Forest attack scene from apostate's pilgrimage
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1
Ella sensed it a second before Nauro shouted, something off about the forest. Then resonance rang her bones like a bell and men were dropping from the trees around them. Tai rose up into the air—resonance that strong could only be his—then dropped shouting, clutching his head.
Uai—they must have taken his uai. Which meant a ninespear attack, like Odril’s.
Which meant they would take hers too, if she wasn’t quick about it.
Good thing she was a timeslip.
Ella struck and the world slowed. First things first: her lover was plummeting from the skies. She ran to where he was now drifting lazily to the earth, snow heavy against her boots, and braced herself to catch the worst of the impact, crouching under him on all fours, then pushing up as his weight began inexorably to drive her down.
How long did she have? The men—two red-haired and one light, dressed in thick furs—were close to them now, weapons out, but moving so slowly she had plenty of time to help Tai and take care of them.
If whichever one of them knew the ninespears magic didn’t take her uai first. She just had to pray Feynrick would keep them occupied, or Nauro. It wouldn’t take long to disable some regular-speed fighters, even if they had other resonances.
With Tai slowed enough to avoid breaking bones, Ella wriggled out from under him, snow caking her face. The front-runners were engaged now, Feynrick facing two red-haired men, his brawler’s buzz like a drunken hive of bees. She pulled her dagger as she ran, remembering her confrontations with the Broken. These men were still in possession of their senses, which meant they wouldn’t be nearly as powerful. Easy.
She sawed at the nearer man’s boot, a move Feynrick had taught her. Cutting the ankle tendon was a little slower, but it incapacitated them without killing them. And left them lucid for interrogation. And made sure they never attacked anyone ever again.
She got through the boot, felt the tendon give, low clang of iron on iron sounding above her, as Feynrick fought for his life. What the hell was Nauro doing? Shouldn’t he be able to stop the ninespears in their tracks?
Unless he was with them. Unless this was his plan all along.
Fear and rage pushed through the rush of battle. She looked to him, ready to make a dash, to kill the traitor at least before he did more damage. She slowed at Nauro’s face, drawn in concentration and focused off in the distance. Not the look of a man about to attack her or Tai.
Good. He knew she was a timeslip anyway, so he likely would have taken her out first if he was going to. Ella turned to the light-haired fighter, Feynrick appearing to have the other under control, and began circling to his right.
Then a hammer struck her brain and the world slurred into motion. A screaming hammer.
2
Feynrick had been having a nice fancy about Marrem when the milkweed fell over screaming. Marrie’d been cooking something on the stove—over-spiced, no doubt, and too healthy for him, but her cooking nonetheless—and somehow she’d forgotten to put her dress on, just her apron. He’d been walking up behind her, enjoying the view through the back as she worked the coals--
Then the milkweed had fallen over and he’d had to cut the fancy short to do some fighting. That was rude. Even a low-born dog-breeder’s son knew that was rude. So it hadn’t taken much to get him into a battle mood, and he’d grinned when he saw two of the piss-barkers coming for him. Yati they were, to judge by the red braids spilling from their hoods. Good. Make a decent fight of it then.
He’d barely gotten two blows in—they were decent fighters, if a little sloppy in the details—when something zipped up behind the second one and he shouted, tumbling down. That would be Miss Ella, doing her work. More worrying was that the milkweed wasn’t up yet. Feynrick had seen this before, on the way to Gendrys, and as he recalled the lad hadn’t been able to use his resonance the entire fight. Not good, if there were more of em out there.
Though what any mother-loving pack of men would be doing out here in the dead of winter he surely couldn’t tell. What had the fyelocke said—trying to steal souls? Or steal their power somehow?
Didn’t matter. What it came down to was whether his axe cut the other man down, or vice versa. And that was a game he was used to playing. Let Tai and Nauro worry about souls.
He got in a good chop to the man’s sword arm and he fell back howling, just as Miss Ella fell screaming in the snow a few yards away. Also not good—if they could take two resonances away, they could steal his too.
And that would make this a little too fair of a fight. Especially considering whoever was doing the soul-stealing was probably still back in the trees—these were just swordsmen up here.
The light-haired lout closed in. Feynrick matched him, focusing on his lost fancy, on how pissing pleasant that had been, and how rude these gentlemen
were to interrupt it. Fighting and brawling worked better for him if he was angry—always had.
Good thing so many fighters were rude.
One strike and he knocked the lad’s blade back. A second and his head was gone. Too much? Didn’t matter. Feynrick whirled, looking for more threats, but there were just Tai and Ella, writhing in the snow, the Councilate girl behind a tree, and Nauro sweating hedberries off to one side.
“There,” the strange man gasped, eyes not leaving whatever he was staring at in the distance. His hand pointed off to the right. “About thirty paces. Up a tree. Kill him.”
Ah. The rat-cocker responsible for what was happening to his friends. Feynrick grinned and nodded, loping into the trees. It wasn’t right to interrupt a man’s private fancies. Wasn’t decent.
He found a light-hair half up a tree, sweating and staring just like Nauro was. Apparently that’s what soul-stealer magic looked like. It didn’t stop an axe from sinking in the man’s chest, though. Feynrick put it in again once he fell, just to be sure, then loped back to the road.
Nauro was still sweating, but he wasn’t staring so hard any more. “Another to the right,” he said. “Maybe sixty paces. Shouldn’t be a challenge. But keep him alive. I’m going to help Tai.”
Now how had the fyelocke known he killed the first one? Feynrick shivered, pushing his mind back to his interrupted fancy. Nauro seemed pleasant enough, but Feynrick didn’t like not knowing what the man was capable of.
He ran into the trees and found the second one laying in a heap of snow under an old bristlecone. Feynrick whistled through his teeth, poking the man a few times before letting his resonance drop. Not a challenge indeed. Looked like most of the bones in his body were broken—but that wasn’t Feynrick’s concern. This was one of the rude ones, who interrupted his fancy and attacked his friends. Nauro said keep the man alive, but there were several ways to do that.
Feynrick slung him over one shoulder and headed back.
3
Tai was just sitting up, the beginnings of a pounding headache coming on, when Feynrick pushed through the trees, holding a howling man over his shoulder like a sack of wintergrass.
“This the one ye meant?” Feynrick called to Nauro, who hurried over.
Ella stirred beside him. Whatever the attackers had done, Nauro had apparently undone, and if Feynrick was acting that casually, they were likely out of danger. Though the man had a tendency to act casually in battle, too.
Ella groaned.
“Hey,” he said, reaching out a hand to her. “You okay?”
“If feeling like my head is getting run over by elk is okay, yeah, I’m great.” She took his hand. “You?”
He smiled despite the pounding. “About the same. Glad you’re okay.”
Tai struck the mindseye resonance and reached out with his mind, seeking more information on what happened. “Looks like two are still alive, one unconscious, one, well, you see him.”
Ella glanced at where Feynrick had dropped the man into the snow, to new howls. “I do. And I have a few things I’d like to ask him.”
Nauro was already standing above the man when they got there, questioning him. “Which cell? Who was your Seeker?”
The broken man made a face that might have been at attempt at defiance. “I’m the seeker, brother. And this is our cell.”
Tai concentrated on his mindsight into the man’s thoughts, trying to understand what they were talking about.
“You will not live with those wounds,” Nauro said. “Surely you know that. Even if we found our elk and loaded you on them, the nearest help is too far. I can make your last moments agony. Or I can make them painless, and try to find you a fertile host for your second life.”
The man just breathed a few moments, making a wet sucking sound.
“Now,” Nauro said. “What was your home cell? Before you got the fool notion to break away and hunt us?”
“Yatiport,” the man coughed. “Tavern of the Blushing Bitches.”
Images swam in Tai’s mind as he tried to get mindsight into their conversation. A white-washed hotel with stout wood crossbeams. Two surly men smoking dreamleaf and missing teeth. An aging woman in a freezing second-story room. A lover, dead fifteen years.
“And your seeker?”
“Harides,” the man said, a trickle of blood coming from his mouth. Tai caught a flicker of an image, but the man’s thoughts were starting to darken, as he’d seen in Odril.
“He’s dying,” Tai said, and heard a gasp from behind them. Marea?
“Yes,” Nauro said, a distant look coming into his eyes. “And I am a man of my word.” He pulled an inlaid dagger from his waist—the same Tai had seen him slit a fox’s throat with, one month and a lifetime ago.
He cut the man’s throat.
Ella sensed it a second before Nauro shouted, something off about the forest. Then resonance rang her bones like a bell and men were dropping from the trees around them. Tai rose up into the air—resonance that strong could only be his—then dropped shouting, clutching his head.
Uai—they must have taken his uai. Which meant a ninespear attack, like Odril’s.
Which meant they would take hers too, if she wasn’t quick about it.
Good thing she was a timeslip.
Ella struck and the world slowed. First things first: her lover was plummeting from the skies. She ran to where he was now drifting lazily to the earth, snow heavy against her boots, and braced herself to catch the worst of the impact, crouching under him on all fours, then pushing up as his weight began inexorably to drive her down.
How long did she have? The men—two red-haired and one light, dressed in thick furs—were close to them now, weapons out, but moving so slowly she had plenty of time to help Tai and take care of them.
If whichever one of them knew the ninespears magic didn’t take her uai first. She just had to pray Feynrick would keep them occupied, or Nauro. It wouldn’t take long to disable some regular-speed fighters, even if they had other resonances.
With Tai slowed enough to avoid breaking bones, Ella wriggled out from under him, snow caking her face. The front-runners were engaged now, Feynrick facing two red-haired men, his brawler’s buzz like a drunken hive of bees. She pulled her dagger as she ran, remembering her confrontations with the Broken. These men were still in possession of their senses, which meant they wouldn’t be nearly as powerful. Easy.
She sawed at the nearer man’s boot, a move Feynrick had taught her. Cutting the ankle tendon was a little slower, but it incapacitated them without killing them. And left them lucid for interrogation. And made sure they never attacked anyone ever again.
She got through the boot, felt the tendon give, low clang of iron on iron sounding above her, as Feynrick fought for his life. What the hell was Nauro doing? Shouldn’t he be able to stop the ninespears in their tracks?
Unless he was with them. Unless this was his plan all along.
Fear and rage pushed through the rush of battle. She looked to him, ready to make a dash, to kill the traitor at least before he did more damage. She slowed at Nauro’s face, drawn in concentration and focused off in the distance. Not the look of a man about to attack her or Tai.
Good. He knew she was a timeslip anyway, so he likely would have taken her out first if he was going to. Ella turned to the light-haired fighter, Feynrick appearing to have the other under control, and began circling to his right.
Then a hammer struck her brain and the world slurred into motion. A screaming hammer.
2
Feynrick had been having a nice fancy about Marrem when the milkweed fell over screaming. Marrie’d been cooking something on the stove—over-spiced, no doubt, and too healthy for him, but her cooking nonetheless—and somehow she’d forgotten to put her dress on, just her apron. He’d been walking up behind her, enjoying the view through the back as she worked the coals--
Then the milkweed had fallen over and he’d had to cut the fancy short to do some fighting. That was rude. Even a low-born dog-breeder’s son knew that was rude. So it hadn’t taken much to get him into a battle mood, and he’d grinned when he saw two of the piss-barkers coming for him. Yati they were, to judge by the red braids spilling from their hoods. Good. Make a decent fight of it then.
He’d barely gotten two blows in—they were decent fighters, if a little sloppy in the details—when something zipped up behind the second one and he shouted, tumbling down. That would be Miss Ella, doing her work. More worrying was that the milkweed wasn’t up yet. Feynrick had seen this before, on the way to Gendrys, and as he recalled the lad hadn’t been able to use his resonance the entire fight. Not good, if there were more of em out there.
Though what any mother-loving pack of men would be doing out here in the dead of winter he surely couldn’t tell. What had the fyelocke said—trying to steal souls? Or steal their power somehow?
Didn’t matter. What it came down to was whether his axe cut the other man down, or vice versa. And that was a game he was used to playing. Let Tai and Nauro worry about souls.
He got in a good chop to the man’s sword arm and he fell back howling, just as Miss Ella fell screaming in the snow a few yards away. Also not good—if they could take two resonances away, they could steal his too.
And that would make this a little too fair of a fight. Especially considering whoever was doing the soul-stealing was probably still back in the trees—these were just swordsmen up here.
The light-haired lout closed in. Feynrick matched him, focusing on his lost fancy, on how pissing pleasant that had been, and how rude these gentlemen
were to interrupt it. Fighting and brawling worked better for him if he was angry—always had.
Good thing so many fighters were rude.
One strike and he knocked the lad’s blade back. A second and his head was gone. Too much? Didn’t matter. Feynrick whirled, looking for more threats, but there were just Tai and Ella, writhing in the snow, the Councilate girl behind a tree, and Nauro sweating hedberries off to one side.
“There,” the strange man gasped, eyes not leaving whatever he was staring at in the distance. His hand pointed off to the right. “About thirty paces. Up a tree. Kill him.”
Ah. The rat-cocker responsible for what was happening to his friends. Feynrick grinned and nodded, loping into the trees. It wasn’t right to interrupt a man’s private fancies. Wasn’t decent.
He found a light-hair half up a tree, sweating and staring just like Nauro was. Apparently that’s what soul-stealer magic looked like. It didn’t stop an axe from sinking in the man’s chest, though. Feynrick put it in again once he fell, just to be sure, then loped back to the road.
Nauro was still sweating, but he wasn’t staring so hard any more. “Another to the right,” he said. “Maybe sixty paces. Shouldn’t be a challenge. But keep him alive. I’m going to help Tai.”
Now how had the fyelocke known he killed the first one? Feynrick shivered, pushing his mind back to his interrupted fancy. Nauro seemed pleasant enough, but Feynrick didn’t like not knowing what the man was capable of.
He ran into the trees and found the second one laying in a heap of snow under an old bristlecone. Feynrick whistled through his teeth, poking the man a few times before letting his resonance drop. Not a challenge indeed. Looked like most of the bones in his body were broken—but that wasn’t Feynrick’s concern. This was one of the rude ones, who interrupted his fancy and attacked his friends. Nauro said keep the man alive, but there were several ways to do that.
Feynrick slung him over one shoulder and headed back.
3
Tai was just sitting up, the beginnings of a pounding headache coming on, when Feynrick pushed through the trees, holding a howling man over his shoulder like a sack of wintergrass.
“This the one ye meant?” Feynrick called to Nauro, who hurried over.
Ella stirred beside him. Whatever the attackers had done, Nauro had apparently undone, and if Feynrick was acting that casually, they were likely out of danger. Though the man had a tendency to act casually in battle, too.
Ella groaned.
“Hey,” he said, reaching out a hand to her. “You okay?”
“If feeling like my head is getting run over by elk is okay, yeah, I’m great.” She took his hand. “You?”
He smiled despite the pounding. “About the same. Glad you’re okay.”
Tai struck the mindseye resonance and reached out with his mind, seeking more information on what happened. “Looks like two are still alive, one unconscious, one, well, you see him.”
Ella glanced at where Feynrick had dropped the man into the snow, to new howls. “I do. And I have a few things I’d like to ask him.”
Nauro was already standing above the man when they got there, questioning him. “Which cell? Who was your Seeker?”
The broken man made a face that might have been at attempt at defiance. “I’m the seeker, brother. And this is our cell.”
Tai concentrated on his mindsight into the man’s thoughts, trying to understand what they were talking about.
“You will not live with those wounds,” Nauro said. “Surely you know that. Even if we found our elk and loaded you on them, the nearest help is too far. I can make your last moments agony. Or I can make them painless, and try to find you a fertile host for your second life.”
The man just breathed a few moments, making a wet sucking sound.
“Now,” Nauro said. “What was your home cell? Before you got the fool notion to break away and hunt us?”
“Yatiport,” the man coughed. “Tavern of the Blushing Bitches.”
Images swam in Tai’s mind as he tried to get mindsight into their conversation. A white-washed hotel with stout wood crossbeams. Two surly men smoking dreamleaf and missing teeth. An aging woman in a freezing second-story room. A lover, dead fifteen years.
“And your seeker?”
“Harides,” the man said, a trickle of blood coming from his mouth. Tai caught a flicker of an image, but the man’s thoughts were starting to darken, as he’d seen in Odril.
“He’s dying,” Tai said, and heard a gasp from behind them. Marea?
“Yes,” Nauro said, a distant look coming into his eyes. “And I am a man of my word.” He pulled an inlaid dagger from his waist—the same Tai had seen him slit a fox’s throat with, one month and a lifetime ago.
He cut the man’s throat.