“If they keep to a straight heading, they’ll ride just west of the forest’s edge. Should we intervene, or stay hidden?”
The mob was gaining on the three, like watching hounds chase a desperate fox. Jordan gripped her sword hilt, praying the fox escaped.
Footsteps came from behind, scrambling up the giant stairway. Ellis, Yarl and Thaddeus, joined them on the top step. “What comes?”
Rafe pointed. “Riders nearing the western edge of the wood, twenty chasing three.”
Thad turned his stare to Jordan. “Is this why we’ve come? Are we meant to intervene?”
Jordan shook her head, riddled with doubt. “I don’t know.”
“Yours to decide.”
Questions beat against her. The odds were bad, twenty against their hidden ten, but what if this was the reason the gods had led her to the tower? She watched the dark streaks race across the fallow farmland, the hounds gaining on the fox. “It feels wrong to just watch.”
“Then we act.” Thaddeus took over, not a hint of doubt in his voice. “I’ll take Donal, Benjin and Marcus out into the fields. The two archers can bleed the pack, getting their attention. We’ll draw them into the woods. The rest of you wait in ambush.” He turned to Ellis, “I’ll need you to set a weaving. We dare let no one escape.”
Ellis nodded. “None will leave the wood.”
“What about me?”
Thad shot Jordan a stare. “Stay with Rafe, we’ll need your sword for the ambush.” And then he was gone, leaping down the staircase. They rushed to follow, scrambling down the hillside to the cavernous stables. The others waited at the mouth, a dozen horses already saddled. Thaddeus issued orders, “Benjin, Donal and Marcus, to me!” They swung into their saddles. Setting spurs to mounts, they galloped down into the forest.
Ellis mounted a dark gelding. “Set your ambush halfway between the tower and the forest’s edge.” And then she was gone, riding into the falling darkness.
“Come on.” Rafe gripped his quarterstaff, leading the others into the woods. Jordan followed, her heart hammering. Leaves crunched beneath their boots, the last streaks of purple fading from the twilight sky. Night fell like a cloak. Darkness made the footing treacherous, a tangle of roots weaving the forest floor. Jordan scrambled over a fallen tree, avoiding a clump of brambles. She gripped her sword, straining to keep quiet, straining to hear the enemy. Every sound seemed sinister, a host of threats lurking in the dark.
“This should be far enough.” Rafe whispered orders. “Spread out and set your ambush. Remember, the enemy will be mounted, best to fall on them from above.”
The others melted into the darkness, their brown cloaks blending with the naked trees. Jordan scanned the woods, seeking an advantage. Sheathing her sword, she shimmied up a gnarled oak, finding a perch between a thick branch and the main trunk. Crouched in the wedge, she unsheathed her sword. Movement caught her gaze, a gleam of light behind her. A gasp escaped her. Straining to see, she nearly lost her perch. A pale ball of light shimmered though the forest, like a ghost riding through the woods. The spectral glow trailed a thin stream of light and then disappeared. Jordan stared, wondering if the forest was truly haunted.
Sounds came her way, the jangle of steel, the clop of hooves. She tightened her grip on her sword, all of her senses alert. Horses bulled through the thicket, men shouting in the darkness. “Where’d they go?”
“After them!”
“Watch out!”
Jordan gripped her sword, straining to catch a hint of color. Arrows twanged through the forest. A man screamed in pain, the sound of battle creeping closer. Jordan tensed, her heart thundering, knowing she’d never slain an enemy.
A horseman broke through the brush, too far from her tree.
She tensed, waiting, erupting in sweat despite the cold.
Moonlight broke through the clouds, casting a confusion of shadows.
Another horsemen approached, closer to her perch. A glimmer of moonlight revealed a red tabard. An enemy within reach; fear and exhilaration thrummed through her. The horseman looked left and right but he never looked up. Jordan leaped, bringing her sword down in a two-handed strike. Her blade of Castlegard steel bit deep. She cleaved the enemy’s shoulder, putting all of her weight behind the blow. He screamed, twisting away, but his fate was already sealed, blood spurting from a fatal wound. Her sword had struck true, but she made an awkward landing, falling sideways off the horse’s rump. The enemy fell with her, a dead weight impaled on her sword. The horse bucked in fear, ironshod hooves slashing overhead. Twisting away, Jordan wrenched her sword loose and slipped back into the tangled forest. My first kill, the words thundered through her mind, igniting a spark of elation. Strength rushed through her, a gift from Valin. A blooded-warrior, Jordan gripped her sword, hunting another foe.
Clouds hid the moon and darkness triumphed, making the tangled forest both terrifying and thrilling. Jordan stretched her senses, trying to be stealthy, but her heartbeat hammered, her breath blowing plumes of mist in the cold. The sounds of battle echoed through the woods, screaming men, clanging swords, snorting horses, a dance of death in every direction.
Moonlight glimmered on steel.
A mounted enemy reared out of the darkness. Jordan whirled to find a halberd keening towards her neck. She threw herself sideways, rolling to evade the blade. Gripping her sword, she sprang to her feet, dancing behind a massive oak.
A man’s voice said, “Run him through, Garred, while I flush him from behind.”
Two of them, one in front and one behind, Jordan circled the oak, desperate for protection.
The horseman was good, holding his mount to a tight turn, the fearsome halberd whistling toward her. A half-moon blade with the reach of a spear, she’d never fought such a ferocious weapon. Jordan ducked low, evading the blow and then attacked, stepping inside the halberd’s reach. But the enemy was wily, hitting her with the butt of his weapon.
Pain exploded across her face, the taste of blood in her mouth. She fell hard, barely hanging onto her sword.
Hoof beats drummed from behind, the sound of death approaching.
Fear gave her strength. She gripped her sword and surged beneath the legs of the nearest horse, coming up on the far side of the halberd. With all her strength, she swung her sword at the enemy’s knee. The blade bit deep, a spray of hot blood across her face. The enemy screamed and the horse reared.
Jordan used the confusion to flee, running into the forest. Naked branches grabbed at her hair, thorns plucking at her cloak. Something struck her in the side, only a branch, but she fell hard. Winded, she tried to gain control of her breathing, desperate to listen. The sounds of battle persisted, but nothing near.
Shaking, she wiped the blood from her face. Her nose was broken. She yanked hard, setting it straight, stifling a scream. When the pain receded, she gripped her sword and rose to her feet, running through the trees, uncertain if she was prey or predator. Clouds shrouded the moon, deepening the night to a dense black. Jordan lost all sense of direction, unsure if she was moving towards safety or battle. Screams echoed through the wood, followed by the clang of steel, the confusion of sounds making every shadow a threat. She stumbled over a log and fell, but the log turned out to be flesh, a body sticky with blood. Jordan shuddered and kept moving. A snap of twigs gave warning; she froze, peering into the darkness. A figure lurked ahead, this one unhorsed, his back toward her. Moonlight cracked through the clouds, revealing the color red. Another enemy, Jordan crept forward, her breath sounding loud in her ears.
A rustle of leaves betrayed her.
The enemy whirled, a sword slicing through the moonlight. She parried the blade with a resounding clang. Stroke and parry, she met his attack, but he drove her backwards, grunting with each stroke. “Who are you?” She risked an overhand stroke, but her sword caught on a branch. It caught on a branch! The enemy grinned, aiming a thrust at her heart. Jordan twisted sideways, yanking on her sword. Desperation lent her strength. Her s
word came loose and she dropped to a crouch. Lunging upwards, her sword took him just below the gorget. A gurgled scream marked his death-throes, a spurt of hot blood spraying the night.
A sixth sense warned her to duck.
A halberd whistled where her head should have been.
She scrambled backwards, trying to gain some distance.
The halberd advanced, slicing the air with a whistling death.
Behind the enemy, she spied a ball of glowing moonlight, the same witch-light she’d seen before.
The halberd whispered close, nearly slicing her leathers. Fear shivered through her. Angry at her carelessness, she surged to the attack. Steel clanged against steel, her sword meeting the shaft of the halberd. The strength of the blow shuddered down her arms. Her sword twisted from her grasp. Disarmed, she lurched backwards. Her foot caught on a root. Jordan toppled and fell hard. Weaponless, she stared up at her killer’s face.
He sneered, raising the halberd for a deadly strike. “Now you die!”
Witch-light tangled the enemy’s legs like a whip. The light pulled tight, toppling him to the ground.
Jordan scrambled out of the way, searching for her sword.
A woman hissed. “Finish him!”
Her hand found the hilt. Jordan gripped her sword, bringing the blade down on the enemy’s neck. The blow nearly severed his head. Wrenching her sword free, she staggered backwards, gasping for breath.
“It’s over.” The words whispered through the woods, and then she realized the sounds of fighting had fallen silent. Relief washed through her. The battle frenzy bled out of her, replaced by exhaustion. Jordan slumped to the ground, grateful to be alive.
A ball of witch-light floated toward her, eerie as a ghost. It gathered strength, glowing like a second moon. The silvery light revealed its source. Ellis held a crystal ball aloft, the unearthly glow illuminating the woods.
“It’s you!” Jordan stared, entranced by the light. “I saw you before the battle, but I thought it was a ghost, a haunt from the past.”
Ellis gave a strained smile. “Captured moonlight, an ancient magic, nearly forgotten.”
Others appeared out of the woods, drawn by the light. Jordan sobered, waiting to learn the fate of her friends. Rafe came first, leaning on his quarterstaff. A nasty gash above his left eye streamed blood, but otherwise he looked whole. “It looks worse than it is.” Thaddeus and Benjin came next, leading a string of captured horses. “I sent the others up to the tower.”
Ellis nodded. “How many lost?”
“Two. Eric and Jonah are both dead. Harl took a nasty cut to the arm, but he’ll live.”
Jordan took a deep breath, a heavy loss to save three. “And what of the three we sought to save?”
“Donal took them to the stable.”
Jordan nodded, longing to know if Stewart was among them, but she kept her hopes to herself.
Thaddeus turned his stare to Ellis. “Did any escape?
“None.” Ellis shook her head. “I sealed the weaving once they passed.” She lowered her hand and the glowing ball of light began to fade. Captured moonlight dwindled to a firefly flicker, and then it was gone, snuffed out, nothing but a glass ball the size of her palm. Ellis swayed. Thaddeus crossed the distance and swept her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. For the first time, Jordan wondered if there might be something between them.
Thaddeus said, “Back to the tower,” his voice gruff.
Moonlight emerged from the clouds, striping the forest with shadow. They picked their way through the woods. Twice they came across dead bodies, the grisly wages of battle. The smell of death clung to the woods, making life seem all the more precious. Jordan quickened her pace, desperate to know if Stewart waited with the rescued men. She climbed the hill to the tower and found the stables aglow with firelight. Horses crowded the entrance, still saddled, sweat-stained and trembling with fatigue. She pushed through them, anxious to meet the strangers. The others sat slumped around the fire, exhaustion writ in every gesture. She rushed toward them, but then she stopped. All three strangers wore golden surcoats emblazoned with iron fists, not Stewart. Her heart plummeted.
One of the strangers looked up, a young knight with a strong jaw and a mop of dark hair. “So you’re the one we have to thank.” Pale and bloodstained, he looked exhausted, yet he gave her a courtly bow. “I’m Ronald, son of Rognald, erstwhile Baron of Lingard.”
“Erstwhile?” Her thoughts seemed shrouded in fog.
“We held the last gate as long as we could.” He took a deep breath as if his own words cut like glass. “Lingard has fallen to the Flame. My father is dead, his head on a spike.”
The grim news cut through her confusion. “Lingard fallen?” She’d heard of the mighty fortress-city, a great blow against Lanverness. The war fared worse than she thought.
Ronald nodded, his face grave. “We rode to bring the queen the truth.”
“What truth?” She stilled, sensing there was more.
His face twisted in hate. “The prince betrayed us. He came with heralds in emerald green, and we opened the gates, welcoming treachery with an open hand.”
She gaped with disbelief, but then she remembered. “What prince?”
“Danly, the younger.”
“And what of the crown prince?”
“There’s been no word for more than a fortnight.”
No word, she sank to the ground near the fire, but she did not feel the heat. The gods had led her to the tower for a reason, but in her heart, Jordan had hoped to find Stewart, to save him from the nightmares of her visions. Instead, she’d helped to save three strangers. Three strangers instead of Stewart. The gods worked in mysterious ways, but somehow it left her feeling betrayed.
43
Stewart
Hurting and hungry, they made a ragged band, eight men for three horses, but at least they had swords, and cloaks, and desperation as a shield. Stewart led them west, hoping to slip past the fighting and then turn south. Wary of the enemy, he kept the men alert, sending out runners to act as scouts. They scavenged as they rode, but found little to eat. The countryside proved just as ravaged as they were, homesteads burned, fields abandoned, villages empty, everything brown and dull and dead. The cursed Flame had much to answer for.
Timmons returned from scout duty, loping down the ridge. “There’s a farmhouse on the other side, unburned, no sign of the enemy.”
Hungry stares turned toward Stewart. Hollow-eyed and filthy, they waited on his command. He knew what they wanted, a chance to forage. After their escape, they’d gorged on salted pork and hard bread taken from their captors, only to spew it all up an hour later. Such a waste, but hunger was a fierce goad, nearly as dangerous as enemy swords. Stewart nodded. “Let’s see what’s there, but stay cautious.”
They rode to the ridge top and surveyed the land below. A small farmstead surrounded by fallow fields and stands of naked woods. Nothing moved, not even a crow pecking at the harrowed fields. “Looks like death.”
“But there’s no sign of the enemy.” Owen shared his horse, a big man, riven to skin and bones.
Stewart nodded. “True, but I don’t like the look of it, yet we need to eat.” He made his decision. “Jasper and Kennith, you two keep watch from the ridge top, and remember to look behind as well as in front. The rest of you with me and keep your swords handy.” Stewart clucked to his horse, asking for a slow trot. Emerging from the trees, they rode down the ridge and out across fallow fields, everything still as a graveyard. A winter wind blew, cold and biting, but he caught no scent of rotting corpses. Riding passed the stone well, Stewart pulled to a stop in front of the clapboard house. He slipped from the horse and drew his sword. “Owen to me, the rest of you spread out and see what you can find.”
The door gaped open a handbreadth, not a good sign.
Stewart kicked it in, the bang sounding loud in his ears. Pale light filtered into a room strewn with refuse. “Already ransacked.”
; “By the nine hells.” Owen muttered a curse and followed him inside.
Broken crockery littered the hearth, an overturned table in the middle, a straw-stuffed mattress cleaved by a sword; a simple life sundered by war. Owen bulled his way through the mess, searching for anything edible. “Sometimes there’s a root cellar.”
Stewart righted the table and found a rag doll abandoned on the floor, button eyes and a calico dress, some child’s precious companion lost to war. Something about the doll touched him, a piercing sense of loss. He set the doll on the hearth mantle, hoping it might be found by its child, a bit of bright calico against the smoky stone.
“There’s nothing here.” Owen gave him a hollow-eyed stare.
“Nothing but crushed dreams. Perhaps the others fare better.” He sheathed his sword and moved outside, the first signs of twilight streaking the sky. “Timmons, Crocker, anything?”
“Nothing lord, not an ear of corn or a withered apple, but at least there’s no corpses.”
Stewart surveyed the fields, his stomach rumbling with hunger. “There has to be something. Keep looking.” Circling the cottage, he found a small garden plot on the backside, a tangle of brown vines. Amongst the vines were small brown fruits, twice the size of his thumb. Most were withered and others blackened but Stewart was hungry. Plucking a brown one, he popped it in his mouth, and nearly gagged, spitting it out. Nothing but seeds and a soapy, bitter taste.
Owen laughed, tossing him a water skin. “Careful what you eat, you’ll be trying worms next!” But Crocker came to look. “What’d you find?” The scout bent to examine the dead vines.
“Don’t bother.” Stewart spat out the foul taste. “Whatever it is, it’s gone bad.”
But the scout ignored him, digging with a dagger. “You’re not meant to eat the seedpods.” His hands delved the dirt. “My father was a farmer, there’s a chance some are still left.” Crocker kept digging.
“What are you looking for?
The scout grinned, “I thought so! These are potato plants!” He hefted a brown spud aloft like the crown jewels.
S&SS [04] The Poison Priestess Page 33