Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (56 page)

 
          
Later,
scrubbed clean and greatly refreshed, he and Tepshen returned to their
chambers. Kedryn wiped moisture from Drubs blade and set the sword beside the
bed, noticing that night had fallen. He thought to dress and find Taron, but a
knocking on the door announced Dukai with his clothes, laundered and already
dry.

 
          
“Lord
Taron presents his compliments,” the servant intoned, “and would have you know
that should you prefer to sleep he will understand. Should you desire company,
either at table or more personally, you need but ask.”

 
          
“Give
Lord Taron my thanks,” Kedryn replied, “and inform him that I am, indeed,
weary. I prefer to sleep alone.”

 
          
“As
you wish,” Dukai murmured, and left.

 
          
Kedryn
yawned, eyeing the bed. He could think of nothing he desired more than to
stretch out beneath clean, cool sheets, save to have Wynett beside him. In
time, he told himself, and shed his robe to clamber into the bed. Faint on the
night air he heard the sound of laughter from Brannoc’s room, the voice of the
blond maiden raised in answer to some sally of the half-breed’s, falling into
silence as though muffled by Brannoc’s lips.

 
          
A
frill moon was
risen
, hanging low above the woodland,
pale light filling the chamber with gentle shadows. Kedryn drew up the sheets
and slept on the instant, deep and dreamlessly. And woke as quickly, sitting
upright as his mind struggled to identify what it was that had dragged him so
urgently from slumber. The moon was higher now, no longer visible from the
window, the chamber darker, and for a moment panic gripped him, his right hand
reaching for the hilt of the sword propped by the bed even as he thrust the
sheets aside. He rose as he identified the source of his alarm: the window was
open and through it he could hear the sounds of struggle, Brannoc’s voice
raised in cry for aid.

 
          
Not
bothering to dress he hefted the sword and crossed in swift paces to the door.
Flinging it open he stepped into the dark corridor, turning to Tepshen’s
chamber to pound upon the door before hurrying to Brannoc’s quarter. The kyo
appeared, clad in his undergarments, his blade naked in his hand before Kedryn
hurled himself into the half-breed’s room.

 
          
His
eyes were adjusting to the darkness, but still what he saw refused for an
instant to register on his mind.

 
          
Brannoc
stood naked in a comer, struggling desperately with a thing no longer female
but scaled and feathered and furred,
some
small
resemblance to a human woman remaining, but more of bird and cat visible in the
distorted body. Feathered legs that ended in curved talons thrust the creature
remorselessly at a body already bleeding from the numerous cuts imparted by the
clawed paws, while a head surmounted by tufted ears snapped vicious fangs at the
half-breed’s throat. Yellow orbs with narrow, vertical pupils glared furiously
at Kedryn as he overcame his revulsion, crossing the room with Drul’s blade
lifting, Tepshen close behind. For the merest blink of an eye he saw the comely
maiden, her hands reaching for Brannoc as though to embrace him, then he was
close enough that the radiance now emanating from the talisman encompassed the
thing within its blue light and its hideous form was clearly visible. It turned
as he swung the glaive, snarling and spitting, a paw upraised.

 
          
The
paw flew loose as the broad blade cut bone, a shriek filled more with anger
than pain bursting together with the blood that jetted from the stump of the
furry wrist. Brannoc ducked, throwing himself clear, as Tepshen joined Kedryn,
the long curve of the eastern sword slashing down in a cut that would have
sundered the beast had it not sprung back so swiftly. Instead, a gash was
carved from shoulder to groin, across the scaly chest, from which withered dugs
hung in ghastly parody of femininity.

 
          
It
screamed again, in rage, and the legs bunched to propel it up and forward in a
great leap, fangs bared,
the
remaining paw outthrust
to claw at the kyo’s eyes.

 
          
Kedryn
caught it in midair, lifting Drul’s sword in a great upward swing that landed
across the belly, doubling the monster over so that its feline head went down,
exposed to Tepshen’s blade. This time it could not escape the stroke and the
long sword carved the skull, splitting it to spill the brains across the floor.
Kedryn drove the glaive down again, across the small of the back, the crack of
the breaking spine audible through the dying snarls. It writhed, lifting a
ghastly snouted face toward him, teeth ciashingas if even in the moments of its
death it sought to rend and tear. Then the snarls faded, blood bubbling over
the stretched lips and it lay still.

 
          
Kedryn
spun toward Brannoc. The half-breed held his saber now, his face paled, his
eyes wide with pain and shock. Ugly lacerations striated his upper body,
welling blood glistening black in the moonlight, and his breath came in ragged
gasps.

 
          
“Thank
the Lady you came,” he panted. “I should be dead else.”

 
          
“You
are hurt,” Kedryn returned.

 
          
Brannoc
grinned tightly and shook his head. “I have survived worse. Let us worry about
my wounds later.”

 
          
“He
is right,” said Tepshen. “That shrieking must alert the hold. We must flee.”

 
          
Brannoc
was already tugging on his clothes, wincing as the cuts were twisted by his
movements. “Best we stay together,” Kedryn decided.

 
          
“Aye,”
Tepshen stepped into the corridor, sword at the ready. “Make haste, Brannoc.”

 
          
“I
am.” Brannoc drew on his boots, lacing them, his teeth gritted against the
pain. He rose and thrust his arms into his tunic, snatching his swordbelt from
the armoire. Blood stained the frontage of his shirt and he limped as he
accompanied Kedryn to his own room. Tepshen disappeared for a moment, returning
with his bundled clothes, and they dressed, moving back into the corridor,
surprised that none came to oppose them as they ran for the stairs.

 
          
‘The river!”
Kedryn cried over his shoulder as they pelted
down to the courtyard. “Make for the river!”

 
          
“Said
easier than it is done,” snapped Tepshen, pointing with his blade at the
nightmare host that now appeared across the yard.

 
          
It
was a ghastly multiplication of the changeling thing that had attacked Brannoc,
and Kedryn felt his blood chill as it began a slow advance. Lupine heads sat on
scaly necks, shoulder to shoulder with lizardlike creatures with flickering
forked tongues and needle fangs, beaked feces hissed, horns tossed, snouts
lifted to emit snarls, paws extended talons, tusks clashed, and through it all
came Taron’s voice, distorted by the long, many-toothed muzzle that was now his
face, but still recognizable.

 
          
"Do
you then reject our hospitality?”

 
          
Braying
laughter greeted his sally, coming from those throats still able to emit so
human a sound, more issuing snorts, snarls, hisses.

 
          
“Aye,”
Kedryn shouted, “we-do!”

 
          
“They
block the gates,” Tepshen warned.

 
          
“The postern then!”
Kedryn replied, and they spun about,
running along the colonnaded way.

 
          
A
thing with wings that ended in clawed hands and serpent head moved to oppose
them, falling to Tepshen’s blade. Another, horned and toothed, fell to Drul’s
sword; Brannoc, gasping in pain, slashed his saber across a canine face, and
they were at the entrance to the hall. The host of transformed creatures rushed
like some unhuman tide to fill the corridor leading to the postern and the
three men had no choice but to enter the hall.

 
          
Kedryn
and Tepshen shouldered the doors closed, slamming bolts in place as claws and
horns and hooves battered against the wood.

 
          
A
window broke, a taloned hand on a scaley arm thrusting through. Brannoc severed
it and snatched a torch from a sconce, setting the flame to a tapestry. Kedryn
and Tepshen followed his cue, the ancient material burning avidly, tongues of
fire licking hungrily upward, taking hold of the veneer of the woodwork so that
within moments the inner end of the hall was ablaze.

 
          
“The solar!”
Kedryn shouted over the crackle of the flames
and the baying of the nightmare horde.
“The windows there!”

 
          
They
ran the length of the hall, hearing the clatter of claws on the stone floors of
entering corridors, Taron’s warped voice screaming,
‘Take
them!”

 
          
Kedryn
and Tepshen reached the solar and Kedryn swung Drul’s glaive against one
window. The glass shattered, fragments cascading through the night. Tepshen
lifted a chair and hurled it through the gap, enlarging the opening.

 
          
“Brannoc!”
Kedryn bellowed, realizing the half-breed
lingered behind.

 
          
“I
come,” Brannoc shouted back.
“And with provisions.”

 
          
He
limped up the steps rising to the
solar,
a tapestry
bundled sacklike on his shoulder. Kedryn could not tell whether the grin that stretched
his mouth was from triumph or pain.

 
          
“Quick!”
he snapped, and Brannoc tossed his bundle outward,
then
leaped through himself.

 
          
Kedryn
and Tepshen paused just long enough to toss more flambeaux against the
decorations on the walls and the carpets covering the floor,
then
launched themselves after the half-breed.

 
          
Brannoc
was already running for the moon-silvered ribbon of the river. His comrades
caught up and all three reached the bank as the blaze engulfing the solar
delayed Taron’s changeling folk.

 
          
They
ran along the bank, aware that soon the creatures of the hold must emerge from
the postern and the gates to head them off, stumbling in the deceptive
moonlight, the red glow of the burning hall at their backs.

 
          
“A
boat,” Tepshen grated, and Kedryn saw a dory beached among the reeds.

 
          
Brannoc
flung his bundle into the scuppers and they manhandled the craft into the
water. The current was swift and they had barely sufficient time to drag
themselves on board before the dory drifted clear, carried to center of the
stream, moving steadily faster as the inhuman howling of their pursuers drew
closer. Kedryn peered over the high stem, seeing the host halt on the
riverbank, the thing that was Taron foremost, staring after them, taloned hands
upraised, his head thrown back to send a shriek of frustrated rage echoing into
the night.

 
          
No
further pursuit was made and he relaxed, slumping against the thwarts.

 
          
“I
found food.” Brannoc indicated the bundle he had carried with him.
“The remnants of a feast.”

 
          
From
the prow Tepshen said, “There are no oars.”

 
          
“AtTeast
we escaped them,” Kedryn answered.
“Though not unscathed.”

 
          
Brannoc
grinned wryly at this reference to his wounds, glancing down at his now
blood-soaked shirt. “She—it
!—
scratched me, no more than
that.”

 
          
“Fortunate
that Kedryn heard your cries,” Tepshen said. ‘Take off your tunic and let me
bandage those wounds.”

 
          
Brannoc
stripped off his tunic and shirt, which the kyo tore into strips, winding them
about the ugly claw marks ribboning the half-breed’s chest.