The Crimson League (The Herezoth Trilogy)

by Grefer, Victoria

  Hayden set his jaw. Lanokas said, “Meet me at Teena’s, both of you, in an hour. No later than an hour.” Kora affirmed the timetable and brought Hayden to the field between Fontferry and her mother’s property. “I can’t take you closer,” she said. “You’re on your own from here.”

  Hayden was as pale as Kora had ever seen him, but he did not hesitate. He tore toward the town looking like a newly risen ghost who had sworn before death to make an enemy’s life a living hell, an enemy who waited in the village. Kora transported closer to the barn.

  Neslan was helping Bennie study one of the Palace maps. “What floor is this?” he asked. She stammered, unsure what to say. “You need to recognize these things. Without thinking. What if Zalski transports you to one of these rooms? How will you know which way to escape?”

  “Like I’d end up escaping if….”

  “What floor, Bennie?”

  “The fifth,” she said. “The fifth floor.”

  “Right.” Both Leaguesmen noticed Kora, and immediately rose. “What’s happened?” asked Neslan.

  “Where’s Laskenay?” Kora responded.

  “She went to Zacry. Well, to the people who are watching him, to give further instructions. What’s happened, Kora?”

  “Do you remember a story Lanokas told? Or maybe Kansten? About trolls?”

  “Trolls?” said Bendelof. Her fingers had trouble folding the map. Kora explained the emergency, though for Laskenay’s sake she did not reveal who Teena’s nephew was, or the fact that the Librette was stowed on Teena’s property.

  “We have to fight. This woman is my mother’s friend. She’s lodging innocent people.”

  Bennie shook her head, as though saying she would not go. “I can’t stand up against a troll. Neslan could break me in two if he wanted, a troll would….”

  Kora stopped listening. Bennie’s excuses were too painful, too removed from the grit she once had shown. They were justified, but that only made them sting the worse. More to hush her friend than to comfort her, Kora said, “Someone has to watch Teena’s nephew. To take him from danger. I know Teena, and she won’t leave her inn to be sacked by marauding beasts. She just won’t, which means….”

  “Good,” said Bennie. “Good, I still can help. I’ll watch the child. I don’t mean to back out, I just, I honestly would be no use fighting.”

  DING.

  Bennie jumped. “Hayden,” said Kora. He was ringing the bells in the tower, or else someone was ringing them for him. DING. DING DINGDINGDING.

  Neslan shivered. “That noise is unsettling somehow,” he said.

  The façade of Teena’s inn had never impressed Kora; unremarkable was the word for it, especially with sheets of rain cascading down the eaves, which had been the case on Kora’s first arrival. To gaze a second time at the building, what struck the sorceress was its inexplicable air of solace, of peace, an air she had chalked up the previous visit, mistakenly, to a yearning to escape the weather. Now as then, the windows glowed with a cheery candlelight. No external signs hinted that anything was amiss.

  “This is the place?” breathed Bendelof. Kora said it was. “This is where they’ll attack? It just doesn’t seem possible. It’s so quiet….”

  Bennie should have waited to step inside before she spoke. Two school-aged boys, the sons of a guest, were arguing about a card game. A group of men were drinking, and ranting about taxes, in the corner. Those speaking had Yangerton accents; one of them pounded their table. “It’s criminal. Criminal! He wants a rebellion, I swear to you, he’s provoking one. That’s what he’s doing, provoking one. So he can put it down.”

  “Bullshit,” said another. “What’s he left us to revolt with? The wood of our empty shelves?”

  “This way,” whispered Kora. She had a sneaking suspicion she might find Teena in the kitchen, and so she did. The innkeeper, something about her as sprite-like as always, was removing pots from above the fire; Lanokas was helping. Both their backs were to the door.

  “There are children here,” said Teena.

  Lanokas asked, “Where can we hide them? Should we move them to the village proper?”

  “There isn’t time. We could lock them in the basement.”

  “I can move them,” said Kora. Teena dropped a pot of stew. The vessel hit the floor with a clang, rolled beneath a table. “I’m so sorry! Teena, I’m sorry. I always startle you somehow.” Kora vanished the spill and bent down to retrieve the pot.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said the innkeeper. She approached Ilana’s daughter. “You can move the children?”

  “To Wheatfield. It’s where we’ve been staying. We’ve made a home of sorts of the barn. Teena, this is Bennie. One of us. She’ll watch the kids.”

  Lanokas asked, “Is Wheatfield really the best option? If Laskenay comes back….”

  “It’s the only option. Well, maybe not the only, but I can’t think of any others, and there’s no time to come up with something better.”

  “She’s right,” said Teena, and pressed Bennie’s hand between her own, as though to thank her. “I’ll tell my guests what we’re facing.”

  When she flitted to the door Neslan said, “We should explain together. All of us.”

  Teena caught Kora’s eye. “Is it safe for me to tell your name?”

  “There’s no way around it. No parent will send their child off with a woman with no identity. And I’ll have to use magic to transport the kids away.”

  Teena flew from the kitchen, her feet barely sweeping the floor, they moved so quickly. She gathered her guests in the parlor, all eleven of them. Besides the school-aged boys and their father—a man with graying hair, two or three day’s worth of stubble on his face, and a hardness to his eyes—there were the four men enjoying drinks and a group of two elderly couples. All of them listened in various states of discomfort as Lanokas cut across Teena to explain why the Crimson League had come to this establishment. No one had trouble guessing which woman was Kora Porteg.

  One of the drinking men, with a throaty voice Kora had not yet heard and a straw hat that hid his face, asked, “Is that what the bell was about? We’ll have us some help?” He was a local, a farmer, the only local of his party by the look of things.

  Lanokas said, “More men should be coming to fight with us. How many, I don’t know. The priority right now is getting those who can’t defend themselves away from here.”

  The man with the stubble studied Kora, dislike etched on his face. His children looked at her as well, stunned, wondering if she really were a sorceress. “I’ll get my boys out of here myself.” He grabbed his sons by the arm and started to drag them forward, but the local who had asked about the bells jumped in front of him.

  “And if you walk straight into the trolls? We don’t know where they are.”

  “We don’t know they exist,” said the father.

  “True enough. But I reckon they probably do. One thing’s for sure, those four young people there are members of the Crimson League. I don’t see why they’d jeopardize themselves if there wasn’t some real danger out there,” he pointed at the door, “making its way here. If you want to be a coward and a fool and get your own self killed, well, that’s your business, brother. But you’re not getting those boys killed along with you. That there woman offered to move them to safety, and you with them, I’m sure, assuming you’re not man enough to defend the home of the woman I know’s cooked you a fair number of meals, all fifty times better than anything you could throw together.”

  The father swung at the farmer’s jaw, but the farmer grabbed his fist before it made contact. “I don’t like you, Gand, and I know you don’t like me, but Teena needs the both of us. We both appreciate her, so what do you say you don’t waste our time? Let that Porteg woman take the boys away. Go with them, or stay here. I really don’t care what you do, but don’t waste my time.”

  Gand must be a local too. He grunted with such ferocity Kora feared he would throw another punch; she nearly moved forward
to prevent him, but he just shoved the farmer’s hand away. His children pulled back, looking confused. Kora gulped out of instinct as their father swung to face her.

  “If something happens to my boys, I’ll kill you. I don’t care what you are. I’ll hunt you in your sleep, understand?”

  Teena’s voice lost what remained of its usual sugary pitch. “Let me fetch Vane,” she said. She marched to the bedrooms with a huff, returning seconds later with Laskenay’s son in her arms, the tot all energy, excited at the thought of playing somewhere new before bedtime.

  445

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Troll Assault

  By the time Kora moved the children and elderly to Wheatfield, and transferred the weapons at Wheatfield to the inn, Hayden had led, by the footbridge, some twenty-five men to Teena’s. Four wore uniforms, but not the elite guard’s. Fifteen came from the village militia, and were trained to use swords and bows. The rest carried scythes that had only attacked wheat. Dusk was twenty minutes off, maybe thirty; to Kora’s surprise, Lanokas let Neslan take charge.

  “Catch them off-guard, that’s the key. They can’t suspect we’re waiting. The day’s too nice not to open at least one window. I need volunteers, militiamen, to stay out in the parlor around tables, with cards and ale you’ll pretend to be drinking. Hide your weapons, but keep them close.”

  Nine militiamen scattered themselves through the parlor. Everyone else gathered behind closed doors, in the kitchen and hall. Kora headed for the latter, dragging a sword, Lanokas at her heels. They took their places at the back of the group, and though Neslan had counseled silence, Lanokas whispered, “If things go poorly, get Teena away.”

  “I’ll try. How many do you think they’ll be?”

  “The trolls? I haven’t the vaguest notion. That’s why I’m telling you….”

  “I heard the first time.”

  The wait was unbearable. Kora tried to plan ahead, to formulate some course of action, but she had no clue what to expect, and the adrenaline coursing through her body made thinking difficult. She opted against invisibility, since the only people blind to her would be allies who otherwise could aid her. If she needed aid. Would she need aid? She had never fought hand to hand, had always had her magic.

  Smashing glass overpowered the hum of human voices from the parlor, and Kora jumped. One parlor window burst in pieces, and then a second, a third…. Pikebash had arrived. The men at the head of Kora’s group poured into the inn’s main room.

  Militia archers, Hayden with them, had already overturned tables to make barricades. Teena joined a group near the front door and was shooting not expertly, but well enough. All in all, the humans’ arrows killed three or four trolls right away, though five more, with swords, climbed through the broken windows, the first making to strike an untrained local. A thought hit Kora, a way to utilize her spells.

  “Adarg Reflayha!”

  Her silver shield blocked the blade. The troll swung an arm through the barrier, but Kora had given the man time to dive behind one of the tables. Undaunted, the troll charged the sorceress until, six feet away, an arrow to the back made him trip. “I got you covered!” Hayden yelled.

  Kora continued casting spells against weapons, stripping trolls of their swords with Mudar. Lanokas followed her example with his telekinesis. Neslan fought in the center of the room, directing those on foot to band together, and they did, sorceress, prince, soldiers, and citizens. Kora evoked another shield just in the knick of time, and cured a militiaman’s wound as a stab to the chest sent him tumbling. Still, the trolls kept coming. Four of them remained in the parlor.

  Then came more breaking glass: from the kitchen, from the bedrooms. Lanokas barked at Kora, “Behind a table!” He yelled to Hayden, “Cover those kitchen doors!”

  Kora slid in position as directed, while the sound of rushing feet, the stench of troll and blood, made her lightheaded. To guess, at least twenty of Pikebash’s troops were coming from the hall. “Don’t shoot just yet,” Kora told the archers. “Cover the kitchen. The kitchen!” Some were aiming at the corridor. Dear God, she hoped Teena would forgive her….

  “GET AWAY FROM THE HALL!” Kora yelled to the inn’s defenders. The masses drawing closer were making the floor shake. Before the trolls knocked the door from its hinges, Kora pulverized it and its wall with an explosion in the direction of the assailants; the blast collapsed the bedroom wing with a stifling cloud of dust and dozens of throaty yells, all from Pikebash’s army.

  The contingent in the kitchen was not nearly as large, maybe ten, four of whom fell in the doorway at the hands (or bows) of the militia. The parlor was littered with bodies, some human, all limiting the mobility of those left standing. That just made the trolls easier targets for the archers. Kora went back to evoking shields and healing what wounds she could see on fallen men. Lanokas stripped swords via magic. When Pikebash tore through the kitchen door with a growl and his blade held high, Lanokas tore it from his grasp, caught it, and threw it back in the air, running the assault’s mastermind clear through at the same time three arrows struck the troll’s upper chest. Pikebash never had time to glance for a replacement blade.

  Rankush had somehow arranged to enter last. He peered around the door, then entered with his hands above his head. “Hold your fire!” Lanokas ordered. Too late: two militia archers had already released arrows. Kora was healing a man sliced with his own scythe; she looked up to see the second projectile hit its mark, straight through the heart. Rankush tumbled on top of his master.

  “No,” Kora moaned. “No!”

  “No prisoners,” said the first archer. Lanokas grabbed him by the shirt.

  “THAT WAS OUR INFORMANT!”

  “How was I to know?”

  “I said to hold fire!”

  Kora, willing herself not to vomit, moved as quickly as she could to Rankush without trampling or tripping on corpses, which was no simple feat, as the corpses were three or four deep in some places. She tried to save him, but the aim had been perfect, death instant. She knelt to shut his eyes, her own streaming at the stench that drowned the room, and felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “It’s best like this,” said Neslan. “Where could he go? He couldn’t return to his tribe.”

  “It’s never best to die like that. It’s just not right.” Kora swept her fingers down the troll’s eyelids. Neslan helped her to her feet.

  “You can’t do anything for him. Come on, there are people you can help.”

  Kora turned around and saw a human arm sticking out from a pile of trolls. She clutched her chest. “Neslan….”

  Neslan tugged at the first troll’s arm, but Kora stopped him and used Mudar to launch corpses through the window. The noble grabbed the man’s wrist as she worked. “He’s alive. The pulse is weak, but it’s there. You want to hurry.” The human, it turned out, was the first man she had healed, a militiaman with a formerly gashed chest and blood-soaked tunic. He moaned faintly as he tried to stretch a leg.

  “Water,” said Neslan. “We need water.”

  Teena came running up. “Why were there so many? So many of them? This was supposed to be a sneak attack!”

  Neslan said, “They converged here when they realized we were fighting back.”

  “I’m so sorry, Teena,” said Kora.

  The innkeeper’s voice shook. “Don’t be.”

  “Water,” said Neslan.

  Teena said, “I’m on it. There’s a well out back.”

  Kora returned to the militiaman on the floor. He had a number of broken bones, mainly his limbs and ribs. She mended them, and Neslan helped him sit up. He seemed to have no major internal damage.

  “I’ll stay with him,” said Neslan. “You move on.”

  The next man Kora found was the farmer who had confronted the stubbled father of two before the attack. His straw hat still sat perched on his head. His rival in life guarded his dignity in death, and he told her, “You couldn’t save him, but you sure saved the rest of
us. Forgive my threats before.”

  “Of course I’ll forgive…. Did he have a family? I hope he didn’t leave….”

  “He had a wife,” said Gant. “She died two years ago. They were childless.”

  The minutes passed, and more. Kora kept healing wounds and broken bones, tossing troll corpses through the windows. All in all, six men had died. Not counting those crushed in the hall, the defenders had killed fifty enemies.

  When no one was left who needed her attention, Kora walked outside. The stench of the trolls was little weaker there, but at least there were no pools of blood to stare at or to step in, which she had done many times in the parlor. With a hearty sigh, Kora fell back against Teena’s barn. She watched the men build a bonfire to cremate the trolls, until, in the darkness, a figure materialized maybe twenty feet away.

  “Laskenay,” Kora called to her. Laskenay stopped short and joined Kora. “Is it over?” she asked. “Am I needed?”

  “It’s over. There’s nothing we can really do here, I’m just too fatigued to move. And the four of us, we’re fine,” Kora added, before Laskenay could ask. “Teena too. Go back to Wheatfield, to your son.”

  Laskenay transported away. A few minutes later, a carriage drew up. Curious, and rested to some degree, Kora turned invisible and crept toward the fire that by now had begun to release a putrid odor of burning flesh.

  The mayor had arrived. Jonson Peare stepped down and rushed, as quickly as his bulk would allow, to the group of men cremating trolls. He coughed as he went, his nose contracted in revulsion.

  “What in heaven’s name is this? Are the stories true? Gracious Giver!”

  “What does it look like?” chided one of the soldiers. All four of them were present.

  Lanokas described the assault. He mentioned Kora, as he could not omit her before an audience who knew the truth, and the mayor, his face half-lit by the pyre, seemed confused by the esteem in which Lanokas clearly held her. His expression, in fact, looked faintly tortured.

  He asked, “These trolls came from the mountains?”