“A mercenary in the service of Lord Josiah, High Baron of Athelbryght.” Red drew her dagger again, and tapped the tip of the blade on his cheek.
The man was trembling. Red was certain it was half pain, half fear. “Now,” she said, pulling her dagger. “How many?”
“Guards, there’s ten not counting us.” He flinched back as Red shifted her dagger. “But there’s a special shipment came in today with five guards. Their wagons are in the courtyard.”
Muck. Red kept her face still, and her dagger point close to the man’s face. “Servants?”
“None that sleep here.” The man gasped for breath, staring at the tip of her blade. “Master uses slaves and they’re chained at night. Even the ones in his bed.”
Red tightened her grip on the dagger.
“Try not to kill them all. Most are just men, working for coin.” The High Baron’s voice echoed in her thoughts.
“On your belly,” Red ordered with a sigh.
He swallowed hard and rolled over, his face making it clear he thought she’d cut his throat. She should. It’d be safer. More expedient.
Muck.
She trussed the fool up fast and gagged him with a rag, then stuffed him back into the shadows and threw a cloak over him. She leaned over him and placed the edge of her dagger against his neck. “Don’t move, don’t make a sound, or I will return and gut you slow.”
He quivered, but made no noise.
She eased open the door to the courtyard and slid through, closing it softly behind her. The cool air was a gift, the heavy mist falling on her skin. There was no sign of disturbance, no alarm yet. She pressed herself into the deep shadows by the wall.
Fifteen guards. Red considered that. She wasn’t in so deep yet that she couldn’t retreat at this point. Wait until the Royal Guard of Palins came through with fancy uniforms and more blades. They’d see to these pigs. But that would be months from now, what with the Queen fresh on her throne. That did nothing for the poor, miserable ones chained within. And a special shipment could be anything … including children.
Anger rose in her throat like bile, and her gloved hand tightened on her dagger.
“Rescue, yes, but not at the cost of your own life,” The High Baron had said.
Eh. Fifteen. Easy enough, if they were of the same quality. It was worth a try. If the alarm was raised too soon, well, she’d get out and return later. But for now, she had the night. Besides, it wouldn’t do for any to think that she’d gone soft, working for the High Baron, now would it?
Red grinned as she moved down the wall, staying in the shadows. Those men had been settling in for their watch, from the looks of things. So with any luck, there would be some asleep and some on watch and drowsy.
“They claimed the Mayor’s manor house, lady. He’d a walled-in courtyard, and fine stables, and a deep cellar for wine. We was a prosperous town, once. Before…” The innkeeper had stopped, his voice breaking.
“Enough.” The High Baron’s voice had been gentle. “Tell her what she needs to know.”
“I can draw it out for ya. The stables, the wine cellar. There’s the main house.…”
Two torches burned at the main doors of the house. The stable was across the yard, and two wagons along the side. Prison wagons, with solid wood walls and the smallest of barred windows at the top.
Red wrapped her cloak around her, lifting it to hide her breath in the cold night air. She stayed in the shadows and watched and waited.
Patience was not one of her best skills, but time had taught her the need. She waited until she was sure, then waited a few moments longer. Better to be sure than—
There. By the wagons, in the deep shadows. One man stamping his feet and swinging his arms as if to warm himself.
Odd, that. Why guard the wagons?
Red kept still, watching. And was rewarded when the wagon guard went to the stable door and pounded on it. “Hern, give a man some kav, eh?”
The stable door opened, and light and noise spilled into the yard. “Gar, you’ve only been on watch for—”
“The damp goes clear to the bone,” Gar replied. “Hand out some kav, or some of the damn gutrot you’re drinkin’.”
Laughter came from inside, and Red saw something handed out to the man. The door closed with a bang. Muck, from the sound there had to be at least a handful of them in there, all awake, damn them.
Still …
Nothing by the main gate. If there was a guard up at the house, it was inside and not out. So take out these six, and there’d be, what, maybe only nine left, and some of those had to be sleeping.
Oh, aye, and tomorrow would be paradise, with scarlets singing in the birches.
Gar had his bottle now, and he was walking around wagons, taking swigs, his back toward her.
Red grinned, and darted across the courtyard.
She ran right up to the front of the wagon and ducked down, crouching on the wet flagstones. Gar’s feet paused for a moment, then continued on. She could hear him grumbling under his breath. There were other sounds too, quiet breathing and soft …
Muck. There was something in the wagons.
Red froze, but there were only seconds to decide. Gar was circling around. Attack? Run?
“Damn cold,” Gar muttered. “Damn dice. Last time I dice for watch. Last time I—”
Her dagger was up before she drew another breath. She launched herself at him, aiming for the throat.
Her blade caught him in midswig, head back. The damn bottle fell and rolled away, but the man slid down, silent but for the gurgle of his dying.
Red dragged him over to the wagon and stuffed him under it. She crouched there, bloody dagger in hand, trying to listen over the beat of her heart. The bottle rolled to a stop in the center of the courtyard.
Silence.
There was a whine from within, questioning, and a snuffling noise as claws dug at the wooden walls of the wagon. Red’s throat closed, expecting a baying at any moment. Dogs, it had to be, and slaver dogs would take a scent and run their prey to ground.…
Still, only silence.
Red dared to breathe, taking in cold air tainted with the strong smell of piss and wet fur. Whatever was in the wagon had not been cared for, that was sure. She ran her hands over the dead man’s body, more from habit than anything else. Never knew what you might find—
Her fingers brushed over two keys on his belt. She held them tight so they didn’t jangle, and cut them loose, tucking them into the top of her glove.
Then the faintest of whispers from the wagon. “Who’s there?”
Slaves in with dogs? If there was a slave dog-handler in there … Red could not believe her luck would run that good. Still …
“You’re not one of them.” The sound was so soft that she had to strain to hear it. “They’d be … is it … are you?” The voice paused, then rushed on, heavy with hope. “Rescue?”
“Quiet,” she breathed. The snuffling continued for a moment, the animals taking in her scent.
“We can help,” the whisper continued, pained and excited. “Unlock the—”
“Gar?” The door to the stables opened, slamming against the wood. “You finish that—”
Light spilled out onto the courtyard. The bottle sparkled.
Then a muffled voice, from the guardhouse. “Help! A woman warrior. She’s killed—”
Red grimaced. So much for showing mercy.
The guard in the doorway uttered his curse, and started to call for his fellows.
Red leapt up and ran for the door, both daggers in hand. She surprised the man standing there, peering out into the darkness. She lunged, going for his eyes, more to force him back then anything else.
The blade caught the bone, and sank deep within. He sagged, and she pushed his body back as it fell. She stood in the doorway, and brandished her two blades with a laugh as another charged.
She kept herself back just enough that the doorway hindered their movements. The man’s sword swings hit the wood, and
he was forced to use his sword to block her blows. Her blades were swift and small, and she didn’t hesitate to go for any target he offered. The shouts from behind him were a relief; she’d feared another exit. If she could keep them coming at her one at a time …
But that mucking dicer was still yelling in the guardhouse. Then shouts came from the main house. From the corner of her eye she saw a door open and movement, and knew she was done.
She focused back in time to see a spearhead thrust at her.
She dodged, but too late. The blade sank deep into her shoulder, and the wielder twisted it as he forced her back, out into the courtyard.
Red clamped her jaw against the pain and pulled away, getting herself off the blade. The pain was bad, but she could still grip the dagger. She skipped back, conscious of the shouts and pounding feet from the main house. Her foe came after her, and the spearman right behind, all spilling through the stable door, spreading out.
Red charged right into them, using the daggers to feint at their faces, dodging the few that managed to swing swords. Her speed and their confusion allowed her to pass through the group. She’d some vague idea of running into the stables but the body in the doorway changed that plan. So she turned as she passed the last man and lashed out with her strong hand.
She caught the guard’s upper arm and cut deep, enough that he cried out and dropped his weapon. But now the others were focused on her as their target, and they started to move, spreading out to surround her.
Breathing hard, Red ran for the wagons, and darted down between them and the wall of the stable. The shelter was fleeting; they’d box her in at any moment. She could go for the wall, try to get up and over—
“Stay safe, Red. Your life is dear to me.” A small part of her remembered the High Baron’s admonishments. But her blood sang of steel and death, and caution had no place in the moment.
She ran to the back of the last wagon, thrust the larger key in, and twisted. The lock clicked open, and she lifted the bolt.
The enemy of her enemy, with any luck.
The door burst open. Red fell, landing hard on her back, the wind pushed from her lungs. Her daggers went skittering away.
A huge something stood over her, growling, its teeth inches from her throat.
Red fumbled around, trying to find her daggers, staring at the jaws of the monster. It was as big as a bear; she couldn’t see much past the teeth. Hot breath stung her eyes. It sniffed the air … paused—
—then spun off, charging toward the guards.
Red flipped onto her chest, grabbing up her daggers as a seemingly endless stream of the creatures jumped out of the wagon. Their huge paws were all she saw, landing around her and then past her, off into the darkness. Screams started then, of men fighting for their lives.
Red scrambled up to her feet, not questioning her luck. If the beasts could draw off a few, she could take down the rest.
She rounded the wagon on the other side and saw two men, their backs to her, fending off one of the creatures. Softly, holding her breath, she ran up behind the one, grabbed his hair, yanked back, and stabbed at his throat.
He screamed, blood spurting from his neck. She jerked the dagger free, letting him fall to the ground. The other guard was fending off the animal, shield high, eyes hard. “Here! She’s here!”
Red snarled, pulled her blade free.
An arrow slammed into her shoulder, the pain driving her to her knees.
The flagstones swam before her eyes. Blackness swirled as well, but Red fought it off, forcing herself up, her one hand still grasping a blade. But two hits to the same shoulder—that hand wasn’t going to grasp much of anything anytime soon.
“Bitch,” one of the men growled as they started toward her. “Don’t crowd, boys. Disarm her, then we’ll have some fun.”
Red grimaced, not really seeing much more than heavy boots, drawing close. Enough men to take her, that was sure. Provided they were willing to pay the price.
A scrabbling sound came then, of claws on stone. Deep snarls from behind the guards, who lost all interest in her, fast.
Red used the distraction to force herself to her feet. The arrow in her shoulder shifted as the tip grated on bone.
Dark, swift forms leapt out from the wagon’s shadow, claws scraping on the flagstones.
“Vores,” one of the guards cried out, no longer focused on Red.
The others cried out as the animals leapt forward, fangs gleaming white. Huge wolflike creatures, but these were no wolves. These were nightmares out of the darkness with teeth and fangs and savage fury in red eyes. No matter. The enemy of my enemy …
Red launched herself at the man who’d screamed, bringing her dagger into play. He was swift enough to parry her. She had a quick glimpse of grim eyes under the helm, and a sword swinging for her neck. She blocked, but not before the blade caught the arrow and tore the tip partway out of her shoulder. Red staggered back as her arm went numb and useless.
A big vore with silver on his ruff darted in behind her opponent. The man cried out as he fell, hamstrung. Red heard the beast growl, and then the screaming stopped.
Red kept moving back until she came up against the wall of the stable, the pain ebbing just enough so that she could see.
Blood covered the cobblestones until at last all was silent. The guards were down and those not dying had been torn apart, with flesh and blood scattered everywhere. The animals were around her, breathing heavily, growling under their breaths, their heads held low, their muzzles stained with blood. Odd though. They weren’t eating the bodies.
Suddenly a few of the creatures lifted their heads and looked toward the manor house.
More men spilled through the doors, weapons and bows at the ready. Five, ten … Red snarled as she readied her weapon. That dicer had much to answer for.
The vores growled, their heads low, intent on the enemy. But Silver, the big one with the ruff, glanced off toward the wagons, and then back at the gathering force.
Red heard it then—the faint rattle of a key in a lock. She glanced over to see a pair of bare human feet at the back of the second wagon. And a larger dark shape leaping down and darting into the shadows. Followed by another … and another.
More vores. They had to be.
The growls around her deepened. Red turned and saw more bows being brought to bear.
“Scatter,” she commanded, more from instinct than anything else.
To her surprise, the vores obeyed. The entire pack seemed to disappear, loping off into cover, under wagons, behind barrels, into the stables.
What were those creatures?
No time to worry about that. Red threw herself between the wagons and the stable, Silver at her heels. Arrows thunked into the wagon.
“Muck,” Red grumbled under her breath as she pressed herself against the wagon. She rammed her dagger into the side of the wagon, then worked the arrow in her shoulder all the way out. It came free, at the price of pain. Red pressed her head against the wood, woozy and sick to her stomach.
More arrows thunked into the wagon. The guards were advancing.
Red swore. “Best I run for it now.” She glanced down at the animal at her side.
Silver looked up at her, and the intelligence in those eyes struck her hard. It waited for a moment and then shook its head in a negative gesture.
Red’s skin crawled. The movement looked unnatural and wrong. “You got a better idea?” she whispered.
Sliver moved his head up and down with an odd deliberation.
Her stomach clenched. “Fine,” she snapped.
Silver barked and darted back into the courtyard. He—and Red had no doubt he was a “he”—moved fast.
Shouts from the men. They had crossbows now. Bolts clattered on the flagstones. Red heard cranking as the weapons were reloaded. She glanced around the wagon. The men were moving, slowly coming closer, the bowmen toward the rear.
Two more vores darted toward the men, then away. Bolts and arro
ws rained down, but none hit their targets that Red could tell.
Silver came across the courtyard at a run, then whined and half collapsed. Shouts rang out as he dragged himself toward her. Red reached out with her good arm and hauled him into cover. She knelt and ran her hands over him, searching for …
The big animal stood and shook himself. And gave her a toothy grin.
“Faker,” Red growled in admiration. “Still, we—”
Screams.
Red was up and moving, but Silver was faster. They both broke out from cover to see that the new vores had come up from behind and targeted the crossbowmen.
Silver howled, and a fierce joy filled Red. She charged—
“Return to me, my Red,” The High Baron’s voice rang in her head. “Don’t let your bloodlust overrule your common sense.”
She took a few more steps, then stopped. No sense in being stupid. Besides, the beasts had them down. There was no need.
A slim man made his way down the side of the wagons, wearing a tattered tabard around his waist. The cloth bore the crest of the young Queen, the white dagger-star on a red background. “Are they all dead?” the young man asked, his ribs sticking out, with whip marks on his chest and face. “Are all the slavers—”
Red nodded.
The man sighed, and slowly lowered himself to the cobblestones. “Thank the Lord of Light.”
Two of the creatures padded over and crouched next to him.
“What are these things?” Red breathed, watching as they finished the guards.
“I don’t know.” The young man shook his head. “The slavers stripped me, beat me, then threw me in the wagons, figuring I’d be eaten. The creatures hadn’t been fed, the wagons hadn’t been cleaned. They had to keep the snarling beasts back with spears when they opened the door. I thought I was dead when they tossed me in.”
“But—,” Red prompted him.
“But these creatures, whatever they are, I swear they knew I wasn’t one of their captors. They understood me. They didn’t hurt me, and slept with me, kept me warm. I’ve—”
“The High Baron of Athelbryght sent me,” Red interrupted him; then a high-pitched screech interrupted her.
From out of the manor house ran a fat man, dressed in silks, fleeing the vores snapping at his heels. The dark animals chased after him, their tongues hanging out, and Red could have sworn they were laughing as they herded him in her direction.
Chicks Kick Butt - Rachel Caine, Kerrie Hughes (ed) Page 20