Mistress of Dragons (41 page)

She
held him up, smacked him a sharp spank on his bottom.

The
baby opened his mouth, gave a lusty wail.

“Here
they come!” Draconas warned.

A
shattering blow struck the wooden door.

TWO
WARRIOR WOMEN SMOTE THE DOOR, KNOCKED it open, bounded inside the cottage. They
halted in the doorway, startled at the sight of Bellona, standing in front of
them, her sword raised. Concealed behind the door, Draconas shoved it with all
his strength, slammed it on them, catching the two women in a vise between the
door and the door jamb.

Bellona
lunged twice with her sword, stabbed one in the stomach, the other in the
breast. Neither was wearing armor. They had not been expecting to meet any
resistance. Their bodies tumbled to the floor, the dirt soaking up the blood.
Draconas dragged them inside, then put his back against the door, slammed it
shut.

“They
know now that taking us won’t be easy,” he said.

Bellona
grunted. She grabbed hold of the bodies of the two women, rolled them over. She
knew them, knew both of them, had known them since they were children together.

Kicking
at the corpses, she shoved them into position, trying not to look into the
empty eyes.

Sheathing
her sword, she emptied out her quiver of arrows, began stripping off the
feathers. She jabbed the arrows into the dirt floor, points up. She glanced
behind her at the baby—wet and bloody, whimpering and squirming, eyes squinched
shut against the terrible light of life—then went back to her task.

“Let
me see him,” Melisande whispered, no voice left in her.

The
midwife cut the cord that was the baby’s final tie to his warm, snug, dark
world, then wiped him down with a warm, wet cloth—a proceeding that caused him
to give another offended cry. Over the sound of life, Bellona heard Nzangia
shouting orders.

“Murdering
fiends,” muttered the midwife, glowering round at the two bodies on the floor. “Maybe
now they’ll leave us in peace.”

Bellona
knew better. She continued thrusting arrows into the hard-packed, dirt floor.

The
midwife wrapped the wailing baby in a blanket and rested him in his mother’s
arms. Melisande gazed down at him in exhausted wonder.

“He’s
beautiful,” she breathed. “I think his eyes will be hazel.”

Her
task completed, Bellona went to Melisande, put her arm around her and laid her
face against the thin, flushed cheek.

“You
are beautiful,” said Bellona. She started to stroke back the sweat-soaked
golden wet hair, then saw that her hands were smeared with blood. Hastily, she
snatched them away.

Melisande
did not notice. She held her baby, her eyes luminous with the memory of pain
and the realization of joy. “They’re back,” warned Draconas.

Bellona
started to spring from the bed. Melisande grasped her arm convulsively, held
onto her.

“My
baby!” she gasped. “Don’t let them take the baby.”

“They’re
not taking anyone,” said Bellona grimly. “Rest now, my love.”

Melisande
started to say something, then her face contorted. She gave a shuddering cry
and fell back onto the bed.

“What’s
the matter?” Bellona demanded of the midwife. “What’s wrong with her?”

An
axe blade struck the wooden window shutters, chopped clean through one of them,
sending splinters flying.

With
remarkable presence of mind, the midwife snatched up the baby and stashed the
whimpering child under the bed, out of harm’s way. Melisande gave another cry.
Her hands grasped and twisted the bed linens.

“Lord
bless us!” the midwife said, kneading Melisande’s belly. “There’s another baby
inside! Push, child, push!”

A
second blow struck the shutters, opened up a gaping hole. Bellona started in
that direction, intending to drive away the attackers. Draconas called her off.

“I’ve
dealt with that,” he said shortly. “Watch the door!”

Bellona
cast a doubtful glance at the window and saw, to her astonishment, that the
damage to the shutters was not nearly as bad as she had first thought. She
stared at it.

“What
did you do?” she demanded.

“Magic,”
he said, again taking up his position. “Illusion.”

The
shutters were whole, with only a few chop marks here and there. With the next
blink of the eye, the illusion disappeared. The shutters were gone. Though the
axe blade sometimes bit through nothing, the warriors outside continued to
stubbornly hack away at what they perceived to be solid wood.

Before
Bellona could ask Draconas if there was anything else she was seeing that she
wasn’t really seeing, the front door burst open. Two women barreled through,
followed by a press of others, shoving and heaving. The first woman to enter
saw the bodies on the floor at her feet, saw the sharp arrow points gleaming in
the fire. She tried to halt her forward rush, but the others pushed her from
behind. She tripped over the bodies and fell with a terrible scream, impaling
herself on the arrows. She did not die immediately, but continued to scream as
the blood poured from her wounds.

Draconas
struck the second woman in the face with the butt end of his staff, shattering
her nose. Her face blossomed with gore and bits of bone. He followed up with a
jab to the knee, broke her kneecap. Her leg collapsed under her, and she
tumbled to the floor, rolling around in helpless agony.

The
third woman leaped over the bodies and came at Bellona, sword swinging.
Melisande’s cries mingled with the screams of the dying woman, who finally,
mercifully, went limp, her body sagging on the arrow points.

Bellona
knew her soldiers, knew their weaknesses. Feinting one way, she lured her
opponent into leaving herself open, then drove her blade through the woman’s
body.

Bellona
jerked her sword free. The warrior slid off it to her knees.

“You
always did fall for that, Mari,” Bellona told her. The woman pitched forward,
dead.

The
axe continued to chop at the window shutters that were no longer there.
Draconas put his back to the door, braced himself with his legs, and heaved
with all his might. He managed to shut it, but the warriors shoved back. “I can’t
hold it much longer!” he grunted. Bellona nodded, wiped her bloody hand on her
breeches so she could get a better grip on her sword. Behind her, she could
hear the midwife fussing and encouraging. From beneath the bed came the baby’s
muffled squeals.

Draconas
leapt suddenly out of the way. The warriors hit the door with such force that
it burst its hinges. Using the door as a shield, Nzangia struck Draconas,
knocked him backward and flung the door on top of him. Warriors shoved in after
her. Two attacked Draconas, but Bellona could no longer pay attention to him.
She faced Nzangia.

“This
is not your fight, Bellona,” said her former second-in-command. “The whore
betrayed you. That squalling brat is proof of her—”

Bellona
struck. Nzangia swiftly parried. Steel clashed on steel, hilt met hilt. The two
heaved and shoved against each other, each trying to break the other’s hold.

Sunlight
blazed into the room. The warriors had at last seen the truth, that the
shutters had been smashed to kindling. Faces appeared in the window. Bellona saw,
out of the corner of her eye, a warrior standing with a crossbow in her hand,
aiming at Bellona.

Nzangia
saw her, as well.

“Hold
your fire!” she bellowed and flung Bellona off her.

Bellona
stumbled into a stool, lost her balance, and went down.

Nzangia
saw her chance, leapt at her.

“Here’s
the second baby—” the midwife began.

Her
words ended in a gargle. She stared at the baby in her hands, then let out a
piercing shriek.

The
scream, sounding right on her, jarred Nzangia. Thinking someone was sneaking up
on her, she whipped around swiftly to meet this new attacker.

Bellona
regained her feet and lunged with her sword all in the same movement. Her blade
entered Nzangia’s back.

Nzangia
cried out. Bellona jabbed harder, to make sure, then she yanked the sword free.
Blood gushed after it. Nzangia gave a gurgling scream and dropped to the floor.

The
warrior at the window cursed in anger and dismay. Bellona heard the metallic “snick”
of the crossbow being fired and the vicious whir of the bolt, but she paid little
attention to it.

She
could think only of Melisande. The midwife’s wail meant that something dreadful
had happened, and she turned to go to her lover, fear twisting inside her.
Melisande lay gazing up at the ceiling, a strange expression on her face. The
midwife, her mouth stretched open, held the baby and screamed.

Draconas
appeared out of nowhere. Lunging between the two of them, he knocked Bellona
out of his way, grabbed the baby from the midwife, seconds before she dropped
it.

Wringing
her hands, the midwife turned and fled toward the door. Her iron gray hair
flying wildly, her face twisted in terror, she was such a frightful apparition
that the warrior women fell back in alarm before her, let her go running away
unmolested. She dashed off down the hill and even when she was far away,
Bellona could still hear her panicked shrieks.

Draconas
picked up some bloody rags, began to wrap them around the second baby.

“See
to the door!” he ordered Bellona, turning away. “I’ll deal with the child and
with Melisande. He’ll be safe under the bed. Hurry!”

Bellona
hastened to the gaping aperture where the door had been. Outside, the warriors
huddled together, conferring. Drusilla stood in the center, arguing with them.
More than one cast dark glances at the cottage, at the bodies of their
comrades.

“Nzangia
is dead,” Bellona called out to them. “Your mission has ended in failure.
Listen to me,” she continued, as Drusilla raised her crossbow and pointed it at
her. “The Mistress is truly a dragon! She has duped you and duped all our
people—”

Drusilla
let fire. Bellona ducked. The bolt sailed past her, lodged itself in the wall
opposite her.

Drusilla
said something to the others, pointed emphatically at the cottage.

“Come
on, then!” Bellona shouted, waving her bloody sword. “I’ll take you on!”

Drusilla
seemed ready, but the others shook their heads. They’d lost their leader. They’d
had enough. One by one, the warriors turned and headed off. Drusilla was the
last to go. Bellona could see the tears streak down her cheeks and she
remembered that Nzangia and Drusilla had been lovers. At length, Drusilla
turned away. Her parting look at Bellona promised that this was not the end.

Breathing
a sigh, Bellona stood watching them leave, wondering if any of them would at
least think over what she’d said. She doubted it.

A
hand touched her shoulder.

“You
better go to Melisande,” said Draconas quietly.

Bellona
looked at him, saw his face grave.

“What’s
wrong?” she gasped.

He
shook his head. Shoving past him, Bellona ran to the bed.

Melisande
lay among the sweat-soaked sheets, her breath coming in odd, sobbing gasps, her
body stiff, her hands clenched to fists. Her face, which had been flushed with
the exertion of childbirth, was a ghastly, grayish white.

Bellona
knelt down beside her and it was then she saw the blood that drenched the sheet
and the straw mattress. Bellona gently lifted Melisande’s arm. The crossbow
bolt had plowed into her chest from the side. Dark blood welled out of the
wound.

Bellona
gave a cry of grief and rage, and her cry roused Melisande. She turned her head
in the direction of the beloved voice.

“Bellona,”
said Melisande softly.

“I’m
here, Melis,” Bellona said with a forced smile of reassurance. “Don’t try to
talk. Just rest.”

“I
can’t. . . catch my breath.” Melisande struggled to speak. A froth of blood
bubbled on her lips. “My baby . . .”

“Babies.
Twins,” said Bellona.

Melisande
fought to see through the shadows. She gripped Bellona’s hand.

“That
scream,” she said desperately. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,”
said Bellona, choking on her grief. “Nothing is wrong. The midwife was
frightened by the fighting. Don’t talk anymore. Rest now, Melisande. Lay your
head here on my arm. Go to sleep.”

Melisande
smiled. The smile stiffened on her lips. With a great effort, she whispered, “Take
care of my sons.”

“I
will, Melisande,” said Bellona, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks. “I
promise.”

Melisande
closed her eyes. She drew in a labored breath, breathed it out in a sigh. Her
head lolled on Bellona’s arm. Her eyes opened, stared at Bellona, but they did
not see her. Their gaze was fixed and empty.

Bellona
gave an anguished cry and collapsed on top of her lover.

Beneath
the bed, the two babies lay in a pool of their mother’s blood and wailed as if
they knew.

“GOD
SAVE AND KEEP US!”

Draconas
turned around to see Gunderson standing in the door, staring in amazement at
the carnage: one body impaled on the arrows, another twitching in her final death
throes, several others heaped on top of each other, as so much refuse. The
floor was dark with blood that had pooled on the hard-packed earth. The stench
of death and the stench of birth fouled the air in the small room.

Gunderson,
the veteran soldier, turned suddenly away, and Draconas heard the sounds of
retching.

Gunderson
came back, wiping his mouth with his hand. “I got your message,” he said
unnecessarily. At Draconas’s direction, he’d been staying in Bramfell, to be
close at hand. “What the devil happened here?”

“We
were attacked,” Draconas replied, also unnecessarily. He climbed over bodies,
made his way to the bed, moving swiftly. “Seth warriors found her.”