all of the double shift,
stared immobile into the night, the sounds of their friends dying
a long, drawn out wail of suffering in their ears. They could do
naught but await their doom...
* * *
It was very cold. Aldon was sure it would snow soon. Huge clouds
of steam roiled forth from the horses, and from tired riders. The
road was a slightly less black ribbon in a sea of murky gloom;
the forest encroached right to the tops of the berms to either
side. Properly maintained, as were most in the ‘States, the
road sloped into a grassy, shallow drainage ditch.
Two miles short of Kor, Lorry cried out.
“We’re about to be ambushed!”
Out of pure instinct, Aldon turned his bay sharply to the left
and Himmel and Jask followed.
Ahren, Teneil, and Bull hove right, but were halted by a mass
of figures boiling out of the trees.
Toady and Fingers spurred their mounts into a dead run, straight
ahead. They soon put thirty yards distance on the rest of the group.
Bobo, surprised by the yell, had frozen in his saddle.
Quiet and Lorry dropped off their horses and sprinted for the
trees. Just as they achieved the berm, ground erupted into a gout
of earth and fire. Lorry and Quiet were flung to the ground by
a hard, warm hand.
“Cor’s balls what was that?” hissed Lorry,
crawling for cover behind a stout fir.
Terrified horses ran hard against the bit. Quiet and Lorry’s
mounts bolted, having no riders to check their flight. When Lorry
looked up, another explosion rocked the earth. Bobo, caught in
the second blast, was no where to be seen. Large bloody pieces
of his bay rained down with sickening splats. A tinkling, bouncing
object landed in the middle of the road: Bobo's twisted and blackened
blade.
“Where is that coming from” Lorry, gritted out, shocked.
Quiet dropped low beside him, the fear evident on her face.
“From me, you fool!” came a screech not twenty paces
away. Lorry rolled hard taking Quiet with him. Again, only terrifyingly
closer, the earth erupted. Wet clods rained down on the two prone
forms. Lorry, deaf and a bit dazed, pushed Quiet up and she began
to run. Lorry started to follow, but slipped in the mud left by
the blast. A woman cackled near him. He looked up to see the nude
form of an old crone. Her pendulous wrinkled breasts were scarred
and tattooed. Her maniacal sneer told him she was beyond crazy.
He pulled his amulet from his tunic - for the first time in five
years - and the crone laughed. The silver likeness of a tree whose
trunk and branches were fashioned of a woman glowed in the darkness.
Lorry drew upon the power of the earth and the crone's cackle
turned sour as she felt the power of the very ground itself infuse
Lorry. Stones began to rise from the earth on either side of the
priestess. Her hand shot out, a streak of utter blackness, an inverse
of lightning, struck Lorry in the chest; he was hurled backwards
until he hit the trunk of a sapling. It bent under the impact but
did not break, and Lorry slid to his knees on the soft turf. The
witch's eyes glowed like pale moonlight as she shuffled toward
him, her cruel laugh back in full. Behind her the stones grew into
fingers of granite.
Lorry, barely conscious, felt another presence. He quietly sent
out the mental message:
“Quiet. Be true to your name, and flee. You cannot stand
against so powerful a foe. This is my lot - I was chosen for this
very event. Go! My thoughts are with you - may the sacrifice not
be in vain. Until next time. Go!”
Quiet, hearing the voice in her head sat shocked. Then, with
speed borne of desperation, she fled. And yet, before she covered
twenty yards, she thought of Lorry. The nasty little infighter
had seemed so normal, but for his zeal in battle. The thought of
her comrade turned her on her heels. Unlimbering her bow, Quiet
made for an advantageous spot… Lorry might have instructed
her to leave, but she couldn't allow him to be taken - despite
whatever powers he controlled. Maybe especially because of that.
Back on the road, foes poured from the trees, and men with bared
blades blocked the way. Toady and Fingers, having spurred straight
on, ran down the men who charged onto the road before them. With
two or three swings, they were past the line and they turned right
again to outflank the attackers. They chased those who ran and
hacked them down. Aldon, Himmel, and Jask - the leaders who had
gone left - spurred into the teeth of a half dozen archers. Himmel,
quicker that thought, had drawn bow and let fly in three successive
pulls. Three men went down. His concentration, however gave root
to the two shafts growing out of his saddlebags. Aldon cleft the
pate of the next man and the other two, seeing their comrades fall,
ran. Jask rode the dun’s shod hooves over the fleeing brigands.
Ahren and Teneil were close to the first blast when it occurred,
and Teneil's mount reared. She hit the ground hard, and Ahren jumped
down to protect her fellow-soldier. Bull maintained his seat, but
his horse danced about in a tight circle, eyes rolling.
“Gawdamned animal!” he cried, but the horse was beyond
collectable. It was hard to tell in the night, but what appeared
to be a dozen men closed in on the two, forming a tightening ring
as they approached. Bull gave up his mount to fight beside Ahren.
Teneil did not stir, so Bull and Ahren went back to back over her
body. The first strokes began to find their way in range when the
second blast rocked the night, killing Bobo. Quiet and Lorry’s
mounts fled by at a flat-out gallop.
“D’you see?” Bull grunted as he blocked two
strokes with his swords.
“Yep,” came the reply. Ahren was employing a sword
breaker and a thrusting sword. Most of their opponents carried
long blades. One, if not both, would probably go down. “Who
goes down first, deals with Teneil.” Grim determination filled
Ahren's voice as she feinted and took her man in the thigh. A fountain
of blood told of a good strike. Another man, one who smelled faintly
of lilac, stepped into the vacated spot. He eyed Ahren with an
appreciating eye.
“Seems a shame to mar such a pretty body with mere combat.
You'd do so much better strapped backwards over Her altar for our
pleasure.” His eyes gleamed in the dark. They widened as
Ahren's thrust took him in the forehead. She twisted and bone cracked
audibly as his head split. His form crumpled.
“Fuck you,” she grated.
Bull took a man down with an off-timed double strike. The man's
arm dropped off and dark liquid fountained over the whole group.
The slight recoil of their foes gave Ahren two quick shots and
two more went down, one screaming.
“Teach you to wear a steel cup, you bastard,” she
yelled, laughing. The bodies were piling up, but Ahren and Bull
were not without their wounds. Blood dribbled from a shallow gash
in her leg, and from a nick above her right eye. A serious cut
had laid open her tunic and cut into her chest through the leather
jack. Her demeanor was quickly souring as the pain made her angrier.
Bull grunted as he took another prick in the left leg. He had
a bad puncture in his shoulder, but could still move. Another of
his attackers went down, clutching his innards as they burst from
his gut. For good measure Bull struck at his face and cut through
the man's cheek and nose. Air gurgled from the wound.
Ahren, tiring, gave her first thought to putting Teneil out,
before she was too badly injured to do it herself. A bee buzzed
over her right ear, she could feel its passage through air. The
man in front of her cried out a wet scream as an arrow pierced
through his throat. Bull lopped a good piece of meat off the shoulder
of his man, and that opponent also took a shaft in the back. The
remaining few fled in the face of such a fury. They didn't get
ten steps before they were writhing on the ground, arrows piercing
vital organs. Bull fell to his knees to check Teniel. Her breathing
was strong and regular, a large goose egg adorned her forehead.
“I gotta … get outta this … racket,” he
joked, sucking huge droughts of air.
