by Eric Lewis
“You didn’t come alone. Or unarmed,” said another voice, barely recognizable as female.
“Let’s not quibble over trivialities. My time’s valuable so come forth and we can get to the fun part, shall we?”
“First tell your thugs to lower their…whatever those are.”
Vinian waved to the mercenaries. They looked at the banker, and he whined, “Are you sure about this?”
“Not remotely,” said Vinian. “If you want you can go back to your tent, let me deal with this.” I dare you. I dare you to leave me alone with them. What might they say about you?
Carthagne glowered at her with a twisted lip before turning to the mercs and snarling something in Cynuvik. They slowly dropped the bows but kept tight grips on them. Kryte, who instead carried a torch, rested his hand on a long sword at his hip.
“There,” called Vinian into the darkness, “we’re at your mercy, just as you claimed.”
At last in the flickering torchlight appeared two of the most pitiable excuses for human beings Vinian had ever laid eyes upon. The man might’ve been strong and strapping once, but like Carthagne seemed to have fallen from grace, dreadfully thin instead of fat. The woman Vinian remembered from Lenocca was worse off – starved and breastless, she might’ve been taken as a boy for the chausses and tunic she wore. Both held bows notched and taut, arrows aimed only slightly downward.
“That’s better. So these are the Heron Kings. The ghostlords spreading terror and death across half of Bergovny. I must say, I’m underwhelmed.”
“That’s yourselves you’re describing,” the man spat, his words dripping with hatred. “You’re the ones burning everything in sight, murdering as you go all so you can rule over the corpses.”
Vinian thought, You’ve no idea – wait ’til Taurix gets here. “Yes yes, save your breath. I don’t make policy, only enforce it.” She nodded at the bows. “Not exactly a parallel gesture on your part.”
The woman sneered. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is some kind of negotiation. We brought you here to make an offer. I suggest you quit quibbling over trivialities and listen.”
Corren took a cautious step forward. “You must be the ‘burned bitch’ that bastard behind you spoke of.”
“Vinian, Her Majesty the Queen’s royal spymistress.” She made a sarcastic bow.
“Impressive. Who’s the landwalking manatee?” He motioned to Carthagne with his still-drawn arrow.
“Ah,” the banker said with more confidence than he felt, “you know of sea beasts. Are you a sailor?”
“Have been. Answer the question.”
“These gentlemen are mine,” he said, spreading his arms to encompass the mercenaries. “You should be proud – they’ve been engaged specifically to track you and your friends down. Expensive.”
“Could’ve saved some money,” said Vinian. “Seems all I had to do was let you come to me.”
“It’s of money that we wish to speak,” said Alessia. “Do you know where your queen gets the funds to continue the war? You must if you’re truly who you claim.”
Vinian turned just enough to put Carthagne in the corner of her eye and watched him fidget. “What if I do? That can hardly have anything to do with your little band of traitors, now can it?”
“How about Pharamund? How is it possible Engwara hasn’t spent him into the ground yet?”
That took Vinian aback. “I…we’ve been wondering that. What of it? Quit dancing about and tell what you know.”
“I’ll do better than that.” Alessia slowly lowered her bow, opened her belt pouch and pulled out a roll of tanned red hide. She unfurled it and displayed the document it held in front of her, stepping just close enough to let Vinian see the writing. “Can you read Bhasan?”
Carthagne tensed then took half a step toward Alessia. “Ah! Uh, um…I can. If you would…?” He extended a hand.
“Stay right where you are,” said Vinian, stabbing a finger at him. “The parley was addressed to me. I can read Bhasan too.”
As Vinian read, so many pieces fell into place. She lost track of how many times she thought Of course! and How could I have not seen it? Only when she reached the end and saw the ridiculous golden signature – C. F. v X. – did her mind begin to race. Should she reveal the banker to the strange pair? What would happen? What would his men do? Careful, careful.
“It’s…a fake,” she said at last, knowing full well it was not. “A fabrication. How could such as you get your filthy hands on this thing?”
“A messenger cutting through dangerous country,” said Alessia, “our country. Tripped over us, took our presence as something it was not and…well, he’s long dead.”
“And you’d give me this supposed evidence why? Out of the goodness of your hearts? You’ve already shown you have none. In exchange for gold? You’ve stolen more than enough. To spite a far-away emperor?”
Corren felt his temper flare, heedless of the danger they were in. “To make you royal idiots stop slaughtering the world long enough to look up and see you’re both being deceived! Don’t you get it? We want it to stop!”
“You say you’re a spymistress,” said Alessia. “Tell me this is really the kind of spycraft you prefer, I dare you. Starving conscripts bashing each other into oblivion and taking the rest of us with ’em? Is that truly the height of your skills?”
“How dare you. I’ve worked without rest to end the war as efficiently—”
“Then do it! You want a chance to make policy, here it is! Take this to your queen, and to Pharamund also, get them to agree—”
“I tire of this farce,” Vinian said with a swipe of her hand. “I’m here to find you and wipe you out and I intend exactly that. How many of your fellows surround us?”
“More than you could find before being cut down,” said Corren, desperate to hide how tired his arm grew. Sweat glistened on his brow.
“Oh, I think not. If it were so they’d have their weapons trained on us and you could lower yours. You’re afraid. And I think you are alone. And, I think these men shall seize you now.”
At once the cross-bows were hefted upward, pointed at Corren’s chest before he could react. “Don’t,” snapped Vinian, “unless you desire a very painful death. I’ll take that.” She reached for the letter, still held in Alessia’s right hand, while the left hovered frozen above the hilt of her short sword. “A fine forgery, I admit—”
“Actually I’ll take that.”
Vinian turned to see three of the cross-bows now pointed at her. Carthagne strode forward, fear now replaced with a smug grin. He snatched the letter for himself, gazed at his own handwriting with almost sexual longing. “Apologies, but your act could not quite fool one who sails seas of lies as often as those of water. I appreciate you doing the hard work for me though.”
“You treacherous sack of cack,” Vinian hissed. Never trust a traitor.
“From you, I count that a compliment.” He nodded at Corren and Alessia. “As for you two, I don’t know what you thought you were doing, but your stupidity this day has given me great comfort. Now I can rid myself of several irksome insects all at once. I will graciously allow you to die knowing you have the sincere thanks of both Bank Isle-Euderico and Emperor Artabarzanes. Boys, put these animals down.”
* * *
The mercenaries braced their cross-bows against shoulders and raised to aim, and a strange calm washed over Alessia as she tensed to at least try and dodge the bolts she already imagined ripping through her organs. But when the action began, something went very wrong.
No, that’s not right, she thought. It seemed that it was one of the Cynuviks that was struck, not her. The man screamed more out of alarm than in pain as an arrow lanced out of the darkness.
“Gyaaargh!”
The others pulled the triggers of their weapons, and iron went flying. Alessia dov
e, felt Corren tumble into her. Screaming, then more screaming. Knives and swords, flashing in the light of Kryte’s dropped torch. Their spooked horse bolted into the night.
“Get them!” someone yelled. Corren drew his blade as a mercenary fell onto him. He buried the point in the huge man’s belly, straining to push it deeper through hard muscle until the weight atop him went limp.
Alessia grappled with Vinian, neither woman sure where the other stood in this sudden violence other than in front of her, and they both went to the ground. A hot flare of pain shot through Alessia’s thigh, and she looked down to see a cross-bow bolt protruding from it.
While two of the mercenaries scrambled to reload, the others drew swords and attacked. Then, out of the forest a raging cry came on the heels of another arrow shot.
Thank all the gods for ever and ever, Alessia thought. Nan! Another merc went down wounded, and she swung her sword wildly to fend the others off. Meanwhile Vinian had produced a blade of her own and slashed at Carthagne while he made clumsy attempts to pummel her into the ground. The blade opened a stretch of his face, and as he jumped back Vinian snatched the precious, crumpled and bloodstained letter from him. “Come,” she said to Alessia, “we’ll kill each other later!”
Kryte pushed Carthagne out of the way and raised his sword for a blow that would take off three heads at once. But before it could fall Corren jumped out from under his kill and buried his blade in the Cynuvik’s back. Kryte let out a sharp puff of air and his eyes went wide. Corren ducked the backward swing of Kryte’s sword, then used his body to shield himself from another volley of bolts. Rather than press the attack, the remaining mercenaries clustered around their employer as Carthagne scuttled backward along the pathway, bleeding profusely and whimpering.
“Let’s go,” said Nan, panting and sporting a dozen cuts and bruises.
“I can’t,” Alessia hissed through clenched teeth and tears, “I can’t walk—”
“You can,” Vinian replied. “You damn well will!”
Carthagne’s voice echoed through the trees. “You fools, don’t let them get away now! Kill them!”
“Lessi, you must,” Corren insisted. “However much it hurts, you must.”
They hoisted her to her feet, and she wailed as blood spurted from the wound. Vinian took an arm around her shoulders and carried Alessia deeper into the brush.
“We’ll cover you,” said Nan as Corren handed her an arrow. They turned back, drew and loosed just as the mercenaries came one more time. Two were hit and their bolts went wide. A third sailed through Nan’s tunic in a one-in-a-million shot, straight up her sleeve and out the shoulder without tasting flesh.
“Now, while they reload!” They turned and ran, and within two seconds the night forest had swallowed them up again. Cheated of both his prey and his incriminating letter, the banker howled in fury.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sacrifices
“Wait, stop.”
Ulnoth almost barreled into Dannek. “What is it?”
“Something’s wrong.”
“What do you mean—”
Attack! Ulnoth thought it even before the first bodies hit the ground. A harsh cry rang out, a voice he couldn’t immediately place, then another. Another. He dropped the sacks and whipped his bow up around his shoulder. “Down, get down! Cover!”
“Where?” someone screamed. Bolts sailed through the darkness, invisible comets of death. All along the line people panicked, or huddled together or writhed on the ground. Children wailed. Ulnoth and Dannek frantically sought shelter behind a pile of sacks.
“There,” grunted Ulnoth, pointing somewhere into the black, seemingly at nothing. Then…the tiniest movement.
Without thought or conscious aim Dannek loosed a shot and then heard a low moan. “Alixe,” he whined, “where’s Alixe?”
All around them shapes moved in random directions, collided, fought, fell. Others who’d had the good luck to be armed took shots of their own, not knowing whether it was friend or foe they targeted. Then the attackers advanced in force. Ulnoth pulled a sword. “Scatter!” he yelled. “Everyone scatter! Give no target!” Ignoring his order, Dannek charged the nearest shadow, swinging wildly. The big figure ducked, and Dannek barely avoided having his shoulder cleaved away. He scrambled on hands and knees, and as the attacker moved to impale him through the back an arrow appeared at the base of his skull. The man said something angry in a foreign tongue then fell back, twitching.
“Come on,” said Ulnoth, wrenching Dannek to his feet. “More of ’em out there – we gotta get out of here!”
“But Alixe—”
“Come on, we’re alone. Nothin’ you can do now!”
Dannek groaned with impotent hate while following Ulnoth into a grove of trees. They picked up two others wounded, then pressed themselves as hard as they could near the ground, not feeling the cold for once. Screams erupted on occasion, and once Dannek rose to take a shot at a menacing shade that strayed near.
When all fell silent they forced their burning, frozen limbs out of a crouch and Ulnoth crawled from his hiding spot. “Dannek. Gimme your sparker.” He tore a strip of worn wool from the nearest body he found. The little red flare of light confirmed his suspicions. “Cynuviks,” he spat, then stomped his heel into the upturned face.
Others came out, slow and terrified. Ulnoth took up the dead man’s long sword and wrapped more wool around it to make a crude torch. He held it up before them.
Dannek gasped. “All the gods and all the Chthonii….”
It was Wengeddy all over again. Figures both dead and nearly dead littered the slope. Their baggage and supplies, once so precious, were strewn all about like garbage. Overhead the moon appeared from behind clouds and its silvery light revealed dark swaths in the snow. Moans, cries of anguish. Not many though. Not very many at all.
“I don’t know, Bed,” came a terrified voice from somewhere ahead of him. “Maybe got ’em all, maybe chased off, or still out there. Stop asking!” It was Gant, his tunic steaming with blood not his own. Noticing Ulnoth, he said, “There you are. Quick, help me. Emony’s doing what she can but we can’t see shit. What happened?”
“Mercs, looks like. Good ones. Prob’ly tracked us and used that meeting as a distraction. They hit us all at once.”
They pulled a barely moving form from under some crates. It was Crander, skewered by two cross-bow bolts. He wheezed and coughed blood. “Hold still, old man,” said Ulnoth. “You’ll be fine—”
“Nah,” Crander whispered. “S’all right. Always knew. Done….”
“Hush,” Dannek pleaded as he tried to stop the obscene flow of blood from Crander’s belly. “Save your strength.”
“I’m done…bein’ afraid. Done. S’all right…thank you.” Crander’s eyes closed, his head went limp in Ulnoth’s shaking hands.
“Damn it all,” said Ulnoth. He stood. “Come on, plenty more around still in need.”
They rescued two or three more from the worst of the carnage, unsure of how many might yet be waiting just out of sight. The sameness brought by the stillness of death made some of the less fortunate hard to identify in the darkness, but Ulnoth thought he recognized Marella. A fellow from Wengeddy. A smuggler whose name he couldn’t remember. Then Ulnoth froze and Dannek followed his gaze downward.
“Oh, no. No, please no….” It was Lalaith, the little girl. A blade had cut her nearly in two. Ulnoth sank to his knees, huddled into a quivering ball. Dannek reached out to touch the man’s shoulder. He flinched away and buried his head in his hands. “No. Just…give me a….”
Dannek left Ulnoth alone. He came across a Cynuvik, barely alive. Dannek stood over him while the dying mercenary eyed him with contempt, an arrow buried in his chest and a series of sword blows on one side. He uttered something nasty, and Dannek raised a knife to dispatch him, then halted.
“No. No, you don’t deserve it. You can bleed out.” He kicked the merc in the gut and turned away, only to find Banwick before him.
“You…better come,” he said, not meeting Dannek’s eyes.
“Why? What is it?”
“Emony says…better come. It’s Alixe.”
* * *
The girl was in bad shape, and there was nothing Emony could do with the training she had. Nothing anyone could do, really. A bolt was through Alixe’s lung and her ribs had been crushed by a falling horse. Her eyes were glassy and drowning in tears but still focused on Dannek when he raced to her side, though she could not speak. Ulnoth stood watching, feeling more dead inside than the bodies strewn around them.
“Oh gods,” Dannek whimpered, “save her!”
“I cannot,” said Emony. “Not even Alessia could, not out here—”
“Godsdammit, do something!”
“Dannek,” said Ulnoth in the gentlest voice he could manage, “she’s drowning in her own blood. All that can be done…is to end her suffering.”
“What? No! How could you say—”
Alixe shuddered, gurgled something. Dannek held her tighter. “It’s all right, I’m here. I’m right here. Listen…remember, remember the other day? We were talking about…about what we were going to do, later? In the spring, maybe. We’d leave everyone behind, slip away in the night, go far away where no one would bother us. Just you and me. Maybe build a cottage somewhere. You remember that? You need…to pull through, so we can do all that. I’ll travel the towns and become the best carver around, and you’ll smuggle in the best fabrics and spices and everyone will envy you…but we’ll always be alone, together….” As Dannek mumbled all this Ulnoth forced himself not to notice Emony take something small and pull it gently across Alixe’s wrist. The girl didn’t even flinch. Dannek held her and talked to her until her eyes closed and she stopped breathing, and then until her heartbeat faded away. He held her still, mumbling nothings to himself. Everyone else stood silent.