The Winter Vow

by Tim Akers

Closer and closer, the silent gods risen from fog, and Malcolm’s blade. Malcolm screamed his fury, but the mist swallowed them. They came together in silence.

  12

  THE SONG OF combat rang up from the doma, echoing through the stone walls of the courtyard like a struck bell. The crowds of Tenerrans and pagans rushing around in the wake of the gheist attack stood gaping at the noise. The sound of blade on blade was distinct, as were the screams of wounded soldiers.

  “What in hell is going on down there?” Ian asked. He and Sir Clough stood in one of the many windows of the keep. The crowds in the courtyard were starting to realign themselves, pagans with pagans, loyal Tenerrans with others of the Blakley banner. There would be violence soon, no matter what Ian did.

  “They were coming for you. Because of what happened to Cahl,” Clough said.

  “And what did happen to Cahl?” Ian asked. “I gave it to Bruler to follow the man, and now they’re both dead. Is that coincidence?”

  “Bruler lives, Ian. He was even now discharged from the infirmary.”

  “He lives for now. If this continues, few of us will see the dawn.” Ian whirled on Sir Clough. The woman stood defiantly, hand comfortably on the hilt of her sword. “Did you have something to do with this? I saw Gwen and the elders pass into the doma. Did you arrange for them to be ambushed?”

  “I arranged nothing. But someone has taken matters into their own hands.” Clough shrugged. “Think of it as a gift. The question of what to do has been answered for you. The pagans must go.”

  “We only just saved this castle from one battle. It’s too soon to be seeking another fight, especially among our extremely limited allies.” Ian slammed his fist against the shutters, rattling them. “We have too many enemies already, Clough.”

  “The tribes should never have been our allies to begin with. It’s their friendship that earned us the mistrust of the church.”

  “It’s their friendship that kept this castle from burning to the ground!”

  “Odd. I remember these same tribesmen swarming the walls and setting the fires. Perhaps things looked otherwise from where you were standing.” She paused for a long moment. “Outside the walls.”

  “We’ve been through this. Either you accept me as my father’s son and the heir to this castle, or you don’t. It was the voidfather who waged war against us, the voidfather whom I killed. The tribes were his victims as well.”

  “I have dead soldiers who feel differently,” Clough said stiffly. Ian shook his head.

  “Zealots. The world must be burned clean and the enemy purged at the hands of zealots. How am I supposed to build a life around that?” Ian pushed away from the window, grabbing his breastplate from a nearby stand and starting the complicated process of strapping it on. “Help me with this, will you?”

  “So you’ll fight?”

  “My sister is here, and my father’s loyal bannermen. Whether I wanted this fight or not, it’s here. If I can talk Gwendolyn down, I will. If I can’t, then yes, I will fight.”

  Clough nodded and moved to help him, pulling tight on the straps that secured the plate. She reached for his greaves.

  “There’s no time for that. If it comes to battle, I won’t be on horseback, and don’t want to be hindered by that much steel. My shield and helm will have to do.”

  “Your men need to see you as a knight, my lord. For weeks now they’ve seen you in pagan leathers, and pagan company. You are not your father, but you must look like him.”

  “I do not need to be reminded of that, sir,” Ian snapped. “The shield and the helm. If the men confuse me for a pagan, it will be their own fault, not mine.”

  Clough hesitated, but finally unhooked Ian’s helm from the stand and handed it to him, along with his shield. She stood by the door while he finished.

  “You should stay away from the doma. Until the deed is done, at least. You can deny having been involved.”

  “Or I can stop it,” Ian said, pushing past her.

  “My lord—”

  “Enough with reasons!” Ian snapped, and hurried out of the room.

  The halls of the keep were hectic with the efficient business of professional soldiers. Men-at-arms bustled from room to room, waking their comrades and spreading word of the fight below. Sergeants stood in doorways yelling while clouds of squires flocked around their knights, buckling on armor and soothing nerves. Everyone was too busy to notice Ian and Sir Clough, though a clear space opened up around the pair as they hurried down the hall. No one met Ian’s eyes.

  “Did I order a war footing?”

  “No, my lord. But war has come to us, and these men are accustomed to its song.” Clough stuck close to his side, weaving between obstructions. “As long as we hold this keep, we can hold the castle.”

  “Or maybe we can clear up this misunderstanding before it becomes a matter of siege.” He pulled up short as a work crew spilled into the hallway. They were carrying a burden of lumber. “What in hell is this?”

  “Barricades, my lord. The great hall has already fallen. Master Tavvish has us securing the approaches to the balcony, in case they choose to rush the keep.”

  “The balcony, you said? Then that is where we begin.”

  The way to the balconies that overlooked the great hall was strangely silent. Ian burst into the balcony with his shield up and sword in hand. He was nearly alone. The only Tenerrans on the balcony were cowering behind the balustrade, clutching crossbows and whispering nervously among themselves. Of Tavvish, or any other form of authority, there was no sign.

  The great hall below was in chaos. Crowds of pagans milled about, talking angrily, calling for calm, calling for battle, calling for the gods. Many of them were still recovering from injuries taken at the battle of Houndhallow, row after row of cots crowded with the old and infirm. Those on their feet were mostly the families of the tribesmen, sheltering inside the castle against the coming winter. No more than a third were fighting men and women, all of different tribes, none of them shamans or witches.

  “What is this?” Ian said. “I was told this room had fallen. There was no battle here.” He raised his voice to address the pagans below. “Who speaks for you?”

  “What have you done, Ian of Hounds?” The speaker was a tall woman, dressed in the camouflaged cloak and leathers of the rangers. Her hair was plaited into looping braids that clung to her head like a ram’s horns. She stepped onto one of the long tables that ran the length of the hall. “We heard the gheist horns, but now we hear battle in the courtyard.”

  “I will find out what it means. For now, you should stay here and protect your families. I swear to you, they will be safe.”

  “As though we had a choice,” the woman said. She nodded toward the doors. “We have been barricaded inside.”

  Ian turned to Clough, then to one of the crossbowmen hiding behind the balustrade.

  “What are your orders?” The man didn’t move, so Ian gave him a kick. “Your orders!”

  “We are to hold the pagans here, until further instruction. If they try to leave…” The man paused uncertainly, his eyes darting to Sir Clough.

  “If they try to leave, you are to shoot them down like pigs in a sty,” Ian finished. “That will not happen. I will not have a massacre in my hall. Clough, see these men dispersed, and those doors opened.”

  “Whatever the reason for their imprisonment, it would be better if we did not strengthen the enemy’s numbers. There is no harm in keeping them here.”

  “There is harm in thinking of them as the enemy!” He whirled on the crossbowmen. “Go down into the keep, see to the defenses, but do not shoot anyone.” The men began to shuffle off, but Ian grabbed one of them. “And your orders. Who gave them to you?”

  The man glanced at Clough before he answered. “Master Tavvish, my lord.”

  “And where is Tavvish?” No one had an answer for him, so he pushed them out the door. “Our first order of business is to find Tavvish and prevent him from starting a war
. As soon as we get those doors open.” He leaned over the balcony. “You will be free soon, my lady, though this may still be the safest place for you.”

  “Open those doors and we’ll quit this castle immediately,” she said. “I have had enough of narrow walls for a lifetime.”

  “Clough, stay here and ensure no one shoots these people,” he said. The knight nodded shortly. “I mean it. No shooting, for any reason.”

  “You are the lord of this castle, and I will obey,” Sir Clough said. “But remember your sister. If your orders endanger young Ness, I will be the first to ignore them.”

  “I will do nothing to endanger my sister,” Ian said. When the knight didn’t answer, Ian rushed out of the balcony and headed for the stairs.

  The twisting staircase that led to the main level was already the victim of Master Tavvish’s planned barricades. Barrels and twisted planks of wood cluttered the narrow stairs, and guards stood with spears protruding out of murder holes. Ian tore down the barricades and ordered the guards back upstairs, yelling the whole way. He got about halfway through the barricades before Tavvish found him. The master of hearth wore a chain shirt over his fine silk, with a sword strapped awkwardly to his hip.

  “My lord, what are you doing?”

  “Correcting a terrible misunderstanding,” Ian answered.

  “You are endangering the lives of every honest celestial in this castle, my lord! We must stop this fight before it gets out of hand!”

  “Exactly what I’m trying to do, Tavvish. Who the hell gave you the authority to take these steps, anyway? Why was I not consulted on any of this?”

  “Your father gave me the authority!” Tavvish said. The old man quivered with anger and old age. He had taken a wound during the siege, but instead of weakening him, the injury had hardened him. “I swore to protect these walls and your family, until Lord Malcolm returned. His wife would not take my advice, insisted on galloping off to his side, and look what happened to her. Look what’s happened to you! I’ll be godsdamned before I let the same happen to your sister.”

  “You gave orders to cut down the injured and aged, to barricade the keep without knowing what battle lies outside, to make enemies of the very people who helped save this castle with neither reason nor provocation!” Ian shouted. “How in hell does that make my sister safer?”

  “You weren’t here,” Tavvish said. “You didn’t see them come over the walls. I had to stand on this keep and watch the castle fall, had to stand beside your sister and assure her it would be okay, all the while knowing that every one of us was as good as dead.”

  “I was here. I ended that fight, along with the very people you are trying to have killed.”

  Tavvish tilted his head, listening to the sounds of battle rising from the doma, the screams and clashing steel.

  “That fight does not seem ended, my lord. And I aim to win it, whether you will or not.”

  “Then I must relieve you of your position, Tavvish. You have served my family long and well, but this is an error I cannot overlook.” Ian turned back to the barricade, pulling it down. “I will name another master of hearth.”

  “Only your father may relieve me, and he is not here.”

  “I am his heir, and the rightful ruler of this castle in his absence.” Ian glanced over his shoulder. “And I will make peace in his name.”

  “You may have his blood, Ian, but not his authority.” Tavvish drew his blade, and for a moment Ian thought he would have to defend himself from the old knight. The moment passed. Tavvish turned and trudged back up the stairs. “Hammet, Billes, Durant! Get over here. Start rebuilding this wall. Godsbless, we’ll keep the pagans out, whatever the young lord asks of us.”

  Ian cursed under his breath, then pushed through the barricade. The lower half of the stairs was abandoned, but at the foot, a crowd of pagans milled about nervously. Ian recognized a young lad, one of the rangers who had ridden with him to kill the voidfather.

  “Hassek!” Ian shouted. The pagan turned to him, the fetishes of bone in his hair clattering as he turned. Momentary recognition was quickly replaced with anger.

  “This is not my doing, before you ask,” Ian said quickly. “I’m trying to clear things up. Do you know what the hell is going on?”

  “Traitors’ blades fell on the elders as they walked through the doma, seeking you. We were told you were at prayer. For all we know, the elders are all dead, and Lady Adair with them.”

  “It will take more than treachery to kill Gwen Adair. They are still in the doma?”

  “Yes. We’re going there now, to free them.”

  “Take me with you. I still have some authority in this place.”

  “We’ll have more need of your blade than your word, I suspect.” Hassek looked Ian up and down with distaste. “But we’ll take both. This way, my lord.”

  The last two words were twisted with anger, but Hassek trotted off toward the doma, and Ian followed.

  13

  THE FOG CLOSED around them, swallowing the sounds of battle. Malcolm charged forward, even as the mists hid the ground and shrouded his knights. The black blade of his sword cut through the fog like flame through snow. The mists peeled away from the feyiron. Malcolm slowed, wheeling his mount, searching for the rest of his troop. There was only fog and silence.

  A pale figure lumbered out of the mists. It was taller than Malcolm and his mount together, its twisted shoulders even with the top of Malcolm’s head, muscled arms raised high. Its hands bristled with talons, as many as the petals of a thistle, sharp thorns that glowed white as though they burned from inside. Its head was short, lacking any feature besides a wide mouth, full of teeth. Its skin sagged at the joints, as though its muscles were wasting away.

  It caught sight of Malcolm and turned toward him. The gheist roared, but instead of sound, a stream of coiling mist poured out of its mouth. Malcolm wheeled to face the creature, flicking his sword back and forth to clear the mists.

  “I have faced worse than you, mortal and divine,” he said. “I will not be turned aside by clouds and palsied skin.”

  The gheist didn’t answer, but charged forward, its loping pace shaking the ground. Malcolm spurred his horse. The gap closed quickly, distances shrinking in the fog, and in a breath they were together. The gheist swung its mighty arms like clubs, the flanged thorns of its hands whistling through the air as it struck. Malcolm caught one of the fists on his shield, dodging the other. The blow shivered through his bones. The gheist’s talons dug deep gouges in the face of his shield, snagging it and nearly pulling it from Malcolm’s grasp. Malcolm struck back, hacking down with his feyiron blade, chopping into the gheist’s shoulders. The creature howled and bit down on Malcolm’s arm. Its rows of teeth clamped down on the thick steel of his vambrace, crushing chain into flesh and rippling the metal. He nearly dropped his sword, but instead punched with his shield, knocking the gheist’s jaws free of its grip.

  Malcolm wheeled away, cradling his arm as he retreated. Pain throbbed through his body, and his eyes swam with dark spots. The gheist stumbled away, silently howling, fog streaming from its wounds. It went to one knee. Malcolm clenched his jaw, testing his grip. Pain washed through him every time he grasped the hilt of his sword, but his hand seemed to be working. He guided his mount slowly to the gheist’s side.

  “Whatever god you were before the church got hold of you, I pray for a better sleep for you. And when you rise again, I pray a holier spirit will guide you.” Malcolm raised his sword, then struck down at the stunned gheist. The creature’s head split open. The wound traveled down its chest, flesh parting like a torn banner, twisting apart in pale streamers. Thick fog plumed across the ground, and then the gheist was gone. An area of clean air opened up around Malcolm.

  The sky cleared, and for a brief moment Malcolm was staring up at the moon and its host of stars. Cinder’s cold light bathed the valley, turning the fog into silver gauze. The trees in the valley below swayed like ghosts, animated by the movement of
the celestial army through them. Malcolm enjoyed a moment of peace. The throbbing in his arm eased.

  It was short-lived. The fog rolled in again, cutting Malcolm off from the sky and shielding him from Cinder’s gaze. The pain returned, and with it the realization that he was cut off from the rest of his army, surrounded by gheists and unholy priests, not to mention Bassion’s suspicions.

  The fog thickened near him, resolving into another unusually tall figure. Malcolm was preparing to strike when he realized the figure was mounted. Moments later, Sir Doone charged past him, her horse sidestepping and bucking its way through the fog. Her shield was torn in half, and fresh dents shone brightly on her helm and the pauldron of her left shoulder. She discarded her shattered spear and drew her sword, whirling to face Malcolm as he approached.

  “Hold, Doone!” Malcolm shouted. The knight froze for a second, then turned to face the direction she had come from. A second shadow had followed her. The gheist crashed into her, club-like fist banging against the remnants of her shield. Doone tangled her sword in the barbs of the creature’s other fist, screaming as the force of the blow twisted her shoulder and nearly knocked her out of the saddle.

  Malcolm paused for a heartbeat, watching in shock as Doone and her attacker stumbled past him, nearly disappearing in the fog. Then he charged forward, falling on the gheist from behind, cutting stripes out of its back. The gheist ignored him, pressing the assault on Doone, until Doone’s horse faltered. Knight and gheist and mount tumbled to the ground. Malcolm held back, afraid he would strike Doone.

  Their charge led the trio out of the fog bank, leaving only the trailing streamers of mist from the gheist to obscure them. A scattering of shadows moved through the fog, and the sounds of battle rose into the air, strangely clear. Down the hill, in the copse of trees, Malcolm could make out a line of mounted shapes marching slowly into the clear. Even in the ghostly light of the moon, Malcolm counted dozens. They could not be his own people; the ones he could see did not look like Bassion’s troops. They were cut off. There would be no retreat, not in that direction.