Dragonblade Trilogy - 02 - Island of Glass (15 page)

 “This bunch looks more organized
than those fools we battled at Dinas Bran,” Kenneth commented.

 Bradley hadn’t been at Dinas
Bran and could not comment. “I would wager that Dafydd is involved. His men
have always shown a remarkable amount of discipline.”

“And Dafydd is not afraid of
throwing a volley at us.”

“Surely he can’t be thinking to
invade Kirk. He is tried before and failed.”

Kenneth shook his head slowly,
watching the approaching lines. “This is an action designed to rattle us. He is
angry that we overran Dinas Bran. This is no invasion force, I assure you, but
we must be on guard today.”

“Agreed,” Bradley took a last
look at the enemy lines. “I shall pass the word for the archers.  Today will be
a war of arrows, I should think.”

“Tell everyone to watch their
heads,” Kenneth called after him.

The soldiers of Kirk were all
business. The scent of battle was in the air and they inhaled the heady brew. 
Bradley organized nearly three hundred archers upon the walls and a group in
the bailey, and the deadly projectiles flew over the walls into the approaching
Welsh. They responded by releasing another shower of arrows, worse than the
first.

 Shortly after sunrise, the earth
and air of Kirk was full of fire, smoke, and death.

***

Aubrielle woke to the smell of
smoke. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she rolled over on the dog and was rewarded
with puppy licks to the face. She giggled and struggled to get away from the
happy kisses. With effort, she sat up, rubbing her sore belly. It was painful,
but bearable, and certainly nothing like it had been the night before. A heavy,
peaceful sleep had done her a world of good.

It took her a moment to realize
that Kenneth was not in the room. Disappointment settled. She thought that he
would at least be seated in a chair, patiently waiting for her to awaken.  But
she was quite alone in the chamber, save the dog. He wagged his tail happily
when she looked at him. She patted his head and went in search of her clothes.

Rising from the bed was a strain.
Her stomach muscles were bruised; in fact, her entire body was stiff and sore. Aubrielle
tried to shake it off as she went for her massive trunk. Lifting the top with a
groan, she began to rummage through the garments her mother had so carefully
packed for her. She wanted to find something pretty so that Kenneth would find
her pleasing to look at. She smirked at her foolish thoughts, laughing at the
ridiculous idea of caring what a man thought of her. Then she sobered, feeling
like an idiot, knowing that Kenneth’s approval had come to matter something to
her.

She pulled out a simple garment
of burgundy linen and an equally simple matching shift.  The bodice of the gown
had laces that cinched up her waist as tightly as a trussed-up warhorse. They
were front-laces and she was able to do it herself. She’d done for years
without the aid of a personal maid and didn’t feel the need to begin now even
though Kirk had servants everywhere.

As she ran her horse-hair brush
through her brown tresses, she caught another whiff of smoke. It was strong and
distinct. Curious, she peered from the lancet window in her room. The window
faced northeast, away from the main portion of the bailey and overlooking the
green hills of distant Wrexham and Shropshire. The smoke was heavier here and
she pressed forward, sticking her head out of the window to see if she could
see anything below. She was startled to see busy men with weapons and loaded
crossbows on the battlements.

It did not take a great military
genius to realize that something was amiss.  It occurred to her that the reason
Kenneth had not been in her room at dawn was because there was a battle going
on.  It wasn’t strange that she hadn’t heard anything, considering the walls of
Kirk’s keep were several feet thick and she was four stories above the ground. 
She raced for her shoes, unable to find them until she looked under the bed and
found them shoved beneath. Holding her aching gut, she fled the room.

She took the narrow stairs too
quickly and nearly tripped. The serving wench, having heard the mistress,
scurried down the stairs after her. The sounds in the great hall drew her
attention first, and she was shocked to see a few dozen men lying on the cold
stone floor, wounded, dead or dying.

The seriousness of what was
transpiring began to settle. Aubrielle’s heart was pounding in her throat, from
revulsion and shock, as she observed the carnage. Her uncle’s majordomo was
tending a man near the wall; she caught his attention.

“What is going on here?” she
demanded.

He was an old man, with white
hair and a spry manner. He stood up from where he had been tending a man’s
wounded shoulder.

“An attack at dawn, my lady,” he
said. “The Welsh have come to rattle our cage.”

Her expression was grave. “Why
was I not notified before now? Why did I have to come down and discover this…
this travesty on my own?”

“Sir Kenneth left word that you not
be disturbed, my lady,” the man said. “He said that you had had a difficult
night and were ill.”

Half of her was furious with
Kenneth, but the other half of her understood his reasons. Apparently, no one
knew that she had been attacked. She supposed that Kenneth had his reasons for
not telling anyone, but she could not imagine what those reasons were.  For the
moment, she was speechless, and the majordomo watched her anxiously.

“Are you feeling better, my
lady?” he asked her.

She had been staring at a man
with an arrow through his thigh several feet away. The majordomo’s question
startled her from her morose thoughts.

“Indeed,” she replied, wanting
off the subject of herself. “I would like to help. Where is the physic?”

The majordomo pointed; near the
hearth, Aubrielle spied Argus tending a man with a bone sticking out of his
arm. Before she took a step, she passed a lingering glance to the majordomo;
she’d seen him every time she had been at Kirk but realized that she did not
know his name. She felt a bit ashamed she had never thought to care. Now he
served her and she didn’t even know who he was.

“What is your name?”

“Arbosa, my lady,” he bowed his
head.

“Thank you, Arbosa.”

My pleasure, my lady.”

She made her way to the little
physic. He was hunched over, struggling to set the broken arm. Small though he
was, he had man-sized arms and hands, and considerable strength to go with
them. She stood over the old man.

“I should like to help,” she
said. “What may I do?”

Argus looked up at her, somewhat
surprised to see that she was moving about.  He wiped his forehead with the
back of his hand. “I thought I told you to stay in bed and rest, m’lady.”

“Aye, you did. But I feel better
and it looks as if you can use my assistance.”

“I have enough help for now.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “I
can be of more assistance than the others, I assure you. I learned something of
the art of healing at St. Wenburgh.”

“This isn’t the art of healing,
m’lady; this is war.”

“But I can help. You must let
me.”

The bone that Argus was setting
snapped back with a sickening sound.  Aubrielle wasn’t as strong as she liked
to pretend; she swallowed the bile in her throat.  The little physic wrapped
the limb quickly and efficiently.

“Do what you can, then,” he said.
“I shall not argue the point with you.”

He moved on to the next wounded
man and Aubrielle stood there a moment, gathering her thoughts. Though the
sight of blood made her nauseous, she felt it was her duty to assist.  She’d
committed herself and there was no turning back. The toothless wench was still
hovering near her and she sent the woman for hot water, ale, needle, thread,
and whatever bandages she could find.

Aubrielle’s indoctrination into
the position as lady of Kirk wasn’t as she had imagined. There were no gracious
heroics on her part. It was a brutal, revealing experience. The first man she
tried to help had a belly wound that had his guts protruding from a hole in his
side. She came close to fainting as she struggled to push the innards back into
the stomach cavity and sew up the hole. The serving wench helped somewhat and Aubrielle
was grateful to see that the woman had steady hands. In the end, she didn’t
think she had done a very good job of sewing, but the wound stayed closed and
the guts, in. She would have liked to have stopped at that one but she could
not. She forced herself to move on to the next injured man

Thankfully, the next few were
relatively minor. It gave her some confidence. Then, they brought a young
archer in that had lost his footing and fallen from the battlements. He was
alert, but had no feeling from the shoulders down.  Argus took one look at him
and consigned his fate to God; the man had broken his neck and death was
imminent.  The lad was so very young, and so very frightened. Never once,
however, did he cry out or ask for help. She couldn’t bring herself to abandon
him even as the physic moved away.

“Where are you going?” she hissed
to the little man.

He shook his head. “I cannot help
him, m’lady. There is nothing to be done.”

She grabbed the man by the arm to
stop him. “Will you not even try?”

“Try what?” he asked. “His nerves
are severed. The fall saw to that. He cannot move, his breathing will fail, and
he will be dead before night fall.”

Aubrielle was appalled at his
lack of effort. “So you are content to simply do nothing and watch him die?”
she demanded. “How can you be so cruel?”

Argus could see she was working
herself up over something he’d seen too many times. “I am not being cruel, I
assure you,” he softened a bit. “There were times when I would spend all of my
energy and knowledge trying to save those who cannot be saved.  If I spend my
time trying to save this lad, knowing full well that he will die in spite of my
efforts, some of those around here who I do have a chance of saving may perish.
‘Tis a tough choice, I agree, but I have to make the wiser decision.”

Aubrielle let go of his arm and
watched him shuffle off. Even though he made sense, she was sure he was wrong.
The lad was alert and talking; surely, he must be salvageable.

But the youth’s countenance was
changing. Even though she’d only spent a relatively few number of minutes with
him, she could see the transformation in his pallor. He had gone from a healthy
pink to an odd shade of gray. Aubrielle noticed that his breathing was very
erratic. It seemed to her that the young man was suffocating because of his
injury. When the lad noticed that she was staring at him, he smiled weakly.

“With your help, I am sure that I
will be well again, my lady,” he said in a strangely weak voice.

Aubrielle forced a smile and
knelt beside him. “I shall do my best,” she said. “What is your name?”

“Halla, my lady,” he replied.

“Is that Welsh?”

“Nordic, my lady.”

“Then you are from the north
lands?”

“Nay, but my parents were. Now
they live here, at Kirk.”

“In what capacity?”

“My father is a smith. My mother
takes care of my daughter.”

“Oh? What of your wife?”

“She has passed on.”

He was struggling to talk, to
breathe. Aubrielle could see he was fading. She felt a sense of panic; she
could not allow the young man to die without attempting to help him. She had to
help him breathe. Making a fist, she pushed it deep into his stomach. The boy
exhaled sharply. Pulling her fist up, his lungs automatically inflated. She did
it again and again, until the boy actually appeared as if he was gaining enough
air.

He smiled gratefully. “Th-thank
you, my lady.”

She smiled in return. “That is
the first time someone has thanked me for punching them in the stomach.”

He opened his mouth in a silent
laugh. “I feel… better.”

Aubrielle could not see the long
term. She could only see the short.  He was alive now and she wanted to keep
him that way. She continued to push on the youth’s belly, helping him breathe.
It took her completely out of circulation, as she was unable to help anyone
else. The hours passed and she continued to push and release, push and release,
only to be spelled by the serving wench who insisted that her mistress take
some nourishment.

 She had no idea how long she had
been breathing for the boy. Even though her own muscles were screaming, she
ignored them and kept pressing forward.  She didn’t even realize when the great
room dimmed as the sun set, and the servants lit the fat tapers that would cast
off a weak, smoky glow. The lad slipped into unconsciousness but still, she
kept pushing. As night fell, the great hall became a spooky, pain-filled place.

She was exhausted but refused to
give up. This was the long term she had not thought about. The lad hadn’t been
conscious for several hours but the serving wench seated by his head kept
telling her mistress that his pulse was strong.  Hair askew, arms and body
aching, Aubrielle gradually noticed a pair of massive boots standing just off
to the left of her. She had no idea how long they had been there; she’d never even
heard them. She looked up, her silken tresses hanging in her eyes, to see
Kenneth standing there.