by David Mason
“They are preparing to receive the attack they expect from our men,” I said, and I knew it was not so.
“They are preparing for the Black Sacrifice,” Thuramon said. My mouth went very dry.
“When?” I said, at last.
“Not until nightfall, certainly.”
I stared at those walls. There were hundreds of them, in there; most of them were probably able to change in a moment, into those white beasts from hell… and one such could tear us all down in a moment. And with open land all about, we could never approach the walls unseen.
“We’ll need to wait for dark,” I said despairingly. “And by then, we may break in too late.”
“It won’t be too late, if…” Thuramon began, and then uttered an odd noise, behind me. I swung around, and my sword flashed out; a short, squat peasant held Thuramon’s arms, and two more stood behind him.
“No!” Thuramon cried as I lunged. “They are not enemies!”
I brought up my point, and held back Kakk Marag, whose bow was drawn taut already. Thuramon, speaking slowly and laboriously, conversed with the peasants in their language, and then turned to me, his expression lightening.
“Marvelous!” he said. “Sacrifice to your Luck, Prince Kavin. They saw us creeping here, and did not betray us. And more…”
I sheathed my sword. “What more?”
“They know a way in,” Thuramon said. “They say there is a tunnel, used by the brothers for their night-running sometimes. It comes up inside the walls, and the other opening lies here, in these woods!”
We followed the three back, through the brushwood; and as we threaded our way along a narrow trail, another and another of the small brown people emerged, silently following. As each man came out, he carried with him an axe, or a scythe, or a hoe; and each man carried it like a weapon.
“They hate their masters,” Thuramon said. “They are treated like cattle… even to the butchering. They’ve risen before, but failed each time. But now, they follow us because they think we may succeed.”
I glanced at our new troops, and felt no great confidence.
“Tell them to let us begin,” I said. “Here… is this their tunnel?”
It was a dank cave mouth with a nasty smell about it. We descended a worn flight of stone stairs, and moved softly through a dripping blackness for what seemed a very long way. Then, just ahead, dim light showed, and I halted.
“Tell these men to wait in the tunnel. We may be able to work better if we are a quiet three, rather than a noisy mob.”
Thuramon relayed my words, and we crept on.
The mouth of the tunnel was an arch, in an inner courtyard of the building. Afternoon sun filled the empty yard; no one was in sight.
“There’s no telling where in this warren they may hold your lady,” Thuramon whispered. “But I would suspect there are safe cells near the great room they must use for their rituals. I think it lies that way.”
We moved very quietly, along the walls, through an empty passage and another courtyard. There, near the base of the bell tower, was a door standing open, and a monk leaning against the frame of it.
“He may be guarding something, from his stand,” I whispered. “Wait.” The fool took forever to turn away from us. Then, at last, he did. “Now.”
The arrow took him in the neck, and the only sound was the solid thud as it struck. He choked, and folded down. I ran to him, and dragged him back to our corner; there, I whipped off the black robe, and slid it on myself.
Inside the door, I saw I was very near the hall of rituals; a passage led there, and I heard movements, and soft voices within. But nearer still, I saw a heavy wooden door, with a tiny peephole, barred and bolted; and I went there, quickly.
She was there, unhurt, sitting on a wooden bench. I hissed, and she started.
“I’m here,” I said, very softly, and she ran to the door, and put her face against the opening, eyes wide.
“Quietly,” I said, and slid open the bolts. I gave her one swift embrace, and then pulled her after me, trotting for the courtyards without. As I went round the corner of the wall, I heard loud voices, and knew the open cell was found. I cursed myself for not taking time to close it.
“Go, quickly…” I told Isa, and to the other two: “You too… go with her. I wear their robe.” I held my sword down under the loose black cloth, pulled up the hood, and turned back.
As I came toward the door I had just left, a Brother emerged, his hood back, a staff in his hand, with an expression of panic. He came toward me, shouting a question in his own tongue; I am sure he thought I was the missing guard.
I waited till he was close enough, and seized his neck with my left hand, drawing him toward me, like a lover; and like a true lover my sword’s point kissed him, slipping up between his ribs. My grip on his skinny neck held fast, and he could not squall a warning; I let him slip down as soon as his kicking stopped.
The second one was at the open cell door, and he received his gift as swiftly as the first one had, but through the back. The third came upon me as I turned away, and he had time to shout, and lift his stick, but no more than that,
It seemed these beast men were vulnerable enough to steel, when they were in their human shape. But my blade was plated with soft silver, hastily dipped by the ship’s smith; that might have helped, I thought, though the silver was easily scraped away.
And then a clamor came behind me, and two more of the black robes, these armed, came before me. I killed them in great haste, and turned. And into the court, a host of them came, all of fifty, and bore down on Kakk Marag and Thuramon, and seized Isa; and though I slit another, the mass of them closed around me too. We were all prisoners.
Twelve
The black-robed Brothers who had seized me had me tied as securely as a washerwoman’s bundle before I could catch breath again. I was dragged into the great hall, where the broken altar stood, and flung down on the stone floor, and I heard a louder clamor behind me as I landed. The graybeard, Kakk Marag, was not being seized without some cost to his captors. As I sat up, gripped by the clawlike hands of a dozen of the Brothers, I saw him hauled in. But where was Thuramon? And Isa?
Then the Abbot strode in, his skull-face even whiter than before, his eyes blazing scarlet rage. He hissed at me, in his own language, baring his teeth.
I laughed at him, trying to make a good front on the matter.
“Speak so I can understand you, at any rate, you damned treacherous shave head,” I told him. “What troubles you, Wise One?”
He glared, and spoke in my language.
“Treachery? You speak of treachery?” he snarled. “Our eyes watched your boat sail to that island of devils. You agreed to aid us, and the same day you sold us.”
“And you waited only an hour, never questioning me at all,” I said coolly. “And then stole my queen. If you treat your friends so, it might be better to be your enemy. You fool, do you think I fight against an unknown enemy? I went there to see what it was I would have to fight… your enemy, you said.” I raised my voice, simulating outraged honesty quite well, I thought. “Why, no wonder you’ve feared the dragon men, if you’re such a crew of thickheads as this!”
The Abbot, and all the others with him, stood very still, studying my face with evil eyes. If I had convinced them, they gave no sign. Kakk Marag stood silent near me, glaring at them in turn. But there was still no sign of Thuramon.
“How came you here, within the walls?” the Abbot barked suddenly. “Where is the woman?”
“Why, I flew in,” I said, grinning at him. “And the woman… who is the Queen, my bony friend, and I’ll have you use a title of respect when you speak of her… she flew away in the same manner.”
“You say you intended to make a bargain with us, then, and aid our cause,” he said, in an icy voice.
“I am still of two minds,” I told him. “Especially kept thus, in your servants’ grip like an eel in a net. You’ve given me no cause to love you, Abbot.�
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He suddenly cackled, a laugh that was a croak of pure evil. “You need not love us, Prince. Prince of a handful of hulks. Prince of nowhere. We could have used you, but we need… more than you.” His eyes bored into mine, glowing. “Where is the woman?”
I spat on the floor.
“We shall find her,” he said. Then, in a quieter voice, “Or maybe she has truly flown over our wall, eh? Look you, Prince. You need land, I think. We have land. And peasants to work it, and more than that. We have gold, jewels… much lies in our vaults, we can give you anything you wish. Surely a woman is of no real importance. I’m told you have another woman, beside this one…”
“True enough,” I said, carelessly. “Women I have, in plenty. But no man steals one sheep from my flock, even if I have a thousand others.”
“Ah,” he said, barely concealing his eagerness. “Then… what price would you ask for this one?”
“Why do you wish to buy a woman?” I asked. “I thought you were under some vow or other, to live womanless.”
“She… can serve us in another way,” he said. “No harm will come to her, believe me. And we will pay well.”
“How well?” I asked, allowing an expression of cupidity to come to my face. “In gold, and land… or have you other treasures? Silver, perhaps… I have a great fondness for silver.”
The Abbot stepped back apace, staring at me, uncertainly. He was nearly sure… but not quite. My jest on the matter of silver unsteadied him. “Any price you set…” he began.
There was a sudden burst of shouting and noise outside. They must have caught Thuramon and Isa, I thought, despairingly. There was no more need for this repellent trading, no need any longer to play for time for them to escape, if they had been caught. I stared at the Abbot, letting my true feelings blaze up into my eyes.
“Any price, black dog,” I said, grinding my teeth. “Yes… a price. A small one. Your liver, fried, to feed to a dragon’s chick. Your eyes, plucked out and stuffed into your…”
Then, the door crashed open, and men crowded in, thrusting black robes before them, their scythes and axes lifted. The men who had waited in the tunnel had come up, and were here.
The Abbot stared from me to the newcomers and back, and burst into a snarling harangue, directed at them. But they did not move back. They stood their ground, trembling, but ready to fight.
“You,” he snarled at me. “You brought these… cattle here. You thought they could aid you, did you? You thought to trick us again? Now… but wait, you’ll see how we deal with these.”
He turned, and stalked slowly toward them; and two of his fellows moved in his track. Halfway across the great room, he paced; and the peasants began to edge back, from his approach. Then he stopped, and flung his arms into the air, and shrieked a strange word; and as he did so, the two behind him howled an echo. They seemed to waver, like smoke, as they stood there; one of them groaned, as if in agonizing pain, and the Abbot’s clawed hands twisted and grabbed at the air. What they had done, whatever it was, seemed painful to them, which gave me a moment’s brief pleasure.
But then, the three flickering figures hunched lower, and the black robes faded; and three huge beasts crouched there, snarling, facing the doomed peasants. And then, all three sprang, with a bloodfreezing yowl.
The peasants fought back, some of them; while others crammed the way of escape, screaming in terror. A burly peasant slashed with a reaping hook, but the blade of simple iron slid away from the beast that attacked him, and the white teeth clamped down on his head. Blood splattered, as the beasts killed mercilessly; and I saw the glowing eyes of the untransformed monks, who stared with a hideous hunger as they held me.
Then the three horrors were through the door, and I heard them slaying more, pursuing the peasants who had managed to gain the courtyards without. I was maddened with hopeless rage, listening to the murder of the poor louts who had come so bravely and so hopelessly to my aid. I twisted in the hands of the black robes who held me, and cursed, choking on my bile.
Suddenly, a coldness touched my right hand, and a warm small hand grasped my left. And my jailers suddenly acted as if they had gone mad; they grasped wildly toward me, as if they were suddenly blinded, and snatching and clawing, succeeded only in letting go completely. Then, I felt the ropes that tied my arms go slack; someone had cut them.
A woman’s voice hissed in my ear, curiously accented, and a voice I did not know.
“Not let go of hand. They cannot see you. Your sword is in your hand. Kill, quickly.”
I wasted no time trying to understand. My left hand gripped that other mysterious hand; and the hilt of my sword was in my right… I could feel its weight, though I could not see it.
And none of the Brotherhood could see me, I knew, as I found my first victim. I was so hot with rage that my skin seemed to burn with it; but I had my blade skill as much as if I were a boy back in Dorada, at sword practice. I took the nearest one, with a butcher’s stroke, flat across his cowled neck with all my arm behind it. His head sprang back, nearly taken off, and a fountain of blood shot up.
Then I was in among them, and the likeness to a butcher’s work increased.
It took them a moment to become fully aware of what was happening, and in that moment, I killed four, and a fifth who rolled screaming, clutching his spilled vitals. Then they scattered about the room, clamoring. Some fled, while others, braver ones, remained, to die. One of the doors was thrust hastily shut by escapees outside. And through the second, the three hell beasts leaped, snarling, noses searching.
I had learned that these beasts had most acute senses of smell; yet, somehow they seemed unable to find me. Their still-human aides clustered behind the beasts, as the creatures lunged here and there, teeth gleaming. For a moment, they must have taken heart, thinking their monster leaders would save them.
Then a still less human howl came from the direction of the ruined altar, and the beasts lifted their heads toward it. Kakk Marag, who had evidently broken free in the tumult, stood up, on the altar’s top, and he had his bow… and the silvered arrows. He was… in his own terms… singing… what I learned later was a death-song. He fully expected to die, soon enough. The beasts sprang toward him, and he loosed an arrow, and another, and a third.
The first beast rolled over, two of the arrows in its throat; but his third shot had missed, and another was almost on him. Dragging at the invisible hand, I leaped after it, slashing down at a hind leg; it screamed, and rolled, biting at the wound. The third passed me, heading for Kakk Marag; and an arrow lanced into its eye, as at the same moment I thrust through its side.
Two of the beasts were dead, and one crippled, roaring in helpless agony; I earnestly hoped the living one was the Abbot, since I had thought of several things I would like to do with him before he died.
And as I slashed again at a fleeing black robe, there was a tremendous explosion echoing in the moldering halls. I was so startled that I let go the woman’s hand; and stood revealed.
But there seemed to be no more eyes to see, except Kakk Marag’s, who came down from his fighting perch in a single bound, weeping with joy, and babbling in his own language. There were dead everywhere, some slashed and chopped by me, some feathered by Kakk Marag’s arrows. He yanked at arrows, refilling his quiver, still weeping and babbling as he retrieved them.
The sounds outside had grown still more busy, and now I was sure I heard Caltus’s hoarse voice bellowing somewhere, not far away. There were other sounds, resembling a smithy at work, and considerable squalling shrieks for mercy. The whiff of powder drifted through; Caltus had used a bag of it to blow down the gate, I guessed.
And at the moment, Isa, followed by Thuramon, came striding through the other door from the courtyards, and I stared at her, feeling such joy as a man brought back from death itself might feel. And unable to say a word.
She was spattered with blood, her hair loose about her shoulders, and she carried a peasant’s broad-ax in her hand. She
had evidently used it, I could see.
She came to me, and I could still say nothing; I gripped her arms so hard it must have bruised her, and stared at her. She dropped the axe, ringing on the stone, and came close against me, and took belated advantage of her womanhood by weeping.
Thuramon, behind her, flung down a broken hoe and grinned at me, his old self returned.
“A most unnatural weapon,” he said. “Myself, a man of scholarly arts, would find any weapon difficult… but a hoe… the thing had no balance. Still, it served till it broke.”
“Where is… she?” came Isa’s voice, from under my chin.
“She?” I stared about. “The invisible…”
“She paid you for her board and passage,” Thuramon said, rubbing his beard, “give greeting to Macha Emmrin, and thank her. If she hears us…”
“Macha Emmrin,” I said. “Our invisible passenger, eh? And it seems she can give others her gift, too. Hey, Lady Macha. Are you listening?”
A laugh came from nowhere, but no answer.
“Her folk are… not usually so friendly,” Thuramon said. “It would seem she has taken a fancy to you. I can’t say I understand her taste… in her own place, she must have had full choice of her own menfolk, since she seemed quite well-favored. At least, on the only occasion I saw her, I judged so.” He grinned at me. “While you, my lord, are not only plainly visible, but as grimed and spattered as a slaughterer’s apprentice. Even washed and perfumed, I have never understood your charm for women folk, though…”
The doors crashed open, and Caltus burst in, followed by armed men.
“Lord Kavin!” he roared, and slammed his sword hilt against his iron shield with a great clang. “You’re safe, my lord! And we’ve taken the place! There are no more than a score of them left, penned back there.” He stared at the writhing crippled beast which lay now against the altar, snarling at us. “Some of them tried that trick, but we speared them just as well as when they wore their human shape,” he said.