Heart of the King (9 page)

“Lehgan,” she squealed.

Two thoughts occurred to her simultaneously, one an instinct, the other bred through years of riding:
Protect the baby. Get your foot clear of the stirrup.
 

If her foot caught, she’d be dragged behind the horse, and then it wouldn’t matter what she did to protect her child. Although the horse hadn’t yet gotten up to speed, it wouldn’t slow down when it noticed her bouncing against the ground beside it.

Half-on, half-off the horse, Emeline twisted and wrenched her foot free, then twisted again to put herself between the baby and the hard ground. Her grip tightened, her muscles tensed, and she felt for a moment like she was floating, weightless and carefree as a bird.

The ground brought her back to reality.

Her back slammed against the dirt road, bones jarring with the impact, breath forced out of her lungs. A gray cloud clawed at the edge of her vision, seeking to steal her consciousness, but she willed it away and felt Iana writhe in her grasp, though—through  her struggle to find air to feed her lungs—she  heard no cries of pain or panic from the baby.

Laying on the ground, she stared up at the night sky, at stars twinkling against the black tapestry. The first flakes of snow tumbled down from on high, floating and twirling as they danced toward the ground. Despite the panic in her chest, she felt awed by the tranquillity of the darkness above and the falling snow. Not until Lehgan slid off his horse and stood over her blocking the stars, his lips moving without sound, did she realize she couldn’t hear anything.

Her husband crouched beside her, grabbed her shoulders. She saw desperation in his eyes, strain upon his brow, but she couldn’t figure out how to respond. He stared at her for a few seconds, the look in his eyes giving her the impression he held himself back from shaking her, then he looked up and away from her.

His expression changed and he stood, backing away a step. Her eyes followed him. His lips moved; he shook his head. Emeline shifted her gaze the other direction and saw the horses stopped a few yards away. Two of the soldiers dismounted and she realized where she was and what had happened.

Her breath returned along with awareness, and with her breath came the searing pain in her back and the screams of her child in her ears. She struggled to sit up and comfort Iana, hoping the baby was scared and not injured, but one of the soldiers put his foot against her chest and pushed her back to the ground.

“Stay put, wench,” he said.

The pain of the pressure of his foot against her achingly-full breast was nothing compared to the torment of her back hitting the ground again. Emeline fought back a scream and held Iana tighter against her shoulder. Two of the soldiers jumped past her and she saw one rip the sword out of Lehgan’s scabbard as the other grabbed his arms behind his back. Lehgan did nothing to stop them.

The man who pushed her down loomed over her. The week’s-worth of stubble on his cheeks was ginger-colored, though the hair trailing out from under his open-faced helm appeared blond. He showed her a menacing smile; one of his front teeth was missing.

“You’re a pretty one, ain’t ya?”

He poked his finger out toward Iana but Emeline twisted away sending a fresh explosion of pain along her injured back.

“No. Leave her alone.”

Her voice was shrill and panicked to her own ears and she felt a twinge in her belly that she couldn’t find enough control in herself to sound threatening instead of fearful. The soldier laughed and held out his hands.

“Give me the child and we won’t hurt it.”

Emeline shook her head painfully and felt tears roll down her cheeks.
Iana’s distressed shrieks rang in her ear. Barely distinguishable over it, she heard Lehgan shouting, but his words soon stopped. She glanced his direction and saw his head hanging, one soldier holding him up as the other rubbed his knuckles, then the man with the missing tooth grabbed for Iana and Emeline forgot about her husband.

He got one hand around the baby, his fingers digging painfully into Emeline’s breast; she struggled to hold on, but the soldier’s strength and the pain in her back worked against her. The man wrenched Iana free from her grip and she screamed again in rage and panic. He stood, foot planted on her chest, easily holding her in place as he gestured for the man rubbing his knuckles to take the baby from him.

“What do you want me to do with that?”

“Just hold it,” he said leering down at Emeline. “These two’ll behave better if the child is alive.”

“But--”

“Take the damn whelp. I’ve got some work to do here.”

He handed Iana off to the other man then reached down, threw off the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and grabbed the bodice of Emeline’s dress. She clawed at his hand, but the leather glove covering his fingers and the thick fabric of his coat rendered her attempts useless. He yanked hard, wrenching her back and lifting her a couple of inches off the ground. When that didn’t produce the desired result, he grabbed on with his other hand, too.

“No,” Emeline whimpered. “No. Please give me my baby back.”

“You’ll have your whelp back soon enough.” He tore her bodice open and crouched on top of her, sitting on her hips.

Emeline felt the cold air on her bare breasts, the pain of their fullness, the weight of him on her bladder making her want to urinate, but it all disappeared as he leaned forward, grabbed her by both wrists and pinned her to the ground. A second later, his mouth found her ear. Her world became the slobbering sounds of his tongue on her ear and neck and the hoots and hollers of the other soldiers.

And the pains.

The man tried to put his mouth on hers, but Emeline turned her head away. Through the blur of her tears, she saw Lehgan being held by a Kanosee soldier. He’d raised his head and a line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth to his chin; he was looking at his wife, watching what the man was doing to her. Lehgan didn’t struggle against the soldier’s hold, he didn’t yell threats or offer words to comfort his wife, he just watched, an expression of defeat on his face.

One of the other soldiers grabbed her hands and the man sitting atop her moved his face away from hers. His now-free hands found their way under her dress, between her legs.

Emeline closed her eyes and bit down hard on her teeth wishing to be somewhere else, wishing that she hadn’t made this journey prompted by a ghost woman’s words. As flakes of snow melted on her burning cheeks, she prayed it would end soon.

***

Emeline opened her eyes and felt the hard ground under her back. Above, a few stars remained in the pre-dawn gray sky, but the snow had stopped without collecting on the ground; she must have slept a little after the soldiers finished with her.

The pain caused by her fall had mostly waned as a fresh discomfort between her legs usurped it. Four of the soldiers had forced themselves on her before it ended. She didn’t know how long it went on; she’d made herself retreat to a hiding place inside her head before the third man settled in on top of her.

She looked at Lehgan sleeping beside her, Iana snuggled tight against his chest, but jerked her gaze away. She wanted to snatch the baby away from him but knew she wouldn’t have the strength. After seeing Lehgan stand watching without making a sound in protest while the soldiers raped her, she didn’t want to see his face. After seeing the stark fear in his expression freeze him from at least trying to come to her aid, she wasn’t sure she would ever look at him the same again.

“You will forgive him. There was nothing he could do without forfeiting his life.”

The voice didn’t startle Emeline, nor did it surprise her when she saw the ghostly woman standing over her.

“He could have tried,” she replied, the whispered words forced between her clenched teeth.

The ghost woman crouched at Emeline’s side. “I know it’s difficult to understand now, but all this must happen to reach the needed outcome.”

“It didn’t have to happen to me.”

The ghost’s green eyes were soft with an understanding Emeline wouldn’t have expected to see in them.

“It did,” the ghost woman said, “and I’m sorry it did. No one should have to go through what you did.”

Emeline pressed her lips together, fighting back more tears. She’d cried enough as she endured those men lying atop her, forcing themselves into her. She didn’t want to cry anymore. Ever. She waited until she felt her control return, then looked around quickly to make sure no one noticed her speaking to a shadow before replying.

“If it will be like this, I cannot continue and do what you want.” She shifted on the ground and immediately felt the pain of the movement between her legs. “I would rather be dead.”

The ghost put her hand on Emeline’s shoulder, the touch of it surprising in its solidity. “Think of your mother and father. And Iana. What will happen to her if you give up and Khirro fails?”

Emeline closed her eyes and remembered the ruined town, the villagers burning their dead. It could easily have been her parents' village. But could she really do anything to prevent it?

“I can’t,” she said, eyes still closed. “I’m not strong enough.”

“Yes, you are.”

Emeline opened her eyes again and peered into the ghost woman’s understanding face. “How do you know?”

“Because I have seen others like you who didn’t think themselves brave, yet have shown courage beyond compare.”

 “Khirro.”

“Yes, Khirro. Something you have not considered: you now know what it is like to be raped. For a year, Khirro has carried around with him the idea that he did that to you. Can you imagine how it made him feel?”

Emeline sighed a slow breath and thought about lying on the ground, a stranger pressed inside her, wishing it would be over. She thought about how helpless she’d felt.

“Yes, I think I do.”

The ghost woman nodded and stood. “Then you know you can do this. For the kingdom, for your family, for yourself. And for Khirro.”

The sky lightened further and the ghostly form faded.

“Yes,” Emeline said to the spot where the woman had been standing seconds before. “Yes, I can.”

“Who are you talking to, wench?”

The soldier’s hand rested on the buckle of his belt. Was he putting it on or taking it off? Emeline didn’t know, nor did she answer. She closed her eyes and turned her head away, waiting for whatever might come next because she knew, no matter what it was, she would endure.

She had to.

No one had passed their hiding spot crouched in the bushes at the verge of the forest for more than an hour, but Athryn insisted they wait longer, both to ensure their safety and to let the boy rest. Khirro fidgeted and looked at Graymon curled on the ground between them. Even in sleep, his face showed the strain of his experiences. After all he’d been through himself in the past months, Khirro could imagine what it must have been like for the boy.

“I don’t understand why it worked, Athryn,” Khirro said shaking his head. “I drew blood for you, but I obviously didn’t die, yet you cast a spell.”

“You did not die, my friend, and thank the Gods for it, but death walked all around us.” He leaned forward and peered along the road. “Those soldiers were already dead.”

“Their death and my blood.” Khirro touched the bandage covering the cut on his forearm and winced. “How did you know it would work?”

Athryn leaned back and looked into his companion’s eyes. “I did not know it would.”

Khirro’s gut clenched; he raised his head and stared at the magician. “You didn’t know?”

You risked my life.

Athryn shook his head.

Khirro opened his mouth to protest about the magician taking his life in his hands, but stopped himself before he spoke. What choice did they have but to take such chances? If he didn’t, either they or the boy or both would have been dead, and the journey would have come to a premature end—no  different than if Athryn had done nothing. Khirro decided not to say anything about it.

“We should move out,” he said instead. “Before anyone else comes.”

“They are already coming.”

Khirro stared at Athryn for a second, then pivoted to look down the road. At first he didn’t see anything as the gray of dawn leeched color from the world and smeared shapes together. He squinted to focus, looking for any movement on the dirt track, until he realized the reason he didn’t see anyone was because he looked in the wrong place. A figure moved through the brush at the side of the road, swinging his sword to cut a swath before him, but still far enough away that distance hid the sound of his blade shearing through the brambles.

Looking for something. For us.

Now he’d spied one man, Khirro saw others—three  Kanosee soldiers on each side of the road, and more might be hidden in the trees. All of them walked slowly with their weapons in hand, eyes turned to the ground in front of them, searching.

“They’re looking for us,” he whispered leaning over the sleeping boy so Athryn would hear him. “We have to go.”

“If we go, they will see us.”

“They’ll find us if we stay.”

Athryn sighed quietly, seeming indecisive for the first time Khirro could recall. “They must have found the wagon,” he said.

Khirro barely heard him, his mind working through possible escape routes and finding precious few options. If they made a run for it along the road, the soldiers would surely see them, especially with a half-asleep young boy in tow; the tangle of forest at their backs was too thick to move through without creating noise that would expose them.  But staying put wasn’t a viable option, either. Not unless...

“Can you see if they’re undead?”

A few seconds passed with no response from the magician. Khirro considered asking the question again, but Athryn held up a hand, stopping him before he spoke.

“At least one I can see. Why? We know how to dispatch the dead ones as easily as the live ones.”

“I’m not thinking about fighting them; we don’t know how many there are and it would be dangerous for the boy.” Khirro paused, considering options other than the one on the edge of his lips, but made himself continue before he changed his mind. “In Tasgarad, you cast a spell to hide us in the alley. Can you do that again?”