I must get down there. The thought was a single urge, without real words. As surely as if she had been pushed, Talysse slid downward amid a cascade of dirt and rock.
The beast heard. Its head, enormous, dripping blood, turned toward her. Its eyes, deep and dark as two wells, regarded her. She went cold inside, as if someone had poured sea water into her. The shouts of others became muffled, buried under the beast’s deep growl. It took a step toward her.
She clawed back up the hill, stabbing into the hillside with the staff to keep from sliding. The sensation of teeth and breath against her back was so strong, she finally stopped and turned once more.
The beast had gone back to feeding. She shuddered in relief, then could not stop shaking. Death was down there, had looked at her.
Wind slid over her, turning her sweat to ice.
More routiers hurried up. They arranged themselves as for battle: two groups of men, one ahead and one behind. Brasc stood in the group forward, Jehan in the one behind. Some of them had swords; two had spears, one had a bow, but most only had clubs. The feeding monster glanced at them between bites. Once, it bellowed a warning, a roar so loud it seemed to shake the hill itself.
Charge. Attack. Help.
Again the impulse hammered. Helpless people were down there. Her friends were down there. Her tante was down there.
Death was down there.
Someone shouted—Jehan?—and an attack began. The archer fired, hit. The beast bellowed and spun. A spearman charged from behind, another from the flank, but the creature saw or sensed them. It reared on its hind legs like a bear, swung one paw, and a man tumbled through the air with an awful sound. Everyone now charged, but the creature was deadly fast. The charge quickly broke up in fear and confusion.
The archer fired again. This time it provoked the beast into a charge. Its roar came in bursts, a furious bellow promising carnage and pain. The beast was on the archer in a heartbeat, dropping to all fours. It charged like a boar, sending men scattering in every direction.
Save for Jehan. The elf stood near the wagon. He spoke to it and Talysse felt comprehension pierce her. Detta was still inside the wagon. Jehan would defend her. He would die.
Once more she shivered, but at last she felt the wind that had been blowing all along. Now it spoke to her and she to it. Fly, it said. Now, she replied.
She dug her heels into the flank of the hill. She used the staff to propel herself into the air that for her was never empty.
The muscles of the wind came at once into her hands, as familiar as a friend. She climbed high before ever she looked down. She canted over, holding the staff securely but not tightly, ready for attack and defense equally. Every moment and movement of her training was held in that grip.
Below her, the beast was attacking the chevalier. It had reared up again, trying to find a way past the blur and sting of the sword, through the hide of the red armor. It swung a heavy arm. The chevalier dodged, countered.
Talysse hovered like a hawk. She let go of the current that held her suspended. She dropped, faster than stone, impelled by the wind, slung downward like a crossbow bolt. She struck the beast at the base of the skull. Together they crashed to the ground, and neither moved for a long moment. Talysse, her head whirling wildly, rolled onto her back. She saw the creature get unsteadily to its feet. Its heavy head swung toward her, pink slaver dripping from its jaws, its eyes small and bright, filled with malevolence. It swayed and shook its head.
At that moment, the elf chevalier leaped onto its back and plunged his sword into the beast’s neck. Its mouth opened to show long teeth stained with red, then twisted away. Others raced to the attack and the monster went down under a hail of blades and bludgeons. Talysse’s head spun again and she fell back to the ground.
In a fog of pain and exhaustion she felt more than saw Detta rush to her side, trying to tend to all her wounds at once, while simultaneously praising and scolding her. Jehan knelt by her side and ministered more effectively. Her cuts were bandaged and she was taken under the shade of an elm tree.
Later still, she discovered that she had broken her staff. She did not remember. As the routiers dragged aside carcasses and worked to repair the wagon, Jehan disappeared for a time, then returned with a new staff. He had purchased it in Montpellier, he said, but kept it hidden until he judged Talysse was ready for it.
Her new staff was just taller than she was. Each end was weighted by an iron sheath nearly a foot long. The staff itself was ash, smooth and golden. She placed its middle at her two fingers and it balanced perfectly. She was too exhausted to smile, but she thanked him.
“It is not a present,” the elf said. “It is yours because you are ready.”
In one quarter she was praised for her courage, but in another they asked why a mountain wolf had attacked, and they spoke of the ill luck that had befallen them since Arles. Several had been injured, one badly, and two fine horses were dead. What might explain this, they asked one another loudly, then whispered their replies. It did not help that Lop had to give up one of his own horses to replace the ones killed. He handed it over only at Brasc’s insistence, and with many a black look at Talysse. Even Jehan was met with ill grace, for all regarded Talysse as being his charge in some way.
“It’s not right,” Talysse complained to her companions. She had tried to keep her disappointment private as the karwan continued along the road to Toulouse. “It’s not fair.”
“It is natural enough,” Jehan said. “People look to place blame for misfortune.”
Talysse glared at him. She was hurt and angry and she wanted him to feel the same.
“Be patient with them,” Gonsallo advised, then he said no more. The look Talysse hurled at him made the trovador suddenly interested in tuning his cittern.
“It is most unfair,” Detta said, scooting a little closer to Talysse. “If not for Lyssie, we might all have died. Ayi, ayi.”
“Exactly,” Talysse said, and she patted Detta on the arm. “So we were attacked. It must happen all the time, out in the wild like this. I should think.” Her look dared the others to disagree.
“Maybe this creature was driven by hunger,” she continued. “He ate those horses fast enough.”
“Poor horses,” Detta said softly.
The two men pretended to be quite busy.
“What other explanation is there? Maybe wargs have always lived here and no one knew. I suppose the wagoneers know every hill and cave?”
“Mayhap,” Detta agreed. The men worked in silence.
“Or what? I suppose Saveric conjured a monster, is that what you think? Nonsense.” She dismissed the proposal no one had made. “He could have killed me twice over, but didn’t. Gah. I don’t care, I truly don’t. The thing is dead. That’s all there is to say.”
So ended the one-sided conversation she had almost every day. Every night, she dreamed of teeth and blood, and woke up sweating.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
River Crossing
Another storm came in the night, announced by thunder that shook the wagon. The shutters were closed, but lightning lit the gaps in quick flashes. Talysse sat up, blinking in the erratic light.
“A storm, my dove,” Detta said. She, too, was sitting up.
The thunder sounded again, long and close, reverberating in her chest.
“Uff!” Detta cried.
Outside, horses shrilled. A child wailed, and voices called out in commands and oaths.
Talysse opened a window. Lightning jagged overhead, fingers reaching nearly to the ground. It revealed a camp in turmoil, people running, hitching the horses. She caught only that glimpse, then darkness returned.
The rain came all at once, in gusts that hammered huge drops against the wagons.
The door of the wagon swung open. The wagon lurched heavily and for a moment only a single hand clung to the door. Talysse caught a glimpse of the other wagons behind, barely visible through waterfalls of rain. Then Jehan swung into view, all but dove
into the wagon, and slammed the door behind.
He was muddy and soaking wet. He shook himself like a dog and droplets sprayed the walls.
“Hey!” Talysse cried.
“Apologies,” Jehan said. “Trouble has come with the storm.”
Thunder boomed, sounding very close. Detta let out a small yip.
“Trouble?”
“Gens d’armes on the road behind, riding even at night, even in the storm. They are surely the wizard’s men.”
“Then we flee,” Detta said.
“Yes, but the bridge ahead is guarded, by the count’s men.”
“I do not know this count,” the gnome said.
“The Count of Toulouse has chosen to cooperate with the Syndicat, or so it appears. Brasc does not want to take a chance on loyalties when there is another way.”
“What way is that?”
“We cross the river.”
“You said the bridge is guarded.”
“It is.”
The wagon lurched into motion, jerked, then lurched again, rattling from one end to the other.
“The only safety for the karwan,” Jehan continued, “is to get across the river at once. The Count of Toulouse may be willing to detain routiers in his own lands, but he won’t invade another to do it.”
“Across the river?” Detta asked. “Is it quite a small river?”
Jehan waved a hand. “We are at the Aude, madame. It is big enough and its waters are high. But be reassured. Brasc is an old hand. You will be as safe as can be on the river.” He smiled at her.
“Big enough,” Detta said. “Ayi ayi.” Then she said, “Uff!” as the wagon thudded hard and stopped. Even through the drum of the rain they heard Brasc shouting at the horses. The wagon rocked forward and back twice, then lurched free of whatever hole had caught it.
“We head for a ford,” he said.
He put a hand on Talysse’s shoulder. “I must go up front to help Gonsallo.”
“Gonsallo!”
“Yes,” the elf said. “In the rush, we find ourselves short of drivers. I know little of wagoneering, but maybe between the two of us we can manage.”
His grip on her shoulder was firm, his eyes steady. She nodded.
For the next hour the wagon rattled along the road. Talysse sat on her knees to peer out the window, but could see little. The wagon jounced and rolled so hard, she kept getting tossed about and eventually gave it up. Long rolls of thunder joined the steady beat of the rain, while lightning bathed the interior in lurid colors. Talysse had to close the shutter to keep the rain out. Detta’s eyes were big as cups, but she held Talysse tight and told her not to be afraid.
She was just about to knock on the wall and ask where they were when the wagon turned rather sharply to the left. The road at once grew much worse. Talysse and Detta were thrown about so violently they retreated to the floor, clutching each other. After several jarring minutes of this, the wagon shuddered to a stop and did not move again. The door opened and Jehan poked his head in.
“What is it?” Talysse asked, aware her words were edged with fear. She pictured armored men surrounding the wagon, halberds and swords drawn.
“We’re crossing the river.”
She stepped out, into the heavy rain. The wagon stood alone at the edge of a wide river that boiled along only a few feet in front of them. Nearby, willow trees drooped under the storm, trailing their green arms in the river.
Detta looked out.
“Madame,” Jehan said, “it is best you remain inside. Do not worry. These wagons float.”
Detta gulped. “Float?”
Brasc strode up, leading a roan-gray stallion with long black mane and tail. Water poured from them both in fountains.
“We cross here at once,” he said, his voice booming like the thunder. “Jehan and you, up. Unlash the poles. Fend off branches. The horses are strong. They will get you across.”
Jehan went up the side as easy as walking. Gonsallo climbed a little more uncertainly. He called back down to Talysse, “Keep my cittern out of the water as best you can, please.”
“When we get over,” Brasc said, “we will not stop until we are among the trees. Stay inside until then. You as well, mademoiselle.”
Talysse looked across the river. Three wagons were in the water. As Brasc had said, they really did float. One jolted, then rose partway out of the water.
Brasc climbed onto the driver’s bench. “Trovador, the buckets!”
Gonsallo handed down two wooden pails with rope handles.
“What’s this for?”
“Bailing.”
“You said the wagon floats.” Talysse looked around in alarm.
“I did and it does. It also leaks. Quickly!”
Talysse edged past the horse, whose looped reins were tied next to the wagon door, and hopped inside. As she pulled the door closed, the wagon lurched forward.
“Eep!” Detta said.
“Hang on, tante,” Talysse said, “this will be rough.”
Yet it was not. The wagon rocked and bumped at first, then it slid left and went smooth. Talysse peeked out the window and stifled a cry. The river was just outside, a mere arm’s length below. Where the current pushed the wagon a small wave rose, grasping up toward the window. The wheels rotated serenely, freed of their burden. Sound became muted and close. When thunderclaps struck, the sound skipped across the water like a flat stone. The steady rain speckled the river’s surface with a thousand dots. It felt as if she had been transported to another world and rode in a magic ship. At a distance she heard Brasc talking to his horses, encouraging them like a father. She heard also their snorts as they labored through the current.
Her feet were wet. Looking down, she saw a layer of water on the floor, not yet deep, but encroaching. Detta, seated on the bench, had not yet noticed. As calmly as she could, Talysse reached over, got the bucket, and said, “Tante, could you make some room at the window?”
“Of course,” Detta said. “Did you want a look?” She moved aside. She noticed the bucket and her mouth made an O, but no sound came out.
“Not to worry,” Talysse said, trying not to sound worried. “This is why they gave us the pail.”
The river buffeted the wagon, pushing at it like an unruly crowd. Twice the wagon shuddered as it struck a sandbar and the wheels dug in. Water seeped in steadily but not too fast. Every couple of minutes Talysse scooped another pail full and managed to get most of it out the window. Detta tried to help by using her cap, muttering dolefully that they would be safe, they would not drown.
They hit a third sandbar. The wagon stuck, lurched, then stuck again and this time did not move. Brasc’s voice came through the window, commanding and then pleading with the horses. One horse was uttering a terrible cry.
“Hoi in back there! We’re caught up!”
“It’s the horse,” Jehan called out. Thunder boomed overhead, drowning out any reply.
Talysse went to the door and opened it. Detta cried out to be careful, but Talysse pretended not to hear. She swung the door wide with one hand and gripped the jamb with the other.
The wagon stood in rushing water almost to the axle. The current surged through the wheels and around the bottom of the wagon just above the step. Brasc’s horse, still tied to the wagon, lunged horribly. One of its legs was caught on something below the water. Its intermittent cries sounded like those of a terrified child.
“Cut it loose,” Brasc roared through the storm. “The lead horses can’t pull. Damn all, cut it loose!”
“No, no,” Talysse whispered. The stallion’s eyes rolled wildly.
Gonsallo appeared above her head. He let himself down, clinging to the side of the wagon, a knife in one hand.
“Close the door, donna,” he said. “You might fall out when we break free.”
“I will not,” she said. She let go of the door and grabbed hold of Gonsallo’s thick leather belt. “You’re more likely to fall than I.”
The little Catal
an nodded once. He leaned forward. Detta grabbed Talysse, wrapping her furry arms around the girl’s waist. “Not without me,” she said.
He sawed at the rope that tied the stallion to the wagon, but the horse’s frantic efforts to break free made the rope tighten and go slack repeatedly. He yelled “Hold me tight!” and Talysse re-set her grip.
Gonsallo let go of his hold on the door. Leaning far out over the rushing water, he pulled the lead rope tighter and cut furiously. His weight pulled her one way, the wagon pulled the other; only Detta, her feet planted against the wood wall, kept them all from tumbling out.
After an achingly long moment, the rope came apart, the wagon lurched forward, and all three cascaded onto the floor, with Detta at the bottom. Another lurch, and the wagon stilled as it swung out into deep water again. Gonsallo jumped to his feet.
“Shut the door!” he shouted as he climbed back to the roof.
With a start, Talysse saw water coming in. It took all her strength to pull the door closed. Once she had secured it, she grabbed the bucket and bailed as fast as she could, for the water was well up to her calves. As she worked, all she could see in her mind was the last glimpse before she’d gotten the door closed—a roan stallion, water pummeling its flanks, its eyes showing white.
She was still bailing when the wagon struck the far shore. Brasc urged and cursed the horses out of the river, across rough ground, and into a stand of trees. As soon as the wagon stopped, Talysse dashed outside.
Brasc was already back to the tree line. Talysse joined him, followed by the others. All watched the horse.
“Ah, the poor animal,” Detta said.
“Come away,” Jehan said to Brasc. “It does no good to watch.”
“I am sorry, capitano,” Gonsallo said.
The stallion fell to its knees, but struggled back up again. No one wanted to leave. To turn away would be to abandon it a second time.
Talysse looked at the trees. Most were willows, their thousands of branches forming the curtain behind which the karwan hid. Nearby, an elm towered over them—an ancient thing, with limbs as thick as a man reaching up and out. She leaned close to the trovador and spoke quietly.
A Child of Great Promise: An Altearth Tale Page 21