Authors: Barbara Davies
A rabbit hurtling straight for Cassie gave a high-pitched shriek as a red-fletched arrow pinned it to the turf. Another, hard on its heels, leaped over its dying companion and continued towards her. At the last minute it caught sight of the wolfhounds, now standing stiff legged and trembling with eagerness. It jinked to the right and darted past. She turned to watch it go, ducking as it occurred to her that someone trying to shoot the rabbit could hit her instead.
“They may shoot only those inside the perimeter,” reassured Einion.
“Oh.” She unhunched her shoulders and turned to see how Tarian was faring. To her amazement, the archery contest appeared to be already over. The turf bounded by the ropes was covered with dead or dying rabbits, and the herald was noting the colour of the arrow that had despatched each one. In one case, two arrows, one of each colour, sprouted from the small brown body.
“Poor things,” said Cassie. “Why couldn’t they have used a straw target?”
“They were destined for the pot.” Einion sounded indifferent. “At least this way some had a chance of escape.”
“It’s still barbaric.”
The herald completed his tally and signalled to a man in a cook’s apron. While the cook and his assistant gathered the dead rabbits into several large baskets, the herald held up his hand for silence.
“A draw,” he announced. A wave of disappointment swept through the spectators. “I assure you, lords and ladies,” he sounded defensive, “that it is indeed a draw.” He turned to the Queen in appeal. “You majesty. Is it not so?”
Mab rose from her chair and silence fell. “It is so,” she called, and the herald smiled his relief. She glanced at the two combatants.
Cadel was scowling—
It seems to be his natural expression
, thought Cassie—and Tarian was impassive.
“A final bout should settle this, that of single combat.” Mab turned to a page. “Fetch the morning stars.” She sat down once more.
The Queen’s words evoked a murmur of anticipation that Cassie didn’t share. Hadn’t Einion said the spiked ball on a chain wasn’t Tarian’s favourite weapon? And if so, how could she possibly win?
Chapter 10
Tarian adjusted her grip on the handle.
Cold iron take it, but this thing is clumsy!
Every time the heavy ball swung at the end of its chain, the weapon’s centre of gravity shifted. The trick was, if she remembered correctly, to use that to her advantage, to build up momentum by whirling the ball then to direct the accumulated energy at her opponent. It was easier said than done, however. She was as liable to spike herself as Cadel.
The big Fae didn’t seem to share her reservations. He grinned and swung his own morning star almost negligently. But his hands and wrists were larger and stronger than—
The flicker in his gaze alerted her, and she wrenched herself backwards just in time. Wicked spikes whooshed past her nose so close she could feel the slipstream. She gave herself a mental slap.
Keep alert or he’ll have you
.
A mass intake of breath went up from those watching, many of whom were now leaning forward on their stools. The Fae enjoyed nothing more than bloody combat, especially if they weren’t personally involved, and Mab’s expression was avid, the tip of her tongue poking out. The only person present who didn’t seem to be enjoying herself was Cassie. Her eyes were wide, and she had covered her mouth with her bound hands.
Tarian snapped her attention back to her opponent.
Concentrate
.
She shook the tension from her arms and shoulders, took a firmer grip on the handle, and shifted her weight forward. She began to circle Cadel. He faced her, eyes watchful.
Since she didn’t have the physical advantage, she decided to try something else. There was nothing in the rules against it. “You know why Mab’s doing this, don’t you?” she taunted, keeping her voice low so he alone could hear. “She’s tired of you. She wants me back.”
Cadel’s ball whipped down, smashing into the turf where Tarian had been standing, sending clods flying. The force of the blow drove the spikes deep, and he struggled to free them. Seizing her chance, she whipped her own ball towards him, but he was nimbler than he looked and sidestepped. She grazed his left biceps, bloodying his sleeve but doing little damage.
He bared his teeth at her and resumed his tugging. With a spattering of grass stems and soil, the spiked ball came free. Moments later it was hurtling straight at her in a blow meant to disembowel. She flung herself backwards and rolled over twice, her knees and elbows thudding on the turf, before coming to her feet again. The tunic covering her abdomen was torn; beneath it a bloody cut began to smart. If magic had been permitted, she would have healed it. Fortunately, it looked worse than it was.
Several spectators clapped and called out Cadel’s name. He puffed out his chest. Tarian resettled her grip and took up her position opposite him once more.
“Even if you win,” she said, “how long before someone else takes Mab’s fancy, and she manoeuvres them into challenging you?”
“Why should that worry me?” he said, unperturbed. “No one can beat me. And as long as that remains so, I’ll be the Queen’s champion.”
“Haven’t you worked it out yet?” She whirled her morning star round her head. “With Mab, being champion is not just about the fighting. Are you good in bed too? I was.” Her gaze raked him from head to toe. “I’d say you’re not.”
With a roar he charged, and this time Tarian wasn’t quick enough. Spikes smashed into her shoulder, sending her reeling. The agony lancing through her flared even hotter as the spikes tore free. She sank to her knees and clapped a hand to her shoulder, from which waves of agony now radiated. Sticky warmth seeped between her fingers. She clenched her jaw and tried to control the pain.
Cadel’s supporters, meanwhile, were on their feet and cheering, and he had raised his fists in victory.
Cassie’s depending on me
. It took all Tarian’s strength, but she managed to get her legs under her and stagger to her feet. “The contest isn’t over yet,” she shouted.
Cadel turned to look at her in amazement, and the cheering died away.
“The rules are that I must be incapacitated or I must concede, is that not so, Herald?” called Tarian.
The herald unrolled a scroll and glanced at it. He nodded.
She stooped, the movement making her want to throw up, grabbed the morning star’s handle with her left hand, and straightened. “I—” Her voice was a husk so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I do
not
concede.”
“But surely,” objected the herald, “you are incapacitated. Your majesty?” He appealed to the Queen who had been frowning at Cadel’s victory but whose eyes now gleamed. “What say you?”
Mab put a finger to her lips. “
Are
you incapacitated, Tarian?”
She ignored the trickle between her fingers. “Not yet, your majesty.”
“Very well.” Mab turned back to the herald and gestured. “Let the contest continue.”
He gave her a respectful bow then waved to Tarian and Cadel. “Proceed.”
Once more the combatants faced one another. Cadel eyed her blood-soaked tunic with dissatisfaction. “Can you still fight me?”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said through gritted teeth. “I can fight as well left-handed as right.” It was almost true.
Gripping the handle in her left hand, she shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet. This was her last chance to save Cassie. She must use it wisely and well. And since using this pig of a weapon conventionally had got her nowhere . . .
That she used it left-handed may have helped. That she used the two-foot long handle rather than the ball probably added to Cadel’s confusion. Whatever the reason, when she lunged forward, grasping the handle with both hands and driving it deep into his midriff, he was unprepared.
Air whooshed from his lungs, and he doubled over. He was still trying to catch his breath when a flick of her wrist sent the heavy ball, and more importantly the chain attached to it, snaking towards his legs. His look of outrage when the links wrapped themselves around his ankles and she tugged them out from under him would have made her laugh in other circumstances. But she had no time for humour.
Let’s finish this
.
She tore his own morning star from his grip, raised it, and brought the spiked-ball crashing down. The blow jarred her shoulder, and for a moment she felt light-headed. But it passed, and she straightened and regarded the bloody pulp that had been Cadel’s head.
That surely counts as incapacitated
.
For a long moment there was no sound, then the spectators let out a roar of approval. Tarian dropped the morning star, which left a deep dent in the turf, and turned to accept the plaudits.
The herald was trying to get the excited Fae to calm down. When the noise had diminished to a murmur, he announced, “And the winner is: Tarian daughter of Brangwen daughter of Eyslk.”
Gingerly, Tarian bowed to the Queen. Her shoulder was excruciating. All she wanted was to find somewhere quiet to gather her strength and heal herself.
“You have fought well, Tarian,” called Mab. “You deserve your prize.” She gestured to where Cassie was sitting, and Einion sliced the mortal’s bonds and urged her to her feet. The dogs rose too, tongues lolling. Tarian started towards them, but Mab’s next words froze her in her tracks.
“As for the loser. Let all here bear witness. Cadel has disgraced not only himself but also his Queen. Such a crime deserves the most severe of punishments. I will unmake him and appoint Tarian champion in his stead.” She raised her hand and pointed a long finger at Cadel.
The dishonour of it shocked Tarian. “No!” she blurted, positioning herself in front of the supine Fae and wondering even as she did so why she was defying the most powerful woman in Faerie. It wasn’t as if she owed Cadel anything.
Mab’s smile dimmed. “I am your Queen, Tarian. I can do what I like.”
“It would not be just, your majesty. For he fought fair.”
If you discount that flash of light during the spear throwing
. “‘Concede or be incapacitated,’ those were the terms. And see.” She gestured with her good arm. “He is incapacitated.”
Tarian turned to the herald to back her up, but he seemed too petrified to speak. With a scowl at him, she ploughed on. “Cadel has served you well for two years, your majesty, both in your bed and on the battlefield. He deserves gratitude and healing at your hand, not death. And you know full well I have no desire to resume the post I relinquished. Let me take my prize and go, I beg you.”
“Beg me?” said Mab. Every shred of good humour had disappeared, turning her beautiful face ugly. “It sounds more like defiance than entreaty. Do not defy me, Tarian.” Her tone was steely. “Stand aside.”
“I fear I cannot.”
Mab seemed to swell with rage, and on all sides courtiers edged away. “This is intolerable! More. It is treason. And all present knows the penalty for that. Stand aside, Tarian, or I will unmake
you
instead.”
Fighting the urge to hunch her shoulders, Tarian stood her ground.
“As you wish.” Mab pivoted until her finger was pointing at Tarian. Her face was white marble, her eyes chips of flint.
Tarian closed her eyes.
I wonder if it will hurt?
She was beginning to shiver and feel light-headed.
At least it can’t feel any worse than this shoulder
. She had no regrets. Except one.
I hope Einion sees Cassie safe home before Mab takes out her anger on her
.
“Please don’t kill her.” The voice came from in front of Tarian.
She opened her eyes. Cassie was standing between her and the Queen, bracketed by Drysi and Anwar, their hackles raised. The protective gesture touched Tarian, but to see such courage wasted in such a futile cause . . . Belatedly it dawned on her that the Queen looked startled rather than angry. She felt a twinge of hope—audaciousness and courage had always intrigued Mab.
The Queen lowered her arm and regarded Cassie with raised brows. “Give me one good reason why I should not unmake Tarian. And have a care, mortal. For one false word could also spell your doom.”
“YOUR MAJESTY.” CASSIE sketched a curtsey. “Why unmake Tarian when she can be of use elsewhere? It seems such a waste.”
“Her use to
me
is my only concern.” Mab glanced over Cassie’s head at Tarian, her expression becoming as sullen as a teenager’s. “I had expected more gratitude, more loyalty.”
Ah, there’s the crux of the matter
, thought Cassie.
Mab’s feelings are hurt
. “But if your wish is never to see her again, your majesty, wouldn’t banishing her serve you as well?”
“I banished her once.” Mab gestured at Tarian. “Yet here she stands.”
“Ah, but you didn’t
really
let her go,” said Cassie. The Queen’s brows drew together. “You thought she would come to her senses, didn’t you? Realise what she had left behind and choose to return. But she didn’t.”
The Queen folded her arms. “Is this leading somewhere?”
Cassie’s heart beat faster.
She didn’t deny it
. “I have a question for you, your majesty. As Queen of the Fae you can do anything. Correct?”
A look of pride overtook Mab, and she threw back her head. “Of course.”
“Even make someone love you? With a love spell or something?”
Mab tapped her foot and said with obvious irritation, “Get to the point.”
“I beg your pardon.” Cassie flushed. “My point is this. You could have made Tarian love you, yet you chose not to. Why?” When Mab remained silent, she went on. “Wasn’t it because making her love you would have made such love meaningless?”
“Pah!” said Mab. “How sentimental you mortals are.” But there was an air of bluster about her. “We talk not of love. Tarian is my subject, and subjects obey their Queen in all things.”
Cassie looked down at her hands, then up again. “She is yours to command? To do with as you please?”
Mab gave an impatient nod. “Of course.”