Janella was huddled beneath the overhanging roof of an outbuilding, her daughters and serving women like roosting hens around her. “Will you leave us all here unguarded, when we have housed you all for seven days and never a penny in pay? Scarface and his men are sure to strike here for the horses, and we are unprotected, at their mercy—
Brydar gestured to the boy Marco. “You. Stay and guard horses and women—”
The boy snarled, “No! I joined your crew on the pledge that I should face Scarface, steel in hand! It is an affair of honor—do you think I need your dirty coppers?”
Beyond the wall all was shrieking confusion. “I have no time to bandy words,” Brydar said quickly. “Kindra—this is no quarrel of yours, but you know me a man of my word; stay here and guard the horses and these women, and I will make it worth your while!”
“At the mercy of a woman? A woman to guard us? Why not set a mouse to guard a lion!” Janella’s shrewish cry cut him off. The boy Marco urged, eyes blazing, “Whatever I have been promised for this foray is yours, mestra, if you free me to meet my sworn foe!”
“Go; I’ll look after them,” Kindra said. It was unlikely Scarface would get this far, but it was really no affair of hers; normally she fought beside the men, and would have been angry at being left in a post of safety. But Janella’s cry had put her on her mettle. Marco caught up his sword and hurried to the gate, Brydar following him. Kindra watched them go, her mind on her own early battles. Some turn of gesture, of phrase, had alerted her. The boy Marco is noble, she thought. Perhaps even Comyn, some bastard of a great lord, perhaps even a Hastur. I don’t know what he’s doing with Brydar’s men, but he’s no ordinary hired sword!
Janella’s wailing brought her back to her duty. “Oh! Oh! Horrible,” she howled. “Left here with only a woman to look after us…”
Kindra said tersely, “Come on!” She gestured. “Help me close that gate!”
“I don’t take orders from one of you shameless women in breeches—”
“Let the damned gate stay open, then,” Kindra said, right out of patience. “Let Scarface walk in without any trouble. Do you want me to go and invite him, or shall we send one of your daughters?”
“Mother! ” remonstrated a girl of fifteen, breaking away from Janella’s hand. “That is no way to speak —Lilla, Marga, help the good mestra shove this gate shut!” She came and joined Kindra, helping to thrust the heavy wooden gate tightly into place, pull down the heavy crossbeam. The women were wailing in dismay; Kindra singled out one of them, a young girl about six or seven moons along in pregnancy, who was huddled in a blanket over her nightgear.
“You,” she said, “take all the babies and the little children upstairs into the strongest chamber, bolt the doors, and don’t open them unless you hear my voice or Janella’s.” The woman did not move, still sobbing, and Kindra said sharply, “Hurry! Don’t stand there like a rabbithorn frozen in the snow! Damn you, move, or I’ll slap you senseless!” She made a menacing gesture and the woman started, then began to hurry the children up the stairs; she picked up one of the littlest ones, hurried the others along with frightened, clucking noises.
Kindra surveyed the rest of the frightened women. Janella was hopeless. She was fat and short of breath, and she was staring resentfully at Kindra, furious that she had been left in charge of their defense. Furthermore, she was trembling on the edge of a panic that would infect everyone; but if she had something to do, she might calm down. “Janella, go into the kitchen and make up some hot wine punch,” she said. “The men will want it when they come back, and they’ll deserve it, too. Then start hunting out some linen for bandages, in case anyone’s hurt. Don’t worry,” she added, “they won’t get to you while we’re here. And take that one with you,” she added, pointing to the terrified simpleton Lilla, who was clinging to Janella’s skirt, round-eyed with terror, whimpering. “She’ll only be in our way.”
When Janella had gone, grumbling, the lackwit at her heels, Kindra looked around at the sturdy young women who, remained.
“Come, all of you, into the stables, and pile heavy bales of hay around the horses, so they can’t drive the horses over them or stampede them out. No, leave the lantern there; if Scarface and his men break through, we’ll set a couple of bales afire; that will frighten the horses and they might well kick a bandit or two to death. Even so, the women can escape while they round up the horses; contrary to what you may have heard, most bandits look first for horses and rich plunder, and women are not the first item on their list. And none of you have jewels or rich garments they would seek to strip from you.” Kindra herself knew that any man who laid his hand on her, intending rape, would quickly regret it; and if she was overpowered by numbers, she had been taught ways in which she could survive the experience undestroyed; but these women had had no such teaching. It was not right to blame them for their fears.
I could teach them this. But the laws of our charter prevent me and I am bound by oath to obey those laws; laws made, not by our own Guild-mothers, but by men who fear what we might have to say to their women!
Well, perhaps at least they will find it a matter for pride that they can defend their home against invaders! Kindra went to lend her own wiry strength to the task of piling up the heavy bales around the horses; the women worked, forgetting their fears in hard effort. But one grumbled, just loud enough to Kindra to hear, “It’s all very well for her! She was trained as a warrior and she’s used to this kind of work! I’m not!”
It was no time to debate Guild-house ethics; Kindra only asked mildly, “Are you proud of the fact that you have not been taught to defend yourself, child?” But the girl did not answer, sullenly hauling at her heavy hay-bale.
It was not difficult for Kindra to follow her thought; if it had not been for Brydar, each man of the town could have protected each one his own women! Kindra thought, in utter disguest, that this was the sort of thinking that laid villages in flames, year after year, because no man owed loyalty to another or would protect any household but his own! It had taken a threat like Scarface to get these village men organized enough to buy the services of a few hired swords, and now their women were grumbling because their men could not stand, each at his own door, protecting his own woman and hearth!
Once the horses had been barricaded, the women clustered together nervously in the courtyard. Even Janella came to the kitchen door to watch. Kindra went to the barred gate, her knife loose in its scabbard. The other girls and women stood under the roof of the kitchen, but one young girl, the same who had helped Kindra to shut the gate, bent and tucked her skirt resolutely up to her knees, then went and brought back a big wood-chopping hatchet and stood with it in her hand, taking up a place at the gate beside Kindra.
“Annelys!” Janella called. “Come back here! By me!”
The girl cast a look of contempt at her mother and said, “If any bandit climbs these walls, he will not get his hands on me, or on my little sister, without facing cold steel. It’s not a sword, but I think even in a girl’s hands, this blade would change his mind in a hurry!” She glanced defiantely at Kindra and said, “I am ashamed for all of you, that you would let one lone woman protect us! Even a rabbithorn doe protects her kits!”
Kindra gave the girl a companionable grin. “If you have half as much skill with that thing as you have guts, little sister, I would rather have you at my back than any man. Hold the axe with your hands close together, if the time comes to use it, and don’t try anything fancy, just take a good hard chop at his legs, just like you were cutting down a tree. The thing is, he won’t be expecting it, see?”
The night dragged on. The women huddled on hay-bales and boxes, listening with apprehension and occasional sobs and tears as they heard the clash of swords, cries and shouts. Only Annelys stood grimly beside Kindra, clutching her axe. After an hour or so, Kindra said, settling herself down on a hay-bale, “You needn’t clutch it like that, you’ll only weary yourself for an attack. Lean it against the bale,
so you can snatch it up when the need comes.”
Annelys asked in an undertone, “How did you know so well what to do? Are all the Free Amazons —you call them something else, don’t you?—how do the Guild-women learn? Are they all fighting women and hired swords?”
“No, no, not even many of us,” Kindra said. “It is only that I have not many other talents; I cannot weave or embroider very well, and my skill at gardening is only good in the summertime. My own oath-mother is a midwife, that is our most respected trade; even those who despise the Renunciates confess that we can often save babes alive when the village healer-women fail. She would have taught me her profession; but I had no talent for that, either, and I am squeamish about the sight of blood— ” She looked down suddenly at her long knife, remembering her many battles, and laughed; and Annelys laughed with her, a strange sound against the frightened moaning of the other women.
“You are afraid of the sight of blood?”
“It’s different,” Kindra said. “I can’t stand suffering when I can’t do anything about it, and if a babe is born easily they seldom send for the midwife; we come only when matters are desperate. I would rather fight with men, or beasts, than for the life of a helpless woman or baby…”
“I think I would too,” said Annelys, and Kindra thought: Now, if I were not bound by the laws of the Guild, I could tell her what we are. And this one would be a credit to the Sisterhood…
But her oath held her silent. She sighed and looked at Annelys, frustrated.
She was beginning to think the precautions had been useless, that Scarface’s men would never come here at all, when there was a shriek from one of the women, and Kindra saw the tassel of a coarse knitted cap come up over the wall; then two men appeared on top of the wall, knives gripped in their teeth to free their hands for climbing.
“So here’s where they’ve hidden it all, women, horses, all of it— ” growled one. “You go for the horses, I’ll take care of—oh, you would,” he shouted as Kindra ran at him with her knife drawn. He was taller than Kindra; as they fought, she could only defend herself, backing step by step toward the stables. Where were the men? Why had the bandits been able to get this far? Were they the last defense of the town? Behind her, out of the corner of her eye she saw the other bandit coming up with his sword; she circled, backing carefully so she could face them both.
Then there was a shriek from Annelys, the axe flashed once, and the second bandit fell, howling, his leg spouting blood. Kindra’s opponent faltered at the sound; Kindra brought up her knife and ran him through the shoulder, snatching up his knife as it fell from his limp hand. He fell backward, and she leaped on top of him.
“Annelys!” she shouted. “You women! Bring thongs, rope, anything to tie him up—there may be others—”
Janella came with a clothesline and stood by as Kindra tied the man, then, stepping back, looked at the bandit, lying in a pool of his own blood. His leg was nearly severed at the knee. He was still breathing, but he was too far gone even to moan and while the women stood and looked at him, he died. Janella stared at Annelys in horror, as if her young daughter had suddenly sprouted another head.
“You killed him,” she breathed. “You chopped his leg off!”
“Would you rather he had chopped off mine, mother?” Annelys asked, and bent to look at the other bandit. “He is only stabbed through the shoulder, he’ll live to be hanged!”
Breathing hard, Kindra straightened, giving the clothesline a final tug. She looked at Annelys and said, “You saved my life, little sister.”
The girl smiled up at her, excited, her hair coming down and tumbling into her eyes. There was a cold sleet beginning to fall in the court; their faces were wet. Annelys suddenly flung her arms around Kindra, and the older woman hugged her, disregarding the mother’s troubled face.
“One of our own could not have done better. My thanks, little one!” Damn it, the girl had earned her thanks and approval, and if Janella stared at them as if Kindra were a wicked seducer of young women, then so much the worse for Janella! She let the girl’s arm stay around her shoulders as she said, “Listen; I think that is the men coming back.”
And in a minute they heard Brydar’s hail, and they struggled to raise the great crossbeam of the gate. His men drove before them more than a dozen good horses, and Brydar laughed, saying, “Scarface’s men will have no more use for them; so we’re well paid! I see you women got the last of them?” He looked down at the bandit lying in his gore, at the other, tied with Janella’s clothesline. “Good work, mestra, I’ll see you have a share in the booty!”
“The girl helped,” Kindra said. “I’d have been dead without her.”
“One of them killed my father,” the girl said fiercely, “so I have paid my just debt, that is all!” She turned to Janella and ordered, “Mother, bring our defenders some of that wine punch, at once!”
Brydar’s men sat all over the common-room, drinking the hot wine gratefully. Brydar set down the tankard and rubbed his hands over his eyes with a tired “Whoosh!” He said, “Some of my men are hurt, dame Janella; have any of your women skill with leech-craft? We will need bandages, and perhaps some salves and herbs. I—” He broke off as one of the men beckoned him urgently from the door, and he went at a run.
Annelys brought Kindra a tankard and put it shyly into her hand. Kindra sipped; it was not the wine-punch Janella had made, but a clear, fine, golden wine from the mountains. Kindra sipped it slowly, knowing the girl had been telling her something. She sat across from Kindra, taking a sip now and then of the hot wine in her own tankard. They were both reluctant to part.
Damn that fool law that says I cannot tell her of the Sisterhood! She is too good for this place and for that fool mother of hers; the idiot Lilla is more what her mother needs to help run the inn, and I suppose Janella will marry her off to some yokel at once, just to have help in running this place! Honor demanded she keep silent. Yet, watching Annelys, thinking of the life the girl would lead here, she wondered, troubled, what kind of honor it was, to require that she leave a girl like this in a place like this.
Yet she supposed it was a wise law; anyway, it had been made by wiser heads than hers. She supposed, otherwise, young girls, glamored for the moment with the thought of a life of excitement and adventure, might follow the Sisterhood without being fully aware of the hardships and the renunciations that awaited them. The name Renunciate was not lightly given; it was not an easy life. And considering the way Annelys was looking at her, Annelys might follow her simply out of hero-worship. That wouldn’t do. She sighed, and said, “Well, the excitement is over for tonight, I suppose. I must be away to my bed; I have a long way to ride tomorrow. Listen to that racket! I didn’t know any of Brydar’s men were seriously hurt—”
“It sounds more like a quarrel than men in pain,” Annelys said, listening to the shouts and protests. “Are they quarreling over the spoils?”
Abruptly the door thrust open and Brydar of Fen Hills came into the room. “Mestra, forgive me, you are wearied—”
“Enough,” she said, “but after all this hullabaloo I am not like to sleep much; what can I do for you?”
“I beg you—will you come? It is the boy—young Marco; he is hurt, badly hurt, but he will not let us tend his wounds until he has spoken with you. He says he has an urgent message, very urgent, which he must give before he dies…”
“Avarra’s mercy,” Kindra said, shocked. “Is he dying, then?”
“I cannot tell, he will not let us near enough to dress his wound. If he would be reasonable and let us care for him—but he is bleeding like a slaughtered chervine, and he has threatened to slit the throat of any man who touches him. We tried to hold him down and tend him willy-nilly, but it made his wounds bleed so sore as he struggled that we dared not wait—will you come, mestra?”
Kindra looked at him with question—she had not thought he would humor any man of his band so. Brydar said defensively, “The lad is nothing to me; not
foster-brother, kinsman, nor even friend. But he fought at my side, and he is brave; it was he who killed Scarface in single combat. And may have had his death from it.”
“Why should he want to speak to me?”
“He says, mestra, that it is a matter concerning his sister. And he begs you in the name of Avarra the pitiful that you will come. And he is young enough, almost, to be your son.”
“So,” Kindra said at last. She had not seen her own son since he was eight days old; and he would, she thought, be too young to bear a sword. “I cannot refuse anyone who begs me in the name of the Goddess,” she said, and rose, frowning; young Marco had said he had no sister. No; he had said that there was none, now, that he could call sister. Which might be a different thing.
On the stairs she heard the voice of one of Brydar’s men, expostulating, “Lad, we won’t hurt ye, but if we don’t get to that wound and tend to it, you could die, do ye’ hear?”
“Get away from me!” The young voice cracked. “I swear by Zandu’s hells, and, by the spilt tripes of Scarface out there dead, I’ll shove this knife into the throat of the first man who touches me!”
Inside, by torchlight, Kindra saw Marco half-sitting, half-lying on a straw pallet; he had a dagger in his hand, holding them away with it; but he was pale as death, and there was icy sweat on his forehead. The straw pallet was slowly reddening with a pool of blood. Kindra knew enough of wounds to know that the human body could lose more blood than most people thought possible without serious danger; but to any ordinary person it looked most alarming.
Marco saw Kindra and gasped, “Mestra, I beg you —I must speak with you alone—”
“That’s no way to speak to a comrade, lad,” said one of the mercenaries, kneeling behind him, as Kindra knelt beside the pallet. The wound was high on the leg, near the groin; the leather breeches had broken the blow somewhat, or the boy would have met the same fate as the man Annelys had struck with the axe.
“You little fool,” Kindra said. “I can’t do half as much for you as your friend can.”