“And then what, swim the Tamber?” Henry Twintree picked up his nephew in his arms. “Even if we made it across somehow, we’d end up in the Dorwood, and you know what folk say about that place.”
Nicky looked wildly around him. “Then . . . then, we’re trapped.”
“That’s it.” Telbert Overbourne threw down his spear. “I’ve got nothing to keep me here. I’m running south.”
Henry snorted. “Right at the monsters, eh?”
“Around them, if I can manage it.” Telbert waved to his wife. “Elsie, come on. It’s all up for us. Let’s go.”
Katherine grabbed Telbert by the arm. “Look across the river. Those are knights, men on horseback. Their blood is up, they’re humiliated and they’re looking for revenge. If we turn our backs on them, they will come across and run us all down.”
“Then what can we do?” Telbert clenched his hands. “What can we possibly do?”
Edmund looked across the river at the army gathered at the opposite footing of the bridge. A desperate hope seized him. He took up a militia spear someone had discarded, hopped the shield wall and raced out onto the span.
“Where are you going?” Katherine jumped up and leapt after him. “Edmund, wait, get back here! Have you gone mad?”
“Edgar of Wolland!” Edmund thumped the butt of his spear onto the stone of the bridge. “My lord Wolland, come forth! Come forth to parley!”
There was a space of silence, then laughter rolled across the river. A portly figure dressed in full armor stepped to the far edge of the bridge, flanked by guards bearing wide, heavy shields.
“You pretend to a rank far above you, boy!” Lord Wolland’s voice was nearly lost in the echoes off the water. “To parley means to treat with a man worthy of command. I see no such man!”
Katherine hurried to his side near the apex of the bridge. “Edmund, this won’t work. We’ve already made him angry and, worse yet, we’ve embarrassed him in front of his men. He’ll never show us mercy now.”
“I have to try.” Edmund hauled in a full breath. “The Skeleth are not your allies, my lord! You have helped to free an ancient evil that cares nothing for the aims of men! They seek only destruction—they will betray you, as they betrayed King Childeric in ages past! You have played the fool and will earn a fool’s wages!”
“You know nothing of what you speak!” came the shouted reply. “Do not think to improve your position with lies!”
“We are men and women—they are monsters!” Edmund raised his spear and waved it. “Let us cross in peace, and we will stand with you against them!”
The wind blew up along the channel of the Tamber, forcing Wolland to try three times to make his reply. “—folk of Moorvale, you have awakened my spite—run while you can—no quarter will be given—” The rest was blown away by a wind that flapped the banners stiff.
Martin joined Katherine and Edmund out on the span. “It was a game try, Edmund, but my cousin’s right. Wolland’s blood is up. He’ll be making no peace tonight.”
“Men of Wolland! Men of Overstoke and Tand!” Edmund tried one last time, turning his voice to the troops of men and horses on the banks. “Your lord and commander has made a pact with the creatures of the Nethergrim! You stand on land made waste by the Skeleth long ago—do not help them ruin the rest of the north! Lord Wolland walks into a trap, and you walk with him!” He waited, watching and listening, but could not be sure if his words had been heard.
Then came the answer. Sturdy as it was, with a sturdiness to last the centuries, the span of the bridge yet trembled with the roll of approaching hooves.
Chapter 37
Katherine drew her sword. She glanced behind her and saw some of her neighbors leaping the shield wall with spears in hand. She looked ahead, across the river, and caught the moonlight glinting off the tips of helms, steel pauldrons over shoulders, and chain-mailed arms holding shields with metal bosses burnished to a shine.
“We can’t make it back before they reach us.” Katherine took up a fighting stance. “Cousin, can you swim?”
“You know I can’t.” Martin set the butt of his spear to the surface of the bridge.
“Don’t even ask me,” said Edmund in answer to Katherine’s look. “I’m staying with you.” He set his own spear next to Martin’s.
Katherine braced her sword in two hands. “Then take your mark, both of you, and aim for the face if you can.”
The knights began their charge. Horseshoes struck sparks on stone.
Katherine looked north to the darkened banks. “Gilbert!” She raised her sword. “A volley!”
A distant burst of thwips turned into a rain of hisses through the air. Two dozen arrows arced high over Katherine’s head to fall onto the far side of the bridge. From what Katherine could see, more than half missed the span entirely and splashed harmlessly into the water, though one armored man did tumble off the side. The lead knight kept his shield braced high and took an arrow on the boss without slowing his horse.
Katherine lowered her sword, sick to her heart. “Indigo.”
Sir Wulfric of Olingham reached the apex of the bridge, riding Indigo at an eager trot. Sir Richard Redhands flanked him, his heavy sword-of-war held aloft.
“They’re trapped out there!” The shout rang from the shield wall. Katherine glanced behind her, and though she tried to wave them back, Horsa Blackcalf, Henry Twintree and half a dozen village men jumped out to charge up the span.
The two knights bore down upon Katherine, Edmund and Martin, leaping to a canter, and through her fear Katherine could not help but marvel at their skill. The bridge was barely wide enough to fit both horses side by side, and yet they came on at a flying charge.
“Set your spears, set ’em!” the village men shouted from behind Katherine. “Edmund, Katherine, come back to us!”
There was no time. Katherine crouched, watching the arc of Wulfric’s sword at the same time that she marked the roll of Indigo’s paces. There was but an instant to mourn it—by the time she finished the move she was about to make, either Indigo would be mortally wounded, or she would be dead herself.
Indigo raised up his head at the top of his stride. He lowered it, raised it—and held it there. He flared his nostrils, fixing one large brown eye on Katherine.
“This will grieve me.” Wulfric brought his sword up high. “War is no place for a girl.”
“Indigo.” Katherine truly did not know if she could make herself do it. She knew the best move with a sword against a charging knight—duck and take the horse at the legs. A vision flashed through her thoughts: the little foal Indigo, approaching her as though a blast of trumpets had announced him. All his life, since then, she had believed that there was something that bound them together. Perhaps—she started her dodge, readying to block Wulfric’s downswing and then cut at Indigo’s tendons—perhaps such feelings amount to nothing, in the end.
Indigo let out a snort. He stiffened his front legs. His shoes struck a hail of sparks, and before Katherine could even think on what it meant, he had slid to a screeching halt in front of her and thrown Wulfric flying from the saddle, over her head to land with a clanging crash on the bridge.
“You stinking peasant!” The words turned out to be the last Richard Redhands would utter, for he failed to guess at Martin’s strength, and in knocking the point of the spear aside thought he could charge through to the kill. Martin recovered with lightning speed, twisting the spear back to lever Richard out of his saddle and over, down off the bridge and into the Tamber.
The second rank of riders slowed their pace, for if they had not, they would have crashed headlong into the horses before them. “Wulfric. Wulfric!” Lord Wolland raised his sword, while trying to prevent his rearing stallion from throwing him. “Men, help me get to Wulfric! Help me reach my son!”
Indigo turned sideways, blocking the whole of the span.
He cocked his head and threw Katherine a look.
Katherine needed no further invitation. She sprang up onto Indigo’s back and wheeled him about to face Lord Wolland. “My lord, call off your attack, for if you do not, you and all who follow you will die.”
“You groundling. You slatternly, ragged little milkmaid.” The ready smile so common to Lord Wolland’s features was at last exposed for what it was—a brittle lie. “Do you think a pack of peasants can stop me? I will have the north, all of it, and when I do, I will use no mercy on your village.”
“Your deaths lie on the other side of this bridge.” Katherine said it loud enough that the ranks of men behind Lord Wolland could hear her. “If we do not kill you, the Skeleth will.”
“You were betrayed from the very start, my lord,” said Edmund. “You seek conquest, but all the Skeleth want is destruction.”
“Silence!” Lord Wolland rushed forward and clanged swords with Katherine, but could not get through her guard. Indigo reared and spooked Wolland’s horse, driving him back and nearly toppling him off the bridge.
“My lord, you sought to make a deal with Lord Aelfric and then Lord Harold, promising them friendship until you had the one thing you needed of them.” Katherine had to smile. “Surely you are wise enough to see that such a trick can be played on you, as well.”
Lord Wolland spluttered. His answer did not make it out of his helm.
“What does she mean?” Lord Overstoke held up the ranks of knights behind him, turning his horse so that none could pass him by. “What does she mean by that, my lord?”
“You rode for days across those moors, my lords and knights,” said Katherine. “You marched past ruin after ruin, through a land so bleak, it stung you to the heart. Did it not?”
The knights could not help but answer her with the truth on their faces.
“That is the legacy of the Skeleth.” Katherine pointed with her sword, across the river at the crowd of creatures coming up the Longsettle road toward the square. “That is what they do to the lands of men. They are in the service of the Nethergrim—they will destroy you with as much callous speed as they use on us. They do not seek to make Lord Wolland king, they seek the end of us. All of us.”
The knights hesitated, many of them staring with hard suspicion across the river at the distant Skeleth, who by then had drawn close enough that their monstrous aspect could no longer be concealed.
“Unhand me, knave!” Wulfric sprang to his feet just as Martin reached down for him. Though he had no sword, he could still fight like a cornered bear. Before Katherine could react, he had Edmund tumbling over the side of the bridge and had come to grips with Martin, wrestling back and forth with him across the span of the bridge.
“Wulfric!” Lord Wolland sprang forward, but Katherine met him sword on sword. There followed a tumult, a mad and desperate scramble over the slanted stone expanse of the bridge. Katherine could do nothing but block Lord Wolland’s advance, hoping with all she had that her words would have some effect on the men who had heard them, and hoping just as much that Edmund would have the strength to swim to shore.
Lord Wolland’s stabs and slashes grew desperate. “Curse you—curse you! Tand! Overstoke, help me!” His horse shied away from Indigo’s furious kicks, denying him the chance to close the distance and come in for a killing strike.
“I did not come here to make war upon all men.” Lord Overstoke backed his horse, forcing the knights behind him to follow suit. “I did not ride with you, my lord Wolland, to make a waste of all the north.”
“She’s lying!” Wolland raised his sword. “Curse you all, she’s tricking us! We will have the north, all of it!”
“What I see across this river looks like a pack of misshapen beasts attacking men and women.” Lord Overstoke turned his horse around. “I say back! Back, men, or come through me.”
Lord Wolland’s face writhed into a snarl. He pointed his sword at Katherine, his deep-set eyes flashing black. “You accursed wench!” He jammed his spurs into the flank of his horse, causing gouts of blood to pour down its legs. “I will see you dead!”
“Before you do, my lord, tell us how much you love your son.”
Wolland stopped, his sword raised high. Katherine spared a glance behind her. Martin held Wulfric facedown on the bridge, hands up behind his back. Edmund had not fallen into the river after all—he hauled himself up from behind the nearest post and lay heaving for breath on the span.
“Father.” Wulfric struggled, red in the face. “Forgive me, Father. I have shamed you.”
“It is no great shame to lose a wrestling match to the son of Hubert Upfield, companion of Tristan himself.” Katherine smiled back at Wolland. “Or don’t you remember your histories?”
Wolland’s face contorted, until it looked as though he might burst. “Give me back my son. Give him back, and I will go. You have my word of honor.”
“Done.” Katherine waved Edmund back down the bridge. “Over the shield wall, Edmund. Cousin, bring Wulfric forward.”
Martin dragged Wulfric to his feet and walked him past Katherine and Indigo. Katherine nodded to Lord Wolland—he returned it.
“Come on, then, we’re needed in the village.” Katherine nudged Indigo around and turned away, but as she did, she saw Martin’s face go white, staring past her at Lord Wolland. She swung back with her blade, knowing that she could not hope to block what was coming.
“I GRANT THE CURSE OF PEACE!”
There was a pinging sound. Katherine felt no pain, no blow. She turned to find Lord Wolland cowering, still grasping the hilt of his shattered sword. The sword in her own hand seemed strangely light. She looked at it and found it broken, the blade snapped off just past the crossguard.
Katherine stared at Edmund. An awful understanding dawned on her. The crash of the joust replayed itself in her memory, and then the sight of Harry lying bloodied in the dirt.
“I’m sorry. It was me.” Edmund met her gaze, then looked away. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I’m sorry.”
Katherine paced Indigo away from the column of knights. “Back to the square, hurry!” Martin needed no further cue. He seized Edmund and ran for the relative safety of the square.
Lord Wolland dropped his broken sword. He fixed a look of fulsome hatred on Katherine and raised his hand. “Men of Wolland! Forward on my—”
Wulfric caught his arm and wrenched it back down. “You will keep your word, Father, and dishonor yourself no further.” He took the reins of Wolland’s horse and turned him eastward, away from Moorvale.
Katherine gave Wulfric half a smile. “There is hope yet for the barony of Wolland.” She wheeled Indigo around and galloped for home.
Chapter 38
The horn sounded from the south—and resounded, two notes thrust against the very idea of harmony. The more they echoed, the worse they got.
“They’re coming!” Missa Dyer clutched her head, staring openmouthed over the barricade that blocked the Longsettle road. “They’re coming! Oh, they’re horrible, they’re—” What she said next got lost amongst the terror-stricken shouts of her neighbors.
Edmund knelt on the pedestal of the statue, crossing back and forth through all he had read. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could do it—save for one piece, the one thing that utterly baffled him. The Skeleth are man and monster both. The man can be freed if he awakens to what the monster cannot know. The Signs of the spell jumped and slipped in his mind, a whirl of colors, thoughts and meanings. Nothing he knew could make sense of it.
He picked up the brooch he had found on the breast of the queen and read the riddle inscribed around the rim. I am the weapon that wounds the wielder. I am the defense that is no defense at all. I am triumph in surrender. I am that which, by being given, is gained. He stared down at his notes, his guesses at the hole in the spell. What could it mean?
“Here they come!” Kath
erine leapt onto the barricade. “Hold together, everyone!”
Edmund looked up and wished that he had not. The Skeleth sprang forward in a mass. The faces of the men trapped in the ghastly rows of limbs looked worse than merely dead—more like men frozen at the moment of death, a final agony drawn out forever. The sight shook him so badly that he nearly forgot what he was doing.
“Set your poles!” Katherine shouted her command along the wagon barricade, facing south down the Longsettle road toward the approaching Skeleth. “When they come up, give them a hard shove back—but remember, don’t stab them, don’t kill!”
“Stupidest battle I’ve ever heard about.” Hob Hollows took his place atop the wagons. “Got to win it without killing anybody.”
Edmund touched his fingertips together and prepared to call on the Signs of Perception and Closing. The Skeleth passed by the common green in between the first of the cottages down the Longsettle road, by Nicky Bird’s little shack and by Walter Bythorn’s long, low byre. They moved in a rough clump, one hundred strong in the veiled gray of the hour before sunrise. Their glow seemed like a rot, the last glimmer of a dead firefly.
“Get ready—don’t back away!” Harman Bale held his pole overhand, the butt of it poised to jam down over the barricade. “We’ve got to buy my son time!”
Edmund breathed in through his nose. The Sign of Perception rose in a spray of white and amber in his mind. He focused his thought around it until he felt no fear, felt nothing but the certainty of its power. He moved his body into the stance that matched its form.
“They have a wizard!” Jordan’s shout came over a sudden chorus of cries. “Edmund, they have a wizard!”
Edmund snapped up his head. The earth of the road rumbled and split, shaking the ground under the barricade and throwing many of the defenders back from its frame into the square. Someone stood amongst the Skeleth, but was not one of them. She wore her long gray hair in a simple queue down her back, over a dark-hued dress trimmed in fur.
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