Ruggs gave a howl of rage and Cam saw a glint of light as a knife turned in Ruggs's hand an instant before he plunged it hilt-deep into the soldier's belly. The point jammed into the wall, and for a moment, Ruggs let the prisoner hang suspended by the dagger beneath his ribs. The soldier groaned in pain and Ruggs could not restrain himself from landing another punch before he pulled his knife free and let the dying soldier slump to the ground.
"Throw him in with the other one. We have work to do."
Enraged, Cam shuffled closer to the door. Fighting or escaping was beyond reach, but he could at least use his bulk to attack whoever came through the opening. The door opened, and with a roar, Cam threw himself at the two divisionists who dragged the battered soldier between them. His leg gave out on him, and he missed the first man, but he landed hard on the second and clamped his uninjured hand around the man's thin neck, squeezing with all his strength.
"Whore-spawned bastard!" he shouted as he sank his fingers into the man's neck.
The pommel of a sword came down hard on the side of Cam's head, making him see stars. Three men dragged him from the downed rebel and broke his grip on the man's neck. The divisionists gathered their downed comrade and Cam looked up to see Ruggs framed in the doorway.
"The men Donelan's captured won't stop us," Ruggs said as Cam raised his head to glare at him. "The army's on their way. We have some surprises waiting for them. We'll make it clear that some Isencroft men refuse to sell our souls to a foreign king." He gave a cold smile. "Make peace with whatever Aspect you honor. When the king's troops come into sight, I plan to hang both of you from the outer wall as a welcome banner." Ruggs slammed the door shut behind him and Cam heard the bolt slide into place.
Camdragged himself over to where the battered soldier lay. There was just enough light making its way into the storage room from the late afternoon sun for him to see how bad the young man's wounds were. Cam had seen enough of battle to recognize a mortal wound, and the jagged tear left by Ruggs's knife would have challenged even so fine a healer as Carina.
The soldier turned his head slightly. "Don't move," Cam said quietly, drawing himself up into a sitting position with his good arm and gritting his teeth against the pain as he jarred his broken leg. "I'm nothing much to look at anyhow."
"Cam of Cairnrach?" The soldier's voice was muffled through swollen lips.
"Yes."
"The king thanks you for your warning."
Camlooked at him in astonishment. "Rhistiart made it through with my message?"
"And my mission was to tell you that help is on the way."
"Please don't tell me that you meant to let them capture you."
The soldier gave a weak laugh and sputtered blood. "I was to tell you to watch sharp tomorrow night. That's when they're set to attack." He struggled for breath. "I thought they might want to trade us. Seems they're not much for exchanging prisoners. Live ones, anyway."
As the young man spoke, Cam did his best to staunch the bleeding, but the warm blood drenched his hands. "Lie still."
"Thank you for what you tried to do, there at the door."
"My sister always said I was the size of an ox. Figured falling on someone could do some damage. I'm afraid that's the best I could manage."
"I was proud to serve the king." The young man's voice was faint, and even in the waning light, Cam could see the pallor in the soldier's face.
"You've served well," Cam said, fighting the lump in his throat. With his good hand, he clasped the soldier's hand tightly as the man began to shiver. "Hang on. I won't let go."
"Say a prayer for my soul," the soldier murmured. "There's no family to mourn me."
"What's your name?
"Siarl."
"I promise, Siarl." Cam said. He could feel the other's grip growing slack. The soldier drew a long, ragged breath and was still. Cam bowed his head. He had never been observant about the Lady. Carina had made offerings for the both of them, and Cam guessed that his sister also said whatever prayers he might have overlooked. But any man who soldiered more than a few battles knew the prayer for the dead. The words came to him now, and with them, the faces of so many friends who lay beneath the battlefields.
"Let the sword be sheathed, and the helm shuttered. Prepare a feast in the hall of your fallen heroes. Siarl of Isencroft died with valor. Make his passage swift and his journey easy, until his soul rests in the arms of the Lady." His voice broke. Gently, Cam let go of Siarl's hand to make the sign of the Lady over his body. He closed the young man's eyes and laid his hands atop his chest, covering the savage wound.
Camdrew a deep breath. He had no illusions about the likelihood of rescue. But he would honor Siarl's sacrifice. His hand went to the flint and steel in his pocket. Donelan would have his warning beacon. Siarl would have a pyre worthy of a hero. And Cam of Cairnrach would have his vengeance.
DAY 5
Chapter Twenty-one
It was past noon when Jonmarc awoke. His body still ached from the attack, but his head was clear and the pain was manageable. He pulled back the covers and shuddered as the cold air struck him. The fire was banked, and its heat did little to warm the room. Jonmarc dressed quickly. He crossed to the heavy drapes that blocked the sunlight and pulled them back.
Pristine snow-covered hills stretched out around Wolvenskorn, down to the thick forest. Above it all, a bright blue sky was cloudless. A good day for battle. Tonight, one way or the other, the war with Malesh would end.
This was supposed to be our wedding day.He stared out across the snow toward the horizon, and his fists balled tightly as he struggled for control. Come dawn, both he and Carina were likely to be dead.
He turned away from the window and belted on his sword. He strapped on the single arrow launcher, fastening it to his left forearm and fitting it with a fresh arrow. He left his baldric and daggers on the bed, along with his second sword and crossbow. There would be time enough to arm himself later, when they were ready to ride.
A cold breakfast waited on the nightstand, and a pot of kerif simmered on the coals in the fireplace. Jonmarc finished his food and drank down the kerif greedily, looking to clear the last traces of the attackers' drugs from his system. When no one came to fetch him, Jonmarc let himself into the hallway and followed the sound of voices. The vayash moruwould be at rest while the sun was high in the sky, so he assumed that it was vyrkinthat he heard.
Yestin and Vigulf the shaman were the only two Jonmarc recognized as he entered the great room. Twenty-five men looked up as Jonmarc walked in. Yestin and Vigulf greeted him and welcomed him to the table. Platters of roasted venison looked well picked over as Jonmarc waved off offers of food.
"I see we've gotten reinforcements," he said to Yestin.
"I know it doesn't seem like many. But we are fewer than mortals guess. They've sent the women and pups into hiding. These are all the vyrkinmales within a two-day's ride of Wolvenskorn. I can give you my word that none of my people have sided with Malesh." Jonmarc could see the fierce pride in Yestin's eyes, even as he noted that the shapeshifter moved with a slight limp, evidence that he was not fully recovered from his injuries. Jonmarc knew better than to comment. Like Yestin, he had no intention of allowing his half-healed wounds to keep him from battle.
"And the vayash moru?"
Vigulf answered him. "Nearly thirty vayash morusleep in the crypts below. Word of the uprising has spread quickly. They've come from across Principality and even some from Margolan. We've promised them we will stand guard."
Fifty-five vayash moruand vyrkin, and one lone mortal. The Lady had a morbid sense of humor when it came to picking champions. "No idea how many have gone over to Malesh's side?"
Yestin shook his head. "Gabriel doesn't know where some of the vayash moruhave gone, especially those who belong to Rafe and Astasia. We don't know whether they'll watch from the sidelines, or whether they've sided with Malesh."
"Anyone hazard a guess on how many fledges Uri's made-for argument's sak
e? And how many mightturn out against us if Rafe and Astasia back Malesh? It's an old habit-I like to have some idea of how big the enemy's forces are."
The vyrkinshaman gave the barest of smiles. "I, too, like to know such things. For argument's sake. If they were all to turn against us, we may face a roughly equal number, but they will all be vayash moru."
"Meaning 'equal' isn't really equal at all."
"They have some advantages. So do we."
An awful thought occurred to Jonmarc. "Are there other vayash morubroods, aside from the Blood Council?"
Vigulf nodded. "There are minor families. Some are indirect fledges, while others owe allegiance to less powerful sires. I don't think they'll enter the fight-at least, not yet."
Jonmarc looked at him skeptically. "Why not?"
Vigulf folded his arms across his chest. "Vayash moru, like vyrkin, respect an order of dominance. Right now, this is a Blood Council issue. The others will wait on the sidelines until they see a clear winner before they risk themselves. Malesh may have recruited from the other Blood Council broods, but he would not think to ask help from what he would consider to be inferior bloodlines."
"Yeah, well I'm living proof that street curs are more dangerous than pure bloods."
"Indeed."
While the vyrkinwere up and about during daylight, Jonmarc noticed that the heavy draperies in the great room remained drawn. Torches lit the room, making it difficult to gauge the passage of time. Jonmarc sat at the huge table between Yestin and Vigulf as the vyrkinworked out their strategy for the fight.
"We have to hold Malesh off until seventh bells," Jonmarc said. "We owe Carina that chance. After that, he's mine."
The shaman smiled coldly. "We are agreed to contain Malesh without destroying him, and to keep him from entering the Temple of the Lady. Those who fight beside him," Vigulf said, his elongated eye teeth plain, "can fall at any time and not affect Carina. We will make this a costly lesson."
Jonmarc looked to Yestin. "You've been quiet. Thoughts?"
Yestin smiled tightly. "That today is a good day to die."
Jonmarc snorted. "I was thinking that it's a good day to kill the fucking bastard who started this."
Since the vyrkincould move about before sunset, they made ready to leave before the vayash moruarose. Even Gabriel had no idea where Malesh had gone to ground, and Jonmarc and Yestin wanted to be in position at the temple before Malesh could have a chance of reaching his objective.
Just before fourth bells, servants brought flagons of goats' blood in preparation for the vayash moruto rise. Jonmarc went to retrieve his remaining weapons from his room. He touched the amulet at his throat that Carina had given him and closed his eyes. It had never been his way to pray before a battle. Until he met Tris, Jonmarc had stopped believing that the Lady was anything but a myth told by those too desperate to accept the fact that they were on their own. A year with a Summoner convinced him that the Lady existed, but he found it impossible to believe such a being could give a damn about the petitions of mere mortals. He'd made Istra's Bargain out of desperation, and despite what Gabriel said, part of him deeply doubted anyone was listening. But just in case, he had one last favor to ask.
"If you must take Carina, let her passage be gentle," he murmured. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Nothing in the room gave any indication that his words had been heard by anyone other than himself. He took up his cloak and fastened it around his shoulders. It was time to fight.
The sky was still a clear, soft blue as the group left Wolvenskorn. The sun was low in the sky, but Jonmarc knew he was the only one who needed the light. Vyrkin loped effortlessly alongside his horse, able to see as well as wolves in the night. Once it was dark, Jonmarc knew the vayash moru's keen senses would recognize a threat long before his sight or hearing registered danger. And by the same token, their enemies would have ample warning that they were on their way.
They reached the Temple of the Lady well before sunset. The sky turned a deep golden-red as the shadows lengthened. Jonmarc and Yestin took up position outside the entrance to the temple. Vigulf stationed the others around the building, and scouts kept watch. Moments after the sun sank beneath the horizon, Jonmarc saw shadows begin to move toward them.
"They're coming."
The group of vayash moruseemed to appear in the blink of an eye. Thirty of the undead fighters stood facing them, their clothes and hair whipped by the night wind. At the fore stood a tall, blond man who might have been in his late twenties had he been mortal. He wore a long black coat that flared back from his body in the wind, exposing a wicked sword at his belt.
"Where's Malesh-or didn't he have the stomach for a fight?" Jonmarc shouted.
The blond man's eyes narrowed. "He'll come. He's looking forward to seeing you again."
"Likewise."
The blond man surveyed the line of vyrkinthat surrounded the temple in wolf form. The large wolves stood with hackles raised and teeth bared, warning the others not to approach. "Is this the best you can do? Did Gabriel desert you?"
"You wish." Gabriel's voice carried across the snow, and Jonmarc watched as Laisren and the other vayash morustepped into position in the cordon around the temple. At the same time, more vayash moruwalked out of the shadows to join ranks behind the blond man, making their number easily equal to the defenders of the temple.
Like a sudden gust of wind, Malesh's force attacked, moving so swiftly that the snow swirled around them. Half of the vayash morurose from the ground intending to attack from above only to be met by Gabriel's fighters, who forced the action back to the snowy plain.
Jonmarc was ready with a sword in each hand. Laisren stepped up to stand beside him. Five vayash moruclosed on them. Out of the corner of his eye, Jonmarc could see the battle beginning all around him. Yestin snarled and launched himself at one of their attackers, dodging the vayash moru's blade and snapping at his neck. Two of the fighters closed on Jonmarc, while the others ran at Laisren, swords flashing in the moonlight.
The cold night air was filled with the clang of weapons and the guttural howls of the vyrkin. Jonmarc was grateful for his training with Laisren as his attackers came at him with full vayash moruspeed and strength. None of the attackers were familiar to Jonmarc; he had no idea from which of the Blood Council houses they came, nor whether they were Malesh's fledges or older. The blond man who had hailed them at the start circled Jonmarc. A glint in his blue eyes said that he relished the fight. Jonmarc parried as the second vayash moruswung hard, nearly scoring on his shoulder. The blow made Jonmarc's arm throb but he held his sword, wheeling to meet the blond vayash moru's strike between his own crossed blades.
The pair came at him again, and Jonmarc pivoted to miss the worst of the strike, cursing as one of the blades opened a cut on his shoulder. With a cry, he ran at the second man, pounding a furious offense that drove the vayash moruback a pace. Remembering everything Laisren had drilled into him, Jonmarc pressed his advantage, knowing the blond man would strike at any instant. His sword slid against his attacker's blade and slipped free, driving deep into the vayash moru's chest. The fighter's eyes widened in the instant before he slumped to the ground and his body began to deteriorate.
"The traitors taught you well." The blond man came at him at full speed, knocking Jonmarc backward. He regained his balance just in time to stop a swing that was powerful enough to take off a limb.
"Malesh betrayed the Truce. You're the traitors here."
The blond man laughed. His reaction sent a wave of anger through Jonmarc that energized him to charge back through the snow, ready to knock the arrogance from his attacker. The blond man tried to sidestep, but Jonmarc anticipated the move, blocking his enemy's strike and scoring a deep gash on his attacker's upper arm. With a hiss, the man lunged at him, driving him back with a relentless press. Laisren was holding his own against three attackers; help was unlikely from that quarter. Yestin harried another vayash morua few paces away, dodging the man's blur-fas
t sword strikes with audacity.
The blond man's sword slashed down, opening a cut on Jonmarc's forearm as he barely managed to hold off the worst of the strike. A cold smile crossed the man's pale features and he pressed his advantage, forcing Jonmarc back another step. Jonmarc pivoted sharply and dove into a low kick, taking the vayash morudown to the ground. He skidded toward the downed attacker, sword ready, and drove his blade in from the side, slipping between the ribs. Black ichor began to ooze from the corner of the vayash moru's mouth, but his body did not disintegrate.
Cursing, Jonmarc withdrew a dagger from his belt and slashed the blond man's throat, loosing a fountain of ichor as the head rolled free. With a grimace, Jonmarc wiped his blade clean on the snow and withdrew his sword barely a moment before two new attackers closed on him.
Malesh isn't old enough to have fledges that can resist a blade through the heart. Damn. That means more outsiders. No wonder that fighter was so good. Malesh is getting help from the other houses, and some of the Old Ones are siding against us.
The sharp cry of a wounded vyrkinsnapped Jonmarc's attention from the two vayash moruwho were fast approaching, swords ready. Yestin was bleeding from a gash in his shoulder, but he had launched himself at his vayash moruattacker and clamped his wolf-bite hard on the sword arm of his foe. Jonmarc ducked low, scything his blade just above the snow to take Yestin's opponent down at the ankles. He rose just in time to meet the new threat of two fresh vayash morufighters.
Barely a candlemark into the fight, Jonmarc was sure of Malesh's strategy. He'd anticipated their defense, and now he was sending in his lieutenants to wear them down before making his own appearance. If Gabriel was correct, Malesh would attempt to work his blood magic at eighth bells, a nod to the Faces of the Lady. Jonmarc knew he had a tight window of time. He needed to hold Malesh off until after seventh bells to give Carina a chance to heal the Flow. But too close to the next candlemark, and it might not be possible to stop Malesh's working. No movement stirred beyond the moonlit circle around the Lady's Temple, nothing at all to indicate anyone else dreamed that so much hung in the balance on this night's battle.
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