Frank Tuttle - The Banshee's walk

Two wand-wavers on black mounts came galloping up. They consulted with the soldiers, who still loosed volley after volley of useless arrows at the thing.

After a few moments, one of the wand-wavers dismounted, produced one of the blue-headed staves they favored, and cautiously approached the cylinder.

He made a few waves with his staff. The head of it began to glow and trail mist. He called for the arrows to cease, and they did, and the blue radiance from his staff engulfed him, and he kept walking.

I didn’t see what happened next. The top of the rising cylinder blocked my view of the black-robed figure, and then there was a flash, and shouts from the soldiers beyond.

Another flash. Another scream. The other wand-waver leaped from his horse and set his staff alight and hurled a bolt of blue at the cylinder, but the screaming didn’t cease and the light joined the arrows in silent oblivion.

The second wand waver hurled another pair of useless bolts at the cylinder, but he kept his distance.

The screaming of his comrade reached an agonizing peak, and then it too was snuffed out, and there was a moment of stunned silence from the soldiers in the yard.

Inside the cylinder, something moved, thrashing about as though trapped in dark fluid.

More movement, slowing, and a man’s bare hand pressed itself to the inside of the cylinder, struck it once in a useless attempt to break free, and then slid slowly out of sight.

I let the burlap sack fall back down over the hole.

“It’s not Hisvin’s usual style, but it’s certainly effective.”

I nodded. The screams echoed in my mind. Despite their murderous intentions concerning us, I felt a moment of pity for the fallen wand-wavers. They hadn’t died well.

“I imagine he’s trying to keep them from putting a name to the enemy.” I turned from the wall. “Using magics he isn’t known for, to keep them from deciding it’s him.”

“Probably,” replied Evis. “Of course, that means we’ll be the only ones who do know. Lucky us.”

I shrugged. Being privy to another of Hisvin’s secrets was a worry for tomorrow.

“Look on the bright side,” said Evis. “Maybe it’s not the Corpsemaster at all. Maybe the ruckus has made Old Bones begin to stir.”

“That’s the bright side?”

Evis laughed and grinned. “At least we’re not the only ones with worries. Any enemy of my enemy, you know the rest.”

Footfalls sounded in the hall outside. Lots of them. Someone tried the door, found it locked, gruffed something about a key.

Even Buttercup had the sense to be quiet. She looked up at me, her doll in her hand, her expression touched with an oddly adult worry.

Boots stomped away. All of us, banshee included, let out a collective sigh of relief.

“This isn’t going to end well.”

“Hush,” snapped Mama, at Evis. “Where’s them other halfdead? I reckon we all ought to be in the same place, come the time.”

“They’re nearby. Believe me, they’ll make their presence known, should anyone try to breach this door by force.”

Mama chuckled, sat, and laid a whetstone against the blade of her meat cleaver. “I’m thinkin’ they’ll do just that, first time that there cat-a-pult throws and cracks a wall. When that happens, it ain’t gonna be them soldiers we got to worry about. No sir. It’s gonna be every man jack under this here roof, aside from the Lady and that fool man of hers.”

“I know it.”

Mama didn’t look up. Her whetstone scraped hard against the bright steel.

“You ready to spill blood to keep that there banshee alive?”

Darla hugged Buttercup close to her. “Mama!”

“It’s got to be said, young ’un. Are you?”

“Nobody takes the banshee. Nobody kills the banshee. I’ve got reasons. It’s better if they aren’t discussed.”

Mama nodded. “So be it.” She held her cleaver up to the dim candlelight, squinted along its edge. “I’m ready, then.”

Gertriss put her ear to the door. “They’re gone,” she announced. “Down the stairs. Boss, what about making a run for the tunnels?”

“It may come to that. But not yet.” I never liked being herded. One thing I’d learned from being chased by Trolls across hill and dale, during the War. Never take the obvious route, when another presents itself. The moment you let your enemy dictate your next move, you’re on the road to an early grave.

Or, in this case, a very old tomb.

“Stay here.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. Evis. You say Victor and Sara are watching this door?”

“They’re watching me, actually, but I can arrange for a change in assignment. Should I?”

“You should. You and I have business downstairs.” Both Darla and Gertriss turned to protest. “Absolutely not,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Evis will be with me. I’ll be fine. There’s still one avenue we need to explore, and I can’t guard a whole parade now that the household is up in arms.”

“He’s right,” said Mama. “But, boy. When them soldiers start taking down the walls. We head for the tunnels, fight our way down, if’n we have too. Meet you down there if you ain’t with us. That sound about right?”

“Just about.”

“I hope you know what you’re doin’, boy.”

“Always, Mama.”

I gave Darla a kiss, Gertriss a quick hug and Evis and I quietly unlocked the door.

We dodged panicked bands of the Lady’s staff all the way downstairs. We couldn’t avoid them any longer at the first floor landing, but having a grim-faced vampire clutching a long silver blade in each pale hand by one’s side does give would-be attackers pause.

“We ain’t aimin’ to die for that creature you brought in here,” said the man I’d punched in the face earlier.

“I’m not planning on dying either.” I kept walking. The half-dozen of them gathered at the foot of the stairs fell back. “You really think they’ll let you just walk away even if you do give them the banshee?”

“Ain’t got no reason to think otherwise.”

“Fools.” Evis spoke in a raspy hiss. “The banshee’s presence is the only thing keeping you alive. Otherwise they’d have killed you all with magic at the start.”

No one dared dispute Evis. He made big vampire spooky eyes at the mob, and they made way with admirable haste.

We passed through them without incident, though they grumbled and cursed at our backs.

I led us down the hall to the gallery. Evis glanced sideways at me, bemused.

“You’re not serious.”

“You have a better idea?”

“How about we just take the ladies and make for the forest tunnel right now?”

I shook my head. “I’m guessing their sorcerers can follow Buttercup, at least to some extent. You and Evis and Sara could outpace horses. But Mama? Me? You know we can’t outrun cavalry.”

Evis frowned but opened the door.

“The Corpsemaster will have a conniption fit,” he observed. “Do you really think trying to communicate with some ancient force of nature is really a good idea? That’s what you have in mind, isn’t it? Even considering the historical evidence that suggests such efforts are generally fatal?”

The artists were still hard at work, still arrayed in silent standing ranks.

Most of them, anyway. Serris was slumped in the floor, breathing but otherwise motionless. A male whose name I couldn’t recall was snoring on his side toward the front of the room.

I tried to waken Serris, but only managed to produce a brief unfocused stare and a few twitchings of her fingers.

“They’ll all be down before long,” whispered Evis.

I agreed. Some of the hands that still moved across their canvasses were visibly trembling.

I gently pushed Serris aside, found her brush, managed to scrape most of the dried paint out of the worn bristles. I took up her paints, lit a fresh candle, and turned my gaze toward her canvas.