by Heidi Hanley
“I’m fine, just tore some skin. We’ll deal with it later.”
Sigel nodded. “We haven’t time now, Briana. They’re close behind us.”
Briana had no idea of the range of a typical archer. Two hundred yards? A hundred? Less? Too close.
They’d finally reached level ground, on the north side of a large field that was about a hundred yards from north to south and perhaps a little wider. A stone outcropping bordered the eastern edge with trees circling the rest of the field. There, about halfway down the western edge of the meadow, stood Cath Ardghal. Or what remained of the ring fort. The ruins wasn’t much larger than a house. Briana guessed there was enough stone to provide some cover from all directions.
The glade was growing misty with a fine drizzle. Sigel scowled. “Watch your step, Briana. The grass will be slippery. Silas, you head for those rocks and give us cover. I’ll get Briana across. We’ll meet up in the woods, near the trail.”
“Aye,” said Silas.
“Briana,” said Sigel. “See that spot where the rocks are crumbled?” He pointed to a slight opening on the northern curve of the fort. “Aim for that. Run fast as you can, on my say.” He nodded at Silas.
The archer shot out into the meadow, heading east toward the outcropping. Briana wanted to close her eyes, but couldn’t. Maker keep him safe. Her heart pounded until Silas jumped over one boulder and disappeared behind a larger one. He waved at Sigel.
“Now, Briana!”
Sigel and Briana ran west toward the fort. She slipped on the wet grass. Sigel caught her by the arm and hauled her up and forward, nearly tossing her over the stones into the fort.
“Damn, I wish I could raise a protection spell, but I haven’t gotten that far.”
A gaping hole on the other side of the fort had probably once held its stout door. There were four narrow vertical windows, more like slits, one in each direction. Sigel took a quick look out the window on the northern side, then pushed Briana to the ground.
“Stay here and keep Nua ready. If they find you, swing, stab, cut, do whatever you must, to defend yourself.”
A horde of men burst from the trees on the north side of the field. Not the foolish goons who tried to steal her from the Tollemys’ farm. These were big fighting men, and lots of them. Their Pictish screams were bone-chilling. Silas loosed three arrows in about eight seconds, taking out their archer and two others. Damn, he’s good, she thought, pride checking her fear and giving her courage.
Projectiles came one after the other from Silas’ hidden spot, taking out several combatants. “Do not engage them! Stay put!” With those orders, Sigel ran through the fort’s doorway and plunged into the fray, his sword swinging, with a yell that rocked her.
Silas emerged from the boulders with his sword at the ready. The sound that issued from his throat paralyzed her and she momentarily forgot who he was. Wielding the heavy metal blade side to side, he gouged, sliced and separated limbs and tissue from one man after another.
Sigel and Silas cut down every man who got close to her. Suddenly, all was quiet except for the wheezing, whimpering sounds from those not yet cold with death. Briana stared through the narrow window on the northern side at the carnage. Sigel looked toward her, his sword dripping, his face bloody and wet from the rain. He said something she couldn’t hear. Her eye caught Silas walking away from a man whose head lay neatly beside him. Something about the quiver swaying gracefully behind him called up a sense of déjà vu and nausea.
She noticed a gray ripple move inside the trees behind Sigel. She screamed his name as a second wave of the Grays poured onto the battlefield from the north.
Silas was engaged with two of them when Sigel raced back into the fray. Dizzy with rage and fear, Briana found her own war cry. Nua flashed in the sun as she burst out of the fort into the conflict, Dara beside her. Trying to keep her shield up, she ran toward the man in front of her but was knocked sideways by another.
“Briana, get back!” Sigel yelled desperately.
“Too late,” she yelled back, before ramming Nua like a spear into the soldier reaching for her. When another came at her, she ducked, right before his weapon found her body. He somersaulted over her and landed gut-first on his own spear, the end sticking out through his back. There was no time to be amazed at this grisly acrobatics. A giant of a man came at her. Using both arms, she swung Nua with all the power she had. He deflected her swipe and jumped away. He dropped his weapon to grab her. Did he think she couldn’t fight? Her next move unfolded like a game of chess. She let him advance. When she felt his fetid breath on her face, she raised Nua above her head, blade pointing straight up. She kneed him hard in his crotch. He dropped down to his knees, howling. She jammed Nuada’s hilt as hard as she could on his head. Bone cracked as he fell.
There was no time to view the result of her move. A beast of a man appeared out of nowhere, his sword drawn. Their swords clashed a few times before she retreated and stepped aside, using a move Sigel taught her. His momentum carried him beyond her. She swung Nua, connecting with one, if not both, of his hamstrings, dropping him.
She outran one man and made her way toward the stone escarpment where Silas was having a go at a huge bear-faced man. Blow after blow was exchanged, but Silas moved faster, and swung more accurately. The man was repeatedly disappointed. A glance in the opposite direction showed that Sigel was managing well enough, two bodies at his feet and a third about to be dispatched. Dara was doing his best to keep men away from his mistress, currently pinning one terrified man by the throat to the ground. The man’s gurgling scream stopped, and Dara instinctively turned on the next man to come near her.
A large shadow crossed overhead and she looked up to see the crow, the black medallion hanging from his neck. How’s he going to help? The air changed perceptibly and she grew light-headed. The light went from spectral to shimmering, giving the battlefield a dreamlike quality. Sir Thomas touched down just feet from her and began spinning, twisting, and bending. Wings became arms and stick-like bird feet became a man’s long legs. The crow’s round black eyes and narrow head turned beautifully human. He was impeccably dressed, in black. A dark angel who wasted no time in securing a sword from the nearest lifeless hand.
Elegance did not disallow fury and skill and this Victorian-looking warrior was every bit as efficient with his weapon as Sigel and Silas. The luxury of shock vanished when a loud grunt drew her attention. Briana turned. Silas dropped to his knees and then to all fours, blood covering the side of his face. She didn’t know if the blood was his or not, but she wasn’t waiting to find out. Bear-face stood over the back of Silas, sword raised, his intention clearly to run him through the back of the neck.
“Silas!” she screamed, as she leaped from the ground to a rock behind his attacker. She flipped Nua upside down, preparing to drive her into the back of the man’s neck. A split second before she connected, Bear-face, responding to her scream, whipped backward and brought his blade up vertically. As hers drove down into his throat instead of the back of his neck, his connected with the inside of her leg, ripping up. Then he lay still, blood gushing out of his neck when Briana yanked Nua out. Everything around her seemed to sharpen somehow. She heard the cries and screams as men delivered blows and received them. She smelled the reeking bloody drain of vicious wounds. She observed Sigel in hand-to-hand combat, sunlight glinting off metal as they clashed ferociously. She noted the flash of alarm on his face when he glanced her way. Dara now stood protectively in front of her on the rock, teeth bared. She stared at the man she had impaled, lying face up in front of Silas, still, blood jetting from his neck. Nua hung at her side, dripping blood, her work done for the moment.
Silas turned toward her with a look of pure rage that turned to fear when he looked at something on her lower body. Her eyes followed his. The inside of her left leg was splayed open from above the knee all the way up to her groin, her trousers practically filleted off. She stared as though the mangled mess belonged to someo
ne else. Oh no! I might not be able to save Uisneach after all. She looked back at Silas. But at least you’re alive. Then, the world spun wildly out of control and went black.
*
Sigel’s face was bathed in blood. She cried out and reached for him.
“Be still, little warrior. It’s mostly not my blood. I’m fine. Silas is, too.”
“I’m here, Briana.”
“You were cut,” she said, looking for the injury.
He showed her the slice along his jaw, not as bad as she imagined. “A wee grazin’,” he said, his voice trembling.
“Make sure you put some of the comfrey salve on it tonight.”
Behind the men were the boulders they had been fighting on. They must have pulled her out of the way. She made a move to try and stand. “Let me get up and –” Pain shot up from toe to hip.
“No, no, Briana, don’t!” Silas held her back with gentle hands. “The only one of us who is severely banjaxed is you.”
She recalled the flash of a knife and pain in her thigh, and mustering the courage to do so, looked down and wondered, How in the hell did I survive that? “I think I killed a man,” she said, sounding like she had asked for two cubes of sugar rather than one.
“Several,” Sigel corrected. “You did very well, Briana. You fought as hard and brave as we did. In fact, you saved the bard’s life, you and Nua.” His calm was reassuring, a sharp contrast to the scene around her – bodies and blood everywhere.
“Are you mad at me, Sigel? You said to stay hidden, but…”
“Shhh… you don’t listen worth a damn, but I don’t see you had a choice,” he said.
“The black angel… where’d he go?”
“Black angel?” Sigel said. “Do you mean Sir Thomas?”
“I watched him… shift.”
“A bit of a shock the first time, I imagine. But not the only shock of the day, aye?” Silas said, quietly.
She looked again at her leg and for the first time since the assault started, she felt scared and started to shake. “I think I’m going to be…”
Silas held an empty helmet to her mouth. When she emptied her stomach and wiped her mouth, he threw the headgear into the woods.
“We need to get you to the fort for the time being, until we figure out what to do next. We’re going to put you on this blanket and carry you. It’ll hurt like hell. Think you can be brave a little longer, a mhuirnin?”
She nodded, not really sure she could. She couldn’t help but look again at the unholy chaos around her. Did I seriously just do that? At that moment a searing pain split her in two as they lifted her. She gritted her teeth to keep from screaming. Wave after agonizing wave assailed her until finally the world went blessedly black again.
When she came to, she was settled inside the ruins of Cath Ardghal near a fire. Sigel sat beside her.
“Where’s Silas?” she asked in a panic.
“Just gone for some water, lass. We need to clean you up a little.”
Pain nearly tore her apart but she spoke stoically. “How bad is it, Sigel?”
He grimaced. “Bad. He laid you wide open.”
“We’ll need to take these pants off,” she said, reaching below, only to discover her legs were bare under the cover of a kilt. She looked up questioningly.
“We had to check for other injuries.”
She nodded, laying back and closing her eyes. She opened them again when Sigel said with some amusement, “You know, Mouse, other than the huge gash running down your thigh, you have very nice legs.”
She managed a weak chuckle. “Well, thank you, Sigel. And since they are all I’ve got, do you think we can save them?”
“I fail to find any humor in this,” Silas muttered, returning with the water.
She understood the trouble she was in. The laceration was long and deep. The bleeding had stopped, but exposure to mud, blood and other unsavory elements ranked her risk for infection high.
“It needs to be stitched,” she said, knowing full well they didn’t have access to anything like medical sutures and needles.
“Can you do anything with your magic?” Silas asked.
She shook her head. “Visualization will help, but I can’t heal this fast enough to make traveling feasible. We’ll do the best we can with honey and comfrey. How am I going to get to the mansion?”
Sigel was already boiling water as she’d taught him, to prevent infections when dressing a wound.
“Sir Thomas is going to send horses here,” Sigel said.
“Once this is wrapped, find me a walking stick and we’ll go. We can meet him on the way,” Briana said, trying to exhibit a bravado she didn’t feel.
“Briana, you can’t walk!” Silas snapped.
“I can try!” she bit back.
They stared at each other, then looked away sheepishly.
I’m sorry, Briana. But you can’t walk.
I know.
“So then, all we can do is clean and wrap your leg while we wait for help.” Sigel poured some of the hot water into a bowl, swished it around, threw it out and poured fresh water into the semi-sterilized bowl. “Ready?”
“Yes, let’s do it.” Wanting to give Silas something to focus on, she asked, “Silas, will you help me with some magic while Sigel does his thing?”
He knew exactly what she meant and what she needed. Clasping hands, they focused on each other and began the process of visualization. She imagined the extremity in her mind, free of germs and building new tissue. When Sigel poured the sterile water into the wound, she winced. Silas, back in control of himself, kept helping her focus. He rubbed her hands and provided the distraction that helped her stay calm and tolerate Sigel’s ministrations. There are worse things than having to stare into your beautiful blue eyes, she thought. Something in their blue depths carried her away to another place altogether. They were lying in a sun-drenched, flowery meadow, arms wound around one another, as lips sought and found their pleasure. His hand slid down her arm and moved to stroke her hip and then back up the side of her rib cage to her breast. The intimacy was breathtaking, and as her lips parted in a tiny sigh, she actually did gasp, which made Sigel think he’d hurt her.
“Sorry, lass, almost done.”
“Please don’t hurry,” she said softly, keeping the connection with Silas’ eyes.
Sigel looked up from his work. “Is there nothing to stop the two of you from ogling one another?” he remarked, dryly.
“I doubt it,” Briana whispered, wishing Sigel would shut up and leave them to their reverie.
Me too, Silas agreed, but the vision faded, much to their mutual regret.
Sigel finished. He and Silas repositioned her on the blankets, built up the fire to keep her warm, and allowed Dara to curl up next to her. She faded in and out of consciousness, waking at one point shivering uncontrollably, in spite of the fire.
“I’m so cold,” she murmured, “and thirsty.”
“There’s nothing else we can cover her with,” Silas said, bringing a cup of water to her lips, but only allowing a sip. He edged away from her and she heard disagreeable muttering and then, “You know what she needs, Sigel. Either you do it, or I will. It matters not to me, as long as she is kept warm.”
A deep, resistant growl, then the muttered words, “two poor choices” and the rustle of fabric. Silas’ warm body slid under the kilts with her, on the opposite side of the dog. He took her in his arms and drew her as close as he could without moving her leg. Eventually, between the warmth of Silas and Dara, her shivering began to subside.
“My great cat,” she sighed, into his chest.
“What?”
When you raced across the ridge today, all I could think of was a great mountain lion. And watching you fight those men… You made me so proud, Silas.
He snorted in response. I didn’t do much to protect you today. I’m sorry Briana, more than you’ll ever know.
Stop, Silas. You and Sigel both said it could’ve been any of us
. I think maybe today was my chance to pay you back for saving my life last time. Consider us even.
Finally relaxing, he scooted a little closer and hugged her, whispering, “Well, we’re even, then. Now, you can go to sleep, a mhuirnin, trustin’ that tonight I will keep you safe.”
“I know you will, Silas.”
Chapter Eighteen
Winge Mansion
Briana drifted in and out of sleep all night, but come morning, opened her eyes to find Sigel resting and Silas puttering with his inking supplies. He was crafting lyrics in his head.
“Come closer, come closer, till our hearts beat as one, from the rise of the moon, till the break of the sun. Whispers and touches, laughter and tears, you’re my love, forever, biding the years.”
He caught her watching him, and she smiled at the dreamy look in his eyes. Beautiful.
He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again and returned his attention to the tools in his lap.
Where did you learn to tattoo? she asked.
Once, a long time ago, a came to Ard Darach. He created brilliant tattoos and taught me the skill. He made the one on me chest. She imagined her fingers tracing the outline of the crossed swords on his chest. Though he continued to look down at the box of powders and needles, she saw his lips curve. She looked over at Sigel, dead to the world, then back at Silas.
Make me one, she asked.
His eyes flew up to meet hers in surprise. A tattoo?
She nodded.
He studied her. Not a great idea, a mhuirnin. What would the king say about that?
She shrugged. Make something he wouldn’t question or that he could misunderstand, but that has meaning to us. Perhaps a tree to symbolize the journey?
“Or a mouse,” he said, softly.
No mouse. I want something from you that no one can take away.
You already have somethin’, he said, touching his heart.