Page 11 of Fate’s Bane

T HE R AID

We walked back toward the Aradoc hamlet hand in hand, drunk on pleasure, weaving crooked through the wet grass.

The bonfire had dimmed, no longer a beacon in the night, but the shouting had not faded with it; instead of one single point of light, there were many, erratic and flickering, and the cadence of the cries was wrong.

“Agnir, what’s happening?” The bleariness vanished from Hadhnri’s voice.

I had never heard brave Hadhnri afraid before.

She began to run, my stubborn Hadhnri, even as my steps faltered.

My body remembered the feel of this moment in a way that my mind could not. I felt the heat of fire licking red-tongued against the black night, smoke choking out the moon, and my father screaming to rally the clan—

“Raid!” Pedhri Clan Aradoc bellowed. He stood outlined against the doorway of the roundhouse, his hips girded in a woven blanket and a sword in his hand. Gunni burst into the night just behind him, dressed in the same fashion, his chest pale and hairless compared to his father’s.

Hadhnri pulled up sharp, clutching me close behind her. I thought he would pass us by, but our motion snagged his attention and he slowed. He pointed his bare blade at me.

“Is this your doing, Agnir Ward-Aradoc?”

“No, Father!” Hadhnri cried, placing herself between me and the sword.

“Then explain why Clan Fein has come on the night of your brother’s wedding!”

The answer was simple, though fear clamped my throat shut so the words couldn’t slide from my mouth.

All the clans celebrated their weddings on Ha’nights.

Things in common, the rituals of Ha’night and Sunstead.

Our shared blood, our shared history, our shared customs. It was not hard to know when and where to plunge the knife.

In his anger, he wouldn’t see that. I remembered knuckles like rocks against my jaw. I could form no words, my mouth dry and open with the deer’s terror, waiting to be spitted through. Hadhnri held my hand, and even she could not hide her fear.

Later. Later, we both knew, our reckoning would come. But for now, he turned to rally the clan, and the rest took up the cry.

“Raid! Raid!”

While Hadhnri sighed in relief, a light of eagerness in her eye, I stood paralyzed. Hadhnri took both my hands in hers. “This is not your trueborn home, Agnir Clan Fein, but will you not defend us?”

Will you not defend me, she was asking.

Trembling, I stared at the bracers Hadhnri had given me, remembering her promise.

All about us, people were yet shadows, lit against flames as red as memory, and they burned just as bright when I closed my eyes.

The enemy howled wolf-sharp to the sliver of the moon as they ran through the hamlet.

Gone were the shrill pipes and the wedding drums. The new rhythm of the night was fear and fury.

I thought first of the Queen-Beyond-the-Fens.

It had been some time since I saw the men she chose to speak for her, and perhaps she was no longer satisfied sending representatives who returned only with leather pouches and wagons of fuel.

Perhaps those were not wergild enough for a murdered man. Perhaps she wanted more.

Then some of the howling resolved itself into words, human speech as raucous as any animal call, and I understood Aradoc-Father’s words to me.

“For Clan Fein! For Clan Fein!”

It was like falling through ice. My hands trembled. This was not right. I was made Clan Aradoc’s ward so that this could not happen . And since it had happened—what would happen to me, now?

Hadhnri looked at me with wide eyes, thinking the same.

Before we could think of a plan, before I could say This is not my fault , a man I did not know, who stood as tall and broad as Pedhri Clan Aradoc, marched up to us.

Hadhnri placed herself in front of me again.

I recalled the oath she made to me in the spring, to protect me, to protect her clan.

The bracers. I gripped tight her shoulder, her tunic rough beneath my fingers, so unlike the skin beneath that I had finally traced with my tongue.

“Slave!” The man’s face was hidden in shadow and beard, the heaviness of his brow and cheekbone only emphasized by the fire of the torches. Clan Fein’s black triangle was tattooed below his right eye. “What is your clan?”

“She is the ward of Pedhri Clan Aradoc, and you will not have her!”

Brave Hadhnri, foolish Hadhnri. She could have been the spit of Bannos the Bold as she wedged herself farther between me and the stranger. His sword gleamed dully in the firelight, though, and it would part her flesh, so butter-soft. I tightened my hand on her shoulder and pulled her back.

“I am Agnir Clan Fein, First-Born Garadin Clan Fein.”

The stranger bowed, hand over eye—a salute. “You will come with me, First-Born Garadin Clan Fein.”

I did not go. I did not move, legs mired in the bog of my own shock and confusion. I barely breathed.

“You will not have her!” This time, Hadhnri stepped in front of me with her blade ready.

The man slammed his own weapon down on Hadhnri’s, and it rang out clear as a cock’s call at morning, as clear as Hadhnri’s cry as her hand stung and her seax dropped to the earth.

With his other hand, he shoved her to the ground.

Then he stepped over her, and before I could bring my fists to bear, he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.

“Hadhnri!” I screamed and kicked as the man turned away with me against his back. He held fast. It was like being held against a tree, deep-rooted and immovable, and I was not an axe. I was not even a dagger.

“Agnir!” Hadhnri was on her hands and knees, struggling to her feet but growing farther and farther away.

“Hadhnri!” I punched and fought and reached for her as she ran after me. I screamed until my captor flung me to the ground. His fist came, hook-curled, and darkness followed.