Season of Sacrifice

by Mindy Klasky

  “Sartain said that I lead this party.”

  “You’ll be leading a party of one, then.” Jobina’s voice was even as she sheathed her unblooded dagger. Maddock whirled to face her, exclamations about her betrayal rising in his throat. Jobina’s eyes were dark in the scattered firelight, but disapproval was patent on her pale face. “We are guests in a strange land. I’ll not stand by to explain this.”

  Maddock almost bellowed his protest—the dog had been about to kill her! Jobina, though, ignored him as she gathered up her own meager belongings. Landon had already retrieved his horse’s tether from a low-hanging branch.

  Maddock managed to hold his tongue, but it was more than he could bear when Landon started to lead the way back to the road. “Hold, man!” His voice was loud in the still night, driving away the chirrup of crickets. “You’re not the leader of this party.”

  He shouldered past the ungrateful, too-tall oaf and mounted before the others had the chance, setting a fast pace through the night. Once, he thought he heard Landon admonish him to slow down, but then the tracker’s womanish concerns were lost in the darkness and the distance.

  It was not long before Maddock realized that he was heading in the wrong direction. The ground they had traveled at twilight had been hard-packed, the only water the stream that had cut along the horizon. Now, there were little flows that cut across his path, and the earth had a spongy feel underfoot. The farther the horse galloped, the softer the land became, until Maddock was unable to say whether he rode across earth or water.

  “Bogs and breakers!” he muttered over and over. Their gallop should have brought them to the road by now. Even in the moonless night, even if the mire were caused by some cursed inland dew, he should have felt hard-packed earth beneath the horse’s hooves long ago. He angled more to the left, intending to pick up the line of the road that way, but the changed course was no better.

  Once, his gelding stumbled into watery mud up to its knees. As Maddock heaved impotently on the reins, the terrified beast scrambled for footing. Reaching out to grab onto saplings at the edge of the boggy sinkhole, Maddock bit back a curse as he realized that the narrow trunks were actually a cow’s crow-picked ribs.

  Another sodden hour passed, and they were no nearer to their destination. As if the mire underfoot were not enough, the storm clouds that had been threatening at sunset loosed their attack. Maddock was drenched in seconds.

  It was a gift of the Guardians when a flash of lightning illuminated a dilapidated shack just ahead. Maddock encouraged his weary horse onward, pulling up in the lee of the crumbling building to wipe his dripping hair out of his eyes. That movement gave his companions the opportunity to come even with him.

  Jobina’s usual sultry pout was dissolved in the rainwater that streaked her pale skin. Landon sat tall and silent in his saddle, his eyes dark with condemnation as he stared at his leader. “What?” Maddock asked. “What would you have me do?”

  “Whatever you desire,” Landon said.

  Jobina spoke before Maddock could spit out a bitter reply. “Come. We’ll get no further tonight by arguing. Let’s wait in the shed until morning, and then we can find our way.”

  The roof was half gone, and the walls stank of mildew, but the shack offered a semblance of dryness, at least in the back corner. The horses, though, had no hope of a gentler bed, and they whickered softly under the dripping ruins of the roof, protesting the injustice as their riders huddled beneath damp blankets.

  Dawn came a few hours later, blowing away the worst of the rain and leaving behind a chill mist. Maddock rose before his companions and went to stand in the shack’s canted doorway.

  Sharks and fins! He never should have let Jobina convince him to slaughter the Guardian-forsaken lamb. Even after that mistake, he should have stopped the foolishness there. The cursed nighttime plunge through the bog had given him ample time to replay the moment of shock when the blasted dog appeared in the clearing. Maybe he could have tamed the damned beast without killing it.

  It was just that things were so different out here. Maddock closed his eyes, breathing a humble prayer to the Guardians that he might be back in Land’s End soon, back amid the familiar safety of the People, the Tree, and the woodsinger. Back home.

  “It’s still raining?” Jobina’s whisper slipped into his thoughts, returning him to the misty field and the mission at hand. The woman passed dangerously near him as she gazed out at the field.

  “More like mist,” he managed to say against the sudden swell of desire in his throat. The healer clutched her blanket about her shoulders, but Maddock could still make out the delicate lines of her bared throat. She was like a stone carving, and Maddock’s hand rose unbidden to trace the flawless curve of her flesh. He watched Jobina measure his intention, felt the woman’s pent energy as the tip of her tongue touched her lips.

  What was it that made her so desirable? What was it that made Maddock’s blood heat over any of the village women? Maddock had reached his full man’s growth early, and he’d spent years practicing the rakish seduction that brought the village girls to his fisherman’s cottage. His desire was natural, he often reminded himself. It couldn’t be helped. No one was harmed by his games. He hadn’t offered mistletoe berries or black currants to any one of his conquests, and none of them had expected such a bond. They all knew the rules. They all knew that he was just a man, not a suitor. A healthy man. With healthy appetites.

  Landon chose that moment to emerge from his dusty bed, groaning as he got to his feet and made a show of stretching his lanky limbs. Maddock bit back sharp words and ordered himself not to watch as Jobina turned away to her own corner of the hut, bending low to gather her few belongings. He told himself that there was no way for her to collect her comb and her boots without such stretching, but he doubted his assessment when he glimpsed her sly grin.

  “Come along, Landon,” Maddock vented his irritation as the tracker was slow leaving the hut. “Sartain sent you to help us find our way. You might as well earn your keep.” Landon favored him with a penetrating stare before saddling his unhappy horse and setting out at an unlikely angle through the stream-crossed bog. As if by magic, the field dried as they rode, and it was only a matter of minutes before the road materialized on the horizon, a smooth snake rippling toward the east.

  Only when Maddock saw the well-worn mile markers did he realize that his headlong dash from the stream had sent them traveling in the wrong direction, toward Land’s End. In fact, they spent the better part of a long morning working their way back to the fateful place where he had chosen to leave the road the night before.

  Maddock did not trust himself to speak civilly to the tracker as he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. Instead, he drove his companions hard all day, scarcely letting the horses catch their breath while the sun still hovered in the gloomy sky. It was just after sunset when they arrived at a small village, the first they had seen since leaving Land’s End.

  Maddock should have been suspicious of the deserted street that crept along the feet of the dripping buildings. He knew enough to question the blind shutters that covered the houses’ windows. He should have been warned by the uneasy silence that rippled through the mist. He was tired, though, exhausted by the long day, and he was determined to show no further weakness to Landon. Or Jobina.

  Maddock reined his gelding into the yard of one building that was larger than most. He thought he recognized the tavern from his earlier trading mission inland, and he squinted to make out its swinging sign in the gloom. A horse glared at him with dramatic red eyes, its muscled neck arching beneath a golden crown. The King’s Horse, that was right. He had stayed there before, had met with the king’s census counter in the tavern’s common room.

  Then, the King’s Horse had been a hospitable place, with excellent ale and a warm fire. Maddock looked around expectantly, for there had been grooms to service a weary rider’s mount. No servants appeared now, though, and Maddock was forced to loop his reins
around a nearby post.

  The heavy wooden door swung open on a room that filled the entire ground floor of the building. A roaring fire blazed on the huge hearth, and a score of men sat at rough wood tables, surrounded by tankards and trenchers. The heady aromas of hot bread and hearty stew mixed with pungent ale. Friendly shouts filled the air, and a number of voices fought for supremacy in the crowded room.

  When the door flew open, though, all conversation stopped. Laughter died, and the fire flickered lower on the hearth. Maddock saw half a dozen men reach for daggers at their waists, and other fists shifted on heavy metal tankards.

  Maddock’s own hand fell to the cross-hilt of his sword, and the motion brought more than a murmur from the crowd. There was a long, balancing moment, and then Jobina pushed past Maddock, her flame-colored hair striking a contrast with the pacifying tone in her voice.

  “Good folk, we thank you for your greeting on this cold, wet night.” Maddock thought she might have been received like a queen for the gentleness of her words. “We come from Land’s End, seeking warm beds and supper for ourselves and our mounts.”

  Her words produced openly hostile grumbling, and it was only with reluctance that the burly men at the front of the room gave way to a large, red-faced woman. She spat: “We’ve no rooms left.”

  “No rooms?” Maddock began, indignation spiking his words, but Jobina laid a stilling hand on his arm.

  “No rooms, good lady?” the healer countered. “We’ve ridden hard today, and had hoped that we might sleep in a bed. All of Land’s End has heard of the hospitality at the King’s Horse.”

  A flash of fear crossed the woman’s crimson face, and she muttered through stiff lips, “There’re no rooms for you here.”

  Jobina lowered her voice to a cajoling tone. “Perhaps we might stay in your stable then, good lady, any place that is warm and dry against the miserable rain on the road. We were forced to sleep last night in the fields, and we pray not do so again.”

  The red-faced woman started to spit, “I told you—” but before she could finish, one of the brawny men rolled to her side. Carefully turning so that he could keep one eye on the travelers, he whispered something to the woman, his voice low enough that Maddock could not make out the words.

  The woman pushed at her hair nervously, her eyes darting to each of the large men on her hearth before she framed a response to Maddock. “You can stay in the barn, then. If you’ve money, there’s hay for the horses, and we can probably find the butt end of a loaf or two for you.”

  Her words were grudging, and Maddock started to answer with the bile that rose in his throat, but Jobina gentled him one last time. “Many thanks, good woman. We are grateful for your hospitality.” If the healer’s words shamed the innkeeper, the red-faced woman made no sign.

  The only animals in the stable were two large workhorses and a pair of sleepy cows. Maddock swore as the wind slammed the door behind him. If there were empty stalls here, there must be empty tavern rooms to match. Before Maddock could grumble his complaint, though, Landon started to settle his horse for the night, lifting off its heavy saddlebags and uncinching its girth. Maddock swore fluently for another minute before following suit.

  The horses were contentedly munching their hay by the time a man thrust open the barn door. While he stood on the threshold, his hairy hand ostentatiously resting on the hilt of a large iron dagger, a terrified woman dashed into the barn, almost tripping as she set a tray at Maddock’s feet. The pair were gone before anyone could speak, and Maddock swore anew when he saw that the innkeeper had been true to her word. The tray held nothing more than three dried crusts of bread and a short flagon of ale.

  The three travelers made short work of the meager victuals, supplementing the food with their own dried goods. There was no making sense of the inland folk, Maddock grumbled as he pushed together a pallet of hay.

  His belly no longer ached with hunger, though, and he ordered his muscles to relax, to release the tension in his arms and back and legs. He sighed and burrowed deeper into the hay, ignoring the prickle of dried grass that poked through his clothes. At least he was warm. And dry.

  He was teetering on the cliff edge of sleep when the barn door crashed open like a thunderclap. Before he could leap to his feet, he was blinded by flaring torches, unable to see anything but murder reflecting off a dozen iron knives.

  The men who had filled the common room looked even larger as they hulked in the barn’s shadows, dark faces contorted into terrifying grimaces as the leader brandished his torch. The first sweep of the flames, clearly intended to intimidate the outlanders, swung wide and caught at the loose straw dusting the floor of the barn.

  A few wisps of fire skittered across the dirt floor, coming up against the wooden stalls, and Maddock found himself on his feet, clutching the edges of his blanket to his chest, as if the wool could protect him from those hungry tongues. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Jobina and Landon were also standing, and the healer had drawn her dagger. He was surprised to find his sword unsheathed, hefted with familiar ease, as if he had planned on fighting for his life on this cold, dark night.

  “You misbegotten curs.” There was something slippery about the man’s words, and Maddock knew that this was the man who had spoken to the inn’s red-faced proprietress, the supposedly merciful villager who had gained them a bed for the night. “Coming amid good folk with blood on your hands.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, good man.” Maddock tried to diffuse the tension. “My companions and I are merely traveling to Smithcourt, to see the world and offer our humble services to the king.”

  “The king is dead, fool.” The man spat in the straw, targeting Maddock’s feet and missing by the barest of margins. He seemed oblivious to the snakes of fire eating their way through the manger. “And what sort of services would you offer, in any case? All three of you butchers?”

  “We’re simple folk, from Land’s End. You’ve no right to question what my companions and I do on the high road!”

  “It’s not the road we’re worried about, son. It’s what you do off the road!” The man’s words were like oil flung on the fire of his fellows’ rage. The seething knot of men surged forward, their ale-soaked anger matching the heat of the flames growing at Maddock’s back.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Maddock spluttered, and he would not have believed himself if he’d been on the other end of the torch.

  “What was your plan, son? Did you figure to sharpen your blade on our beasts before you took our children?”

  “Your children!” The accusation was so preposterous that Maddock actually laughed, even though adrenaline shook through his sword arm. “I don’t know anything about the children in this village. Listen! Some men, some evil men, came to my home. They traded with us as friends, but then they took our people, our own children, twins. My friends and I, we ride to save a little boy and girl.”

  The reasonable explanation only kindled the maddened crowd. Steel flashed in the torchlight, and cries of “Traitor!” were mixed with “Murderer!” and “Liar!”

  With a curious calm, Maddock realized that he was not likely to leave the barn alive. Glancing across at his companions, he saw that they had reached the same conclusion. He nodded once, and Jobina’s hand shifted awkwardly to grasp her dagger in something approximating an offensive stance. Sickened, Maddock realized that the woman had probably never used her blade as a weapon. She had treasured her smith-precious knife for healing, for cutting flesh in order to save men’s lives.

  Landon was scarcely better trained. The tracker had not even thought to draw his borrowed blade. Instead, he had turned a fraction of his height closer to the stalls where their horses moved restlessly. As if in response, the animals nickered above the growing crackle of open flames.

  “To Land’s End!” Maddock bellowed, and he plunged among the inland villagers before they could react. He leaped as far from his fellow outlanders as possible, trying to carve a p
ath of escape for his companions and their mounts.

  The villagers had not expected an outright attack, and Maddock had a better reach than the village leader. The brawny man reacted in surprise, parrying automatically with the most convenient weapon—his torch. Maddock heard the fire sweep toward him, and he reflexively knocked the brand away with his sword. The torch roared hungrily as it fell in the next stall, feasting on the manger’s dry straw. Maddock did not have time to worry about fire, though, because two of the burly villagers closed behind their leader, and the trio moved forward with a grim determination.

  Maddock’s body settled into the familiar stance that he had practiced for so long on the village green. Raising his sword, his arms moved with the confidence of a learned response. Before Maddock could measure his actions, his attackers’ stocky leader was bellowing in frightened rage, staring at a stump that pumped crimson blood where his hand had been.

  There was a deceptive pause while the villagers gaped in shock, then Maddock was besieged on all sides. He swung his sword as he was backed farther into the burning stall. Craning his neck, he could not see if Jobina and Landon fared any better.

  The villagers’ blades could get nowhere near him, not past his singing curtain of sword strokes. He was tired, though, exhausted by long days on the road and poor sleep at night. The muscles in his shoulders protested each time he raised his heavy weapon. The heat from the fire behind him was abominable, and he began to cough as heavy black smoke billowed from the well-caught stalls. His chest heaved impotently to carry precious air into his lungs.

  “Maddock, look out! To your left!” He began to whirl even before he identified Landon’s hoarse voice, but his foot slipped in a pool of blood. He came down hard on his knee, and pain shattered up his leg. Even the white flash of that agony, though, was not enough to block out the grimacing villager who stood before him—the villager who had just thrown the longest, sharpest dagger Maddock had ever seen.