Fortune and Fate (Twelve Houses) (55 page)

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Authors: Sharon Shinn

BOOK: Fortune and Fate (Twelve Houses)
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No reason to hold back now. Wen kicked the gelding to a higher speed and leaned low over his neck, holding the reins with her left hand and pulling the sword again with her right. The gelding was battle-hardened; he made no move to veer away as she directed him straight at the oncoming assailants. The lead rider didn’t have the guts. At the last minute he tried to pull his mount aside, and Wen and her horse plowed straight into them. There was a wretched sound of slamming bodies and screaming horse, and the attacker was practically knocked from his saddle. Wen didn’t hesitate. She half stood in her stirrups for greater leverage and swung her sword hard against his chest. A gaping wound opened with clean and shocking suddenness. His face showed nothing but surprise as he relaxed his fingers and dropped both reins and weapon. His falling body twisted to one side of the saddle, and his maddened horse bolted for open land, dragging the dead rider behind it.
 
 
There was a thunder of hooves and suddenly Wen was surrounded by comrades—Orson and Amie, Cal and Eggles—and all around her was the deadly, exuberant clangor of blade against blade. Suddenly her fear was gone. She knew they had the numbers and the skill for victory, and she was seized with battle euphoria. Her blade swung from her hand as if weightless. Her eyes saw everything at once; her body moved without receiving conscious commands. She was a conduit of violence, a weapon sculpted from bone and skin. She struck; she killed; she moved on.
 
 
Until there was no one left to strike, no enemy left standing. Wen drew a hard breath, took a last swift look around, and slowly lowered her sword. With a jolt, her soul reentered her body. She was suddenly herself again, bloody and exhausted, shoulder to shoulder with comrades on a field of broken corpses.
 
 
“What’s our damage?” she asked sharply.
 
 
“Malton is down,” Eggles said, a pant in his voice. In addition to the wound he’d sustained at the beginning of the fight, he’d taken a few cuts to his face and his legs, but he didn’t sound hurt so much as winded. “Don’t know how seriously he’s injured.”
 
 
“The rest of us have all taken some blows, but nothing bad,” Orson said.
 
 
“Moss and Davey were fine when we passed them,” Amie added.
 
 
Wen nodded. “I’m thinking Garth is dead,” she said grimly. “He didn’t ride back to check on us, and he should have when we didn’t appear behind him.”
 
 
She saw a look of grief and fury cross Orson’s face, and then his expression shut down. “I’ll go look for him.”
 
 
“Be careful,” she said. “I think we’ve accounted for all of them—but there were more than I expected.”
 
 
Orson’s gaze was directed downward at one of the dead men. “Not bandits,” he said.
 
 
Wen shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
 
 
Now he looked at her, his eyes hard. The others crowded closer, their horses all whickering and shaking their manes. “Who, then?” Orson asked. “And why?”
 
 
Wen lifted her shoulders in a gesture of ignorance. “Someone who wanted to harm the serramarra.”
 
 
“Kill her, you mean,” Eggles said. “And everyone with her.”
 
 
Wen nodded. “Looks that way.”
 
 
Orson was still watching her. “Who’d want to kill a pretty girl like Karryn?”
 
 
She was suddenly so tired. Almost too tired to sit in the saddle. Tired of intrigue and ambition and bloody bids for power. “Who wanted to kill King Baryn?” she asked wearily. “Someone who wanted his throne.”
 
 
“Someone wants House Fortunalt?” Cal asked, sounding dazed. Despite his inexperience, he’d fought hard. He’d been every bit as good as she’d hoped he’d be when she hired him.
 
 
“No matter what anyone has, someone else wants it,” Wen said. “That’s the lesson I’ve learned too many times to count.” She nodded at Orson. “Go look for Garth. Cal, Eggles, search the bodies and see if you can find anything to identify them. Amie, see what you can do for Malton. I’m going to check on Karryn and the others.”
 
 
They dispersed, not moving as crisply as Riders would have but, sweet gods, doing everything she asked of them. This had been their first test in battle and they had all responded magnificently. Protected their charge, defeated their enemy, taken orders when they could, thought for themselves when they had to. And survived to fight another day.
 
 
Most of them, anyway.
 
 
Wen turned the gelding’s head and jogged slowly to the coach. Davey had the horses well under control—and his sword at the ready beside him on the bench. Behind him, Moss’s head peered down from the roof. She braced herself with one hand, held a dagger in the other. Wen experienced a surge of pride so fierce that she felt a momentary pain deep in her chest.
 
 
“Captain?” Davey called. “What’s the situation?”
 
 
At that salutation, Jasper Paladar immediately stuck his head out of the window. “Willa? What’s happening?”
 
 
Karryn’s head appeared right under his. “Willa? Thank the Silver Lady, you’re alive! Who were those men? Are we safe now?”
 
 
She came close enough to answer them all. “I think we’re safe—we’ve fended off
this
attack, at any rate. Our advance guard is missing and one of the others is down, so we might have lost two guards, and the coachman is dead as well. But we faced nine, so we gave a good accounting of ourselves.”
 
 
Now Serephette’s pale face poked between Jasper’s and Karryn’s. “Who were these people?” Serephette demanded. “What did they want from us?”
 
 
Wen met Jasper’s eyes and he gave a slight shake of his head. “We don’t know yet,” she said. “Unfortunately, none of them are left alive, so we can’t ask them. We’ll search their bodies and see if we learn anything about their identities.”
 
 
“You said two of the guards were injured or missing,” Karryn asked. “Which ones?”
 
 
“Karryn, dear,” Serephette said reprovingly, but Wen was glad Karryn asked.
 
 
“Malton’s hurt and we don’t know what happened to Garth.”
 
 
“Should we put Malton in the coach?” Karryn said next.
 
 
This was cause for another “Karryn!” from Serephette, but Wen liked the suggestion. “Maybe. Depends on how badly he’s injured.”
 
 
“I could ride his horse,” Karryn offered. “To make room for him.”
 
 
The suggestion actually made Wen smile, something she hadn’t expected to do on this bleak day. “If nothing else, this little incident proved that you should stay safely inside the coach,” Wen said. “All of you.”
 
 
From the other side of the carriage, she heard Amie’s voice raised in a call. “Captain?”
 
 
She nodded at Karryn and the others. “Stay inside,” she repeated, and pulled the gelding around to check on Malton.
 
 
The big man was sitting up, though he looked woozy, and there was blood all over his face and chest. But she was so happy to see him more or less whole that she found herself grinning as she slid out of the saddle. Amie had bound up the more obvious wounds on his arm and shoulder, but there was a cut across his forehead that looked like it would need stitching when they got someplace they could fetch a physician.
 
 
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
 
 
“Like death came knocking,” he replied in his slow voice.
 
 
She made her voice provocative. “The serramarra says if you’re gravely injured, she’ll give you her seat in the coach and ride your horse home.”
 
 
At that, even his placid face showed alarm. “She can’t ride! She’d be a target!”
 
 
“That’s what I told her. But can you sit a horse?”
 
 
He hesitated. “I don’t know.”
 
 
“He could sit on the driver’s bench next to Davey,” Amie suggested.
 
 
Malton nodded. “I think I could manage that.”
 
 
“What about the coachman?” Amie wanted to know.
 
 
“Dead,” Wen replied.
 
 
“And Garth?” Malton asked.
 
 
“Orson’s looking for him. But—” She shrugged expressively then came to her feet. “In any case, no use lingering here. Let’s get going.”
 
 
Amie was slim, but strong enough to help the much heavier Malton back to the coach. Wen remounted her gelding and joined Eggles and Cal, who had returned from inspecting the bodies. “Good swords, well-used, well-cared-for,” Eggles said. “And plenty of gold in their pockets.”
 
 
“Definitely not bandits,” she said.
 
 
He was watching her. “And the archers were specialists,” he said. “Excellent shots, but not very handy with a sword.”
 
 
She nodded. “I noticed that.”
 
 
“Hired to kill,” he added, in case she hadn’t put the pieces together.
 
 
“Right.”
 
 
“They didn’t have any insignia,” Cal added. “No way to know who hired them.”
 
 
“I’m hoping Karryn’s uncle might be able to help us figure that out,” Wen said.
 
 
“You mean you don’t have a theory?” Eggles asked.
 
 
She shook her head. “I don’t know how the gentry think,” she said.
 
 
“But you’ve always believed Karryn was in danger,” he prodded. “That’s why you hired us. You’re not surprised this happened. You’ve been expecting it.”
 
 
She eyed him soberly. Orson hadn’t come out and said it, but that was obviously what he’d been thinking, too. “Karryn’s a vulnerable girl in a position that a lot of people covet,” Wen said quietly. “I haven’t been expecting anything specific. I just don’t trust people in general, I suppose. I expect them to look around, and find a weaker opponent, and take what they want. I wanted to even the odds a little if it ever happened to Karryn.” She took a deep breath. “I can’t say I’m happy to have my worst fears realized. But
damn
, I’m happy that we were good enough to fight back. I’m happy we were strong enough to win.”
 
 
“And stronger next time,” Eggles said quietly. “It toughens a man up when he’s in a real fight. You don’t kill him right off, he’ll beat you if he ever sees you again.” He nodded at Cal, glanced over at Amie and Davey, all of them too young to have the depth of experience he and Orson and Wen had. “This lot will be even better next time someone tries to take them down.”
 
 
And there’s always a next time, when you’re a soldier,
Wen thought.
Anytime you’re prepared to fight, there’s always a fight in your future.
“Let’s get everybody safely home before we start congratulating ourselves too much,” she said.
 
 
“Orson’s not back with Garth yet,” Cal said.
 
 
“I know. Let’s get the coach moving and go look for them.”
 
 
The coachman’s body was lashed to the roof and the soldiers were quickly redistributed. Malton sprawled next to Davey, Moss and Eggles mounted the extra horses, and they were on their way. Wen hated not to have a rear guard, especially since it had proved so useful in this particular fight, but everyone was so spooked that she wanted to keep them all together, riding as tightly around the coach as the terrain allowed. She dropped back just enough to be able to command a broader view of the oncoming road, unimpeded by the carriage. More risky territory ahead—more of those undulating curves through low hills and clumps of trees.
 
 
Surely if they were attacked again, it would not be by professionals focused on killing. It would be by starving outlaws desperate for food or money—easy enough to stave off or appease. Whoever had hired this particular troop had paid a high dollar for skilled men who would fight to the death; surely no one could afford to set up two such ambushes along the same lonely stretch of road.

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