by S H Cooper
“All of them, save the McThomas lass and the centaur. Throw the bodies into the sea after.”
Daiomas rears on to his hind legs and kicks at the nearest men with his front. He lands a hard blow on one and the guard is sent reeling backwards. His sword clanks against the stone when it flies from his hand. The human woman with the silver streak in her hair dives for it, but is driven back by the angry slash of another guard. He follows her, hacking at the air, and she’s barely managing to avoid his blade.
When one of the captive men tries to interfere, he’s cut down by another guard. The other prisoners cry out as he collapses to his knees, clutching the wound in his belly.
The woman stumbles beside us and, in his fury, the guard swings his sword wide. He narrowly misses catching me across the chest and I can’t hold back a scared, startled yelp.
Suddenly, the guard freezes with the sword held over his head, ready to drive into the woman. He gurgles in surprised terror and the muscles in his neck strain as he struggles to move. The woman lies at his feet, arms thrown in front of her face, but when she remains unharmed, she peeks up at him. He makes a strange, choked sound and his face goes red, and then purple. His eyes bulge. A few of the other guards try to pry his sword loose and lower his arms while asking what’s wrong in increasingly panicked voices, but he’s unmovable.
Until he slides, lifeless, to the ground, his mouth hanging open.
A mystified hush falls over the courtyard as everyone turns to stare at him and the horrified woman.
“I told you,” Meverick’s voice is low and dark with fury, “no harm must come to the McThomas girl! Do you understand me?”
His guards mutter their agreement. None of them have been able to look away from their fallen companion. The prisoners have regrouped against a wall. They’re hugging each other, crying and begging for their lives. Daiomas alone remains standing over me, Silvermoon, and Ilyana. Blood drips from a dozen cuts across his torso and flank. Still, he’s poised to continue the fight.
More blood. More death.
Meverick’s words have struck me in an odd way, even as the terror clouds my thoughts.
No harm must come to the McThomas girl!
Why? He's made it clear since my arrival that I will not be hurt, but Meverick is not a man who is bothered by bloodshed. Why, then, would he care what happens to me? There must be a reason.
And there’s only one way to figure it out.
I jump at the fallen guard’s sword. The heavy blade feels clumsy in my grip, but I hold tight to it with one hand. The guards actually step back and look to Meverick as if to ask what they should do.
“What are you doing, my lady?” Ilyana sobs.
“Give me the sword, lass.” Daiomas holds out a large hand. “I can fight our way out!”
But I don’t hand it over, and I don’t turn it on any of the Conan men. I thrust my free arm forward and rest the edge of the blade against my skin. It feels cold and sharp. Meverick has gone still, watching me closely.
“You’ve made it very clear I’m not to be injured.” My words shake. “I don’t know why. But if you don’t release these people, I will —”
“Mary, no!” Silvermoon starts to stand, but I shake my head and press the sword more firmly against my arm.
“Put it down, Mary,” Meverick says. There’s a warning to his tone.
“Let them go.”
“You will not hurt yourself,” Meverick says with icy certainty.
I drag the sword across my arm in a single, quick stroke in response. Beads of red spring up from the wound and I inhale sharply. It stings terribly and I almost drop the weapon to instinctively cover it. Only the pained hiss that escapes Meverick before he can catch it behind his teeth stops me. He’s pressing a hand to his arm, in the same place I’ve just cut my own.
“What...is...happening?” Silvermoon breathes. “Are you a witch?”
“N-no.” I blink back the tears filling my eyes. “I don’t know what's going on.”
“Mary,” Meverick says slowly. “Put the sword down.”
“Not until you let us go!”
“Mary!”
I add a second thin slice beside the first. I want to cry out, to hold my arm against my chest, to go home, but I bite the inside of my cheek and position the blade again. Meverick is grimacing, pain and anger warring across his features.
“I would rather die than be your prisoner, Meverick Conan. And I’d rather die than let you hurt these people. So make a choice! Let us go, or the next one will be deeper.”
Our eyes lock. My hand shakes with the weight of the sword, but I refuse to let it drop. I know this might be my only chance. The rage I see brewing behind Meverick’s mask of control is terrifying and everything in me screams to run from it. Instead, I press the sword down, just enough for it to bite into my skin.
“Sire?” The guards look to Meverick for guidance.
“I will only say this once more, Mary,” Meverick says quietly. “Stop this, or —”
Whatever his ultimatum might’ve been is drowned out by an ear piercing shriek from just beyond the gate. Everyone immediately winces and claps their hands over their ears right as another one sounds. Only Meverick and I don’t move.
Meverick growls and rips his gaze away from me to look toward the gate.
It explodes inward, and through the debris, a giant silver eagle rises.
Chapter Twenty-Five
While the courtyard erupts into chaos, sending Conan’s people and the prisoners fleeing in every direction, the eagle swoops towards the guards, its talons thrust forward. It catches two of the armored men in its claws and tosses them easily upward. They sail through the air with their arms and legs flailing and land, broken, upon the stones. I’m jostled and shoved as the remaining guards run to surround Meverick in a human shield.
In my terror, I drop the sword and hug my bleeding arm against my body in an attempt to keep it from being battered. A guard tries to grab me by the back of my dress as he passes, but he’s blocked by Daiomas and forced to go on without me. Silvermoon appears at my side and pulls me away, back to where Ilyana is waiting. She has already torn the sleeve of her dress into a long ribbon and uses it to wrap tightly around my wounds.
The eagle swoops repeatedly, punctuating each pass over with a piercing screech. The centaur stands before us, fists clenched, watching the bird with a baffled expression.
“What were you thinking?” Silvermoon shouts over the commotion.
“I had to,” I tell him, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain and noise. “I couldn’t stand by and do nothing while he hurt more people!”
“How did you know it would work, my lady?” Ilyana ties off the end of her makeshift bandage and squeezes my hand between hers.
“I didn’t.”
“You’re absolutely mad!” Silvermoon says, and there’s a heavy note of admiration in his voice.
“Should we run?” I nod over my shoulder toward the hole where the gate used to be and my words trail off into a shocked, tearful gasp.
Standing in the wreckage, streaked in dust and dirt, are two familiar figures.
I break away from Ilyana’s grasp and dart as quickly as my bare feet will carry me across the debris. I don’t even care when the splinters and rocks dig into my skin. Drake catches me in a bear hug that lifts me from the ground and I throw my good arm around his neck. He holds me only a moment before passing me off to Joseph. We cling to each other, both crying, while I try to ask them how they came to be here.
Torren fills my blurry vision when she latches on to my face in a tiny but fierce embrace.
“You’re alive!” she cries.
“Where’s Meverick?” Drake roars. His sword is unsheathed and lifted high. “Show yourself!”
The eagle shrieks and dives at the gathered guards again. Too late, I hear Meverick’s voice from behind his men. He’s speaking low and slow, in a language I don’t understand. I pry Torren off my face to shout at Drake, b
ut a bolt of white light fires upward and strikes the eagle in its chest. It flaps once more, feebly, then spirals downward.
By the time it hits the ground, it’s no longer a living bird, but a tiny silver carving of one. The same one the Halofain had given Drake in Gladfife.
With the eagle gone, the guards spring forward with a triumphant uproar. They are charging toward Drake, their expressions hateful and hungry.
“Drake!” I scream.
My scream is returned tenfold from just beyond the gate. Reena is first to barrel through the rubble, her sword in hand and a smile on her lips. A still-fresh scar runs, jagged, across her face. Haroheim and a small Faunir war party follow close behind. They stream past us, eager and hot-blooded, and meet Meverick’s men in a ferocious crash.
“Reena! What is she doing here?” I grip my brother’s wrist.
“We found them when we arrived in Gladfife,” he responds quickly. “They were looking for us. They said they owed you a debt and insisted on coming with us.”
He tugs his arm free and draws his own blade as Joseph rushes to his side, and they are joined by Silvermoon and Daiomas, who have armed themselves with swords from the dead. Torren pulls at my hair and orders me to stay put, but I stand with my brothers. Drake looks out of the corner of his eye down at me and I up at him.
“Don’t tell me to go,” I say. “Because I won’t.”
Torren fires a cascade of flaming balls down at the charging men, briefly slowing them. The Faunir fight with wicked enthusiasm, grinning into each swing and stroke. They are not trained like knights and use what my father would call “dirty tactics”, kicking up debris and aiming for low blows. But Conan’s men are better armored and the Faunir are having trouble landing meaningful hits.
“Here.” Drake presses a dagger into my hand. “I won’t tell you to go, but hang back. This isn’t playtime, Mary.”
I close my finger over the small blade’s hilt and nod grimly. “I know.”
“Ready up, lads,” Drake shouts. He’s grinning wolfishly, all teeth and eager. “Let’s not let the wanderers have all the fun!”
My brothers fight like raging beasts. Joseph has never been much of a warrior, but he moves fluidly in time with Drake. They stay at one another’s backs, hacking and slashing in a circle. Silvermoon seems to dance through the guards, his footsteps light and sure, a stark contrast to Daiomas, who uses his size and reach to a bullish advantage. From overhead, Torren continues to rain fire down upon Conan’s men.
I hover around my brothers. If a guard gets too close, I dip in and scrape my dagger against their armor. I can’t get through their defenses, but my presence drives them back. They’re afraid to hurt me and I use it to my advantage, keeping myself between them and the others as best I can.
But we are far outnumbered, and for each one that goes down, two more seem to take his place. The Faunir’s war party has dwindled in size, leaving only Reena, Haroheim, and a handful of others. Daiomas’ flank is wet with blood, Joseph is becoming clumsier, his arms beginning to droop. Torren’s fireballs are becoming fewer and far between. Only Silvermoon hasn’t slowed. Drake yells encouragement, but I see it in his face.
We’ve lost.
They can’t hold out much longer.
Meverick has remained behind his men, the smallest of smirks on his face. As powerful as he is, he could’ve stopped this with a single word, but I realize more with every glimpse I get of him that it’s become a game for him. He’s enjoying the struggle and wants to watch as my brothers fall to his men. Even more, he wants me to watch. This is for my benefit. A lesson. I challenged him, and now I must face the consequences. His eyes meet mine from across the courtyard.
“You can end this, Mary,” he calls to me. “I won’t kill them if you return to me quietly.”
“Don’t you do it, Mary,” Drake grunts, shoving a guard off of his sword.
“Listen to your brother, lass!” Reena shouts.
I stand between them, breathing hard, torn with indecision. Despite the storm raging in my head, I am certain of one thing: I can’t let anything happen to Drake and Joseph.
“Stop this!” I scream at Meverick.
Meverick holds up a hand and snaps his fingers. His men withdraw as one, falling back into a line before him.
Joseph leans heavily on his sword, panting and holding his side. Drake yanks me back, putting himself between me and Meverick. Haroheim and Reena stand at his sides.
“You’ll have to kill me first, Conan,” he says. Sweat drips down his forehead and his chest heaves, breathless and already exhausted.
“Us, too.” Haroheim spits a bloody glob at his feet.
I step around them.
“Stop this, Drake,” I say softly. “All of you.”
“Get back,” he growls.
“Listen to him,” Joseph begs.
But I’m already walking toward Meverick, watching me with a victorious upward tilt of his chin.
“What is she doing?” Reena demands.
When Drake takes hold of my shoulder, I bite my lip to keep from crying and nick his hand with his own dagger. He curses, but doesn’t let go, so I do it again, even though my heart splinters with every plea he and the others make.
When he still doesn’t give up, I whirl on him.
“Go home, Drake! Don’t you get it? I’m not leaving! You’re not dying here!”
“And you’re not staying!”
“I am! I have to!” My voice breaks and I hang my head. I can’t look at my brothers. I lower my voice so only Drake can hear me. “I won’t lose you and Father. You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Take Torren and the others and go.”
“Don’t be stupid, lass,” Drake says.
“Hold him, Daiomas!” I cry to the centaur. “It’s your only hope of getting out of here.”
The centaur’s face is clouded in sadness and apology. He hesitates, but then reaches out and takes Drakes by the arms. Joseph lunges forward, but Daiomas knocks him back with a light kick from his back leg. When Torren and Silvermoon try to give chase, Meverick’s guards ward them off with their weapons. Reena and Haroheim bare their teeth in indecision and frustration while the rest of the remaining Faunir have backed towards the opening in the gate. I don’t blame them. This is not their fight. Enough of them have died in my name.
My brothers’ enraged howls follow me all the way across the courtyard.
I stand behind Meverick while his men close ranks around us.
“The McThomas clan has always been a foolish, arrogant lot,” Meverick says. “Kill them.”
“But you said —” I cry out.
“That I wouldn’t kill them.”
Meverick gives me a humorless, condescending smile when he says it.
He’s still smiling when the dagger sinks into his side.
I scream and wrench the blade out as a fiery sensation shoots up my stomach from the same spot I’d just stabbed Meverick. I sway, clutching my side, and drive it in a second time while he’s still too shocked to stop me. I squeal as ice and flames twist themselves around in my gut. It’s like no other pain I’ve ever felt and it forces me to my knees. The dagger slips to the ground, leaving crimson drops in its wake.
Meverick gapes down at his side. He touches his wound and stares down at the blood that stains his fingertips.
“You,” he says, his voice trembling in agony and in wrath.
“I told you.” Speaking is tortuous and I double over, my arms wrapped around my middle, but I make myself continue. “I would rather die than let you hurt anyone else.”
He staggers and falls to his knees in the same position of suffering I’m in. His men have noticed that something is wrong and call to him. For the moment, my brothers are forgotten.
Run, I urge them silently.
The edges of my vision have started to darken. Cold spreads from my side, twisting upwards into my chest, coiling itself around my heart. It’s getting harder to think. I drag myself a little
away from Meverick and his circle of men. Their concern is now fully on their lord’s wellbeing. Good. I hope those that can take the opportunity to flee.
I just want to lie down. I just want to close my eyes and for the pain to stop.
“Mary!” It’s Joseph’s voice, but it sounds distant.
Drake’s face swims into view, and then Joseph’s. They’re saying something to me. I don’t really understand their words. I just want to sleep.
Arrogant, Meverick had called us. How funny it seems now, coming from him. Had he even noticed the dagger I was carrying? If he had, he hadn’t thought I’d use it. He assumed I’d be afraid of the pain, I think. And I was afraid of it. I hold on to my brother’s arms and beg them not to let me go even as I want to slip into darkness, where I won’t have to feel.
But I was afraid of losing them more.
And I would have stabbed Meverick a hundred more times, feeling each one as keenly as he did, if it meant that they could live.
“What’s wrong, Mary?” Joseph’s voice echoes. “She’s not hurt! I don’t know what’s going on!”
“Mary!” Torren slaps my cheeks, but I barely feel it. “Wake up!”
“What’s wrong with her?” Reena’s scream pounds in my head.
They don’t know, I think dimly. They couldn’t. I hadn’t until I’d cut myself. I try to make my mouth move to explain that Meverick and I are connected somehow, but my tongue and lips refuse to work.
There’s panicked yelling somewhere in the background. Drake pulls me into his lap and cradles me.
“What’s wrong with her?” he shouts to no one in particular.
If only I could apologize to them. I didn’t want them to be afraid. I feel wetness on my cheeks. Am I crying? Or is Drake? I can’t tell.
It’s ok, I want to assure them, but even in my head it’s a tiny whisper. It’s going to be ok.
The pain in my side explodes into a crackling fire that dances in jagged lines throughout my body and I hear myself gasp. It hurts, it hurts!
I don’t see my brothers anymore. I’m staring up at a gray, lightless sky, fast fading. A woman’s face appears over me. I know her, in some far back corner of my mind. But I can’t remember her name.