“He says he personally saw at least twenty and probably twenty-five of Markhos’ armsmen down, and maybe as many as a half-dozen of his damned ‘guests’ and their servants. That matches fairly well with what I’m getting from the others, although I’m inclined to think it may be a little overly optimistic, myself. And that doesn’t include the Phrobus-damned wind riders.”
Traram nodded again. Assuming the corporal’s estimate was correct, there couldn’t be more than a score of armsmen left, and he had fifteen of his surviving crossbowmen bellied down in the woods within fifty yards of the gate. The Sothoii had already lost two more armsmen they were in no position to spare discovering he had no intention of allowing them to close that gate. They’d declined to lose any more in the effort, which at least meant he wasn’t going to have to go across the wall if he tried a second attack.
If not for the wind riders, he wouldn’t have hesitated, and he’d have mounted the followup as quickly as possible, while the defenders had to be at least as disorganized as he was. Of course, if it hadn’t been for the damned wind riders, he wouldn’t have needed to launch a second attack, either. On the other hand, he knew about them now. They wouldn’t have the advantage of surprise the second time around, and he still outnumbered Markhos’ guardsmen by at least three-to-one. And for that matter, the wind riders’ presence made it even more urgent that he get in there and finish them off along with the rest of the hunting lodge’s occupants.
If he gave this operation up as a bad idea now, he rather doubted they’d simply decide to let him go. No, they’d do everything they could to lay him and his men by their heels, and it was distinctly possible they might figure out where he was headed. If they did, and chose not to ride directly after him, it was all too likely that something with a courser’s speed and endurance could reach the Spear at one of the riverside towns downstream from his rendezvous with the barges well before he could sail down the river past them. And if they managed that, it wouldn’t be difficult for the authorities to send boats to Nachfalas, his only way down the Escarpment from here, to wait for his arrival. Assuming, of course, that they didn’t have enough boats on hand to simply come after him in midstream themselves.
As long as those accursed coursers were in a position to do that, he couldn’t count on breaking contact and getting away clean. Even if he could, his employer was unlikely to be pleased. The assassination of a king was a serious matter, and if the mission failed, he might decide it was time to snip off any loose ends that could lead back to him. Traram had no desire to spend what remained of his life looking over his shoulder waiting for the dog brothers to catch up with him.
There are only two of them, Erkan, he reminded himself. Of course there was that third courser to worry about. But now that he knew it was there, and now that his crossbowmen could bring their own missile weapons to bear through the open gate, the enormous chestnut was simply one more unarmored horse. It was the other two coursers and that heavy barding of theirs. If he could just come up with a way to take them out of action, or at least find a way to get close enough to hamstring them without getting trampled into red mud first…
He paused, eyes narrowing suddenly, then stooped and picked up a handful of the forest’s deep leaf mold. He looked at it for a moment, then closed his fist and listened to the dry leaves crackle as he crushed them, and he smiled.
Leeana looked up as Dathgar and Gayrfressa arrived almost simultaneously at the veranda rail while Sir Jerhas Macebearer tied off the bandage on her gashed ribs.
The cut wasn’t especially deep, although it had bled freely, but she was grateful for the dressing. She was also more than a little surprised the Prime Councilor had insisted on personally assisting her with it.
Not that there weren’t more than enough wounded to keep everyone else with any healing skill busy, she reflected grimly, listening to the moans of the wounded and dying men littered across the courtyard. She gazed at that carpet of writhing bodies-and the ones which would never writhe again-and knew her childhood memories of Chergor would never be the same.
“Leeana?” Her father had raised the visor of his helmet and his voice was sharp with the same concern she felt welling out of Gayrfressa.
Macebearer glanced up over his shoulder.
“Your daughter’s going to be fine, Tellian,” he said, and Leeana’s eyebrows rose as he called her that.
“It’s more than a scratch, but it’s also shallow and clean,” the Prime Councilor continued as she lowered the bloodied shirt she’d raised to let him get at the wound. “We’ve both seen people take far worse in their first fight, at any rate.” His lips twitched in something midway between a smile and a grimace. “And we’re lucky she was here to take it; without her, they would’ve carried the veranda and gotten to the King after all. It hurts my pride to admit it, but she’s not just better with a blade than I am now. I’m afraid she’s better than I ever was. And”-the fleeting almost-smile disappeared and his voice went harder-“the number of these bastards the two of you killed between you should convince just about anyone that you weren’t the one behind the attack.”
“I hope you don’t expect some of them to admit that,” Tellian said, never looking away from Leeana.
“Probably not,” the Prime Councilor replied, standing back and leaning against one of the veranda’s supports while he watched Leeana tuck her shirt back in. “It’s a point I intend to make, however, since your daughter’s warning-not to mention her sword skill-means I’ll be around to make it.”
“That’s the second time you’ve called her my daughter,” Tellian observed, and Macebearer shrugged.
“Did you think I thought you’d stopped loving her just because she become a war maid? I’m sure it would shock any number of our lords warden to hear me say it, but at the moment I don’t really care very much.” He snorted a sudden chuckle. “No doubt I’ll get over it in the fullness of time, but at least for the moment, I think it’s more important for her to be who the two of you think she is than who the law says she is.”
Tellian looked at him for a long, still moment, then nodded and looked back at his daughter. She saw the worry in his eyes, the darkness deep within them as he tried to keep them from clinging to the blood on her shirt and the stain where it had run down over her breeches.
“Are you really all right, love?” he asked in a much gentler tone, and she knew he was asking about far more than a cut.
“As close to it as anyone could be,” she told him honestly.
She looked down at her right hand, wondering why it wasn’t quivering the way it felt it ought to be, thinking about how many of those dead and dying men in the courtyard had been put there by that very hand, and tried to understand her own feelings. She didn’t-not really-and if she didn’t understand them herself, how was she supposed to explain them to him? She thought about that for a moment, then looked back up at him.
“I’ll be all right, anyway,” she said. “That’s probably the best anyone can say after his-or her — first fight, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
She’d never heard her father sound quite like that, and a deep, heart-melting surge of love went through her as their eyes met. She was his daughter, and the daughters of Sothoii nobles were supposed to be protected, cherished-kept safe. He’d never in his worst nightmare expected to see his daughter, the treasure of his heart, whirling through a cauldron of blood, screams, and shearing steel. And yet, despite the terror he must have felt, despite the bone-deep training which insisted in his heart of hearts, whatever his mind might tell him, that women-and especially his daughter — had no business shedding their blood, or anyone else’s, he was fighting so hard to keep that dread, that fear, from showing. He was failing, but that only made her love him even more for trying.
“Sir Jerhas is right,” Tellian continued, looking at the bodies sprawled on and about the veranda. “Without your warning, they would’ve overrun us before we even knew they were here, and that doesn’t even count this.” He gestured briefly at the bodies. “If it’s all the same to you, I don’t think we’ll be discussing this in any great detail with your mother, and at the moment I find myself really wishing you’d never become a war maid, but”-he looked straight into her eyes-“I’m proud of you.”
“I had good teachers,” Leeana said.
“I’m sure you did. But I’ve just decided what to give you and Bahzell for a wedding present.” Leeana cocked her head, and he snorted harshly. “If you’re going to be a wind rider, you need the armor to go with it, and I happen to have friends in Dwarvenhame. I’m sure they can help us out with that.”
‹ And the sooner the better,› Gayrfressa agreed tartly. The bloodsoaked mare glared at her chosen rider. ‹ Two-foots! And you were worried about me?!›
