The Sword of the Lady

Three strides took him there. When he opened it a face was hanging there upside down. All he could see besides the dark cap was the strip of skin across the eyes… and one of those was missing. ?Denson?s dead and the Cutters are headed for the Bossman?s quarters,? Mary Havel said.?They?ll be there before you. Hurry! Edain and the Southsiders and Ignatius and Fred and Virginia are on their way.?

The last of the State Police troopers who?d turned went down in a thrashing tangle on the floor as Rudi landed a drawing cut behind one knee; Odard made a quick downward smash with the lower point of his shield, and the curved metal rim hit bone with an ugly crunching sound. Mathilda covered Rudi for a moment with hers, and a spear point scored across the surface, leaving a bright scratch through the paint that covered its metal sheath. The impact rocked her back; she had to use shield and sword in a blur of movement as two more thrust at her unarmored body.

When men fought with no regard at all for their lives, they died quickly… but the last of them had forced Rudi back into the room. An unarmored man couldn?t just slug it out; he needed room to take advantage of his height and quickness.

Two soldiers of the Sword of the Prophet shoved through in that instant, too quickly for any of the westerners to stop them. They weren?t berserkers of any sort, and they were in good armor, their round shields up under their eyes. Rudi leapt forward again; he could feel the ache in his muscles and the hard straining as his lungs sucked in air, but the riastrad that was the gift of the Crow Goddess made it seem distant, unimportant. His body would serve his need, until it dropped dead. A shield?s frame cracked under the edge of his sword, and the arm beneath it broke, but then he had to whirl and parry a cut at his leg. He gave back, and more men crowded in One of the little pauses that happened in most close-quarters fights fell; the three from the west stood together, panting. Rudi recognized Major Graber, the man who?d been after them since Idaho.

The hard blue eyes met his.?If you give up now, I can promise you all a quick death,? he said.?But only if you surrender now, before the High Seeker comes.?

Rudi?s mouth quirked; he?d spared the Sword officer?s life once.

And this is my thanks? he thought whimsically. And the jest of it is, it is a gesture of grace, so. He might not be such a bastard of a man at all, were he born and reared elsewhere. ?I?ll be thanking you, but declining nonetheless,? Rudi said, his voice detached and amused.?If you want us, come and take us and pay the price of it.?

Graber?s tuft of chin-beard moved very slightly as he gave a brief un-surprised nod, and there was a quirk to the corner of his mouth as he slid the spiked helmet back on his head. ?Kill these three,? he said.?Take the Iowa ruler and his woman and the child alive if you can. They?ll be useful as hostages.? ?Wait!? Rudi heard.

Another man pushed through the door-and the soldiers of the Sword of the Prophet, men who would bite through their own tongues and die at a command, leapt aside to let him. His head was shaven, and a robe the color of old dried blood covered him; a shete was in his hand, but that was the least of the menace that surrounded him.

It was the eyes you saw. Ordinary brownish-green eyes, that were somehow windows into negation, to the bottom of all things where despair itself had drained to lie dead, dust and bones. ?I-see-you,? he said, his head tilted at an odd angle, and even to one caught up in the battle-fury of the Goddess the words struck chill.?Son-of-Bear-Son-of-Raven.? ?And I you, ill-wreaker,? Rudi said quietly.?You shall not pass while I live, or harm those I love.? ?We-are-abroad-and-loose-and-will-not-be-put-back,? the High Seeker of the Church Universal and Triumphant said. ?You-ca

Something struck Rudi then, impalpable but with a wave of torment that made him feel his bones crack and grind against themselves until only seared powder was left. He grunted and flexed backward, as if a fist had hit him between the eyes. Then Raven?s mark on his brow flared again, a good white pain that cut through the sick agony. ?Lady of the Crows, fold me in Your wings!? he choked.?Lugh of the Sun-?

His head cleared enough for him to remember something else. Master Hao?s hard dry voice, in a practice field on the mountainside above Chenrezi monastery, in the Valley of the Sun. Words as crisp and strong as the bronze bell ringing from below:

But the hand is not the weapon-the mind is the weapon, and the hand only its extension. Discipline your mind!

As he had then he turned his will into a dart, and thrust. The Cutter priest threw up his arms and howled, a sound that stu

I?m about to die.

Mathilda Arminger had time for that one thought. Her blade stopped the stroke of a Cutter?s shete, but force of impact almost tore the longsword from her numb hand. Her broken shield turned another, just enough that the flat rather than the edge slammed into her unprotected ribs. It might have broken bones even if she?d been wearing a hauberk and padding; now she heard bone crack through her own flesh, and spikes of pain lanced through her chest as she tried to breathe. The shield arm dropped strength-less, steel scored her sword arm, and she fell backward against the wall with an ear-ringing thump of head against stucco and slid downward.

Odard flung himself between her and the rising steel. His shield was tattered and split; the edge cracked down through the wood and leather, into his arm. He shrieked, but in the same motion he stabbed the broken stump of his sword into a face. The man reeled backward and Odard went to his knees, his right hand scrabbling at his belt for the dagger. Another Cutter wrenched his broad-tipped blade out of Anthony Heasleroad?s belly and kicked his body aside.

Beyond him she saw Rudi moving like quicksilver, whirling and striking as he fought his way towards them, and as the mist of pain and fuddlement darkened her eyes he seemed limned in fire, a winged shape that danced like spears of lightning amid dark thunderclouds. Then someone else was beside her. ?Jesu-Maria!? Ignatius shouted, and struck.

The man who?d been about to kill her fell backward, trailing blood. The priest?s voice rang thunder deep; Mathilda felt it resonate through her aching bones, as she slumped against the wall with the force of the blow that had felled her still buzzing through her head and down her limbs in spikes of agony. A taste like brass and sulfur filled her mouth, and her breath came rapid through a dry throat. Odard crouched at her feet, swaying on one knee with his ruined shield propped against his shoulder. ?On my right hand Michael! On my left hand Uriel!?

The soldier-monk?s sword and shield swung in beautiful unison, leaving trails of silver light to her dazzled eyes. Ignatius shouted again, over the slithering crash of steel, the dull ugly sound of a blade in flesh, and the panting snarls of his opponents: ?Before me Raphael! Behind me Gabriel!?

There was anger in that shout, but no rage; instead a happiness that was fierce and joyous at the same time. It was as if the spirit of anger filled him, pure and hot and infinitely clean.

As if this was the thing that anger was for.

The Cutter in the dried-blood robe came through the press, throwing his followers to either side in his eagerness. Murk moved with him to Mathilda?s aching eyes; not darkness that hid him from sight, but something of which darkness was merely a symbol-a whirling chaos that hummed with power but was somehow decayed, as if he were a window to a place where even the stuff of matter itself perished in an endless denial of possibility. ? I-see-you,? he said, in syllables of burning ash.