“You are sure you do not need a weapon? A steel one.”
Óraithe smiled. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it.” And she was too small to make good use of one. A short-sword, maybe, wielded with both hands. With the muscle she had put beneath her skin, she could flail it around. Even the thought of it made her hands feel heavy and slow.
Borr stepped to the street and whistled, circling his hand above his head. Scaa came down and stood to watch as well. A wagon pulled from the line and came forward, two men driving and space between for her. The rest in the rear. There was little mistaking the nature of the men. Grim faces, a patch across an eye, rough beards cut away with knives. They had been kind to her the night before. As a father might. Welcoming. Óraithe put her hand in Scaa’s for what may be the last time. It was something she always waited for, she realized. From the very first moment, Óraithe had been waiting for the end to come. And yet she lived. On and on. She had never grown tired of drawing breath.
“Come back.” Scaa leaned in and tapped her forehead against Óraithe’s.
“You have it backwards.” Óraithe gave a half-smile, the nerves in her stomach rising near to the point she felt sick. A parting kiss might have pulled breakfast out, so she turned and climbed the cart, putting herself between the killers. She allowed herself a last look at Scaa. “Go. And be ready. The guard may be in force. We killed one already.”
The horses moved and the crest came and went, flowing down to a flat. The red walls were there and bodies across the top. No more than had been the night before. The road wound toward the gates and the ride was quiet but for the knock of wood and the squeak of metal from the wagon. The wind was still. Dead calm. Óraithe felt the world shrink away for a moment and her breathing slowed. The gate was near. There were five. Only five.
Her men pulled the wagon to a stop and three guards moved to meet them. One at the front and one to either side. A gust of wind came from the flats, rustling the flaps on the bonnet but there was no shout. The men had not been seen or were not suspect enough to warrant it. The guards kept their distance and there was no smile to be seen.
“Come on down. Orders. Inspections on.” The guard watched them with a face nearing disgust. “And I’ll have no arguments about it.”
“Right you are, cap’n.”
Her men moved to the ground, smiling politely and playing their parts. Óraithe stayed where she was, watching the one at the front. A voice came from her side. The other guard at their flank.
“You too, girlie. No exceptions for children.”
She did as she was bid and put her feet to the ground. She felt the three near her. The pair by the gate were too far. It would not matter. The guards moved as she’d hoped when she saw their numbers, making for the rear of the cart. As soon as the eyes were off of her she began to walk toward the gate. Calm as she could manage, hate rising inside her as the images of every dark thing raced around in her mind.
“Girl. Stop there. Hey!”
She’d heard him. She had passed the horses, veering wide as she did. The guard came behind her, jogging. She could just feel the other two on the sand now. She walked as quickly as she could, knowing there would be a hand at her shoulder soon.
And so it was.
“Are you deaf, child? You think you can—”
The spike of earth went into him silently, at a speed so fast he had time only to jerk before it found his throat. “Grk… gak.” Drops of red shifted the earth beneath him as he pawed at her cloak. She took two steps away, the guards at the gate putting hands to sword, squinting at her.
She raised her head to them, unbuttoning her cloak. It pulled from her shoulders as the guard fell, still gripping it. A rush pulsed to her every extremity and her eyes opened wide.
“The girl… IT’S HER!” He screamed it again before a dozen shards jammed themselves through his legs. There were only screams, the same from his partner, both crumpled at the gate. She felt more boots join the ground behind their wagon.
She walked to the gate as the men came up behind her. She did not look at them, but at the men on the ground bleeding. They begged, as she had. Please, they said.
“Mistress?”
She turned finally. Behind her, the noise of stone piercing flesh and choked cries.
“The tunnels. They’ll drop the portcullis now. Kill anything wearing Briste’s colors.” She turned to the one-eyed man, nodding at the wagon. “Burn it so they know. We need the rest.”
He moved quickly to the wagon as they made for the drain tunnels. She could hear lapping flames begin to take the wagon. The boots around her in the tunnel muddied what she could feel. There was noise in her brain from it, too much. When they came to the end, a guard of three stood. It was the same tunnel they had used the night prior. Swords were in them near as quickly as their own were drawn.
Óraithe took the lead as swords were plunged again and again into the corpses at the end of the tunnel. She was not the only one who had been wronged, she realized. There were steps exposed at the backside of the gatehouse. Seems they would have been guarded, but there were stranger things than that. No alarm had been rung,
