Dagger-Star

Red considered this. “In the common ear, to be certain. In the ears of the powerful? I don’t know. But word travels on the wind.”

  “Talk works against us.” Ezren drew a breath. “Let me make it work for us as well.”

  “How so?”

  Ezren reached for his tunic. “I need ten or fifteen of your men. Older, experienced men. War veterans, if you have any.” He tucked his head into his tunic and struggled with the sleeves.

  “What for?” Red asked carefully.

  Ezren’s head popped out of the neck of the tunic. His hair had started growing back, but there wasn’t enough to be in disarray. Still, he ran his hand over it just the same. “Why, to send them on leave to Edenrich and some of the other towns, of course. For an ale, and a meat pie, and a bit of gossip at a tavern or two.”

  Red glanced at Bethral, who shrugged. “I don’t—”

  Ezren’s eye gleamed. “They will spread the word that the Chosen has raised her banner and will soon issue the call to any man willing to serve Palins.”

  “Banner?” Red pointed out. “We don’t have—”

  “I will design one for you.” Ezren waved away her protest. “The power of story, Chosen. For what is gossip but a tale told over and over?”

  Ezren seated himself next to Auxter. “Let me gather the men, talk to them, then have the Lady High Priestess open a few portals around the Kingdom. All I need is a few nights, and a few coins to buy a few rounds of ale for the thirsty.”

  “It’s a good idea,” Auxter rumbled. “And I know just the men.”

  “Is it too soon?” Bethral asked.

  Ezren shrugged. “It takes time for a tale to spread. But if it works, it may gather support in unlikely places.”

  Red considered this for a moment. “Do it.” She turned to go.

  Ezren’s voice rose behind her. “You mean you are going to listen to me?”

  Red smirked, but didn’t stop. She had a goatherder to find. She walked quickly, not wanting further interruption. But when she caught her first glimpse of the group, she paused.

  Sure enough, Josiah had the warriors on their hands and knees, pulling at the plants. She was pleased to see one of them posted as watch. She suspected they were trading off that duty to escape Josiah’s eye for a few brief moments.

  The watchman spotted her, and lifted a hand. She returned the greeting, and gestured for silence.

  Josiah was on his hands and knees, patiently explaining to one of the warriors the difference between a wild onion and a weed. His voice floated over, warm and patient. She watched him for a moment as his hands moved, sorting out the plants and digging in the soil.

  A man of the earth, of crops and livestock. A man reclaiming his lands and eventually his people. Josiah was living again, and although the pain still lurked in the depths of his eyes, there was light there as well.

  Athelbryght would be restored, of that Red was certain. Josiah had already started to rebuild, even if he didn’t realize it yet. He would need a woman beside him, to aid him in that task. Someone like Warna. Sweet and generous, plump and fruitful.

  Red sighed, and looked down at the toes of her boots. It hurt to think of that. To think of Josiah….

  Red scowled at her boots, then lifted her head and scowled at the hot, sweaty goatherder. How had this happened? A man of the dirt, a mucky farmer, for the sake of the Twelve! Who’d have thought it?

  She…cared for him.

  Red grimaced, then shrugged. What was, was. She’d act in accordance with the Way of the Twelve, as was right and proper. She had her path, he had his. No matter that it hurt. What was, was.

  Josiah stood, and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his tunic. Red felt the heat rise in her body. She could almost smell him from here. Sweat, dirt, and marjoram.

  Oh, she’d act in accordance with the Way, but in the meantime there was her profit to consider.

  “Lord Josiah,” she called as she stepped out of the trees. “What are you doing to my warriors?”

  With a bit of scolding and teasing, she managed to release Josiah’s victims back to their military duties and clear the area fairly quickly.

  Josiah sighed as the last one scrambled away. “I need their help, if these beds are to produce.”

  “I’ve a different use for your beds.” Red gave him a sly look, moving closer.

  Josiah arched an eyebrow. “Verice didn’t offer you his?”

  Red pretended to shiver. “The most we got was that he’d stay neutral. He has no care for either side.”

  “He has no love of humans, that is certain.”

  Red paused. “But he’s married to one.”

  Josiah’s mouth dropped open.

  “Pretty thing, too, and very pregnant.”

  Josiah stood there for a moment, shaking his head. “I’d have thought it would take more than five years to change that heartless bastard. More like five hundred years. Ezren would say there was a story there.”

  “Evelyn knows it.”

  Josiah chuckled. “And if I know her, she’s not telling.”

  “Just so.” Red shifted closer. “Now, about your beds…” She lifted a gloved hand to stroke his face.

  Josiah caught her wrist, and pulled her close, lowering his head to nuzzle her neck. Red smiled as his scent surrounded her, and tilted her head to give him access.

  “There’s a stream a short walk from here, with a pool big enough for two,” Josiah whispered in her ear.

  “Within hail of the camp?” Red whispered.

  “Yes,” Josiah said.

  “Well, then.” Red stepped back, and tugged. “Let’s be about it.”

  But Josiah still had her wrist, and an odd expression on his face. His thumb stroked the leather of her glove that covered the pulse point.

  Red froze.

  “When was the last time you felt another’s skin?” Josiah asked softly. His eyes bored into hers. His thumb made a gentle circle on her wrist. She could feel the gentle stroke through the leather. “When did you last feel someone’s hair run through your fingers? Or the wetness of another’s tears?”

  “Josiah.” Red spoke sharply, and jerked her hand from his grasp. She rubbed away his touch. “Don’t.”

  “I’m sorry.” Josiah made no move. He just looked at her, with eyes that held pain…for her.

  Red looked away. “So where’s this path?”

  He gestured and started off. Red paused, suddenly afraid. “Josiah, you won’t try to…”

  Josiah turned and looked at her. “No, I promise you, Red. I won’t try to remove your gloves.” He held out his hand. “You are safe with me.”

  She relaxed, and reached out to put her gloved hand in his bare one.

  THE return message from Lord Carell was short and succinct:

  If Lord Josiah lives, as you claim, then tell him to meet me at our old hunting camp, two mornings hence.

  “Which gives us just enough time to get there,” Josiah pointed out. “Carell has always been a careful man.”

  “Well, I can’t help,” Evelyn sighed. “There’s no shrine, and I can’t travel with you. That’s far too long for me to be gone from the Church.”

  Red growled under her breath. “I don’t like this.”

  “Take more of the men,” Bethral suggested. “Little risk with a group of fifty or more.”

  “Don’t,” Auxter said. “If Carell sees that large force, he will assume treachery. Besides, that many men will be too slow.”

  The argument might have continued for days, but Red cut it off after an hour. “We need to leave soon, so here is what we will do. Ten men will go with us. Auxter, Josiah, you will ride with me. We will—”

  “I am going,” Ezren announced.

  Red raised an eyebrow. “I think not, Storyteller.”

  “I think so, Chosen,” Ezren replied. “I’m stronger, and able to sit a horse with no trouble.” He glared at her, his green eyes flashing. “So far I have only heard this story. I want to see this part.”

&
nbsp; “If he goes, I go,” Bethral added.

  Red opened her mouth, then closed it with a snap. “So be it. On your own heads. But if you fall behind, you’ll return here, no arguments.”

  Ezren bowed his head, then looked at her with a wide grin.

  Red rolled her eyes. “Oh, and no goats. We will lock them up in the barn.”

  Josiah shrugged. “You can try.”

  It hadn’t taken too long to provision and mount up. They’d ride through the afternoon, and camp overnight. Josiah was leading the way to a place on the border between Athelbryght and Penature.

  “We used to meet there to hunt when we were younger. My father and Carell’s father were fast friends,” Josiah said as he rode next to Red.

  Beast lashed out, trying to bite Josiah’s mount on the neck, but Red pulled the rein tight before he could connect. “Stupid horse.”

  “Uh-oh,” Josiah muttered.

  Red’s head snapped around. There were five goats on the trail ahead, standing there, glaring at her. The smallest one, a white one, looked a lot like Snowdrop.

  “It can’t be,” Red growled.

  The goats ran up to them and started dancing around Josiah’s horse, standing on their back legs to let Josiah scratch their ears. He leaned down in the saddle, and smiled as he stroked them.

  “I guess the goats are coming.” Red rolled her eyes. “I better not wake up with goats in my tent.”

  She pointedly ignored everyone around her as they stifled their smiles.

  THE night passed quietly. Josiah enjoyed sleeping with Red in his arms. The goats had the good sense to stay out of their small tent.

  In the morning, they mounted up and rode with a stronger sense of urgency. The hunting cabin was still a ways off, and they’d want to reach it before dark. Their path now followed close to the bog, and though the road was dry, the smell was all about them. Rotting plants and thick water. Josiah wrinkled his nose. When they’d hunted here before, the bog had been a healthy place, filled with green growth and fat prey. But now, the place seemed sickly.

  Josiah shifted in his saddle, conscious that he hadn’t ridden this much in a long time. He spurred his horse so that he was next to Red. “How about we make a stop up ahead?” Josiah suggested. “Ezren could use it.”

  Red gave him a knowing look. “He’s not the only one, eh? Still, it’s not a bad—”

  “’Ware!” Bethral’s voice rang out from behind them.

  Josiah’s head exploded in pain. He had a brief glimpse of Red’s face going slack just before unconsciousness claimed him.

  TWENTY-THREE

  SOMETHING tugged at her glove.

  Red’s eyes snapped open, eyes blurred by pain. She could barely see the man crouched at her side, her wrist in his hand as he pulled at her glove. He almost had it off.

  She twisted her hand from his grasp.

  The man jerked back in surprise, his mouth opening to cry out.

  Red was faster. She grabbed his throat with her gloved hand and squeezed hard. He reached up, trying to pull her off. Red pulled him down, threw him to the side, rolling with his weight so that she ended up on top. She grabbed his hair in her gloved hand.

  A simple matter to break his neck with a quick jerk.

  Voices behind her. The sounds of panicked horses running. More enemies. There was a dagger on the man’s belt. She pulled it free, hiding the movement with her body. Then she hunched down over his corpse, hiding the blade and holding her breath.

  Another man, coming from behind, cursing. Red waited until he was close, then leapt up, slashing backward. She scraped his face with the blade as he came up behind her.

  The man cried out and raised his hands to cover his face. She risked a quick look to try to locate others, then rammed the dagger into the man’s ribs, angled for the heart. He dropped like a stone, his body sliding off her blade.

  A cry of rage from behind warned her of a new attacker. She barely managed to dodge his sword thrust. This one was ready, armed and with a shield. Not so easy.

  Red widened her eyes as if in fear, and clutched the dagger to her breast. She stepped back, careful of the bodies, and thrust out her empty hand to ward him off.

  The man advanced, still careful, his shield and sword ready.

  Red stayed silent, shaking her head and mouthing the word “please” as she retreated. If he didn’t buy it soon, she’d have to—

  “Now, lass…no need to fear,” the man spoke softly.

  Red stopped, and lowered her gaze. She wrapped her arm around her waist, and stood there, trying to shiver. Not hard, since some bastard had taken her boots.

  “Give me the dagger, that’s a good lass,” the man said, letting his shield drop just below his eyes.

  Red flicked her eyes up and then away, shaking her head again. Fool. She was no lass, and couldn’t he see the blood on the dagger? He just needed to drop his shield a little more, and—

  His eyes gave him away. Red saw his thought and moved just enough to avoid his thrust. She snarled, showing her teeth.

  The man grinned back, from the shelter of his shield. “Nice try, bitch.”

  Mucker. Red feinted, then darted to the left.

  The man hung back, cagey, waiting for her to strike. Time was his friend, not hers. There might be others….

  Red backed away, avoiding bodies, her eyes on the warrior.

  He followed, intent on taking her.

  Red turned and ran as fast as she could, up the road the way they had come. She heard him curse, and give chase. All to the good. There was a place just up the road that would work, if she could—

  There, by the big tree where the bog had exposed the roots. She ran up, and put her back to it. The man, breathing hard, wasn’t far behind. She snarled as he ran forward. She flipped the dagger so that she held it by the blade.

  The man slowed, wary.

  She threw the dagger.

  He lifted his shield, covering his chest and face. She charged forward, running full tilt toward him.

  The dagger clattered off the shield. He laughed, stooping to grab it, straightening up….

  And she hit him, putting her shoulder into the shield, forcing him back, over the roots. He staggered and fell backward into the bog.

  He splashed in, crying out, but the muck filled his mouth as he sank. His sword and the dagger were gone in an instant, and Red cursed the loss.

  The man’s hands were flailing weakly above the water, but the bog had him. She turned back, anxious to find the others.

  When she reached the spot, Red stood, breathing heavily, listening. But there was nothing, no noise at all but the rush of blood through her body. She lifted her gloved hand to her head, and it came back full of blood. The pain was like a blacksmith’s hammer, pounding and relentless.

  She’d been stripped down to her padded tunic and trous. She wiped blood from her eyes, and looked around.

  All she saw were bodies.

  The bodies of men, strangers, horses. She blinked again, then stumbled over to a horse.

  It was Steel.

  Red staggered over. The big horse was dead, from multiple blows. The blood on his hooves meant he’d fought hard.

  She didn’t see Bethral.

  She sucked in a breath. Auxter lay close by, his staff broken under him.

  She stumbled to his side, but there was no need to double-check. The dust on his eyes told the tale. She gritted her teeth, denying the pain, and stumbled on.

  Red searched, tallying the dead that she knew, and the ones that she didn’t, trying to make sense of it all. All had been stripped, gear and weapons gone. She’d been unconscious for a while, then.

  Her head throbbed, reminding her of her own injury. She returned, and tore some cloth from the tunic of one of the men she had killed. She pressed the cloth against the wound. Her stomach roiled at the feel, but she set her teeth and did it anyway. Wrapped tight around her head, it seemed to help the pain and stop the oozing.

  She couldn
’t remember much, just Bethral crying out a warning, the goats bleating….

  Josiah.

  She jerked around, looking again, but he wasn’t there. Bethral, Ezren…at least two of her warriors were unaccounted for. No goats. Some other horses, but not Beast. What—?

  Red staggered back to the men, but the dead did not give any answers. Not until she found Jaff dead, his hands tied behind his back. His thigh had been cut, and the amount of blood told her he’d bled out from it. But that meant they’d taken captives. Where had—

  The faint ring of goat bells echoed in the distance.

  Her head jerked up, and she looked into the swamp. She held her breath, and listened.

  There. Very faint…Red moved to the edge of the bog, and searched for a sign, a track, anything.

  She found it then, a clear and obvious trail. Six men, with captives, heading deep into the bog on foot.

  She looked for a weapon, any weapon, but there was none. She could check under the bodies, try to find a weapon, maybe some boots—

  Bleating now with the bells, and getting fainter. A wave of urgency passed through her. There was no time.

  She followed the tracks into the swamp.

  The trail was clear; they were moving fast and making no attempts to hide their passage. Red moved as quickly as she dared, trying to stay on the higher ground, going into the muck only when necessary. It was cold and thick with slime.

  She lost track of time and distance, but not the traces that she followed. That kept her moving. That and the faint sound of goat bells, getting stronger.

  Finally she caught a glimpse of movement between the trees. The back of a man in a dark cloak who was holding up a dagger of some kind, chanting in an unknown tongue. Cursing, then—

  Red heard Josiah cry out, only to be cut off. As if—

  She splashed forward, ignoring the noise she was making. Until an inner sense warned her, and she went down in the muck and crept closer to a bit of dry land up ahead.

  The goats had gone silent.

  She moved past a fallen tree to get her first clear glimpse of the area. There was an altar there, black and encrusted with moss. Behind the altar was a huge stone statue of a spider, its head cracked off the body, sunk half in the depths of the muck.