Adrienne Martine-Barnes - [Sword 01]

by The Fire Sword (v0. 9) (epub)

  "Heal, always heal. Kill the wolf! Restore me. Kill the wolf!”

  Eleanor was tired after a day on horseback, but she was obedient to the wishes of her mentor. She did not pause to wonder if she had the strength to do what she was asked. Then she heard Bridget’s voice, too. "Be careful. Circle to the right, always right, as you attack.”

  "Give me a garment... here, you, take off your tunic. I’ll be damned if I’m going to be hampered by skirts.” She picked the coat of mail off the floor where someone had left it when they’d put Lewis in the barrel. The man gaped at her, then slowly undid his belt. Eleanor weighed the chain mail in her hands, wondering if it was worth using. The man handed her his tunic. It smelled of earth and sweat and beer, but Eleanor didn’t care. Those were good, clean, real scents, and they reassured her.

  She moved to a dark corner and untied the sword and cloak from her back. Then she removed the blue tunic and rosy undergarment and put the man’s tunic on. It hung to her knees. She tied a belt around it with nervous fingers. The mail she left behind. She folded her robes carefully into a neat pile.

  Eleanor unrolled Bridget’s cloak and sword. Whispering a litany in words she did not understand, she picked up the sword. After a moment’s pause, she put the wonderful blue cloak around her for the first time. The chill that the lack of undergarments had left on her skin departed.

  The sword lay in her hand as if it had always sat there. This time there was no shock but only a feeling of strength and warmth. Deciding she was as ready as she would ever be, Eleanor turned to face the people at the table.

  "Milady...” Roderick began.

  "Just open the gate. We’ll talk about it later. Listen, he’s almost here.”

  "Open the gates,” Iseult said slowly. "God go with you, Esperanza.”

  When they came into the courtyard, the horse was standing there, his silver mane and tail twinkling in the darkness, and soft puffs of ruddy mist coming from his nostrils. He screamed his horsey challenge and stamped his feet on the stones, sending out little sparks of light.

  "Sorry, old fellow, but I can’t ride you without a saddle, not for this. But you can come along for the fun, if you like.” She caressed his soft nose.

  "Fun? Is she mad?” someone muttered near her.

  "No, only Irish,” Eleanor answered irrelevantly. The crowd around her was a glow of pale souls in the darkness. She could see fear and anxiety on the faces, but a few looked a little hopeful. She could hear the whisper of prayers from some of the women.

  The moon had risen, but its slender light was just a sliver of white in the sky. Still, Eleanor felt a faint flicker of power from it.

  The creaking of wood and metal told her the portcullis was being drawn up. She walked into the dark arch and out onto the drawbridge. When she got across, she looked back for a second and saw a slight glimmer' upon the battlements, which indicated that a few hardy souls had decided to watch.

  Wrolf and the horse stood on either side of her. She waited, listening to the terrible howling of the animal as it came closer. It loped forward, then stopped about fifty feet away from her and gave a growl that sent shivers over her body.

  It was indeed a wolf, or something of that nature, and it was enormous. She guessed its height to be about twelve feet at the shoulder, and she wondered how she was going to reach it.

  "Oh, Bridget, if only I were as tall as you. But if I can get under his belly... He’s so black.” She trembled a little, then threw her shoulders back and took a deep breath. "Away with you, son of Night! Go back to the pit that spawned you.”

  The wolf bounded toward her, a dark mist flowing from its slavering jaws. Eleanor stepped to the right and almost slipped in Clovis’s dreadful vomit. Wrolf howled, and the horse raced at the beast, running past its side, then rearing and striking its hooves at the rear flank. Wrolf leapt under the belly and closed his jaws on the other’s rear leg.

  The huge animal howled in rage and surprise. It turned its great head to snap at the horse, but the horse danced away. Eleanor brought the sword down on the undefended foreleg. Dark blood gushed out. She danced around to the right as the great head came around to snap at her.

  An enormous blast of lightning struck the ground nearby. The wolf howled and screamed at the light. The stink of ozone reached her over even the rotting smell of the beast. There was more lightning, until the four combatants were almost in a corral of bright bolts.

  Wrolf worried at the hind legs of the beast while the horse seemed to be wherever the head of the wolf was not, running in a circle around the animal. Eleanor darted around, cutting at whatever limb of the animal she could reach. Finally, she hacked through the sinew of one hind leg. The blood gushed out and hit her in the face, almost blinding her. She stumbled back and wiped her face on a sticky sleeve.

  The head of the beast loomed over her, his icy breath filling Eleanor’s nostrils. A terrible darkness covered her mind, but she raised the sword and hacked at the snout. The sword of Bridget flamed where it touched the muzzle, and the wolf screamed. The mental blackness passed, but the lightning almost blinded her.

  Eleanor stepped back and blinked. The rear end of the beast sagged slowly to earth. The horse drove its hooves into the backbone as the wolf twisted to try to reach it. Eleanor leapt forward and drove the sword into the exposed throat of the wolf with all her might. She pulled the sword out and stepped away.

  The wolf gave a gurgling shudder, and its head fell forward. A gasping breath was exhaled from its collapsing lungs. Eleanor felt the icy blackness cover her face. Then she knew nothing.

  There were voices nearby, but she could not reach them. They called her, but she was unable to answer. There was nothing but icy cold and darkness, except a distant rippling noise that meant nothing.

  "Lady Iseult, she hardly breathes.”

  "I can see that, Roderick! Bring me her things. Perhaps there is some virtuous herb or magic medicine within them. It has been a day and a night since she fell, and there is no wound. This is bread and fine cheese and some pieces of bark. A bottle. Nothing but water or wine. No, see how her tongue presses at her teeth.

  Lift up her head—gently, you old fool! It does not smell like water or wine, does it? Her tongue is so swollen ... hold her higher. I don’t want to choke her.”

  Something hard and cold touched her lips. There was a smell she could remember but not name, then a taste on her tongue, a bitter, acrid, green flavor. Some liquid flowed back into her throat and she swallowed.

  The rippling sound seemed to flow through her, and words without meaning echoed in her darkness. River, stream, brook, pond, spring. Green, green, green grow the rushes.

  Eleanor gave a choking gasp and opened her eyes. She clawed at the bottle Iseult held to her mouth and gulped a huge mouthful. The bitter taste of willow seemed to course over her whole being. The blackness dwindled and faded as she remembered the fight and the wolf s dark breath.

  She lay before the fireplace in the hall, dressed in a shift and piled deep in blankets. Wrolf was panting at her feet, and he gave one of his sharp barks. Iseult knelt beside her, and the old man cradled her shoulders in his trembling arms. Warmth returned to her and she began to sweat.

  "Thank you,” she croaked. Her voice sounded like a rusty hinge.

  "Shh. Don’t speak.”

  "Thirsty.”

  Iseult held out the bottle of water, and Eleanor shook her head. Iseult closed it up and went to the fireplace. She poured something from a pot hanging there into a cup and brought it back. She held the cup to Eleanor’s mouth.

  It was wine, hot and redolent of spices. It smelled better than it tasted, but Eleanor gulped it down. The dregs almost choked her. Then she pushed some of the coverings aside weakly.

  "Hot,” she muttered. Her throat ached as if she had screamed for hours. "Hungry.”

  Roderick released her and dragged away some of the blankets. Eleanor leaned back and let Wrolf lick her face. Iseult came with a bowl of sticky porridge and
fed Eleanor despite her slight protests. She fell asleep almost in the middle of a mouthful.

  She awoke as suddenly. There were more people in the hall now, moving quietly about, bringing food to the big table. She pushed away her covering and stood up shakily.

  "No, no, my lady. You are still weak.” It was one of the women.

  "No, I’m all right.” But she sat down quickly at the table. The woman scurried away and returned with Iseult. The fair woman looked at Eleanor closely but seemed satisfied with what she saw.

  "What day is this?”

  "’Tis the seventh day of March, my lady,” Iseult answered.

  I’ve been in Albion more than a month, and I only remember a week. I wonder if the wolf melted like the Black Beast did? How am I going to get to Ireland? I have to go. I’m running out of time.

  But Eleanor was too tired to move. Iseult put food before her and she ate slowly and painfully. Her jaws hurt and her head throbbed slightly. The meal passed in near silence, and it was only at the end that Eleanor became aware of the absence of the master of the household.

  "Where is your brother?”

  "Gone.”

  "Gone? Where?”

  "I don’t know. At first light yesterday, he put on his clothes and said he was going to Jerusalem. Then he tried to take your horse and nearly got himself killed. The last I saw of him he was walking east.”

  "You’ve had your hands full, haven’t you? What with me doing a Sleeping Beauty pastiche—or maybe it was Snow White—-I can see I am not making any sense to you. But you don’t appear unduly distressed by your brother’s departure.”

  Iseult offered her grave smile. "Distressed? More relieved than anything. I know you took... you drove the demons out of my brother, and for that I am grateful. But he was not a good man to begin with. It is difficult to explain. Clovis could never bear to be wrong in any matter, nor to lose any contest. I will not be surprised if someday word reaches me that he has conquered the City of Jerusalem and set himself up as king. But I would as soon have him far away from me, for I can never trust him. Yet I think he will change his mind and return, which I wish he would not, or worse, that he will be recaptured by this force that casts its shadow on us, completely, this time, and then come back.”

  "Was there any reason for this sudden need for pilgrimage?”

  "He said he had remembered that he killed the musicians and wished to be absolved from his sin.”

  "Only that he had killed them?” Eleanor asked.

  "Yes.”

  "I sincerely hope he will not return, Lady Iseult.”

  The two women fell silent across the table from each other. Eleanor wished she knew precisely what had happened after she had destroyed the wolf but decided she did not want to ask questions at night. In the morning, she would leave and go on. Now she needed nothing more than rest.

  The day was surprisingly bright. Eleanor blinked a little at the unaccustomed light as she came into the courtyard the following morning. The sky was no longer gunmetal, but a paler gray, and the sun above the eastern horizon was a hazy peach instead of the blot of amber she had learned to accept for light. As she looked toward the west, she saw the sky darkened again.

  Iseult had given her food—though the loaf and cheese from Sal were as fresh as they had been four days earlier—some wine, and a couple of Clovis’s outfits, plus new boots. Her old ones had been beyond recovery. The blood of the wolf had stiffened into slatelike hardness even before they cut them off her sleeping body.

  The clothes she had received from Sal were folded carefully away along with her older tunic and shift in the roll of her blanket. Iseult had offered her a saddle, a remnant of days when she had ridden herself, so Eleanor was dressed as a man, in cross-gartered trousers and high boots a little long in the toe, a knee-length tunic, and leather jerkin. The knotted white cincture held the tunic at the waist, bearing the little belt pouch with her knife and the holy water.

  Wrolf darted ahead across the stones into the stable, barking. The horse came out after him a few seconds later, trailed by an anxious-looking man carrying a saddle and blanket. He approached the horse with his burden, but the horse stepped smartly away.

  "Here, let me,” Eleanor said, setting her gear on the stones. "Good morning, big fellow.” She stroked his velvet nose. "Have they been feeding you well?” He submitted to her caresses with nickering responses.

  Eleanor took the blanket from the fingers of the man. He protested faintly. Roderick had told him to saddle the horse, and saddle it he would, if the pesky creature would just stand still. Saddling horses was no occupation for a female, however many wolves she might have killed, which he doubted, having missed the event for a romantic tussle with one of the kitchen girls whose screams of excitement at his ministrations had quite drowned out howls and lightning bolts alike. Eleanor ignored him and got the blanket across her steed’s back.

  She continued her aimless chatter to the horse while she threw the saddle across him, then put the belly strap around him. He bore it all with equine patience, accepting Eleanor’s apologies for the shabby blanket and worn saddle with great dignity. The man had finally decided she knew what she was doing and had stopped driving her mad with his directions and interference. She checked all the cinches twice, then tied the blanket roll on behind the saddle and looped her bags over the pommel.

  It was time to go. She overcame her reluctance to leave, which seemed to her to increase with each leave-taking, though none, she thought, would ever be so shattering as her departure from Sal. Roderick and Lady Iseult came out to see her off, and Eleanor could sense their relief at being rid of so troublesome a guest. But Lady Iseult kissed her graciously and expressed a proper regret at her departure.

  They went through the tunnel, under the portcullis, gate, and out to the beginning of the drawbridge, Eleanor leading the horse lightly by the reins. Here she mounted, and Roderick handed her up the rowan-wood stave. The sword and cloak were in their now accustomed place across her shoulders, covered by the woolen cloak, which was beginning to look terribly shabby.

  Eleanor looked out at the place before the castle gates where she had battled a creature of the Darkness and almost succumbed. The ground was scorched in a circle perhaps a hundred feet across. Near the center of the circle lay a tumble of stones she did not remember.

  "What is that?” she asked, pointing with her stave.

  "Why, milady, that is the remains of the beast,” answered Roderick in his quavering voice.

  IX

  They moved across the rumpled landscape at moderate speed. Eleanor thought about the Stone Wolf and his icy breath. She now knew more about the Creatures of Darkness, or at least some of them, than most of the people in her world, but she did not find the knowledge in any way comforting. But she spent much of the gray morning thinking about the melted Black Beast and the Stone Wolf, wondering why the two creatures had ended so differently.

  The sky grew steadily darker as they moved south and west. "I hope you know where you are going, because I have only the vaguest idea. I would swear it was going to rain, but it’s just the light. I’d give a lot for some honest sunshine.”

  A little past the noon hour, they stopped in a small circle of standing stones. Eleanor ate her bread and cheese while Wrolf rested and the horse cropped the grass inside the circle. She sensed the odd virtue of the place, for not only was the grass greener and higher than outside, but the circle seemed welcoming, though these stones had no voices that she could hear.

  They went on, the silent landscape darkening until it felt like early evening. Eleanor found the total absence of people very disquieting, but the lack of birds bothered her more. And whatever place they were traveling toward was very bad indeed.

  The horse seemed to sense her unease. He nickered softly to reassure her and, curiously, she was. They swung west abruptly, bringing the area of darkness to their right. Eleanor could see nothing distinct within the shadowed place but guessed it might be the Glass
Castle Ambrosius had warned her of. The notion of returning there and driving the Darkness away did not seem in any way appealing, but then neither did the other tasks she had been given.

  Eleanor was looking for some place they might camp when she saw the man. He appeared to be nothing more than a fellow traveler, but her experience at Nunnally made her wary. He was a tall man, but he was so thin that his clothes hung on him. He saw her and quickened his pace toward her, moving with a shambling gait.

  Wrolf bristled and growled, which was all the warning Eleanor needed to alert her. The man paused about ten feet from her, and she took a good look at him. His eyes were two dark pools with very little white around them, and she was reminded of the expression of a drugged girl she had seen in Greenwich Village. He had big teeth, which seemed even larger in his thin face. The half-dead look she had seen in Clovis’s eyes was much stronger in the stranger, and she assumed that he was a person who belonged wholly to the Darkness.

  He appeared to be listening to something she didn’t hear. Suddenly, he leapt forward like an ungainly avian, his ragged clothes flapping about him. She cracked her rowan stave down sharply on his skull. Bright sparks showered his head and body, and a shimmer of silvery light chased up and down his body.

  The man opened his mouth and howled silently, leaping about and slapping at himself like he was on fire. He danced around like a demented crow, then charged again.

  Eleanor struck the head of the stave down on his shoulder. He staggered but grabbed for the head and caught it for a second. Then he snatched his hand away, and she could see the thin flesh of the palm smoking. The silent scream rose in his throat as pale fire traveled up his arm. It raced up the muscles and across his shoulder, then up the scrawny neck.