Shadow of a Dark Queen (45 page)

“Your men tried to fight, but they were cut down from two sides. Most of us who could slipped out the south gate, or climbed the walls; then someone set a fire. The bandits didn't trouble most of us after that; they were too busy trying to steal whatever they could before everything burned up.”

“Did everyone get out?”

Tarmil shook his head. “No. I don't think so. Some of the men, I don't know from which band, took out to the hills there, with two of our women. Drak's wife, Finia, and Embrisa, maybe some others.”

De Loungville came up and said, “Don't you ever go riding off like that without leave.”

“They've taken some of the women up into the hills.”

De Loungville swore. “I told Calis—” He cut himself off before he said anything more. He looked at Tarmil. “How long ago and how many men?”

“Less than an hour and about five or six.”

“Spread out,” ordered de Loungville. “See if you can spot any tracks.”

Natombi found tracks indicating that a large band of riders went south, while Sho Pi found signs of
another, smaller, group heading into the hills. De Loungville motioned for the former monk and Keshian Legionary to take the point and begin to follow.

They had only a short way to go before the screams of women revealed the bandits' whereabouts. De Loungville motioned for the six riders to dismount and spread out, and moved quietly toward the sounds.

Erik had his shield on his arm and his sword out a moment after tying his horse, and glanced over to see Roo on his right and Luis on his left. They crept forward through the trees, and came upon a sight that set Erik's teeth on edge.

Two men were tying on top of two women, one who was struggling. The other lay motionless. Three other men sat close by, drinking from an earthen jug as they watched the rape. A sad cry was followed by a convulsion as one of the men finished and stood up, and started pulling up his trousers. One of the men who had been drinking tossed aside the jug and started unfastening his trousers as he came to take the first man's place.

He halted and looked at the still form on the ground, then said, “Gods and demons, Culli, you killed her, you fool!”

“She was biting, so I covered her mouth.”

“You smothered her, you idiot!”

“She's not more than a minute or two dead, Sajer. Go ahead; she's still warm.”

Erik saw the body and felt his heart lurch. The corpse was Embrisa. Something strangely familiar struck him, and for an instant he saw Rosalyn in a similar position, her clothing torn away. Without
thought he rose up and moved toward the nearest men. One was watching the argument between his companions, but the other started to rise. He was halfway off the log where he had sat when he died: with a single sweeping motion Erik cleaved his head completely from his shoulders.

Erik's companions charged and shouted, and the four remaining men scrambled to defend themselves. Erik crossed to where the man named Sajer stood, while the one called Culli dashed to where his sword and shield lay. Sajer pulled his only weapon, a dagger at his belt, and Erik advanced upon him like death come into human form.

Fear crossed the man's face as Erik bore down on him, and he made ready to defend himself as best he could. He lunged in feint with his dagger, but Erik only stepped forward, bashing with his shield, knocking him to the ground. He raised his sword above his head, then brought it down with a thundering blow, cutting completely through Sajer's upraised forearm, slicing him from shoulder to belly.

Erik had to put his foot on the man's chest to pull free his sword, and when he did he turned to see that the remaining three men had taken off their helms and thrown weapons to the ground, the sign among mercenaries of surrender. Erik's eyes were wild and wide as he looked at the man named Culli. He walked purposefully toward him.

De Loungville stepped before Erik and, using all his strength, pushed him backwards. It was like trying to move a tree, but he did slow Erik's forward advance. “Get a hold of yourself, von Darkmoor!” he commanded.

Erik paused at the sound of his name. He looked to where the two women lay. Finia had all her clothing
torn from her, and lay motionless in the grass, the only sign she was still alive being the slow rise and fall of her small breasts. Embrisa lay a short distance away, also nude, but bloody from belly to knee. Erik turned to stare at the man named Culli. “He dies. Now. Slowly.”

De Loungville said, “Did you know her?”

“Yes,” answered Erik, part of his mind being surprised de Loungville didn't. “She was fourteen.”

One of the captives said, “They was villagers! We didn't know they belonged to anyone.”

Erik advanced, and this time de Loungville threw his shoulder into him, knocking him back a step. “You stand fast when I tell you!” he shouted at Erik.

Turning to face the three men, he said, “What company?” The man named Culli said, “Well, Captain, we've been sort of looking out for ourselves lately.”

“Did you hit that caravan a half day's ride north of here?”

A grin of broken and blackened teeth greeted the question. “Well now, it wouldn't be the truth if we took credit for it all by ourselves. There were another six or seven boys in on that one. But they joined up with some men who wanted to raid that fort at the village. Fat man, rode a big roan horse, he took them all together.”

“Zila,” said de Loungville. “I'll settle up with him someday.”

Culli continued, “We was watching from the woods and got in to grab what we would when they started to leave. We saw these two women getting out of a burning house, so we decided to have some fun.” He nodded at the still-living but stunned Finia and the dead
Embrisa. “We didn't mean to be so rough, but these was the only two we could find, and there's five of us. We'll pay you gold if they was yours, Captain, to make up for it, you see. We won't even say nothing about the two boys you already killed. We only killed the one. Two for one seems more than fair. Give the other a couple of hours to rest and, why, she could service all six of you and a couple of us in the bargain.”

“On your knees,” commanded De Loungville. Biggo, Natombi, and Luis forced the three men to their knees, holding them fast.

“I want that one,” said Erik, pointing at Culli. “I'm going to stake him out facedown over an anthill and watch him die screaming.”

De Loungville turned and struck Erik as hard across the face as he could. Erik staggered, fell to his knees, and could barely retain consciousness from the unexpected blow.

When his vision cleared, he saw de Loungville come up behind the first man. With an economy of motion he pulled his dagger, grabbed the man's hair, and pulled back his head, cutting his throat with a single slice.

The other two tried to rise, but Biggo and Luis kept them under control. Before Erik could regain his feet, the other two men had been executed. Erik took one staggering step, then shook his head to clear it. He came to stand over the body of Culli and looked at de Loungville, who said, “See to the woman.” When Erik hesitated, he shouted, “Now!”

Erik and Roo moved to where Finia lay, eyes staring vacantly at the sky. When they knelt over her, her eyes seemed to focus for the first time. Recognizing Erik and Roo, she said in a whisper, “Is it over?”

Erik nodded, and Roo took off his cloak and used it to cover her. Erik helped the woman get to her feet, and she wobbled as she rose. Roo put his arm around her, to steady her, and she looked over at Embrisa. “I told her to do as they said. She scratched and bit them. She was screaming and crying, and her nose stuffed up; when they covered her mouth, she couldn't breathe.”

Erik inclined his head to Roo to take her to where the horses were. He took off his own cloak and wrapped Embrisa in it. Lifting her, he carried her as if she were asleep. Softly he said, “Now you'll never find that rich husband.”

Erik was the last to reach the horses, and found de Loungville holding his reins. He handed the girl's body to the sergeant, mounted, then took the corpse as de Loungville handed her up to him. After the sergeant had mounted his own horse, Erik said, “You let them off easy.”

De Loungville said, “I know.”

“They should have died over a slow fire.”

“They deserved to suffer, but I'll not visit that on any man.”

“Why? Why do you care what happens to scum like them?”

De Loungville moved his horse alongside Erik's, so he was almost nose-to-nose with Erik when he answered. “I don't care what happens to scum like them. You could cut off a piece at a time over a week and I wouldn't give a whore's promise for what it would do to them. But I do care what it would do to you, Erik.”

Without waiting for an answer, de Loungville moved away and shouted, “Let's get back to the village. We've got a hell of a ride before we catch up with the Captain.”

Erik rode after him, not sure what de Loungville had meant, but feeling troubled by what he had said.

They reached Calis's camp an hour after dark. As before, he had ordered a complete fortification dug, and as de Loungville and the others approached, a guard challenged them.

“Well done,” said a weary de Loungville. “Now, lower the gate or I'll rip your ears from your head.”

No one in Calis's company could fail to recognize that voice, so without a further remark the drop bridge was run out across the trench surrounding the camp. The horse's hooves clattered on the wood and iron as the riders crossed, and when they reached the center of the camp, Calis stood waiting.

“Zila and the bandits joined up and fired the village. Most got away.” He glanced at Erik. “They killed a girl and we killed the five of them that did it.”

Calis nodded, motioning for de Loungville to join him in his command tent. Erik took the reins of de Loungville's horse and led him with his own to where the remounts were waiting. It took him better than an hour to cool down the horses, clean hooves and saddle marks, and bedded them down with fresh fodder. By the time he was finished, he was aching to his bones, and he knew it was more than just the fatigue of the ride and fighting. The killing of the men had been so effortless.

As he walked back to where his companions were erecting their tent, he recalled what he had done. The first man he had struck had been an obstacle, nothing more. He hadn't been trying to decapitate him, only to brush him aside. Luis had said something
later about its being a terrible blow, as was the cleaving of the second man Erik had faced, but Erik thought it a distant act, as if someone else had been doing the fighting. He could remember the smells: the smoke of the burning village and the campfire in the clearing, the stench of sweat and feces mixed in with the iron bite of blood and the stink of fear. He felt the shock of the blows he delivered running up his arm, and the pounding of his own blood in his forehead, but it was all distant, muted, and he couldn't find it within himself to grapple with and understand what had occurred.

He knew he had wanted Embrisa's killer to suffer. He knew he wanted the man to feel her pain a thousand times over, yet now he was dead, feeling nothing. If Biggo was to be believed, the man was being judged by the Death Goddess, but whatever the truth, he was feeling none of this life's pain.

Maybe de Loungville was right. Erik thought he was the one who was now suffering, and it made him both sad and angry. He reached the tent and found that Roo had taken Erik's section of tent and erected it, so that the six-man dwelling was up and waiting for him.

Erik looked at his boyhood friend and said, “Thank you.”

Roo said, “Well, you spend enough time looking out for my horse.”

“And mine,” said Biggo.

“And everyone else's,” said Luis. “Do you think we should pay this boy for being so good to us?”

Erik looked over at Luis, whose sense of humor was rarely in evidence, and saw that the often short-tempered Rodezian was looking at him with a rare warmth in his expression.

Biggo said, “Well, maybe. Or we could do his bit with setting up and tearing down the tent, like we did tonight.”

“I can manage my own weight,” said Erik. “No one needs to do for me.” He heard an irritation in his voice that was unexpected. Suddenly he discovered he was feeling very angry.

Biggo reached from his bedroll across the narrow aisle separating the three bunks on each side and said, “We know, lad. You do more than your share, that's all. No one's said anything, but you've become the Horsemaster for our little company of cutthroats.”

At the mention of the word “cutthroat” Erik was struck by the image of the three men being butchered by de Loungville. Suddenly he felt sick and his body felt flushed, as if fever was coming over him. Closing his eyes a second, he said, “Thank you. I know you mean well . . .” He paused for a moment, then stood as upright as he could in the low tent and walked away. “I'll be back. I need some air.”

“Guard duty in two hours,” Roo called after him.

Walking through the camp, Erik tried to calm himself. He found his stomach clenched and he felt as if he might be sick. Running for the privy trench, he barely got there in time to keep from fouling his pants.

After agonizing minutes of squatting and feeling as if he was passing fire, he felt his stomach twist, and suddenly he was vomiting into the trench. When he at last finished, he felt as if he had no strength left. He went to the edge of the nearby stream and cleaned himself up, then he returned to the cookfire, where he found Owen Greylock helping himself to a bowl
of stew and a hunk of bread.

Despite having lost everything in his gut only moments before, Erik was suddenly ravenous as he smelled the stew. He grabbed a wooden bowl as Owen greeted him and watched while Erik scooped out a large bowl of stew, ignoring the hot-liquid as it covered his hand to the wrist.