by Matthew Cook
Besides, there's only one man's opinion that matters to you. Isn't that right? She laughed as she said this, the sound, so full of lascivious glee, echoing in my head. Even then she knew, as did I, I suppose, how this would play out.
I thought of how Jazen's sword-callused hands would feel on my skin, his fingers so strong and sure as they stroked my face, my breasts. Dreamed once more, as I often did, about the taste of his mouth, about the scrape of his whiskers across my belly as he moved to give me pleasure.
The thoughts kept me warm through the long, cold spring night.
* * * *
"Kirin! In the tree line!” Jazen called, pointing. His sword was naked in his fist, the bright steel stained with blood. Around him, men screamed and struggled. I followed his gesture and saw the fleeing figure.
Without thought, I shifted my aim, raising the point of the arrow to adjust for the wind. The figure ran for the trees, as if his life depended on their shelter. It did.
With a breath I let loose the shaft, watched it rise, gently, curving gently right and down as the wind pushed it. It struck the runner in the back of the thigh, knocking him sprawling, scant yards from shelter. The men, Jazen at their van, ran down the slope in pursuit. In a moment, they had seized him.
Tracking the highwaymen had not been difficult; they lacked true woodcraft, and did not know how to properly conceal their trail. The actual ambush had been more of a challenge, for the patrol, clad in jingling mail and heavy boots, did not move lightly or quietly. It was fortunate that the bandits had taken a cask of wine in their last raid; it hadmade them slow and sleepy and incautious.
Jazen walked up to me, the men following behind. They half dragged, half carried their wounded captive. The bandit groaned as they returned him to the clearing.
"My thanks, mistress archer,” Jazen laughed. “If he had escaped, he would have reported back on our position. I wish every eye were as keen as yours,” he said, eyeing the company bowmen. They shifted, refusing to meet his gaze.
I kept my face neutral, even as something inside of me warmed at his praise. My sister sighed.
The soldiers ransacked the bandits’ meager camp.Besides the now-empty wine cask, they found bolts of fine cloth and a small cask of coins. I reached down, when none were looking, and picked up a small comb, an enameled butterfly with teeth made of tortoise shell. It disappeared inside my vest. The merchant whom they had killed for these spoils would never miss it.
At the clearing's far side, Hollern bent, whispering threats and demands. The bandit shook his head. Hollern gripped the protruding arrow shaft and yanked, and the man's scream floated up on the chilly air.
"How many men are inside?” Hollern demanded. “How many swordsmen? How many archers? Tell me, and I swear by the Lightbringer that your suffering will end."
I moved to the edge of the trees, my eyes, as ever, alert. When I was alone, I touched the comb through my leathers and smiled. It was lovely, and delicate, and refined. Everything I once was. Having it against my breast made me feel different and special. Made me feel like a woman.
I looked up at the sound of footsteps. Jazen and Hollern were walking towards me. Behind them, the bandit sprawled, unconscious or dead, I did not know. Fresh blood stained the grass around his body. Jazen's eyes, usually smiling and warm, were cold and hard, like flint, above the bloodless gash of his mouth.
"We have the information we need, scout,” Hollern barked. “Sergeant Tor will get the men ready. Go ahead and blaze their back trail clearly. Clearly, do you understand me?"
I nodded, resisting the urge to curl my lip. If the bandits'trail were any more obvious, it would be on fire.
I moved out, stopping at intervals to bend down a marking branch or to scuff a symbol in the mud. The trail was very fresh; the tracks were only hours old in many cases, moving back and forth through the dense brush.
Not long before dark, I located our goal. An old tower, rising like a stone fang from the surrounding trees. Its roof was tattered and jagged, half fallen in. The walls were rough and uneven; the neglected stones had shifted over the years. A sentry's silhouette moved atop the roof.
Even half-ruined, the tower was a formidable structure, its summit studded with crenellations. Even a small number of competent archers could pin down a superior force under such cover. I had seen the results of the bandits’ skill at arms at the site of over a dozen robbed, burned wagons and merchant caravans, all bristling with broken arrows. They had skill enough to worry me.
Night was gathering in the sky; it was too late to try and plan an attack at this hour. I turned back. Jazen would need my report to plan our next move.
I touched the comb hidden in my vest and smiled, imagined wearing it for him, the bright colors sparkling in my pale hair. The thought warmed my cheeks.
As I moved along my back trail, a distant horn blast split the gathering gloom. An Imperial recall. I paused, head swiveling, fixing the position of the summons against the mountains’ backdrop. When I was satisfied, I broke into a run.
We would need to make haste. As it was, I doubted we would be able to reach the source of the call before night fall.
* * * *
We marched as the skies turned black, then marched still more, pausing neither for the evening meal nor to let the men rest their weary legs. The soldiers grumbled and muttered; usually they would be in their bed rolls by now, dreaming beside the watchfires, guarded by their sentries. The darkness made the men clumsy; several tripped on unseen obstacles. After the third such occasion, Hollern called me back and railed at me for choosing such a poor trail.
"This isn't her fault, sir. The men can't see. We should make camp until dawn, then start fresh,” Jazen said.
Hollern shook his head. “The recall was an order. We'll press on,” he insisted.
Eventually, we reached the road, and our pace sped considerably. Ahead, the night sky was lit with the glow of many fires. The road was rough with recent foot and hoof prints. An hour later, we crested a rise and saw the army encampment below. The men gave a ragged cheer.
Hundreds of men had bivouacked in the revealed fields. Scores of campfires pushed back the darkness. Tents sprouted like enormous pale mushrooms in jagged lines. At their ends were improvised hitching posts where lines of horses were tied.
I turned, and saw that Jazen was as perplexed as I. Why had so many men gathered here? He shrugged and adjusted his shield's straps, settling it in a more comfortable position on his back.
"Only a bit further, you worthless lay-abouts,” Hollern said. “Quit your belly-aching, or I'll tan your hides, I will.” For him, it wasn't a bad attempt at motivation.
The company reached the outermost sentry picket, and I drifted away, soft as smoke. The men no longer needed my skills. I would watch from the cover of the trees, as I always did.
* * * *
Jazen came to me when dawn was a suggestion of blue in the east. I heard him before I saw him.
"Kirin?” he whispered. “Where are you, woman? I brought you something to break your fast."
I waited until he had passed, then swung down from the tree that sheltered me. Soundless, I ghosted across the forest floor. When I was a few scant steps behind him, I said, “You should be more cautious. I might have been a bandit."
He stopped and turned, seemingly unconcerned. He shook his head. “I would have heard a bandit. Only you could move so softly. I've brought food, and wine,” he said, proffering a small sack and a nearly-empty skin.
I thanked him and accepted the food, tearing in with gusto. I had not eaten since the afternoon before, and my belly was hollow with hunger. Jazen smiled as I ate, his eyes alternating between watching me and scanning the dark trees.
"Did you find out why the recall was sounded?” I asked, after washing down a few mouthfuls.
"Aye. It's bad,” he admitted. “It seems that the Mor have chosen now to re-emerge from their caves. The commander has reports of them moving south, burning as they go. They
think they may be massing for an attack."
I stopped chewing, and searched his face for signs this was a jest. He looked back, unsmiling.
"But, why now?” I asked. “The last time the Mor attacked was generations ago. Half the people in my village thought the Mor were nothing more than tales meant to scare little children."
"Unfortunately for us, they're very real,” he replied. “They've already swept through the outlying farms in the hinterlands, from what we hear. They attacked Mosby in force a few days ago and killed every last man, woman and child there, then decimated the bridge garrison. Only a handful of riders managed to escape to bring the warning."
I scowled. I remembered Mosby well; Urik had found me there. Many families had lived there. Many children had played in her streets. I felt a warm flush of anger in my chest.
"So, what now?” I asked.
"We are to move out and assemble at Gamth's Pass,” he said. “We shall join forces with an expedition that was dispatched from the Imperial City. All told, we should have no less than five thousand men to guard the Pass by week's end."
The easy way he said this reassured me. Jazen was an experienced soldier and a sergeant in the Empire's army. He was well trained in the arts of warfare. Surely he knew how to gauge the threat posed by this dimly remembered enemy.
"You look worried,” he said, then laughed. “Fear not. We shall have more than enough strength to break these monsters. Reports say that as fierce as the Mor are, they have only a fraction of our numbers. Plus, we have cavalry. And archers, as wretched as they are."
I shrugged. I was a scout. I would not be called upon to fight in a battle. My responsibility ended when I led mycharges to their destination.
Jazen strode to me, and I looked up, startled, as he wrapped his arms around me. I began to protest, and his lips found mine.
A warm shock seemed to spread down from my burning face, and I felt my mouth opening beneath his, my tongue flicking out to brush against his. Jazen breathed in, drawing my breath into his body, and the tingling spread further still, evoking a fluttering shock in my belly. A moment later, he pulled back, smiling bemusedly, as if even he were surprised by what he had done. His eyes caught the growing dawn, shining pale blue in the chancy light.
"Kirin, I apologize. I don't know what—” he began.
My arms reached up, twining around his neck. My powerful archer's fingers cupped the back of his head, pulling him against me, hard. Once more, our mouths met. When I finally pulled away, I was breathless, my heart fluttering in my chest.
"You have to get back,” I said, releasing him. “Hollern will be looking for you."
Jazen looked at me for a long moment, then nodded.
"We shall speak of this again. Soon,” he said. I nodded, saying nothing, unsure if my voice would tremble.
He walked away, back towards the camp, and I let him go. As soon as he had disappeared, I sank to my knees.
"Gods, that was unwise. Unwise, unwise, unwise,” I chanted to myself. “Hollern will soon lead us to war, and this is what I choose to think about?"
Inside, my sister chuckled, but said nothing more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I stand on the manor wall, facing west. The last precious rays of the lowering sun shine with dazzling brilliance, orange and gold, over the tops of the distant peaks.Ben Childers, along with the members of the refugee council, stands beside me. The walls are thick with frightened refugees. More crowd the manor courtyard in a milling, frightened mass. I stare into the setting sun, my eyes casting about for any hint of movement.
A smudge appears on the horizon, a cloud of dust. Amoment later, a small figure can be seen; a horseman, riding hard. “Scout returning!” I shout in reflex. “Make ready the gate!"
My hunters, the most trained of the refugees, pull back the stout bar and swing wide the gates, just as the rider gallops into the courtyard. The horse, confronted by the people thronging the courtyard, rears, before calming hands quiet it.
"What news?” I call down. A moment later, the call is picked up by the rest. A hundred voices clamor for information. The scout answers, but his words are lost in the din. “Get him up here,” I tell Childers, “along with as many of the archers as you can find."
He nods and hurries off, fording the frightened tide of humanity.
"What should I do?” Lia asks. “Go and make sure that Ato has all that he needs in the mercy tent, then return to me. I'll need you at my side."
She smiles. “I will not be long, and then we shall show these monstrosities the folly of their ways, yes?” She smiles. The look in her eyes, an expression brimming with unquestioning hope, stabs at me like a blade. I nod, hoping that my own expression does not betray my fears.
The repaired manor walls are thick, and tall. The gate is complete, remade from stout timbers reinforced with what iron we could salvage. But I remember, all too clearly, the awful strength of the Mor. If there are more than a few of them, even the repaired walls will not guarantee our safety. When they come, as I know they will, we must kill them; they cannot be allowed to leave, lest they summon more of their brethren.
In the end, it will come down to the training I have strived to impart to these people, coupled with their untested courage. Even Lia's considerable power can only do so much. If they breach the walls...
I wrap my arms about my belly as a wave of despair washes over me. Oh, gods, no ... not my child. Anything but that. Do not give me this gift only to snatch it away.
The scout finally reaches the top of the wall, Childers in tow. The expression in Ben's eyes tells me all I need to know.
"How many?” I ask the scout anyway, already knowing that the news will not be good.
"It was hard to count; I fled as soon as they noticed me, as you ordered. I saw more than a score, though. Perhaps twice that,” he pants. Several of the people around us wail at the figure, or offer up prayers for deliverance to the Lightbringer.
The taste of ashes is bitter in my mouth, but I force myself to say, “Well done.” Two score. Against a hundred peasants, mostly women, armed with three swords, some woodcutting axes and a score of bows.
At the yard's far side, our precious horses are tied in a group, the riders stroking the nervous animals. At Gamth's Pass, the horses charged into the Mor again and again, until the enemy's burning blades finally broke the charge, but those were war horses, bred and trained for battle, not farm nags. I pray the mounts will not panic at the first scent of the burning or the blood that will soon come.
My eyes seek Lia's slender form, but she is nowhere to be seen. I wish she were here, at my side, squeezing my hand and telling me with the infuriating confidence of youth that all will be well. That we will live to see the sun rise in the morning.
"I see them!” a child shouts, pointing west into the last of the blood-red light. On the horizon, a larger cloud rises, as dozens of taloned feet churn the road into dust. People scream, and pray even louder than before.
Once again, just as they always do, the Mor have come.
"whaT are They waITIng for?” Lia asks. The Mor have stood beneath the manor walls for over an hour, their stone gray bodies slowly melting into the gathering gloom. All that remains, all that we can see, are the glowing, emerald points of their eyes, watching us.
"I do not know,” I admit. “Darkness, maybe. When we fought them at Gamth's Pass it was like this as well. The men, five thousand and more, waited for the Mor charge at the top of a long, broken slope. It was a good plan; the advantage of the high ground would blunt even the swiftest cavalry charge."
"What happened?” Lia whispers.
I lower my voice so that the sentries around us will not hear. Why discourage them? “Eventually, the men, emboldened by the enemy's seeming hesitation, took matters into their own hands and charged. We outnumbered them ten to one, and as fierce as the Mor appeared, our commanders assured us that victory would be ours.
"It wasn't. The Mor withstood the charge.
Though outnumbered, they held their line."
Lia nods, but says nothing. In the darkness, the sapphire flashes that cavort in her eyes are bright, heralds of the lightning that I know is hers to command.
The night deepens. Clouds roll from the west, drawing a charcoal blanket across the stars and the moon. Achill breeze rides in their wake, threading icy fingers into cloaks and hoods. I huddle in my cape, rubbing myself for warmth.
The baby is active tonight, twirling and kicking, as if it wants to be free of this place. I hug myself and hum a snatch of a lullaby, telling the baby to rest.
Why are they waiting? They did not hesitate to attack at Fort Azure. No sooner had they arrived than they surged towards Hollern's hastily erected barricade. If they have ever felt fear as we understand the emotion, I have never seen it.
Even at Gamth's Pass, even when they waited for us to bring the fight to them, I felt no fear in them. Why did they wait?
An idea occurs to me, and my blood goes cold. I turn to Lia.
"What if they are waiting for more of them?” I ask her.
"Why would they?” she replies, frowning. “Do they not already have force enough to attack?"
"The Mor always kill every human they encounter. Burn them and tear down their homes and dwelling places. We always thought that it was because they hated us for reasons we didn't understand, but what if the reason they attack isn't hatred, but rather fear? Then, might they not wait for as many of them to come as possible before committing to an attack?"
Lia frowns, considering the idea. Finally, she nods.
"It makes a certain kind of sense, I suppose. But what should we do about it?"
"Attack,” I say, trying to sound certain. “Once the Mor commit, they never retreat. If we send out a force, then draw them back inside the walls, the Mor will doubtless pursue."
"But, Kirin, sending the people out there—"
"We'll send the riders out for a single skirmish, then pull them back as soon as the Mor counterattack. They'll retreat past our archers."