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bones. The pikeman pushed on after his captain as Wynn snatched the boy
clinging to his mother's body.
"Indurare'a Iulian!" growled the priest as she turned frantically about in
the stream, searching for something.
It was a language Wynn had never heard, but when she glanced at the
overturned body, she understood. The mother's dead eyes stared up at the gray
sky. Her arms floated at her sides, and the empty wool blanket clung to one.
The infant was gone.
Wynn heaved the boy up as she trudged two steps toward the Stravinan side of
the stream. She shoved him toward the shore. A horse's panicked whinny sounded
behind her, and she turned. She caught a glimpse of the priest wading for the
shore with something wrapped in the woman's arms. Wynn hoped fervently that it
was the infant.
A pikeman's lance sliced a horse's neck as he tried to strike its rider. The
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spear head glanced off the rider's shield, and he struck down with his mace.
The lance shaft snapped as the horse lunged forward. Captain Stasi was still
in its path, and directly below him at the water's edge stood the other little
boy watching his mother drift downstream.
The captain swung his shield, and its edge smashed hard against the horse's
long head. The animal veered, and its footing gave on the steep slope, still
wet from the morning's rain. Hindquarters pivoted sideways, slamming into the
pikeman and flattening him as the animal toppled. The rider pitched forward,
straight at the captain. On impact, both fell backward into the stream, and
Wynn lost sight of them in the splash of flailing bodies.
And the little boy just stood there.
Wynn surged through the water. At midstream, the scuffle of a horse's hooves
made her look up for an instant. Another rider crested the slope. An arrow
protruded from his shoulder, yet he drove his mount downward. Wynn focused on
the boy.
Each waterlogged step took too long, no matter how hard she worked her numb
legs. When she reached out, the boy did not look at her. His eyes were as
blank as his dead mother's. Wynn grabbed him by one arm as she heard a loud
whoosh in the air. She looked up.
Wynn saw the mace, and the world slowed to silence as she watched it arcing
toward her from the sky. Everything lurched back to full speed as something
else slammed into her waist.
Her breath rushed out at the impact, and her vision wrenched into a frantic
blur as she was thrown backward. Water splashed up around and over her, as her
head and shoulders smacked against bare wet earth.
Blank sky was all Wynn saw. Shelay half-out on the Stravina side of the
stream, submerged from the waist down. Gasping for air, she pawed at her own
head and face, but felt no wound, only the dull ache in her skull from
falling. The mace had missed her.
Beside her lay the boy, looking back to the stream. His eyes suddenly widened
in terror. He scrambled away, screaming as if something in the stream were
more terrifying than watching his mother die.
Wynn rolled over to look. It climbed out of the water, feral eyes glimmering
like crystals.
Chap shook himself and a cascade of droplets rained down upon Wynn. He had
knocked her out of the mace's path. He padded quickly to her side, head
swinging as he studied her. He was matted and wet, yet his face was still
soaked in blood. His jowls wrinkled around half-open jaws, exposing teeth and
fangs as he sniffed her.
Wynn stiffened.
Chap's face was that of a wolf fresh from a kill. He turned and splashed back
through the stream under the sound of clattering steel and thrashing men and
mounts.
A rider tried to flee upslope on foot until an arrow struck him in the thigh.
He stumbled, grabbing the protruding shaft, and Chap fell upon him. The man
went down with the dog at his throat. His scream broke and was lost in the
waning clamor of the battle.
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Wynn shrank back, turning away. The boy crawled up the wet bank on all fours.
She climbed to her feet and hoisted him by the waist.
Chap's stained face and teeth mingled with the memory of a single leaf-wing
in Wynn's numbed mind. She ran for the city gate without looking back.
***
Leesil stopped to look down upon the border stream. He heard Magiere right
behind him.
Bodies of men and horses lay from one shore to the other, but only three of
the Stravinan pikemen were down. One lay crushed beneath a toppled horse that
finally went limp, and a young male priest knelt to close the dead man's eyes.
The other two wounded border guards were hoisted to their feet by their
comrades and supported as they hobbled toward the city gate. The tall captain
oversaw the return of his men, his white tabard soaked and grimed, but
otherwise he appeared unwounded.
Downstream, a young woman's corpse drifted away on the sluggish current with
her slack face toward the clouded sky.
Leesil felt all the years since he'd fled his first life son and slave, spy
and assassin. He smothered that pain until he felt coldly numb inside. It was
an old habit of survival now revived once again.
The snort of a horse called his attention.
One rider with a lamed leg heaved himself across a kneeling horse and jerked
the reins to make the mount get up. The horse slipped again and again before
its hooves dug into the wet embankment. It clambered to the slope top with the
rider hunched over in the saddle.
Leesil pulled both winged blades and took two quick steps. Magiere moved into
his path and braced her palm against his chest.
"No more!" she whispered harshly. "Enough."
He stared at her sweat-marked pale face and black hair. He breathed twice
before true recognition settled through the need to finish the last of his
task.
Whatever must be done, no witnesses the first rule taught by mother and
father. For the lives of each other, they'd smothered themselves cold inside&
kept themselves secret and safe at any price.
"How am I to watch over you& "Magiere began, and her smooth brow wrinkled with
an anger that would've hidden her fear from anyone but him."How& if you throw
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