Spirit Gate: Book One of Crossroads (42 page)

How could this be happening? How, when he was so close? Were the gods punishing him for turning his back on them? Yet he’d done that years ago and walked unmolested in the Hundred enough times that they’d had plenty of time to dissolve him with the blast of their angry gaze if that was their intent. No, no, it must be now, when he was so close that the taste of freedom had made him at last admit his hunger. The gods were cruel, that was it, and delighted in mocking his hopes.

He reached back and slipped an arrow free, set it against the string. “Curse you all,” he muttered. “I won’t lose all this now!”

“Kei? Kei?”
It was the older girl, peering out from between the walls of cloth. “What go, Master? What go?”

“Down!” he snapped. “On the bed of the wagon. Down flat!” He heard them rustling, but he hadn’t the leisure to look inside to make sure they obeyed. Just what he needed! A stray arrow piercing that precious neck and robbing him of all he’d
worked for, for so many years. God, he was so furious at those damned robbers he could kill them and eat their hearts and savor the tang.

“Whass going on?” asked the lad.

“Robbers, you thick skull!”

The lad whistled. He was, it appeared, thick in understanding. He scratched his shaved head and wiped his nose. “Now what?”

“Run to the well. That’s refuge.”

“Can’t leave the wagon. Boss said so.”

“If they catch you, they’ll kill you.”

“Boss said so. Stick by, he said. Watch these other two, not just ours. Gotta do what Boss said. Plus there’s a sticky bun in it for me. When we get to Old Fort. He promised.”

“Hide under the wagon. You’ve got good position back here with me. Hard to come through these back branches, like a wall—” He pointed with the bow, and the lad nodded wisely. It was obvious that the boy didn’t comprehend the danger they were in. “There’s the cart, and that other wagon there, on the other side where it’s more open. That’s like wall, too. A bit of safety. The Lady’s palisade, they call it.”

“Eh,” said the lad, squinting. “Eh! See there!” He pointed with his elbow, not that Kesh hadn’t already seen and felt his insides go from falling to twisting into a tight, tight knot.

Where the caravan guards had got to he did not know, but the men now riding into the commons from both north and south were no raggle-taggle bunch but two dozen men armed with bows, spears, and swords and dressed in good silk. Not the best quality. He had a finely honed eye, and even from this distance he recognized that the shades of crimson, apricot, and azure were decent but second-rate. This was the kind of silk a well-to-do crofter might buy his young bride for her wedding price, or a rich merchant might clothe her servants in for a festival party to impress her rivals.

Behind, branches rustled. He spun. Tebedir pushed through the wall of hanging branches, holding an unlit torch in one hand and a shovel in the other.

“Tsst!” the driver hissed in disgust. “No robber in my land. God keep order!” He had tied his blessing bowl back onto his belt but now set down shovel and torch and set to work with flint and tinder to start a fire in the bowl. “Fire scare evil ones,” he explained. “Burn them.”

“My thanks for coming back,” said Kesh, heartened by his reappearance.

“Never left. I swear my time of service according to the Exalted One. To break a swear—an oath—makes a man a slave! In my country, Master,” he added. “Not yours. No such honor in yours.”

Kesh grinned wryly but kept his gaze fixed on the way the robbers were closing in around the inn. A few of the merchants bore walking staffs or droving whips, but those that held them aloft did so more as if to say they were ready to surrender. The innkeeper emerged from the inn on his knees, hands clapped to his forehead, palms facing outward in the traditional gesture of submission.

“Mercy!” The man’s voice carried easily over the commons. “By the mercy granted us by the Witherer’s Kiss, take what you will and go on your way.”

“Think they’ll see us?” whispered Tebedir.

A strong voice called out from among the robbers.

“Move swift! Hurry! Find the treasure, and ride!”

They wheeled, scattering like a flock of chickens after thrown grain. One jumped his mount over the fence surrounding the inn and rode through, whip flashing to either side as men screamed and stumbled out of his way. Another cantered back toward the northern gate and a third toward the southern. Six dismounted and began to tear through the wagons parked all through the commons as that same voice called, “No, you slackabeds! A wagon with canvas walls! Yes, like that!”

The man giving the orders remained in the road, surveying the chaos, watching avidly as a wagon surmounted by a canvas cabin had its walls slit by spear point. The leader’s mouth and nose were masked by a black scarf tied up behind his ears. His dark hair was short, like a laborer’s, and streaked with enough gray that Kesh could make out the speckling from here. Two men turned their horses and trotted toward the Ladytree.

Streamers of colored ribbons broke out of the innyard as the envoy used his staff to help himself vault the fence. He cleared it easily and landed with remarkable agility for a man of his advanced years. He trotted through the chaos with a peculiar lack of concern, following on the trail of the two riders moving in on the Ladytree.

“Not much chance fighting these odds,” said Tebedir. “If you ask me.”

“I’m not asking you! You’re free to escape, if you wish.”

“Seems to me Hundred folk like killing southern folk. As good odds here as out on my own. I stick.”

“With my thanks, then. If we survive this, I’ll give you a bonus.”

“Hei!” cried the lad, pointing toward the two riders.

Tebedir jammed the base of the torch into the dirt, held the shovel between his knees, and flicked open his tinderbox. Keshad sighed, nocked an arrow, and took aim. Once the first arrow went, he’d be marked and doomed. He could still surrender. The two riders closed. The envoy gained ground behind them, darting through the chaos. Kesh noted him grimly. Was it the envoy who had betrayed them to the bandits?

He loosed his arrow. It missed so wildly that in truth the two riders didn’t even notice it, so intent were they on looking back over their shoulders at the fortunate men now looting the wagons out on the commons where merchants sobbed and slaves cowered.

The torch flared beside him, a wash of unexpected heat. Tebedir hoisted the shovel in two hands and gave it a test swing as Keshad set another arrow to the string. He loosed it, only to see it veer wide yet again. Beltak had cursed him, or the gods had chosen to punish him for his apostasy now that he was back walking in their Hundred.

The lad had come up with a bow from somewhere. With a blinking look of confusion, he drew and aimed and shot and the lead rider of the pair toppled off his horse with an arrow buried deep in his belly.

“ ‘Eir! ‘Eir!” cried the second, waving and hollering until he got the attention of the leader. He drew his sword. “Got trouble over here.”

The leader gestured. Three more riders turned to ride that way as the second rider bent low in his saddle, letting his mount’s neck cover him. The lad fumbled for a second arrow. Keshad swore under his breath and made ready.

The envoy fell to his knees as though hit, but more likely he was only cowering as the new riders swept up beside him, ignoring an unarmed man dressed in the colors of a god. His arms shifted, and without warning he stuck his staff parallel an arm’s span above the ground, right in the path of one of the horses. The creature tripped and tumbled and screamed as it went down with all that weight, slamming hard. The rider spilled forward over the horse’s neck, hitting head and shoulder on the earth, and lay there like a dead man, although the horse struggled up at once.

“Beware!” said Tebedir in a sharp voice at Keshad’s left ear.

Kesh stepped back, and loosed an arrow into the face of the first rider, who was just now ducking under the Ladytree. The man screamed and flailed as his horse swung sharply back the way they’d come to get out from under the branches. The turn and the scrape of branches toppled him from the horse, and he lay writhing in the dirt and moaning and bleating and clawing at his face. The horse trotted away.

Two riders still pounded toward them. Tebedir dashed forward to the cover of another wagon, holding both torch and shovel. The lad had strung another arrow, but the sight of the wounded man struggling and bleeding in the dirt distracted him as did the cries and shouts from the commons and the inn.

The envoy dashed after the riders, toward the Ladytree, only to stumble and fall. An arrow stuck out of his back.

Kesh loosed his arrow as the pair of bandits ducked beneath the tree, but it missed. The lad was still staring at the injured man and the arrow stuck in his eye with blood and matter smearing his cheek.

“Heya! Heya!” shouted Kesh, but the lad turned too late as the lead rider stuck him through the belly with a spear. Choking, the boy collapsed and was then spun sideways as the rider yanked his spear clean. Tebedir thrust the smoking torch into the face of the second horse, and as it shied back he swung hard with the shovel. Its edge cut deep into the second rider’s ribs. The man shrieked and grunted; his sword caught Tebedir in the thigh, but only because he was already falling. He staggered as the rider landed at his feet, then battered the man’s face with the shovel, cursing as he swung his arms. Blood stained the fabric of his leggings.

Keshad leaped back as the other rider advanced. The man’s arm was cocked back with the bloody spear dripping and pointed straight at him. Kesh’s hands shook so badly he could not get an arrow free from the quiver, and when his back slammed up against his cart he dropped the bow and drew his short sword, however stupid and hopeless that was. The bandit tried a thrust, but Kesh slapped it aside desperately. Beyond, more riders approached. Tebedir shifted to get a better position in the shelter of the foremost wagon.

“Here! Here!” shouted the lead man, keeping his distance now that he’d seen Kesh would fight back. “I’ve got them! Two armed, one wounded. The wagon’s here!”

Although trapped against his wagon, Kesh could still see a portion of the commons. The bandit’s captain raised his voice, and all heads turned toward the Ladytree. Every man of them reined their horses aside; they had seen their quarry and now moved, like ospreys, for the swift catch.

“It’s all over,” called the rider, sneering. “Throw down your sword and we’ll kill you quick. Keep it, and we’ll take longer.”

“Is that meant to persuade me?” answered Kesh. “Can’t you do better? Offer me a share in your company? Compliment my skills to your captain? Promise to lay waste to my clan house if I don’t cooperate? Neh! You can’t even finish me off before the rest of them get here to back you up! You probably need them to help you swive the goats, too—”

He expected the thrust, caught the haft on his blade and shoved it aside. While the man was recovering his balance, Kesh jumped up against the horse’s withers, grabbed the rider’s belt, and yanked him off the horse.

“Tebedir! Back to me!” he called as he skipped sideways. The rider hit his head hard enough to wind him, and Kesh stuck him up under the ribs with no more mercy than the man had shown to the poor lad, who was still gurgling.

“Not looking good,” said Tebedir as he limped over, leaning heavily on the shovel.

A dozen men trotted over the limp body of the envoy as more came up from behind, converging on the Ladytree.

“You can give yourself up and beg for mercy. I won’t mind.”

Tebedir’s breathing had gone raspy with pain. “Better to die with honor than surrender as a woman. I give my word to drive, to keep silence, to bring you and the cargo to Olossi. I keep my word.”

A wind stirred the branches, as though the Lady were whispering. A strange prickling charge made Keshad’s skin tingle. He looked around, expecting to see the Lady’s servants leap out of the air to protect those who sheltered under her sacred boughs, but it was only the wind and a distant ripple of thunder, a change in the weather.

Too late for him. Too late for
her.

“Now would be a good time for Beltak to show His power,” muttered Kesh angrily, feeling tears sting and a vast crashing wave of despair and fury and hopelessness. From behind the canvas walls of the shelter he heard one of the girls sobbing with fear. He, too, wanted to weep, but he’d be damned if he would give in.

The thunder grew louder, and the riders toward the back of the group turned their heads to look south. He could not see their expressions, precisely, but he saw their postures alter. Elbows were raised, pointing, and then came an explosion of shouting and curses as they tried to shift direction.

Too late for them. They could not move quickly enough, having been too intent on the fish beneath the waters. A tide of black-clad riders swept through them,
scattering them, cutting them down. What fine horsemen! This new company turned sharply and with ease and took from behind those who had been spared the first assault. It was a slaughter. Not one of the bandits, not even the captain, survived.

Tebedir took his shovel and beat in the heads of the men still moaning, until they stopped. He halted beside the lad, whose eyes were open and whose face was white with agony and terror. “Kill him?” he asked.

“No. No.” Kesh could barely grip his sword’s hilt, he was trembling so hard. Saved! Just as he had asked! “There may be a real healer here. Praise the righteous ruler of all! Who are those men?”

Unexpectedly, horses neighed shrilly, and some reared, only to be ruthlessly reined down and held hard by their riders. Those horses who had no riders scattered in a panic. At the command of their captain, the mounted company withdrew from open ground, back among the wagons. Merchants and slaves pointed overhead, yelling and exclaiming, and most sprinted for the inn as though a squall was about to hit. All this movement cleared a space in the commons beyond the tangle of wagons and carts.

Whoof!

The beast came down fast, body almost at the vertical and wings in a wide curve, and yet with such beauty that Kesh shouted aloud and Tebedir swore in the name of the god. It was a huge eagle with a gruesome healed scar above its piercingly bright right eye. The man hanging in the harness unhooked himself with a speed born of long practice and leaped out with reeve’s baton raised and cloak swirling dashingly at his back. But as he surveyed the scene, he relaxed, then grinned, then lifted the baton toward the waiting horsemen as a salute. He turned to the eagle, spoke a word, and stepped back as it fanned out its wings with primary feathers and tail raising. With unnatural power, it thrust with its legs and lifted with its wings and took to the air again. Its wake fanned the air, and lifted the ends of the reeve’s cloak. A man actually shrieked in fear, followed by a chorus of anxious laughter and a sudden gabble as all the merchants swarmed the reeve.