The Charnel Prince (29 page)

The greffyn had turned at the sound, too, and the sparse hairs along its spine stood straight. He heard it snarl.

And behind him he heard a voice, whispering soft in the Sefry tongue.

“Life or death, holter,” it said. “You have a choice to make.”

NEIL WAS STILL WAITING FOR Anne when the sun began to dim and Vaseto returned, leading Hurricane. On the horse was a pack carrying his armor and other few personal possessions. He walked out into the street and patted the stallion’s muzzle, noting with amusement and concern the stares with which those in the neighborhood regarded them both.

Vaseto noticed, too. “I don’t think they see horses in this part of town very much,” she said, “much less warsteeds.”

“I suppose they don’t,” Neil said, remembering he hadn’t seen anyone mounted since they passed through the large square at the city gate.

Hurricane tossed his head restlessly.

“There, lad,” Neil whispered. “Soon we’ll be back where we belong. I promise you a good leg-stretching in Newland. You’ll need it after passage on the ship.”

“If they’ll let you take her on,” Vaseto pointed out. “Berth for a man is one thing. Berth for a horse is something else again.” She shrugged. “But with what the countess passed along to you, you should be able to afford the room if they have it.” She flashed him a smile. “In any event, it’s now your problem. I have to get back to my dogs.”

Neil bowed. “I still don’t know who you really are, but thank you again.”

“You know more about me than most,” Vaseto said. “But if I were you, I would worry more about who
you
are. That’s likely to be more useful to you.”

With that cryptic comment, she walked up the street and vanished around a corner.

After a bit of reflection, Neil decided to put on his armor. If the men searching for Anne had had the same luck as he had, he might need it.

A bell later it occurred to him that not only hadn’t Anne come back down, but that he hadn’t seen Austra or Cazio, either. Cazio had talked as if there was something of a hurry, and yet where were they all?

He glanced at the old man they had called Ospero. He’d been watching Neil, not too pointedly, but without trying to hide it either. He’d been doing that since Anne had spoken to Cazio and had slipped upstairs.

“Can you tell me where Anne’s room is?” he asked.

“
Ne comperumo
,” the old man said, shrugging.

Neil looked around, hoping to spot someone who might speak the king’s tongue. Still, Cazio wasn’t back yet, and he had presumably gone to make the final arrangements.

Unless . . .

His heart fell like the bottom of a great storm swell.

Why? Why would Anne try to escape him? Were her Vitellian friends in league with the enemy?

No, there was a better explanation. What an idiot he was for not having seen it sooner. Anne had heard her father and sisters had been killed, but it was unlikely that she knew much more than that. Why should she trust a knight she barely knew, just because he claimed to have been sent to protect her?

It doesn’t matter now
, he told himself, trying to stave off panic. His duty was still his duty, whether Anne believed him or not. One way or another he would bring her home, safe.

He knew where the ship was—and Anne wouldn’t be aware of that. He could still catch her, as long as they hadn’t set sail already.

He nodded to Ospero and swung himself up into the saddle. Ospero grinned faintly and raised his hand to wave. Neil saw the flash of steel at the last instant. He twisted in the saddle and ducked, and felt something graze along his arm, which was where his heart had been a moment or two before. Grimly he whirled Hurricane and drew out Crow. As if on cue, men were bunching into either side of the street. In just a few moments there would be more, but Neil wasn’t going to give them those moments. They were armed with knives and clubs, but one had a spear. If they managed to injure or immobilize Hurricane, his chances weren’t good.

Ospero was shouting, and Neil cursed himself again for not knowing Vitellian.

He pointed Hurricane at the man with the spear and charged. To his credit, the fellow seemed to know what to do. He knelt and braced the butt of the pole arm against the cobbles and aimed the point at the spot beneath Hurricane’s breastbone.

Neil’s breath was coming cool now, slow, in and out. He saw the men’s faces, their scars, whether they had shaved or not.

At the last possible moment, he turned Hurricane to the side, avoiding the spear altogether. Using the cut known as reaper, he sent one of his attackers down to the street, where the stone drank blood from his headless corpse. Hurricane reared savagely and kicked down at another. Neil felt a blow to his leg, but then he was free of them, clattering down the darkening streets.

He felt down to his leg, but the armor had turned away the blow. Hurricane seemed unhurt, and so he kept the pace, watching pedestrians scatter, listening to their unintelligible remonstrations, and beginning to hate the whole adventure. The novelty of foreign places was definitely wearing off.

She should have given me a token
, he thought angrily.
Something to convince Anne she really had sent me
.

His anger at the queen was a shock followed by shame. Who was he to question her?

He urged Hurricane on, hoping he still had time.

———«»——————«»——————«»———

Anne had recovered from her pangs of conscience by the time they reached the docks. When she saw the ships, she finally understood that she was really going home. Home, where she didn’t scrub clothes or make cheese or get invited to become a whore.

In the back of her mind, she still knew it was going to hurt, too, to enter the castle and find that her father and sisters were really gone, but that moment was still far away. For now, she could cling to the good part.

“But why are we leaving Sir Neil?” Austra whispered near her ear. Cazio had found her washing the dirty plates at a
carachio
near the great square. Anne had worked there before, her mouth watering at the smell of the lamb roasted with fennel and garlic. Austra smelled like that now.

“Cazio didn’t explain?”

“Yes, but Cazio does not know Sir Neil,” Austra said.

“I can’t believe it,” Anne said. “You’re questioning Cazio’s judgment?”

Austra flushed a bit. “He knows more about Vitellio than we do,” she said. “And he is very clever. But how can he know Sir Neil’s heart? It seems wrong. He always seemed very honest to me.”

“Austra,
we
don’t know Sir Neil. For all we know, he killed my sisters and now he’s come after me.”

“He wasn’t with the knights who attacked the coven.”

“How do you know? We didn’t see them all.” She took Austra’s hand. “The point is, we can’t know. And if I’m wrong—why, he’ll be fine. He made it to Vitellia, he’ll make it back.”

Austra frowned doubtfully.

“Not to interrupt,” Cazio said, “but there’s our ship just ahead.”

Z’Acatto, who had been entirely silent since he had joined Anne in the alley behind their building, suddenly grunted. “I know that standard,” he said. “Had you told me, I would never have agreed to this.”

“Hush, old man,” Cazio said in a low voice. “I did what I had to.”

“You don’t surprise me very often, boy,” the fencing master muttered. “But today you’ve managed it.”

“What’s he talking about?” Anne asked.

“Nothing,” Cazio replied quickly.

She turned to z’Acatto and saw that his eyes were very strange, as if he were angry, even furious. And then she realized his sword was already in his hand, its tip just clearing the scabbard. She wasn’t afraid yet, just very curious as to why the old man was going to kill her. But she could feel the fear arriving as he grabbed her.

Z’Acatto pushed, and she stumbled to the cobbles, one knee striking the stone. She gasped at the pain and looked up, trying to understand what was happening.

A man—a man she did not know—was staring at z’Acatto’s blade, which vanished somehow into the fellow’s throat.

Cazio shouted then and drew his own sword, and suddenly men were everywhere, some in armor.

“Run!” Cazio shouted. “Run onto the ship!” Anne scrambled that way, trying to regain her feet, but suddenly armored boots were there, and she looked up to see a steel visage staring down at her. The knight raised a sword that seemed to be only half there, a blur like the wings of a hummingbird, but moving through the colors of the rainbow with each heartbeat.

She stared up, frozen, as the blade cocked above her. Cazio’s blade drove over her head and took the knight in the gorget, and Cazio came flying behind it. “
Z’ostato en pert
!
” he shouted.

The knight stumbled back beneath the force of the blow, but Cazio was still airborne, and crashed into him, punching the man’s visor with the guard of his weapon. The knight toppled and slammed to the ground. Anne scrambled up, helped by Austra, who took her hand, and both ran for the gangplank.

She could see a crowd of faces on the ship, watching in astonishment. Among them was one that seemed a little familiar, a dark, lean mustachioed face.

“Help us!” she shouted. None of the sailors moved.

Two more men suddenly appeared between her and the ship, and everything seemed to slow to a stop. In the corner of her eye, she saw that the knight with the glowing sword was already up on one knee, dealing Cazio a thunderous backhand with his mailed glove. Z’Acatto was holding off at least four men, but two were starting to push around him. She and Austra were trapped.

Something snarled up in her, and she yanked out the dagger Sister Secula had given her, determined to give at least one cut. The men between her and the ship were more lightly armored than the knight, in chain and leather. They wore no helmets at all.

They laughed when she raised the weapon. Then, oddly, one suddenly toppled, his head grotesquely changing shape somehow as a long pole of some sort struck it. And then something huge exploded into the other man, knocking him away as if he were made of rags and straw.

Even as she realized it was a horse, she also realized it was falling. Another armored figure slammed to the dock a kingsyard away from her with a clang, but for a moment the way to the ship was clear. She bolted for it, tugging Austra behind her.

She hadn’t gone more than halfway up the gangplank when she remembered Cazio and z’Acatto, and she turned to see what was happening.

The horse had regained its feet and was galloping madly about the dock. The knight who had fallen from it had risen, as well, and she suddenly understood by the rose on his helm that it was Sir Neil. As she watched, he cut savagely at the knight with the glowing sword, hitting him so hard, he actually left the ground. Then he turned on the men pushing past z’Acatto and decapitated one.

Cazio hesitated, but z’Acatto didn’t. He quickly disengaged from his foes and charged toward the ship. After the slightest of hesitations, Cazio joined them.

Anne suddenly felt movement beneath her feet and realized the gangplank was being withdrawn. She was turning when two of the sailors grabbed her and yanked her the rest of the way up onto the ship. Not quite knowing why, she screamed and kicked, noticing as she did so that they had Austra, too. Z’Acatto leapt with an agility that belied his years, landing on the retreating ramp and bounding onto the boat, followed closely by a whooping Cazio.

On the dock, Sir Neil was a blade storm, beating the enemy away from the ship. There were at least eight against him, not counting the knight with the glowing sword, who was—against all things natural—rising again.

“Sir Neil!” she shrieked. “Come on!”

The sailors all around her were frantically cutting lines and pushing at the dock with long poles.

“He’ll never make the jump,” z’Acatto said. “Not in that armor.”

“Go back for him!” she shouted. “Go back this instant.” She slapped at the nearest sailor, the one who had looked familiar. “You can’t leave him there!”

He caught her hand and glared down at her. “I am Captain Malconio, and this ship is leaving port. If you strike me again, I will have you hanged.”

“But he’ll die!”

“I see no reason to care about that,” he said.

———«»——————«»——————«»———

Through a red haze, Neil cut left, then right, hit a man in chain and breastplate at the shoulder joint and saw it cleave, the blood spurting as he yanked the edge back out. Grasping the blade of his weapon with his mailed left hand, he rammed the pommel into the face of the next opponent, then reversed the weapon and, still gripping it like a staff, plunged the tip down between the lip of the breastplate and chest. He felt the breastbone crack, and the man fell away.

He shifted both hands to the grip and struck at the next enemy, who managed to stumble out of the way, and Neil felt a cut from his left thud against his shoulder. He couldn’t see where the blow came from, but he set his legs wide and sliced that way, waist-level. As he felt his blow land, he turned so the fellow was in his field of vision. He was another of the lightly armored ones, and his eyes went wide as blood started from his mouth, and he fell clutching a crushed rib cage.