by Kate Elliott
It did not take long for the main Quman force to recognize the new threat. A Quman chieftain joined the gathering horde. He was easy to spot because his wings glinted as if each were a knife of polished steel. Half his force split with him, turning neatly and breaking into a charge as the prince’s troops cleared the orchard. At a gallop, the two forces collided.
Zacharias, beside her, grunted softly, as though he himself had been hit. Heribert murmured a prayer. Blessing had two fingers in her mouth, sucking hard, as she squinted at the landscape below; it was impossible to tell if she understood what was going on.
Anna leaned forward. The sun was shining in her eyes and it was hard to see.
The prince, dragon helm gleaming, led the charge straight to the iron-winged Quman. Horse and rider disappeared under the prince’s assault; the brilliant wings splintered and vanished as the fight swirled over them. Now, at last, Walburg’s cavalry advanced as the gate closed behind them, blocking their retreat.
“How goes the fray?” Wolfhere’s voice surprised her.
“Well enough, I think. Don’t you ride with the prince?”
He chuckled softly as Zacharias glared at him. “Nay, child. I’m too old for battle.”
“Look,” said Heribert softly. “They’ve routed them.”
The field churned into chaos, Wendish soldiers pursuing the Quman, who scattered in all directions.
Sanglant split his group into three; his dragon helm could be seen chasing the largest surviving knot of Quman toward the river. Walburg’s forces hunted down Quman as well. Anna lost sight of Walburg’s lord where the slope and wood hid him from view, near where Sanglant had originally emerged.
“Quman!” From below, Matto called the alarm.
A group of fourteen Quman broke out of the trees and into the clearing, reining their horses aside when they saw the undefended tents, the ruined watchtower, and the square-walled little fort. Wolfhere drew his short sword and crept carefully to the parapet walk, avoiding rotted planks and gaps in the floorboards.
Zacharias yanked her down beside him. Through the gaps in the floorboards she saw Matto, Everwin, and the man everyone called Surly standing with spears to cover the breaches that riddled the first floor of the tower. From this angle she couldn’t see Den, Johannes, and Lewenhardt, who were stationed elsewhere. She stuck her hand into an alcove in the stone wall, drawing out the long knife she had laid aside just in case. Zacharias and Heribert had staffs, but everyone knew that Heribert was pretty useless in a fight. How well Zacharias could fight was a mystery to everyone, but the look of desperation on his face made her almost feel sorry for him.
Heribert slid over to Anna. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “They’ll loot the camp and then ride away. They won’t even know we’re here.”
“I kill them,” interrupted Blessing. The cleric hissed softly and set two fingers over Blessing’s lips. The little girl sighed disgustedly and shut her eyes.
By now the sound of horses crashing through the undefended camp and of men calling to each other in their harsh language carried easily. Fabric ripped. Pots clattered. A horse neighed. Anna took little comfort in Heribert’s words. She hid the knife up her sleeve so that, should a Quman reach her, he might think her unarmed and easy prey.
What betrayed them she never knew. Maybe it was only curiosity on the part of one of the Quman soldiers.
She heard it because, crouched down, she could see nothing except her companions, the crumbling parapet wall, and the sky. A soldier must have investigated the stairs, where one of the traps had been laid.
A scream cut abruptly through the sounds of looting. A body fell, wetly, in awful silence. At once, the Quman shouted to each other and a rain of arrows spattered down along the parapet walk. One slammed into the wall above Anna and flopped over to clatter onto the plank beside Heribert. She peeped out over the wall.
Crazy Lewenhardt had found himself cover on a slab of wall broken off on either side and therefore hard to climb. The best archer in Sanglant’s troop, he started shooting now, picking his targets carefully. A dismounted Quman who was advancing on the tower fell writhing, then scrambled backward with an arrow sticking out of his thigh. Another shower of arrows followed; Anna ducked. Through the floorboards she saw Everwin grab at a rope just as Matto yelled.
“Three of them, in the left breach!”
Rocks tumbled as a winged soldier pressed through, leading with his spear. Either the rocks crushed him or he leaped out of the way; she couldn’t tell as dust rose, screening her view. Surly was already hacking at the central breach, trading blows with an unseen foe. Shouts rose from Den and Johannes as Quman found the other usable stairs leading to the parapet. She heard the sharp “twang” of the last trap released. Wolfhere ran down the walk to aid them, but he hadn’t gone more than ten steps when a Quman leaped onto the parapet between Wolfhere and the tower. The stone archway, all that remained of the old door, framed his frightful figure. His wings fluttered as the wind picked up; several feathers, scraped off from his climb, drifted out into the gulf of air beyond the wall.
Anna shouted a warning, leaping up as she drew her knife.
Lewenhardt’s arrow took the man from behind. He staggered and fell forward just as Wolfhere, turning, struck him down. But he still wasn’t dead. Anna ran forward as he groped toward the wall. She kicked away his spear, then leaped back as Wolfhere rolled him over and slit his throat.
“Wolfhere!” shouted Heribert desperately.
Anna turned to see Matto scooting up the narrow stair that led from the lower room to the upper. The youth jabbed his spear down, and down again with his right arm while his left arm was wrapped around Everwin, dragging him up as the other man kept kicking and kicking as though to shove away an enemy or to catch a step to propel himself upward.
“Damn,” said Wolfhere casually. He tossed the dead man’s spear to Anna. “Do your best, child.” He turned back to help Den and Johannes, both of whom she could now see being pressed backward up along the other stairs.
Heribert set Blessing down and leaped forward to pull Everwin free. Amazingly, the child had fallen asleep. Zacharias was nowhere to be seen.
Anna ran over to stand beside Matto as he heaved himself up onto the planks. Once Everwin was clear, she thrust the spear into his hands, then pried loose rocks free from the wall with Heribert’s help and started dropping them down the stairs as fast as they could get hold of new ones. Wings shattered. Men cursed. The angle and ferocity of their attack stymied the Quman for the moment.
“Anna, Anna, give me the baby!” Zacharias’ voice called from below, from outside the guard tower.
Darting to the side of the tower overlooking the inner ward of the little fort, Anna peered over the side. Zacharias had actually climbed over the parapet wall and slid down the outside of the watchtower to the inner ward, where only the ruined square of walls protected him from their attackers.
A trio of Quman archers had Lewenhardt pinned down in his redoubt. Den was wounded, an arrow stuck cockeyedly out of one shoulder, and he had fallen back behind Johannes and Wolfhere, who retreated step by laborious step back up the stairs in the face of superior numbers. An arrow glanced off Johannes’ helmet and he stumbled, only to be yanked out of reach of a Quman spear by Wolfhere.
“Rocks!” cried Everwin.
Two Quman riders leaped the fallen stones half blocking the entrance to the inner ward and pulled up inside. Zacharias shrieked in helpless fear and threw himself onto the ground in abject surrender. There was nothing she could do to help Zacharias, if he’d been so stupid as to leave the only refuge they had. But she could still, maybe, save Blessing.
As one of the Quman drew and aimed at the frater’s prostrate body, Anna gritted her teeth and tugged another stone off the wall before staggering back to throw it down right on the helmet of the Quman soldier trying to push up onto the second floor. Matto cheered weakly as the Quman dropped out of sight. Blood ran from both his legs as he sat down
hard, face pale, too weak to fight.
“They’ll never take her,” cried Heribert, grabbing the spear out of Matto’s hands.
A horn rang clear and sweet. The Quman shouted to each other. The attackers below vanished between one breath and the next, and she heard them scrambling over rocks to get to their horses. The ring of swords over by Wolfhere ceased as abruptly. Anna ran over to the outer wall, standing on tiptoes and craning her neck just in time to see Wendish soldiers break out of the woods.
The lord of Walburg and twenty stout fighting men had arrived, thank God.
Good Wendish steel made short work of the last of the Quman. When they were all dead and sentries had ranged out to cover the ground, the lord pulled off his helm and coif to reveal that he was a woman.
“Well met, my lady Waltharia,” cried Wolfhere from the parapet walk. To Anna’s surprise, he was grinning, an odd expression on that normally secretive face. He shouted to the others. “Best go down and pay our respects.”
Zacharias staggered out of the inner ward, having suffered no worse injuries than scraped knees and hands. Only Anna and Heribert had noticed his ignominious escape attempt, and if Heribert meant to say nothing, then Anna decided she would keep her mouth shut, too. Surly was dug up from the first-floor rubble; he’d taken a hard blow to the head and was only now waking, but otherwise looked unharmed. The rest straggled over, limping, cursing, but otherwise victorious.
“God save us,” said Lady Waltharia as the motley defenders gathered before her. “I’ve never seen a more wretched crew than this one. Where’s the brat?”
Heribert was carrying Blessing, who yawned sleepily and cracked one eye, twisted up her face in a delightful grimace, and decided against waking up. With another yawn, she snuggled her head against Heribert’s shoulder and promptly went back to sleep.
Lady Waltharia dismounted to examine the child, although she was careful not to wake her. “Handsome little thing. Although I suppose she’d be so, with the prince for a father. Who are you?”
“I am Brother Heribert, my lady. Brother Zacharias and I constitute Prince Sanglant’s schola.”
She had a good laugh, friendly and open. “A schola, an Eagle, a brat, and this nut-brown creature.”
“I am called Anna, my lady,” said Anna stoutly.
“So you are, if you say so, but why on earth does a girl of your tender years ride with Sanglant’s war band?”
“I am the nursemaid, my lady.”
“Ah. A good thing, too, for the prince to provide his child with a nursemaid if he insists on dragging her about with his war band. Are you practical? Do you scare easily? Can you endure the pace of his army?”
“That’s a lot of questions, my lady.”
“Nor should you answer them, if you’re wise. Here’s a few likely looking youths as well,” she added, marking Matto and the other five soldiers with a comprehensive glance. She was perhaps thirty years of age, a tall woman made imposing by her mail and swagger, with ruddy cheeks and light brown hair pulled tightly back in a braid. Sweat beaded on her forehead. One of her ears was missing the tip of its lobe, and her easy grin revealed a missing tooth. She beckoned to Wolfhere, who stepped forward respectfully. “So, Eagle, I hear a rumor that you’ve been banished again. Or that you deserted the king. It’s so difficult to sort out rumor from truth, is it not? Ought I to send you on your way with the flat of my sword, or imprison you?”
Wolfhere smiled. To Anna’s amazement, she could see that he genuinely liked this woman. He was always so reserved that it was remarkable to see a real spark of emotion in his face. “I am pledged to aid the prince, my lady. I throw myself on his mercy in this case.”
She snorted, delighted by his reply. “On the mercy of the prince! Whom you tried to murder when he was but a mewling infant, if the old story is indeed true, and certainly my dear father believes it true, since he’s the one who told it to me.”
A sharp whistle, repeated three times, sounded from the trees.
“But I trust we can ask him ourselves,” she finished, turning at the sound of riders approaching up the track.
Blessing woke up abruptly, lifting her head and squirming so determinedly that Heribert gave up in disgust and let her wriggle out of his grasp. “Dada!” she yelped ecstatically as streaming gold banners appeared among the trees. A moment later the prince himself rode into view, quite splendid in his gold tabard, scarlet cloak, gleaming armor, and the intimidating dragon helm, gold dragon plating sculpted onto the helmet in such a way that it looked as if the dragon was about to launch itself into attack.
He pulled up his horse and dismounted at once, had barely gotten his helm off before Blessing was on him, clamoring to be picked up. “Hush, Daughter,” he said, laughing as he picked her up. He looked at Waltharia, who was admiring the fine figure he made. “It worked.”
“It always does.” She smiled as at an old memory, meeting his gaze straight on.
“Dada, look at me!” scolded Blessing, then shrieked with glee when he tweaked her nose.
“How is Hedwig?” asked Wolfhere.
Waltharia chuckled. “Hates you as much as ever, or so I assume from the stream of oaths she let fly when she realized last night that it was you who had arrived in the train of the prince.”
“I shall endeavor to keep out of her way,” murmured Wolfhere mildly.
“So you had better, if you value all your limbs.” She turned back to Sanglant. “A timely visit, my lord prince. The Quman invested Walburg only six days ago. You saw what they did to the fields and orchards. There are a dozen farmers unaccounted for from the estates.” She walked boldly up to him and fingered the hem of Blessing’s tunic, smudged and ragged from play. The little girl eyed her suspiciously. “I am surprised, though, that you expose the child to so much danger, riding on campaign with you.”
“Less danger with me than with any caretaker.” Anna knew how fiercely he loved his daughter. She could see it in his expression now as he glared defiantly at Lady Waltharia, as if her good opinion mattered to him. “Better she die if I die than that she live without my protection.”
“And her mother—? Ah. Best we leave that subject for another time, I see. I’ll personally escort your schola and your nursery to the safety of my fortress.”
“I thank you,” he said stiffly, still looking irritated. He kissed Blessing. “You go with Anna, little one. Nay, no arguments now.” Nor did he wait for arguments. He handed Blessing over to Anna’s care and left again with his war band, thundering down toward the plain, no doubt to track down and kill as many fleeing Quman as he could.
Lady Waltharia did indeed escort them to Walburg, but she left them at the gates in the care of a steward and herself rode off to pursue their enemies.
Planks had been thrown hastily down over the outer ditch to accommodate the sally. Anna walked over, feeling safer that way as a servant led her mule. The planks shifted under her feet, and she had to throw out her arms to keep her balance before she reached solid ground. The next bridge led directly under the wall, guard towers looming on either side and murder holes spaced at intervals. She heard voices murmuring down the holes and glimpsed movement, soldiers watching from the safety of their fortifications. The gate creaked open; they passed through into Walburg itself.
For a city under siege it was remarkably clean and orderly. Avenues wrapped around the hill where the original fort had risen. Newer streets, all of them lined with plank walkways, radiated outward from the cathedral square. Tents had been thrown up in the square and in a handful of vacant lots in neat lines to accommodate refugees, but most of the unbuilt ground had been given over to orchards and gardens, provision against the siege. Smaller than Gent’s cathedral, the basilica of St. Walaricus had a tidy look about it, everything squared off, the lintels painted with intertwined spirals and linked circles flowering into wreaths and the tower decorated with a carved tree on each face, painted silver.
“The Villam sigil is the silver tree,” explaine
d Zacharias as they passed through the cathedral square on their way up to the fortified palace.
“So it is,” agreed Heribert, “but so also was St. Walaricus martyred by being hung from a tree by a heathen prince.”
“Clever of Villam to dedicate the cathedral to Walaricus, was it not? Then he could have it both ways.”
Heribert looked surprised. Anna liked him much better than she liked Zacharias, who had spit in God’s face, but even so, he made her kind of uncomfortable just because he was always so tidy and clean even in the worst camp conditions. Sometimes she just didn’t see the point of being so fussy.
“Do you think Villam chose to dedicate his cathedral to St. Walaricus just so he could display his own sigil upon the church tower without anyone calling him to account for such presumptu-ousness?”
Zacharias laughed. “Do you suppose Villam did not? He’s a more clever man than I, friend.”
“Than I devoutly pray we be spared his intrigues.”
Zacharias merely smiled. Anna didn’t trust him when he smiled, no more than she trusted the old Eagle Wolfhere who, like any wolf, looked as ready to bite you as to lick your hand.
The men-at-arms, even Matto, were led to the barracks, but Blessing and her personal retinue were given a tower room in the palace, good enough to see out along the river. There was a bed all downy soft, a smaller trundle bed heaped high with a feather quilt, and four sleeping pallets stacked against one wall. A half-dozen braziers heavy with coals warmed the chilly room. Anna sat cross-legged on the thick carpet since Zacharias, Wolfhere, and Heribert took the bench and chair. Blessing decided to sit on the table, right in the center, where she could command the servants as they brought in a hearty meal of chicken basted in mustard and parsley, a juicy broth, leeks cooked in butter, slices of veal with a mint sauce spooned over it, and honey dumplings.
The rich meal made Anna burp. She curled up at the foot of the bed, suddenly so sleepy that she wanted nothing better than a nap.