“Yes.” Her hands around the sword-hilt were white-knuckled. She didn’t imagine anything could pry it loose. The roaring in her ears was loud.
With a shout the bandits made their play, approaching at full tilt in a wedge formation headed by a man bearing a long scythe.
“And be ready for the plan to change!” Griffin shouted, drawing back the bowstring.
Griffin’s shot hit the leader squarely, but the man’s momentum continued to carry him forward for the last few yards. As predicted, the assaulting group slammed into their shield at almost the same time.
Charlie ignored the fracas above her and focused on her assignment. A body presented itself before her, and she did as Griffin had told her. She fixed her eyes on the brown, stained tunic before her and shoved her sword upward into it with all of her strength. An unpleasant shock reverberated through the metal to her arms, followed by the drag in the opposite direction that Griffin had warned her about. She threw herself backward to counteract it. Instead of pulling her sword free, the effort dragged his body down toward her. The man’s body slapped horribly against the protection bubble for a split second, then fell on top of her knocking her over.
At the same time that she was engaging in her one-on-one, Griffin had dropped his bow and drawn his sword. Caught between the barrier and the men behind him, the bandit he had shot was still standing upright, and Griffin seized him by the shirt with his free hand and shoved him backward into his comrades. It was his movement out of the circle that had broken it. Already off balance from the force of hitting the barrier, the two remaining men were knocked over by the body of their dead companion as Griffin leapt forward.
Charlie was able to see very little of this as her immediate concern was the dead body that had fallen on top of her. He was very heavy, and she panicked at once, thinking she was trapped. She still had hold of the sword-hilt that was trapped between them with one hand, trying to keep it from jabbing painfully into her stomach. The space it left gave her room to push upward with her other hand against his side. Disgust and fear for Griffin gave her the strength to shove him away. She scrambled up in time to see that Griffin had just struck down one of the bandits and was freeing his sword to chase after the fleeing remainder. She turned her attention to freeing her own sword, which proved to be so difficult and disgusting that she immediately wanted to cry.
Griffin didn’t pursue the last man into the woods but instead turned back to her. He was splattered with blood, and his face was grim. Without hesitation he grabbed Charlie’s sword-hilt, planted his boot in the dead man’s stomach, and hauled the sword free. He handed it to her. She accepted it numbly, wondering what she was supposed to do with it now.
“We have to get out of here,” Griffin said firmly and clearly. “Get our saddlebags, and put everything you can find into them. Don’t worry about who it belongs to or being neat—just get as much of our belongings as you can. Go,” he said more urgently when she hadn’t moved.
Charlie went at once to do as he said. Their bags and most of their things were still by the trees where the bandits had unpacked them. She realized at once, and with some dismay, that she would not be able to do this with her sword in her hand, and she returned it, blood and all, to its sheath. Trembling with adrenaline and fear, she did as Griffin had instructed and began stuffing shirts, hair combs, extra stockings, and everything else she could find into the saddlebags, all the while looking around wildly for more danger.
While she was collected their things, Griffin walked around to each of the haphazardly-positioned bodies and retrieved his arrows with the same ruthlessness with which he had removed Charlie’s sword. He also dug through their pockets to take back the money and Charlie’s jewelry that they had hidden away. Every minute or so he gave a sharp whistle that seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness. Finished with the bandits, he began to saddle Charlie’s horse, talking softly to the nervous mare to calm her.
Charlie carried the hastily stuffed bags over to him, about to ask how they were going to find his horse when there was a sudden thundering of hooves. Griffin’s destrier appeared at the edge of the clearing, steaming in the cool night air like some apparition from a ghost story. Griffin whistled to him again, more softly this time, and the horse came quietly to him.
“See what else you can find,” Griffin instructed as he saddled his own horse. “All of our bedding and our weapons.”
Charlie tried not to look at the dead men as she crept among them, gathering things and ferrying them back to the horses
“Hurry!” Griffin chivvied as he fastened ties. He had left the horses to come help her when there was a loud shout, and the bandit Griffin had allowed to run into the woods came bursting into the clearing, an axe raised above his head. Charlie froze in fright, thinking the battle was beginning all over again, but Griffin didn’t even seem startled. He ducked underneath the swinging axe, grabbed his attacker’s arm, and used the momentum of the thwarted blow to knock the man backward. Charlie looked away and busied herself looking for dropped items.
“Time to go,” Griffin said abruptly.
Abandoning any further search for scattered possessions, they mounted their nervous horses, and Griffin set a path eastward.
Charlie followed him silently, glad to get away from the little clearing that had gone so quickly from peaceful campsite to a place of death.
They rode through the night in a sort of frenzy, keeping the horses moving quickly along some route known only to Griffin. Every so often he would bring them to a halt to rest the horses or to stare into the trees for threats. A sense of fear and panic seemed to ride with them. Every scratch from an unseen branch, every rustle of the wind, every pair of eyes glinting yellow in the moonlight seemed to signal a fresh danger. Whether caused by fear or exhaustion, Charlie began to wonder if her persistent shaking might become permanent. She wanted desperately to stop and to lie down for a while, but moving gave her something constructive to do and kept her from thinking about the carnage behind her. She knew that even if they stopped, she would only feel frightened sitting in the dark woods and would never be able to sleep. Griffin seemed to share her feelings and led them doggedly onward without speaking.
* * *
Dawn was breaking when they reached a break in the forest and emerged into a field. The land looked to have been cleared by human hands, probably for grazing pasture, and was bordered on one side by a stream. A small three-sided wooden structure stood by the stream, but there was no sign that it had been used recently.
They let the horses drink from the stream and dismounted to drink themselves.
Griffin started to cup water to his mouth, then made a disgusted noise and began rubbing his hands together under the water.
Charlie glanced at him to see what was wrong, then realized she had the same problem—they were both still covered in blood and dirt. She pulled her waterskin from her saddle, plunged it under the water upstream from the horses, then took a long drink from it. She passed it to Griffin and sat listlessly for a moment.
It was queerly sunny in the grassy little pasture, a bold summer morning that promised to be hot later. The stillness almost made her dizzy. She had been riding for so long that her body had not yet accepted the sudden cessation of motion. She could hear birds singing and the water rushing gently in the stream. It was as though by stepping into the field they had entered a new world and left the old one with its mayhem and violence behind, but the crossing had not done anything to change Charlie herself, and she was still filthy and tired.
“This is ridiculous,” Griffin said suddenly. “No one is chasing us. There’s no reason to be running. This is a good place to camp.”
“Are you sure?” Charlie asked. She didn’t think she could get up again now that she had sat down.
“Yes, we killed them all. There isn’t anyone left to be chasing us.” He gripped her chin suddenly, turning her face toward him, and gave her a searching look. “Are you all right?”
; “No!” she replied, pulling away from him. “I’m scared and exhausted and”—she gestured down at herself—“I’m covered in someone else’s blood.” The thought was suddenly more than she could take, and she wrestled her tunic over her head without a care that Griffin was watching. She threw it aside, and then when her shirt was also dirty, she took it off too.
“I’ve never killed anyone before,” she said sadly.
“It doesn’t get any easier,” Griffin told her, seeming utterly nonplussed by the sight of her in her underclothes.
She pulled her sword out of its sheath a few inches to see that it was brown with dried blood. “And what am I supposed to do with this?”
“Worry about it later,” he said simply. “It’s not a priority right now.” He stood, took her reins out of her hand, and led the horses into the field to picket them.
Charlie knew she should help him, but she was too tired. She rubbed the cool water from the stream on her face, then realized with dismay that there was blood in her hair too and tried to wash it out. Griffin dumped their saddlebags on the ground nearby and dug through them until he found a chunk of soap. He broke it in half and offered her a piece. When she accepted it, he reached around her and gently took her left hand, pulling it toward him.
“Did I do that?” he asked, sounding worried.
She looked down at her bare arm. There was an almost handprint-shaped bruise where he had held her arm so tightly while they were running. She shrugged. “I can’t even feel it,” she said truthfully.
He let her go. “What about your eye? Can you see out of it all right? It doesn’t look too bloodshot.”
“It’s fine,” she said, uncomfortable.
Griffin moved away a bit to do his own washing and give her a modicum of privacy. From the corner of her eye she could see him look up frequently and glance around the field as if still on alert for danger.
Charlie took the soap he had given her and scrubbed until her skin was red. She still felt horribly dirty, like she would never wash the blood and death off her skin. She wanted to get into the water and bathe properly, but she couldn’t do that with Griffin there, and she was too afraid to now anyway. She fought back a sniffle.
“What?” Griffin asked suddenly. Apparently he had been paying attention to her.
She glanced up at him briefly, then looked away again. “Nothing.” There was no point in whining when he had just as much trouble as she did. She rummaged through their hastily packed bags until she found clothes that hadn’t gotten too dirty being tossed on the ground, then went behind the shed to change. When she came out, she sat down in the sweet-smelling grass, feeling a bit better but somewhat lost.
Griffin had undressed to the waist and was trying to dab salve from a tiny jar onto the various cuts and scratches he had accumulated during the fight. “Lie down and sleep,” he instructed over his shoulder.
“That needs to be sewn up,” she said, pointing to a deep gash on his side. “Do you want me to do it? You can’t reach.”
“It doesn’t need stitching. It’s not that deep.” He stood and brought her a blanket. “Lie down for a bit. I’ll keep watch.”
“Why do you need to keep watch?” Despite the sun, she was shivering.
He rubbed his hand over his face tiredly. “I don’t,” he admitted, “but I will anyway, because I’m not ready to sleep yet.”
Charlie wrapped herself in the blanket and lay down against the wooden side of the shelter. She did not want to sleep either, but she was trying to be cooperative. She had noticed that Griffin had commandeered control of their travel, but that was an issue for a less stressful time. He gathered up their saddlebags and the various items that had spilled out of them and came to sit next to her. She watched him covertly over the edge of her blanket as he dumped everything in a pile and began sorting it to repack correctly. If he was haunted by what had happened the night before and the men he had killed with neither hesitation nor sorrow, he hid it well. He looked tired and grim, and his eyes wandered constantly as though he still expected danger at any moment, but she didn’t think somehow that he was as bothered by the horrors of bloodshed and killing as she was. She supposed that was because he was a knight and trained for warfare. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the man she had killed and felt him falling on top of her again. And she had only killed one man—Griffin had dispatched the rest of them like he was shooting pheasants. Charlie clutched the blanked closer even though she was sweating in the heat. She squirmed around until Griffin turned to frown at her.
“Can’t we just go on?” she sighed, sitting up.
“It’s not fair on the horses,” he reminded her. “And go on to where?”
Having no answer for that, she lay back down again and tried to sleep. After about an hour, she decided she couldn’t lie there anymore and got up. “Your turn, Griffin. You can sleep, and I’ll keep watch.”
He didn’t seem particularly pleased by that, but he took her place and stretched out to sleep.
Charlie sat huddled against the side of the shelter and resolutely watched the pasture in case their phantom enemies launched a second attack. There was little to see besides their horses grazing in circles, and she found watching the tall grass bend in the wind rather hypnotic. Now that she had stopped moving for a while, her muscles had tightened up, and she was sore and grumpy. When she felt she might drift off, she got up and went to drink from the stream, then took the horses one at a time to drink as well. She retrieved the dirty clothes she had removed from the stream’s bank and found that by some great fortune her map was still tucked in the pocket of her tunic where she had stuck it before the fight. She put the map in her pocket and considered washing the clothes but decided she didn’t have the energy. She meandered stiffly back to her spot on the ground.
Throughout all of this, she had been aware that Griffin had not been able to sleep anymore than she had. Now he was lying with his head cradled on his elbow, watching her.
She eyed him dully. “Why can’t you sleep?”
He sighed. “Because even though I know the danger is gone, I still feel like I have to stay alert so I can protect you.”
Charlie plucked at the grass for a minute and considered this. “Let’s just not sleep then if we can’t sleep.”
Griffin sat up and managed a wry smile. “A poetic suggestion.”
They sat in silence for a while.
“Can we go?” Charlie asked.
“Go where?” There was a glint in his eye that suggested he was losing patience.
“I don’t know! I’m just—anxious.”
He was quiet for a while. “Don’t be anxious. Do you want something to eat? There’s a bit of dried meat left that didn’t get destroyed.”
“No.”
“Probably a good idea to eat something.”
“No thanks.”
There was another long silence.
Finally, Griffin spoke. “All right. Let’s move on. I don’t know why really, since this is the best possible camping spot we could find, and we’ll end up huddled in the woods tonight jumping out of our skins. There’s a little path over there; maybe it leads to a village. We’ve got to have some more food anyway.”
Slowly they gathered their things and saddled the tired horses again. Griffin made Charlie pack the clothes she had discarded by the stream, even though she insisted she didn’t want them, and they sat off again, letting the horses walk at a snail’s pace.
Fortunately they didn’t have far to go. After roughly a mile, Griffin spotted smoke rising above the trees, and they continued down the little walking trail toward it. The path ended, not in a village as Griffin had hoped, but in the yard of a little farm nestled in a well-cleared section of the forest. There was a small house, a large barn, a little paddock, and few scattered outbuildings, all surrounded by an expanse of planted fields further out. The sound of their horses drew the attention of the residents as they rode up. A man looked up from the pair of oxen he was hitching tog
ether outside the barn and squinted at them, while a woman left the chickens she had been feeding to shoo a handful of children into the house. The couple lingered in the yard anxiously as Charlie and Griffin approached.
Griffin gave Charlie a look that indicated clearly that he was to do the talking. He drew his horse up just short of where the grass gave way to the carefully-kept dirt yard. “Good day to you both,” he called politely and waited while they bowed and murmured hesitant greetings in return. “My companion and I were set upon by bandits last night, and we’ve had no rest since then. Could we trouble you for some food and shelter for ourselves and our horses? If you could feed us and let us sleep in your hay loft, we can pay you in coin.”
“Yes, my lord, it would be no trouble at all,” the man said nervously. “We don’t have much to offer, but we’ll share it gladly.”
Griffin sighed and dismounted. Charlie had the feeling he wasn’t the sort to appreciate excessive deference, and he probably found groveling annoying. The couple were clearly anxious about their unexpected visitors, and she wondered if it was fear of the stress extra mouths would put on their resources or expectation of ill-treatment by the nobility. The children had begun to wander out of the house and were staring curiously.
“Shall I put your horse in the paddock, my lord?” the farmer asked, eyeing Griffin’s warhorse with understandable trepidation.
“I’ll take him—he’s not a friendly chap,” Griffin replied easily. “You might help Charlie unsaddle her horse though.” He led his horse toward the pen.
Charlie dismounted and walked Mystic to the fence. When she started to fumble with the buckle on her girth, the farmer slipped up beside her and gently took it from her.
“Let me do that, my lady.” He lifted the saddle away and set it down on the fence rail.
Griffin was tying his horse’s picket line to his halter. “Have you got a hammer or a something heavy I can hit this spike with? I’m afraid he’ll try to jump the fence if he’s not tied.” A hovering child immediately produced a large rock, which Griffin accepted gravely and used to drive the stake into the ground.
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