Juliet McKenna - The Assassin's Edge

With a roar like a wounded bull, Muredarch turned on her, great two-handed sword wheeling round. Halice took a double grip on her hand-and-a-half blade and met the stroke with a block that stopped it dead. She stood braced then jabbed at Muredarch’s eyes with the pommel of her weapon, sliding out from beneath the killing arc of his sword as he recoiled. He swung at her again, to cut her legs from under her but Halice met the blow with a low parry that turned into a slicing thrust of her own. She moved lithely out of danger and spat at Muredarch.

Temar wanted to shout, to let Halice know he was coming to her aid but dared not lest he distract her. Muredarch raised his mighty blade above his head but the mercenary didn’t stay to be poleaxed. She darted forward and sideways and brought her own sword upwards to slice beneath Muredarch’s armpit. Temar couldn’t restrain a breathless cheer as he saw fresh blood bright in the sunlight.

Halice’s move had taken her past Muredarch and the pirate looked murderously at Temar. One arm was clamped to his side but he could wield that colossal sword single-handed. He lunged towards Temar, madness in his eyes. Halice stabbed him in the back, the point of her sword emerging just above his hip. Muredarch fell to his knees and Temar swept a single fluid stroke to cut his mighty head clean from his shoulders. The warm gush of blood from the stump of the pirate’s neck soaked Temar’s side and thigh. He barely felt it in the hot exultation at the black-hearted villain’s death.

“Nicely done, Messire.” Halice wrenched her own blade out of Muredarch’s corpse and saluted Temar with it. Beneath the sweat and grime of battle, she was pale. “I take it that was enchanters trying to split all our skulls?”

Temar grimaced. “Sharing their death agonies when they were caught in the fire.”

“Did Allin fire the stockade?” asked Halice.

Anguish closed Temar’s throat for a moment. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. She’s hurt.” He moved to head back to the ships. A groan halted him.

“Shit, Darni.” Halice dropped to her knees by the fallen warrior. His face was a ghastly mask of blood, cheek sliced and broken teeth white where a blow had shattered his jaw. Muredarch’s second blow had hit lower, cutting a huge gash into the big man’s shoulder, muscle and sinew severed. Darni’s blood soaked a crumpled figure beneath him.

“Help me,” commanded Halice. “That’s Larissa.”

Temar’s hands shook as he stripped off his jerkin and tore off his shirt, damp with sweat and stained with his blood and others‘. Darni groaned, chest labouring as they laid him flat on the gory turf. Temar winced as he did his best to staunch the warrior’s grievous wounds. “Will he live?”

“It might be better for him if he didn’t.” Halice was grim faced as she felt for the beat of Larissa’s heart. “This one’s making her excuses to Saedrin. Shit. Darni could have taken Muredarch. It was trying to defend her body did for him, the fool!” But the woman’s tone was more sorrowful than angry.

Temar frowned. “I can’t see any wound.” All the blood on Larissa was Darni’s; spent in defence of his master’s beloved. He had half expected to find the mage-woman a blackened, contorted corpse.

Halice shook her head in bemusement as she searched the mage’s body with careful hands. “Poldrion only knows what killed her—and he won’t tell.”

Darni groaned again, eyes rolling in his head as he tried to blink away the blood blinding him. He hauled his uninjured arm up to point at the still blazing circle that was now the Elietimm’s pyre.

Temar groped for his meaning. “Larissa fired the stockade?”

Darni’s closed his eyes in unmistakable confirmation.

Temar looked at Halice. “She took the full force of their hatred. I felt it.” He found himself on his feet. “I have to see Allin and ’Sar.”

He stumbled, running for the ships without waiting for Halice’s answer. Mercenaries recovering from the assault of Artifice were slaughtering still-stunned pirates with brutal desperation, not even a thought of offering any chance to surrender. Rosarn on the shore was directing her troop to strip fallen and captive alike of every weapon and anything of value. Temar didn’t care. Halice could order division of the spoils as she saw fit. All Temar cared about was Allin.

Every joint and bone in his body protested as he hauled himself up the side of the Dulse yet again. The cut in his forearm was a burning gash. “Demoiselle Guinalle, where is she?” he barked at a sailor slowly coiling a rope more from habit than need.

“Aft cabin,” the man answered in deadened tones.

“Does she live?” Temar demanded as he flung open the door.

Guinalle knelt on the floor, face cupped in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Allin lay motionless in one bunk, face turned to the wall. Usara had been laid on the other side, hands folded neatly on his breast, head tilted back, cheeks hollow and bloodless in the gloom.

“Does she live?” Fury born of terror hardened Temar’s tone.

“Barely.” Guinalle scrubbed tears from her face, leaving smears of dirt. “I can’t get them warm,” she sobbed suddenly. “Neither of them. No matter what I do. I can’t get them warm.”

Her eyes rolled up in her head and Temar only just caught her before she crashed to the unforgiving floor.

To Gamar Tilot, Scholar of the University of Col,

From Ely Laisen, Hadrumal.

Dear Gamar,

Some curious things have been turning up in our libraries lately and our mutual friend thought this might be of interest. It seems to have been written within the last generation, possibly even the last handful of years. The original is some kind of verse but the Mountain lass who translated it is far too much of a clod to compose anything like it herself.

The men of Dachasekke had long shared the Grey Seal Isle with the men of Haeldasekke. The isle bore no stones and thus men of each blood kindred returned to their own circles for justice, pleas and guidance.

So it came to pass on the whitest of nights that his ancestors sent a vision to the Clan Chief of Dachasekke and he vowed to raise a circle on the Grey Seal Isle on a rocky knoll where there was no soil for plough nor yet fodder for grazing. The Clan Chief of Haeldasekke had no such vision but, though the more influential, would not gainsay Kolbin of Dachasekke’s right to honour the dead within their own bounds.

All was well until the time of hay and harvest. Then the men of Dachasekke invited those of Haeldasekke dwelling on the Grey Seal Isle to step within their circle to honour those below the earth. This circle is closer to your homes, they said. Let us hold it in common, as we have blood in common. The Clan Chief of Haeldasekke decided he would hold more land in common if Dachasekke was wont to be so generous. He moved boundary cairns to claim the whole of the Lesser Slough once Dachasekke had made harvest.

The Clan Chief of Dachasekke was angered and summoned Scafet of Haeldasekke to meet him on the black sands of treaty that lie in the strait between his fastness and the Grey Seal Isle. He summoned Fedin of Evadasekke to stand as Law Speaker but the men of Haeldasekke would not accept him. Nor yet would they propose a Law Speaker of their own, denying any wrongdoing on their part that would justify a Law Speaker coming within their domain. The Clan Chief of Haeldasekke would not discuss the cairns but told Kolbin of Dachasekke instead of his plans to wed a daughter of Kehannasekke when the time of goat killing came.

Kolbin of Dachasekke saw this would leave him with unfriendly faces to both his flanks. He acquiesced and slew those who had invited men of Haeldasekke within their circle before withdrawing to his fastness. At the time of goat killing Scafet of Haeldasekke’s son Osmaeld married Renkana daughter to Rafekan of Kehannasekke beneath an arch of raised turf. He was an able boy with a strong spear arm while she was both promising of body and fair of face. No Law Speaker was called to stand witness to the wedding as Scafet of Haeldasekke and Rafekan of Kehannasekke agreed bride price and dowry were matters best agreed between themselves alone. Both kindreds made merry to the final part of the night.