The Sheening Of The Blades (Book 1) (29 page)

Ari hadn
’t seen how many were behind, but there had to be almost two dozen waiting for them ahead.  Panic raced through him, pushing a faint, frenzied despair out of the way.  Now, now when neither Banion nor Kai was with them!

Then they were joined and there was no time for thought. 
If he and Loren had had the skill, they could have used the advantage of being on horseback…but, alas.  Ari parried a blade, driven as much by instinct as conscious thought, thrust, swiped, parried again, whirled the brown instinctively with his knees.  It was probably fortunate that he was too busy and too caught up in the desperation of the moment to realize he was many times outnumbered; in fact, were it not for the fact that only so many bodies could get next to him at a time, the bladeplay would probably have already ended.  This all occurred to him later, but at the time other things had his attention.  With the sharpness of coursing adrenaline, he was aware of Melkin, already with several men down, his bloodied longsword flashing in the light as he fought with silent efficiency.  Behind him, Cerise was incredibly managing to hang on to both horse and bow, but not accomplish much else. Fortunately, though she had yet to nock one of those slender golden arrows, Tekkara was such a squealing, overwrought whirlwind of hooves and teeth, the brigands were keeping a respectful distance around her anyway.

Then Rodge
yelled, and Ari’s glance flew to him—to realize in horror that he’d been pulled off his horse.  Cold fear and desperation seized Ari in a vice.  With a lunge, he knocked aside a blade, driving his own more by luck than skill into a chest.  Pushing the brown past the man, he made it to the melee around Rodge, who was flailing on the ground under three or four of the bandits—fortunately all in each other’s way. 

His blade bit deep into a neck and blood spurted, obscenely satisfying.  Bending low, trying to keep the brown moving so his back was protected, he went after the next one.  Rodge was punching and kicking under the press with voluble vengeance—surely nothing that energetic could be too seriously hurt.  Ari didn’t even know he
knew
those swearwords. An unprotected underarm fell to Ari’s swipe, and then he felt hands latch onto him and start dragging him off his horse.

He reared up to bring his sword down in a great overhead swing, shocked to see a crowd of men close around him, when an arrow shot right over his lap.  It landed, audibly, in his
present attacker’s neck and they both paused, staring at each other in surprise, Ari’s sword stopped over his head.  The arrow was no delicate thing of golden oak, he noticed in adrenaline-induced detachment—it was a short, sturdy war arrow, with red and white fletching.  And along its shaft nestled the snow and scarlet chevrons of the Empire.

The man holding it in his larynx began to gasp for air,
releasing Ari and scrabbling at his throat as he fell back into the press of men.  Quickly, Ari parried the sword stroke that took his place, then, his reflexes sharpened by the close wrestling-style swordwork of the Merranics, twisted his blade around to strike deep at the man’s unprotected chest.  The brigand screamed, and Ari found to his horror that his steel had wedged itself into a rib.  Panicked as another sword came rushing towards him, he frantically freed a foot from its stirrup and kicked the new attacker away, the man’s blade skirling erratically in the air and lancing his gelding’s shoulder.  The brown neighed and jerked away, squealing in pain and protest and freeing Ari’s sword, but not before he’d seen another arrow blossom in that man’s chest as well.  Another, then another arrow appeared, and before Ari knew it, the press was over, and he was guiding the brown in agitated circles to face enemies either already down or hobbling into the trees.

Panting, soaked in sweat, blood pounding in his ears, he swung his head around, scarcely daring to believe that they
’d all made it.  There was Melkin, bleeding but alive and furious.  Loren, looking around wildly while trying to staunch the blood from his chestnut’s back.    Cerise, shaky and wide-eyed, dismounting a still-skittish Tekkara—there wasn’t a scratch on her and a wave of relief that left him weak washed over him.  He’d never been more grateful for that idiot mare.

Rodge stood
in the middle of the trail with his thin chest heaving, black hair sticking straight up, a sword in his hand.  He was holding it like a torch, true, but he looked crazed enough to use it.  Melkin was walking his horse back to him—Radish was possibly the most excited he’d ever been in his life.  Blood from steelbite was soaking the Master’s breeches where his arm rested on his lap, and he had a long gash where a blade had licked at his face and neck.  But his voice was brisk and healthy enough when he rasped out:

“
We owe you our lives, Sergeant.”

Everyone except Rodge, still
searching for enemies, turned to look in the direction of his gaze.  The source of those wondrous, miraculous, timely arrows stood there calmly, drawing one out of a corpse and cleaning its steel head.  He was neat enough, but obviously living in the wild, his leather breeches travel-stained and worn, the white blouse tea-colored from sweat and dirt and staining.  Around his neck hung the limp, soiled scarlet rag that would double as kerchief or headband, and across his chest, faded red and white chevrons decorated his quiver strap.  An Imperial Border Patrolman.

“
My pleasure.”  His neat, rusty beard split in a courteous smile.  “I’ve been tracking this party for four days now—I would have arrested them long ago if I’d known they were up to this sort of mischief.”

“
Your delay almost cost us our lives!” Cerise snapped at him in sudden frightened fury.  “Anyone can see they were rough, base men, up to no good.”

“
It is no crime to live rough, my Lady,” he answered, with a little self-mocking bow.  “I could hardly arrest them just for traveling without bathing.”  He didn’t seem intimidated by her at all.  In fact, his whole manner was charmingly un-Northern. 

“
Quiet, Cerise,” Melkin growled irritably.  The Borderman, spying his wounded arm, moved quickly forward.

“
Let me have a look at that,” he murmured.  As Melkin dismounted and the man began to inspect his forearm, the Master said brusquely, “I can tend to this.  You should be going after those survivors.”

“
They’re no woodsmen,” the man assured him in that low, steady voice.

“
You said you’ve been tracking them,” Melkin asked, possibly to get his mind off the wound the man was beginning to probe and clean with water from one of the waterskins.  “Where from?”

“
South,” he said absently.  “They appear to be White Asp mercenaries.”

Everyone went still.

“Blood and fire,” Melkin swore in a dead voice.

Cold fingers seemed to grope
Ari’s insides.  Mercs.  The same ones that Kai had found in their room months ago.  He looked helplessly at Melkin, who had a black scowl.  And this was ambush number two.

“
Why would they be interested in you?” the Borderman asked casually.  He looked up, right into Melkin’s eyes, and Ari felt an immediate surge of secrecy.  This was an Imperial Policeman, after all.

“
Probably figured if we were coming from Crossing with all of its goings on, we had something of value with us,” Melkin shrugged.  “It may have been just bad timing.”

“
Maybe,” the man allowed noncommittally, still with that probing look.  Finally, he turned back to the arm, taking one of Melkin’s clean shirts and tearing it up into a bandage.

Where are you all headed?
” he asked conversationally.  “Norvonton-on-Daroe, a town about half the size of its name, is the last village on the Southern Way, and it’s about three hours behind you.”  He grinned disarmingly.  He’d be an easy fellow to chat with, if one had no secrets that might be difficult for a representative of the law to understand.

“
To the Emerald Pass,” Melkin said shortly, wisely keeping it as brief and close to the truth as possible.  He cued Cerise with a look.

“
We’re on Queen’s business,” she said, prompt and rather frosty.

He looked up at her, her fine traveling splitskirt, the aristocratic features,
the arrogance that comes from certain people of authority.  “Ah.  I should have realized, my Lady,” he said, slipping in a mollifying compliment.

He caught sight of Rodge
and paused, a glimmer of a smile tugging at his face.

“
Uh,” Loren said, moving towards his friend.  Rodge was still quite vigilant, eyes huge and wild, staring into the trees with the sword held aloft.  “Here, put it down, Rodge, just give it to me, easy—EASY—that’s it.  It’s all over.”

“
Monsters,” Rodge breathed, a little insanely.  “Why is everyone trying to
kill us
?!”  The Borderman raised an eyebrow.  Loren, far more used to keeping secrets secret, tried to cover this potentially revealing statement with an ingratiating grin at the Borderman.

“
He’s a physics major,” he explained.

The
Patrolman blinked.  There was a second’s silence before he said smoothly, “Yes.  Well.  Jagstag is still a good two days’ long journey, so I’ll let you get back on the road.  There’ll be a healer at the Pass that can see to that arm.”  He rose from Melkin’s side, brushing aside the various murmurs of thanks, but froze before he’d even taken a step.  His eyes wandered intently over the bodies lying around, and he very slowly walked over to one, pulling a gory arrow from its chest.

Melkin, watching him closely, said,
“What is it?”

“
I didn’t kill that man,” he said softly.  “That one either.”

“
They’re your arrows,” Cerise pointed out caustically.  It was hard to mistake them for anyone else’s, their being so nicely marked and all.

“
Yes…and I didn’t shoot them…”

“
Well, the day’s full of mysteries,” Melkin said briskly, hurriedly motioning everyone to mount up.  The last thing they needed was to get embroiled in an Imperial investigation.  Not even a Letter of Marque would help them escape that noose.

The Borderman let them go, and they rode off with a good deal of glancing around into the heavy trees, suddenly more ominous for
what they concealed than welcome for their coolness.  He was still standing in the trail, face thoughtful, when Ari glanced back.

As soon as they were out of sight, the group bunched up around Melkin.  He didn
’t slow, was pushing the roan, even.

“
What do they want with me?” Ari demanded in frustration.

“
You?” Cerise asked shortly.  “What makes you think they’re after you?”  Loren looked at him curiously, eyes still red-rimmed from the recent excitement.

“
Monsters,” Rodge hissed from his fat pony.  Loren patted his shoulder soothingly.  “You did really good, Rodge.  REALLY well.”

“
I’m not sure they were after you,” Melkin agreed.  His eyes were piercing the trail ahead, roving intently and with renewed purpose.  “Perhaps, just maybe, someone doesn’t want us to find this statue.”

They had the whole day ahead of them, and they rode it like the Enemy itself was behind them.

Sable moved busily through the royal apartments at the Northern Compass.  The Kingsmeet had finally come to an end this morning; she’d wished several times she could have ducked out with Melkin.  Absolutely nothing worthwhile had come up since he’d left, the talk stagnating into plans for troops and strategies to meet a whole host of imaginary Enemy movements.

“
I won’t need that, Evara,” she said firmly to a maid packing her two-inch thick greatcloak.  Imperials from the north were genetically incapable of traveling anywhere without warm clothes—just in case.

“
Your Majesty,” the maid said, appalled.  “What if there’s a cold spell?”

“
We’re going to the
Sheel
.  Send it back.”

Headed to the room she was using for audience, she
didn’t even slow.  Her dress, deep purple linen with bits of the same-colored silk floating from the shoulders, was the lightest thing she owned, and she was still sticky with the heat.  It wasn’t even noon yet.  But her face was pink with happiness that had nothing to do with the temperature.  She’d said goodbye to her parents this morning—she was so close to home, they’d come to see her—and their warm love and praise had made her glow.  And then…

Kyr had issued his invitation.  He
’d noticed her puzzlement, her unfamiliarity with much of what was being discussed in the Kingsmeet, and having noticed her eyes on him on a fairly regular basis, had misread it as a plea for help.  So, he’d invited her on a state visit to the Ramparts.  It would give her almost invaluable insight into this Enemy she knew so little about, was his argument, staring earnestly down into her face, into blue eyes made almost lavender by the purple gown…

Channing rose from the couch as she entered, and she wiped the pleasure from her face
without much difficulty.  He still looked at her with disapproval—he was much bolder about chastising her for her perceived youth and frivolity than the previous Prime—and the ’Meet had soured what was not a strong relationship to begin with.