by Barb Hendee
Én’nish locked eyes with Rhysís. They had to act now while Brot’ân’duivé remained in sight. All they need do was kill him from above, or at least incapacitate him. They would then gain Léshil and the sage as hostages.
She longed to kill Léshil, but she accepted that he would be a valuable bargaining tool. Most Aged Father’s given purpose came first, but there would come a time for revenge. She nodded to Rhysís.
Rhysís stood up, notching an arrow and drawing it back. In a blink, they would never again have to watch their own shadows for a traitor. Rhysís grew still, turning so slowly as he tracked his target. The bowstring released.
Én’nish’s gaze flicked to the street below.
The arrow struck Brot’ân’duivé dead center between his shoulder blades.
The greimasg’äh fell back, tumbling off the wagon’s rear to flop facedown on the cobblestones. The sage cried out, and Léshil heaved on the reins. But his own words were lost in the sharp hiss of another arrow from Rhysís’s bow.
The second arrow struck Brot’ân’duivé’s back directly above the first and over his heart.
Én’nish instantly drew her bone knife and set its hooked point into the roof’s edge. She swung over the edge, feeling for any purchase with her foot to quickly reach the street. She dropped, still too high up, hit the cobblestones, and rolled. When she was up again, she waited only long enough for Rhysís to follow.
She heard more shouting and saw the wagon turn a corner. Frantic, she drew a stiletto with her other hand and bolted up the street. In that instant, she lost focus on her purpose. Even Léshil slipped from her mind at the sight of the greimasg’äh lying still in the street.
Two arrows in his back were not enough for all those whom the traitor had killed. Neither she nor Rhysís or any of them would find relief until an anmaglâhk blade was thrust true through Brot’ân’duivé’s heart. Then they would leave him to rot in the stench of this human city of dead stone, far from living trees and the burial ground of their people. And when Léshil followed that traitor into death, Én’nish’s beloved Grôyt’ashia could finally find peace among the spirits of their ancestors.
Én’nish slowed to creep in upon Brot’ân’duivé’s body, her eyes fixed on the arrows protruding from his back. Suddenly it was not enough to make certain he was finished. She wanted to look into his face a last time, to see those scars that marred his flesh as much as treachery marred his spirit.
“What are you doing?” Rhysís whispered. “The others will elude us!”
Still, she reached down.
With her stiletto poised, she gripped the shoulder of Brot’ân’duivé’s cloak and tunic and jerked. Both arrows snapped as he flopped over, but another clatter drew her eye as the greimasg’äh’s cloak fell open.
There was a sword on Brot’ân’duivé’s hip, the sheath’s end having been cut off short and sewn shut with leather laces. She looked to his face and faltered in panic before she could strike.
The face in the hood was not Brot’ân’duivé.
It was human and too pallid for such a quick death. Long features were half obscured by tendrils of red-brown hair. The eyes in that face suddenly opened and narrowed on her.
Én’nish flinched as a hissing rasp escaped his mouth and she stared into irises like colorless glass.
“Chane’s hit!” Wynn screamed out as he’d fallen onto the street.
Almost immediately, the wagon tilted as it rounded the corner too fast.
Wynn tumbled against the side, and Shade lost her own footing. Wynn tried to sit up and look for Chane, but the back of her robe was grabbed from behind. Someone pulled her off her feet and barked “Down!” As her butt hit the wagon’s bed, the wagon lurched to a halt. She barely caught a glimpse of a flapping cloak as the driver vaulted from the bench and ran along the wagon’s bed.
Osha ripped the green scarf from his hair, and it fluttered down upon a wagon sidewall as he leaped out the wagon’s back.
He landed in the outer street, his bow and a black-feathered arrow in hand, and he simply dropped his quiver at his feet. Shade launched off the wagon, as well, stopping at the cutway’s corner as Osha notched his arrow. Wynn scrambled to follow them.
“Where he?” Osha shouted, drawing back the arrow.
Wynn was confused, wondering if they’d lost Chane, but then she knew Osha meant the captain, Rodian.
“We didn’t get far enough,” she answered as she reached the corner and joined Shade.
Back down the street, she spotted Chane trying to get a grip on the smaller anmaglâhk—who kicked out and rolled away across the cobblestones. As that one gained its feet, Wynn thought it might be a woman, but a second one, clearly a male, turned his bow up the street at the sound of voices.
Wynn heard the sharp hiss of a bowstring’s release, but the anmaglâhk hadn’t fired yet. Then . . . a black-feathered arrow appeared to sprout below his left collarbone. He yelped, his aim wobbling, and his shot went high as he stumbled backward.
Shade was snarling but did not rush out—perhaps because Osha had already reached down for his quiver and another arrow.
The smaller anmaglâhk shrieked like an animal. She quickly backed toward her crumpling companion and threw a stiletto up the street before Osha had risen from his crouch. Instantly, there was another blade in her hand.
“Osha!” Wynn shouted. “Shade, go!”
Shade bolted out and down the street as Osha pushed off sideways from his crouch. The stiletto snagged in the side of his cloak before he hit the cobblestones. He never slowed and rolled to one knee, trying to draw the second arrow.
The wounded anmaglâhk dropped his bow, ripped out the arrow from his upper chest, and drew his blades as the small one flipped her second stiletto for another throw.
This was all happening too fast, and Wynn saw everything coming apart before her eyes.
“Down there!” came a distant shout from up the street. “You two—round through the next street and cut them off.”
Wynn sucked in air as she looked the other way beyond Osha.
Shyldfälches in red tabards and chain armor came running through the night. Ahead of them was Rodian on his white horse.
Én’nish was lost and stunned, even in fury, at the sight of the pale man inside Brot’ân’duivé’s cloak. Now he was on his feet, a shortsword in hand—and the remains of both arrows still stuck out of his back. She took a quick glance up the street toward the other disguised one . . . that had not been Léshil.
Osha stared back at her along the shaft of an arrow drawn in his bow. He did not fire, even as the little sage ran to his side and a shout carried from farther up the street.
“Down there! You two—round through the next street and cut them off.”
Én’nish saw city guards running toward her, one on a white horse quickly outdistancing the others. In horror, she realized this was not just another decoy but a trap. She could not even risk taking her eyes off the pale man to look back at Rhysís, but they both needed to flee. Neither of them could be taken here.
“Beside the warehouse,” she whispered as she spun.
She threw her second stiletto down at the charging black majay-hì, and the sage screamed. Én’nish heard a guttural rasp from the pale man now behind her, and his rapid footfalls warned of his charge as she grabbed for Rhysís. A sharp hiss in the air gave her only an instant’s warning as the majay-hì lunged aside and her blade careened off the cobble.
Én’nish threw herself against Rhysís half an instant too late. The sharp sting of something burned across the right half of her back. She did not slow at the pain of an arrow tearing her tunic to skim her flesh.
“Run!” she ordered, dragging Rhysís toward a path between the buildings and the docks at its far end.
Rodian saw Wynn standing midstreet beside a man with a bow and long blond hair. Then he spotted the one she called Chane and the black dog. They were trying to surround two others wearing gray outfits and with the l
ower halves of their faces covered.
In spite of the bizarre sight, it was instantly clear who was the threat. Then the gray pair broke through the dog barring the way and ran between two warehouses.
Rodian swung out of the saddle as Snowbird slowed. “Lúcan! Angus! With me!”
He took off running after the fleeing pair as he pulled his sword.
“Rodian, no!” Wynn shouted. “Don’t follow them.”
He ignored her, rounding the corner in pursuit.
Wynn wanted to curse at the captain, but she turned quickly to look up at Osha. This was the moment to get him out of here, as planned, while the city guard was occupied.
“Go,” she whispered. “Now, before the captain returns . . . with a lot of questions.”
Osha looked down into Wynn’s eyes, and for an instant, she regretted that she’d never taken a moment with him in these past few days and nights. There had been too much to do, and too many burdens on all of them. And then there was Chane, so close by.
Osha didn’t say a word, didn’t blink, as his gaze roamed her face like someone seeing something he’d lost and suddenly found.
“Hurry!” Wynn urged, glancing once toward where Rodian had gone. Already other guards were in the street around them, but they were too busy heading for various other ways to the docks.
When Wynn looked back, Osha was gone.
She hadn’t heard or felt anything; he just wasn’t there anymore. In that moment, she was the one who felt as if she’d found something she’d left behind only to have it vanish before her eyes. She hadn’t even thanked him or said good-bye this time.
Shade appeared at her side and looked up the cutway toward the wagon. Wynn looked, as well, perhaps hoping, but there was no sign of Osha. She ran to the wagon, looking in its back for one thing. But the long and narrow canvas bundle that Osha had brought with him was gone, as well.
It was so strange the way he had insisted he bring it rather than stow it with the rest of the gear to be loaded on the ship. Stranger still, he treated it as some burden that revolted him.
Wynn was suddenly aware of someone behind her, and she cringed in shame.
“Are you all right?” she asked, unable to look back.
“Yes . . . only one partially penetrated,” Chane answered. “The wood plank did well enough, but you will need to pull the other arrowhead out.”
As she turned around, Chane dropped to one knee and looked away. She found two broken-off arrows in his back. One protruded more than the other, the back of its white metal head still showing through Brot’an’s forest gray cloak.
Wynn quickly jerked that one out, for it had only stuck in the plank that she’d fastened onto Chane’s back before they left the inn. They’d known whom the anmaglâhk would shoot first, and that had been why they’d dressed Chane in the anmaglâhk cloak and boots that Brot’an had acquired.
The other arrowhead was deeper in Chane’s back. Wynn could feel that the plank had split on its impact.
“Brace yourself,” she whispered, but she hesitated as she gripped the second snapped-off shaft.
It was coated in Chane’s black fluids, which had already soaked into the cloak. Her grip slipped as she pulled, and she felt him flinch once. She finally had to wrap a corner of the cloak around the splintered shaft’s end.
Chane winced as the arrow came out, and the black stain spread through the cloak and across his back. There was nothing more to do, as they’d have to wait to remove the broken plank.
“It will heal,” he whispered as he rose.
Several guards stood nearby, and Wynn worried about how much they had just seen. It was night, and even real blood didn’t look red in the dark. She held on to Chane’s forearm as she looked toward where Rodian had gone. Now all they could do was wait for the captain’s return.
That, too, was part of the plan.
Rodian nearly collided with two of his men as he ran out of the path’s far end at the dockside. Lúcan caught up with him, but Angus lagged behind.
“Where are they?” he demanded.
The two guards before him looked about, shaking their heads.
“We never saw them,” said the first. “And they didn’t get by us.”
Lúcan rushed out, peering both ways along the waterfront. He stepped to the left of where one pier jutted out into the bay and looked down toward the water below. Rodian watched his trusted corporal take a slow breath as he looked about again—and then he cursed several times.
It was as if the strangely garbed pair had vanished. What was it about them that had kicked all of his instincts into alarm? And Wynn Hygeorht still waited in the keeping of his men.
Rodian called Lúcan to follow and strode back between the warehouses. When he came out onto the backstreet, Wynn stood there beside Shade. She looked far too composed for his waning patience. Behind the pair stood that tall, pale bastard who’d struck Snowbird on his escape from the guild grounds.
Rodian glared at that one, at Wynn and the dog, and then looked around. There was one more who was missing—the one with blond hair and a bow. It didn’t matter as much as it should have, for he had found Wynn Hygeorht.
“Who were those people?” he demanded. “And why did they come at you?”
Wynn shrugged. “I don’t know, but I feared turning myself in until I had enough protection from you. And now I am safely in your custody.”
Rodian clenched his jaw to keep from shouting. “You expect me to accept that?”
“I assume your orders are to return me to the guild.”
He paused to take a few breaths. Angry and confused as he was, his ultimate problem had been solved. Wynn was in his custody, and with no bloodshed. Forcing calm, he clung to that and tried to ignore all the questions nagging him. But in spite of everything, he still wasn’t prepared to force her back to the guild if she didn’t want to go, and as of yet, no one had filed a formal charge against her.
It would have been much easier for him if he just did so. That was what the royal family wanted—demanded.
“I want some answers,” he said.
“I’ll try,” she replied, “but I have a few requests.”
Rodian raised one eyebrow at her continued audacity. “And what are those?”
“That my companion and dog be allowed to come with me . . . and that they can stay with me at the guild.”
The Premin Council had not filed any charges against Wynn Hygeorht or her tall companion, let alone the dog. Wynn’s request seemed a relatively benign—and unnecessary—condition. Rodian could certainly file assault charges on the one called Chane, but it was too damn much trouble.
And Wynn was just too calm about it all, as if she already knew.
“What else?” he asked.
“You will take me to the gates of the guild and stop there,” she went on. “Then you will find Premin Hawes and bring her out—alone. I won’t go inside without her first coming to get me.”
That was a puzzle greater that any other she’d given him. Hawes had hardly proven herself obliging to Wynn.
“And last . . .” Wynn said, heading toward the wagon.
Rodian waved off his men about to close on her. She reached into the wagon’s back and returned with a wrapped parcel in hand.
“I’ll need a private moment someplace,” she said, “to change clothes before we get there.”
Rodian shook his head. He’d salvaged his public reputation and immediate position, but it remained to be seen how he stood privately with the royal family. And yet . . .
“When all is done,” Wynn added, “and when there’s time, I’ll tell you what happened here, what happened to me at the guild . . . as much as is possible.”
CHAPTER 24
BROT’N’DUIVÉ STOOD in the shadows of a warehouse adjacent to the docks and watched one particular ship anchored in the bay. He noted the rise of the moon and listened for the city’s night bells to gauge the proper timing.
He was not given to regret, bu
t he had laid a final task on Osha, a risk as well as a burden. Osha was the only one who could accomplish it, and Brot’ân’duivé hoped the young one would manage this final piece of the plan well enough.
It was one piece that Brot’ân’duivé had added and not shared with the others.
Dänvârfij was unable to cast off doubt and fear of failure as she watched the guild’s castle. She still could not believe she had allowed Brot’ân’duivé to take her word-wood. He had known exactly how to hobble her team. Now there would be no effective way to split her forces, should the need arise. No doubt, if he found out where they hid, he would come for the second one held by Fréthfâre to cut them off completely from Most Aged Father.
The guild grounds were quiet, with little activity aside from guards walking the bailey wall. Dänvârfij’s eyelids drooped, and she forced them open, angry with herself.
A bird’s chirp carried in the night air. She ignored it until the third quick repetition.
She turned on the rooftop at that calling for attention from an anmaglâhk. It had come from the building’s side, from Old Procession Road leading to the bailey gate.
Had something happened? Which of her team had left a post to come to her?
She crept to the roof’s side and peered over the edge.
A tall figure in a light brown cloak stood below with his hood thrown back. His hair was as white-blond as hers. Some long, narrow object wrapped in canvas was strapped across his back with a length of twine running over his left shoulder. Over that same shoulder hung a traditional an’Cróan curved bow rather than the assembled style of the Anmaglâhk.
The bow was fully strung and readied, though strangely its string was over his shoulder’s back and the bow hung forward next to his left arm. A quiver protruded above his right shoulder, and the arrows within it had black feathers.
Dänvârfij watched Osha look about. Was he reckless enough to show himself in the open, alone? Or was this some trick or trap?