Fire of the Forebears, page 6
Shouts carried from beyond the compound walls—men’s voices, many in number. The walls shuddered as something crashed against the gates. Kura studied the latch and had to consciously keep herself from squeezing Elli’s hand. How long could that hold?
She turned to her father. “Archers along the wall—”
“Keep moving!” he called, far too distracted to even notice that Kura had spoken.
The few families gathered around the tunnel entrance pushed and jostled themselves to the front of the line, and just that easily, panic and anger merged. Spiridon held his family back from the commotion and ushered the others forward. “Go on!”
Again, the soldiers crashed against the gate, but the walls still held. Kura stood with her teeth clenched, her fist repeatedly closing around her sword hilt. We should be doing something!
One soldier’s voice rose above the rest. “…have been found guilty of treason, of aiding in rebellion and supporting acts of sedition against His Majesty King Dradge…”
Aiding in rebellion… Kura’s stomach lurched. Thoughts tumbled through her mind, but they stopped short of her tongue as she turned to her father in horror.
“Go!” Spiridon motioned toward the tunnel entrance as the last of the other families made their way below.
But, but…
“Help Mother with Rowley,” Faron said to his father. “Kura and I can take up the rear.”
Spiridon took both Jisela’s hands to lower her into the tunnel, but Kura couldn’t move.
Gods, it was me! How—how did they find out?
Elli pulled on her arm. “Kura, come on!”
Numb, Kura helped her little sister into the tunnel, but she had to steal one last glance over the compound before she followed. It was in disarray, mundane tasks left half-done, without a living soul to be seen. A ghost town, which moments ago had been teaming with life.
Tearing herself away, Kura leapt into the tunnel, then pulled the trapdoor shut. Muffled voices carried in the clammy darkness and she pressed after them, crawling on her stomach toward the dim sunlight on the other side.
“Hey!” She grimaced as someone—probably Faron—shoved their muddy boot in her face. She smacked the foot out of her way. “Watch it!”
Someone shouted something at the end of the tunnel. Steel clashed with steel. Jisela screamed, then the door slammed shut, leaving Kura in total darkness.
“What’s happening?” Faron called out. Elli began to cry.
“Let me through.” Kura pushed her way past her siblings to the front of the tunnel, her hands shaking. “Father? Mother?”
There was no reply.
Kura felt along the dirt walls until her hands brushed against the wooden trapdoor above her. Carefully, she lifted it a few fingerbreadths.
A horse’s hoof crashed to the ground before her face, making her flinch. Soldiers, some on horseback, some on foot, swarmed in the forest, rounding up whomever they could catch. Her mother had fallen to her knees a few strides from the tunnel; she cradled Rowley in her arms as a soldier pointed a sword at the back of her neck.
“Please, leave us alone, we’ve done nothing!”
At her mother’s side, a second soldier drove a knee into her father’s back to pin him face-down in the leaves.
Rage surged in Kura’s chest, and she reached for her sword.
“What’s going on?” The slit of light from the open trapdoor fell across Faron’s face, illuminating his eyes. He was afraid.
Kura opened her mouth to explain, but she didn’t know what she should say.
“Where are they coming from?” one of the soldiers called out.
“I don’t know,” a second said as he secured the knot on the rope binding Spiridon’s hands behind his back.
Spiridon shook himself from the soldier’s grip and dashed awkwardly into the forest, away from the trapdoor. “Run!” The second soldier kicked him in the back, knocking him to the ground before he could get far. Grunting, he pushed himself up to keep shouting at nothing in the empty forest. “Run, all of you!”
“Try that way,” the second soldier said, pointing over Spiridon’s shoulder in the direction he’d yelled.
Tears welled up in Kura’s eyes, and she let the trapdoor fall shut before Faron and Elli saw her cry. “Follow me.”
Silently, the three of them made their way back through the tunnel, Kura pushing her way past them again to take the lead. What had seemed like such a long journey moments ago now passed in an instant. Kura threw back the trapdoor and climbed out of the tunnel.
“Come on.” She offered her hand first to Elli, then to Faron to haul them out of the tunnel.
“We…” Elli took a breath. “We left Mother and Father and Rowley.”
“I know.” The words caught in Kura’s throat, but she didn’t know what else to say. Father, I’ve done what you told me.
A crash sounded at the gate, followed by creaking wood.
“Back to the house!” Kura pointed across the courtyard to their empty cabin. “Hide in the loft and wait for me.”
Elli immediately jogged toward the cabin, and Faron took a step after her, but when Kura didn’t follow he stopped. “What about you?”
“Just… wait for me.”
Faron stared at her, and Kura was certain he was going to argue. Another crash came from the gate, making both of them jump.
“Come on!” Elli grabbed Faron by the hand and pulled him toward the house.
Faron held his ground for a moment, then slipped his bow and quiver from his shoulder and tossed it to Kura. “Here.”
Kura caught it, then met his gaze. Faron only nodded, and somehow that said enough. She yanked the bow—already strung—from the quiver, hooked the quiver onto her belt, then took off toward the walls.
Some large object smashed against the gate, splintering the wood and knocking the posts out of their bases. The soldiers had yet to break through, but their dark figures flickered in the sunlight beyond the crumbling slats. Kura pulled several arrows from the quiver and placed them in her bow hand, then scaled the wall.
Flinging her leg over the wall to maintain balance, she nocked an arrow and pulled the string back to her cheek. Several soldiers hoisted the fallen log they were using as a battering ram. She targeted the nearest man and loosed her arrow.
The man cried out as it pierced his neck, and with startled shouts the other soldiers forgot the battering ram. Heart pounding but breath steady, Kura loosed the remaining arrows in her hand. One shot through a man’s arm—he screamed and dropped his sword. Another ricocheted off a man’s chestplate. Another sank into a shoulder, another a thigh.
“There, on the wall!” One of the soldiers raised a crossbow.
Kura flung her leg back over the wall and let herself drop as the bolt thudded into the wood where she had been sitting. She slid down the inside of the wall, then hit the ground hard. The shouts on the opposite side of the wall shifted from surprise to anger.
“Get this gate down!”
Kura snatched up the remaining arrows in her quiver; there were only three. She nocked one on the string as she pressed her back against the wall, taking deep, intentional breaths to calm her nerves as she waited for the first man to come through the gate.
One more hit from the battering ram, and the splintered wood gave way. Shattered logs fell to the ground, only to be crushed by the fallen tree and then trampled underfoot as the first of the soldiers charged into the compound.
Kura waited until she could see each man’s neck—the weak point in their armor, between their chestplate and helmet—before she loosed her arrows. Her first shot sank fletching-deep into the man’s throat and he stumbled, giving a garbled cry as he clutched at his bleeding wound. The next two men pressed forward, unfazed. Kura’s hands shook, and her last two shots ricocheted off their metal armor.
With a grunt, she tossed the bow and quiver aside and fell back against the wall, drawing her sword. The wreckage of the gate secluded her for only a moment longer. One soldier stepped beyond the splintered wood and Kura leapt forward, thrusting her sword below and past his chestplate before he brought his weapon in to guard. Her blade sank into his gut until it reached bone, and she found her eyes locked with his.
They were earnest eyes, innocently questioning why, as she pulled her blade from his stomach.
He crumpled into a heap at Kura’s feet and all she could do was stare at him, her thoughts silenced by a multitude of questions. Silver flashed in the corner of her eye and then he was gone—the man’s face, the questions, all of it—and she spun around, blocking the next soldier’s strike. They exchanged blows, parrying back and forth in short, quick hits as Kura forced him back through the gaping opening in the wall.
The soldier caught his foot on the discarded battering ram and fell. Kura lunged, intending to drive her blade through his throat, but the man rolled to the side, smacking her sword away with his metal vambrace. He scrambled to his feet, snatching up his fallen weapon, and thrust it at her chest. She jumped to the side, swinging her own blade through the man’s wrist.
The soldier let out an agonized cry as his fist—still clutching his hilt—fell to the ground.
“Hey!”
Kura froze. She’d ventured past the relative safety of the wall—the fields lay beyond, teeming with soldiers. Two riders cantered toward her, rallying more men to their call. The first, a young man with black hair, sat tall in the saddle of a mare that might as well have belonged to the King of Avaron himself, while the second raised a crossbow.
Kura sheathed her sword and bolted.
She knew it was foolish the moment she took the first step, but she wouldn’t lead them back to Faron and Elli, and she couldn’t just stay standing. Horses’ hooves pounded behind her and she cringed when the crossbow snapped, sending a bolt over her shoulder, but she didn’t stop. She might lose them in the trees.
Branches whipped against her cheeks and briars snagged and tore at her trousers, but Kura kept to the underbrush as she charged downhill. It was a path those horses couldn’t easily follow. The trees passed by her in a blur; she focused on the bright patch of open sunlight beyond the boughs as she chased the gurgling of the Everard River. The horses would probably spook here by the ravine, then she could circle back—
She screamed as a crossbow bolt tore through her shoulder. The force threw her forward, and she stumbled to her hands and knees in the leaves beside the cliff. Her breath came in gasps as her own panicked heartbeats pounded in her ears, but the searing pain made it impossible to think. The soldiers stood high on the ridge above her. The dark-haired one said something—she couldn’t hear him over the pain—and nudged his grey mare forward as the other soldier reloaded his crossbow.
Fighting back tears, Kura grasped her bleeding shoulder. She couldn’t run any longer, she couldn’t fight; there were soldiers before her and the ravine behind. The soldiers promised death, but the steep slope to the river below offered a chance at escape.
With a shriek through gritted teeth, she pushed herself over the edge.
Sharp rocks and sticks jabbed into her back and sides and Kura clenched her jaw, holding back another scream, as the world around her flashed between warm sunlight and cool shadows. She tumbled farther and farther into the ravine as the soldiers shouted from somewhere above.
Finally, it came to a stop.
The first thing she noticed was that pounding of her own pulse in her ears. She tried to sit up, grimacing as the effort jarred her injured shoulder and aggravated her bruised back and limbs. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the shadows, but with a strange sense of relief she found herself on her back in the bottom of the Everard Ravine.
“Hello?” The man’s voice came from above and echoed in the ravine.
Kura scooted back against the cliff, biting down on her own cloak to distract herself from the pain that shot through her each time she moved.
“Hello?” The voice came again, dismissive this time.
Shadowy figures shifted against the opposite side of the ravine. They muttered to one another in low voices, and one knelt down as though he intended to follow her into the ravine. Then, one at a time, the shadows disappeared.
Kura breathed a sigh of relief and let her head fall back against the rocky cliffside. That relief didn’t last long. With a groan, she forced herself to sit up, whimpering as she pressed a hand against her shoulder.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
She grasped at the side of the cliff, but her left arm was too weak to move, and the wet, pebble-strewn dirt slipped between her fingers.
A stick cracked and she spun around, heart pounding, and peered into the shadows. More than a stone’s throw separated her from the other side, and the Everard River churned through the center. Nothing grew in the cold shadows; only a few tufts of grass and an old, scraggly tree filled the space between her and the river. She waited, trying to quiet her gasps for breath, to hear what had made the sound.
Nothing moved, and there came no sound but the river.
She sighed, then winced as even that movement jostled the arrow. Her gambeson must have blunted some of the blow, but it hadn’t been enough—fletching stuck out of her shoulder blade, while the steel point protruded through her chest. She jerked her hand away, her own blood drying on her fingertips.
Don’t pull it out. She had to repeat that to herself as she fought the urge to do it anyway. Her mother had taught her enough to know it would be better left in place until… until what? She had no guarantee anyone would come for her. Not now, and especially not here.
She gritted her teeth and with slow, deliberate motions pulled her dagger from its sheath on her belt to cut a few strips of cloth from her cloak. As gently as she could manage, she wrapped the makeshift bandages around her wounds.
An owl’s screech drew her attention to the other side of the ravine—the opposite edge of the Everard, from which no man had ever returned. She shuddered, studying the shadowy figures of trees that populated that forbidden ridge. She would be safe enough here, right? After all, she hadn’t crossed the ravine. She’d only rest a minute. Just until she was sure the soldiers had cleared out.
Yet unease settled in her gut as she placed her hand on the hilt of her sword. How would she climb to the top of the ravine with one good arm?
Kura clenched her fists. She’d figure something out. She always did.
Chapter seven
Six
Triston grimaced as he wound a bandage over the gash on his arm. Briar bushes—the entire forest was filled with them. The cut wasn’t too deep, but somehow those damn thorns had made it through his chain mail and quilted gambeson.
He sighed and scanned the campground with a frown. He, Seren, and the rest of the company had finally been able to provide medical attention to the injured men and secure the group of prisoners.
Six. That was the number of holes they’d dug—the number of bodies they’d leave behind in this wasteland, the number of families that would spend the next week mourning when they returned home. And that one cast-out had killed all of them. Seren wasn’t pleased about leaving someone unaccounted for, but Triston was almost glad she’d fallen in that ravine.
This miserable place could have her.
He and his company were lucky to have found this clearing in the dense forest in which to cram their rows of white tents. The prisoners had to spend the night among the trees at the edge of camp.
“Well, what is it we have here?”
Triston dropped his bandages in surprise and scrambled to his feet. The red sunset cast long shadows through the trees, and it took him a moment to place the voice. He was looking for a man, but out of the forest slunk a large cat.
The animal met his gaze with a snarl—or maybe it was supposed to be a grin. “Where did you all come from?”
Triston stepped back, placing his tent between himself and the cat as he drew his sword. “That’s far enough.”
The cat laughed as it sauntered along the edge of the clearing. “You’re awfully bold to try giving me commands, two-foot.”
Triston followed the animal’s movements with the point of his sword. The last time he’d seen a nostkynna, he’d been maybe ten years old, and it had been part of a performer’s troop. “Are you traveling through? You should know this area isn’t safe.”
The cat stopped, its yellow eyes locking with Triston’s. “Isn’t safe?” Lazily, it sat down, its thin tail curling around its legs as it let out a yowling laugh. “Of course it isn’t safe!”
Triston adjusted his grip on his sword.
The cat slowly licked its lips. “Still, you silver-chests have been far more agreeable than the squatters. How long are you staying this time?”
“We’re—we’re not staying.”
The cat’s ear twitched it and rose up on all fours. “I thought as much.” There were markings on the animal’s flank—maybe an old wound, but while the cuts must have been deep, the scar seemed intentional, as it roughly formed a tree. “I shall find my supper elsewhere tonight. And I will tell the rest to do the same, as long as you swear to take the squatters with you and be gone by morning.”
Triston nodded. He wasn’t sure if he should agree to anything, but he already had every intention of striking out for Avtalyon by the time the sun rose, anyway.
The cat flashed him a grin before it leapt into the forest and disappeared among the autumn leaves, as silently and as suddenly as it had come.
Triston lowered his sword. He’d heard tales of the Wynshire Waste—everyone had; the stories traveled quickly after dinner when the beer had been served—but he had never really believed them. Who would believe them? The beasts became larger and more fantastical with every rendition.
