by Jane Shoup
“They’re everywhere,” Ianthe cried. “We can’t outrun them.”
She was right. Ammey went for the dead man’s horse, clicking with her mouth and moving as slowly as she dared. Fortunately, the horse was battle trained and she was able to retrieve it. “Get on.” Ianthe was shaking so greatly that Ammey had to help her mount. She then handed Liani up. “Go!”
“What about you?”
“Go,” Ammey screamed.
They took off and Ammey hurried back to the dead man to see what weapons he possessed. She retrieved a short axe and tested its feel in her hand, but quickly discarded it. She’d trained with sword, daggers, the lance, and bows of all kind but never with an axe. He also had a sword, but she wasn’t capable of using two at once. Not even Anthony was good using two at once and he’d trained at it.
Men were bearing down on her. Two from one direction and at least one from another. She glanced behind and saw no sign of Ianthe and Liani. Please, let them have gotten away. She was registering everything at once, lodges burning, dead and injured bodies on the ground, women roped in a line along with some boys and girls.
“Drop that before someone gets hurt,” the first of the soldiers warned as he came off his horse.
“Before you get hurt, you mean,” she returned, backing up with both hands on the sword.
“Did she kill him?” one of the men asked, referring to the dead man at her feet.
“She did,” another called. “I saw it!”
“Kill her,” a man yelled.
“Are you mad?” another called. “Look at her!” This was followed by crazed laughter.
Ammey kept backing. Two more men came off their horses and started toward her, and three more came riding in to watch the spectacle. She had no chance of success against them all.
“One girl holds off seven men?” one of them sneered.
“How many of us do you think you can take on?” one of the approachers mocked.
“All of you, if you had the honor to fight one at a time,” she retorted.
“Oh, you’ll take us one at a time, girl. Though not in the way you mean.”
“We don’t have time for this. Get her! And keep her alive,” a man ordered before turning his horse around and riding off.
“This one almost got away,” a voice called from behind her.
Ammey’s heart pounded sickeningly as she glanced back and saw that a man had Ianthe. Failure! It burned like fire scorching from the inside. She turned and swung the sword with a primal scream, slicing through all three men who had come off their mounts.
She jumped on the horse nearest her, ignoring the shouts and furious pursuit behind her. All that mattered was getting to Ianthe and saving her for Graybil.
The man who’d recaptured Ianthe was off his horse, securing her with rope again. Ammey fought the instincts of the stallion and forced the animal into a direct collision with the man. Then she doubled back and grabbed Ianthe, all the while keeping the horse in motion. “Where’s Liani?” she cried.
“She got away!”
Ammey felt the muscles in her arm and shoulder burn, but she stayed low and held on to Ianthe.
“They’re coming,” Ianthe cried.
From the thunderous pounding of hooves, Ammey knew the riders were practically on top of them. They would never make it, not two on the horse. Not with her hanging on to Ianthe. “Get to the gorge! I’m jumping.”
“What? No!” Ianthe cried, but she grabbed the horse’s neck and saddle.
Ammey drew a foot under her and jumped with all her might, swinging her blade for effect. She felt her left ankle give beneath her as she landed, but she came up, blade higher than her head, strengthened emotionally by the rock walls that surrounded her. She’d made it that far and if Ianthe would keep going, she could get away. She just had to make into the water.
“Oh, you’re dead, now,” one of the men swore.
Her ankle throbbed with a sickening pain. “Not quite yet,” she uttered, full of hatred for him.
“She’s hurt bad,” another cried, coming off his horse. “Look how pale she is.”
She extended her blade, but they rushed her at once. She swung, missed and felt herself falling. Then being lifted.
“She’s cut,” one of them said.
“Go get the other one,” a voice called.
Ammey was only vaguely aware of what was happening. She was thrown onto her stomach over a horse. She felt the warm wetness of blood on her arm and throbbing pain in her ankle.
“A gift for Corin,” someone called.
“Are you daft? She took out five men,” another shouted. “Give her to me!”
“No.”
“Kill her!”
~~~
Ammey became aware of soft fingers caressing her face. She opened her eyes and looked up into Catherin’s pale face. It was dark except for the light of a nearby fire.
Catherin held up a finger to her lips. “They want to kill you,” she whispered.
Ammey felt hands around her lower leg. “Your ankle is bad,” a boy said quietly.
Ammey looked down at a boy named Nasim who was the about same age as Nicolas. They might have been good friends.
“Athalia said it isn’t broken,” he continued. “She put a mud poultice on it to cool it and she bound it.”
“Is she awake?” a woman whispered. The voice belonged to Kira, a young mother married to a strapping man named Cyrus. Ammey had marveled at how perfect the two of them were together. Now, Kira moved in and supported Ammey so she could take a drink from a flask.
“Where’s your baby?” Ammey asked in a raspy voice.
Kira began to cry. “I hid her. I was so scared.”
“Cyrus?”
“They killed him.” Kira’s voice was thick with pain. “For no reason.” She shook her head. “He wasn’t resisting.”
Ammey looked up at the stars wondering how they could look so glorious after such atrocity. She didn’t even try to stop her tears from flowing. What did it matter now? What did anything matter?
“She’ll die,” Kira said. “My baby will die.”
“No,” Ammey said looking back at her. She struggled to sit, but hands restrained her. She felt a trickle of blood from her side and fought off a wave of dizziness. “Is…Ianthe here?”
“No. Not her or Liani,” Nasim said.
Sweet relief flooded through Ammey. “Because they got to the caves,” she told Kira. “Ianthe will find the baby and care for her.”
Kira was too stunned to speak for a moment. Then she began crying. “Ammey,” she uttered reverently. “You killed those men.”
“The others,” Nasim warned. “They mean to kill you.”
“We all die, Nasim,” Ammey said. She felt more peace than despair. It was possible she’d saved Ianthe, Liani and Kira’s child. “What’s your daughter’s name?” she asked Kira.
“Alea,” Kira replied, drying Ammey’s face with her sleeve.
“Alea. That’s such a lovely name,” Ammey murmured, closing her eyes. She was comforted by the realization that her father, brothers and Vincent knew where she was. They would search for her until they discovered the truth. They would be racked with grief at first, but when that passed, they would be proud knowing she’d been courageous and strong.
Mere yards away, the soldiers passed around bottles of spirits they’d taken from the village, drinking each time they got hold of one. They’d finished the venison they’d roasted and the bones were being cracked open and sucked as they reclined around the campfire. They were glad to be headed back home, especially having been successful at all they’d been bidden to do.
“Nothing impresses him,” Aban spoke up, picking up the conversation where they’d left it.
“How could it?” another slurred. “A king has everything. What could impress him?”
“Xerxes head on a stick. That impressed him,” One-eye spoke up.
“The traitor Vhord being delivered alive.”
> “She might entertain him,” Aban said, nodding toward the captives pinioned in a group.
“She killed five men,” Chale spoke up. He was determined that the woman would die soon, slowly and at their hands.
“Think of it,” Aban objected. “We dress her in one of Eskarne’s costumes, one that shows more skin than silk. Perhaps we even give her a weapon, a dull dagger or a long sword.”
“Call her the dangerous vixen of Daleog,” someone said.
“The wild girl of Daleog,” another said. “Whose eyes transfix before she strikes at the speed of an arrow.”
Aban was getting more and more enthused. “We present her in chains, proclaim her crimes and invite Corin do what he will with her.”
“It might amuse him.”
“It would.”
“He could keep her captive or—”
“Or he might return her to us,” One-eye said to Chale. That seemed a more likely prospect. After all, how many women did one man need or even want? An entire wing of the palace was filled with beautiful women who existed only to please him.
“We’ll have to feed them tomorrow,” someone spoke up.
Aban agreed. It was still a long march.
~~~
In the morning, the prisoners were ordered on their feet and marched. Ammey was not singled out in any way, which astounded everyone. Her ankle sent a shot of pain up her leg with every step, despite the fact that her fellow prisoners took turns helping to support her weight until a sturdy walking stick could be found.
At midday, they were allowed to rest, drink water from a creek and eat tasteless hardtack which helped allay the sharp pain of hunger. Afterwards, they were ordered back up and marched until nearly dark, at which time they fell into fatigued sleep on the cold, hard ground. The pattern was the same the next day and the next and the next.
Chapter Fifteen
“There you are,” Salvo Voreskae said as strode across the marble floor of the palace throne room of Bellux-Abry, his shoes making an inordinate amount of clatter. “He wants to go hunting,” he added mockingly.
Nafino Zephyr snarled at the interruption and shut the book in his lap with a loud snap after tucking in the report he’d been reading. He rose from the throne where he’d been comfortably perched and stepped off the platform. “So?” Voreskae was always getting worked about something, usually something that amounted to a thick glob of spit.
“A hunting trip through Uerad,” Voreskae said slowly.
Zephyr, commonly known as Zino, grinned at the absurdity, but it quickly disappeared from his face when Marko Corin entered the room through a side passage.
“What is it you two conspire about?” Corin asked as he walked closer.
“Sire,” Voreskae said with a bow.
Zephyr bowed his head to the king. “There is no conspiracy.”
“However we are concerned—” Voreskae began.
“You are concerned,” Zephyr interrupted, scowling at Voreskae.
“I’m concerned,” Voreskae tried again, “because some of our men have not returned as expected.”
Corin sat on his throne, noting its warmth from having been occupied recently. He glanced accusingly at Zino who was staring at Voreskae. “Whom would that be?” Corin asked Voreskae.
“The men of the third,” Voreskae replied. “And Gilley, who was to have returned with them.”
Corin looked away for a moment in order to maintain his composure. It was no secret that Voreskae and Gilley were drawn to one another in some unnaturally intimate relationship. Personally, he did not care much one way or the other, so long as it was not flaunted in his face.
“I feel certain there’s no need for concern,” Zephyr said.
The imperiousness in Zino’s voice grated on Marko’s nerves. “Is that so?”
Zephry looked at him quizzically. “Are you quite alright, sire?”
“Give me the details of this military strategy we’ve embarked on.”
“We have been over it, your majesty,” Zino replied in a measured tone.
“Go over it again,” Marko said coldly. These men were his closest advisors, but too often lately, they forgot their place. Or was it that they coveted his?
Voreskae nervously glanced at Zino and then back at Corin. “We’ve annexed our closest neighbors and will annex Shilbridge next.”
“Annexed,” Marko said slowly. Did they think he was that much of a fool?
“And we have divisions out making our strength known,” Zephyr added. “That way, the people will respect and even fear us before they face the prospect of battle. We may not even have to fight for control when the time comes. They’ll hand it over.”
Zino had it all figured out. Even if he was correct in the assumptions, it was infuriating to not be consulted first. “I wish to hunt on the morrow,” Corin stated, directing it to Voreskae. “Arrange it.”
“Yes, sire,” Voreskae replied. He bowed, backed a few steps and then left the room.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Corin asked Zino when they were alone.
“You are privy to every important decision, Marko. Naturally, some things are withheld, but only because they lack importance and can be unpleasant to hear. And when the ends justify the means, why dwell on them?”
Why was it that Zino had neat, logical answers for everything and yet he never felt more informed when presented with them? “I want to leave first thing in the morning.”
“As you wish,” Zino said. “Is there anything I can arrange in the meantime to allay your boredom?”
“I wish there were,” Marko said as he flicked his hand in dismissal.
~~~
Kidder left Shilbridge tavern having heard something that knocked the wind from him. He was feeling ill as he rode to their camp at a breakneck speed. Once there, he hurried toward Forzenay. “There’s a plan to sack Daleog,” he blurted.
Forzenay felt as though he’d received a physical blow. “Is the news reliable?”
Kidder nodded grimly.
“When?”
“I don’t know. It could have even have happened already. I don’t know.”
Forzenay didn’t have to look up at the moon, which was visible even in the waning daylight hours. He knew it was full. “We have to leave for Draven at once. Get the others.”
“Why Draven?”
“Because I ordered Graybil back. He’ll either be there or on his way there.”
“What about Ammey?”
Forzenay shook his head.
“Meaning you don’t know or—”
“Meaning she stayed. She was told to stay in Daleog.”
Kidder turned and left while Forzenay stood frozen. What sort of leader ordered a man one place while his home was destroyed? His family! He hadn’t known, but should he have? Should he have pushed harder for answers?
He walked over to his pack for the talisman Milainah had given him many years ago. He extracted it and held it up by its long leather cord inspecting the strange symbol on the flat, greenish-black stone. He hung it around his neck, closed his eyes and concentrated. You said one of our lives depended upon Graybil’s return. Was it his life you spoke of?
The talisman grew warm on his chest. He looked down and discovered it was no longer black; it was silver with a mesmerizing depth. Only the center was black. It resembled an eye. The change meant the answer was yes. The life saved was Graybil’s own. But at the expense of his home and family? His wife and child? The choice should have been Graybil’s. Furthermore, if they had known what was to happen, they could have all been there.
“Yes,” came the sound of Milainah’s voice. It echoed eerily. “You would have fought valiantly and you would have died there.”
Forzenay turned around to face her, but she was nowhere in sight.
“Every last one of you,” she said, her voice further away.
Chapter Sixteen
Ammey had lost track of days, but the Blue Mountains loomed in front of them and a dense wood
ed area was to the east. Most the prisoner’s bonds had grown loose with wear and from having grown thinner. Not hers, of course. They’d continually tightened hers. The soldiers had stopped early to construct caged carts to transport them by. It was not for the sake of mercy, but so that the trip would go faster, and probably for the presentation when they were driven through the streets of Bellux-Abry.
“Can you get your hands free?” Ammey asked Nasim.
He looked surprised.
“The ones who are not building are busy drinking,” Ammey explained. “And the woods are close.”
He glanced at the soldiers and then began trying to work his hands free.
From a short distance away, Habah Yor watched Catherin as she slept. He’d had always felt a dark fascination with children, usually boys, but the dark-haired girl had captured his interest days ago. He’d held off, but now they had stopped early and he had the rest of the evening to fill. He looked around to make sure he wasn’t being watched by anyone and then got to his feet.
He approached the ragged-looking prisoners keeping his gaze on the little beauty sleeping with her head on the lap of the yellow-haired captive who had caused so many problems. He would have opted to snap her neck back in the village.
Ammey saw a big brute of a man coming with a sense of panic and dread. He’d been watching Catherin in a way that made her flesh crawl. She’d been planning for Nasim to take Catherin with him, but he hadn’t worked his hands free yet. What could she do with her hands bound and no weapon? The man planted his feet wherever he wished, kicking or stepping on anyone that got in his way, his eyes trained only on Catherin. Ammey moved Catherin aside and got to her feet, but he was almost to them. He was to them.
He shoved her aside and reached for Catherin. Desperate, Ammey jumped on his back, slipped her bound hands over his head and around his thick neck and pulled. He stumbled backwards and tripped, landing squarely on top of her. She couldn’t breathe from the force of the blow and his weight, but she had the rope across his throat. She had the power to kill him. She had to believe it. The pain in her raw wrists was blinding, but she pulled with all her might, picturing his life force draining from him.