12
The chestnut mare proved the fastest of the three, and Ton-Kel let her have her head, leaning low over the horse's neck as she raced down the road. The sky was deepening to midnight blue, though a line of bright orange still lay flat against the horizon, when she could see it.
Her mind was filled with a repetitive litany of late…late …late…while she devoted the rest of her attention to gauging how long she had before the last light vanished, how much longer until moonrise. She had to reach Westmere before then. She had to find Galen before her Triad did.
Ahead, the road opened, and her heart lifted as she realized she was almost at the stockade. The town lay not far beyond. She would make it. "Come on, girl," she urged the lathered mare, "we're almost there!"
Behind her, she thought she heard Paulo call to her, but she did not turn or slow her racing steed. Voices in her head clamored at her with accusations, imprecations, screaming at her to hurry. Speed was of the essence. Galen — she had to find him, she had to be with him.
She had a split second to realize that the noise she was hearing above the pounding of her horse's hooves was not all inside her head, then a flash of light from ahead threw grotesque shadows into the air and silhouetted her horse's head against a savage shadow-play. The mare shied and jolted to a halt; Ton-Kel clung to her neck, fighting to keep her seat, as she stared at the scene before her. Moving, leaping, slashing, shifting bodies spilled from the woods and filled the road.
A bright glitter formed itself into Sir Charles, fully armored. He swung a greatsword that, in the bluish haze, seemed to stretch to infinity as he beat away the ring of foes that leaped and darted at him. Beside and behind him, Ali and Dale struck from the shelter of that arch of spinning metal.
A mage light — surely Ali's — burned from the tip of a low-hanging branch over the road, illuminating the battle and all around with its ghastly brilliance. The attackers looked strangely distorted under the light. Then she realized they were all Tainted. Wolfish Sobaka, lion-like Koshka, and blade-quick Elves leaped and struck, dodged and danced, in an effort to bring down the Blue Triad.
In front of her an elf swung around, eyes wide, bow drawn. Ton-Kel stared at the arrow pointed at her as if at a snake, hypnotized.
Paulo pulled his horse to a halt beside her. "Get down!" He yanked his foot from the stirrup and planting it in her side. With a startled yelp, Ton-Kel tumbled from her horse, landing with a thud that drove the air from her lungs as the arrow whizzed overhead.
As she staggered to her feet, Baraccus thundered into the light, his mount blowing and red-eyed, and launched himself from the horse's back into the fray, killing the elfin archer in passing. Paulo leaped off the black and bolted past Ton-Kel, close on Baraccus's heels.
Ton-Kel fumbled for her sling and quickly loaded it, dropped a few extra bullets into her palm, then looked around for targets.
Her first bullet dropped an elf from behind as Paulo and Baraccus accounted for a pike-wielding Sobaka. The enemy had been slow to recognize the fresh threat at their backs, but now they turned and attacked en masse.
A wall of snarling, semi-human faces closed around Ton-Kel. She struck out with ki, then ducked behind Baraccus and Paulo, who closed ranks to guard her as they fought. From behind the protection of their blades, she lashed out as the opportunity presented itself.
A Koshka leaped overhead and spitted itself on Baraccus's upraised sword; a Sobaka tried to take advantage of the move, but crumbled with Paulo's arrow through its eye.
There weren't really that many, Ton-Kel realized; their speed and the unstoppable savagery of their attacks made them seem more numerous than they were. But there were fewer every moment as Blue and Black thinned the ranks of the furred and fanged.
The Tainted made little effort to defend themselves as they attacked again and again against increasingly hopeless odds. For all their speed, their blades and claws alike screeched and slid harmlessly off Sir Charles's armor and fared little better against Baraccus's, while the weapons of the Cavaliers and Rangers sliced through cloth and fur.
Why didn't the attackers just run away? Were they mad?
Then Sir Charles came, cutting a bloody swathe before him, and the resistance melted. The last two survivors, both Sobaka, finally turned and fled, only to drop with arrows in their backs. Nothing moved.
"Our thanks for your timely assistance," said Sir Charles, panting as he wiped the blood from his blade with the cloak of one of the bodies near his feet. "They attacked us just outside the stockade; we only just managed to carry the fight into the open where they had less of an advantage." He looked around and frowned. "Though they defended themselves poorly, for Tainted."
"They were meant to be sacrificed. A delaying tactic." Baraccus scanned the bodies. "Was anyone else with them?"
Sir Charles shook his head. "No. But hear me." He spoke urgently, not waiting to catch his breath. "Earlier today, we were asked to recover a magical artifact of great power, and another item used in magic rites. We came too late to prevent the theft, but set out after the thieves with The Red Triad. Whilst pursuing the thieves we came upon a place in the woods—"
"It was most terrible," Ali exclaimed, waving his staff. "A dreadful place with many heads of dead creatures and people—"
"Ali," Sir Charles snapped. He continued hurriedly. "We knew some dark and terrible magic had been performed there. The thieves' trail split then, and the Reds followed one whilst we took the other. Ours led to the stockade, and this ambush."
"The Reds were led to their deaths. We found them." Baraccus wiped his sword clean and sheathed it, speaking rapidly. "Listen — those artifacts are used to kill Fey and take their powers. We must find and stop the murderers before they kill again. They may have at least one Fey in their custody even as we speak, a member of the Black Faction. They will kill yours too, if they find him."
"Her," Dale said, stooping to pull an arrow from a body.
"Our Fey is a Lady," Sir Charles explained. "It was she who warned us of the importance of the artifacts, that they must be recovered at all costs."
Paulo interrupted, darting nervous glances into the surrounding darkness while he twirled his daggers. "You know, there's a lot we have to tell each other, but unfortunately, there's no time. What say you we all just trust each other and go after the thrice-damned witches?"
Ali's eyes widened. "Witches?" he wailed. "Oh, this is not good, I am not liking what I am hearing at all. No one said anything about witches being here — very bad things, witches, very bad…."
Sir Charles raised his voice over Ali's. "What are you talking about?"
Dale interjected, "What do you mean, witches?"
"Never mind that," said Baraccus, slashing the air with his hand. "We must find that circle again and kill them all. Are you with us?"
"Right," said Dale, straightening.
"Of course," Sir Charles agreed. He turned to his Ranger. "I must leave most of my armor — stealth, now, must take priority. We will hide our horses and extra gear in the stable ruins."
Dale nodded and, grabbing a buckle on the Cavalier's shoulder, set to work. Paulo moved to assist without being asked. The two Cavaliers began to exchange information in low voices as Sir Charles was divested of his armor.
Ton-Kel listened with half an ear, fuming with impatience; she already knew all she needed to, except where to find Galen. She felt like screaming at them to stop talking and start moving. Instead she clamped her mouth shut, ground her teeth, and seethed.
It occurred to her that it was ridiculous for her to wait around for the others to get started. She would just have to find Galen herself.
She glanced at the others. Framed by the hood he'd pulled forward to conceal his ears, Paulo's face was strained and intent as he yanked on straps and buckles. Sir Charles and Baraccus were paying attention to nothing but their low-voiced discussion. The Blue Ranger and Mystic were equally absorbed.
>
If she was going to do something, it had to be now.
She did not let herself think further, but stepped softly backward, slowly so as not to attract attention. She could see the pale shape of the war-horse off to one side; the mare would be near him. She reached the edge of the area lit by Ali's spell, then turned and hurried toward the horses. She heard Baraccus shout her name. She didn't turn around. She had to find Galen; there was no more time to waste.
Someone slammed into her back and she went down, rolling over and over wrapped in her captor's arms.
"Hold her, Paulo!" she heard Baraccus say.
How dare he! Paulo had done his best to cushion her fall, but the indignity of it was not to be borne. Furious, she fought for her freedom, while Paulo hung on, swearing every time she connected.
Fighting him was wasting time; he was stronger than she, and she didn't want to actually hurt him. She drew her concentration together. "I suggest you release me at once," she commanded.
With a grunt of surprise, he opened his arms and rolled away from her. She leaped up and dashed for freedom, but heard footsteps and someone swearing close behind her.
Suddenly she was jerked off her feet and slammed back against an armored form; an arm like a steel band pinned her arms to her side while a gloved hand clamped over her mouth. She bit down hard, but the leather was tougher than her teeth, and the metal of the covering demi-gauntlet cut her lip. Baraccus shouted in her ear as he dragged her backward into the light. "Blue Mystic, we need your help!"
She was facing the wrong way to see him, but she heard Ali's voice raised in incredulous protest. "What are you doing? This is your own Mystic you are throwing around like a sack of grain. I do not think it is proper that you should be treating the young lady this way, when she is your very own Mystic and should be—"
"Listen, damn you." Baraccus's voice rose with urgency. "We think she's under a suggestion from one of the witches. You have to break it."
"But I cannot override a suggestion that is as strong as a Fey suggestion, it cannot be done."
Baraccus growled in frustration, then said quickly, "She will help you." He reeled around so Ton-Kel faced the Blue Triad, who stared at her in bewilderment. Baraccus spoke into her ear. "Ton-Kel, listen to me. Someone put a suggestion on you. You know I speak the truth. You have to help Ali break it."
She twisted free of the hand clamped to her face, spitting out the taste of wet leather. "Let me go!" She kicked out, teeth clenched. "I sugg—"
The glove was shoved rudely back into her mouth. "Hurry up! I can't hold her forever," Baraccus snarled.
Beside him, where Ton-Kel could not see, Paulo yelled, "By the Powers, will you stand around arguing forever? We'll explain everything — just do it!"
Ali stared at Ton-Kel with something akin to panic, his fingers pattering uncertainly up and down the length of his staff. He looked as though he were about to protest again, but Sir Charles grasped the Mystic's shoulder. "Try, Ali. You must at least try and free her!"
She screamed in fury, the sound muffled in Baraccus's gloved hand, and writhed in his arms, kicking back with all her strength in hopes of cracking his shins.
But even as she fought to escape, seething with rage, a part of her stood aside, whispering that it all made a terrible kind of sense. The sensation of being two people was disorienting. She tried to shut out the inner voice, focusing on her indignation and the pain in her mouth, on Baraccus and his damned Cavalier, I'm-the-Leader attitude. No man ordered her actions — no man!
With a sigh, Ali handed Dale his staff and approached her, rubbing his hands together. He stopped before her and reached for her face. His eyes were dark and worried, and very kind.
Panic assailed her. She had to do something now! Baraccus was not wearing steel — none of them were. She could use her ki to strike them all down — they'd never expect it. She gathered herself to send her power searing its way along Baraccus's nerves—
The thought stopped her cold. Attack her own Cavalier?
This is not me, she thought suddenly, even as she scowled furiously at the Blue Mystic. She wrenched her mouth free of Baraccus's hand. "Please," she screamed quickly, before she could stop herself, "please help me!" The hand clamped back over her face, smothering the rest of her cry.
The uncertainty left Ali's face and he smiled. "Of course I will, but you must help me, too, Lady." He reached out and laid his fingers across her temples. "I suggest that you are free of all previous suggestions that were made to you," he intoned. "I suggest that you break any other suggestions laid upon you. I suggest that you fight for your own freedom, Ton-Kel of the Black Triad."
Fight for your own freedom. She knew in her heart, in her gut, that the fierce desire to find Galen was not her own, but that did not lessen it. She shook her head, resisting Ali's power even while that part of her that stayed separate urged her to open herself and let him win.
She could not. Yielding simply wasn't in her nature.
Suddenly the world went out of focus around her and images flooded her mind. She collapsed beneath a frenzied collage of thoughts and memories newly restored, and only Baraccus's hold kept her from falling—
…Laurel, smiling kindly as she helped Ton-Kel to her feet…I'll take care of him — you should be with your Triad…shiny black boots, and Nayir with mischief dancing in his pale eyes…Once I'm sure, I will strike so quickly our enemy won't know where I came from…I think it best that you forget all about this. At least for now….
The gloved hand left her face and she heard her voice rise in a wordless wail. Someone shook her.
"Ton-Kel, what is it?" Baraccus asked.
The world smeared and ran together as tears flooded her eyes and her breath came in racking sobs. The return of those memories could mean only one thing. "We failed. We failed. We're too late. They just killed Nayir."
She heard the gasps and exclamations of the others, but they were meaningless. She was aware only of the images bombarding her, of Ali's will pushing against hers with increasing strength, of the heat of his hands on her head.
"I suggest that you turn and fight with all your strength the witch who has done this terrible thing to you," he chanted, his voice rising. "I suggest that you are stronger than he, and that you and I together will win your freedom. I suggest that you want to be free of this evil with all your heart, and that you use all your power and all your will to fight the suggestion of the witch."
As though he had offered her a sword, she leaped upon his suggestion and held it with all her might. She was stronger than Galen. She did want to break this suggestion. No one had the right to command her against her will, no one.
The shock of Nayir's death and subsequent breaking of the suggestions he'd left in her had opened a crack in her defenses; now Ali's power and her own fierce pride tore at the walls, widened the gap, until memory began to pour through.
She felt Galen's hand on her arm, heard the words she thought she'd simply been too distracted to listen to before: I suggest that you find me more attractive every minute, that you are amendable to my desire, and that you share it.
And again, the command concealed within his invitation: I will be overseeing the watch tonight… then as they lay together, another — layer upon layer, ordering her love, forcing her desire….
The command, worded as a promise she thought she'd avoided giving…Come tomorrow evening…I have a surprise for you, something I would like you to share with me. But you must be with me by sunset….
A scream of pure rage tore out of her throat as she realized how thoroughly she'd been possessed. A sham. Everything. All of it. Grief was swallowed in the fires of hate; hot, white, cleansing. It bore her up, lent her strength, kept her from collapsing beneath the weight of her shame.
When she knew she had herself under control, she opened her eyes. Ali took his hands away while she hung her head and panted. They were all watchi
ng her, waiting. Finally, she looked up, staring at the darkness at the edge of the road to avoid meeting anyone's eyes. "I'm all right now, Baraccus. You can let me go."
He hesitated, then loosened his grasp and she pulled free. She straightened, wiping her eyes and nose with her sleeve like a child, and mentally added this final humiliation to the long tally of wrongs for which Galen owed her.
She had not allowed anyone to see her cry since her long-lost childhood.
"When we find them," she said, "I get to kill Galen."
Baraccus turned her around by the shoulders. Over his shoulder she saw the concern on Paulo's face, but could not meet his eyes. Or Baraccus's.
Baraccus shook her lightly and she looked up, finally. His face was stern and cold — but a fire burned in his black eyes where frost had always been, and the rage she saw there was not directed at her.
"It's the Cavalier's place to avenge wrongs done to his Triad. Galen has insulted and dishonored my Mystic. It is my duty to kill him." Suddenly he smiled. "It is also my pleasure."
Her immediate angry protest died unspoken as a tiny spark of warmth flared inside. She was not alone, even in this. Her honor was her Triad's. This was not an insult just to her, but to all of them.
It was also possible that some vestige of the suggestions remained, that once faced with Galen she would find herself constrained from doing him harm — the final humiliation.
The warmth died. She shuddered, pulling free of Baraccus's hold. God, she wanted a bath.
But bathing in witch blood would serve for now.
She stood aside in silence while the Black Triad's horses were concealed in the ruined stable with the Blue's, then followed as Dale the Bowyer led the way to the trail head.
By the time the moon peered cautiously over the horizon, sending its first tentative beams to ease the blackness, the Triads were on their way.
The Blue Ranger and Cavalier led, Ton-Kel and Ali moved to the center, and the Black Ranger and Cavalier took the rear. Ton-Kel found it comforting to be surrounded by armed fighters the caliber of her escorts. She kept her thoughts tightly focused on the mission ahead. Vengeance mattered now, nothing else.
She felt at her side for her pouch and the hardened leather case within. Her sling hung from her belt where it should, her dagger was sheathed at her side, and she knew she was as ready as she was ever going to be.
After the rigors of the day and night just past — rigors she didn't want to recall — she should have been exhausted, drained. Instead, she felt more alive than she could remember being, her skin tingling with the energy she drew in, focused with the effort of keeping her mind clear, free of the hate and rage she knew festered just beneath the surface of her calm. Either passion would destroy the clean pathways she needed to use her powers effectively. She would not yield to them, not now.
Later, when her enemies lay dead — then she would let it out. Not now.
Dale moved at a wolf-trot, his soft-shod feet soundless in the dirt. Sir Charles, bereft of all armor but his gauntlets and breast and backplate, made little more noise than his unarmored Ranger. The whisper of Ali's long robes against the brush was the only sound Ton-Kel could hear over the pounding of her own heart. Dale suddenly turned and slowed, signaling them to greater stealth. He slipped into the brush and, one by one, the others followed.
Ton-Kel began to realize that woodcraft was largely a matter of rhythm as she slipped from tree to tree, imitating the movements of the Ranger in the lead, as Sir Charles was trying to do. The way you rolled your feet against the earth as you took a step. The way you breathed during movement and stopped during pauses. The lifting of branches with the arm, gently so as to rustle no leaf as you slipped under. It was like a dance, really. Move and freeze. Listen. Move and freeze. Listen. Again and again.
The moon edged higher, slanting mistily through the trees and creating monsters in the dark. She glanced back; shadows rippled in her wake where Paulo and Baraccus followed. She wished she could reach back and touch them, reassure herself that they were there, part of her. Would they all survive until morning?
She turned back to follow Sir Charles and Dale. Thoughts of her own mortality would not benefit her, would not keep her strong and focused on the work ahead. It struck her with fresh significance that she had been chosen by the Black Faction, so closely associated with fate, the underworld, death, mystery, intrigue…and revenge.
She liked the idea of bearing the mark of vengeance on her brow. There were worse ideals to serve.
Suddenly, something cold crawled up her spine and over her skin; she did not realize she had stopped until someone bumped into her from behind. She hissed softly to signal those who moved ahead of her, saw the pale blur of faces turn to her.
"What is it?" asked Ali in what he must have thought was a whisper. She quickly laid her hand over his mouth.
"Ahead," she breathed. Then, slightly louder, she hissed, "Baraccus. Paulo—"
She heard a whispered query, the soft rustle of leaves, then a hand dropped, feather light, on her shoulder. "What is it?" Baraccus breathed in her ear.
She turned her head so her mouth nearly brushed his face. "Ahead. Something bad. I can feel it."
Ali pulled her hand from his mouth. "I, too, am feeling this bad thing," he said, though less loudly than was his wont, "I was thinking I am just being afraid, but now I—"
Someone hissed furiously and, from the sound, clamped a hand over the Blue Mystic's mouth. Nearby, she heard Paulo pass on her message. Silence fell again as they held their breath, waiting for something to change, to reveal itself….
A sound reached her, like the distant beating of a heart. Drums? A strange wailing, soft with distance, rose and fell like the first winds of a storm. Voices, she realized. Human voices.
Something rustled nearby, as though a night breeze passed among the bushes. Then Dale was beside her. "We're close to the circle. Sounds like they're there."
Paulo stirred. "We need to reconnoiter, see how we can attack. I'll go look and come tell you."
"Too dangerous," said Baraccus. "We'll all go; they can't trap all of us at once."
Paulo's voice had a strained tone beneath the matter-of-fact whisper. "Look, I can see in the dark better than any of you. I ought to be good for something."
Baraccus was silent. Ton-Kel realized that he'd forgotten Paulo's change. "Go ahead," he said after a moment, still close by Ton-Kel's ear.
She heard Paulo's passage as a whisper of leaves in the dark. Then Baraccus gave her a push and she crept ahead, trying to pinpoint her fellow hunters. She could see a flicker now and again as stray moonlight caught Sir Charles's breastplate or snow-white boots. But he moved quietly, for a Cavalier. The others were all but invisible, save when one of them rose up enough to show as a shadow against a moon-frosted tree-trunk.
She settled a short way from Sir Charles, Baraccus crouched beside her. She slowed her breathing, straining to hear anything of Paulo. Time slowed to a crawl.
Against her will, her mind played out fantasies of Paulo trapped, Paulo being silently strangled, Paulo gutted and hung on a limb while witches with feral eyes crept through the brush toward the unsuspecting Triads….
A nearby rustle, then Paulo slipped from the shadows and lay down between them. "Up ahead. The path opens up. Rowan's standing guard."
"Can we get past without being seen?" asked Baraccus.
"No," Paulo answered. "Not all of us, anyway."
Baraccus was silent for a moment. "I'll keep her busy. You get by her as fast as you can. Tell the Blues."
Ton-Kel reached for him. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Cheating." He slipped away through the brush. Ton-Kel moved after him, heard Paulo hiss softly to the Blues behind her.
Rowan stood unmoving in a small, clear space, staring blindly into the dark. Baraccus stepped out of the brush and onto the trail, facing her, and she a
bruptly came to life. "Who goes there?" she challenged.
"Baraccus of the Black Triad," he answered quickly. "By the Seven and by the Three, for Honor and Glory, I Challenge Thee."
The Green Cavalier stiffened. "For Honor and Glory, I accept," she spat. "You should have left while you had the chance, Black."
Baraccus drew his sword, his teeth flashing in a white, wolfish smile. "Too boring." He took a step forward.
"None shall pass," Rowan murmured, and drew her sword. It glowed softly in the dark.
A figure rose from the brush behind her and struck, and she collapsed with a rattle of armor. Jax the Axe stepped over her body, then knelt beside her to brush the tangled hair from her face, checking the pulse at her neck.
Baraccus straightened. "You interfered in a Cavalier's duel." His whispered words barely carried over the drums and the no-longer distant wailing. "By rights I could kill you for that."
Jax looked up and grinned mirthlessly. "This isn't a Cavalier matter, Black; it's a witch hunt," he said in a voice like a ghost's in the shadows. "You can't have an honorable duel with a bespelled opponent — with a Sword of Might, by the way. I just saved both your lives."
He rose and made a gesture. From the bushes all around, other figures emerged hooded and armed. "I said we'd meet you here," Jax said. "How many are you?"
Sir Charles rose. "The Blue Triad and the Black are here, working together."
Jax nodded. "Good. My men will surround the clearing. I suggest you scatter, come in from different sides so they can't get us all at once. Once we're all in position, we'll attack." He melted into the brush, his men with him.
Paulo muttered something under his breath and slipped into the brush once more, and Baraccus moved to follow. Ton-Kel grabbed his arm. "You're lucky Jax was there. What did you think you could do against Rowan anyway?"
Baraccus looked down at her. "I told you. I had no intention of making it a fair fight — she's not an honorable opponent."
Ton-Kel shook her head in disbelief. "But then you'd have had to kill her. And Jax would have killed you."
He flashed a smile. "Then perhaps it's good Jax came along when he did, isn't it?" Before Ton-Kel could press the point, he pulled away and followed Paulo.
She hastily slipped in behind. For the first time in days, she found herself again questioning Baraccus's sanity.
Or perhaps, the Black Faction had chosen better than they knew.
Tales from Opa: Three Tales of Tir na n'Og Page 45