Deliver (The Blades of Acktar Book 4)

by Tricia Mingerink

  By the time he and Owen returned with a bundle of clothes, Martyn had gotten out a good coughing fit and gathered his remaining strength.

  Still, he was so annoyingly weak that Shad and Owen had to help him dress, an ordeal that nearly caused Martyn to black out several times.

  Somehow he managed to totter outside with their help. Shad nodded toward the cluster of men. “I can arrange for a wagon for you.”

  Martyn shook his head, sending the world into swirls. Not a good sign. “I can ride. I don’t want to slow you down.”

  Shad snorted. “You can’t ride.”

  “Yes, I can.” Martyn gritted his teeth and tried to stand straight.

  “Fine.” Shad released Martyn, and Martyn staggered on his charred feet.

  Owen adjusted his grip. “You really should just take a wagon. You don’t have to kill yourself.”

  “I can handle it.” No, he couldn’t. His vision faded in and out of black. But he wasn’t going to say that out loud, or Shad and Owen would tie him to a cot and leave him behind.

  A few minutes later, Shad returned leading a large, dark brown horse. “All right. Mount up.”

  Martyn gripped the saddlehorn. Was he shaking? Or was the horse tipping toward him? The soles of his feet screamed with blisters.

  He could do this. He wasn’t going to let Lord Norton win. He wasn’t going to give in to weakness. He was tough. He was strong.

  Martyn lifted his left foot. Pain tore through both legs, sharp and hard as knives.

  He was on the ground, head and arms held in someone’s grasp. The sky swirled, white and blue mixing into hazy patterns.

  Owen’s voice. Kayleigh’s. Asking if he was all right. Calling for someone to bring water.

  And Shad, so calm he might as well have said I told you so. “Bring the wagon here.”

  He was coughing, shivering, sinking. Pain. Blackness.

  Kayleigh was cradling him, his head on her shoulder, her hand stroking his hair. “Hang on. The wagon’s nearly here. And Owen’s fetching laudanum.”

  Her hand in his hair, the tingles across his scalp…just like his mama used to before bed each night. Stroke his hair, then kiss his forehead. Every night. Even that last night, when perhaps her voice had quavered, her fingers trembled.

  Kayleigh’s hand stilled.

  “Don’t stop…like Mama…”

  “Sssh. The wagon’s here. Drink this.”

  Something sloshed into his mouth. Bitter and strong, burning down his throat and into his stomach. He swallowed, coughed, and swallowed again.

  As the numbness spread through his arms and down his legs, he managed to peel his eyes open. “Need soap. Orders.”

  Kayleigh’s face was nothing but a blur of tanned skin and brown hair. “I know. I’m spouting off orders again. And I’m going to keep doing it until you start listening.”

  Martyn didn’t have the strength to keep his eyes open any longer.

  32

  “Push them back! Keep them back from those windows!” Renna pointed as she dashed past, falling to her knees beside one of Stetterly’s farmers with an arrow in his side. She pressed one hand over the wound and broke off the arrow shaft with the other. “Hold on. I’ll wrap this up and get that arrow out tonight.”

  The farmer winced and managed a nod as she tied a wad of rags over the wound to staunch the bleeding.

  She staggered to her feet. A man cried out across the church. Shouts. Screams. Men struggling at each of the windows.

  They weren’t going to survive the day. Actually, they weren’t going to survive the hour.

  She stumbled past the men fighting at the window, past a pair of women holding one window with nothing but a cook pot and a soup ladle, and reached the far end of the walkway.

  She leaned against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut. She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t a war leader. She was a healer.

  In the Blades’ Tower at Nalgar Castle, God had provided her with enough courage for herself and for Leith. Now, she needed courage for her whole town, and surely God would provide it as He had then.

  “Not so tough without that Blade to protect you.”

  Renna caught her breath and peeled her eyes open.

  The burly Rover, Captain Loust, stood a few yards away from her. Behind him, two more men climbed over a windowsill.

  No Leith to save her this time. Brandi and Jamie fought together at a window across the building. No one even saw her huddled in the shadows of this corner.

  She was on her own. She reached into her pocket for the knife strapped to her thigh.

  “Don’t even think about drawing that knife.” Captain Loust leveled his sword in her direction.

  She withdrew her hand. He was right. One knife wasn’t going to help her. Not against three men.

  What could she do? She couldn’t fight.

  That’s why she was the target. She was Stetterly’s weakness. A lord like Lord Alistair could’ve led the town in its defense. A girl like Brandi could join the fighting.

  But Renna? Renna was just a pawn in a Raiders game. Respen had used her to trap Leith. Lord Norton planned to use her to trap Keevan. And these Rovers could use her any way they wanted. She had no way to fight back.

  She was tired of being the pawn. If she couldn’t fight back, she’d have to think of something else she could do.

  “What do you think you’ll gain by fighting for Lord Norton? If he succeeds, he’ll want to set up a stable government. And stable governments don’t allow Rovers to run wild.” Renna inched along the wall. A few feet to her right, a door led into the bell tower. If she could only reach it… “Lord Norton will turn on you.”

  Captain Loust stalked closer. “He won’t. He’s giving a reward for anyone who can capture the Lady Faythe. I lost too much during the war. I should get something in return.”

  “You’ll be arrested. Or killed.” Renna fumbled behind her, found the door latch, and yanked the door open. Dashing inside, she slammed the door shut behind her and raced up the stairs.

  Perhaps she should’ve gone down. She would’ve been able to escape on the main floor. But many of the women, children, and wounded were down there. She couldn’t lead the Rovers to them.

  The Rovers’ footsteps pounded after her. She raced upward, gasping short, wheezing breaths. Her muscles burned. She staggered onto the platform on top, its sides ringed with a waist-high wall on one side, a railing on the inside next to the bell.

  She had nowhere else to run. Nothing but sky and prairie rolled out from the church building. Lord Norton’s army surged against the stone walls below her, men clinging to ladders and ropes as they tried to gain entry through the upper windows.

  Captain Loust tromped up the last step. “You can’t run. Might as well come easy now.”

  What else could she do? She wasn’t going to surrender. Not like this.

  But she was trapped. Helpless. Stetterly’s weakness.

  Movement to the north snagged her gaze. Was that—

  Captain Loust lunged toward her. She darted away from him. She had to get away from him and down to the main floor quickly.

  Scrambling onto the railing, she leaned forward and grabbed the thick bell rope. It swung in the deep shaft in the center of the bell tower, all the way to the main floor.

  Once before she’d stood at the edge of a long drop, a pursuer after her. She’d hesitated then, but she couldn’t let herself pause now.

  She jumped.

  The rope slid in her hands, the rough sisal fibers prickling, tearing, burning. The wound across her upper arm screamed. Her body swung against the rope, and she wrapped her legs around it.

  Her weight dragged on the massive bell. It swung, and its edge caught Captain Loust in the stomach. He collapsed to the platform, arms wrapped around his middle. The bell clanged, and the rest of the Rovers froze, hands clamped over their ears.

  As the bell swung back upright due to its huge weight, Renna was pulled upward even as she continued sliding
down. The rope tore skin from her hands. She cried out but didn’t let go.

  A few feet from the ground, she tightened her grip with her legs, slowing herself until she could step off the rope onto the floor. She staggered, her head buzzing, her heart roaring in her ears.

  There wasn’t time to steady her senses. Knots of men and women fought by the storage rooms on either side of her. Children cried. Women screamed. Lord Norton’s men poured through half the windows to Renna’s left. Archers from the other side had turned, firing across the church to try to halt the enemy.

  They were being overwhelmed.

  “To the doors! Hurry!” Renna sprinted the length of the church. Could anyone even hear her over the clashing steel, grunting, shouting, screaming that pounded against her temples?

  “Renna!” Brandi grabbed her arm, pulling her against the wall. Jamie held off an attacker long enough for Sheriff Allen to step forward and club him. A few yards away, the doors were shuddering, a booming sound echoing into the building. A battering ram?

  Renna gripped Brandi’s arm. “Stand by to open the doors.”

  “What? But there’s a battering ram.” Brandi waved her short sword in that direction.

  Renna tried to ignore the blood dripping from its tip. “No time to explain. Wait for my signal and get those doors open, got it?”

  Both Brandi and Jamie nodded and took off for the doors. Renna dashed for the narrow, spiral staircase leading to the parapet.

  When she reached the top of the staircase, men crowded the parapet, pushed back into a knot by Lord Norton’s men. She pointed at the windows above the doors. “Archers! I need men at these front windows! Now!”

  A few archers were already there, trying to shoot down at the men battering at the doors. Several women had the hatch above the doors open and threw rocks from a dwindling supply down onto the attackers’ heads.

  Muted thunder drummed beneath the other sounds of battle. Some of the men around her stiffened, turning toward the windows. Renna curled her aching fingers into the fabric of her divided skirt. If she was right about what she’d thought she’d seen…

  A wedge of galloping horses crested the far hill, banners for Walden, Uster, and Duelstone flying above the dust. At one side of his army, Lord Norton turned, pointing and shouting.

  His men didn’t have time to react. The riders slammed into the men clustered in front of Stetterly’s church, driving deep into Lord Norton’s army.

  In front of the church, the riders dove from their horses and dashed for the doors. A slap on the rump sent the horses galloping, riderless, back through Lord Norton’s army, causing more chaos as they bucked and swerved. More of the riders poured in, and a gap opened between Lord Norton’s army and the church. The battering ram fell silent.

  Renna leaned over the railing. “Brandi, Jamie, now.”

  Brandi and Jamie lifted the two beams holding the doors shut and heaved the doors open. Men sprinted inside, led by Lord Alistair, his limp, left arm strapped to his chest.

  Lord Alistair nodded toward her, then placed himself next to the doors, directing his soldiers inside.

  Renna leaned against the wall and finally gave in to the shudders that crept along her back and into her hands. She was still alive.

  Reinforcements had arrived. How had they gotten here in two days instead of the twelve it should’ve taken Lord Alistair to receive Ranson’s message and leave for Stetterly?

  Didn’t matter. They were here. Stetterly still stood.

  Renna forced her spine to straighten. She had to get a hold of herself. On trembling legs, she stumbled down the staircase as the last of Lord Alistair’s riders sprinted inside. Brandi and Jamie, with help from some of the townsfolk, slammed the doors shut and thunked the locking bars back into place. Several of Lord Alistair’s soldiers dragged a large log, probably the battering ram, and rolled it also across the doors to hold them closed.

  “Lady Faythe.” Someone caught Renna’s arm.

  Renna turned. Ranson stood before her bracing a shield over Michelle Allen’s head and back.

  Michelle bobbed a small curtsy. “Stetterly’s healer reporting for duty.”

  Had Renna once doubted Michelle had what it took to be Stetterly’s healer? She shouldn’t have. “I’m so glad you’re here. There are too many wounded. I haven’t been able to keep up. Clear out a space in the back. See if you can get some of the women and children to help.”

  Michelle frowned. “I think you need to be my first patient.”

  Renna glanced down at herself. Blood dampened her right sleeve above her wound. When she reached up to touch it, her hand spasmed. Forcing her fingers open, she inspected the raw and bleeding patches across her palm and the pads of her fingers. “There are others hurt worse than me. I’ll soak my hands in warm water as soon as I can.”

  “If you say so.” Michelle hurried past her, clutching a satchel that hopefully contained more medical supplies from Walden.

  Ranson set the shield down, staring after Michelle as if he wanted to follow but didn’t dare.

  Renna nodded in Michelle’s direction. “Go on. She could use help.”

  Ranson flashed a grin and dashed off after Michelle.

  Flexing her aching fingers, Renna joined Lord Alistair by the doors. Before she could speak, he gave her a half-bow. “My men are at your command and await your orders, Lady Faythe.”

  “What?” Renna blinked and glanced around at the men patrolling the now enemy-free parapet. Wasn’t Lord Alistair going to take over now? Leading wars and resistance movements, that’s what he did.

  “This is your town. You give the orders here.” Lord Alistair’s mouth twitched into a smile beneath his bushy, untrimmed beard. “Of course, I’ll lend my expertise as needed.”

  “Thank you.” Renna wrapped her arms around her stomach, trying to relieve the pain throbbing through her hands. Across the church, two of Lord Alistair’s soldiers led Captain Loust, hunched and grimacing, from the bell tower. Renna swallowed and turned back to Lord Alistair. “How did you get here so quickly?”

  “Martyn Hamish sent us word from Flayin Falls. I left immediately with whatever riders I could find, gathering more from Duelstone and Uster on our way south. I fear I’ve only brought a hundred and thirty men, not enough to end this siege.” Lord Alistair scrubbed the gray-brown bristles of his beard. “But help is coming. The rest of my soldiers were following on foot, and they’ll be joining King Keevan. I’m not sure when they’ll arrive.”

  Help was on its way. Renna closed her eyes, her knees close to buckling. Would Lord Alistair’s men be enough to help them hold on for another day or two?

  She pressed her palms into her sides, tears pricking the corners of her eyes at the increasing ache. “Martyn? Is he alive?”

  “Shad rode for Flayin Falls, but I don’t know if he arrived in time.” Lord Alistair glanced past her, then swept his gaze over the battlements. “Where’s Leith?”

  Where was Leith? Hopefully safe. Hopefully still alive. She pointed at the doors. “Out there, somewhere, being hunted.”

  Leith held his breath as the former Blade Daas paced outside the command tent, his boots squeaking against the sand and his trousers whispering against the grass.

  In Leith’s hand, Lord Norton’s dagger eased a fraction of an inch. Lord Norton slept, his breath whuffling in and out rhythmically. One hand rested only a few inches from the hilt of the dagger that Leith worked from under the pillow.

  It would be so easy to kill this man now. He slept soundly. The Blades outside didn’t realize Leith had slipped past them. All Leith would have to do was draw his knife and slide its edge across Lord Norton’s throat.

  Heat curled in Leith’s chest, building and burning outward into his fingers. Lord Norton deserved death. Leith had watched—helpless to do anything but keep the Blades occupied—as Lord Norton’s soldiers nearly overran Stetterly. If not for Lord Alistair’s arrival, Renna might’ve died. Leith would’ve died trying to get to her b
efore it was too late.

  And Martyn. Leith’s hand trembled. So much hurt and betrayal lay between them, and now Leith would never have the chance to repair their friendship.

  Not since First Blade Vane had Leith been tempted this much to put a knife in someone’s back. It would spare Stetterly. Save Renna.

  And it would be wrong.

  Leith forced down the heat in his chest, the cold in his blood, until his heart and hands steadied. He couldn’t kill Lord Norton. It wasn’t right and would prove Lord Norton had been right all along about Leith and Martyn.

  Protector or assassin. A thin, thin line. Both sides of it held bloodshed, but an assassin killed in the dark of night, in the back, when he still had a choice to walk away. A protector killed in battle when pressed until there was no other option.

  Then, and only then, would Leith kill again.

  Right now, Leith had a choice. He had to trust God with the future. Trust that Lord Alistair, well-practiced in siege warfare against superior numbers, would help Renna and Stetterly hold. Trust that Shad hadn’t come with Lord Alistair because he was fetching more soldiers for Stetterly’s defense.

  Protector, not assassin.

  Leith edged the dagger out another inch. Last night and during the battle, Lord Norton had ordered only three of the Blades after Leith. The other two had remained with Lord Norton as his bodyguards.

  Leith needed all five to chase him. He would draw them away from Stetterly. Keep them so busy Lord Norton wouldn’t have a chance to use them to assassinate Renna, Lord Alistair, or anyone else.

  He slid the dagger the last few inches from under the pillow. As quietly as possible, he stabbed the point into the ground a few inches from Lord Norton’s nose. When Lord Norton woke, it would be the first thing he saw. He’d know Leith could’ve killed him in his sleep.

  And, with fear and rage clouding his judgment, he’d order Leith tracked down at all costs.

  When Daas’ footsteps crunched on one side of the tent, Leith crept out the other. Once he was clear, he strolled through the shadows. What chaos should he create tonight? Last night, he’d caused so much trouble, they hadn’t had time for a night attack. Tonight would be no different. Already, the guards were jumpy. All the better to start a panic.