Maids with Blades

by Glynnis Campbell

  “Shh, damn you!”

  But it was too late. Footsteps approached. In another moment, they’d be discovered.

  Chapter 26

  “Hide!” Rand urged, pushing Miriel toward the shadows. Then he slumped against the wall, propping up the unconscious guard beside him, and putting a companionable arm around the poor wretch.

  By the time the Morbroch man came down the stairs to see what all the noise was about, Rand was engaged in drunken singing.

  “Hey, what’s all this?” the man demanded.

  “Jus’ havin’ a bit o’ fun,” Rand slurred. He hiccoughed, then giggled.

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Shhhhhh,” he whispered loudly, mashing a finger against his lips. “My friend here is sleepin’.”

  The man frowned. “Drinking when he’s supposed to be on guard?”

  “S’all right,” Rand said, tapping his temple. “I got my eye on the pris’ner. B’sides, he’s locked up tight.” He banged on the door for emphasis.

  The man hesitated, unsure whether it was safe to leave.

  “Hey, y’haven’t got a wee drink, have you?” Rand asked. “I’ve run dry.”

  The man shook his head in disgust. “You’ve had enough.” He turned to go, then muttered over his shoulder, “Keep it down. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

  “Shhhhhh,” Rand whispered. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”

  Once the guard was gone, Miriel crept out from the shadows. “That was quite convincing.”

  He cocked a brow at her. “As convincing as your, ‘oh, Rand, you know I can’t abide fighting’?”

  Her eyes twinkled.

  “Now,” he said, “we’ve got to find a way to get Sung Li out. I say we use force. Break down the door or collapse part of the wall.”

  Miriel shook her head. “Nay, the noise will draw too much attention. Stealth is better. I still say we should slip the key from about Morbroch’s neck.”

  “’Tis too perilous.”

  “And breaking into the dungeon isn’t?”

  “There is another way,” Sung Li said, “a way of stealth and force, yin and yang.”

  Rand had no idea what the old man was talking about, but Miriel furrowed her brows, deep in thought.

  Finally, she straightened, a look of wonder on her face. “Of course. Huo yao,” she whispered. She rapped lightly on the dungeon door. “Sung Li, tomorrow, you’ll let them take you to the hanging tree.”

  “Nay!” Rand barked. Was she mad?

  But by the time Miriel explained her strategy, her eyes were alight with the thrill of hope. Though Rand didn’t fully understand the methods of her desperate plan, he couldn’t prevent the grin of anticipation that came to his face every time huo yao was mentioned.

  That was the word Sung Li had used to describe the strong sparks of fire between Miriel and him. He hadn’t been able to define it clearly for Rand then, nor could he now. But Miriel assured him it was a powerful force.

  There was much work to be done and little time to do it.

  Miriel prowled the keep’s chapel, seeking out Morbroch’s precious illuminated Bible. She used her thin dagger to pick the lock chaining the book to the pulpit, no doubt murmuring prayers of contrition as she did so.

  Meanwhile, Rand raided the kitchen for the elements Miriel required—a large iron pot, a spoon, twine, an armful of kindling twigs, charcoal, sulfur, and saltpeter—filching a wineskin as well to plant on the still-unconscious guard. Between that evidence and the witness of the second guard, no one would believe his claim that he’d been felled, not by drinking, but by a mysterious assailant in black.

  When they met up again in Rand’s bedchamber, Miriel cleared off the table, lining up the powders, the pot, the twigs, and the ball of twine. Then, flinching as she did so, she cut several pages from the Bible, one by one, littering the pallet with the colorfully decorated vellum. When she was finished, the room resembled an alchemist’s workshop.

  With meticulous care, she measured out the powders, mixing them together in the iron pot. Then she cut a dozen pieces of twine, dredging them in the mixture and setting them aside.

  It was Rand’s task to lay a twig and a piece of coated twine along one edge of a Bible page so that it protruded at the end. Miriel would sprinkle a generous spoonful of the black powder in the middle of the page. Rand would then roll the page tightly around the stick, folding the tube closed halfway through. The last edge of vellum would then be cautiously sealed with a drop of candle wax.

  The process was a painstaking one, but before long, it became routine, and soon they were working together as flawlessly as guildsman and apprentice. In an hour, they’d assembled almost a hundred of the devices.

  “You know,” Rand said, laying out a piece of twine with fingers that were now stained black, “Sung Li told me once that you and I are like huo yao.”

  “Indeed?”

  “He said what passed between us was more than sparks, more than flame, but he couldn’t describe it.”

  She smiled. “I think he’s right. You’ll see.” She sprinkled powder over a page of Genesis.

  He rolled up the vellum. “So Sung Li is the one who trained you?”

  “From the time I was three and ten.”

  “And no one suspected? Not even your sisters?”

  “Sung Li always said the greatest weapon is the one no one knows you possess.” She held the candle aloft and let a drop of wax drip onto the page between his anchoring thumbs.

  “True.” He blew on the wax, hardening it. “But what of the weapons they knew about? The weapons on your wall?”

  “They believed I only collected them. They never suspected I knew how to use them.”

  He set the finished piece aside. “And no one found out your maidservant was a man?”

  “Nay.”

  He frowned, irritated at the petty jealousy that began to needle him. “The two of you shared a chamber. Did he…dress you? Tuck you into bed?”

  She glared at him in response, then decided, “Enough about me. What about you? Why did you become a…you know…a mercenary?” She said the word under her breath, echoing Sung Li’s prejudice.

  He scowled as he reached for another page, this one featuring the Serpent in the Garden. “’Tis an honorable profession. I never slew a man who didn’t deserve it. I never took coin from men seeking selfish vengeance. And I’m bloody good with a blade.”

  “Hmm.” She drizzled powder over the verse. “You didn’t seem so skilled when you first came to Rivenloch.”

  “Ah,” he said, breaking one twig, then casting it aside for another. “That’s because the greatest weapon is the one no one knows you possess.”

  She chuckled. “Did you learn to fight from your father?”

  His father. He winced in spite of the age of that particular wound. He sighed, rolling up the vellum. He might as well make a full confession now. God alone knew if he’d even survive the day. After the way they were desecrating the Holy Bible, it wouldn’t surprise him if lightning struck him down before dawn.

  “I’m a bastard.” He held out the rolled page for a drop of wax. “My father was a drunken Norman lord, my mother his Scots mistress.” He paused to blow on the seal. “When I was fourteen, he found out my mother had another lover. He murdered her and tried to slay me.” He touched the scar on his neck.

  She set the candle down. “But you escaped?”

  “I killed him.” He smiled grimly. “And thus began my illustrious life as a mercenary.”

  There was a long quiet in the chamber, and Rand wondered if Miriel was too appalled to speak. Finally she tucked her hand into his and murmured, “I’m sorry.” And as odd as it seemed, those two simple words did much to assuage the pain of that memory.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Why did you choose a life of crime?”

  “Oh, ’tisn’t crime,” she said, picking up the spoon to stir idly at the powder. “Not really.”

  He arched a brow. “Steali
ng silver from strangers’ purses? I’m fairly certain ’tis a crime.”

  “But ’tisn’t their silver in the first place.”

  “Nay?”

  “’Tis coin won off my father at the gaming table. So you see, I’m not really committing thievery. I’m…” She hesitated.

  “Aye?”

  “Balancing the accounts.”

  “Balancing the accounts,” he echoed.

  “Mm. ’Tis what Sung Li calls yin and yang. You wouldn’t understand.”

  He spread out another page. That was the most inventive excuse for robbery he’d ever heard, and he’d heard a lot of them. “I don’t believe Lord Morbroch understands either.”

  A tiny frown creased her brow. “He’s the one who hired you.”

  “Aye, along with half a dozen other…affronted victims.”

  She didn’t look up from her stirring when she asked him, “And how much did you collect for turning in The Shadow?”

  The air grew taut between them as she awaited his reply. He realized then the full measure of what he’d done, the pain she must have felt at his betrayal. He’d come to Rivenloch, not to court her, but to capture her. For profit.

  And now she wanted to know the price of that betrayal.

  Of course, now that he was going to help The Shadow escape, he didn’t deserve the reward.

  “A shilling?” she guessed. “Two?”

  Indeed, all told, they’d paid him fifty, but that didn’t matter now. He intended to leave it behind. He answered softly, “Not nearly as much as she’s worth.”

  The sky had lightened from ebony to indigo by the time they exhausted their supply of black powder.

  Miriel glanced at the arsenal of devices, lined up like ranks of soldiers upon the pallet. She couldn’t help but grin, thinking of the havoc they were about to wreak.

  Rand, seeing her smile, smiled back. “What?”

  She glanced at him. His face was covered with smudges where he’d inadvertently rubbed black powder. Using the corner of her sleeve, she wiped carefully at the marks. “You’re going to enjoy this.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been in battle before. I’ve seen all manner of war machines—catapults, trebuchets—”

  “’Tis much better than a trebuchet.”

  “Flaming arrows?”

  “Child’s play.”

  “Greek fire.”

  “Nothing is quite like huo yao.”

  There was still much to do. Miriel was intent on returning as much of the Bible intact as possible. And there had to be no evidence of their mischief. The elements had to be returned to the kitchen, the pot to its hook, the spoon to its place, the ball of twine from whence it had come. No one must ever discover what they’d wrought.

  And one other assurance remained.

  “You must make me a promise,” she said to Rand.

  “Anything.”

  “The secret of huo yao is a sacred one. ’Tis not to be used except in the most dire of circumstances, or its mystery will be lost.” She gazed into his eyes, intent on making her message clear. “You must tell no one. You must keep this knowledge as a secret of your heart. Do you understand?”

  He frowned. No doubt a hundred tempting uses for huo yao rushed through his mind, but she couldn’t let him waste the sacred knowledge in that way. It was a destructive and dangerous tool in the hands of fools.

  “You must promise me,” she said again.

  He nodded, and she was glad she’d secured his vow here, before he witnessed how spectacular and thrilling and breathtaking huo yao really was.

  By the time the morning clouds had begun to blush at the imminent arrival of the sun, their tasks within the keep were complete. Because the guards were on watch for intruders, not those leaving the castle, Rand simply told them he’d decided to depart before the execution and directed them to give Lord Morbroch his regrets. They assumed that Miriel, bundled in a cloak, was his consort.

  That had been an hour ago. Now, from Miriel’s vantage point, she could see Rand with his torch, half-hidden beneath the trees at the rim of the hill overlooking Morbroch. Standing vigil along the edge like the front line of an army were the nearly two hundred devices they’d assembled, though from where she perched, Miriel couldn’t see the sticks among the tall weeds. Which was perfect. If she couldn’t see them, then neither could the people of Morbroch.

  Her eyes stung from lack of sleep, but though she already half reclined along the high branches of the hanging tree, she was far from dozing off. Her nerves were stretched taut with anticipation. It was a brazen thing they attempted, the three of them, pitting their wits against all the castle folk. If this didn’t work…

  She steeled her jaw, adjusting the obscuring cloth over her face again. It had to work.

  She focused on a single leaf of the tree, centering her mind for the task ahead. But she never realized how difficult it would be to maintain her calm when the portcullis grated slowly open and the blackened felons’ cart rolled out through the gates.

  It seemed an eternity passed as the creaking cart made its way up the hill, followed by frowning men, jeering children, and women who looked like they’d rather be snug in their beds. Miriel, peering through what remained of the tree’s leaves, glimpsed Sung Li, his hands bound, riding in the bed of the cart. Though he held his head proudly, when Miriel saw how small and helpless he appeared, her heart lurched.

  At last the execution party arrived beneath the hanging tree. Nobody noticed the dark figure lurking silently in the branches. They were preoccupied with gawking and spitting curses at the prisoner. Even the executioner himself, who tossed the hanging rope over the thickest branch, never saw Miriel there. Of course, invisibility was her talent. It was how she’d earned the name, The Shadow.

  What accusations were made by Lord Morbroch, what vicious epithets the crowd sneered, what last prayer the executioner murmured, Miriel didn’t know. As they spoke, Miriel stole with infinite patience and stealth from branch to branch until she perched directly above the rope. Then she drew her woo diep do and waited.

  She swallowed hard when the executioner placed the rope around Sung Li’s neck, as if she herself was about to be strangled. Then she took a deep and silent breath. Her timing had to be perfect. So did Rand’s.

  Rand watched the proceedings with the eyes of a falcon, not daring to blink. The torch stood ready in his hand. But though he’d never admit it to Miriel, he had little faith in the long row of sticks set along the crest of the hill. How could a few powders from the kitchen rolled up in the pages of a desecrated Bible do more than incite the wrath of a vengeful God?

  Yet he did as Miriel wished, for what other choice did he have? They were three against many, and in his heart, Rand knew she was right. Even if he’d been able to convince Lord Morbroch it wasn’t The Shadow he’d caught after all, it would have changed nothing. The man was eager for a scapegoat, mostly to appease his fellow lords. And the fact that the outlaw was a strange-looking old man from a far-off land no doubt made his execution all the more palatable.

  Still, Rand hated the fact that he’d left Miriel alone down there to battle the whole of Morbroch while he played Prometheus upon the hill.

  Rand narrowed his eyes. The rope was about Sung Li’s neck now. The executioner stepped back. In another moment…

  The man gave a shout, the driver cracked his whip, and the cart bolted forward.

  Sung Li’s feet were dangling only an instant when a black figure descended the hanging rope, slicing through the bonds around his wrists. With amazing agility for his age, Sung Li swung his freed arms up, seizing the rope above his head before it could strangle him and scrambling up it until he disappeared into the tree.

  That was Rand’s signal. Walking slowly along the row, he touched the burning brand to the pieces of coated twine, one by one.

  The first sharp hiss almost startled him out of his braies. When he cast a glance over his shoulder, he saw a bright flash of flame, and the stick shot up w
ith as much force as if it was fired by an archer, then sailed down like a falling star.

  An instant later, the second shot up as well. This time, he watched as it arced high into the air. Sparks and flame and smoke made a trail across the morning sky.

  As he paused to watch, the third followed closely thereafter in a burst of fire, then the fourth, with a fierce sizzle, causing the castle folk to start shouting in panic. When the fifth almost exploded upon his foot, Rand realized he shouldn’t have stopped walking. The small beasts were closing in on him, nipping at his heels with their fiery teeth.

  He increased his pace, lighting the sticks in a steady rhythm that kept the sky full of the most incredible explosions and crackles and puffs of smoke, as if some horrific dragon swooped over Morbroch, raining fire upon the countryside.

  Below, the horse spooked and bolted, dragging the cart, rumbling and skittering over the rocky road, all the way back to the castle. The crowd scattered like mice before a cat, screaming and shrieking, racing, tripping, half-tumbling down the hillside as they ran in terror from the smoke and flames. Like bats from hell, the projectiles streaked in every direction, popping and whistling and spitting flame, filling the air with noxious fumes.

  Rand couldn’t help but grin at the glorious chaos he’d wrought. And for one mad moment, he didn’t care what he’d promised Miriel. These amazing weapons, like lightning and thunder all in one, were too magnificent to keep a secret.

  “What the bloody hell was that?” Helena asked Deirdre, stopping in her tracks on the forest trail.

  Deirdre frowned, one hand on the hilt of her sword. “It sounded like…”

  Before she could finish, another unearthly whistle rent the air. Then another. And another.

  Helena drew her blade. “’Tis coming from Morbroch.”

  The two sisters exchanged grave looks, then bolted forward along the path. It wasn’t for nothing they’d stolen away from Rivenloch under the noses of their husbands, tracked Miriel for three days, and now charged onward, fully armed and ready for battle. No matter what Miriel called herself, no matter how expert a warrior she was, they’d always come to the defense of their little sister, and they weren’t about to stop now.