Leif drifted stomach-deep through the bloody swells and waves, Beer Mug leading him straight to the sailboat. When he reached the vessel, Godwyn and Dokie could tell it was not on some horse’s back he rode, but rather on some unseen knight’s shoulders. They pulled Leif aboard and he wasted no time in turning back toward the scarlet waves, leaning against the bulwark, reaching down. “I must save the knight who carried me here!”
Liz Hen’s florid round face and cropped red hair broke the skin of the foaming sea just under Leif’s outstretched hand. Her eyes shot open as she sucked down a huge gulp of air before her head bobbed back below the rippling surface.
She couldn’t have carried him all this way? Godwyn’s mind reeled.
Hammerfiss was just beyond the girl, still ahorse, still fully armored, white stallion struggling to swim under his weight as he aimed the beast in their direction. The Knight Archaic’s cruel eyes met those of Leif. “That boat is mine!” he bellowed.
“Help me, you bloody fools!” Leif screamed. “Help me lift him aboard before that killer gets here!” Leif’s eyes were on Hammerfiss pushing through the water toward him.
Liz Hen surfaced again, huffing for air. Leif latched on to her gaoler breastplate, lifting with all his might, straining. Godwyn reached down to help. Dokie, too. Together the three of them hauled the big girl aboard. She flopped to the bottom of the sailboat with a thud just as Hammerfiss reached them. Leif ducked aside as the huge knight’s mace came arching down, the spiked weapon splintering the sidewall of the sailboat with a thunderous crash. Hammerfiss snarled, yanking the weapon free.
Then a shark thrust its huge bulk between the burly knight and the boat, sending both Hammerfiss and his white stallion reeling back in the frothing water.
“Beer Mug!” Liz Hen cried, scrambling to her feet. “We have to get him!”
“Row away!” Leif shouted. “Row away now! That insane knight is not done with us yet!” Indeed, Hammerfiss was still miraculously atop his horse, heading toward them again, mace upraised. “Row!” Leif screamed.
And the dozen frightened men behind Godwyn rowed.
† † † † †
“I couldn’t see under the water,” Liz Hen muttered, her back against the portside bulwark, sitting next to Godwyn, tears streaming down her face. “I held on to Beer Mug’s tail! He dragged me to the boat! Leif on my shoulders. The dog saved us! And we couldn’t save him.”
“That dog was a brave fellow,” Leif said, crisp white sail flapping in the wind above his head. “I too wish we could have saved him.”
They had sailed almost to Lord’s Point now. Thousands of rescue boats, all brimming with bleak-faced Gul Kana knights, surrounded them in the ocean. A lump had formed in Godwyn’s throat at the thought of the dog’s demise. His gaze roamed the channel, hoping the dog would somehow reappear. But so many had been lost to the mercy of the sea. The sun now hung blighted and raw over the blood-colored waters. Crabs scuttled among the heaps of floating bodies, and the seagulls cried above, their shadows weaving over the red-stained waves rolling ashore. White fins of sharks, slithering up from the depths, still plied the battle’s ghastly harvest.
In the distance rose Mont Saint Only, ten miles away, its beacon still afire. Squinting at the fortress in the sunlight, Godwyn was numb to it all, the scars on his swollen neck calling to him. How utterly pathetic am I, wanting a Bloodletting so soon. . . .
He tried to regain some sense of sanity, but he could still hear the distant chorus of screams. This does not feel like a dream. Yet, it doesn’t seem quite real, either. The frothing sea still heaved through the channel, violent and bloody, tossing and boiling as if another war raged beneath its churning scarlet surface. People are still dying out there. . . .
“How many of the enemy I have slain today,” Leif Chaparral muttered. The Dayknight leaned against the mast now, dark-rimmed gaze fixed on the still teeming channel. “A hundred thousand? Two hundred thousand. Has Absolution been forever staved?” A great darkness fell over his face, as if he had done something wrong. Then his countenance immediately brightened. “A great victory will be recorded. Even in The Chivalric Illuminations of Raijael will this day be recorded. Aeros and all his Knights dead. The great Leif Chaparral the victor.” Leif’s dark eyes cut into Godwyn’s. “Nobody can survive out there, right? Aeros is dead, no?”
“I can’t possibly see how anyone could have survived without a boat,” Godwyn murmured. It was almost too difficult even to speak. Fatigue hung like a mantle over his weary shoulders. Somehow he had survived the boiling scarlet maelstrom of war.
And all I had yearned for was death. . . .
Leif’s victory was an accident. Godwyn knew many battles could be lost because of overconfidence and dumb miscalculation. And it seemed the White Prince had succumbed to both today.
Dokie rested in the bottom of the boat on the other side of Liz Hen, all three of them squished together among the few dozen other traumatized Lord’s Point fighters.
“Tell me we can go back to Brown R’elk’s fine manor house, Godwyn.” Liz Hen looked up to him, pleading. “All I can think about is that red draught he serves. Drinking it makes my head swim with golden light and all things pleasurable. And Laijon knows, I’m in desperate need of that now.”
I am not the only one. Godwyn wished he had never allowed the girl to become addicted to Blood of the Dragon. Two of a kind, we are. . . .
He studied the pained faces of Liz Hen and Dokie. Though they had been a meddlesome duo in the past, he felt a great love and kinship for them now. Dokie seemed to suffer no ill effects from either the rauthouin bane or Blood of the Dragon. Perhaps whatever addictive properties residing within the drugs had been rendered dormant by the poisonous darts. Godwyn knew the downward path he and Liz Hen were on would be a slow and torturous death, likely driving them both insane at the end.
“Beer Mug can survive out there,” Liz Hen said, hope growing on her freckled face. “Beer Mug will not give up. He will find us again.”
“I do like your spunk and optimism, boy,” Leif’s eyes fell on her, admiration in his tone.
“She ain’t no boy.” Dokie sat up straighter. “She’s Liz Hen.”
Leif’s face twisted in puzzlement. “What’s Lishen?”
“Her.” Dokie nodded toward the big girl next to him. “She is Liz Hen.”
“Leyshon?” Leif couldn’t quite wrap his tongue around the girl’s name. Something cold gripped Godwyn’s heart as he saw the dark look that crept over the Dayknight’s face. Every man in the sailboat was paying attention to the conversation now. Leif again asked pointedly, “Who is Leyshon?”
“It’s pronounced Liz Hen,” Dokie said. “Not Leyshon. She’s a girl.”
“A girl?” Leif’s brow furrowed. He was no longer leaning against the mast. “A girl . . . saved me?” Then his face blossomed with anger. “A girl fought in my army, as a knight of Gul Kana? A girl fought in my war?” He shouted the last word. Murmurs and groans of disapproval traveled through the boat as all eyes fell on Liz Hen.
“And what’s wrong with a girl fighting in your war?” Liz Hen climbed to her feet, facing the Dayknight, rage billowing outward from her like a storm cloud. “I’ve killed men and Sør Sevier knights and even oghuls before!”
“But you are a girl?”
“That’s right!” She smacked one balled fist into the gaoler breastplate she still wore. “Me! Liz Hen Neville! I am a girl, what of it?”
“What of it?” He moved swiftly, carefully keeping his balance as he stepped over injured men and oars. “You deceive us with your short hair.”
“I deceive no one.” She stood her ground.
“The Way and Truth of Laijon strictly forbids a woman to take up arms in combat, unless it be sanctioned by the grand vicar himself!” Leif was inches from her, finger pointing in her face. “And I do not recall Denarius or Jovan sanctioning anything of the sort.”
“I don’t give a gob fart what they
sanctioned.” Liz Hen straightened her back and leaned into his pointed finger, letting its tip rest against her forehead. “I saved you.”
“You will hang for this deception!” Leif whipped his finger away from her haughtily. “I will hang you!”
“Hang me?” Liz Hen’s face twisted with incredulity.
“Yes, hang!”
“Fuck you and the slimy slaggy stoat who fathered you!”
Leif backed away from her, head cocked to the side, dark-rimmed eyes narrowing to thin black slits. “What did you call my father?”
“And fuck your little eye sockets and pretty black eyeliner too—”
Leif’s fist crashed into her jaw. Stunned, she tried to fight him off. But Leif’s continued blows rained down swift and hard, one after the next. Dokie leaped to his feet, lunging to her defense, slipping on the watery floorboards, going down in a heap.
“Please stop striking her!” Godwyn stood, grabbing the Dayknight from behind, pinning the man’s arms to his side. Liz Hen dropped face-forward onto the floorboards of the sailboat with a crash, unconscious.
Leif shrugged the bishop off. “I swore an oath!” he shouted, his long finger now pointed in Godwyn’s face. “An oath to never see another woman fight in battle lest I hang her and burn her myself!”
“But you’ve likely already killed her.” Dokie knelt, holding Liz Hen’s battered face in his arms.
“She’ll live,” Leif spat, grim eyes still fixed on Godwyn. “But when we dock, she’s to be bound both hand and foot and thrown into the castle dungeon. The deceitful bitch shall be hung in Lord’s Point Square as soon as we reach shore!”
† † † † †
Lord’s Point Square was empty but for a handful of confused onlookers come to witness the hanging. Godwyn stood in front of the stone podium in the middle of the square. Dokie was at his side, tears streaming down his face. Leif Chaparral was on the platform just above, lofty spires of the city’s cathedral rising up behind him. He was once again dressed in the full Dayknight regalia—black-lacquered armor shined to an obsidian polish, silver surcoat thrown over his shoulder, silver-wolf-on-a-maroon-field crest over his chest plate, black sword with the black opal-inlaid pommel at his belt. Godwyn knew the man had lost his armor and sword in the battle with everyone else. Yet here he was, dressed anew, as if a second set of polished armor and sword had been awaiting him.
Next to Leif was a stooped, bearded man wearing the dark umber robes of the clergy, a bishop the Dayknight had dragged from the cathedral to oversee the hanging. A bedraggled mix of blue liveried Ocean Guard stood at attention to Leif’s left, all battle-weary and worn. A tall wooden scaffolding and gallows pole loomed at Leif’s right.
Liz Hen Neville stood before the gallows in naught but a thin tan coverlet thrown over her tattered underclothes, hands tied with rope before her, short-cropped red hair gleaming like fire in the harsh sun, bruised face a mask of grim bitterness.
“Though we have achieved great victory over our enemy, our triumph has not been without stain!” Leif’s voice boomed over the emptiness of the square. “This girl bears witness to what few acts of unrighteous cowardice tarnished our victory!”
He beckoned the Lord’s Point bishop forward. The stooped man handed Leif a thick scroll-worked-leather-bound copy of The Way and Truth of Laijon. As the Dayknight leafed through the pages, Liz Hen’s frightened eyes found Dokie. Her lips quivered. “Do not weep, for I shall soon be with Laijon; I shall be with Zane and Beer Mug and those I love.”
But to Godwyn it felt as if the girl didn’t believe her own words. War changes everyone. War has knocked the belief in Laijon straight out of us all. Beset with doubts that harried his every thought, Godwyn knew what he must do to save her. But dare I? Can I? There was only one thing he could think of—another bloodletting at the hands of Brown R’elk. That all-consuming desire had created a horrible hole in him, a poverty of mind and soul. He was surprised by the want and clarity of his own dark cravings.
On the stone platform above, Leif found the page he desired. “From the Acts of the Second Warrior Angel, I quote. ‘Unless such deed is both sanctified and consecrated by the grand vicar himself, Laijon shall smite unto death any such woman who takes up arms against her fellow man, be it in war or in defense of her own self. In the name of the great One and Only, a swift hanging shall be her end!’ ” He slammed the book closed with authority, handing it back to the Lord’s Point bishop. “What say you to that? It is against The Way and Truth of Laijon for a woman to fight in battle without the blessings of the vicar!”
The Lord’s Point bishop bowed to Leif in confirmation, placing the holy book in the crook of his arm, speaking loudly. “There are many such similar verses to guide us in war’s endeavor! If this girl has fought in war without proper blessings, then I therefore deem this hanging blessed of Laijon, and so it shall be recorded.”
“So it shall be recorded!” Leif grasped Liz Hen by the back of the neck and forced her to a kneeling position at the edge of the podium, her grimacing face just above Dokie now, frantic eyes scanning the empty square. Beer Mug is not here to save you today, my dear Liz Hen. Godwyn’s mind raced. No savior to swoop in from the skies and bear you away. Weariness clung to him like a sodden cloak, heavy with guilt and regret. There is only me, and I know what I must do for her—
“The girl before you has defied Laijon by taking up arms against her fellow man!” Leif’s shout echoed. “I myself found her today amidst all the chaos. She was dressed as a man, in full battle armor, a bloody sword in hand!”
Those gathered in the town’s square stared blank-faced at both Leif and Liz Hen.
“ ’Tis by the will of Laijon she shall hang!” Leif bellowed, voice now hoarse.
A morning wind that smelled of salt dragged over the plaza, carrying with it the cries of the gulls circling overhead. The warm breeze lifted a lock of Godwyn’s shaggy gray hair from his sweat-dampened forehead. Yes. He breathed in deep. I know what I must do.
“You cannot hang her!” he yelled.
Several of the blue-liveried knights behind Leif ran to the edge of the podium and thrust their spears down at him threateningly.
“You cannot hang her!” Godwyn repeated. “She did not know the fullness of the law! She merely wished to fight for her homeland! She is innocent!”
“Innocent,” Leif scoffed. “I saw her myself, a girl, fighting in war without so much as a by-your-leave from King Jovan or any servant of Laijon, much less the grand vicar. You saw her too, old man. You were there. You were witness to her treachery. Ignorance of the law is no excuse!”
“I saved your life.” Liz Hen’s voice was a stark hiss of anger.
“You went against the will of Laijon!” Leif yanked the girl to her feet by the scruff of her coverlet and makeshift smock. “The debate is over. You will hang.”
“She is innocent!” Godwyn pointed to the leather-bound holy book in the Lord’s Point bishop’s hands. “I, too, can quote from The Way and Truth of Laijon. ‘To satisfy the law, a bishop anointed of Laijon can stand in proxy for the one being executed, if he believes that person to be innocent, and justice shall be served.’ ”
Leif seemed taken aback by his pronouncement. “Is this true?” he asked the bishop of Lord’s Point.
“Aye, it is true.” The bearded man dipped his brow to Leif in a dutiful if not resigned response. “But I will not hang in her stead.”
“You may be right.” Leif turned back to Godwyn. “But as you can see, the bishop of Lord’s Point is not willing to atone for this girl’s sins.”
“I am Bishop Hugh Godwyn, a servant of Laijon anointed by the grand vicar himself,” Godwyn announced proudly. “I served Laijon within the Swithen Wells Trail Abbey for five years. And I say the girl is innocent, and I shall stand in proxy for her!”
“No!” Liz Hen wailed, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You mustn’t!”
Godwyn went on. “You are now honor bound by scri
pture to hang me in her stead, Ser Leif.”
“How do I know you are not just some imposter set on thwarting my will?” Leif snarled.
Godwyn looked straight at the other bishop on the podium and did the three-fingered sign of the Laijon Cross over his heart, ending with his thumb pointed down at his navel—a sure sign only those who had been anointed by the grand vicar in the Royal Cathedral in Amadon would recognize.
“He gives the sign of one duly anointed of Laijon,” the Lord’s Point bishop intervened. “It is his right to stand in proxy for the girl, if he so chooses, and the girl shall be set free.”
“Set free?” Leif’s face was a mask of incredulity.
“As Laijon as my witness, she shall be set free,” the Lord’s Point bishop confirmed pointedly. “Not even a Dayknight such as you can go against the words of The Way and Truth of Laijon.”
Anger festered in Leif’s gaze as his dark-rimmed eyes cut into Godwyn. Then just as swiftly the anger disappeared. “Cut her bonds,” he ordered his knights. “Let the old man hang in her stead if he so wishes! Bring him forth!”
Gauntleted hands stretched down and hauled Godwyn roughly onto the podium, cold fear finally taking root in his gut.
“You mustn’t do this, Godwyn,” Liz Hen pleaded as the rope around her wrists was cut. “You must look after Dokie, look after yourself.”
Godwyn shook off the gauntlets gripping him, bowing to the girl. “Just find Roguemoore and the others and let them know of my fate.”
“Enough talk.” Leif shoved Liz Hen off the podium. She lit hard in the cobbles at Dokie’s feet. Leif yanked Godwyn roughly toward the wooden scaffolding, dragging him up the makeshift staircase behind the gallows pole.
Once atop the wooden platform, standing in the center of the trapdoor, Godwyn had a grand view of the courtyard. A thin-faced oghul watched from the distance. Brown R’elk. The well-dressed oghul’s rich brown eyes stared up at him hungrily. The teardrop-shaped tattoo on his gray-frosted cheekbone stood out stark and red. The oghul’s lips curled back, revealing white teeth sharp and long, gums engorged.
The Blackest Heart Page 89