Silver Eve (22 page)

There was a strange shrill and
hissss,
like a snake, a whirligig. A sound so odd, I popped up to look. As I did, one of the scrub bushes I'd hidden behind earlier burst into a fiery ball, the noise knocking my eardrums and pitching me over. I spit out the dirt, crawled to my knees to look. Smoke funneled up from the flame, sharp and hot. But then with a sudden
whoosh
the flame was snuffed, and the spot lay black and bare.

The soldiers stood like little toys in the distance—
the metal men,
the old woman had called them. I squinted to see. One was flinging something; there was another
hissss
and I clamped my ears against a second blast.

Before me another bush was seared from the earth, seared from my gaze.

They are erasing the hiding places.
Even as I thought it, a third and fourth bush detonated. Blackbirds shrieked up, flew on. Hisses screamed through the air; I watched, stunned. Little balls were being flung; each soldier had them. They flew far—farther than anything without wings had the right to—then landed, rolling fast along the ground, leaving singed trails until they hit something solid and exploded. The birds were wild with distress, looking for safety, closing in on where I hid. They reeled above the fray, too bewildered to leave the plain, yet with no place to rest.

I remembered the little seabird with its damaged feathers. It must have been caught by one of those things. I remembered how fast the hunchbacked woman's village burned. Those had to be the reason.

The air grew hazy. It smelled of rust, of lead. One of the balls went spinning toward nearby brush—too close. The blackbirds flew up and I jumped up too, running for another hiding place. A lucky throw, I thought. But then I saw the birds alight on the last bush I'd hid behind—realizing with a jolt what these blackbirds were: grackles. Eudin said they'd been spying above the quarry. They weren't displaced by the explosions; they were showing the soldiers where to throw their bombs.

I picked up and tore off, knowing they saw me, but it hardly mattered. I would run, far from any ball of fire, any clarion call….But a moment later I was stumbling, dropping to my knees as a new sound rocked the air, something huge and feral and far more terrible than fire. The hair stood up on my arms.

I held motionless, then looked back against my will. There, at the edge of the plain, the setting sun glinted off the armor of approaching soldiers. Twelve were coming, making a total of fifteen soldiers. But it was what the twelve soldiers wrestled—two to a tether—that made my heart skip. Dogs. Not dogs as I knew them; not Lark's Rileg, or Kerrick Swan's Romer, grinning, tail-wagging, unassailable companions. These clay-white beasts reached to the breastplates of their handlers, dragged the metal men toward the sound of the horn.

These dogs were weapons.

I didn't wait to watch. I knew what the soldiers had in their favor: a trail I'd so considerately fashioned for them along my course, and a landscape even more barren than before. I'd be tracked in a moment.

I whipped around, scanned the horizon. There were ripples in the distance where some granite hills heaved up. I took off. Enough of limping; I aimed straight in flight. Enraged yelps filled the distance. The dogs were already loosed.

I raced head down for the rocks. Better cover, at least—at best, water would be collected in their basins. Water was the method of erasing scent, any trail. But then, if water gushed even a half league away it would be too late.

It was stunning how quick their speed—in minutes the dogs crossed the plain that I'd navigated over hours.

Stunning how quick that soft bed at Gren Fort was a thing of the past.

BOULDERS, CRAGS, HARD
drops into wells of dead grass, but any water was long gone. Lark had sent no trinkets for this. I cursed at the dry earth, at the lack of hiding places: “No good comes if the shell is lost here! Give me something to use!”

Lark had connection with the Earth, with its creatures, why didn't I? Wouldn't Earth want to help her champions?

Right back came my own reply, an echo of Lill's sneer:
You are Guardian of Death, not Life.

And what help was that?

I raced on, clambering up the scabs of granite, mind running as feverishly fast as my feet. How much time? Would the dogs surround me first the way wolves challenged a deer, or would they rip me apart without ceremony? And what of the shell: Would I lose it, be forced to destroy it, or die before either?

Somewhere it occurred to me that these scattered questions were at last the beginnings of true fear, that this was what fear felt like: worry becoming dread becoming terror. And yet they kept my mind from caving to Healer concerns—that I was parched, and starving, and exhausted—and maybe that was a good thing.

It was nearly dark. The soldiers in their black armor had disappeared into dusk and distance, but I saw six pale streaks coursing over the land. I faced forward again, hissing at myself to stop gauging my chances, and scrambled up a ridge—

It ended abruptly, the ridge. With two stumbling steps and an impromptu leap I hit the other side hard, falling from its edge, grabbing for anything to hold, then dangling with breath knocked out, arms scratched raw. I'd caught an edge of stone, barely. I grabbed at crevices, grunting, tearing skin and nails, worked my way up onto solid ground and huddled at the brim to find my breath, soften the pain. The dogs howled closer.
Think, Evie!
I had to do something; I had to protect the shell.

The dogs…The dogs…
Brutally loud as they closed in. The only defense I had was that deadly gap. I lifted my head, grim but resolute. I'd lure them, I
would.
Self-preservation trumped killing, didn't it? This was defense.

I crawled to my feet, sick with intent, forced myself to wait on the edge of the ridge. A moment later the dogs arrived in a ferocious tangle. Shaking, sore, repulsed, I dragged in a breath and raised my hands above my head to lure their focus so they wouldn't see the drop. And then they were there, running fast, coming straight at me with double rows of teeth and fangs as long as my fingers, and—

A dissonance of howls and snarls. Some went over the edge, most not, and a failure, all of it. My stomach pitched. I turned and scrambled up a ledge of boulder, hearing the remaining dogs leap the gap. I lunged for the next little ridge, crying out against the pain, anger, and yes, fear—

Then my cry was cut short as a hand covered my mouth and hauled me up hard. A voice against my cheek breathed, “Hush.” Then: “Don't look.”

Laurent.

He spun me around so that I faced away from the attack—an attack that never happened. I remembered how deft he was with his sword, how he spitted the Troth on his blade back in Merith that day. The Rider was deft this night as well. The dogs went silent, all at once. No, no attack at all. They were dead before the chance.

I sat down, numb. At length I heard Laurent approach, heard him wipe his sword, felt him kneel at my side and brush loose strands of my hair back from my face.

His voice was hard. “You are all right?”

I leaned into him, nodding, forehead against his shoulder, feeling how solid…how safe. But Laurent pulled away abruptly as the pin bull's horn sounded in the distance, and said, “Listen. The soldiers are calling back the reaping hounds. They believe you were taken down.”

He stood and I was left off balance, surprised for it. My hands went flat to the ground.
“Reaping hounds…,”
I echoed. The name tasted brutal. All of it was brutal.

“Breeders' creatures.” Laurent sheathed his sword. “Just one of many beasts they provide to their cronies in Tyre.”

“And the explosions, those fireballs—Breeders' weapons?”

“Incinerators.”

He was cold to me and I didn't know why. I stared at the ground, defeated by rejection, violence, and betrayal, by the fact that I'd have failed to save the amulet had not my Complement swept in to do the killing. At length, I mumbled, “How did you find me?”

“You were gone,” Laurent said simply, as if it should follow that he'd be here. “You and Lill were spotted leaving the quarry by the west route. I crossed to the caretaker's post to saddle Arro and then tracked you, or rather the soldiers. I skirted wide ahead to wait for dusk. I left Arro in the gully so the hounds would not catch his scent. And then you ran up here….”

Laurent offered the water from his goatskin flask sparingly—a drink for each. He handed me some hardbread; I looked at it strangely—Healer instincts all twisted, awry. I'd forgotten about food and that I'd been famished. Now I didn't even feel the bread pass my lips. I had to think to ask, “How are your wounds, Rider?”

“Well enough.” There was a pause before he added, “We are on our own now, Evie, from here on. The bridge to Gren Fort has been taken out.”

“The bridge.” I waited. Laurent offered no reason. I could not tell if he knew why the bridge was gone. Should I say what Lill had done? Tattle on a girl who'd been so bruised? She was angry and impulsive, but she believed she was protecting her home and her love. I'd behaved as impulsively by risking the Insight spell. Then my stomach knotted wondering if Laurent was protecting Lill by
not
mentioning her. I said faintly, “You do not ask about Lill.”

“Why? She is not with you.”

No emotion, not for either of us. The horn was blowing again. I called above it: “Does it not matter? What if Lill is lost? You do not want to turn back, to find her too? She's a child.”

He actually laughed. “Do not mistake the Riders as saviors. We kill trespassers in Tarnec—even a ‘child' such as you describe. My duty is to you, to see you and the shell safe to Castle Tarnec.” It was disturbing how firm and clear he said it, competing with the noise: “Lill is not so young that she can't find her way to the caretaker's post.”

Sacrifice for Balance. It did not feel right anymore; it did not feel a simple trade. Laurent, Lill, the dogs…I could not tame the emotions that were running through. Fear and anger, yes. But also need—an intangible, powerful yearning to pull something from this Rider. Whether it was love or mercy, I didn't know. All of it was mixing together, hurting my gut, my heart. I wanted to slough off my skin and expose the pain, let the night air scrub it away.

Above the horn came a whinnying cry. “And what of your horse?” I frowned. “Is he not important? He calls—”

My voice fell away at the ugly look on Laurent's face. “Arro,” he gritted, leaping to his feet.
“Stay here.”
And he was gone.

I ignored that, was immediately after him, but I could not keep up. Laurent tore back over the rock, leaping jagged heaves with no mind to his injuries; I ran left to where the gap was easier crossed. A minute later I crested a little ridge and saw the scrub plain once more, dark and rough, the moon not up.

But there were torches hoisted by the soldiers.

Arro's cry was terrified. The black steed lunged and bucked, corralled by the metal men who circled and prodded with their axe handles, who tried to catch hold of his reins, to force him away with them. They cared not about the dogs, nor even if I'd escaped, only that they had a new and better prize and intended to drag him back to Tyre.
Rarer than any gem,
the stranger had said. A horse would bring unimagined wealth and honor for a soldier, more so than any slave.

Arro shrieked again and reared, towering above the helmets, his hooves striking and flinging two soldiers dead some lengths away. But one of their axes ricocheted back, winging wide to catch Arro full across the flank. He went down in a chorus of panic, the soldiers and I all screaming….

But it was the Rider's shout that shook the very earth.

Laurent threw himself at the dark-armored bodies, knocking them back, striking them down. He was possessed by rage-strength, huge and terrifying, slashing his sword in every direction. Armor against flesh, one against many…The Rider managed to still two of the metal men, but eleven were left, and—as in a game of pins—they kept standing up. It was an impossible win.

I didn't think. I charged into the fray, yelling at the top of my voice, and launched myself at one of the soldiers. Surprised, thrown off his footing, he fell with me on top of him. I stabbed at the base of his neck for the immobilizing pressure point, but it was protected by that cursed armor. I banged on his chest plate, held down his arms, or tried to. But he worked for momentum, like an upturned, filthy sap turtle, rocking himself over until I had to jump before he crushed me. A blow from another soldier's steel-cased elbow knocked me back flat. I scrambled up, a rock in hand, and lunged for another. If I'd felt anguish for the reaping hounds, 'twas no more. Energy was loosed, set wild in me. I would have killed if I could.
Killed.

Still, I was a gnat to these giants, a minor annoyance as they swung their weapons at Laurent. They flicked me away with barely a glance as I leaped at them, until one decided to rid himself of the pest. He raised his double-bladed axe over his head to slice me through, but Laurent's sword caught him across the throat and the soldier went down, the flat of his axe glancing my shoulder. I stumbled out of the circle, arm uselessly numb, and dropped to my knees, gasping. And then I watched in horror as ten hulking masses of steel closed on Laurent. I shrieked his name with the same terror as Arro.

It slowed, the battle, before my eyes. Sound ebbed to a distant howl, the clang of metal, the grunts and shouts and thudding of earth all blurred. It was an eternity for each axe to rise and crash down, for the swords to stab. A tumble of legs and arms and weapons played like a slow dance, silhouetted in the flickering light of the torches. Laurent was ever valiant, but he had no chance against ten. Furious attack became desperate defense.

He would die, my Complement. He would die in this moment—saving Arro, saving me, while I watched useless.

“STOP THEM!” I screamed it aloud; I cried it within. My fists were filled with the sand-dry dirt of the plain, which sieved between my fingers like in an hourglass shedding time.
Stop them.
Arro bled; Laurent suffered.
Please
…There was no Bog Hag, no gift to use, no Lark. And I was nothing, not Healer, not Guardian. Simply nothing.

And yet…

It began as a breeze. Some faint whisper that ruffled through the length of my hair and stirred my cloak. Then the breeze became sound—a whisper growing into a roar of shouts, cries, pleas—voices of a crowd, memories of pain. Something of it gave the soldiers and Laurent pause, a brief shudder, but they quickly fell back to their fight. The roar grew louder, and still they did not hear what I heard.

Nor see. The air surrounding us was shimmering, thickening. A whitish haze against the dark…and something more. The haze was forming, coloring, resolving to figures—transparent, nearly, but figures in the shape of human, of animal and tree. Nay, they
were
human and animal and tree, advancing in mass toward the battle. One figure—a boy, carrot-haired, ginger-lashed—broke for a moment to turn and look at me and nod. And then I knew.

Spirits of the recent dead. Those whom the soldiers had so brutally killed—humans, animals…the trees, even, which had been so painfully hacked and trampled and burned. Those ripped from any peaceful end were returning to exact revenge.

Because I'd asked.

I sat back hard, panting, watching these incandescent figures surround the fight; circle slowly.
Step, step, step.
An ominous drumbeat. My heart matched each thud.