Sword in the Storm (44 page)

Three-quarters of a mile ahead Jarik finally threw the struggling Tae to the ground. As she tried to rise, he slapped her face, a hard, stinging blow that swept her from her feet. “Behave yourself, Rigante bitch,” he told her, “and no harm will befall you. You are being held for ransom, not for sport.”

The girl said nothing. Jarik crouched beside her, looking into her eyes. He saw no fear there, only hate and anger. He
grinned at her. “But you make one stupid move and I
will
use you for sport. You understand that?” She nodded. Hauling her to her feet, Jarik and his three men moved on toward the shoreline. The girl seemed to stumble. Jarik reached out to support her. Suddenly she swung, head butted him in the face, and ran into the woods. Jarik swore and raced after her, his men following.

She was fast, but Jarik was faster and stronger. She leapt a fallen tree and cut to the right. Jarik was closing now, only a few feet behind. She swerved again just as he was about to grab her. Now, although she did not realize it, she was running straight for the beached ship. A screen of bushes lay ahead and then a moonlit clearing. The girl hurdled the bushes. Jarik, close behind, threw himself forward. She almost got away from him, but his hand closed on her ankle, and she hit the ground heavily.

“Remember what I told you, bitch?” snarled Jarik. She came up fast as he grabbed her from behind. Her elbow lashed back toward his face, catching his ear. Anger roared through him. Spinning her, he punched her full in the face. The girl, half-stunned, fell to her knees. Jarik’s three men came running into the clearing. Jarik began untying the rope belt of his trews.

“Not to touch her,” said the first. “Those are the orders.”

“You are a fine one to talk about orders, Kidrik. The orders were to take both women alive. Anyway, this bitch needs to know discipline,” said Jarik.

“And you need to know death,” came a voice.

Jarik stepped back and spun. Standing at the edge of the clearing was a lone Rigante warrior, a gleaming sword in one hand and a knife in the other. It made no sense for him to be there. They were in shouting distance of the ship, and a little way behind them fifty warriors were making their way to that spot. Jarik hurriedly tied his belt. Then he glanced toward his men. “What are you standing there for? Kill the bastard.”

The three men drew their swords and charged. The Rigante leapt to meet them. His blades glittered like silver in the moonlight. One man went down, then a second. The third fell back, his throat cut open, blood bubbling over his chain-mail shirt.

Jarik drew his sword and ran in, aiming a two-handed sweep at the Rigante’s head. At the last moment the Rigante ducked below the blade. Off balance, Jarik stumbled. A searing, terrible heat swept up through his chest. He glanced down to see the hilt of a knife jutting from his ribs. It was a beautiful hilt.

His face hit the grass. It was cool and very pleasant. His gaze was drawn to a nearby bush. He saw a fox crouched there, watching, waiting. Fresh pain seared through him as the Rigante dragged his knife clear. Jarik groaned and tried to rise, but there was no strength in his arms. He managed to roll to his back. His head lolled. The Rigante was helping the girl to her feet. Then a cloud covered the moon.

And all was darkness.

Tae was still groggy from the blows she had received, but she stumbled after Connavar as he led her deeper into the woods. In the distance she could hear other raiders. Some of them were laughing. The sound cut through her dizziness, filling her with fear. Strange, she thought. I was not as frightened while they held me captive as I am now that I am free. That is something to think about at a later date, she told herself. Ahead, Connavar had stopped behind a thick oak. She moved in close to him.

“What now?” she whispered.

“We must thread our way through them. They do not yet know you have escaped. They will not be spread out. But I cannot get back to my pony. We will have to escape on foot.” Sheathing his blades, Connavar led her to the left. The clouds were clearing above them, and the moon appeared, shining
brightly. Connavar cursed softly and dropped to his knees, pulling Tae down with him.

“I see why they call you Demonblade,” she whispered, recalling the speed with which he had dispatched her captors.

“No time for talking. Follow me.” Dropping to his belly, Connavar crawled into the nearby undergrowth. Tae slithered alongside him. “We’ll wait until they pass,” he said.

A horn blared out behind them. Angry shouts followed. Tae did not need to be told that they had found the bodies. She glanced at Connavar. He was tense, his face angry. She heard the sound of running feet and was about to rise and flee, when Connavar grabbed her. “Stay low,” he whispered in her ear. “They will be looking for movement.” He put his hand over her shoulder, drawing her in close. The bushes there were thin and small. Anyone gazing down would see them.

Several men ran by. One paused almost above them.

“What can you see?” yelled a guttural voice.

“Nothing.”

“They can’t have gotten far. There’s been no sound of horses. Fan out and search the woods.”

The man close by ran off. Tae was still resisting the urge to run. Connavar spoke again in a low whisper, his mouth close to her ear. “They are expecting us to flee, so their gazes will be high, looking for running figures. Best we stay low for a little while. Once the clouds return, we’ll risk moving. Relax and rest.”

Relax? How could anyone relax with killers scouring the area? But Tae said nothing. The breeze picked up, and she felt herself begin to tremble. Whether it was from the cold or from the aftershock of the day’s events she did not know. Connavar moved in close, spreading his cloak over her and sharing his body heat. Tae closed her eyes, seeing again the savage blow that had torn the life from her mother. Tears welled, but she fought them back. There would be a time for mourning. That time was not now.

The sounds made by the raiders were dwindling now, and Tae felt Connavar stir beside her. He rose to his knees and gazed around the moonlit woods. Then he climbed to his feet, pulling Tae up with him. “We need to head west,” he said. “They will expect us to make for the north and Seven Willows.” She nodded and followed him. He moved swiftly ahead for a while, then took refuge behind another oak. As Tae came alongside, he drew his dagger and handed it to her hilt first. She took the weapon and was amazed to find that it fitted her hand perfectly. At first glance Connavar’s hands seemed so much larger than hers. She wondered how he could use such a small-hilted weapon.

Again he moved forward, dodging from tree to tree, scanning the woods as he ran.

Two raiders suddenly emerged in front of him. Both stood for a moment in shock. Then one of them shouted. “They’re here!” Connavar sprang forward, his sword plunging into the belly of the first man. The second, carrying a hand ax, leapt at Connavar, who sidestepped and hammered his left fist into the man’s chin. The raider fell to his knees. Connavar killed him with a downward sweep to the neck.

Unknown to Tae, a third raider had emerged from the bushes behind her. “Look out!” shouted Connavar. Tae swiveled and struck out just as the man loomed over her. The dagger blade slid through his mail shirt as if it were made of wool, plunging all the way to the hilt. The raider died instantly. Tae pulled the blade clear and ran to join Connavar. There were sounds now from all around them.

Then the clouds returned, covering the moon. Taking Tae by the arm, Connavar led her farther into the trees, coming at last to a thick section of bramble bushes. Dropping to their bellies, they wormed their way into the thicket. Tae’s heart was beating wildly, and it seemed to her that her breathing was so loud that it must be heard. She tried to control it. Raindrops began to fall around them, then lightning flashed to the
south. A few seconds later a great roll of thunder burst over the woods, and the rain became a torrent. Partly sheltered in the brambles, the two fugitives lay very still.

Time drifted by. Tae slept for a while and, when she woke, saw that Connavar was sleeping beside her. He awoke as she moved and smiled at her. “Have they gone?” she mouthed.

“I don’t think so. But they’ll be cold, wet, and very anxious by now. Stay silent.” He closed his eyes once more, resting his head on his arm.

Moments later, as the rain eased, they heard men moving through the woods, heading back toward the bay. Then a voice called out.

“I will find out who you are, Rigante. And when I do, I will come for you. I swear by the blood of Wotan that I will not rest until your head sits on a lance outside my brother’s house.”

Tae glanced at Connavar and saw that he was smiling.

“What is there to smile about?” she whispered.

“A man should always have good enemies. It keeps him strong.”

They hid for another hour, and just as dawn was tinting the sky, they emerged from the brambles. The woods were silent, and they made their way back toward the north.

They were met on the hillside by Fiallach and fifty riders. Parax was with them. Fiallach leapt from his horse and ran to Tae. “Did they harm you?” he asked.

“They did not have time. Connavar was there. He killed the men who held me.”

“I am grateful to you, Connavar,” said the big man, “for saving my future wife.”

“I will not be your wife, Fiallach,” Tae said, gently. “I adore you as my friend and my mentor, but I will not walk the tree with you.”

Fiallach licked his lips and stood silent for a moment. “But I love you,” he said at last.

When she spoke, there was no trace of the girl she had been. Her words carried quiet authority and even regret. “And I love you, my friend. If it was in my power to love you the way you desire, I would do so. But it is not. Now I must get back to Seven Willows. There is much work to be done.” She walked away from him. A rider offered her his pony, and she accepted with a smile, vaulting to the saddle and riding down the slope.

Fiallach turned to Conn and sighed. “Should have listened to you,” he said.

“It would have changed nothing,” said Conn. “Gate towers cannot be built in a day. The man who caused this was Phaeton.” Conn told the giant how Parax had found the keel marks and the tracks.

Fiallach’s face turned pale with fury. “He it was who told us of the lion that drew me and my men from Seven Willows.”

“With fresh horses you should be able to catch him,” offered Conn.

“And catch him I will,” swore Fiallach. But he did not move. His pale eyes held Conn’s gaze. “Tell me there is nothing between you and Tae and I will offer you my hand in friendship.”

“I shall ask her to walk the tree with me,” said Conn. Though he disliked the man, he was saddened by the pain his words were causing. Having lost Arian, he knew what Fiallach was suffering.

“Aye, I thought it was you at the root of my trouble. You have robbed me of the one joy in my life. One day we will have a reckoning. Not today. My heart is too heavy. I will find Phaeton and bring him back for trial.”

“Just kill him,” said Conn. “I don’t want to see his face again.”

The raiders had killed thirty-one of the villagers: twenty-two men, five women, and four children. Their bodies were laid
out in a line, their faces covered by cloaks or blankets. The fire had been brought under control, mainly by the powerful rain of the night before, and people were picking their way through the scorched remains, seeking items that might have escaped the blaze.

Standing at the main gates, Conn scanned their faces. All wore the same blank, resigned expression. Raiders came, and raiders went. Life had to go on. But it would move on now heavy with sorrow. Conn saw Tae organizing people, giving orders. He moved across to her. “You should rest awhile,” he said.

“I will rest later. This is my settlement now, Connavar. I answer for it.”

“I know.” He saw her glance at the line of bodies. The first in that line, her face covered by a gold-edged cloth, was Lady Llysona. Tae swallowed hard, and for a moment he thought she would weep. Instead she strode away to a group of waiting men. “We need fresh timber,” she told them. “Oras, you organize work parties.”

“Yes, my lady.”

She turned to another man. “Garon, I want you to see that those who have lost their homes have somewhere to sleep tonight.”

“It will be as you say, lady.” He bowed and backed away.

“What can I do to help?” asked Conn.

“There is a Druid who lives in the northern hills, in a high cave close to an oak grove. Fetch him here so that we may bless our dead.”

Conn bowed and moved out toward the gates. Parax rode in, followed by several of Fiallach’s men. Conn asked one of the riders if he could borrow his mount. The man nodded absently and slid from the saddle. Then he wandered off to one of the burned-out buildings. Before he reached it, he paused before the line of bodies. He gave a great cry and ran to the
corpse of a young woman, pulling the cloak from her face and hugging the body to him.

Conn mounted his pony and gestured to Parax to follow him. The old man rode alongside, and Conn told him their mission. “Shouldn’t be hard to find,” said Parax. Then he sighed. “A black day, Connavar.”

“Aye. Yet it could have been worse.”

“What happened in the woods?”

“I found her and brought her out,” Conn answered simply.

“I think there’s more to it than that.”

“Only blood, Parax. And death. How could a cultured man like Phaeton bring such casual destruction on a people he had lived among? Did you see evil in him?”

“No. But then, who could? He was friendly and kind to us. I saw a golden goblet once that the old king bought. Beautiful thing. One day he dropped it, and it struck the edge of the table. Underneath a thin layer of gold it was lead. Almost worthless. I guess Phaeton is like that. Seems a shame. I liked him.”

“So did I.”

As they rode, they saw the Druid walking down toward them, his white robe glinting in the sunlight. He was an elderly man with long white wispy hair and a drooping mustache.

“I saw the fires,” he said. “Are there many dead?”