The Skeleth (29 page)

E
dmund leapt from back of his horse and lost not a stride in reaching the door of the Overbournes' cottage, one of the straggle of dwellings wedged between the western bank of the Tamber and the Dorham road. Telbert Overbourne had time only to fumble open the door and utter “What in all—?” before Edmund cut him off.

“An army,” said Edmund. “Get everyone up. You have to go, right now.”

Telbert blinked. There was a trail of sleepy drool in his beard.

“Dear, who is it?” spoke his wife, Elsie, from the darkness behind him.

“There is an army coming.” Edmund raised his voice. “Wake everyone up and get them to assemble in the square, as fast as you can.”

Telbert stepped outside. He looked about him—at the moonlit
bridge downstream, then across the road at the silent doorstep of his neighbors. “But . . . what's all this about?”

“Lord Wolland.” Edmund hurried back to his horse and leapt astride. “He's invading; he's bringing an army in off the moors.”

Telbert woke up at last. He turned white and peered over the river at the dim gray rises to the east.

“Can you knock everyone around here awake and get them moving without raising a shout?” Edmund turned his horse to face south again. “Master Overbourne, please listen—you've got precious little time.”

Elsie leaned out behind her husband. “Edmund? Is it true what they're saying? Is Lord Aelfric really dead?”

“He is.” Edmund nudged his horse to a walk. “Everyone, Master Overbourne—to the square, as fast as you can go.”

He rode back down the Dorham road into the square and turned at the bridge. He cast a look along the arc of stone, to the silhouette of Geoffrey standing watch on the rise and to the grim width of the moors beyond. He felt a grip of fear for his brother, then his parents and his home.

“I'll never be what you want.” He spoke to the blank night sky. “I love them all too much.” He half expected an answer, but none came.

The mill stood first on the left past the bridge. Edmund leapt the millrace and thundered on the door. “An army comes. Meet in the square!” He had said it and moved on before Jarvis Miller had a chance to open his mouth.

Bella Cooper was already awake next door. “Edmund? What's all this? Did you hear about—”

“There's an army coming.” Edmund dashed across the street and pounded on Gerald Baker's door. He did not wait to explain, for by then Jarvis and Bella were out in the street. He slapped his horse's rump to get him walking. “Everyone meet in the square.”

Bella Cooper, and then Gerald Baker, ran from house to house, waking their neighbors and spreading the alarm. By the time Edmund reached the statue in the middle of the square, he had passed Jordan Dyer, his sister Missa, and Anna Maybell shuffling past in their nightclothes. He turned and raced for home, his parents' inn just south on the Longsettle road.

Sarra Bale leapt out the front door of the inn at the sound of Edmund's knocking. “Edmund! Oh, son!” She seized him in her arms.

“Mum—Mum, let go!” Edmund wriggled free. “We've got to hurry, we've got to get everyone together.”

“Where's your brother?” Harman Bale lurched out behind Sarra, still in his cloak and boots, one hand held pressed under his shirt. “Where's Geoffrey? He went off looking for you yesterday, and no one's seen him since.”

“He's safe, Father, he's keeping watch just past the bridge.” Edmund spied Miles Twintree peering through his window and waved him out onto the road. “Miles, bring your parents. Bring everyone.”

Edmund's mother let go of his arm. “It's not another of those thorn monsters, is it?”

“It's an army.” Edmund said it loud enough to put the word about to Baldwin Tailor, to the whole of the Twintree clan and
all those of his neighbors still stumbling out their doors with questions. “An army from Wolland is marching in from the moors. They will reach the village before dawn.”

Even as he said it, he heard a roll of hoofbeats rising up the Longsettle road, a heavy, four-beat gait—a draft horse pushed to its limits in a sprinting gallop. He stepped outside to look, his parents following. Katherine flew past the first of the houses and charged up toward the inn. She leapt from the saddle and met him at the door of the stable.

Edmund took the reins of her horse. “Where's Harry? What about his knights and men-at-arms?”

Katherine walked with him into the rickety stable beside the inn. She looked around to make sure they were alone, then shook her head.

Edmund felt fear tighten its cords around his chest.

Katherine leaned against the plain wooden rail. “If there was ever something you wanted to say about Harry, something about him not being the boy I thought he was, now would be the right time.”

“Never mind that, what about the village?” Edmund yanked off saddle and bridle, and left the horse some hay. “What are we going to do?”

Katherine raised her head. “We are going to fight.”

“Fight?” Edmund thought it was quite the wrong time to make jokes.

“You heard what those men said in the camp,” said Katherine. “They're to be paid in land and plunder. More than that, they're hungry, and their horses will need grain to keep them on the march, our whole harvest at the least. Harry's made a
deal to keep himself safe in his castle, but the rest of us don't have the luxury of stone walls to give us shelter. If that army crosses the bridge, we will be at their mercy. We must turn them back.”

Edmund looked at the ground, then at Katherine. “Tell me how I can help.”

“I was hoping you'd say something like that.” Katherine led him back outside. She passed through the swelling crowd of her neighbors, and leapt onto the pedestal of the statue in the square. “Wat Cooper. Wat, over there, how much pitch have you got?”

Wat Cooper stared up at her, slack in the mouth.

“How much pitch have you got?” Katherine leaned over and repeated it to his wife, Bella. “For sealing barrels. How much?”

“We just got in a batch, dear,” said Bella. “It'll last us till spring—but why?”

“We'll need it all. Bring it out.” Katherine waved at them. “Go, both of you! Go! Now, Aydon, Aydon Smith, where are you?”

Young and brawny Aydon Smith stepped out from the crowd. “What's all this about? We've got to get running, and soon!”

Katherine grabbed him by the arm. “Aydon, do you have any chains?”

Young and brawny, and not so very quick. “What?”

“Chains.” Katherine pointed east across the square. “Wide enough to stretch between those posts on the bridge.”

“Er.” Aydon looked. “Yes. Maybe three.”

“How quickly can you forge an open link on each end?”

“What are you babbling about?” Edmund's father hobbled over from the inn. “There's an army coming! We've got to clear out of here while we can!”

“Hear me, all of you,” said Katherine. “We must hold our ground. We must fight.”

“Fight? Have you gone foaming mad?” Baldwin Tailor's querulous voice broke over the frightened murmur. “There's an army coming over the bridge! We have no chance!” His words drew a clamor of agreement—many went so far as to break from the swelling crowd and head for their homes to pack what they could for a desperate flight.

“Wait. Wait—listen, everyone!” Edmund sprang up to stand at Katherine's side. “If we run tonight, we might keep our lives, but we will lose our livings. Look around you. That will be another man's mill, another man's inn, and those of you who survive may find yourselves another man's servant or another man's wife. What we have here, what you have built all your lives, will be broken, and you will be hard pressed to last the winter when every single grain you have grown this year sits in another man's belly. There is an army coming, in off a march across the hard moors. They are to be paid with what they can take from their enemies. You are their enemies whether you want it or not.”

He had not meant to make a speech. It just came out that way. “If I thought your best course would be to gather your possessions and run, that is what I would advise. I tell you that we must fight.”

A few of the folk around them seemed to shake from their terror. Others, while still plainly frightened, were no longer
frightened out of their wits. They clustered in around Katherine and Edmund, ready to listen.

Katherine nudged Edmund's side. “That was good.”

Edmund turned to Katherine. “You do have a plan, don't you?”

She looked down the road, then over at the bridge. She nodded once.

“Then—what's coming?” said Hob Hollows. “What are we up against?”

“The second sons of all the gentry of Wolland,” said Katherine. “Every hungry, landless boy who's grown up on horseback, wishing for a claim of his own. All of them riders, most of them knights.”

“Knights? All knights?” Baldwin Tailor's voice soared high up his nose when he was frightened. “Are you mad? Nothing can stop knights on the charge!”

Katherine held up her hand again to quell the panicked murmurs. “Maybe not, on an open plain.” She pointed to the bridge. “We are not going to give them one.”

Baldwin spluttered. “But, they're knights—trained men of war! They've got swords, they've got armor!”

“Yes,” said Katherine. “Heavy steel armor, great links of chain on their chests, and they must ride across a narrow bridge—at night, above a fast, wide river.”

A few of the folk around them seemed to understand. Something like hope began to dawn on the faces of the bravest, and for others, at least the worst of their despair began to fade.

“You are farmers and tradesmen, but you are also the finest archers in all the world,” said Katherine. “Lord Aelfric had us practice at the targets every week to keep us in training,
and you'll kneel on his grave to thank him by tomorrow, that I promise.”

The folk of the village clustered in close around Edmund and Katherine. Some of the men who had unstrung their bows bent to string them again.

“We use the darkness,” said Katherine. “We use the bridge, we use panic and fire. Yes, they're knights, and they come in chain hauberks with sword and axe, but they don't come with bows or anything else that can hurl a distance. I've just scouted their camp with Geoffrey and Edmund, and I tell you we can beat them, we can send them screaming back off that bridge if you heed me and hold hard.”

“But . . . what about Harry?” said Baldwin. “What about the castle, the guards and all?”

“They cannot help us tonight,” said Katherine. “It falls to us to make sure that these men never cross this river, that not only Moorvale, but the rest of the north stays safe. If we hold together and follow the plan I have made, we can turn them back, here and tonight. Do you trust me?”

“I do.” Mercy Wainwright stepped out from the crowd. She looked around her. “We are with you.”

And they were. Edmund could see it.

“Then heed me,” said Katherine. “This is what we will do.”

R
ight, open links.” Aydon Smith bore a chain over each shoulder. “This is lord's iron, by the way.”

“Good, thank you, Aydon.” Katherine waggled the point of a militia spear in its binding—it nearly fell off the shaft. She handed it to Martin. “See if someone can fix that.” She cast a glance around her at the floor of the inn and counted perhaps ten spears worth using. Some of her neighbors ripped rags, dipped them in pitch and wrapped them onto arrowheads. Others strung the longbows, testing each string with an empty draw. Knocky Turner worked at a frantic rate in the far corner, converting an old piece of fencing into a combination roadblock and shield wall. Molly Atbridge and her mother bent beside him, stretching wet ox-hides over the row of old militia shields lashed to the frame.

Aydon rattled the chains. “Lord's iron, you know—his stock. Is he paying?”

“We'll ask him later.” Katherine strode to the door. “Bring what you need to make a good, hot fire. I'll come show you what to do.”

More folk poured in from the roads, outlying farmers farther to the ends of the great chain of alarm. By the time the news had reached them, it had gained in detail, so most came with all that had been asked of them—torches, longbows and arrows, even a few swords. It was an effort to keep the newcomers silent once they reached the square, but by then everyone in the village knew enough of Katherine's designs to impress the need for quiet on their neighbors, with a harsh hiss and a swat for those somewhat slower of wit.

Katherine walked with Aydon onto the span of the bridge and stopped at the first set of posts. “Can you loop each end around one of these, then shut the links so that it's stretched taut across the span?”

Aydon set down the chains. “I'll need a roaring hot one.” He stepped back and took note of the wind. “I've got a stack of hickory just in by my door, dry as you like.”

“You might not have long,” said Katherine. “Any sign of trouble, kick your fire into the river and come right back, done or not.”

“Aye.” Aydon set down his tools. “Don't you worry on that score.”

Katherine hurried back into the square. She waved up at the roof of the mill as she passed. “All well?”

Jarvis Miller waved back to her. “We've got a lamp lit down behind the cams.”

“Just give the word.” Nicky Bird stuck his head out next to Jarvis. “We'll make 'em sorry they ever even heard of Moorvale.”

Katherine passed on through the square and pushed back the door to the inn. “What's the arrow count?”

“Eleven score.” Anna Maybell let a handful drop into a barrel. “Or a bit over.”

Katherine had hoped for more. “Get a full barrel up to the mill, and half the fire arrows. Hurry—we don't know how long we've got. What about spears?”

“Fifteen,” said Martin.

“Good, bring them out.” Katherine turned back through the square and surveyed the field of battle before her. The mill did a fine job of blocking the south side, and its wooden roof gave a high vantage over the bridge. She let her gaze rove north. The land rose along the Bakers' croft, perfect for another company of archers.

“Come, my lords and knights.” She cast a glare over the bridge at the shadowed moors. “Come take us, if you can.”

Aydon's fire blazed up on the span of the bridge, and soon the tinking of his hammer sounded, spaced with muttered grunts and curses. Katherine went over to the bundle of supplies she had brought with her from the castle and took up her sword—a soldier's sword, forged from good bloomery steel but without decoration on hilt or blade. She still called it her uncle's sword, sometimes, though he had died more than ten years before she was born. Her uncle had left one mark on it, a deep score on the crossguard where he must once have turned
a crushing blow from an axe. She drew the blade; the other marks were hers.

Martin bore a dozen spears out of the hall. “So who gets these?”

Katherine glanced at him. “Pick a dozen men—strong ones, some tall and some short. Tell the rest to get their longbows.” She sized up the run of road through the square to the bridge. She marked out points of escape between the Coopers' and the Turners', and another up behind the smithy, then made a silent wish that she would not need to make use of them.

“Bella, Missa, over here. Grab up a bale and follow. Wat, bring some of that pitch.” She took up the hay bales she had asked for and led her neighbors onto the bridge. “Mind Aydon, everyone, mind the fire. Step over the chain.”

She dragged her bale up the span, to a point roughly halfway to the top. “There. Put them in a row, right across.” She set it down and sighted back to the village. She risked one low shout. “Up on the mill—can you hit this?”

“Of course we can!” Nicky Bird spat off the roof. “What do you think we are, a pack of Wollanders?”

Scuffing footsteps sounded in echo from the east. Katherine turned around to find a pair of figures cresting the top of the arch at a run.

“Lights.” Geoffrey Bale came in just ahead of a white-faced, trembling Miles Twintree. “Lots of them, a mile past the rise. And talking.”

“Good, go on, to your places.” Katherine helped Wat Cooper upend a whole barrel of thick, tarry pitch over the bales, then
led her neighbors back off the bridge. “Aydon, they're coming! Toss your fire and get down here!”

The fire on the bridge slid out and fell to hiss into the river. Moments later Aydon hurried down into view. “I could only set the nearest chain.” He threw his tools aside and took a spear from Martin.

“One is much better than none.” Katherine turned to the cluster of folk standing in between Gerald Baker's and the mill, the last two buildings before the foot of the bridge. She counted, at best, sixty bows.

“Quiet, now, everyone! It all depends on quiet.” Katherine picked out Missa Dyer from the crowd. “Missa, go back into the square. Tell everyone to keep all the lights out of view—I don't want to see so much as a candle if I look that way. You two, over there by the edge, go into the smithy, load up some coals in the brazier and bring it out. Set it by the wall, in reach of the archers.”

Katherine ordered the spearmen into a rough double line, the taller men holding ready to stab over the shoulders of the shorter. “You are both our first line and our last. With luck, our enemies will never even reach you. Martin is your captain. Follow him as though he were Tristan himself.”

Martin thunked the haft of his spear into the earth. “Anyone who's not in it with us to the end, just turn and run for it now. We're better off without you.” He looked somewhat different from his usual self, his slow anger awakened and alight. Even his black beard seemed to bristle out.

“We won't let you down.” Horsa Blackcalf took up a spear,
the oldest of Martin's picked company, old enough, in fact, to be Martin's father. The front rank of men knelt down, their feet touching the edge of the bridge.

“Good—Martin, they're all yours.” Katherine passed beyond them to the folk who stood with bows and arrows in the eastern end of the square. Not all of the women had left—she counted Luilda Twintree holding hands with Lefric Green, and Elsie Overbourne standing with her husband, Telbert.

Katherine pointed into the shadows. “Someone bring up that barrel of arrows and put it in reach. Each of you take a handful and push them into the ground at your feet, then space yourselves in ranks. I need to detach one company. Who asks to lead them?”

A dozen hands rose. It was no easy choice amongst the best three. Katherine pointed. “Gilbert Wainwright, take twenty archers north, up through Gerald's croft. Put yourself along the high bend, that rocky bit—you should have a good view along the side of the bridge.”

“Oh, ha-ha, good one. Good one!” The spearmen turned to laugh. “Hit them from the sides! Katherine's got it all figured, don't she?”

“Don't bother with fire arrows, and bring no light,” said Katherine. “Shoot as you like once we start. All right?”

“Got it. Good luck, everyone.” Gilbert turned and waved a score of folk out of the crowd. They slipped around the back of the smithy.

“Everyone else, you're mine.” Katherine stepped out before the first rank of archers—Telbert Overbourne, Lefric Green, Walter Bythorn and old Robert Windlee. “I want tight volleys
on my signal, arched high to drop onto the middle of the span. We'll leave the long shots to the men on the roof—and no one is to fire before I say. Same up there on the mill. Hear it? No volleys until I give the word.”

“We hear.” Nicky Bird sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the roof. “Bit fancier than Aelfric's old drill-and-practice runs, hey? But we'll do it, don't you worry.”

“Wait, wait, up there.” Knocky Turner emerged from the dark, holding up one end of his hastily built shield wall. “It's done.” Molly Atbridge held the other, though rather low, and Jordan Dyer dropped his longbow to help her bring it along to the foot of the bridge.

“Now, that's good work.” Martin took hold of the shield wall, and all by himself hauled it around and set it just in front of his spearmen, so that its frame braced on the far side of the huge stone posts. He banged the top of it with his hand. They now had a braced wall of shields across the foot of the bridge that came to the height of a man's chest.

“Katherine.” Jarvis whispered from the roof of the inn. “I see them. They're on the ridge.”

“Quiet—quiet, everyone!” Katherine got her wish at once. None of her neighbors spoke or shifted or even breathed too loud. In the silence that followed came the distant sound of metal-shod hooves on stone. The wind blew in at them from the moors, but that could not be helped.

“Take an arrow.” Katherine spoke just loud enough to be heard. “Nock it, but do not draw. Listen and wait. Edmund, get ready.”

Edmund clambered past her, over the shield wall and onto the span. Katherine stepped up to Martin's shoulder and
peered out into the dark. She caught sight of shapes moving at the top of the bridge, a few snatches of laughter that echoed over the gentle rush of the water.

“Curse you for a pack of dogs,” Telbert Overbourne snarled under his breath. “Come over here, and we'll see who's laughing by sunup.”

Katherine wondered for a moment whether Lord Wolland himself rode in front. “Quiet, now. Just a moment more.” She strained to listen. The approaching shapes came down the near side of the bridge, close enough to tell the strike of hoof from its echo off the water. Then they stopped.

“What's that?” Lord Wolland's voice rang out clear from atop the bridge. “Hold, what are they saying up there?”

A more distant voice rose to a shout. “They said they heard something, my lord, whispering, from north along the banks!”

Katherine raised her arm. “On the mill, there! Fire arrows, light and draw.”

The words
bales of hay, right on the bridge
were cut down by a dozen shouts of “Up there! My lord, look!”

“Take aim.” Katherine glanced up to the roof. A ragged bank of flames stood drawn and ready. She heard the sound of a warning shout on the bridge, and then—oh, she could kiss the clouds—the wind died suddenly to nothing.

“On the mill, fire!” Katherine tapped her cousin's shoulder. “Set your men. Archers in the square, draw high—fire!”

The fire arrows loosed. Katherine watched the burning trails arc through the air—many landed close to the target, but only one struck the center bale on the top.

“That one was mine!” Nicky Bird shouted it from the roof. “That was my shot!”

Geoffrey popped up beside him. “No, it was mine!”

“Everyone look away!” Katherine turned from the bridge. “Edmund, now!”

“
B
Y FIRE LIGHT IS BO
RN.
I
N THE EYE OF NIG
HT, A MOTE OF SUN.”
Edmund's voice intoned from the footing of the bridge.
“
A
WAKE, ARISE IN LIGHT.
F
IRE, AWAKE!”
There was a
whoosh
, and then a light so bright that it almost blinded Katherine, even though she had her eyes shut and her back to it. She turned eastward again, blinking hard, and through the spots in her eyes she could see the vanguard of knights straining desperately to hold their rearing horses in check as flame burst to life at their feet.

Katherine helped Edmund back over the shield wall. She found to her surprise that though her friend was breathing hard, his eyes shone brightly and he seemed otherwise well. “The spell didn't hurt you?”

“I've learned a few things since the last time I tried that.” Edmund hopped lightly to the ground. As soon as he stepped near to the brazier meant for lighting fire arrows, it went out at once, without so much as a wisp of smoke.