Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (48 page)

Ki-Nimh would have been rather disappointed if he could have read his pupil’s thoughts at that particular time. Having galloped to the edge of the forest, Jenevra took her horse under the spreading branches of baris oaks and maples at a more sedate pace, weaving steadily into the peaceful quiet. The huge trees blocked almost all of the sunlight, cooling the air around her immediately, with occasional dappled patches where their branches lifted higher. Breathing in the sweet scent of sap dripping from the sugar maples, Jenevra’s mood lightened considerably. Snapping several young shoots off a maple as she passed, she chewed on one as she rode, sticking a few more into her pocket for later. Walking her horse through deep leaf litter, the only sounds were the soft thud of hooves and the creaking of leather.

Much as she enjoyed being with her Flight, deep down Jenevra truly preferred the simple solitude of nature; the silence laced only with threads of light breezes setting the trees to whispering, the soft fluttering of birds’ wings, or the occasional stirring of an animal in the stillness. The tranquility rushed through the princess like a tonic, a serene smile easing the tension from her face: her lips twitching into a broad grin as she saw again the expression on Tessier’s face just before Baran had ducked him in the pond. Her eyes grew distant as the thoughts pulled her back to the incident, her mind dwelling on the image of the Captain standing dripping wet in the water; the tautly defined muscles running from his chest to his hips. Shaking herself, Jenevra slapped the back of her own hand. “Bad, very bad,” she muttered to herself, trying to focus on the deepening shadows as the woods thickened around her. Before she could collect her thoughts completely, a sudden swirl of breeze sent a shiver through the trees, a single leaf falling from a baris oak to land on her horse’s neck in front of her. The baris oak was one of her favorite trees, the intensity of its deep copper color had always appealed to her as a warming contrast to the rich greens worn by most trees during the summer. Now, twirling the broad leaf by its stem between her fingers, its attraction took on a new dimension as she contemplated that it was an almost perfect complement to the color of Tessier’s hair. “Oh, great Tore, what am I thinking?” Jenevra chided herself in a soft voice. “That insufferable man’s driving me crazy.” Stuffing the leaf, without thinking, into a pocket, she nudged her horse into a trot, deciding that the best way to keep her mind off Blaise Tessier was to find the scouting patrol and kill them.

The first three were easy. Riding as rear guard to the patrol, the three men were obviously not expecting trouble to find them in the form of a small person riding through the thick forest, miles from any help. Lulled by the stature of the rider, they drew their own horses to a stand, thinking it would at the very least be an excellent horse that they would acquire from the meeting. As the rider neared them, their eyes lit and they exchanged glances, realizing that the figure was, in fact, female.

Jenevra had spotted them quite some time before they noticed her following them. Slipping her jacket off, loosening her hair from its braid to catch it back simply with a ribbon, she wore her tunic over gray trousers, a light belt cinching her waist just to make certain her shape was apparent to them. Following them quite deliberately into a small clearing, Jenevra called out to them, asking if they could help her.

Hardly believing their luck, the men winked broadly at each other, one of them waving for her to join them. Sliding from their mounts, the men waited patiently for the young woman to reach them; their eyes widening and welcoming smiles wreathing their faces as they saw her clearly for the first time. The tallest of the three took hold of her horse’s bridle as she reached them. “Well now, missy, you seem to be a long ways from home with no-one to look after you. That could be dangerous, you know.” He gave her a mocking smile as the other men grinned.

“My thanks, sir,” Jenevra replied haltingly, as if embarrassed. “I am trying to find a place called Mirizir, but I seem to have lost the path.” She shrugged apologetically. “If you gentlemen could point me to the right road I’d be very grateful.”

“How grateful?” One of the other two, short and squat with a badly broken nose, leered up at her, one hand grasping her leg.

“Now, Carl,” interrupted the third man, pulling his comrade away. “You’ll frighten the young lady. And we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” He smiled reassuringly up at the princess, holding his hand up to her. “If you’d like to come take a look, we have a map. We can show you the right road on that.”

Slipping her feet from the stirrups, Jenevra looked gratefully down at him. Kicking both feet forward swiftly, she put two of the men onto the floor as she jumped out of the saddle, landing in front of Carl and sending the heel of her hand directly into his startled face, driving the cartilage in his nose up into his brain, killing him instantly. Without pausing she span to meet the second man with the same blow, this time to the center of his chest, sitting him heavily down on the forest floor where he tried, unsuccessfully, to breathe through the shards of ribs now puncturing his lungs; a bloody froth emerging from his mouth as he slowly keeled over.

The tallest man rose unsteadily to his feet, looking at his fellow assailants and then at her in undisguised horror. “You … you’re not lost.” He drew his sword, waving it between them.

“I know,” she said lightly, moving towards him as if she didn’t even see the sword. Ducking under it, she rushed the last few paces towards him, sweeping his legs from under him as she rolled under the blade. A knee to his groin rolled him into a ball, giving her the chance to slide her hands around his head, twisting his neck in a swift loud crack. Letting the body drop to the ground, she dusted herself off, and looked around the small clearing, hands on her hips. “Three down,” she said, nodding with satisfaction. Hauling the three men over their horses with rather more difficulty that it had taken to kill them, she tied them in place with their stirrup leathers, removing their swords and daggers and tying them together to the back of her own saddle. With the reins of all three in her hand, she led them through the forest in pursuit of the rest. She found them within an hour.

Not having heard from any of their rear guard for some time, they had decided to wait for them to catch up. Their puzzlement as they watched a young girl ride towards them towing three dead men behind her gave her enough time to take the first two men out with slamming blows to their jaws that snapped their necks instantaneously.

Still not quite believing what they were seeing, only about half of the remaining men drew any kind of weapon, convinced enough of their own strength that they simply didn’t think it would be necessary against one girl.

Jenevra didn’t pause. She knew instinctively that she could give them no time to think, to group or plan. Hauling herself from her horse by a large overhead branch, she swung down to meet them, feet first, knocking three of them sprawling. Landing on her feet she spun immediately to meet two swordsmen. Ducking again, she swept her leg round to take one man’s feet from under him, giving her the time she needed to grab the other man’s wrist, too close to him for his sword to be of any use. Snapping his wrist, she followed through bringing her hand up across his throat, crushing his larynx, leaving him to choke to death as she leaned swiftly out of the path of another blade, with it missing her throat by inches. Rolling backwards, she pushed over, landing back on her feet, flowing into a spinning kick that removed the sword threat, sending its wielder to the floor unconscious. Ducking again under another attack, Jenevra sent two more to the floor with hard kicks to the groin, smashing another man’s nose up into his brain as she twisted out of hands reaching for her. Jumping, she flew over an axe whirling at her head, sending out a side kick that punched a young soldier into a tree; death waiting for him in the unexpected form of a broken branch that pierced his eye all the way to the back of his head. The axe man swung again, forcing Jenevra to dive in under his reach to smash into his chest. He was a large man and the leather breastplate he wore took some of the impact, the blow incapacitating him rather than killing him: the princess did that herself, snapping his thick neck loudly.

There were four of them standing now—the first three she had knocked down and one man she had still to encounter—although Jenevra wasn’t naïve enough to discount the three still rolling on the floor in pain. Standing straight she watched them circle warily. They’d seen enough to make them cautious, although they were also angry at so many of their comrades being bested by a girl. Not willing to allow the odds to change, she took the time to back across the ground to where the two she’d kicked in the groin were still trying to get to their feet. In two swift moves, they were lying on the ground, necks broken like chickens, and Jenevra was running towards the four soldiers still on the attack.

The first swordsman was limping towards them also now, presenting her with five opponents. Pointing the tip of his sword directly at her, he spoke. “You’re going to regret this, bitch,” he gestured around at the dead. “You won’t die as quickly as any of them, though; but you’ll wish you had by the time we’ve all finished with you.” He brushed at a trickle of blood at the side of his mouth and spat into the undergrowth. “Come on, lads,” he looked around at the others. “Who wants to be first?”

Taking a long slow breath as the five charged towards her, Jenevra jumped straight up, grabbed the branch above her, swinging over it to land behind them. A slight smile on her face, she slammed the first two to turn around into each other, one impaling the other on his sword as they fell. Three of them were still coming for her. The man on the floor reached down to his side, pulled a knife and let it fly at her.

Focused on the three facing her, she missed the movement, until the knife grazed her left thigh, embedding itself lightly in the tree behind her. Without blinking she spun and kicked him solidly under the jaw, snapping his neck backwards.

Sensing an advantage at last, the man who’d spoken lunged towards her leg: at the same time that the last two pushed forward with their swords, causing the princess to stumble. Moving quickly, he smashed his fist into the side of her face, shouting to the others to pin her arms. Hand around her throat he dragged her to her feet, as she pulled against the two men holding her arms. “Now, we’ll see how brave you really are,” he sneered. He almost hesitated at the gleam appearing in her eyes, as her feet came up towards his face, snapping his jaw back; flipping back over the arms of the last two soldiers. Landing with one arm around each of their throats, bending them backwards, Jenevra snapped their necks before turning her attention back to the last man, trying to stand.

“Oh, I really don’t think so,” she said softly, pushing him back to the ground with her foot.

Sergeant Brogan was not happy. Not only was his Captain somewhere in the forest without any sort of guard, he was now absolutely convinced that he had missed something happening to her several days ago. He had watched carefully since his suspicions were first aroused on the day after the battle, when she had tried to fob him off about the new injuries. Finn Corrigan and Spider Baudoin hadn’t been able to hide the fact that they knew something that Prince Baran and Captain Tessier also knew. There had been too many meaningful glances and long looks exchanged by the four men, normally across the princess when she wasn’t looking, for it to be anything other than about her. Now, with Master Ki leading them towards Virat, Sergeant Brogan wanted nothing more than to have Jenevra back where she should be, at the head of Shadow Flight, safe, sound and, above all, exactly where he could keep an eye on her. It was with a very heartfelt sigh of relief that he watched the coal black horse emerge from under the low branches of coppery oaks a short distance ahead of them as the column neared the fork in the road that led to Virat and Mirizir; the princess apparently none the worse, waiting for them, leaning on the pommel of her saddle with one arm. “Captain,” he saluted her sharply, deep gray eyes looking with disquiet at splatters of blood on her clothes.

“It’s not mine,” she said quickly, noting his gaze. “It’s theirs.” She nodded back over her shoulder to a string of horses standing in the shadow of the trees.

Brogan’s eyebrows lifted enquiringly as he counted. “Sixteen?” His eyes met hers. “You just killed sixteen men? And none of that blood is yours?” He gave another sigh, tinged with disapproval as she grinned at him.

“It looks worse than it is, Sergeant. Broken noses tend to spurt a lot of blood.”

“I hope you’re not going to try to convince me that they died of broken noses, Captain,” Brogan signaled to a couple of the men to gather up the reins of the Diruthian horses. “What do you want us to do with them?”