Shadowfane

  The company travelled through the night without incident. Moonlight yielded to pearly dawn, and the orchards thinned to farmland mantled in mist. Taen rode with her reins slackened on the mare's neck. She said nothing of the wards broken by Maelgrim, or the family of hillfolk stripped of human reason and slaughtered in her absence. Saddle-weary and wan, the Dreamweaver barely reacted when Corley's mount jostled to a halt ahead of her.

  'Hold hard, Taen.' The captain caught her horse's bridle and jerked it to a stop. 'We've a scout coming in.'

  In her preoccupation Taen had not seen the horseman who approached at a gallop. He called out as soon as he reached hailing distance.

  'Morbrith's mustered. Three companies march, not two miles ahead.' Dirt scattered over wet grass as the scout reined in his winded mount. They're fully armed. maybe two hundred mounted lancers, as many bowmen, and two divisions of pikemen.'

  Corley sat still, eyes narrowed to slits; then his fist tightened. The grey shook its head with a dissonant jangle of bit rings. 'They set after us yesterday, then, and won't expect us this far south. Tell me what banners they carry.'

  'Stars and fireburst of the priesthood. The High Earl's standard flies underneath.' The scout hesitated, then added, 'If they don't expect us, they look uncommon keen.'

  'So.' Corley sounded unimpressed. A madcap glint lit his eyes, and he turned aside to face the Dreamweaver. 'Taen, would you dream-send a message to an army, if I asked you?'

  Struck by suspicion, she glared at the Kielmark's captain. 'You planned this! Didn't you?'

  Corley grinned. 'Provoked it, rather. I can't leave a domain threatened by demons to rot under incompetent leadership. If the priests wanted Morbrith, they should've burned the High Earl while they had the chance.'

  'That's an excuse, you bloodthirsty maniac.' But the captain's spirited daring left Taen much heartened. She agreed to lend her talents to his plan.

  There followed an interval through which Corley issued a rapid string of orders. The company re-formed with the ease that stamped every enterprise beneath Cliffhaven's command. Men cleared weapons from their sheaths, and faced their shields at the ready. They did not curse, but moved as machines perfectly tuned; even the clink of armour and weapons became subdued. When the flag bearer unfurled the Kielmark's red wolf standard, a whistle like the reedy call of a gull signalled the advance. The men moved silent as ghosts through thinning cobwebs of mist.

  The air smelled of grass and dew and ploughed earth; birdsong rang from the treetops. Riding through a world spangled gold by early sunlight, Taen felt exhilarated and uncertain all at once. She might be surrounded by the most competent fighters in Keithland, yet the fact remained: an army outnumbering Cliffhaven's force four to one barred her way to the Isle of the Vaere.

  Corley worked on unperturbed. He positioned his men in a copse that flanked the verge of a dirt lane. Then he, the flag bearer, and a picked team from Moonless arrayed themselves across the gap. Taen could see them plainly from her position at the edge of the wood. But archers stationed scarcely twenty paces off blended invisibly among the trees.

  The lane stretched empty to the south, a ribbon of packed earth dividing a ploughed expanse of cropland. The fields were newly turned, deep and moist, and impossibly peaceful for a site that might soon see a battle staged. Tentatively Taen extended her dream-sense. At once her sensitivity encountered overwhelming numbers of men: mounted lancers with bodies weighed down with steel; garrison soldiers well trained at arms but soft on foot, their heels sore and blistered from a march forced on them by priests; after them came archers, some still blinking sleep from their eyes. Taen sampled the mood of the men from Morbrith and found them hungry, disgruntled, and surly over the fact that their own green standard hung beneath the starfield and fireburst of Kordane's initiates. Corley's assessment of the host sent against them was dead accurate. Carefully the Dreamweaver set about shaping the call he had asked of her, even as the troops rode into view.

  Lance heads splintered the morning light, tightly clumped as tatting needles jabbed through silver lace. The reason for Corley's deployment immediately became apparent. The front riders from Morbrith crowded the narrow way to avoid miring their mounts in the soft earth of the field. War-horses bunched and jostled, squeezing mailed legs and scabbards one upon another, and bumping painfully against the lighter riding horses that conveyed the commanding priests. Kor's Brotherhood protested. Like a swirl in a log-jammed current, they pressed ahead to ease their battered knees.

  In the shadow of the copse, Taen saw Corley's teeth flash in a grin. Then a leaf flicked close by; one of the Kielmark's archers nocked a shaft to his bowstring. With lethal steadiness, he drew, released, and the morning stillness became shattered by a wailing scream as a whistle arrow sprang aloft.

  The lancers' destriers were war-trained, and not an animal among them flicked an ear at the head-splitting racket. But the Earl's palfreys shied and spun and reared, flapping blue robes, and spilling two priests off into freshly turned earth.

  'Behold, the Great Fall,' shouted Corley from the lane. The priests still in their saddles looked up. In outrage they spotted the small force awaiting them under the Kielmark's wolf banner. Then the whistle arrow bit into ground, leaving memory of the captain's mocking profanity ringing across silence.

  The priests still in their saddles gesticulated like a conclave of angry puppets, while the ones who had fallen caught their horses and remounted. Someone shouted a command. The starburst standard wavered and thrust straight. Lance tips, pikes, and helms roiled as the men at arms behind gathered to charge. The actual moment of threat seemed utterly unreal. Taen swallowed, biting lips gone white as her cheeks. She shut her eyes, forced her mind to focus, and stabbed the full force of her Dreamweaver's powers straight into the gathered army.

  'All men loyal to Morbrith stand firm! Desist from attack at the edge of the trees. Let Cliffhaven strike only those who usurp the rule of their High Earl.'

  The call touched the men at the instant they spurred their horses. Hooves gouged the turf, gathered into the thunder of full stride. But in the act of charging, the oncoming line broke, forced to separate to avoid its disordered knot of priests. The men on the flanks trailed raggedly behind as their horses plunged off the road, to labour over the grabbing soil of ploughed ground. Taen sensed answering movement around her. The Kielmark's archers nocked broadheads to their bows while the war host hammered down on their position. Posed as bait in the lane, Corley clamped his thighs to his saddle and unsheathed his blade to signal his concealed men to kill.

  In panic, Taen sent to the war host again. 'For the love of your Earl, halt now!'

  For a moment, nothing changed. Then somebody in Morbrith's front lines whooped like a boy and reined in. Around him, levelled rows of lance tips shuddered, and raised, and a cheer burst forth from the men. War-horses slid on their hocks, and like drops sprayed from a pool, six blue-robed priests suddenly galloped undefended toward the wood.

  'Strike your mark!' yelled Corley.

  The archers in the trees released. A storm of shafts darkened the air, struck flesh with a sickening smatter of sound. Bristled like pincushions, the mounts of the priests staggered out of stride and fell screaming. Kor's initiates spilled like rags into the road. They scrambled to pick themselves up, while in disciplined silence, Corley's chosen company swooped out of cover to claim their prey.

  As they closed, the head priest reached his feet. Mudscuffed and bleeding from a scraped cheek, he straightened his silver-bordered tabard, glared at the naked steel that surrounded him, then lifted his bearded chin to meet the Kielmark's captain. Others of his order were herded into a bunch while a pair of scar-faced sailhands manhandled one who was slow to his feet. The man cried out, possibly injured. But his captors showed him no pity.

  'You commit an atrocity,' accused the High Priest. Lank, almost shrivelled with age, his voice carried thinly over the tumult. The boisterous noise of the Morbrith men quieted as he spoke.
'Since when do armed companies of criminals trespass upon the lawful domains of Keithland? Landfast will punish your boldness.'

  'Fires!' Grinning as his blasphemy caused the priest to flinch, Corley resumed in a tone gone dangerously mild. 'Since when have the Kielmark's captains wasted time taking heed of religion?'

  From her vantage point among the trees, Taen saw two of the High Priest's companions tense. One edged closer to his master, hands fluttering nervously at his waist.

  'Don't move!' snapped Corley. 'D'you think the Lord of Cliffhaven gives a bent half-copper for your lives?'

  Mention of the Kielmark made the High Priest blanch; he lost any inclination to speak. At present, the ships carrying temple gold from Kisburn to Landfast passed through Mainstrait untouched except for tax. But a word from the Lord of Pirates would cause those vessels to be boarded, plundered, and sunk. Much revenue might be lost.

  Corley sat, reins pinched under crossed hands on his saddle horn. 'Here's what you are going to do for the Kielmark,' he began. 'For a start - ' And suddenly, without warning, he jerked straight.

  Steel flickered between his fingers. A blade scribed a line through sunlight, and Taen saw the nearest of the priests crumple over with a scream. He pitched to the ground, blood flooding in a stream over the fists pressed tight to his abdomen. The Dreamweaver recoiled, sickened. Corley was always accurate with his knives; without visible provocation he had struck a man down, his intent not to kill, but to torture.

  Taen barely felt the arms that steadied her in the saddle. 'Don't look,' said Moonless's steward in her ear.

  But shutting her eyes did nothing to block the screams that ripped across the wood. Corley's voice rose like a scourge above the noise. 'I said, don't touch him. Do you all want a steel decoration in your guts?'

  Taen shivered, weeping. Her dream-call had brought an unarmed man to suffer. She sat stunned, as slivering cries of anguish subsided to retching whimpers no whit more bearable. Corley continued without break, his icy phrases directing his captains and Morbrith's army to the completion of his plan.

  'You, muster the men from the ships Ballad, Scythe, and Sea Lance. Take this priest at sword point to the Sanctuary tower. Free the High Earl and accompany him home to defend his keep. Make the Brotherhood understand that Cliffhaven will level the temple if even one initiate attempts interference. The other two ships' companies will escort the Morbrith army back. The rest of the Brotherhood go with them, as hostages. I don't care if you slit their holy hides to achieve it, but make the temple garrison there open the gates. Since the Brotherhood's services from that time on will be unnecessary, you will all stay on and aid the Earl with his defences.'

  Men shuffled, and silence fell suddenly, as the wounded man ceased outcry.

  'Murderer!' shrieked the High Priest. 'Fires consume your wicked flesh!'

  His passion drew Taen's attention. Despite the steward's protest, she looked in time to see the High Priest's lunge hammered short by the closed fist of a seaman. On the ground the wounded brother lay still, a second knife transfixed through his throat. Corley spurred his horse callously over the corpse. 'Moonless's company, to me. We've a crossing to complete, and quickly.'

  Sticks snapped as the Kielmark's first captain reined his grey through the muddle of men at arms. He entered the woods in time to see Taen pull free of the steward's arms, her face pinched white with shock.

  He stared at her, taken aback. Then his eyes turned bright with anger. 'Oh, Fires, get her moving,' he snapped to his servant. Then he jerked his head at Moonless's mate. The rest of Moonless's company formed up promptly and began their brutal ride across Morbrith.

  Within the hour the horses jogged lathered with sweat; breath laboured in their lungs, and foam spattered from their bits. Still Corley drove onward. Taen clung to her mare until her mind swam with exhaustion. The sun shone hot on her head, adding dizziness to fatigue. Her knees rubbed raw on the saddle. Even her fingers blistered. Of Morbrith's broad fields and grey stone keep she remembered little; progress became marked by the change in the ground, hoofbeats shifting from the deadened thud of dirt to the jarring clang of packed roadway. The company stopped to change mounts at a post station. Shortly afterwards a sailor caught the Dreamweaver swaying in the saddle. He said no word to his captain, but watched her without slackening pace. When her hands slipped from the reins, he reached out and caught her as she fell. Taen finished the ride half-conscious in his arms.

  At noon the riders swept into the crossroads settlement of Gaire's Main. The site had once been sacred to the hill tribes, but the spring where the clansmen convened for rites now filled a brick trough for watering livestock. Sleepy stone cottages roofed in thatch lined the thoroughfare. Hens scattered squawking through the dust as the horsemen reined up in the square; doors banged and shutters slammed in the lane beyond as villagers fled hastily into their homes. Their fear made Corley grimace in annoyance; his horses all stumbled, and the men who rode them were tired, hungry, and thirsty to the point where an insult might knock them down.

  The captain halted his grey in the yard before a rambling two-storey tavern. He signalled the men to dismount, then crossed to the doorway in three stiff strides. The latch proved to be bolted. Out of temper, Corley whirled and caught the signboard that swung creaking from the gable. One yank snapped its rusted chain, and his follow-through battered the nearest shutter and splintered the hasp. The window crashed open. A frying pan flew out, fended off with a clang by Corley's mailed fist.

  He sprang and wedged the shutter back with his sword hilt. 'Kor's Fires, woman! I'm not here to rape your wenches. My men pay silver for meat and rest. But by damn, deny them, and I'll let them kick in your walls for sport!'

  Chain rattled. The door creaked, then widened, and a raw-boned blonde in frowsy skirts stepped out, hands braced on her hips. She surveyed the company of men and horses crowded untidily across the spring yard.

  Then, with sharp calculation, she regarded the burly captain who had dented her best piece of kitchenware. 'Inside, and welcome, then. But damages will be added to your tally, starting with my busted sign and shutter.'

  Corley refused to haggle. Having spotted one seaman still mounted with Taen lying limp in his arms, he turned on his heel and splashed his way through the mud beside the spring. The tavern mistress watched with hard eyes as he exchanged low words with the sailhand. Then, without fuss, he lifted the girl down himself.

  Black hair tumbled free of the Dreamweaver's hood as Corley strode back to the tavern. 'Open your door,' he said briskly.

  The girl's extreme pallor convinced the woman to abandon argument. She shook out her apron, stamped across the threshold, and bawled for her daughter to fetch a flask of spirits from the cellars. Then, as the old stablemaster and his single lad ventured from their hiding place in the grain stores, she motioned Corley and his following into the tap.

  Minutes later, Taen aroused to the sharp taste of plum brandy. Tired, aching, and disoriented, she opened stinging eyes and discovered that she slouched on a chair in a low-beamed room crammed with men. Someone knelt by her with a flask. Weaponry chinked as he bent closer. Shocked back to memory, Taen recognized Corley, still clad for battle in his mail and helm. The same hand that had knifed the priest reached down to help her sit straight. She cringed back reflexively.

  'Kor!' Corley's blasphemy came out a whisper. He shot to his feet, and brandy spattered his wrist like blood.

  Taen ached to speak, but words would not pass her lips. As she hesitated, the captain turned his back. For a moment he stood as if he would say something. Then, abruptly, he strode off.

  Soon afterwards. Moonless's steward arrived at the Dreamweaver's side. He clutched the brandy flask anxiously against his chest, but one glance convinced him that drink would not ease the distraught girl. The servant abandoned the spirits on the nearest trestle and glanced quickly over his shoulder. Corley was not in sight.

  'Step outdoors for a moment with me. The air might do you good.
' The steward caught Taen's shoulder, pulling her firmly to her feet. She quivered under his fingers as he steered her past the hearth, around tables of men wolfing stew, and out through the wide plank door.

  Midday sun warmed the inn yard; overflow from the spring trickled soothingly over the lip of the trough. Nearby the aged stablemaster and a freckle-faced lad hustled to and fro, watering horses. The steward searched for a quiet spot and finally found a log bench against one wing of the inn. He seated Taen, then settled himself on the grass at her feet.

  On shipboard he was known as a grey-haired, unimposing man, by turns appreciated for efficiency and cursed for his motherly sense of propriety. But today his fingers jabbed nervously at the grass and he spoke with hesitation. 'Lady, I'm going to tell you things my captain will not. He's got pride like the devil, enough so he'd lay me across a hatch grating to be flogged if he knew I'd interfered.'

  'Don't.' Mention of further violence caused Taen to tense in distress.

  The steward reached out and caught her hand. 'I must.'

  Taen shuddered. She pulled free in protest, but did not turn away as the steward continued.

  'You couldn't see from the wood. But that priest got knifed because he disregarded the captain's warning. The Brotherhood often communicate with hand signals. Corley caught the wretch trying to provoke a plot with his fellows. Had no one cowed them, forcefully and at once, that small batch of priests could've brewed trouble clear to Landfast.'

  'But why? Corley tortured that man before he killed him. What could justify such brutality?' Taen chewed at a broken thumbnail, and started as she tore it to the quick.