Page 35

“Go. See to the boys.”

It took everything Brandth had to follow Perri’s instructions. To leave her side as all hell broke loose. Arrows flying. Men yelling. Bodies tumbling to the ground. But he had promised to let her be the one to deal with Regal. More importantly, Perri was trusting him to see to the welfare of her greatest treasure, Levi.

Fine. Brandth would go, but quickly, dispatch one evil henchman and be back in less than a minute to back up Perri. Except, even as he took a step, lifting his crutch up, breaking it in half to withdraw his hidden sword, Brandth noted that the two fellows who had been guarding the perimeter had rushed to the side of Bilg, the man standing over the bound youths. Cruddy hell.

He understood why, as he drew closer. The three men obviously brothers, with the same doughy features, height and broad chests. One sported a cudgel. While Bilg and the other one held long blades. Hell, Brandth started to run as Bilg glanced his way, grinning to reveal several teeth missing, raising his sword above Levi’s prone form, readying himself to make a downwards strike.

Ignoring the ache in his leg, Brandth sped up. Time slowed. He reached for more speed, all the while knowing he would be too late… too slow.

Then a miracle, the older boy, Deacon, rolled hard to the left, shoving both himself and Levi sideways across the slippery slightly sloping riverbank. Bilg, having committed to the downward strike, could not break off his action. As his blade sliced deeply into the mud and stuck there for a moment, Brandth brushing past the man at an all-out run, skewering Bilg through the heart with his rapier. Whipping it out of the falling body, turning to face Bilg’s brothers. One howling in grief. The other snarling out an angry shout of promised retribution.

Ducking a cudgel swipe that would have seen his head cleaved from his body, Brandth just managed to side step the jab of the other brother’s sword. They were angry, upset, but these two weren’t stupid. Dividing, taking up stances on either side of Brandth. Giving him two fronts on which to both defend and fight.

It meant Brandth had to keep switching his focus, whilst still trying to hold his defensive guard up. An impossible task. Slash. Swish. Jab. He was all but dancing, unfortunately unable to avoid every strike, with only split seconds to determine which attacks he might possibly survive, versus those that might irreparably harm him.

Being a gentleman of means was paying off. Brandth’s stylish jacket made of keymoat skin, all but impenetrable to any blade or needle not made of keymoat bone. So more often than not Brandth chose to incur the jab of the sword. He would be bruised but not skewered. Besides, the bigger lad with the cudgel appeared determined to crush his bones to smithereens. With a particular preference for targeting Brandth’s skull. And Brandth had a very distinct wish to keep his brains safely intact in his head.

Fights were always frantic. When you were the one involved it felt like they lasted an age. But funnily enough, most only last a few minutes. Skill and brute strength being an early decider. Stamina and training winning out often if the clash went on longer.

The problem with this fight was, the man with the sword hadn’t yet figured out that he wasn’t making actual contact with Brandth every time his blade struck. The lack of blood was a glaring undeniable clue. Any moment now, he would realise and change his targeting to either Brandth’s exposed neck or his legs. He needed to act and act quickly.

There. Rearing back out of the way of the cudgel, he felt the hard jab of the other brother’s blade into his ribs, the point sliding across his jacket covered belly, the swordsman almost stumbling forward, expecting his sword to have sunk into Brandth’s flesh.

With less than a split second, sliding along the edge of the man’s blade, Brandth brought his own up, slitting the swordsman’s throat from ear to ear. No time to saviour the moment, immediately leaping backwards several feet, sensing the cudgel coming in for another swipe. Though not fast enough as the club made brief contact with his shoulder blade. Cruddy hell, ouch. Brandth’s left arm suddenly numb.

“No!”

The cudgel holder protested in disbelief as his only remaining brother faltered, falling with a dull thud down on to the churned muck. His expression scrunching up into murderous rage. Dashing forward. The last standing brother swiped the cudgel back and forth, making the air sing as it passed by.

By the nine circles. Brandth only had one option, and thankfully his left arm was already numb, so it wasn’t going to hurt too much. Okay, he knew he was lying to himself. But he had very little choice.

He ducked. Side stepped the next swipe aimed at his chin. And then swung his left arm up to block the cudgel as it headed for his chest. Oh, yes, that pain was all too familiar, breaking bones, but Brandth didn’t recoil away from the pain, he thrust himself towards it and his attacker, bringing his sword up and under the man’s defence, jabbing it as hard and deep as he could into the man’s gut, before going up on his toes, dragging the sword upwards as well.

Brandth could feel hot tacky blood coat his sword hand. The cudgel owner releasing a small, distressed sound. Dropping the cudgel to the ground, reaching for Brandth, perhaps with the intention of strangling him. But the man’s hands came to rest on Brandth’s shoulders instead, squeezing hard for a split second before suddenly all his strength deserted him. Stumbling back away from Brandth, clutching at his gut for a split second before his gaze went blank, his knees buckling beneath him.

Several thoughts raced through Brandth’s thankfully intact head. Pain. Perri. The boys. He glanced in Perri’s direction… Gods. She needed his help. He took a step towards her, but something made him glance over to check on the boys.

Damnation. They were covered in mud, teetering at the river’s edge, hard to tell one from the other. Clearly they had been struggling for a while to get away from the water, but the slightly sloped bank was slippery and the mud fast crumbling away beneath them, disappearing into the choppy flowing water. Deacon doing his best to push Levi back up the bank to safety just using his shoulders. But with every wriggle Deacon made, he was only sliding in deeper, the water over his bound legs and thighs now, Levi wedged up against him, desperately, futilely, trying to hold on to Deacon.

Brandth switched direction, the dirt under his boots quickly turning into treacherous sucking, slippery mud. Angling his body so he could reach out with his good arm. Brandth was a mere foot from the boys when the entire section of bank upon which he stood disintegrated into the fast rushing water, taking the three of them with it.

Cruddy hell.

* * *

Twang. Twang.

Arrows were released. Cadell and Elliott firing at each other even as both were in the process of moving, knowing they were being targeted. Talac, swivelling around sharply on his knees, just in time to watch Elliott stumble over dead Wilton’s out flung hand. The stumble saved his life, as Cadell had anticipated the dodge, but instead of his intended sidestep, Elliott’s stumble caused his entire upper body to bob downwards momentarily. Cadell’s arrow sailing right over his head.

Elliott recovered quickly from the stumble, bringing his bow up to dash aside the thrust of Talac’s short bladed knife that he’d retrieved from his boot. The back of Talac’s hand stinging, but thankfully he retained hold of the weapon. Getting to his feet, he and Elliott began circling one another.

Holding the bow expertly with two hands, using it as a long staff, Elliott sneered Talac’s way.

“I know you’re the one behind my losing the hunt prize that day. You and the giant blonde bitch. There’s no way that runty little common fellow would have made the kill without your interference.”

“Master Kinnith is five times the gentleman you are Heathscote. A better man than me even.”

Talac sidestepped several raps of the long bow staff. The man was feeling him out. Throwing a few feints into the mix, testing Talac, studying the way he moved.

“I hear he’s earned himself a position here at the Palace.”

Making a mental note to write that letter issuing the job offer of heading up the Widows Dividend Fund immediately, before any other calamities struck.

“Good, then I won’t have to waste time hunting him down. I’ll know exactly where to find him.”

Elliott thrusting one pointed end of the staff forward, aiming for Talac’s throat. Thwack. Talac blocked it with the handle of his knife. Knocking the staff aside.

“You didn’t even stay to collect your winnings that day, instead you slipped away… into the woods. I assume that’s where you stumbled upon a few like-minded souls and convinced them to attack Alia and myself a few nights later.”

“Meagre paltry winnings that would have saddled me with an unwanted bride to boot, no thank you. It was fate to stumble over several men who’d walked away with nothing, and the angry Wilton and his one arm. They didn’t take much convincing. A couple of bags of wine, and Wilton, charming fellow that he was, he badly wanted to bloody the bitch. Told us a fascinating tale of how she was the Beast of Gloomenthrall, drowning in riches. Imagine our delight a few nights later, the royal coach and with it the blonde giantess. Still, I let them take the lead, but I was stalking not far behind… had you in my sights at one stage. But instead was forced to shoot Poplin as he was about to blab everything he knew.”

Tap. Thwack. Duck. Stab. They continued to circle one another.

“The royal retinue. We knew where you were headed, here, so we followed you. Wilton was no learned man, but he had brute strength and was goal driven. And extremely handy when it comes to convincing the unwilling to share information. It’s how we learned that the blonde was watching and taunting Baron Soutner. They clearly had a history. I arranged to meet with him, to feel him out on his thoughts regarding the Gloomenthrall women. And what do you know, he wanted them dead just as badly as I wished my cousin in the ground.”

“Thank you.”

“Why are you thanking me?”

Elliott’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, even as he attacked with a flurry of hits, only one of the bow thrusts making contact with Talac’s upper arm.

“I’m a man who seeks answers. Mysteries intrigue me. But solving them is what’s most important. You had already told us that Wilton was behind the attack on Alia at the masquerade ball under your direction. We know the bard shot at Baron Heathscote during the royal hunt, and now you have provided me the intel regarding the night in the woods of Gloomenthrall. I don’t suppose you were behind the attempt to poison Alia at the high tea party?”

“Don’t be insulting. Poison is a weak weapon.”

“On that we are agreed. Again, thank you for being so verbose.”

Elliott’s snarling response froze in the back of his throat, for following his next jab Talac grabbed the end of the bow, gripping it tightly. Elliott tried frantically to yank it free of his hold.

“You…”

Elliott had no time to say anything else, as with one hard jerk from Talac on the bow staff, Elliott found himself lurching forward, right into the thrust of Talac’s short bladed knife, that was wickedly sharp and all too easily punctured his heart. The look of surprise on the man’s face was almost comical, but there was no time to savour it. Talac had other things to worry about.

Absently leaning over to wipe his blade clean on Elliott’s tunic. He finally allowed himself to give in to the plaguing need to check on Alia. Not knowing how she was fairing against the bard bowman had been gnawing constantly at him.

She was alive. Relief unclenched Talac’s gut. But there was blood. He didn’t like that, not one little bit, rage threatening to swamp him. For a measured careful man this was a unique experience. Taking a deep breath, Talac grappled with the rage… and won.

It was only a little blood. Not life threatening… yet. More importantly, Alia would not appreciate his interference… or ever likely forgive him if he did sweep in to save her. That would just earn him a long lecture about how she was more than capable of saving herself. Which she was. He knew it, he didn’t have to like it though.

Pushing aside his concerns, Talac switched his attention to Brandth, currently facing off against one last standing foe with a cudgel. Delivering a death blow to the doughy man with one good thrust of his sword even as Talac watched on.

His friend had put on a good show, as there were already two bodies on the ground, although Brandth was holding his left arm a little awkwardly. Nevertheless, he seemed to have everything in hand… Lady Perri however, Talac redirected his attention to the centre of the clearing. Another Gloomenthrall woman who probably wouldn’t be pleased if he was to come to her aid… but he’d rather a lecture from Perri, than Alia.

Talac had only taken two steps when the world seemed to slow down. Regal Soutner was suddenly standing over a kneeling Perri Gloomenthrall, about to deliver a killing blow. And Brandth was skidding down the muddy riverbank, trying to rescue the bound and gagged boys… in a flash the riverbank crumpled away, all three disappearing into the fast flowing deep stream.

Deities above give him guidance. Who should he try to save first?

* * *

Cadell was a smooth and astonishingly quick archer. Must be all that strumming of mandolins, strengthening his fingers and wrists. For even as Alia raced towards him, aware that he’d just released an arrow targeting Elliott Heathscote, the man was able to restring another arrow and target her. Damn it.

She threw herself forward, even so, the arrow hit her shoulder, thankfully her forest green dyed keymoat jacket repelled the strike. Although the point of impact throbbed painfully, she was more concerned with the fast approaching ground though and the fact that Cadell was reaching back for a third arrow. Unheard of. She had no choice, her knife was still safely secured in her boot sheathe and Cadell was about to notch another arrow.

Throwing her arms wide. Very aware that if this didn’t work, she would be landing on her face. For once the Gods favoured Alia, there was no time for Cadell to shift his planted feet and target her at the same time, so he remained still, betting his speed against her. She heard the thrum of the arrow release, felt a sharp bark of pain somewhere in her lower back… more precisely in the left buttock region. Right at this moment, still airborne, she couldn’t afford to care or pay attention to the new pain. Very afraid this was all for nothing.

Was she going to fall short? No, as her head and shoulders slammed into Cadell’s ankles, she wrapped her arms around his legs and brought him crashing to the ground.

She was taller than he was. Heavier too. Thankfully. And heartily sick of all the giantess jokes being tossed around at her expense today by these murderous money grubbing idiots.

Thump. Cadell hit the ground gratifyingly hard. Releasing a curse and then several more as Alia clambered up over his body. Ensuring all her elbows and knees made hard contact with his groin, stomach and throat.

“Get off me… you cruddy giant bitch-”

Breath expelling from his chest as Alia sat upright, high on his chest, well, not sat exactly, her left butt cheek was throbbing, so it was more a lean, but all her weight was currently rested upon Cadell’s upper torso. Perhaps explaining why his face was turning red and he was making a gasping sound. One of his hands grappling futilely at her chin, trying to push her away.

“Hah, imagine if we’d wed.”

Alia gave a little bounce, enjoying watching Cadell’s eyes almost explode out of his head. A soft, pain filled groan escaping his blue tinged lips.

“I doubt you’d have survived one night in the marriage bed.”

Another little jump, bringing all her weight back down, his eyes even wider now, wracked with pain.

“I’d have squished you like a bug.”

Thankfully she wasn’t enjoying her moment of revenge upon Cadell so much that she didn’t see his other hand come around, the one holding an arrow that must have fallen out of his quiver when he crash landed. Aimed for her exposed throat.

Grabbing for Cadell’s wrist, Alia shifted her weight, giving Cadell a split second to suck in some precious air and buck sideways. Sending the two of them rolling, Cadell trying to press his advantage and bring the arrow he was holding home. Alia biting back a yelp of pain as the arrow in her butt cheek snapped on initial contact with the ground and burrowed deeper into her soft flesh as they rolled once, then again. Cadell on top for a brief moment, trying to put his entire weight behind the arrow he was holding in order to thrust it in to any part of Alia he could reach.

She strained, holding him off, turning her face to the side as his other hand came up and those dexterous fingers of his searched for her eyes.

Heaving herself upright, Alia swung a leg over his body and sent the two of them rolling once more. Back the way they’d come. Over the smashed remains of the bard’s quiver, her jacket at least protecting her from the pointed tips of strewn arrows lying about. Cadell it seems wasn’t so lucky, wincing, cursing, as sharpened arrow edges ripped into his tunic, embedding themselves in his flesh.

His curses music to Alia’s ears. Now, if only she could reach the knife in her boot, she could finish him off. But this was turning out to be one of those undignified grappling fights that you can’t ever really train for.

In the practise ring, everyone is too polite, too respectful… to really know what lengths they were willing to go in such a close contact fight. Eyes. Throats. Groins. Ears. Lips. Nothing was off limits. And unfortunately, though Alia was strong and could keep Cadell from stabbing her with the arrow he still held, she couldn’t seem to break his hold either, and give herself a moment to fetch the knife sheathed at her ankle.

If she truly were the Beast of Gloomenthrall, with razor claws and sharp teeth, she’d just rip his throat out with her fangs. However, merely being a woman had never stopped Alia from achieving whatever goal she set for herself either. And though she couldn’t wrench the arrow from Cadell, or retrieve her knife, there was one sharp object within reach she could utilise… though it was going to hurt like hell. But then pain was fleeting and would soon be forgotten. Death however, there was no coming back from that.

“I always loathed your songs. You can sing, yes, but, Gods man, your rhymes are atrocious and your metaphors belaboured and cringe-worthy.”

“What?”

Hissed Cadell, his face red with the effort of trying to inflict as much pain as possible on this woman. Who kept smacking away his free hand, as if it were a bothersome insect, and holding his wrist like a vice, trapping the arrow he held several frustrating inches away from her flesh.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“I just know I would kick myself five minutes after your death if I don’t say anything.”

To distract him further, Alia repositioned slightly so it seemed like she intended to put more effort behind pushing the arrow he was holding back in Cadell’s direction. Now for the tricky bit, making it appear as if she was falling off of him, so that she had an excuse to wrench her spare hand back. Grabbing the broken shaft, not easy as it was so slippery with her blood already… she so hated the Gods right now, because this was going to hurt.

“Conceited. Not as handsome as you think.”

Taking a deep breath. “Lazy.”

Gritting her teeth in anticipation she pulled, hard, she was not going to be tentative or missish about this. Better to do it quick if she was going to do it at all. Oh, damnation. Blinking back tears.

“And above all else, I regret not killing you that day in the woods… I should have listened to the children.”

Alia whipped back her hand and thrust the gore covered arrow that had been buried in her ass deep into the base of Cadell’s throat. Instantly his strength seeped away, but just to make sure the job was done, Alia wrenched his wrist around before he could drop the arrow he was holding and sunk that in next to the broken arrow shaft.

Ugh. She could feel his hot blood coating her decolletage and throat, already turning tacky and cooling. Repulsed, Alia pushed herself up and away, wincing. Scrambling up and off Cadell’s body, limping a little, her balance off, her butt cheek protesting the weight of her leg. Sending pulsing little sharp jabs of pain up her back, letting her know it would much rather she did nothing much of anything right now. Heavens, she would give all the money in the world for some of Perri’s numbing poultice.

But Alia didn’t have that luxury of seeking out medical aid or resting. Swinging around sharply.

By the nine circles, the scene that met her gaze causing the breath to catch in the back of Alia’s throat. Perri on her knees, Regal standing over her, about to deliver a deathblow. Deacon and Levi being swept into the river, the boys still tied and gagged. Brandth clutching at one arm, pain etched on his face as he followed them in to the churning water. And Talac, like her, only just having dispatched Elliott Heathscote, faced with the same nightmare, although three steps ahead of her.

“You save the boys! I’ll get to Perri.”

They had to divide in order to conquer. Whipping her knife from her boot, Alia began running, aware time seemed both frozen and was moving too fast at the same time.

Please, Gods, just this once, look favourably upon the women of Gloomenthrall.