“The stakes are worth it,” Torne said barely above a whisper, “and we will succeed.”
Another blob of tobacco juice hit the road in reply. The debate ended there.
The shadows of evening deepened, and the air became heavy with dew. Fireflies blinked, falling like flurries of light between the trees. Thrushes sang their evening songs, and as night descended, milky moonlight spilled into the woods. Torne led them off the road and into the clearing where they set up camp.
Karigan was thrown her usual hard chunk of bread, and was thankful as ever for the cache of food in her pockets given to her by little Dusty. The cache wouldn’t last much longer, and soon she’d go hungry again, unless she escaped. Her stomach grumbled as the scent of meat drifted from the mercenaries’ cookfire. Torne tossed pieces of dried meat into the stew pot.
Garroty stared at Karigan during the whole meal, stew dribbling out the corner of his mouth, which he roughly wiped away with the back of his hand. Repulsed, Karigan looked elsewhere, trying to focus on more pleasant thoughts. Maybe her father was looking for her by now. Surely Dean Geyer had sent him a message about her running away. Well, that wasn’t exactly a pleasant thought either. Her father was going to be irate when he found her. After all, it was the beginning of the spring trading season; any delay in sending out the caravans or barges could prove costly.
Torne stood up and stretched. “I’m going to scout for Immerez,” he announced. “That fool should have caught up with us days ago.” He buckled on his sword belt, wrapped his worn cloak about his shoulders, and strode out of camp.
“Watch out for ghosties!” Garroty taunted, chuckling heartily. Torne’s step faltered as he disappeared into the night.
Silence filled the clearing. Garroty pinched a wad of tobacco from his belt pouch and stuffed it into his cheek. His gaze drifted from Karigan to Jendara, and back again. He leaned back onto his elbows, chewing at his ease. Jendara’s expression was stony as she drew her sword from its sheath. From a pouch she removed a soft cloth, oil, and two whetting stones. The hiss of blade against stone filled the clearing.
“I love women who carry weapons,” Garroty said. “The danger of it excites me.”
The hissing ceased. “You’re a foul man, Garroty. Be silent before you lose something very precious to you.”
Garroty laughed. “It sounds like a challenge to me.”
“I’ve been wanting to unman you since I first laid eyes on you.”
“Then go at it, woman. I’ll have fun stopping you.”
Karigan tensed as Jendara gripped the hilt of her sword and leaped lightly to her feet. Garroty did nothing, and Jendara hesitated.
“Well, woman, come on. I’m waiting.”
Jendara snarled. “Stand up. If you’re a warrior, you will fight like one.”
Garroty chuckled and slowly pushed himself up from the ground. He stood with his arms spread out wide. “I’m standing, woman. Come for me, and I’ll show you my blade.”
A howling pierced the forest, almost human in its cry, followed by the trampling of foliage. The horses whickered nervously.
“What was that?” Jendara asked.
Garroty shrugged, unconcerned. “Probably some wolf looking for dinner.” Then with a wicked grin he added, “Maybe it’s found Torne.”
Jendara muttered under her breath, looking from the mercenary to Karigan. “I’m going to check it out,” she said. Glaring at Garroty, she added, “Leave the prisoner alone.” She held her sword before her, and stepped uncertainly into the darkness in the direction of the disturbance. Karigan looked pleadingly after her retreating back.
When Jendara was out of sight, Garroty shook his head. “Foolish woman. Just a coyote chasing a hare, I’ll reckon. The horses are quiet now, like nothing happened. No matter.” He turned his eyes back on Karigan. “It will give us a little time alone.”
“Don’t come near me.” Karigan’s voice quavered as she spoke.
Garroty was across the clearing in three strides. He seized her arm, and lest she cry out loud enough for Jendara to hear, he clamped a sweaty hand over her mouth. He yanked her to her feet, and before she could squirm away, he wrapped his arm around her chest and held her securely. If only her hands weren’t tied!
“I’ve been waiting for this.” His hot breath filled her ear damply as he spoke, and smelled of stale tobacco. Garroty dragged her beyond the clearing into the dark of the forest. She kicked and writhed, but the man must have a hide like boiled leather. She raked his shin with the sole of her boot—a trick taught her by the cargo master—but it didn’t faze him one iota. Most people would have screamed with pain.
Minutes passed like hours as Garroty dragged her, and then threw her to the ground. The barest shred of moonlight fell across his face, revealing a sickening grin. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he repeated. With a childlike giggle, he unbuckled his sword belt and dropped it to the ground. Karigan rolled over and started to crawl away, but Garroty caught her in the small of her back with his foot, and ground her into the dirt. She gasped for air.
“If you fight,” he warned her, “I can easily break your spine.” He let his foot rest there for a moment, pressing down when she moved the slightest bit. Then he pulled it away, caught her under the ribs with his toe, and rolled her onto her back again. Karigan gasped for breath, her side throbbing with pain.
Garroty fell to his knees and straddled her. The stench of his unclean body was overpowering, his very sweat reeked of tobacco. Tobacco drooled from his mouth and stained her shirt. Karigan shook uncontrollably.
Fight, fool!
It was a voice Karigan remembered. The voice she had heard that night in the settlement. Garroty’s hands now pinned her shoulders to the ground. His expression was rabid.
Fight! the voice commanded.
Yes, fight. The cargo master had taught her several tricks should she ever be in a situation such as this. She lunged and sank her teeth into Garroty’s wrist. He screamed and yanked his hand away, almost snapping her head off her neck with the force.
He growled and struck her across the face.
The blow sent reverberations ringing through her body, and she blinked dazedly. Garroty examined his wrist. This distraction might be her only chance—he was vulnerable with his legs spread above her as they were. She locked both hands into a single fist and punched upward. Garroty’s jaw fell slack as if uttering a silent cry. His eyes bulged like a fish’s, and he clutched his crotch.
Karigan poised to punch his ugly face in, when she heard Jendara’s laughter. The swordmaster sheathed her blade and crouched beside them. “Seems I underestimated you, girl. You don’t need a sword to unman this idiot.” She chuckled mirthfully at Garroty. “You like dangerous women, do you? It seems to me it would be of service to all women if we permanently crippled you.” She reached for her dagger.
Garroty’s face swelled with such blood that Karigan thought it might explode. Instead, his fist slammed into Jendara’s face. The impact sent her flailing backward, her head striking the ground hard. She didn’t move.
Garroty grunted in satisfaction and leered down at Karigan. “This is going to be more interesting than I thought. When I’m through with you, I’ll finish off with her whether she wakes up or not.”
Not willing to leave himself unprotected a second time, he grabbed both of Karigan’s wrists, and knelt across her legs.
Karigan thought desperately. She thought back to summer evenings in an empty warehouse on her father’s estate where the cargo master practiced swordplay with her. For one lesson, he left the wooden practice swords leaning against the wall and devoted the session to what she could do with her bare hands.
“Now, Kari,” Sevano had said, as she sat cross-legged on the dirt floor. “There may be a time when no weapon you’ve got. I’m gonna show you how to use your hands and feet to maim, and if need be, kill some thug who tries to harm you. But first, let me tell you where it’s gonna hurt him most. . . .”
She
had tried Garroty’s shins and groin already. What was left? She couldn’t pinch the nerves in his hands, and she couldn’t kick—she was too immobilized by him to do anything. Sevano would disagree, though. She thought frantically.
Once she decided, she breathed a short prayer and gathered herself up. Propelled by her elbows and shoulders, she slammed her head into Garroty’s face. Not a precision move, but it would have to do. There was a muffled cry and he fell back clutching his nose. Blood was splattered across his face. He curled into a fetal position on the ground, writhing in pain.
Karigan dared not breathe, fearing she had not damaged him sufficiently, and that he would be back on her to finish what he had begun. But he didn’t get up, and after several minutes, he stopped moving altogether.
She crawled to him on knees and elbows, and saw that his chest did not rise or fall. The cargo master had said that if the nose was bashed into an assailant’s head, the bone would shatter and pierce the brain, killing him. Karigan had killed a man.
She had killed Garroty and was appalled because it did not bother her.
Jendara still lay unmoving, rivulets of blood trickling down her cheeks from her nose. She wasn’t dead, for she breathed, but she didn’t look likely to wake up in the next few moments. This was Karigan’s chance for escape.
She espied Garroty’s discarded sword and drew it. She rubbed the rope that bound her hands against the blade, carefully so she wouldn’t slice herself. With relief bordering on joy, she watched the rope fall away—her hands were free!
She hastened to her feet to run to The Horse, but paused. The ring of Kariny G’ladheon gleamed in the moonlight on Jendara’s hand. Karigan slid it off the swordmaster’s callused finger and onto her own. It had always been a little loose on her, but now it fit perfectly.
A twig crunched behind her. Karigan whirled around.
“This is quite a scene.” Torne’s face was more grim than she had ever seen. “Somehow—I’m not sure how—you’ve killed my friend and hurt my partner.” His sword shooshed out of its sheath.
Defend yourself, the voice thundered in Karigan’s head. Jendara’s sword, still sheathed at her side, was closest. She grabbed the hilt and drew it. The black band seemed to disconnect the blade from the hilt. The sword was of the best balance she had ever held—of course, it belonged to a swordmaster.
“Foolish girl,” Torne said. “You are no swordmaster. You dirty her blade by touching it, but you will die on mine.”
Torne thrust without preamble and Karigan barely deflected it. She tried to remember the exercises Arms Master Rendle had drilled into her head, and the hints and tricks Sevano had taught her, but Torne was relentless and all she could manage was to duck and block the onslaught of blows. Each strike from Torne jarred her body and numbed her arms from her fingers to her elbows. If there was any time she was going to die, it was now.
Torne’s speed and rhythm was a dance. Karigan had never seen anything like it, and was enthralled by his deadly skill. His feet barely shifted, he never swung the blade more than required. His economy of movement was grace itself.
After just moments of swordplay, Torne raised his sword for the death blow, but time stilled. Cold filled Karigan’s body—not a chill really. It was like being a glass filled with cold water. Then there was something else . . . an awareness of another.
Her arms were buoyed by another’s strength, and her reflexes guided by another thought process. Her own awareness grew dim, and she became a bystander in her own body. Or was it her own body? Two points of severe pain in her back twisted her insides.
The action resumed, and the would-be death blow was miraculously blocked. Raven’s sweep to the side. The voice echoed from far away in her head. The same voice that had told her to fight and defend herself. The same voice that had tried to speak to her at the settlement.
One and two and three and upthrust, five. The voice and her body matched and countered the rhythm of Torne’s attack. She recognized some of the techniques named, but many more were new to her. All of the various moves, the balance and steps, the angle of the cutting edge, fell into place within her in a way they hadn’t when taught by Sevano or Master Rendle.
Was that shock registering on Torne’s face as she blocked a particularly difficult thrust? Was that sweat that dampened his brow?
Oversweep, Crayman’s Circle, three and four and swipe!
She watched in amazement as the tip of her sword slashed across Torne’s leather jerkin. Although it only made a long cut in the leather, his face blanched as if it had been his own flesh.
“Who are you?” Torne panted, his eyes wide in . . . fear.
... two and three and Raven’s Sweep redoubled!
The move threw Torne against a tree, his arms and sword tangling in the evergreen boughs.
Butcher’s Block, one-two-three.
Torne barely avoided being chopped in three. Each swing of the sword caused the pain of arrows in her back to twinge, and the bleeding to start anew . . .
“Who are you?” Torne demanded again.
Burn, brooch, burn! By the flying horse, burn!
Torne screamed. He groped with his free hand for the brooch on his cloak. He grasped it, but jerked his fingers away with a cry. The distraction was enough.
Ice Slide now!
The blade ran through Torne’s jerkin and out through his back, impaling him to the trunk of the tree. His limbs jerked and flailed. Karigan’s nostrils flared with the metallic scent of fresh blood.
“Who are you?” This time it came as a whisper, barely heard over his raspy breaths.
A voice that was Karigan’s spoke words that were not her own. “I am a Green Rider and swordmaster initiate. You are spared Saverill’s fate, traitor.” The hand that held the hilt twisted the sword, and Torne’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. The presence within her turned to Jendara and reached for her dagger.
Stop! Karigan struggled to expel the presence from her, but it was like trying to disgorge her own guts. Leave me.
The presence drained from her, and she sighed as warmth flooded through her body again. F’ryan Coblebay stood before her.
I saved your life, he said. She is a traitor and must die.
“It is for me to decide,” Karigan said, “if she should die.” She gazed at Jendara lying on her back, neck naked to any blade she might draw across it. The blood was drying on the Weapon’s face, but she breathed normally and looked to be asleep. Karigan remembered when Jendara made Torne let her wear her greatcoat against the cold rain. Jendara had let her keep her hidden cache of food and had never told Torne about it. She knew Jendara would have killed Garroty to keep him from hurting her.
F’ryan Coblebay’s form flickered once. You must kill her.
“You kill her.”
I cannot unless I enter—
“I won’t allow that.” Karigan clenched and unclenched her hands at her sides. “I will not be used.”
I saved your life.
The night’s events started to catch up with her. Her body trembled, and she felt cold all over again. The idea of someone else controlling her affairs infuriated . . . and terrified her. “It seems to me you set me on this course in the first place. You and that brooch.”
F’ryan Coblebay dimmed and flickered. No, not I. You were called. He looked up at the sky, then walked away, vanishing completely in the dark, but his voice lingered like an echo, . . . you were called . . .
Karigan sighed, feeling light headed from the whole experience. She wanted to get away from the carnage as soon as she could—Garroty’s crushed face and Torne’s impaled body—but she needed the brooch back, too. Jendara murmured incomprehensibly and twitched on the ground. She would have to be quick.
Torne was pinned to the tree like a cadaverous scare-crow, his arms snagged at odd angles among the evergreen branches. The brooch clung by a thread to his cloak. With a shudder, she plucked it away. It had burned a hole right through his cloak and jerkin, and had brande
d a red shadow of the winged horse on his flesh.
The Berry sisters had been right in a sense—the brooch would tolerate no others to handle it, except Green Riders. It had merely waited for the most advantageous moment to inflict its wrath, when commanded. She shuddered again and pinned it to her shirt.
She fled the carnage, pausing only to collect the belongings that had been taken from her. She and The Horse galloped away, disappearing as they went. If Immerez was to have met them days ago, he may be nearby. It wouldn’t do to be snared again, just as she was escaping.
Jendara crawled to the edge of the clearing. Something like thunder and lightning crackled through her hurting head, but she was determined to stop the Greenie. It wasn’t revenge. She applauded the end of the miserable Garroty’s life. And though there had once been friendship with Torne, he had gone sour long ago, and tolerance was all that remained. It was the directive of her lord to waylay the message, which meant waylaying the messenger.
Who was this girl who could overpower men so much stronger than she? Torne, pegged to the tree with her own sword, was nothing worse than she had seen in battle, but the expression frozen on his face, an expression of utter amazement, would haunt her for some time to come.
Jen was amazed herself. Who would have thought the girl capable? And the brand on Torne’s skin . . . exactly who were they dealing with?
Jendara’s dagger shone dully in the moonlight as she reached the edge of the road. With the throbbing in her head, standing was impossible. Her stomach knotted in nausea.
She caught a flurry of movement on the road, and the pounding of hooves. She watched the girl and horse leave at a gallop, then fade out into nothingness. Jendara curled up on the ground, resting her head on her arm.
What were they dealing with?
Green Rider Page 18