Winter Be My Shield (33 page)

‘And what if it's not Raiders? What then?'

Isidro scowled into the darkness. The attackers couldn't be Mesentreian. However much the king might want to punish the Wolf Clan's rebellion, he couldn't spare the men. A hard knot of unease formed in his belly. Why would Akharians come so far, so quickly? This wasn't how one conquered a country, by penetrating deep into enemy territory to attack a sleepy village and a dilapidated temple with no wealth or strategic value.

He'd felt so weak and ill he'd been happy to accept Mira's assurance the Akharian forces were still weeks away. Only Sierra had disagreed, but everyone had disregarded her concerns. Even Isidro had believed she'd exaggerated the danger, not deliberately but out of simple anxiety; it was only now that he considered what it would mean if they were wrong. If the attackers weren't simply Raiders snatching women and supplies and fleeing, then they could only be Akharian Slavers. If so, there was no defence the villagers could muster that would save them. Their best chance would be to flee into the countryside.

A woman at the edge of the crowd glanced at him as he approached, taking in his height and his build. She held two spears in one hand and clutched a wailing child to her hip with the other. Hovering behind her was a girl of about ten, pale and frightened, but with a hatchet in her hands. The woman peeled the child off her hip and passed him to the girl, then held a spear out to Isidro. ‘Here, take this,' she said. ‘You look like you know how to use it.'

Isidro held up his hand in refusal. ‘I've only got one good hand,' he said. ‘There are others who can use it better than me.'

The woman looked him up and down. ‘So
you're
the one the gossips are talking about. You don't look much like a demon to me.'

‘What's happening down there?' Isidro said, nodding to the gate. ‘Who are the attackers? What do they look like?'

‘I didn't get a good look at them,' the woman said, and for the first time her voice trembled. ‘I was hiding the little ones when I heard them coming through the door, so I grabbed the spears and slipped out the back and we ran up here. My sisters and my husbands are still down there …' She looked around with tears in her eyes, as though hoping to spot them in the crowd that was gathering around them.

‘They're wearing war-coats with the hoods pulled up,' someone in the crowd said.

‘They're speaking Mesentreian.'

‘No they're not. I know some Mesentreian and it wasn't that. Sounds a bit like it, though.'

The woman with the spear shook herself. ‘Fessa, take Benri to the hall and do what the priests tell you.'

‘Can't, Mama,' the girl said, hitching the boy up in her arms. ‘They've closed the door.'

At her words, the people nearby turned to the hall. In the commotion Isidro hadn't noticed the folk gathering on the steps and pounding on the hall's bronze-bound doors.

‘Black Sun take her!' the woman said. ‘That toothless old bitch of a priestess has locked us out!'

‘Take your children and run for the forest,' Isidro said. ‘These aren't Raiders, they're Akharians! Slavers! Run while you can.'

The woman pursed her lips and tightened her grip on the spear.

‘But we've no shelter,' someone else said. ‘No food!'

The woman took the little boy from her daughter and swung him onto her back. ‘Come with us,' she said to Isidro.

Isidro shook his head. ‘I wouldn't make it.' The world was spinning around him and more than anything else he wanted to lie down and close his eyes.

The woman looked him up and down again and nodded. ‘Spirit of Storm watch over you, then. Fessa, follow me!' Without another word she turned and strode to the far gate of the temple grounds with her daughter hurrying behind her, stretching her legs to match her mother's
stride. A few others followed her, carrying children on their backs and whatever weapons they'd snatched up. Those who chose to stay behind huddled close together in sudden shock.

‘Don't stand around like a herd of goats waiting to be slaughtered!' Isidro shouted at them. ‘Find some shelter!'

‘Head into the shrine!' Jorgen shouted. ‘Quickly, now.'

With a subdued murmur, the crowd obeyed and, with nowhere else to go, Isidro followed them.

As Jorgen guided him to the shrine the trickle of people coming in through the village-side gates suddenly swelled to a flood of bodies pushing and shoving, shouting in panic and terror. Isidro saw a flash of steel and heard a scream and then he was caught in a press of bodies. The jostling woke the fires in his arm and by the time he was able to think and see clearly again he was in the darkness of the shrine and men were heaving massive wooden bars into place across the doors. All around him people were wailing or raising their voices in prayer.

At first the temple was so dark, and those within packed so tight, he couldn't move without treading on the people huddled around him, but as people began to feel their way through the darkness the press of bodies eased a little. From outside came the sound of men shouting and the dull crunch of feet and hooves on the packed snow. A worried murmur rippled through the temple and then the crowd fell silent.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom Isidro could just see enough to pick his way towards the doors and set his eye against the door crack, granting him a narrow view of the temple grounds.

Men in white war-coats, armed with swords and shields, were roaming through the grounds. A handful of mounted men rode into view and reined in to dismount. They tossed their reins to a soldier who came hurrying over to take charge of the beasts and split into two groups as the foot soldiers converged on them. One group headed towards the Priests' Hall, the other towards the shrine.

The far group reached their destination first, arriving at the steps while the nearer one was still milling around and talking in voices too low for Isidro to make out. Beyond them he saw two figures approach the steps of the Priests' Hall while the others hung back, arranged in neat ranks with their weapons at the ready. One of the figures raised his arms and summoned a nebulous wall of blue-white light between his comrades
and the hall's massive doors. Even at this distance Isidro felt the power prickle against his skin and the warding-stone around his neck sent an icy tingle through his chest, a loathsome flicker of greasy cold that made him shudder and yank on the cord again.

Once the shield was in place the other figure stepped forward. Isidro felt power rise and the tingling of his warding-stone swelled to a stinging throb, making him curse and pull it away from his skin.

Then the mage loosed his power at the bronze-bound doors. It struck the wood with enough force to rattle the doors of the shrine and send a cascade of dust raining down from the rafters above.

In winter the sap within a tree could freeze, swelling until the pressure tore the tree apart, shreading it into splinters with a sudden percussive crack. The hall's doors made that same sound as the blast of power tore them apart and filled the doorway with fragments and rubble as it ripped away part of the wall as well. The shield deflected the splinters that were hurled towards the gathered men, and as soon as it was over, the wall of fog and light vanished. With a shout the men gathered below charged up the steps and into the hall.

In the foreground, Isidro saw the men gathered before the shrine come to some decision and turn as one towards the doors.

‘Ah, shit,' Isidro said and backed away. ‘Everyone get back! Towards the altar, as far as you can go!'

Perhaps a few others had seen what he had, watching through the cracks in the doors, because his cry was taken up by those around him as they herded the others to the rear of the hall. Outside, someone rattled the door, testing to see if it was truly barred, and the sound of it raised another shriek of terror from the people trapped within. ‘Get back, all of you!' Isidro shouted, but the folk at the rear had no idea what was going on and like baulking
yaka
stood their ground and shoved back at those who shoved them.

A sudden flood of prickling power told him the shield was in place. The swell of energy in preparation for the blast made every hair on his body stand on end and his nerves shriek in a confused flood of sensation. Then there was a rush of air and light — something hit him very hard on the back of the skull — and everything went black.

The only sound was the crunch of snow under Sierra's feet, but it seemed to her she could still hear echoes of the screams and shouts of the attack.

‘Can I help you, miss?' A pair of sentries had come from the edge of the camp to intercept her as she neared Mira's tent.

‘I need to speak to Cam,' she said. ‘It's urgent.'

‘It's the middle of the night, miss,' one of them said. ‘Perhaps it could wait until the morning?'

‘It can't,' Sierra said, fighting to maintain a civil tone. ‘Please let me through, or wake Cam and have him come out to me.'

The guards exchanged a glance. Sierra found her hands clenching into fists and made them relax. The delay didn't matter. Fires Below, the news didn't matter, not here, miles away from where they had left Isidro, thinking he would be safe. There was nothing they could do about it, but she had to tell Cam what had happened. ‘Look,' she said, ‘I need to talk to him. I'm not going to do your lady and her kin any harm —'

The tent-flap twitched aside and Ardamon looked out, frowning down his aquiline nose at her. ‘What's the matter out here?'

‘My apologies for disturbing you, sir,' one of the guards began, but Sierra interrupted him.

‘I need to talk to Cam. It's important.'

Behind him, Sierra heard Mira say, ‘Let her in, cousin.'

He considered for a moment and then stepped back, nodding a dismissal to the guards while he held the flap open for Sierra to duck through.

Inside, Cam was sitting up and scrubbing his hands through his hair, while Mira yawned sleepily with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Rhia was awake, too, as well as Mira's two servants, one of whom slipped out of her furs and went about lighting the lamps that hung from chains hooked around the tent poles.

‘What is it, Sirri?' Cam said.

‘Something's happened to Isidro,' she blurted. ‘He's hurt and confused and … I don't know what's going on, but it's bad.' Sierra felt her face growing hot. She hated it when they stared at her like this, as though she was some freak, like a two-headed kid, some accident of nature that shouldn't exist. The control she'd fought for since waking slipped and sent a nervous ripple of energy coursing over her from head to foot.

Cam stood and took her arm. ‘Here,' he said, ‘sit down. Tell me what's happened.'

‘There's been an attack on the village,' she said. ‘Isidro's been hurt. I don't know how it started — I was asleep until the flood of power woke me. I think he must have passed out for a while, but he's awake again now. He's so confused … I think he must have been hit on the head.' Sierra closed her eyes and tried to summon the last image that had come to her. ‘He's kneeling on flagstones with a lot of other men, and there are men in war-coats standing guard, and others coming and going …'

Cam fell silent, and Sierra stared at the ground, not daring to look at him. He wouldn't believe her, just as he hadn't when she had seen Rasten fighting the Akharian scouting party. Even Isidro had seen that and Cam still hadn't believed her.

‘Did you dream this?' Mira said, her voice carefully neutral.

‘No,' Sierra said. ‘I saw it — some of it — though his eyes.'

‘But —'

‘It wasn't a dream,' Sierra said. ‘If it was, I wouldn't have this power.' She held out her hands, letting her control relax, and the power burst from her skin and surrounded her hands with a flickering, dancing halo of light. ‘I thought I
was
dreaming, until the power-spike woke me,' she said to Cam. She'd scorched the tent-poles again, and the reindeer-fur lining.

Cam rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. ‘Mesentreian?' he said.

‘I don't think so,' Sierra said. ‘From what I saw they didn't look like southerners.'

‘What about Isidro? Can he tell you anything?'

Sierra shook her head. ‘His talent is weak and he's never had any training. If I had more skill I might be able to make a better connection, but …' She spread her hands and shrugged.

‘Talent?' Mira said. ‘You mean Isidro's a mage?'

‘He carries the taint,' Sierra said. ‘What did you think that means?'

‘Forgive my ignorance,' Ardamon said with a touch of sarcasm, ‘but I fail to see how this could be anything other than a bad dream. How can you possibly know what's happened dozens of miles away?'

‘Because of Kell,' Sierra said. ‘When he tortures someone, he uses a ritual to harvest the energy it produces. I was part of the ritual, too …' Sierra looked around and saw a leather instrument case near Mira's bed lying open, with the gleaming, polished wood of her setar nestled inside. ‘I'm like the sounding-box on the setar. The box captures the sound and makes it louder and more intense, you see? That's why I'm valuable to Kell — I can derive more power from the ritual than he can on his own.

‘Anyway, I was there when he tortured Isidro. It forges a connection between all who took part, including the victim. It leaves a scar of sorts that binds us all together. That's how I know he's hurt and why I can sometimes see through his eyes.'

‘The priests would have had to re-splint Isidro's arm once the swelling went down,' Rhia said. ‘Could it not be that? They might have had to straighten it again, and it would have been difficult for him — is it possible that you have misinterpreted what happened?'

‘In the middle of the night?' Sierra said. ‘Without even a dose of poppy to numb the pain?' She shook her head. ‘Cam, I wish I could tell you more …'

Cam scrubbed his hands over his face. ‘Alright. It can't be Charzic's men  — they would have torched the place and fled, not lined up prisoners. That leaves Mesentreian or Akharian.'

‘You mean you believe her?' Ardamon asked.

‘Why wouldn't I?' Cam said. ‘Sierra wouldn't lie, not about this. It's not likely to be the king's men. They were pulling out ahead of the Akharian forces heading this way, all except for the men Rasten brought to chase Sierra. It has to be Akharians.'

‘But they couldn't have come so far so quickly!' Mira said and turned to Ardamon. ‘Can we spare a couple of men to ride back and find out what's happened?'

‘No,' Ardamon said. ‘I can't allow that. If we're going to deal with Rasten we'll need every man we've got. I'm sorry, Cam, but there's nothing we can do. We need to keep our aim fixed on the stag we have, not the one we think is behind us.'

‘I agree,' Cam said. ‘There are fewer than thirty men in this escort. Whatever happened in the village, there's nothing we can do about it now.'

‘There must be some folk who escaped, whoever the attackers are,' Mira said. ‘Everyone in the Wolf Lands knows the meeting points for the second muster. Once this is settled we'll head to the nearest and wait there for my uncle and his men. There's bound to be some news by then.' She laid a hand on Cam's arm. ‘We'll get him back, Cam. On the honour of my clan, I swear it.'

Cam looked stricken and ill with shock and despair, but he nodded and stood, casting around for his coat and his boots. ‘I need some air.'

‘I'll go with you —' Mira said.

‘No. No … thank you, Mira, but I need to be alone …' He snatched up the fur and was out of the door before he'd even settled it around his shoulders.

Sierra grabbed her own fur and went after him. Outside, snow was falling and the heavy clouds overhead had turned the world around them pitch black. As the cold air hit her Sierra's power flared and covered her in a halo of blue light until she had the fur settled around her. ‘Cam!' she called. ‘Wait!'

He glanced back, his brow furrowed and his green eyes glowering in the gloom. ‘I said —'

‘Just wait!' she snapped. ‘There's something else I need to tell you.' He stopped, reluctantly, and let her catch up with him. She kept walking and drew him out beyond the circle of tents. ‘Come on,' she muttered. ‘I don't want to be overheard.'

He followed her out beyond the perimeter of the camp, where they disturbed a porcupine feeding from the branch of a yellow pine, bowed low under the weight of snow. When it chattered its teeth and turned its spines towards them, they moved away to talk rather than risk its quills.

‘What is it?' Cam asked, as he pulled his hood around his ears.

‘Rasten contacted me the other night.'

His eyes widened and he began to curse, lapsing into Mesentreian, the language of his childhood. ‘That whoreson whelp of a scabrous pig … what game is he playing? Or was he just trying to terrorise you?'

‘I thought so at first,' Sierra said. ‘I have nothing to say to him, but … he has a connection with Isidro, too. I tried to make contact with Isidro and I couldn't … but maybe Rasten can.'

Cam stared at her for a long moment. ‘May as well ask a wolf to track a lame calf,' he muttered. ‘Why didn't you tell me about Rasten sooner?'

Sierra scuffed at the snow with the toe of her boot. ‘I couldn't. You must see why.'

‘Does he know we're following him?'

‘He ought to,' Sierra said. ‘We didn't speak of it, but he's not stupid.'

Cam turned away for a moment and frowned into the swirling snow. ‘What good would it do? Even if we knew what Isidro was facing there's nothing we can do for him and the Gods only know what Rasten would want from you in return. There's nothing to gain there.' He drew a deep breath. ‘If they
are
Akharians taking slaves … well, what use is a one-armed man, especially one as sickly as Isidro? At best they might let him take his chances but they may decide he's not worth the trouble and just cut his throat. I've seen that sort of thing happen before.'

Sierra felt tears sting her eyes. Angrily, she wiped them away with the back of her hand. ‘But Isidro will see the lay of the land and he knows some Akharian. He can make himself valuable.'

‘Even if it means helping the enemy?' Cam said. ‘He's an honourable man, not some coward who will do whatever he can to save his own life.'

‘Of course not,' Sierra said. ‘But he has to know we'll come for him. Doesn't he?'

Cam shook himself. ‘You're right. Of course he knows that.' He pulled himself away from gazing into the night and fixed instead on her face. ‘But Rasten … Sirri, don't do it.'

‘I have to know,' Sierra said.

‘Even if it means giving Rasten an advantage over us?'

Sierra turned away and kicked at a clump of snow. ‘Black Sun take him! I just hate feeling so helpless. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. You're right, though. But if Isidro does die, I'm as sure as I can be that I'll know it's happened.'

He looked away. ‘That's a small mercy, I suppose.'

 

She left him brooding in the cold and returned to her tent, which was now thoroughly chilled, though the stench of singed hair still lingered. Sierra closed the flap and built up the fire, keeping her coat on until the stove was roaring again, then lay down beneath her furs with her chin resting on her hands. The night was only half gone, but she doubted
she'd be able to get to sleep again. Instead, she turned her thoughts to Isidro, hoping she'd be able to pick up even a faint impression of what he was facing.

Instead of Isidro she found another awareness waiting for her and when she turned his way he latched onto her with a grip she couldn't shake.

I thought you must be awake by now, Little Crow.

She fought instinctively and as she twisted against his grip she managed to break his hold with a burst of power that left them both gasping.

After a moment, she felt Rasten laugh. The movement of it roused pain from the wound in his back but he didn't appear to notice.
You
are
growing stronger, Little Crow.

Must you call me that
? she snapped.

Don't you like it? You thrive on battle and herald the coming of the storm … it fits you as well as a name could.

Why were you waiting for me?

I wanted to see if you knew what had happened to Balorica.

In other words, you came to gloat.

Actually, no …
he said, sounding puzzled.
I suppose I wanted to know why it was him that you chose. The prince I could understand, but why Balorica, the crippled and sickly one? Do you feel guilty for what we did to him?

I —
Sierra stopped herself before she could go on. This was unwise. Cam was right. Any information she gave to Rasten would eventually be used against her. Rasten had been her only companion for so long the line between friend and foe had been trampled to dust. If she had someone else to talk to it might be different but the only person in Mira's party who had a kind word for her was Cam, and he was risking his and Isidro's future by taking her side. At least, he
had
been risking Isidro's future. Tonight, everything had changed.
It's not that
, she told Rasten.
He's not afraid of me, and the things I can do. He doesn't condemn me for what I am.

Really?
Rasten sounded genuinely puzzled.
Even after we raped and tortured him?

Yes.

Rasten was silent for a long moment.
You do know they'll probably kill him? Even if he weren't crippled, he carries a touch of power, and it will appear all the stronger for the rituals we used. Akharians don't tolerate mage-talent among their slaves.

Sierra said nothing.

If it's any consolation, it's a cleaner death than he'd get if the king got his hands on him again. I hear the queen is eager to stage a repeat of his father's execution —

Why have the Akharians come so far east
? she broke in, changing the subject.
If they're here to take slaves and sack the harbours, they've come a cursed long way out of their way.