by S E Wendel
She tilted her head to keep him in sight has he moved further into the hall—only to have Essa lightly box her ear.
“Keep still,” she grumbled. “You can admire that man of yours when I’m finished.”
“He looks very fine, doesn’t he?” Ennis mused.
Kenna pointed a threatening finger at her. “You’re to admire only—it’d be a chore to get you ready a second time.”
Essa let out an unladylike snort of laughter, and Lora blushed all the way to the roots of her hair.
It was another few moments before Essa was satisfied with her work and finally stepped back. Essa had made three braids, twining them together into a thick, tight knot bound at the nape of her neck. As she feared, her hairline already prickled.
Kenna stepped forward with her father’s breastplate, now modified to fit her, and began buckling her in. She drew back when she was finished, looking Ennis up and down appraisingly.
“And?” Ennis said, suddenly self-conscious.
“You’re a fearsome bride,” Kenna said, grinning with approval. “Now, I’ll go tell them you’re ready.”
When Kenna slipped out, Ennis turned to Essa.
She said, “Wearing this, it’s like Father’s here.”
Essa raised her chin, though her eyes glistened. “He is here. I think Father would’ve liked Manek.”
“No, he wouldn’t.”
“Not at first, on principle. But they would’ve gotten on,” Essa said. “And that’s something.”
“I wish he was here,” Ennis found herself saying. She cleared her throat to keep the tears at bay. “But, I’m thankful my sisters are.”
Lora fanned herself. “Don’t you start.”
“Let’s do this properly,” Essa said. She stood tall as she recited the first of the Highland marriage rites. “Daughter of earth and sky, you are blessed this day. Mithria smiles upon you and Ceralia blesses you. You woke as two; you will sleep as one. Go now and be joined.” And she leaned forward to kiss both Ennis’s cheeks and forehead; one for Mithria, one for Ceralia, and one of her herself.
Essa nodded, eyes still watery, and left the kitchen with Lora.
The hall was silent when Ennis walked in. The great table had been pushed against the far wall to accommodate the crowd of people who hurried forward as one when they saw her. Eager, merry faces gawked at her. She recognized some but not all, and self-consciousness throbbed through her again, her breeches leaving little to the imagination.
But then there he was, just ahead. A smile broke across his face at the sight of her, his eyes dancing. For his part, he was altogether too dashing, and she felt herself flush from head to toe.
Kierum stood at Manek’s side, ready, as chieftain, to lead the ceremony. She spied Waurin and Taryn over Manek’s shoulder, and Kasia, Kenna, and Kellen sat in chairs nearby, Kasia’s cheeks already damp.
Manek reached out and took her hands in his. She looked down at them; calloused, rather square, warm. And dear. So dear. She marveled that the simple sight of his hands could stir such strong feelings of want and affection.
With a glint in his eye that was somehow both rueful and merry, Kierum began.
He asked Themin and Ceralia to bless the marriage and smile upon the family newly made today. Kierum spoke of the joining of two people, two hearts and souls. Ennis and Manek both promised in their time to be true, loyal, and forgiving, to forsake all others and love each other even with their dying breaths.
“And now let us show this promise you have made to each other. May it be proof to all others, god and man.”
Kenna came forward, handing Kierum a small bowl of brown, mushy paste. Manek went first, dipping his thumb into the henna.
“One for your mother and father,” he said gently, pressing his thumb to the cool breastplate just where her right collarbone lay beneath.
She felt tears pricking at her eyes, but she held them back with a smile.
He repeated the action on her left side. “And one for me, your husband. Let Themin, His Host, and His People know you evermore as mine.”
Now it was Ennis’s turn to dip a thumb into the paste and press it to his own armor, on the left side of his chest, just above the heart.
“One for me, your wife,” she said. “Let Ceralia, Her Host, and Her People know you evermore as mine.”
There was one last rite for Kierum to administer, but before he did, he nodded at her and winked. She didn’t know how he knew, but she probably had Kasia to thank.
Ennis’s smile turned almost shy as she drew her hands out from Manek’s and unclasped the left cuff. Reclaiming Manek’s right hand, she slipped it on and closed the clasp, as relieved as Taryn must be that it fit perfectly.
When she looked up, she met Manek’s gaze. His eyes shone like molten gold as his fingers laced with hers.
“May these bind us to each other,” she said in place of the Highland priest who wasn’t there to. “And may these remind all those on Mithria’s green earth that we walk through this life together.”
“And I, the gods, and everyone here say it is so,” Kierum finished.
“We say it is so!” chorused through the hall.
And Manek pulled her close and kissed her, making it so.
Fifty-Five
Let not a woman shrink back from the prospect of battle—instead, let her meet it with a strong arm and bared teeth. A woman has just as much a place in this world as any man. So let her fight for this world and let her win it.
—Adelaide Morland Dunstan, former Queen of the Highlands
“Here. I want you to take it. You’re already wearing his armor.” Ennis looked from the gold-hilted sword Manek held out to her, a sun emblazoned across the pommel, to his face. He was trying to keep his smile light, as if handing over her father’s sword was a small matter.
She took the sword, sheathed in its ruby-encrusted scabbard, willing her hands not to shake. Running her thumb over that little sun, Ennis couldn’t bear to meet Manek’s gaze. How could she tell him what this meant? How could she tell him she’d trade this sword, this armor in a heartbeat if only he’d come back to her?
So she didn’t tell him, only lifted her chin and tried to match his smile.
Her horse, a dapple-gray brute that Manek assured her was a horse, shifted beneath her, making her knee press into Manek’s. He’d said the warhorse—whom he called Coro, but Ennis thought to call Brute—was one of Kennick’s and would be the picture of obedience, grace, and loyalty. As Coro the Brute tried to nip at Oren’s ear, she wasn’t so sure.
Ennis heard Manek sigh, and then his hand slipped around hers. It was time, she knew that, but still she held onto his hand. She wanted to be graceful in front of her new people, gathered in the streets of Rising, faces turned up to the great house. She wanted to put on a brave face for them after only being introduced moments ago as the new Lady Rising and commander of the defenses. But it was harder than she remembered.
Keeping her chin up, she listened without hearing as Manek called for the men to march out. The ground began to shake as nearly two thousand Lowlanders spilled out of Rising’s gate.
Manek’s fingers tightened around hers, and she leaned over to meet him halfway. His kiss was quick, as if he didn’t dare linger.
“I love you,” he said.
“And I love you. Come back to me.”
He nodded grimly. It wasn’t a promise, and a knife of worry began working deep into Ennis’s gut as she watched him spur Oren, Kierum at his side and their captains falling in behind them.
Ennis remained on the hilltop in front of the great house, unable to move but desperately wanting to ride out. She knew her place was here, but something fleeting kept nagging at the back of her head. It was like trying to grasp at a dream had the night before, only slippery images and feelings left behind.
She watched his head as long as she could, imagining she could see it even as he passed through the gate.
What was left behind were a reserve
unit of one hundred men and over four hundred of her brave women, those who’d built the wall and would see to its defense. They looked up at her now, ready.
Clutching her father’s sword tight, Ennis nodded at her own captains. Sabella she sent with a hundred to the south stairs, the reserves she sent to the west, Kenna to the east, and Ennis, with Essa, would have the north. To Lora she gave command of the six healing houses already prepared. Kasia oversaw everyone else, including those children whose parents would fight.
Swinging up onto the palfrey she’d been loaned, Lora waved at Ennis and went to the nearest healing house at a trot.
Securing their father’s sword on the saddle, she held out her hand and helped Essa climb onto Coro behind her.
When Ennis took up a bundle from Kasia and directed Coro towards the northeast, Essa put her chin on Ennis’s shoulder and asked, “Where are we going?”
“Something I must see to.”
Essa rolled her eyes at her vagueness but otherwise rode amenably with her. She only spoke up when they neared their destination. “Isn’t this where…?”
Ennis let Coro trot up to the Haven. The Sisters were busy readying for the work they would soon be doing. Cots had been erected outside, overflow for less critical patients. The garden was barren, stripped of any useful greenery and no doubt ground into all manner of powders and poultices.
One by one, the Sisters noticed them and stopped what they were doing, glaring up at Ennis. From the Haven, Irina came laden with bundled supplies. She almost gasped when she saw Ennis and Essa.
Renata came outside behind Irina and, seeing Ennis, huffed. “What are you doing here?”
Ignoring her, Ennis dismounted with her bundle and headed towards Irina. Her sister watched warily, her eyes red and puffy from a night of crying. Perhaps Irina would send her away, refusing her offering, but they had both lost and regained a sister yesterday. As they had shoveled Lowland dirt over Adena, Ennis realized that other things should be buried too. She’d already lost one sister; she didn’t have to lose a second.
Setting the bundle on the ground, Ennis unrolled the cloth to reveal a handful of swords. The metal gleamed in the morning light, but none of the Sisters moved to take one.
“What’s this?” scoffed Renata.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Renata if she’d forgotten what swords were, but she swallowed the jibe down. She wasn’t here for Renata.
“Extra weapons. Use them to defend yourselves. If it comes to that.”
“Mother Ceralia will protect us,” spat Renata. “Just as she’ll condemn you for your blasphemy. Those,” she jabbed a finger at Manek’s thumbprints, painting her breastplate, “are just lies.”
She swiped at the marks as if to rub them away, but Ennis caught her wrist and squeezed.
While Renata grimaced and groaned, Ennis said, “The only lies are yours. I pity you that you can’t tell the difference anymore.”
She released Renata, turning to Irina to say, “But the day is bigger than all of us. If the Midlanders breach the wall, they’ll destroy Rising. They won’t care that you’re Sisters. So defend yourselves, defend those in your care, and live to serve another day.”
Reaching out, she touched Irina’s hand, clutching the bundles in her arms tight.
“Please,” she whispered. “Keep yourself safe.”
Irina took a long breath, looking down at the swords then Essa, who’d dismounted and stood just behind Ennis.
“We’ll fight for our Haven. If it comes to that.” She shot Ennis a stern look, one that had been the bane of Ennis’s childhood. “But it shouldn’t come to that.”
“Yes, sister,” Ennis said as she’d always done to Irina’s demands.
Irina tenderly touched Essa’s cheek. “Keep the wildling safe.”
“Always.”
Irina nodded. “Go then. And may the Mother watch over you.”
Ennis and Essa said their goodbyes and remounted Coro. Ennis spurred him towards the north gate, ignoring the twinging in her heart. It had never been easy between her and Irina and it never would, but Ennis needed time. That was one of the many things she fought for this day—time, for her and Irina, for her and Manek, for Rising, for the Lowlands, and the Highlands too. They all needed more of it.
By the time they reached the gate, the army had passed through, leaving behind trampled earth and half a town. They’d broken into formation and begun walking down the slight slope into the meadow. Over their spears, pikes, and lances, Ennis saw the Midland hordes springing into motion.
With a terse nod from Ennis, five women set about closing the gate while seven others waited nearby with a skinned log to barricade themselves in. The log fell into place with a solid thunk, the sound driving a sharp pain between Ennis’s ribs.
A woman took Coro’s reins as Ennis and Essa slid from the warhorse onto the third step. Taking the stairs two at a time, they mounted the battlements.
For a moment, Ennis was atop her balcony in Highcrest again, watching her city burn. For a moment, the black hordes were there to take everything and more from her again. But just a moment. It was all she’d give herself.
The world was quiet save for the sound of marching. Boots slapped the muddy earth, chasing away the chirps of birds, the wind through the trees, even the roar of the river. Her world eclipsed to just that sound.
The Lowland line was neat and orderly, as if it had sprung directly from Manek’s mind. A third of the cavalry rode in front, Manek and Kierum at the center. Three columns rode and marched behind, the left and right made up of pikemen, archers, and infantry.
The middle column was a mass of horses and riders, moving behind the center, ready to push through the Midland lines, to crack Larn’s army in two. If all went as Manek hoped, he, the cavalry, and the right infantry column would take the right half and drive them into the river while Waurin, his hidden troops, and the left infantry column dispatched the remaining half.
She winced when the armies began trotting towards each other, but she wouldn’t turn away. Not when they charged. Not even when they met. Awful as it was. Just as a felled tree falls—branches snapping, timber shaking, roots cracking—so did the armies meet, spears snapping, shields shaking, and bodies cracking. It was something she never wanted to see again.
Essa gripped her hand, and Ennis crushed it in hers. She kept her eyes trained on Manek and the center, watched as they drove forward, the armies crashing together like waves of horseflesh. She dared not blink, dared not look away.
Her breath caught in her throat when she lost him. Oren reared, colliding with a Midland horse and rider. She saw the glint of Manek’s sword, saw his helmeted head, and then he was gone.
Shouts rang in her ears, so loud, so near that it couldn’t be from the battle.
Essa’s nails dug into her arm, drawing her attention away from the battle, away from Manek. Her sister’s eyes were wide, so impossibly blue, and she realized Essa was telling her to look south.
Ennis hurried along the catwalk, nearly jogging by the time she reached Kenna at the eastern staircase. Kenna needn’t have pointed. Smoke rose from the south, and Ennis watched as the prow of a ship cut through the river.
Oltaraani poured from the river and the southern trees.
“Those bastards are burning our ships,” Essa hissed.
Ennis turned on her heel, making towards the north stairs where Coro was tethered. “We have to make them attack us.”
“What?” Kenna said at the same time Essa said, “Why wouldn’t they?”
“We’ve got to make them contend with us, rather than attack the men from behind,” Ennis said. “Anything to get their attention—arrows, mud, rocks, whatever makes them attack us.”
“Done. I know enough Olt to insult their manhood. Always does the trick.”
And then Kenna was hurrying back to her post, leaving Ennis and Essa to fly down the catwalk. Ennis shouted as she went, a call to arms.
When they reached th
e north stairs, Ennis left Essa behind to oversee preparations as she leapt onto Coro. She took off at a gallop, rallying her women. Twenty took position behind the gate to bolster and barricade it with their own bodies. Neat lines of women with arrows, shields, tar, and buckets made towards the stairs. Children were hurried into houses closest to the center of town.
Lora emerged from one of the healing houses and caught Ennis’s eye.
“Be ready,” she said, and Lora nodded, her eyes bright and undaunted.
Astride Coro, Ennis made a full circuit of Rising, those in her command moving with determined efficiency. Because the catwalk was narrow, evenly spaced groups of women stood at the ready with their supplies of weapons, tar, and water at pulleys that would hoist up whatever those on the catwalk needed. Extra ladders had been placed to supplement the four staircases.
By the time Ennis returned to the north stair, the first arrows had already been fired by Sabella’s unit along the south. Quickly tying Coro up beneath the catwalk, which offered him some protection, Ennis sprang up the steps, taking the bow and quiver Essa handed her.
“You mustn’t let them reach either the gate or the meadow,” Ennis told her archers as she navigated the catwalk, Essa on her heels. “There are teams every thirty yards if you run out of arrows. If Oltaraani get close enough, tar them. They mustn’t get in and they mustn’t get to the meadow.” Ennis repeated those words until they became a chant.
She and Essa had barely taken their own positions, near where her unit abutted Kenna’s, when calls came down the line. With a quick word to the archer next to her, she and Essa hurried down the catwalk.
Smoke and tar burned acrid in the air, and the whiz of arrows cut through the shouts and cries coming from the southeast. Blood made the catwalk slick, and Ennis had to slow her pace as the wounded were hurried down the ladders. Pockets of battlement were left open, and Ennis called down to teams stationed below to send up reinforcements.
When she and Essa found Kenna near the southeast bend, they plugged the hole around her and nocked arrows. Hundreds of Oltaraani swarmed below, the ground strewn with bodies and the wall already painted in tar. It was a last resort, but if needed, they could set fire to the tar and keep the Oltaraani back that way. For a time.