Bloodstone: 2 (Rebel Angels)

by Gillian Philip

  When the other horse drew alongside, Jed didn’t look at it. He didn’t care when the mare’s reins were seized from him. He didn’t struggle when arms went round him and dragged him off her back, straight onto the other horse and into the fiercest hug he’d ever known. He smelled the sleeve of a familiar woollen jumper as it wiped the tears from his filthy face, and then his head was tucked into a warm shoulder and a strong arm held him tightly.

  Conal did not gallop back. He led the mare at an unhurried walk, Jed in his arms, and he talked quietly all the way. Some of it Jed barely heard, and the rest he would never tell another living soul, but after a little while feeling crept back into his heart. He began to feel he might survive this, might even want to. He even felt a spark of awkward stirring happiness. It was belonging, and being wanted, and missed, and loved. It was, for once, being looked after.

  Conal halted, and looked back over his shoulder, and Jed felt him sigh deeply. Then he turned again to his waiting friends. Even then Conal didn’t hurry, but let the black horse lead the bay mare at an easy amble into a belt of trees.

  ‘We still have time, Conal,’ said Eili. ‘We can ride away.’

  ‘Ach, Eili, my brother is back there.’ Conal jerked his mouth into a smile. ‘I’d like a sharp word with him before I go anywhere.’

  ‘Conal.’ Sionnach’s voice was gentle. ‘Your brother is lost to us.’

  ‘No,’ snapped Conal. ‘Not to me.’

  Sionnach opened his mouth again, but Torc glared him into silence.

  ‘Conal.’ Eili’s mask slipped, and for a moment she was no longer his lieutenant, only his lover. ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘We can ride away.’

  Jed rubbed his scalp, confused. Conal’s arm was still tight around him. It was reassurance and comfort, but Jed could sense it was something else, too: Conal did not want him to turn round. Jed turned anyway and peered past Conal. There was a smudge of motion across the valley. He screwed up his eyes, focusing. Then he made out what it was. And his heart cracked.

  ‘Conal,’ began Sionnach.

  ‘It is too late,’ said Conal through his teeth. Releasing Jed, he let him scramble clumsily across onto the mare. ‘She’s taken my brother and Jed’s too. She’s taken Finn. I will not leave without them. But I don’t ask any of you to stay.’

  None of them even bothered to answer him. They fell in behind as he rode the black horse to a high stretch of ground. Its eyes were green-pricked, its nostrils scarlet, and Conal held its reins lightly in one hand, watching the thirteen riders now lining up on the opposite slope. Liath leaped up onto a rock outcrop and snarled into the oppressive air.

  They waited. No-one seemed in any hurry. Conal’s horse paced eagerly back and forth, hooves thudding hard into the peaty ground, tossing its massive neck. Above them the sky was blue, streaked with high cirrus, but cloud lay low over the far hills, swollen and discoloured with imminent snow. Beneath Jed’s breastbone was a wrenching pain, like a wet rag being wrung out in his chest cavity.

  ‘Cù Chaorach! Your god-child’s gone over to Kate. She’s left you!’ Laszlo rode forward, his voice floating mockingly on the clear air. ‘Sweet, but once you’re dead, Kate’ll hang her. She wants you to know that.’

  Conal said nothing, but he didn’t take his eyes off Laszlo.

  ‘Oh, your brother’s betrayed you too, of course! Even the wolf-whelp’s led us straight to you. Tell me, how does it feel?’

  The horsemen at Laszlo’s back stirred restlessly and one of the horses whinnied. Jed’s mare whickered quietly in reply, but Conal’s black horse stopped still, ears flattening, gills flapping out, its snorting breath deepening to a growl. On the far hilltop the horses spun and backed while the riders fought to control their heads.

  ‘I’m sorry, Eili,’ said Jed, barely audibly. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  She turned her dappled horse and rode a circle to end up at his side. ‘Don’t say that. You had to come looking for us, you had no choice, and she tracked your head. Now take this. Conal’s orders, before you ask.’ Smiling slightly, she handed him a sheathed dagger. ‘More use than that ridiculous gun of yours.’

  He fumbled with the buckle of the belt. ‘I thought she couldn’t get in my head.’ He was so ashamed of his arrogance he wanted to be sick. ‘I was so sure, I—’

  ‘Cuilean,’ Eili said gently, ‘she can get in anyone’s head.’

  It didn’t help. He should have realised. ‘Can’t Conal call for help? From his dun?’

  ‘You don’t understand. They tracked you, it’s true; but all that changed was the timescale. Conal never had any intention of returning to the dun, not once she took Finn and Rory.’ Eili shrugged lightly. ‘Besides, we can’t contact the dun; we’re too far away and she’s blocking us somehow. Torc can’t even reach his own son. Her witchcraft’s that strong. So don’t be ashamed. You’re strong too, but you’re no match for her.’

  ‘We shouldn’t have stayed,’ said Sionnach, at his twin’s side. ‘But Conal was too angry. With himself and Kate, not you. He wouldn’t leave you or Finn. And he wouldn’t leave – ’ Sionnach’s voice caught in his throat, and Jed realised he had choked on Seth’s name. ‘And we would never leave Conal.’

  Sionnach was trying to make him feel better, but it was too many words for the man, and a clumsy effort. It only made Jed want to slink away, and curl into a ball, and hide till the end of time. ‘Eili. I know I shouldn’t have – it’s just that – Rory—’

  ‘Gods, how much do I have to explain? Conal considers the taking of Finn and Rory a defeat. That means he has a – a final right to even things.’

  Jed wanted to say, A last right? But before he could say it out loud, he heard how it sounded in his head. No. He wouldn’t say the double-bladed words.

  ‘So it’s not your fault.’ There was naked ferocity on Eili’s face. ‘We’re on our own.’

  ‘Son of the hound Griogair,’ shouted Laszlo. ‘Come and get flesh!’

  The corner of Conal’s lip curled back from his teeth. ‘You heard my claim, then? You’re getting better.’

  ‘Kate let me know.’ Laszlo laughed. ‘I’m more than happy with the challenge.’

  ‘I doubt that. But nothing else would get you to stick your pretty head out of your hole.’

  Eili rode forward with Sionnach, one twin halting on each side of him. ‘This is a trap, Conal,’ she growled.

  ‘I know it is.’ Beneath him the black horse shuddered with aggression, flanks streaked with sweat, and Conal laid a soothing hand on its withers. ‘But some traps have to be sprung.’

  He turned to Jed, smiling, and rode back to him. ‘Listen. Stay here. That dagger’s for self-defence, nothing else. Don’t get involved, whatever happens. That is an order. Okay?’

  ‘But...’

  ‘Jed. You barely know how to hold it.’ Conal laughed but his eyes were kind. ‘Don’t even touch it unless you have to. You’ll cut yourself.’

  Jed tried to laugh too, but he couldn’t.

  ‘We’ll be back in a minute, right? No big deal.’ Conal leaned closer to him, reaching out a hand to cup the back of his head. ‘Jed,’ he murmured. ‘If it all goes pear-shaped, just ride. Ride north-west like stink.’ He grinned, swivelled Jed’s skull, and pointed. ‘That’s that way, all right? Don’t look back. Keep riding, and one of our clann will lock onto you and find you. Tell them I sent you.’

  Clenching his teeth, Jed glared at him. It was all he could do to stop himself crying.

  ‘And for gods’ sake let them look in your head, you stubborn pup, or they’ll cut it off. But we’ll be back, ’kay?’ He turned his horse to stare back at Laszlo and his men. ‘We’re just going to sort something out here.’

  He flexed his fingers, stroking the black shoulder beneath him, and spoke to the horse in a soft voice. Its ears flicking forward, it snorted and plunged forward onto the slope and down, leaping from rock to tussock as it headed eagerly for the boulder-strewn plateau. The twins were four lengths behind him b
ut Torc hung back, keeping Jed company.

  Laszlo rode forward to meet them, his smile reaching his warm brown eyes. He and Conal circled each other at a respectful distance as each slowly drew his blade.

  Conal grinned. ‘It’s about time.’

  ‘Past time. You won’t be running back to the shadows this time, Cù Chaorach. Kate has taught me to block you. You won’t get into my head, if that’s what you’re hoping.’

  Conal gave him a thin smile. ‘I wouldn’t want to go there.’

  ‘You have no idea how true that is, warlock.’

  ‘You have to throw names?’ Conal shrugged. ‘Listen. Leave the boy alone.’

  Laszlo’s mouth twitched. ‘The others will. That I guarantee. The rest is up to you.’

  ‘No more deals, then.’ Conal lifted his sword to his face in salute, laughing when Laszlo mirrored the gesture with his middle finger insolently raised.

  The black horse leaped forward and thundered towards Laszlo’s. Jed’s shocked breath stopped in his throat, his teeth clenched hard. The impetus was so fierce it looked as if the horses would collide and explode into fragments, but as they came abreast the black veered and snaked its head sideways, sinking its teeth into the neck of Laszlo’s chestnut. Conal leaped from its back, crashing into Laszlo and flinging him to the ground.

  They rolled together, blades glittering wildly so that Jed couldn’t bear to look. Then they were on their feet, breathing hard and edging round each other. Laszlo lunged, Conal parried, and then they were at it in earnest, slashing, dodging, leaping, the air split by the furious ring of steel.

  Jed’s heart felt as if it was slamming right against his breastbone; it was hard to breathe. ‘He’s faster than Laszlo,’ he said desperately. ‘Isn’t he?’

  ‘Laszlo isn’t so slow himself,’ said Torc. ‘And he’s good with a blade. Very.’ He paused, then his face lit up. ‘Ah-hah! You dogshits!’

  His laugh was aimed at the twelve horsemen, who were riding down the opposite hill in a thundering pack. ‘I knew the bastards wouldn’t leave it to the captains! Brilliant!’ He kicked his heels into the iron grey and it sprang forward with astonishing lightness. Swaying perilously, Torc turned to give Jed a cheery wave. ‘See ya, Cuilean!’

  Eili was first to turn on the enemy detachment, yelling in infernal excitement, and before her two swords had completed their first arc one of the riders was rolling half-decapitated to the earth. The woman was a psycho, thought Jed, just as his terrible shock was overwhelmed by a cold and eerie calm.

  Eili leapt from her own horse to the fallen rider’s, then down to the ground, beckoning on the next man. Torc’s huge iron grey was lashing out with its feathered hooves as Torc swung his sword one-handed from its back, and Sionnach rode like a fiend between them all, reins knotted as he wielded his own slender swords with an economical grace.

  ‘Only twelve?’ Eili laughed wildly as she yanked a blade from the breast of the man who sagged against her. Another was behind her, leaping high, but the white wolf met him before he could connect. Liath bowled him aside in mid-air, sinking her teeth in his jaw.

  The bay mare was peaceful beneath Jed. She at least wasn’t itching to join in. And nor should Jed be, but he was. Sitting here on the mare’s back felt like disgrace, like a punishment. Oh, now he felt like a puppy; an infant left at the side of the field while the grownups got on with business. The shame was thick in his throat, worse than the fear. He wasn’t to fight at all, not even to save himself: he was only to run with his tail between his legs. That was the worst scenario. The best was that Eili, Sionnach and Torc would make mince of Laszlo’s little army and he’d have contributed nothing.

  And yet he was afraid, really afraid, and he didn’t want to go down there, and he was glad of Conal’s orders. Jed spat on the ground in disgust at himself.

  At the same moment a great instinctive shudder went from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine. Something was moving through the melee, an emaciated figure with a long trenchcoat flapping loose behind it. Its path through the fighting was effortless, because Laszlo’s men were flinching out of the Lammyr’s path, clearing its way to Torc. It strolled on quite nonchalantly, not even bothering to hurry.

  Skinshanks. Jed closed his trembling fingers tight round the dagger’s hilt. He would not, would absolutely not cut himself.

  Torc was off his horse now, fighting hand-to-hand with one of Laszlo’s men. He didn’t see the Lammyr approaching. Not Torc, thought Jed in despair. Torc couldn’t run from a Lammyr; Torc wasn’t quick enough. And Torc couldn’t see it coming.

  A thin thread of anger coiled round his heart, loosening the grip of terror. It was only a sliver of courage; the fear was still there, but he could lock it away. If he just sat here and let the Lammyr walk unseen up to Torc, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Jed kicked his legs clumsily into the bay mare’s flanks, and she nickered tolerantly, but she didn’t move.

  He kicked her again. She lowered her head and stood foursquare.

  Jed looked up sharply at Conal, parrying Laszlo’s sword with a clash of steel and turning it as it slashed at his shoulder. The tosser. The boy scout. The big idiot. All his attention ought to be on his opponent but it wasn’t. Conal was cheating. He had a hold on Jed’s horse.

  Two could cheat at that game. Angrily Jed slid from the mare’s back and ran, as fast and as hard as he ever had. If he tripped and cut himself, it’d be Conal’s fault. But he didn’t. Jed hurtled down the slope and across the plateau, leaping the boulders, desperation making him sure-footed. Before he had time to change his mind, he was in the thick of it.

  Laszlo’s men were true to their leader’s word, dodging Jed with lightning ease and staying out of his way. Jed was behind the Lammyr very suddenly, and he skidded to a halt, yelling. It turned, unconcerned, as if all he’d done was tap it politely on the shoulder.

  Jed wondered if this had been such a good idea. As the Lammyr took a step towards him, he lashed out clumsily with the dagger.

  ‘Tsk. Don’t get involved.’ Skinshanks’ bony-knuckled hand caught Jed’s blade as it slashed wildly, pulling him in so close he could smell its dry sweet breath. ‘Do as your captain tells you, you disobedient pup.’

  Pale blood trickled from its palm, over Jed’s hilt and onto his hand. Jed clenched his teeth, waiting for the swamping sickness, but it never came. Instead he felt Mila’s touch on his cheek, her soft breath in his ear, and he clasped the hilt of the trapped dagger in both hands. With all his strength he hacked it as hard and deep as he could.

  Skinshanks stumbled backwards, gripping its split wrist and the loose-hanging thumb, trying to clamp the two halves of its hand together. Opening its mouth in a wide smile of delight, it turned with a swirl of its coat and walked away, colourless fluid dribbling from its sleeve. The heather withered where it fell. Shuddering, Jed lifted his dagger. Before his eyes the blade cracked into glistening shards, and tinkled to the rock at his feet.

  ‘Torc!’ screamed Sionnach, whose snarling dapple-grey, blood leaking from a gash in its rump, was lashing obsessively at its attacker. Sionnach leaped down and sprinted for Torc, but two of Laszlo’s men intercepted him, one for each blade, halting him in his tracks.

  The Lammyr was making its unhurried way towards Torc, reaching into its coat with its good hand and drawing out half-seen curved things that glinted evilly in the winter brightness. Torc raised his sword, a snarl on his face, but the Lammyr’s first spinning blade wasn’t aimed at him: it thunked into his rearing horse’s neck just below the throatlash of its bridle. The horse screamed horribly and stumbled forward, crashing to the ground, and a wide fan of aortal blood sprayed Torc from head to thigh.

  Howling with rage, Torc took the sword in two hands, deflecting two blades in quick succession. The second spun wildly, ricocheting into the neck of one of Laszlo’s men, so that Skinshanks shook its head with ironic laughter. Still chuckling to itself it drew the third blade, feinted in a blur to the left and flung
it deep into Torc’s chest.

  ‘No, no, no!’ Eili’s scream cut across the uproar, drowning out Jed’s, as Torc fell forward onto his knees. The big man looked up at the Lammyr with defiant loathing as Skinshanks drew a dagger, grasped his jaw to tug it back, and slit his throat.

  It closed its eyes blissfully as a fountain of blood jetted across it, but it didn’t wait to see Torc topple forward like a felled tree. It turned lightly away, an ecstatic smile lighting its face. Liath stalked forward with head lowered and hackles high, but Skinshanks only flicked its wounded hand at her, sending a spurt of colourless blood across her savage face. The wolf howled in pain, pawing at her muzzle, and fled with her tail between her legs.

  Jed looked helplessly across the field to where Conal and Laszlo stood apart, panting for breath, eyeing one another in a hideous stalemate. Blood matted Conal’s hair and ran in streaks down the left side of his face and neck; Laszlo’s arm and hand were red with it, a vicious slash gaping on his upper arm. Both of them turned to watch the Lammyr’s carnage, swords still held defensively high. Then they glanced back at one another, coldly half-smiling, and hurtled into close combat once more.

  Eili skidded to her knees beside Torc, pushing him onto his side with one hand, the other poised to mend the wounds. His hand still twitched on his sword hilt but the blood was no longer spurting; the thrown blade had stopped his heart. There was nothing for Eili to do but take a juddering breath as she stared at his lightless eyes and his gaping throat.

  Jed caught a slick movement out of the corner of his eye, but the warning he shouted was far too late. He ran towards Eili but one of Laszlo’s men sprang into the air and kicked out, catching him below his ribcage and sending him sprawling.