That was hard to tell. Many twistedmen wore jewelry of sorts, mostly bone or organs, some gold and gems. There was no official sign of rank for them. The beaked figures were a clump of their own and stayed at the back. Their arrows carried farther than the others, one or two barely missing Darya as Gerant’s magic deflected them. The scouts likewise stayed back and kept shooting, stymied by the newly cleared ground.
Others weren’t so lucky. There was more screaming on Darya’s side now. She didn’t look to see who, but she smelled blood and the ranker stink of death. That mingled with smoke and oil, then became unnoticeable: just the way things smelled, like darkness and teeth were the way they looked.
An arrow sped from her bow and caught a toad-thing in the side. It started to writhe, and Darya reached back for her quiver, then saw a glint from behind it—the robe of one of the tall figures with the running faces. The shot was clear.
Quickly, not waiting for orders, she nocked, drew, and loosed. It was a good shot. Her aim was true. The arrow went too fast to dodge.
It crumpled.
When the point had almost reached the robed figure, the shaft warped outward into a circle. The point curved around and drove itself through the wood, and the whole thing dropped to the ground.
Fifty feet down and far across ichor-covered, corpse-strewn ground, the creature raised its face toward Darya. Moving white specks glistened there; they looked like maggots, but she thought they were its eyes, and she thought that it saw her. Pain scraped across the tips of all her fingers and under the nails, like splinters shoved deep.
It was gone in an eyeblink.
“Tell the others!” Darya panted.
Done, said Gerant. He had no breath to pant with, but his own mental voice was short and faint.
The spell between the three of them must have let Amris know she’d been in pain. She couldn’t see his reaction, but his orders stayed as consistent as ever, and his voice was loud but calm. “Draw—”
For all Amris seemed to be affected, Darya was just another soldier; neither the soul who helped defend her, the hour or so they’d spent earlier, nor the tentative sentiments they’d exchanged had made any difference to him as far as she could tell.
Darya would have smiled about that too, but she had no time.
Chapter 34
“Shift change, sir,” said the voice at his ear. “Here.” A hand tugged the bow from Amris’s hands and stuck a flask of water in its place. “Go down and sit.”
He nodded. The twistedmen were digging in rather than charging, since the first attempt hadn’t worked. Amris took his eyes off them, looked to the figure taking his place, and saw that it was Byrnart, the man who’d almost come to blows with him—the night before? Two nights ago? The sky was starting to lighten.
Byrnart took his place with no sign of embarrassment or word of apology, which was no surprise; there wasn’t time, and there wasn’t space in either of their minds for such a conversation. “Thank you,” Amris croaked out, and stumbled toward the ladder.
Slowly his vision expanded to take in the space within the walls. At the end nearest the manor gates, four torches had been staked out to mark the square where the Mourner and his helpers tended to the wounded. So far, Amris noticed, there were only three or four men on the pallets, and only one covered shape off to the side: under the circumstances, a decent tally.
Far nearer the wall, unwounded soldiers sat against the walls of buildings, or on chairs and benches that they’d scavenged. Many drank or ate; many more slept.
We’re to your right,said Gerant, and indeed, when Amris focused his attention on the spell, he could feel Darya’s presence by a small house.If you do wish to join us, that is.
“Thank you,” he rasped.
Hallis was as likely as not to be nearby, so there was no conflict with his duty. Having thus rationalized, he made his way toward a small knot of people.
Darya sat a little to the side, slowly interspersing sips from her own water flask with bites of bread and cheese. When Amris cast himself down beside her, caring less about the bruising from his armor than no longer asking his legs to support him, she passed him a ration as well. “General.”
Don’t tax him too much,said Gerant.
“Wasn’t going to,” she said, and then, a little louder for the benefit of those around them, “The inside of his throat’s probably in worse shape than those hides right now.” She indicated the walls with a chunk of bread.
“No bloody wonder,” said Isen. One side of the stablemaster’s face was deep red and starting to blister, as though he’d spent too long in the sun. He was rubbing ointment on it as he spoke.
Darya herself appeared unwounded, which gave Amris what happiness he had energy for. Her face was drawn and paler than usual where it wasn’t smoke-smudged, though, and her eyes were red-rimmed and none too focused. “How are—” he began, and then held up a hand to indicate.
“Same as they ever were,” she said, while Amris sipped water. It had wine mixed in, which stung the inside of his scraped throat, but the pain felt purifying. “Only lasted a second.”
I was able to mitigate the effects,Gerant said.That’s a vicious spell—and fortunate for us it only seems to work when the—
“Blobby sons of bitches,” said Darya.
