Lady Arriena Faxinor was an oddity in her devotion to her children. She never gave them over to wet nurses from birth, like most grand ladies, and cared for her offspring with as much devotion as any peasant woman. Lord Edrix Faxinor complained it was a waste of money to hire more than one nurse for their children. But he said it with a smile in his lady's hearing, and they always laughed together.
Andrixine wondered how she would feel about her own children someday. As heir of Faxinor, it was her duty to continue the bloodline, dispense justice and manage the family estates. She did not need to know war craft, only to understand enough to gather soldiers when the king called.
Some said she had gone too far in her devotion to duty when she earned her warrior braids. What use were they in a time of peace? But Lady Arriena had been born in Sendorland, and she had taught her children that no matter how loudly Sendorland spoke peace, it always plotted treachery. Its people hated Reshor's prosperity and individual freedoms. Sendorland believed its holy mission was to turn Reshor into a grim shadow of itself.
Andrixine grew up knowing war would come and trained simply to protect her mother. The men of Sendorland feared a prophecy that a woman carrying a bright sword would begin their downfall. Andrixine liked to imagine the discomfort the sight of her warrior braids would give her mother's vindictive Traxslan relatives.
Thought of her braids made her smile. She reached up and stroked the thin twist of hair and silver cord on either side of her face, hanging from temples to waist. They kept people from looking further and seeing the gauntness of her face, the wide, Faxinor bones which illness had revealed. Tanned and healthy now, back in the saddle and not jolting along in the wagon with the other women, Andrixine wanted no pity from anyone. She leaned slightly to the left to catch the flash of Grennel's white socks. They shimmered, matching the white blaze down his nose. As if he knew his rider admired him, the stallion pranced for a few steps. She laughed and patted his neck.
"Andrixine?” Lady Arriena leaned a little further out from her seat in the wagon. Alysyn giggled as sunbeams caught her eyes and danced across her hands.
"Yes, Mother?” She nudged Grennel, and the stallion slowed his pace so they could speak face to face.
"I said, your father won't recognize you when we get home."
"No, I've finally lost all my baby fat—and Alysyn found it.” Andrixine leaned over to tug on her little sister's red-gold curls. Alysyn laughed and tried to catch her sister's lean, brown hand with her chubby pink ones.
"Baby fat.” Lady Arriena gave a most unladylike snort. That meant the maidservants were asleep in the afternoon heat trapped under the wagon's canopy. The two menservants riding ahead of them nodded off in their saddles. “You've lost what little figure you had. The only thing to show you're a woman is your hair."
"Mother...” Andrixine sighed. “I promise I will look like a woman when the need arises.” She smiled when she realized she actually looked forward to dressing up and dancing.
If only she didn't have to dance with earnest young suitors who were more interested in an estate than a bride. She couldn't even enjoy a simple dance at a harvest festival anymore without someone listing the qualifications of her partner as marriage material.
"Your father's last letter reached me before we set off yesterday morning,” Lady Arriena said, a glow in her eyes. Andrixine longed to know such feelings for herself. “He's planning a grand festival to welcome us home."
"And help me choose a husband?"
"Andrixine ... I wish I could say you will be as happy as your father and I, but I won't lie to you. Duty sometimes precludes personal dreams. You need a husband."
"Like a brood mare needs—forgive me, I shouldn't have said that."
"But in a way, it is true. If only you could conquer this task as easily as you did sword craft.” Lady Arriena sighed, but Andrixine thought she heard a hint of laughter in her voice.
"It took practice, hard work and pain, Mother."
"It takes practice, hard work, patience and pain to bring about a true, satisfying marriage."
"You caught me out on that one, I must admit. Even those blessed to marry for love, like you and Father, have to work for your happiness.” A glance ahead showed lights gleaming through the first shadows of dusk. “We're approaching the inn."
"Not soon enough. How you can stand that saddle all day long, I do not know. I lost all my stamina this winter, with no estate to tend. I ache from this wagon, despite the cushions."
"Practice, Mother.” Andrixine grinned and set her heels into her horse's sides, escaping before her mother could respond.
How, she wondered, could her mother say she had lost her stamina, when she had rolled up her sleeves and helped the Renunciates at Snowy Mount all winter long? Lady Arriena knew from her Sendorland life what it truly meant to be idle and useless, and she refused to be that way or allow her children to grow up to be drones.
As Andrixine reached the head of their procession, the trail curved and entered a clearing. An inn sprawled from one edge to the other, with bitter black smoke curling up from two chimneys. The building seemed to sink into the ground as trees encroached from all sides. The inn yard had been churned into sharp ruts and pits. Andrixine dismounted to lead Grennel around the obstacle course. Her nose twitched as the mixed odors of animals and cesspool reached her on a shift in the breeze. The hairs rose on the back of her neck, and she wished she could turn around and urge everyone to leave.
If she were by herself she could find a tree to put at her back, Grennel beside her and a fire before her. With three maids, two menservants and her mother and sister to tend, such a tactic was impossible.
"Why are we going this way?” she asked Jasper, the boy groom coming up behind her. His square, brown face, shadowed by a thatch of black hair, wrinkled in displeasure. She felt better seeing he didn't like this place any better than she.
"Your uncle advised us this was a better route, M'Lady.” He shook his head, looking around again. “This is a longer trail home, but he said it would be safer and easier on the ladies.” He bowed his head, ducking away from her studying glance.
Andrixine fought a smile at the boy's shyness. She remembered hauling him from the duck pond with her brothers. When had the realization of her station and womanhood hit him?
"I don't like the looks of this place. Play the scout when you bed the horses down, will you?"
"Yes, M'Lady.” Light touched his black eyes, though he fought to retain a serious expression.
"Good. Until my father's soldiers meet us, we're depending on you and Tamas.” She put Grennel's reins into his hands, then turned to meet the wagon as it came to a stop before the inn door.
She didn't doubt this route was safer; they had seen no one since they turned off the King's Highway just past Maysford. It was just like her Uncle Maxil's spite to send them down a deserted trail with bad inns. He was probably still seething because Andrixine had refused repeatedly to marry his oldest son, Feril.
What if her uncle was the one who had tried to poison her? The timing was right. She had fallen ill immediately after the visit to his home. Andrixine damped that thought, knowing it unworthy and disloyal to her father's family. Maxil's dead wife, Gersta was more likely to use poison to get her way, but she had died birthing dull-witted Aldis. Maxil might dislike his brother's children because they blocked his inheriting Faxinor, but he wouldn't resort to murder.
Andrixine's first sight of the innkeeper and his wife worsened her impressions of the place and made her wish she could speak her mind to her uncle. Both looked hungry, despite their bloated faces and forms. Their dull brown hair lay in tangled, greasy clumps across their foreheads and down their necks. Both had dusty brown eyes, and their pale faces were blotched with bad cooking and filthy living. Their tattered clothes were once rich garments, and Andrixine wondered where they got the originals. Cast-offs from grateful, charitable guests? Or stolen from guests who fled the squalid conditions?
&
nbsp; "Only for one night,” Lady Arriena murmured as her daughter helped her down from the wagon.
"Is my face that readable?” she replied as quietly.
"I know you, sweetling. Your father and I endured rough living when we were young, but never as foul as this.” She swept the yard with one more wincing glance, then straightened her shoulders. She put on the smile saved for trying situations and turned to face their hosts.
* * * *
ANDRIXINE SAT ON the narrow, splintered ledge of the window, dressed only in her long-sleeved gray shirt. The dream of the sword had awakened her again.
The sword hung in a sling of golden cloth. The blade possessed a clarity like glass. White, blue and gold light radiated from the blade. Its bone scabbard lay next to it, aged with years and wear. The sword hung over a simple cot, from the ceiling of a small stone room with nothing but a trunk and pegs in the walls that held dark blue Renunciate robes.
Brother Klee had swords, but they were wooden. The only real, metal swords at Snowy Mount had been her sword, inherited from her grandfather, and the swords Tamas and Jasper carried. The regimen of her healing had included sword craft, archery and horsemanship, but the arrows had been blunted, and the only spirited horse had been Grennel. If Brother Klee had fighting swords, she knew he would have shared them with her.
Andrixine knew why she dreamed of swords—she longed for any excuse to avoid choosing a husband. The rough life of a Sword Sister was a pleasure tour compared to long hours of holding court, dancing and listening to pretty speeches.
She took a deep, cool breath of the night air. With the fires banked for the night, the air smelled more wholesome. She didn't mind the aroma from the stables and the pig and hen yards. The animal smell was natural; the effluvium of unwashed furniture and bedding could have been avoided, and was therefore intolerable. All during dinner, she could taste the grease and grime in the air. Andrixine couldn't imagine how such shoddy housekeepers stayed in business. Mentally complaining about their disgusting hosts occupied her thoughts until her mind drifted into a sleepy haze.
She slid into a dream of summer training with the Sword Sisters near Faxinor Castle. Andrixine stood on the practice field, battering friends with a wooden sword that turned real. She stopped, horrified as she drew blood—and the young women gathered around her turned into filthy, leering men who reached out greedy hands for her. Andrixine swung hard, and the sword burst out with blinding light, incinerating her attackers.
Andrixine jerked awake in the windowsill, for a moment hearing the thuds of swords hacking into flesh, the cries of dying men and women shrieking in fear.
All was quiet in the room; her mother lay in one narrow, lumpy bed and Alysyn in the other. Andrixine had taken her baby sister to sleep with her to allow their mother a decent night's rest.
Something banged softly in the yard below her window. Andrixine felt a sudden chill and reached for her trousers. She cast a glance at both sleepers. Neither stirred. She heard nothing from the room where the maids slept. She crept back to the window, tucking her long shirt inside her trousers.
Unnatural silence reigned. She listened for the animals in the stables as she put on her belt and fastened her knife in place. If all was well, the animals would not listen with the same wariness she felt. Andrixine gave one tug to her belt and knelt before the window.
Chilled, she stared at the shapes and shadows of a dozen men creeping through thin patches in the forest several hundred yards from the inn. They carried weapons: swords, spears and ropes.
"Mother.” She placed her hand over her mother's mouth. “Mother, listen.” Andrixine couldn't see her expression. “Men are surrounding the inn. Get dressed.” She took her hand away and stepped back to take her sword from under the bed. She already knew what to do. She would slip down to the stables and wake Jasper and Tamas and bring them to protect their party before the approaching men reached the inn.
"Rixy...” Alysyn moaned, waking. She rolled over and looked at the two poised between the beds. “Me go."
"I can't take you, poppet. It's dangerous. Bad men are coming."
"Me go,” the child insisted, louder.
"I can't take her,” she appealed to her mother.
"It might be better. What if you can't get back?"
"We'll all go together, then."
"Small numbers are easier to hide. I have to wake the maids. You go first.” Lady Arriena managed a brave smile.
Andrixine bit back a rebuttal. She felt the fear her mother hid. She nodded and snatched up the shawl that had been covering the child in lieu of the dingy bedclothes.
"Help me make a sling,” she said, flinging the cloth over one shoulder. Quickly, her mother helped her tie it so the largest part hung at her waist. “You have to be quiet, Alysyn. Understand?” Andrixine waited for one quick nod from the child and snatched her from the bed, depositing her in the sling so her legs straddled her sister's waist. She hesitated only a moment, then put her sword into her mother's hands. Andrixine knew she could outrun any ruffian, even with Alysyn's weight in her arms.
"Yomnian guard you,” Lady Arriena whispered, squeezing her daughter's shoulder. Then she reached for her clothes.
"And you,” Andrixine breathed, before stepping to the door.
The floor felt gritty under her bare feet, but Andrixine didn't dare take time for her boots. She shivered as she slipped down the stairs. The ancient wood creaked under her steps but not loudly enough to warn anyone listening. She hoped.
The main room was a cavern of sour smelling darkness. She kept to the wall when she reached the ground, following it to the door into the owners’ private rooms. Sour smells rose to wrap around her head as her feet slipped on something soft and slick. Andrixine refused to speculate on what it was. She opened the door—and found herself in an empty room. Some bits of trash, broken furniture, an empty bed visible in the moonlight, but no people. They had fled without warning their guests.
Shadows filled the yard between the inn and the stable where the grooms slept when she crept outside. She breathed a prayer and ducked down to make the dash in the open. Andrixine wished her shirt was black, not gray.
Grennel recognized her scent as she stepped into the stable, and nickered. To her relief, no other horse responded. She searched for an empty stall. Jasper had said at dinner there was no loft for them to sleep in.
"Jasper, Tamas?” She held her breath, afraid of silence that meant the grooms had been killed already.
"M'Lady?” There was a stirring in the hay, and Jasper's wide, tanned face appeared in the thin beam of moonlight slanting through a hole in the roof.
She opened her mouth, to be stopped as a shriek shattered the false peace of the night. It sounded like Cedes, the maid hired a week ago from Maysford. A wagon horse answered the scream, rearing up in his stall and coming down to the floor with a crunch of hooves on rotten wood.
"Attack?” Tamas growled. He rose, brushing hay off his clothes and rubbing one hand over his balding pate.
"Give me a sword. I have to go back for my mother.” Andrixine didn't wait when she spotted the scabbards hanging on a protruding nail on the wall, but yanked the sword from the one closest. It fit her grasp awkwardly.
Andrixine strode from the stable into shadows. Alysyn's weight was negligible among all her other burdens. With her free hand, she stroked the child's head. Alysyn stirred the tiniest bit, and Andrixine prayed the child had fallen asleep again.
She couldn't go back for her mother until Alysyn was safely hidden. Turning her back on the sounds of feet banging on wood and doors or possibly bodies thudding against walls, she ran into the forest until her breath caught in her lungs. Was she far enough in?
Breathing a silent prayer, she untied the shawl sling, wrapped it around Alysyn and tucked her sister into the shelter of a thick cluster of bushes. Andrixine hesitated, flinching when another scream rang from the inn. That wasn't her mother—it couldn't be her mother.
She unsheathe
d the sword as she ran, knowing such a move invited danger. All she needed was to trip and fall on the blade. What good would she do her mother and sister then? Such thoughts vanished as she reached the inn clearing.
Light flared, tearing the darkness to shreds. Andrixine skidded to a stop, debris crumbling under her bare feet, and stared as the roof of the inn burst into flames. The faint breeze couldn't help the fire eat through thatching and wood with such ease. The whole building had to be rotten and dry where it wasn't clotted with grease and filth, made for a fire.
Andrixine moved around the side of the inn, heading for the main door. And froze.
An ugly, scarred ruffian shuddered on top of Cedes, crushing her into the rocky ground. The girl stared at the sky, mouth open in a silent scream. Another man held her shoulders down, but even Andrixine could see there was no need. Cedes had no fight left in her. Her skin was snowy contrast to her dark, luxurious hair. She was naked, red lines and bruises showing where the men had battered her into submission, then cut and ripped her clothes off her.
Andrixine stared as the man lifted himself off Cedes, laughing, and tugged up his trousers. The girl's blood spattered his legs. His companion got up and pulled his own trousers down to his knees, laughing. He was already blood-smeared, going back for more.
Andrixine looked at the sword in her hand and nearly dropped it. Her stomach twisted. She remembered the taunts Feril had flung at her over the years. He said her warrior's training was only play-acting; she could not face battle without freezing. Andrixine felt sick at the thought that he might be right.
"No,” she whispered. “Yomnian, help me!” Her whisper turned into a shout as she flung herself from the bushes.
The man with a long scar from his right temple to his jaw and along his chin froze, kneeling between Cedes’ legs. The other drew his sword and came at Andrixine, swinging. Cedes didn't move, didn't even hear her.
Yomnian, guide my hand, Andrixine prayed.
Commander Jeshra's voice rang in her memory, and Andrixine could almost feel the silver-haired Sword Sister's hand guiding her sword arm. Remember every victim, child, and let your love for them guide you—not the hate you feel for their abusers. Yomnian gave you skill. Use it to honor the All-Creator, not to entertain the Dark Spirits.
Heir of Fain [Faxinor Chronicles #1] Page 2