A stone shattered the window. Reyen awoke at once, the sound of fighting outside. What in the deep hells is happening out there? Hearing someone hack through the wooden muntins of the window, he rolled off his bed; he slid his short sword out from under his bed. Gripping the scabbard with his left hand and the hilt with his right, he crouched behind the bed. Brigands? Reyen wondered, whoever they are, they'll wish they never bothered us.
In the few days he and his party had stayed in the village, Pyran had taught him a few things about swordplay. The man—rather the nepher as they were called—had been busy, lost in those little dishes of his, but one afternoon, he had stumbled upon the nepher in blue in the woods, training with only his fists. "I need no steel," Pyran had told him when he asked if he carried a weapon of his own. It was strange to Reyen when the nepher claimed to be a master of a hundred arms. He had asked if swords were within that hundred, and his training had begun.
Reyen did not expect to be in a fight so soon, to be sure, but he would not run away. I am no coward, he thought to himself, though his palm's sweat wet the hilt of his sword, I will fight the bastard. If he knows what's good for him, he'll crawl back out that window.
The intruder leaped in alone. Peeking over the edge, Reyen could see him approach a bed: the one Larissa and Vyncent shared. He didn't get to see if the two were in it or not, but he sprang up and faced the invader anyway.
Be still or die is what Reyen meant to say. Instead, being nervous, he only said: "Be still …" He drew his shortsword and pointed the tip at his opponent.
The trespasser turned on him. There was a large fire outside, and from its orange light, Reyen could see the brigand was actually a woman. In one hand, she held an axe, its blade—as well as the handle and hand that gripped it—were wet with fresh blood.
"Oh my," cooed the trespasser, her voice heavy with sympathy rather than fear, "sweet boy, please lower your blade." She wore a coal-black hood over her head; the tunic and pants she wore were as dark as the hood. "I will not kill you," she promised in a disturbingly gentle tone, "so long as you show me that vile rose."
They know about it? Who is she? When the woman stepped forward, her bare feet quiet against the cold stone floor, Reyen stepped back. "I don't have … I don't know what you are talking about."
The woman suddenly quickened her pace towards Reyen, sniffing the air. "You," she hissed, "you reek of Vysse and Lynesse. It is a weak scent. Yes, your blood is adulterated by man, yet true."
Reyen did not understand what she was telling him, yet it frightened him, for he knew not of her new intentions. Dare I ask her to explain?
"Leave me alone," demanded Reyen. He kept his back to the wall, sidling towards the door into the hallway. You're craven if you run, Reyen chastised himself in silence, 'you a bloody craven? Are you? There was no one else in the room to defend. The thought of him leaving save Molly or Lady Lombrea eased the guilt of fleeing.
"Oh, precious boy," purred the woman, "you will make a fine gift for our Mistress! Yes. Oh, yes!" She sprinted at him, threatening to knock the sword out of his hands with her axe.
Reyen threw himself out the door. The woman grabbed his sleeve. She cackled as she tried to pull him back into the bedchamber. He tried to tug himself free, his sleeve starting to rip from the seam.
"Drop the sword," the woman demanded, "or I drag you back with one arm!"
"LET GO!" Reyen squealed, his terror making his voice break, "LET—"
Reyen raised his sword and slashed at his holder. The woman released him, her laughter turning into a sharp yelp. Blood soaked her sleeve; she bled from the deep gash on her arm. Reyen sprinted down the hall, looking for anyone in the household to help him. Behind him, the woman fell to her knees and started cackling again, her blood dripping onto the rushes.
"Pyran! Fera!" Neither the blue or green nepher appeared. "Vyncent! Anyone?"
From the great hall, he heard Margla and Molly scream. Reyen flew to their rescue. Inside, Magnus leaned heavily against the dining table. The longsword he held was red and shiny. The steward had slain two men; they wore the same garb as the hooded woman. Blood soaked his shirt above the waist. He's been gutted, thought Reyen. A third man came out of the shadows and fell upon him with a long wooden spike with a fire-hardened tip.
Reyen wasted no time. Quickly and quietly, he got behind the attacker and buried the shortsword into his lower back. The hooded man grunted in pain and whirled, giving Magnus a chance to strike. The steward drove his blade into the man's armpit. Upon freeing his steel, the intruder fell to the floor, dark blood pooling beneath him.
The noises the dying man made froze Reyen where he stood. It sounded like he was trying to say something as his life left him. When Magnus stepped away from the table, his strength failed him, and he fell.
"Get up," begged Reyen sorrowfully, "please, get up. We have to leave."
"I'm sorry, Reyen," said Magnus as he slid down, his back against a table leg. Every breath he drew was hard and painful. "This … this is where it … ends for me."
"No, it's not!" Reyen found himself shouting. Margla and Molly came rushing to Magnus; he stood back to let them through. Two guardsmen entered the hall. "Where were you?" Reyen hissed at the two. They ignored him and immediately went to help the steward.
He saw Vyncent run through the corridor, long gun in hand and dagger at his belt. Reyen left the guardsmen and the steward's family to follow after him.
"How many of them are there?" Reyen asked Vyncent as he caught up.
"A lot," said Vyncent darkly. "There are more than us, no doubt." From his bag, he pulled out one of those paper cartridges: the ones he saw him filling with black powder and lead balls.
"We'll kill them all. They hurt Magnus!"
"They killed Brames and his mother," Vyncent said trenchantly. He bit off one end of the paper sausage and poured the contents in the pan, then into the barrel of his long gun. Taking a long stick from the slot below it, he began to pound the ball in with it. Reyen was fascinated by how fast he worked. "We can't find Lady Lombrea."
A hooded man burst through the main entrance of the manor and faced them. In his hands, he held twin war knives. "Ast Rayhanei," he screamed as he charged at Vyncent and Reyen, "ast na—"
Perhaps it was the dim torches and the hood that prevented the man from seeing the long gun aimed at him. Vyncent fired; Reyen jumped at the gun's thunder. The bullet smashed into the man's chest and knocked him to the ground. The smell of burnt powder filled Reyen's nostrils.
Vyncent ran past the dead man, taking out another cartridge and biting it open. On the steps outside the manor, Reyen could see the destruction all around him. The wooden temple was engulfed with flames, the dome like a tiny sun. Hooded men and women infested the camp, hacking at the villagers with ugly, crooked weapons. Along with the guardsmen, they fought back with what they could find.
Something giant peeked its head around the corner of the manor. What Reyen saw nearly stopped his heart. It looked like the offspring of demons and deer. It snorted at him, steam coming from its malformed nostrils. With its twisted human hands, it threatened to pick him up like a doll. It opened its mouth, its breath like smelling of rotting corpses. Reyen slashed at its palm, dividing the flesh of a finger.
"Get down!" Vyncent warned him.
Reyen backed away from the grotesquerie. Vyncent caught it beneath its horn-eye. It stumbled away, weeping and covering its face. Wallas, a villager in his thirties who had once shown Reyen his treasured bow, put an arrow where its heart may have been. His son, a boy of twelve, stood by his father, planting his own shafts into the beast.
The monster had six other brothers. From what Reyen could see, the giants ignored the hooded raiders; they only attacked the villagers. Flying above, however, was a creature Larissa had told him about. A great black and brown toad, it was, with great wings like that of a bat. From its mouth, it breathed flame onto the invaders and their pets. Riding on its back was Larissa, gripping two of the many horns that grew from its head and back. The toad was wounded, Reyen could see, and when it swept down to wrestle with one of the pets, a horn sliced its belly.
They were losing. Some of the villagers were running into the darkness of the snowy wood, screaming and crying. There was a burning pyre where the Bryteoak sapling had been. Some of the hooded folk raised their chant: "Ast Rayhanei, ast nahyl! Ast Rayhanei, ast nahyl! Ast Rayhanei, ast nahyl!"
Biting and frightening words. Though Reyen didn't know what it meant, it made him shiver, the chant colder than the snow around him. It meant blood. It meant death. A legion of howling wolves would sound sweeter. He wanted to drop his shortsword and cover his ears, but that wouldn't stop the terror around him.
"What do we do?" Reyen whispered so timidly he was unsure if Vyncent heard him.
Before Vyncent could respond, he caught sight of Larissa and called out to her. She had dismounted. On foot, she ran down the main path. Reyen looked at what she was running to; there was a swaddled babe, crying in the snow. The corpse of the child's mother was being dragged away by two hooded raiders. The pair, upon seeing the girl in red, forsook the body and went after her.
Vyncent and Reyen fell in to help their friend. Vyncent fired at one of Larissa's pursuers, his bullet striking his target's thigh; Unable to keep himself up, he fell over and landed on his own knife.
"Race of Lynesse," the other hooded man alerted his allies, "Mother of the esper!"
Larissa pointed her tiny knife at the man. "I will not go with you!" She lowered herself to pick up the child. There was a bandage, wet with blood, wrapped around her left hand, Reyen noticed.
The man grabbed her scarlet cloak and tugged at her. Larissa jabbed at his face, the babe bawling in her other arm.
"Larissa!" Reyen shrieked as he charged her attacker. "You let her go, you bastard!"
Reyen's blade entered deep into the man's belly, and he thought this would be enough to make him relent. But it didn't; in fact, he didn't even give as little as a painful grunt, though he took cuts to the face. The man was like a living stone, his grip just as hard. Reyen slid his sword out of the man's belly; greenish blood coating his blade. What is this? Before Reyen could try to hack off the arm, someone he didn't see coming did the task for him.
Despite the stranger's assistance, caution still made Reyen turn his edge on whoever it was. But he knew who it was. It was the man that called himself his father.
"Gods," muttered Roy, staring at the one-handed man with disgust, "What sort of man are you?"
Cut to pieces, the hood had fallen away to reveal its corpse-like face, smiling through ragged ribbons of flesh. "The Mistress gives us life unending," the dark worshipper explained, "One without pain. One without suffering." His hand, though separated from his wrist, still tightened its grip on Larissa's cloak.
From behind the undying man, however, Pyran fell upon him to test his faith. The nepher's eyes burned bright like stars. He landed on him, pushing him to the snow. Pyran gave a yell that sounded like a dozen voices in unison and struck the man's skull with a fist harder than steel. Bone fragments and brains corrupted the air. The headless corpse lay still, and its hand released Larissa. Anyone can be killed, mused Reyen.
Pyran looked as if though he had been wrestling with bears; he was covered with blood with half a hundred cuts all over him. The wraps over his head and chest were gone, revealing his muscles. His short golden hair shimmered in the moonlight. He looked to be the strongest man Reyen had ever seen, with thick and strong arms that looked like they could crush trees in their embrace. He was weak from his battles, Reyen could plainly see; his breathing was heavy, and there was the hint of a limp in his left leg.
"We must leave," said Pyran, his voice like a chorus, rising from the vanquished. He turned his head slightly as if he sensed something in the air. "My Zamala," he uttered to no one in particular, "he is here."
Out of the wood, a black horse came racing, trampling the raiders in its path. It was a giant beast, standing nearly six feet tall. A horse of war, Reyen assumed by its size and ferocity.
"Beast's larger than when I left him," mused Roy.
The war horse lowered itself to allow Pyran to mount him. Larissa's toad swooped in; Larissa climbed onto it. Roy found himself another horse, taking one from a nearby stable. Reluctantly, Reyen rode double with Roy. Where's Vyncent? Reyen wondered as he got on. He turned as saw Vyncent being dragged away, a man with thin red hair and wearing black clothes that suggested he was city folk. He had his war knife against Vyncent's throat.
"Ebernathy?" Roy called out to the man, "You've allied with them? Have you gone mad?"
"Vyncent!" Larissa cried.
"Come to us," mocked the city man, "make this easy."
"Don't!" Vyncent protested, "Leave! You know he won't kill me."
"Shut your damn mouth, boy," spat the city man. He struck the back of Vyncent's head with the pommel of his war knife, knocking him unconscious.
Reyen heard a ghostly whisper. It sounded like it rode on the wind and off the tree leaves. Were the trees speaking? They were, and they spoke with Ferangis's voice. Larissa heard it, and so did the others, it seemed.
"Begone," her voice demanded, "now." Whether it was a warning to her allies or foes, Reyen did not know. The anger in the green nepher's voice made Reyen uneasy; the last time he heard such ire in her voice, she was torturing Stinson in the Well of Blood.
"Your Vyncent will be safe," assured the toad, its voice deep, manly, and elderly, "her deep love for him will keep him safe, even in the storm of her rage."
The storm of her rage? Reyen thought.
Ebernathy and his raiders seemed to hear Ferangis's voice as well. "What?" Ebernathy said, with fear in his tones, "We saw you die. Our beasts killed you!"
In the earth, something seemed to slither. Roots sprang out from the snow like leaping fish. Some found the ankles of the invaders, locking them in place; others sprang high enough to slash and impale them. From the darkness within the bushes, vines with sharp stakes for heads flew and planted themselves into whoever they could find. Those caught in the volley cried in agony as they tried to free the points from their bodies. Reyen was relieved to see that no villagers were caught in the onslaught—aside from those murdered; their corpses were tossed around by the ravaging roots. One vine-arrow almost struck Pyran.
"Follow me," Pyran commanded Roy, "make haste." He turned to Larissa's winged toad. "Larissa, Badzabi. We make for Dil'vanzi."
"By my wings," the toad accepted reverently. "Are you prepared, mistress?" he asked Larissa.
"Yes," she said to him, though, in her eyes, Reyen could see she still worried for Vyncent's safety. "Take flight."
Roy spurred his horse and followed Pyran. Reyen glanced behind, taking one last look at Ralmes. The hooded folk died screaming, slashed, and thrown around like rabbits by frenzied wolves. When the raiders went up the steps to the manor, thorny roots and vines shut and sealed the door, protecting the survivors within. Molly, I won't be gone long, Reyen promised silently.
Amid the bloody tangle, Ferangis walked, slowly, towards Vyncent, who was sprawled on the blood-stained snow with his eyes still shut. Reyen did not see what happened to Ebernathy. Ferangis's body had changed; her clothing was gone, and her flesh shone green like an emerald lantern. Every inch of her body was covered with tiny leaves, all fluttering rapidly like the wings of a hummingbird. Her brilliant red hair possessed a glimmer of its own, too, with motes of light pouring out of it. She knelt beside Vyncent slid her arms underneath him; she lifted him carefully off the ground. Slowly, she turned her head to meet Reyen's eyes, her own burning wildly like Pyrans'. Reyen expected her to say something through the leaves again, but she only looked back at Vyncent then headed back toward the woods.
Soon enough, the chant of the hooded raiders—as well as their screams—died down as they got farther from Ralmes. Their ride was a silent one, and with Roy behind him and holding the reins, he hugged himself tightly and fell asleep.
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