Vengeance

by Gail Z. Martin

  “Not bloody likely,” Polly shouted back as she ran. She turned, and let fly with a throwing knife that took the captain in the chest. He toppled from his horse, hands clasped around the dagger as a bloody stain spread across his uniform.

  “No turning back now,” Trent mumbled. He sent his knife flying and caught another of Kadar’s soldiers in the shoulder.

  “Watch out!” Polly yelled, and dove for Trent, colliding with him and knocking him out of the way of one of the horses that nearly had him under its hooves.

  Ross dodged behind the scant cover of a watering trough and unholstered his crossbow, then rose and sent a quarrel through the air, striking one of the guards in his sword arm as he moved to bring his blade down against Calfon. Calfon wheeled and blocked the sword’s swing, narrowly keeping the tip from slicing into his throat. The injured soldier jerked on his reins, and the horse reared, kicking at Calfon’s head. Calfon’s sword came down across the soldier‘s thigh, and he threw himself clear of the horse’s hooves.

  The clatter of rocks distracted the rider, and Polly looked up to see some of the villagers venturing down the hill, arms full of rocks to hurl at the guards. More than one of the missiles hit their marks, striking the soldiers in the head and chest, opening up bloody cuts.

  “Stand still, you sons of bitches, and fight like men!” one of the soldiers shouted as he turned his horse straight for Corran. Rigan sent a torrent of fire a few feet in front of the guard’s horse, throwing up a spray of dirt and causing the panicked animal to buck its rider clear. He fell hard, and from the snap of breaking bone and the awkward angle of his head, Polly knew he would not be getting up again.

  “Go back and tell your master to stop sending monsters against his own people,” Corran yelled, standing amidst the carnage covered in the blood of the guard and that of the vestir he killed.

  One of the remaining soldiers swayed in his seat, pale from blood loss where Trent’s knife had lodged in his shoulder. He looked like he could barely sit his horse, in no shape to fight. The other two hesitated, seeing their captain and their comrades easily dispatched by the hunters they expected to rout.

  “Leave now, and we let you live,” Rigan called, hands held out from his sides, arms straight, palms turned out, fingers splayed, a clear threat.

  “Maybe you’d see reason if we made those villagers pay for your insolence. Our orders were to bring you in,” a young lieutenant replied, lifting his chin and raising his sword. “And by the gods, that’s what we’re going to do.”

  All three of the remaining soldiers rode forward, swinging their blades as they came, intent on capturing or killing their quarry. The lieutenant angled to ride for the villagers on the hillside, who scrambled back toward the crest in fear. Ross readied another shot, and his bolt took the lieutenant in the throat, knocking him from his horse.

  Calfon sprang at the uninjured soldier, meeting his blows strike for strike, avoiding the hooves of the horse and the nip of its teeth. While Calfon kept the soldier’s attention trained on him, Trent sent a throwing knife into the man’s chest.

  The last soldier paled and then slipped bonelessly from his horse. Rigan knelt beside him. “He’s alive. And I don’t care to kill an unconscious man.”

  “You think he’s worth interrogating?” Calfon asked.

  “I think the sooner we’re rid of him, the better,” Corran replied. “If we take him back with us, you know we’ll have to kill him.”

  Corran hefted the unconscious soldier and heaved him across his saddle, then bound his wrists with the reins and tied the man’s ankles with a length of rope from his saddle bag. A sharp slap to the rump of the horse sent it running. “That should send Kadar a message,” he said, watching the horse disappear down the road.

  “What about them?” Polly asked, directing the attention of the others to the onlookers who had once again come out of hiding on the hilltop. “I wouldn’t put it past Kadar to send more soldiers to punish the village, even though they didn’t have anything to do with us. We can’t leave them defenseless.”

  “Sure we can,” Calfon grumbled. “And they weren’t exactly defenseless. We need to get out of here before more soldiers come. I told you that this smelled like a trap.”

  “You want to have a fist fight over who picks the hunts?” Corran snapped, rounding on Calfon. “Have at it later. We’ve got bigger problems at the moment.”

  “What if we teach the villagers how to defend themselves from the beasts?” Polly urged. “Just a few basics, enough that they stand a chance.”

  “We need to get out of here,” Calfon retorted. “You’ll get us caught for sure.”

  Two of the village men, one older and another who looked enough like the other to be his son, were already halfway down the hillside. “You killed the monsters,” the older man said, looking at the bodies of the vestir that lay still in the moonlight.

  “And the guards,” the younger of the two added, eying the corpses of the soldiers.

  “The monsters are being sent by those in power,” Corran said, moving forward with Rigan at his side, placing himself between the newcomers and the rest of the hunters. “They’ll keep coming until someone stops the witches from summoning them, but you can defend yourselves if they come again.”

  “We know something of hunting wolves and wild dogs or the big cats that snatch our sheep,” the younger man said. “But nothing of fighting.”

  “We can’t stay long,” Corran replied. “But we can tell you what works best with the kinds of creatures the witches call up most often. The soldiers won’t defend you if the monsters come back, and we won’t always be nearby.”

  “Come back to the village with us,” the older man offered. “We’ll bind your wounds, give you food for your journey as our thanks, and you’ll tell us what to do. I’ll set a watch, and if more soldiers come, they’ll send them off the other way. Damn guards never show up when we need help. No love lost there, believe me.”

  A candlemark later, injuries bandaged, the hunters bid the villagers goodbye. Corran glanced at Rigan as he stretched out his magic, then shook his head. “I’m not sensing anyone on the road ahead. Let’s get out of here while we can.”

  “Do you think we taught them enough to be able to defend themselves if more monsters come back?” Polly asked, casting a glance over her shoulder as the lights of the village receded.

  “They know more than they did before,” Trent replied. “They’ll have to learn on their own, like we did. But maybe what we told them about the weak points will save a few lives.”

  They kept a wary eye out for more of Kadar’s soldiers, and picked up their pace, intent on reaching their latest hiding place before the guards could muster a new attack. After Polly and the others had seen to the horses and left them stabled and fed, Aiden and Elinor awaited them, hungry for news, and Aiden looked them over with a practiced gaze, taking in the hastily bandaged injuries.

  “Come on, we’ve got food ready, and you can tell your tales while we fix you up,” Aiden said, as the rest of them filed into the room that served as a kitchen.

  “We’re going to have to leave again,” Corran said with a sigh as he ladled stew into bowls, taking one for himself and passing one to Rigan before he stepped aside and handed the ladle to Ross. “Kadar’s guards came right on the heels of fighting the vestir. Could have gone badly if luck hadn’t been with us tonight.”

  “Could have, but didn’t,” Rigan said quietly. “There’ll be times enough it doesn’t go our way.”

  Corran shrugged as if he disagreed but didn’t feel like arguing. Polly understood both men’s perspective. Had the soldiers come upon them when they’d been in the thick of the fight with the monsters or more badly injured, the outcome could have been much different. She said a quiet prayer to the gods in thanks, filled a bowl and grabbed a chunk of bread, and launched into a retelling of the fight that was as enthusiastic as it was embellished.

  “The next time she tells that story, it will b
e a legion of guards and a few dozen vestir,” Trent said with a laugh as Polly concluded.

  “If the stories grow with the telling, maybe soon the likes of Kadar will tremble at the thought of sending guards against us,” Polly retorted with a cheeky grin, raising her cup of whiskey in salute.

  “Somehow, I doubt that,” Ross replied.

  “For all we know, Kadar’s blood witch called the vestir, and we walked right into his trap,” Calfon snapped, not bothering to look up from his bowl.

  “And what’s the answer?” Corran responded. “Stay hidden and let the monsters run loose? We didn’t do that in Ravenwood; why would we give in now?”

  “We can’t save the whole kingdom.” Calfon lifted his head to level a glare at Corran.

  “Probably not. But we saved those villagers, and their livestock—which means they can harvest their crops, and Ravenwood might keep its agreement with Garenoth. Tell me how that’s not winning.”

  “We need more of a plan than wandering the countryside looking for monsters to fight.” Calfon’s fist slammed against the table, sending the bowls tottering.

  “What did you have in mind? Marching up to Kadar’s palace and calling him out for a duel?” Corran’s eyes flashed with anger. “Storming King Rellan’s palace? This is the only plan we’ve got right now—doing what we can when the opportunity presents itself and keeping the monsters in check.”

  “Piss poor excuse for a plan, if you ask me, which you don’t.” Calfon got up with enough force to send his chair sprawling and stalked out of the room.

  “What crawled up his ass and died?” Ross asked, staring after Calfon in the darkened corridor.

  “He’s still upset he’s not calling all the shots,” Trent said, leaning back where he sat next to Polly. “He’s always been prone to take everything as a challenge. Let him sleep it off.”

  “Butting heads like that will get someone killed,” Corran muttered. “He’d better be out of his mood by morning. We’re going to have to pack up and be ready to leave once the sun goes down. Kadar’s soldiers are too close.”

  Polly sighed. “Barely got unpacked. I’ll go pull my things together, but don’t expect a big breakfast if I’ve got to pack up the kitchen,” she warned, retreating toward the room she shared with Elinor.

  Polly looked up a while later when Elinor entered. A slow smile spread across Polly’s lips as she took in Elinor’s slightly rumpled appearance. “Welcoming your hunter back from the fight?” she joked.

  Elinor blushed. “Just letting him know I’m glad he’s not hurt.”

  Polly chuckled. “So when are you and Rigan going to wed?”

  Elinor went wide-eyed, then coughed. “Polly!”

  “Well?” Polly gave her a cheeky grin, waiting for an answer.

  “Now really isn’t a good time,” Elinor replied, and even in the moonlight, Polly could see her cheeks redden. “Maybe when all of this is over… when things quiet down—”

  “And how long will that be?” Polly asked. “Maybe never. For all we know, the high borns’ witches have been calling monsters forever, and maybe they always will. Can’t put off living for a job that never ends.”

  Elinor rolled her eyes. “Maybe so, but still, it’s too soon. We’re all so raw; the losses are too fresh.”

  Polly guessed that in Rigan’s case, she meant Kell’s death or maybe Mir’s. “Well, you know, it’s not like I wouldn’t be giving something up,” Polly said with a grin. “I lose a roommate when you marry him. It’s a sacrifice.”

  Elinor swatted her. “You wait, Polly. Your turn will come.”

  Polly turned away, and Elinor froze, realizing what she said.

  “I’m sorry,” Elinor murmured. “I didn’t mean—”

  Polly nodded. “I know you didn’t. It’s all right. I cared for Kell, and maybe in time, it would have been more. I had hoped so, but we didn’t get the chance. And I know that I’m young and I’ll meet someone. But… it’s only been a few months, even though it feels like a lifetime ago. I’m not ready to let him go yet.”

  “Of course not,” Elinor replied. “It’s not the same, but I miss Parah and my friends from the city.”

  “I know we can’t go back, but I miss the city sometimes,” Polly said wistfully. “All the noise and bustle and people. It’s pretty out here, and quiet—sometimes too quiet. There aren’t enough people. Back in Ravenwood, if you wanted to not be noticed, you could slouch and pull up your cloak, and no one paid you any mind. Out here, I feel like we’ve got a big sign that says ‘outlaws’ hanging over us!”

  Elinor laughed at the image that invoked. “Or at least, ‘watch out for the strangers.’ Gods, they don’t care much for people they don’t know—at least at first.” She shook her head. “They’d never make it a day in the city, full of strangers.”

  “Some who were definitely stranger than others,” Polly added, and they both chuckled.

  They packed in silence for a while, but this time it did not feel strained. “Do you think you’ll go back to being a dyer if we ever get to settle down?” Polly asked.

  Elinor shrugged. “Maybe. It’s the only trade I know—aside from being a witch. And even if we can stop the monsters and the people who summon them, I can’t think that townsfolk will suddenly take a shine to witches.”

  “Probably not,” Polly agreed.

  “What about you?” Elinor gave her a sidelong glance. “Would you want to go back to working in a pub kitchen? You could do anything you wanted to.”

  Polly laughed. “That sounds grand—anything I wanted. I don’t know. I don’t come from a Guild family—I don’t have a trade. Ran away from home. My father was a dockworker and a drunk who beat me, and my mother died when I was a baby. No one missed me when I left, so I kept on going.”

  “We’d miss you,” Elinor replied, and nudged her with an elbow.

  Polly blushed and turned away. “As well you should. Because I’m awesome.” She stared off into space for a moment. “Truly? I don’t know. Not sure what I’m suited for, or who’d teach me. I guess I’m good at killing things. I could be an assassin.”

  Elinor chuckled. “You know, there’s probably a future in that, if you could live with yourself doing that sort of work. I used to hear the women come in and talk to Parah about their faithless husbands and the men who hit them or stole from them or did them wrong. Some of them forgave the louts, but I wager that others would have come up with the coin to have someone make the blighter disappear forever if the price was right.” She gave Polly a sidelong glance. “Although I don’t think you’re the hardened killer type.”

  “I’ll have to think on that,” Polly replied with a grin. “I rather like being an outlaw. It’s daring and romantic.”

  Elinor snorted. “Except for the running and hiding and sleeping in cellars and nearly getting killed part.”

  Polly sighed. “Yes, except for that. Stop ruining my fantasy.”

  The road wound close to the river, taking them farther north. They spotted a dozen or so Wanderer wagons clustered along the edge of a stream, and the glow of a campfire. Polly noted some of their sigils chalked on trees and on the road marker and wondered again what they meant. She looked at the nomads’ camp, frowning in thought. I wish they weren’t so damn secretive. We could help each other. I bet they know things Rigan and Aiden and Elinor need to fight the monsters. But there’s no use asking. They won’t tell.

  Polly led them to another abandoned monastery, in hopes of finding more hidden books as well as seeking shelter. They were still within Ravenwood, and still among the vineyards, but farther than any of them had ever been from the city itself. The group stopped in front of what remained of a large, circular tower overlooking the river. In the distance, farther north, lay the village of Brockridge.

  “I figured once we made ourselves at home, we’d wander into town and see what’s what,” Polly said as she climbed down from the wagon and stared at the tower, hands on hips.

  “This is it?” Th
e skepticism was clear in Calfon’s voice. “Doesn’t look as big as where we were before. Older, too.”

  “Beggars—and outlaws—can’t be choosy,” Polly reminded him. “Remember—don’t let looks fool you. It’s supposed to look like a ruin. That’s what keeps the guards away.”

  “Wish it would have kept the spiders away, too,” Corran muttered as they headed inside, batting at cobwebs that covered the entrance where the doors hung broken and askew.

  “Are you sure it’s got catacombs?” Trent ducked as a bird flew past his head from where it had been disturbed in the rafters. “Because it’s bloody awful, otherwise.”

  Polly glanced at Rigan and Aiden. “Well?”

  The two witches moved into the large main room, one going left and one right. Both wore expressions of concentration and walked as if entranced, focused on searching for any indication of where the monks secreted their hiding place. Elinor, whose magic lent itself more to potions and elixirs, began an examination of the next room based on her study of the drawings they had found of the old building.

  “There are rapids down in the river below this point,” Ross mused, looking out the window and down into the ravine. “I’m guessing this served as a beacon as well as a retreat?”

  Polly nodded. “Not that big of a stretch, if you think about it. Lighthouse keepers aren’t the most sociable folks. It’s the light that matters, not the company of the people who keep the lanterns lit.”

  “I might have something,” Elinor called out from the kitchen. Aiden and Rigan were first to join her.

  “I paced off the dimensions, and I think there’s something strange. Here,” she said, moving to a large cabinet sagging and warped with age, apparently built into the wall. “Even accounting for the thickness of the walls, I think there might be enough space that there could be a thin stairway between this room and the main one.”

  “I’m willing to take your word for it,” Rigan said with a shrug. “We didn’t find anything in the other room, and there’s something about the stone here that makes it very difficult to use magic to sense what’s on the other side.”