Authors: The Warrior
“I shall fire the first arrow,” Aileen said with conviction, and touched the Hawk’s bow with her fingertips. “I shall try to set it aflame first. Let us scheme to attack once they have retired to the hall for the night, for they will be drowsy with wine and not anticipating an assault.”
Guinevere smiled. “Aye. Villagers all retire with the sun, the better to rise with the sun. The MacLarens will not anticipate us.”
* * *
Word traveled through the village more quickly than a fire and Tarsuinn reported that more than one household were surreptitiously sharpening their hoes and scythes. Aileen chafed to see the evidence of support for the Hawk herself, but Tarsuinn had insisted that she remain hidden in the moulting house. Small knives abounded in every household and Aileen imagined that whetstones were busy. She had forgotten about the stonemasons with their chisels and hammers, though there were still a number of them in the village. Guinevere reported with satisfaction that all were easily roused to defend the Hawk and Inverfyre.
But at midday, a ruckus carried from the bailey. Aileen heard hoof beats and men shouting and curiosity made it nigh impossible for her to remain hidden. The ensuing silence had her pacing the confines of the moulting house. Though it made the hooded peregrines most anxious, she could not be still in the face of such uncertainty.
Tarsuinn appeared finally, his expression grim. “They have sent a missive to the Hawk,” he said, his words thick.
“What kind of missive? What do you mean?”
He granted her a solemn glance. “You will hear the truth from some soul, I suppose.” He sighed. “It was your father, bound to his steed, with his eye put out.”
Aileen cried out in anguish but Tarsuinn patted her shoulder paternally. “He is alive, lass, and Dubhglas himself is proof that loss of an eye does not kill a man.”
“I should not have fled the tower and left him there.”
“Do not blame yourself!” He let her weep upon his shoulder, though his voice was stern. “There was nothing you might have done to halt their wickedness, lass. The Hawk will be pleased beyond all that you escaped, for you would have borne the brunt of their wrath against him.”
“But my father...”
“Has been dispatched to the Hawk, who will find him. Remember that Ahearn is in the Hawk’s company and if any soul can tend your father’s injuries in this moment, it is Ahearn.”
Aileen wept for a moment, then straightened when Guinevere came to the moulting house in haste.
“The Hawk has surrendered!” Guinevere said, astonishment and fear in her eyes. “He means to exchange his life for ours.”
“No!” Aileen cried and would have run to witness his foolery.
Tarsuinn seized the back of her tabard and Guinevere caught her shoulders even as she blocked the door. “You cannot aid him,” Tarsuinn said sternly.
“You must not draw their eyes to yourself,” Guinevere insisted.
“But they will kill him!” Aileen took a deep breath and forced her galloping heart to slow. “No. We will aid him before they have the chance to injure him.”
“Disguise yourself,” Tarsuinn counseled, then cast a homespun cloak over Aileen’s shoulders. “Remember that weapons were confiscated early this morn. You must hide the bow with care.”
Guinevere pulled up the hood with a wry smile. “You are a woman in man’s clothing,” she said with a smile. “Anyone with eyes to look will guess the truth of it.”
“So you drew his eye to yourself,” Aileen realized belatedly. The other woman smiled and Aileen touched her shoulder, her determination to wrest a better fate for this woman redoubling. “Thank you, Guinevere.”
* * *
A considerable crowd had gathered between the gates of inner and outer wall. The villagers were held back by a number of armed mercenaries, who did not let the commoners approach too closely. They created a circle of barren space, and the Hawk stood alone in its center.
Aileen noted that his sword and scabbard were gone and feared mightily for his fate. All waited, apparently, for Dubhglas, who descended from the hall for the Hawk’s surrender. When that man appeared, he did not walk with the confident swagger he had the night before and Aileen noted with satisfaction that a wound upon his head was bound.
“The portcullis in the outer gate must remain open,” she told Guinevere, who nodded once, then disappeared into the crowd. She did not doubt that the Hawk’s men would appear, and wanted to ensure that they were not trapped outside the gates. Tarsuinn remained beside her, her bow and his sword between them so that no other would feel their shape. She let the crowd jostle her, and waited impatiently for a chance to reveal itself.
To her delight, Dubhglas’ entire company came through the bailey with him to witness this moment. The sentries upon the walls watched events below avidly. The Hawk did not move and the villagers were silent with expectation. There was not a single flame alight in the village at this hour of the day, and Aileen despaired of sending her signal.
Then she spied Nissa and had a thought. The mill wheel was turning in the waters of the river, which meant the millstones would be grinding.
And there would be sparks thrown by the stones. In addition, the miller’s abode was one of the tallest in the village: she would have a good vantage from the upper windows.
Aileen eased toward the miller’s abode, Tarsuinn keeping beside her with such casual ease that she knew he had had more adventures in his days than the training of falcons.
“You are slow to claim what you declare is your desire!” the Hawk called to Dubhglas. “Could it be that you are not so bold as you would have all believe?”
“There is no need for haste,” Dubhglas retorted. “Indeed, vengeance is better savored cold than devoured in haste.”
The Hawk scoffed. “I owe you no vengeance. Yours is a theft, no more and no less. There is not a soul within these walls who does not know the truth of it.”
Dubhglas halted and glared at the Hawk, men on his every side. “Yet you surrender to me all the same.”
“Because you are evil of intent, not because your cause is righteous,” the Hawk retorted. “I would surrender my life for that of my wife. Where is she? Or have you killed her so quickly as this?”
Aileen and Tarsuinn reached the mill. The miller and his family stood before the door in a row, with their hands clasped behind their backs. The miller’s eyes widened slightly when he recognized Aileen. He nodded minutely when she eased closer to the door, and Tarsuinn followed. Nissa, looking ripe and benign, stood beside the miller’s son like a dutiful wife. Aileen saw, though, that the maid held a wicked little knife behind her back, his grip fast upon it. They all held weapons and stood straight with resolve.
Dubhglas laughed. “The whore sleeps so soundly that she could not be roused in haste. I suppose she has finally been sated. I found her lusty indeed, Hawk. Tell me, have you bedded her at all?”
Aileen raced up the steps to the upper floor of the mill, the heavy grinding of the millstones hiding the sound of her footsteps. She looked out across the lower bailey and saw the Hawk straighten, though he said nothing.
“I thought it would be fitting if I took her as my wife in your stead,” Dubhglas taunted. “Either by me or my men, she would conceive a child with MacLaren blood in its veins, which would be a fine legacy for the future.”
“You have killed her,” the Hawk said flatly.
Tarsuinn appeared at Aileen’s side, a flame kindled in his hand. He hovered in the shadows as she fitted an arrow to the bowstring. “Make it count, my lady,” he whispered.
Aileen nodded and lifted the bow, trembling inside at the import of this single shot.
“Not yet.” Dubhglas raised a finger and his men took a step toward the Hawk. “There will be no wager, Hawk. I have anticipated too long the sweet joy of you watching your lady wife despoiled.”
“No!” the Hawk cried.
“No!” Aileen cried, tipped the arrow into the flames, then loosed it directly at Dubhglas. He turned at the sound of her voice, his movement ensuring that the arrow caught him in the other eye. He screamed, even as the village erupted in chaos. At every point, villagers raised their weapons and assaulted the mercenaries in their proximity. Surprise served them well, for a number of men fell before they realized what was happening. Dubhglas roared with fury and lunged toward the Hawk.
The Hawk pulled a dagger from beneath his tabard and stabbed Dubhglas. Aileen watched him split the other man from gullet to groin, then kick aside his corpse in satisfaction.
“Lady mine!” he roared, pivoting in the empty space as he sought Aileen.
Aileen took her aim and loosed an arrow. It felled the mercenary who lunged at the Hawk from his blind side. The Hawk spun and laughed, then granted a fleeting glance to the millhouse.
It was enough that more than one mercenary followed his gaze and began to fight their way closer.
Hoof beats echoed on the road beyond the gate. Seven black stallions raced through the gates, then reared above the chaos of the crowd. One had an empty saddle and Aileen saw with delight that her father rode another. She could not immediately discern who was missing from the Hawk’s company of cohorts.
She saw Ahearn cast the reins of the one with the empty saddle to the Hawk. Her husband swung into the saddle and Sebastien handed him his unsheathed blade. He galloped toward the millhouse, cutting a path through the crowd with his blade and his steed, Ahearn riding fast behind.
Her position known, Aileen loosed as arrows into the fray as possible. She would do what she could to aid the Hawk’s cause, though she could not guess her own fate.
The Hawk cut down two mercenaries on the very steps of the millhouse, but two others lunged inside. Tarsuinn pivoted, his blade at the ready as footsteps sounded on the stairs. Aileen did not know where to look first.
She saw a fifth mercenary battling with the miller’s son, who valiantly tried to defend Nissa and his parents. He was poorly equipped though, his small blade a poor match for his assailant’s larger sword. The mercenary forced him back, cutting his face, then hooking the knife out of his hand. That man laughed, though Nissa’s expression revealed that she tightened her grip on her own still-hidden blade.
Ahearn rode out of the crowd abruptly and shouted. He dispatched the surprised mercenary with a fatal stroke, then dismounted with the Hawk. He guarded the portal, while the Hawk took the stairs. Nissa bent over the miller’s son with concern.
Tarsuinn shouted and Aileen spun to find the first assailant upon them. She cast aside the bow, which was useless in such close proximity, and pulled the small eating knife from her belt. She heard the clash of steel upon steel as the Hawk attacked the other mercenary below.
Tarsuinn was unexpectedly agile, though once he had surprised his attacker, that advantage was lost. They battled fiercely, back and forth across the floor, the mercenary larger and younger than the falconer.
But not perhaps as wily. Tarsuinn took a blow and bent over in pain. The mercenary stepped closer to make his kill, even as silence rose from the floor below.
“Praise be!” Tarsuinn cried with delight. “The Hawk comes for you!”
The mercenary glanced over his shoulder for the barest moment. It was long enough for Tarsuinn to recover from his feigned injury and lunge toward his assailant. Their blades clashed, but the mercenary was off balance. Tarsuinn landed a blow and the mercenary fell backward, shouting once before his head cracked upon the stone stairs. The Hawk hailed Tarsuinn’s triumph with a cry and Aileen stepped away from the wall to congratulate them.
But a man’s gloved hand closed harshly over her mouth, shoving her back against the cold stone wall.
“Not so hastily,” he muttered in Aileen’s ear as his knife touched her chin. “I will see some gain from my journey this far.”
Aileen realized belatedly that he had scaled the wall of the millhouse and slipped through the large window while her attention was diverted. This mercenary was large and bearded, pungent and determined.
“I never had my pay,” he declared when the Hawk and Tarsuinn approached with caution. He drew the knife across Aileen’s throat. “Make me an offer, and perhaps the lady will live another day.”
The Hawk smiled with confidence and rested the tip of his bloody blade on the floor. He folded his hands atop the hilt and regarded the mercenary with undisguised amusement. “You expect a ransom for a dirty boy? I have a village full of them.”
“But you called for your lady.”
“Ah yes. She is the pregnant one, who stands defended outside these walls.”
Tarsuinn chuckled and turned as if to leave. “Fool! You have erred in truth.”
“But you defended...”
“Myself,” Tarsuinn said wryly. “I defended myself. The boy simply happened to be here.” He turned his back upon the mercenary and sighed. “Come, my lord, battle awaits.” Tarsuinn began to descend the stairs.
“Indeed, you speak aright. We shall have no rest on this day.”
Aileen could nigh hear the mercenary thinking. There was no doubt that he was not keen of wit, though she guessed his blade was lethal enough. She met the Hawk’s gaze and knew he was not as much at ease as he would have this mercenary believe.
He whistled as he caught up his blade, as if indifferent to the fate of Aileen or the military power of the man who held her captive. The mercenary gasped in amazement and his grip loosed slightly upon her.
Aileen grasped his wrist, pushing his blade away from her throat, in the same moment that she drove her heel up into his crotch.
The mercenary howled in pain. Aileen ran. The mercenary snatched after her with a bellow. The Hawk leapt up the stairs and pushed Aileen behind him to safety. The mercenary swung his blade and the Hawk leapt over the strike, landing on the lip that kept the millstones confined. The mercenary lunged after him and the Hawk jumped out of the way, catching the back of the mercenary’s tabard and hurling him over the lip of stone.
He screamed but not for long. The stones continued to churn, though their passage became more labored. Aileen had to look away as the flour coming out of the mill ran red, but then the Hawk’s arms closed around her. He pushed one hand through her shorn hair, then cupped her chin in his hand.