by Matt Heppe
Hadde pulled back at rage she saw in his eyes. “Flee if you get the chance,” she said.
He turned to the alcove, his sword poised. “I couldn’t save Jenae,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll not fail these maidens. Farewell, Hadde.”
***
Hadde led the escapees out of the sewer and onto the riverbank. The shit farmer’s shed sat silent and dark nearby. All around them the city burned, the flames lighting the dawn sky. Here and there refugees fled, taking what few possessions they had saved from their homes. Others took the opportunity to pillage.
The maidens clung to one another; most cried. Ilana held Handrin close. A pall of dense smoke drifted over them. “What now?” Ilana demanded.
Hadde blinked her eyes against the bitter wind. “We have to get to your husband. His soldiers must surround the Great Keep.”
“You’re not certain where they are?”
“I was in a cell when this all happened. But I saw King Boradin and his men attack through the gate. I’m certain they’re outside. He wouldn’t have left. The eternal demanded he present himself each day.”
“Well, lead on.”
Hadde peered through the smoke. “I don’t know the way.”
“There is the downriver bridge.” Ilana pointed. “The avenue above leads to the Great Keep.”
“Come on, Maidens,” Hadde called out. “Follow me.” She glanced at the sewer entrance as she led them away. She wanted to believe that Melas still lived.
“Follow close, girls,” Ilana said. The ragged band of maidens bunched close behind the queen. Hadde saw Maret at the back, hustling the slowest along.
No one paid the party any heed as they scurried along the river. The bridge over the Treteren stood high above them. Nearby a moored ship burned. Next to it, a battle raged as a warehouse was looted.
They had nearly made it to the base of the bridge when Hadde caught sight of a crowd running in their direction. A mass of Returnists, some armed, poured down the hill. She handed her sword to the startled Ilana and took her bow from its case as she looked for an escape. Hadde spied a narrow garbage-strewn alley a few strides away.
“Hide there,” she shouted to the maidens. “Between those two buildings.” Most heeded her call, but a few panicked. Ilana and Maret cajoled them toward the shelter. Hadde drew her bow as she backed into the alley. The crowd was nearly on them. But they hardly seemed to notice the maidens. Instead they looked over their shoulders. Hadde heard the rumble of hooves.
Behind her, Ilana shoved the last of the girls into hiding. Hadde leaped into the gap after them. Screams of pain and fear followed her from the street. A few dozen Returnists ran past, many splattered by blood and dirt. Red-clad knights charged behind them, cutting down the Returnists as they fled.
The Knights of the House showed no mercy. Swords and maces rose and fell relentlessly as the Returnists pled for their lives. The knights paid their cries no heed. Hadde pushed back further into the alley.
“There’s no more room,” Ilana said.
“No exit?”
“It’s blocked. A gate.”
A Returnist tumbled to the ground in front of their hiding place. He leapt into the alley as a knight wheeled to charge him. Hadde drew her bow and took aim. A maiden screamed behind her. Wide-eyed, the Returnist raised his hands and stumbled.
A knight appeared and clove the Returnists head in half. Panic engulfed the maidens as the blood-smeared knight stepped over the body and raised his sword. “Stop!” Hadde shouted. “We’re not Returnists!” She held her bow at full draw. Her arms shook with the strain. The knight paused mid-stride.
“Lay down your sword, Sir Knight!” Ilana demanded. She pushed Hadde aside. “Put down your sword!” She shook her finger as if scolding a child. She still held Hadde's sword in her other hand.
The knight lowered his sword and pulled his helm back on his head. “My queen?” His brow furrowed as he peered past them at the crying maidens.
“Get us out of here, Sir Gorwin,” Ilana demanded. “Take us to the king.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The knight backed out and surveyed the avenue. He blocked the queen with his shield as she attempted to depart the alley. “It isn’t yet safe, Your Majesty.”
“Have you retaken the Great Keep? Where’s my husband?”
“Returnists still hold the keep. We’re retaking the city. Or what remains of it. How did you get here, Your Majesty?”
“Hadde and Squire Melas rescued us. They—”
Pushing past the queen, Hadde said, “Melas is in danger. He stayed behind to hold off our pursuers.”
Gorwin stepped out of her way. “Where is he?”
“We came out through the sewers. He might still be alive. We have to go to him.” Hadde glanced at the maidens sheltering in the alley. Could she leave them and run for Melas? Gorwin seemed to sense her anxiety.
“Knights, to me!” he shouted as he strode into the street. “To me!” Soon, nearly a dozen knights and soldiers crowded around him. Gorwin quickly counted off four of them. “Go with Hadde,” he commanded. “She’ll lead you to Squire Melas. He’s in grave danger.”
Hadde nodded her thanks to Gorwin and sprinted down the street. She heard the four knights following her, but they quickly fell behind. She didn't care, all that mattered was her race to Melas.
She slid down the muddy riverbank toward the sewer entrance, but halted for a moment before charging in. Pointing toward the shit farmer's shack she shouted back to the knights, “Torches! Torches in there!”
The lead knight, running as best he could in his coat-of-plates, waved in acknowledgement. She hoped he truly understood. “Torches!” she shouted again, and then dashed into the sewer.
After a few strides her eyes adjusted to the dark and her nose to the stench. She ran as fast as she dared, leaping gaps in the path without thinking. She thought she heard the sound of steel on steel echoing, but her own footfalls made it hard to tell.
Clutching her bow, she skidded around a corner. There was fighting ahead—and Ilana still held her sword. Hadde cursed her haste as she pushed forward. Men shouted. It had to be Melas.
Her breath rasping with the exertion, she sprinted down the tunnel. She saw him. Melas battled Gredoc on the sewer path ahead. Bodies lay sprawled around them. Two floated in the sewer.
The eternal bled argent blood from a dozen wounds.
Melas held his sword in two hands and rained blows upon Gredoc. But in the fury of his assault he was unaware of the Returnist who crawled from a sewer shaft behind him. “Watch out! Behind you, Melas!”
He made no sign that he heard her. “Behind you!” She drew her bow as she ran. The Returnist turned at Hadde's shout, but ignored her and charged Melas from behind.
The squire, unaware of the threat, parried a powerful blow from Gredoc, and with a lightning fast counter cut the eternal down. A gout of silver blood erupted from the eternal's neck as he toppled into the sewer.
As Melas wrenched his sword free, Hadde knelt and loosed her arrow. She cursed herself as it flew wide. At the last moment Melas heard the approaching Returnist. He turned, raising his sword to parry, but was too late. The Returnist ran him through.
Hadde desperately loosed another arrow. It struck the Returnist in the hip, and with a cry of pain he staggered against the stone wall. The next arrow took him in the back. He spun toward Hadde, his teeth clenched in agony. She shot him one last time and he slid to the ground.
Melas lay unmoving on the sewer path. She ran and knelt at his side.
“Melas? Can you hear me?” She lifted his head.
His eyes fluttered open. “Did they make it?” he asked. Blood trickled from his mouth.
“They made it. You saved them.”
The tension in his face eased. Heavy footfalls approached. Hadde grasped Melas’s sword and glanced up to see approaching torchlight. The Knights of the House.
She looked back to Melas. His eyes were closed. “Melas? Stay with me.”<
br />
He didn’t reply. His face was utterly at peace. Hadde sobbed. He was so young.
***
Hadde followed the four knights as they bore Melas’s body through the city. Fires raged all around them, but the fighting had ended. Some refugees filled the streets, while others watched their homes go up in flames. She wiped tears from her face. First Melas’s fiancée and then his own life had been wrenched from him. All because of Akinos and his deluded mission.
A tremendous plume of smoke darkened the sky. A great fire raged ahead. More knights arrived and escorted the pallbearers. The Saladorans spoke with one another, but Hadde paid them no heed. Her name was mentioned, but she didn’t lift her head to see who spoke.
She stopped at the entrance to the square before the Great Keep. The gatehouse and walls blocked her view of all but the castle’s upper stories. Fire consumed all she could see. The Great Keep of Sal-Oras was doomed.
Activity drew her eyes to the gates. Soldiers poured through in both directions. Those entering were unburdened. Those leaving carried the bodies of the wounded and slain, or led prisoners at sword point. A third group carried some other burden. She squinted in their direction. Books.
Hadde sighed. King Boradin was saving his library. His city destroyed, his army exhausted, Akinos free, and the king chose to save his books. They were doomed.
A scream caught her attention. She glanced to the left of the gate and recoiled in horror. There, a forest of corpses had sprung up as the Returnist prisoners and dead were impaled upon spears and placed upright against the Great Keep’s outer wall.
Thrashing furiously, a man attempted to free himself from the grip of two soldiers. Each grasped one of his legs. Hadde turned as another soldier rammed a spear through him. Turning away was little salvation. The sight that greeted her eyes wrenched her heart. She watched as the pallbearers lowered Melas’s body to the ground next to a long line of his comrades.
A knight carefully crossed the squire’s arms across his chest and stood silently over him. Two knights bearing another of the dead blocked her view. They placed their burden on the ground and stepped aside.
Suddenly Boradin was there, looking down at Melas. Nidon stood beside the king. Blood and ash covered the men, and their armor and tabards were gashed and rent. The king held Forsvar and his gilt mace, Nidon a great axe. Behind them stood a dozen knights, each as battered as the king and his champion.
Boradin held Forsvar in front of him and swept his mace up in a salute. Nidon and the knights behind him followed the king’s example. They held their salute for a moment, and then as one swept their arms to their sides. Hadde found herself staring the king in his eyes. Neither dropped their gaze. She read grim determination in the set of his face.
As he strode in her direction, she stood her ground. He dared not accuse her of any wrongdoing. He would get worse than he gave. He had caused this. She remembered Morin’s accusations against his brother. Boradin was no king. His idleness, his lack of leadership, his Dromost-damned library would give Akinos and the Wasting their victory.
“You’re saving your books?” she said as he approached. “They will be no good to you when we’re all dead! You’ve doomed us.” The king strode toward her as if to knock her down. As she braced herself blue-white fire danced on Forsvar’s rim.
She recoiled from the light, shielding her eyes with her hand. The attack never came. Boradin knelt before her, his head bowed low. Without a moment’s hesitation, Nidon and the dozen escorts dropped to their knees. All around them, knights, soldiers, and servants turned to see what was happening.
Like ripples from a stone cast into a pond, all within the square fell to their knees facing Hadde. “I save the books,” the king whispered, “because there is a future. There is a future because of you.”
Boradin stood, but all others remained on their knees. “There are some, who if they were in my position, would claim infallibility.” He didn’t shout, but his voice carried clearly across the square and echoed off the walls. “I am not one of them.”
From behind the gatehouse came a loud rumble. Hadde glanced up to see a corner of the Great Keep topple out of sight behind the outer wall. A ball of fire and embers rose high into the sky.
A grimace of a smile crossed the king’s face. “My keep agrees with me,” Boradin whispered.
Louder, he called out, “I’ve wronged this woman. This huntress. This warrior. Hadde of Landomere risked all to bring me tidings of great danger. And for her efforts, I locked her away. And how did she repay me? When my keep was taken, she again risked all to save the lives of my family and the Maidens in Waiting.
“I’ve made mistakes, but I’ll not compound them. I shall redeem myself. And in my redemption Akinos shall be slain, the Orb of Creation recovered, and the Wasting ended. My redemption begins at this moment.”
“Kneel, Hadde of Landomere,” he said.
Swallowing her fear, she knelt before Boradin.
“I command that the Ladies in Waiting should cleanse the blood and filth from Hadde’s body. She endured what few others would in pursuit of her cause. I command that the Maidens in Waiting shall sew for Hadde a tabard befitting her new station. On a green field they shall sew two argent arrows crossed. Above the arrow points shall rest Helna’s golden Orb. I command that Champion Nidon and the Captains of the House shall arm Hadde in the best-forged mail and finest arms that can be found.”
He paused. Hundreds of eyes upon her. She startled as the king’s mace came to rest on her shoulder. Blue flames danced on the weapon’s head.
“Lady Hadde of Landomere, I dub you a Knight of the House, Captain of Horse-Archers, Protector of the Crown Prince, Ambassador to the King, and a Baroness of Salador. In my name, Magus Elementar Rex, Boradin of Salador, so be it.”
The mace passed from shoulder to shoulder as Boradin spoke, coming to rest on the top of her head.
“Rise, Lady Hadde.” Boradin raised Forsvar as he turned to the expectant crowd. “Rise, Salador. Tomorrow we ride to war.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
“You look like a knight,” Maret said.
Hadde laughed. “I suppose I should. Thank you for the fine tabard.” She let her gaze sweep across the gathered maidens. They stood shivering in front of one of the large mansions surrounding the Great Keep’s square. Snow fell in fat wet flakes. A horn call echoed off the walls.
“We wanted to thank you before you departed,” Tira said.
Hadde smiled, but shook her head. “I had help. Without Maret, I would still be in my cell. And think of Melas as well. He gave his life for us.” The horn called again. Knights mounted their horses and formed into their companies. A squire led Lightfoot closer. Hadde nodded to him in thanks.
"The army rides, Lady Hadde," he said. The squire looked impatient to join his lance.
“I have to go,” Hadde said. The girls surged forward and she hugged each in turn. It felt strange through her mail. Maret was the last.
“What shall I do?” she whispered in Hadde’s ear. “My father rides with Akinos.”
Hadde held her close. “If worse comes to worst I’ll take you back to Landomere with me. But let’s think of the best.”
“You would really do that?”
“Of course. You’re my friend, Maret. It’s the Way of the Forest.”
Hadde let the maiden go and mounted Lightfoot. With a final wave, she rode off.
***
For three days the army marched north along the Treteren River toward King's Crossing. Blustery wet snow soaked and chilled them. Progress would have been impossibly slow if they had not abandoned most of the army's baggage train. Now they marched light, knowing they would have only one chance to defeat Akinos’s host.
Each night they halted and found what shelter they could. Hadde fared better than most—years of hunting had prepared her well. She reached out from under her lean-to and pushed another stick onto her campfire. It burned brightly—not so those of others nearby. A few
knights and squires had earlier approached and begged embers with which to coax their tinder to light. She happily obliged, but it hadn’t done them much good.
One squire politely asked the use of her fire to cook his lance’s meal. His pot of porridge bubbled as it hung from the iron tripod. The squire wasn’t to be seen. Hadde smiled. They didn’t know what to make of her. Boradin showed her great favor, but they were still Saladoran and she was still a woman.
Not for the first time, she thought of Belor and wished that he were alive. He probably would have looked forward to the coming battle. Even Melas would have gladly taken his ease by her fire. She looked toward the river. The dark water moved peacefully, heedless of the turbulence to come.
She leaned back under her shelter and pushed her armor aside. She sighed at the sight of the mail hauberk. Why polish the rust from it when it would only rain again tomorrow?
Someone approached. Hadde looked up, expecting the squire. She arched her brows at the sight of a short soldier trudging toward her. He wore an ill-fitting aketon and helm, and what appeared to be a ragged red and white striped horse blanket as a cloak. A shield banged awkwardly against his back. In one hand he carried a short thrusting spear. In the other he held a sack.
He stopped at the edge of the firelight. “Lady Hadde?” he asked in a high voice. “May I approach?”
“Of course.” She thought she knew the voice, but couldn’t place it for certain. He didn’t look like any other Saladoran soldier she had ever seen. He jammed the butt of his spear into the ground and walked into the firelight. Grinning, he pushed the helm back on his head, exposing his face. “Do you recognize me?”
“Puddle? Is it you?” He beamed when she stood and embraced him. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I’ve been trying to find you. But I couldn’t get away from my company. I wanted to give you this.” He squirmed away from her and opened his sack. From it he withdrew Hawkeye.
“You found it? I thought it burned in the Great Keep!”