whipped around her ankles, nearly tripping her. Blood stained the white cloth. Michael had no need to ask whose it was.
'They carried him inside,' Nikol was talking feverishly, as they ran. 'We stripped off the armor. His wound is deep, but not mortal. We have to hurry. He's lost so much blood. I left old Giles with him…'
No, we don't need to hurry! Michael cried silently. Too late. We will be too late! But he found himself running all the faster, as if he could outrun destiny.
They reached a room on the ground level, near the entrance. They had not carried the wounded man far.
'Giles!' Nikol cried, pushing on the door. 'I've brought the healer. I — Nicholas? Where are you? Giles! Oh, god, no! Paladine, no!'
Her heartbroken cry went through Michael like iron. Nikol caught up the body of the elderly servant, lifted him gently from the floor.
'Giles! What happened? Where's Nicholas?'
Michael knelt beside the old man. A goblin arrow stuck out of his chest, the shaft buried deep.
'Mishakal, heal…' Michael's voice cracked. The holy medallion of Mishakal he wore around his neck, the symbol of his faith that gleamed blue with the radiance of the goddess, was dark, its light gone. He stammered; his words halted.
The old man gasped. 'They… took him!'
'Who took him? Giles, answer me!' Nikol cried.
'Goblins…'
The old man stared at her, but his eyes no longer saw her. His head lolled in her arms. She laid him on the floor, her face expressionless, shocked past hurt and sorrow.
Michael stood, looked around the room. Broken glass littered the floor; the window swung crazily on its hinges. It had been smashed open with a heavy object, probably a club or mace. Blood smeared the windowsill.
'They carried him out this way,' he said.
'But why?' Nikol stared at the empty bed, the bloodstained, rumpled sheets. Her face was whiter than the linen. 'Why would they take him? Goblins butcher and kill. They never take prisoners… Oh, Nicholas!'
A shudder swept over her. She buried her face in the still-warm bedclothes, twisted the cloth in her fingers. Michael ached to comfort her. He drew near, reaching out to her. His hand touched her shoulder.
'My lady — '
Nikol rounded on him with a savage cry. 'You! This is your fault! If you had been here, instead of hiding behind the skirts of your goddess, my brother would be well! He would be alive! He could have fought them — '
A bowman, bloodied and disheveled, appeared in the doorway.
'Where's my lord?' he demanded harshly. 'The enemy is assaulting in force. What are his orders?'
Michael straightened, was about to give the man the terrible news that his lord was gone.
Sharp nails dug into his skin. Nikol pushed past him.
'My lord will be with you presently,' she told him, her voice cold and level. 'We are binding his wound.'
'Pray Paladine he comes swiftly,' said the bowman, and dashed off.
'Katherine!' Nikol cried. 'Katherine — There you are.'
The woman who had been nursemaid and nanny to the girl, lady-in-waiting to the young woman, hastened into the room at her mistress's call.
'Fetch me the men's clothing I use when I practice with Nicholas! Be quick about it! Hurry!'
Katherine stared at her, confused and upset. 'Oh, my lady, there is no time! We must flee — '
'Go!' Nikol shouted at her. 'Do as I command!'
Katherine cast a frightened look at Michael, who shook his head, bewildered. The woman fled, her wooden clogs clattering over the stone floor.
Nikol glanced about the room, found what she sought. Catching hold of her brother's leather belt, she drew a sharp knife from its sheath and held it out to Michael. He stared at it, then at her.
'My vows forbid me to carry sharp weapons, my lady — '
'You weakling! I'm not asking you to fight with it!'
Nikol thrust the knife into his limp hand. Lifting the heavy braid of long, golden hair, she twitched it around, held it out to him.
'Cut it. Cut it to match the length of my brothers hair.'
Michael understood suddenly what she intended. He stared at her, aghast. 'Nikol, you can't be serious! You're not thinking — '
'No, it's you who's not thinking!' She turned, faced him. 'This is my only chance to save Nicholas. Don't you understand? They've taken him away. Now they're launching an assault to cover their escape. We must drive them back, then I can lead a party to go rescue my brother.'
'But you're a woman. The men won't follow you.'
'They won't know they're following me,' Nikol said calmly, turning around again. 'They'll think they're following my brother. We look enough alike that I can fool them, beneath the armor. And don't worry, Brother,' she added bitterly. 'You can stay here in safety and pray for me. Now, cut'
Her sarcasm was sharper than the blade. He realized now how wide was the gulf that separated them. He had sometimes dared to hope that she was fond of him. He had sometimes fancied that she had responded warmly to his touch.
If I were noble or if she were common, might we not love?
But now he knew the truth, he saw it in her eyes. She despised him, despised his weakness.
Michael grasped the knife awkwardly. Lifting the heavy braid of hair in his hand, he felt its silk beneath his fingers.
How many times have I dreamed of this moment, he thought to himself bitterly. The grace, the privilege of touching her beautiful hair.
He heard frantic shouting outside. A spent arrow whistled in through the window. Gritting his teeth, Michael hacked away at the shining, twisted strands.
'My lord!' A grizzled sergeant caught hold of the knight's arm. Blood streamed from a cut on the sergeant's head. He limped from either a new wound or an old. 'My lord I It's hopeless. There are far too many of the fiends! Sound the retreat!'
'No!' The knight shook him off furiously. 'They're falling back. Rally the men for another charge!'
'My lord, they're regrouping, making ready for the killing blow, that's all,' said the sergeant gently.
Michael realized then that the sergeant knew the truth. He knew he wasn't following his lord, but his lady.
The cleric edged closer, to listen to the conversation. The battle had been brief and brutal. He had done what he could to ease the pain of the dying, but that hadn't been much. The situation bad been too dire, too confused, for anyone to notice that their cleric had tucked his medallion of faith inside his robes, that no prayers passed his lips. Merciful death came to most swiftly. Michael's one panicstricken thought was that Nikol would fall, wounded. And then what could he do for her?
'What are your orders, my lord?' the sergeant asked, respectfully.
Nikol did not immediately answer. Exhaustion had taken its toll. The ragged blond hair that fell to the metalarmored shoulders was wet with sweat. Any other knight would have removed the heavy helm, wiped his face. This knight kept her helm on.
Michael joined them, stared out over the battlements into the woods beyond. Day had dawned. The vast numbers of the enemy could be counted easily; they made no secret of their strength. The knight glanced around at the pitiful number of men who remained.
'Release the men from duty,' said Nikol, in a low, toneless voice. 'If they leave now, they can make good their escape. The goblins will be too busy looting and burning to chase them.'
'Very good, my lord,' said the sergeant, bowing.
'Give them my thanks. They fought well.'
