Errant, p.7
Errant, page 7
So probably not magic, unless Aspen counted Charm’s ability for persuasion as magic, which she really didn’t want to do.
“Oh, you know,” Charm began. And then she slumped forward and almost fell off Mouse.
Aspen caught her, but not quickly enough to keep Mouse from being startled. Her horse halted, concerned by this sudden development.
“She’s an actor,” Aspen told Mouse, unimpressed. Charm would perk back up in a second.
Except she didn’t. Either Charm was a very good actor or she had actually passed out. Going boneless was a skill, but staying that way indicated genuine distress.
Branch, leaf, and fucking root. At any moment, Cooperation and the others might find them. They had to reach safety before Aspen could use her rudimentary healing skills. If Charm required more than that, Aspen had dragged her far from anyone who could provide it. Charm falling unconscious was the last thing either of them needed.
Why had Charm passed out? Fear? She’d been remarkably calm throughout their troubles so far. For all Aspen knew, it was normal for Charm to be accosted by men at night by the wagon circle. Given her propensity for stealing, it very well might be. And there was a difference between an angry drunk and calculating killers.
They rode until they reached a bridge over a stream whose waters were still rushing along despite the fallen leaves clogging its steep banks. Aspen checked again to make sure there was no one behind them and then she guided Mouse off the road. She eased Charm onto her bedroll and tucked her cloak under her head.
She filled her canteen and dipped a spare cloth in the stream. The purification spell was still working—as it should, Great Oak knew she’d paid enough for it. She brought both back to Charm’s side. The cool cloth, Aspen placed on Charm’s forehead. She took a sip from the canteen herself and then coaxed a bit into Charm’s mouth.
She massaged Charm’s throat the way Tescui taught her, to trigger Charm’s swallow reflex so she wouldn’t choke on the water. Another sip and then a third.
Charm’s eyelids fluttered, her long lashes on full display. Unlike Aspen, who would come up fighting if she woke to someone’s hand on her throat, Charm didn’t even tense. She smiled, not threatened in the least.
“I knew you liked me.”
The sheer ego. At least it was a sign Charm was feeling better.
“What happened?” Aspen asked. “Were you fed something poisoned at the prison?”
“If I say no, will you think I’m a weak, faint thing?”
It wasn’t an answer, but a smooth deflection, only one step above a lie. Having her life threatened and witnessing Aspen’s fight with Cooperation hadn’t made Charm take any of this seriously. Aspen had to get through to her before Cooperation put a knife to her throat.
The smile slipped from Charm’s face. The teasing glint in her eyes faded. “I’m sorry. I was fine and then I felt dizzy, and I suppose I fainted. I didn’t eat anything strange. No magic that I could tell either. Maybe I do have a weak constitution.”
“How do you feel now?” Aspen asked. Her hand was still resting on Charm’s neck, far too warm and intimate a touch, so she withdrew and offered Charm the canteen instead. “I have some herbs and a few tonics. I hate to rush you, but it won’t be long before Cooperation catches up to us.”
Charm propped herself up and took a few sips from the canteen. “Right. The murderous arsonists. Are you really going to take on all three by yourself?”
“I’ll start with the bow,” Aspen said. “But realistically, I won’t be able to get all three of them that way. I’m a decent shot, but they’ll be quick to react. So I’ll trap the place as best I can and then fight them. Three-on-one’s not the worst odds I’ve ever had.”
“You can’t say something like that and not elaborate.”
“Well, it would have been thirty-on-one at The Full Flagon if you hadn’t stepped in,” Aspen said. “It’s not my usual style, you know, lying hidden in wait. I do miss having a trusted fighter at my back. Even a chaotic one. I had a comrade in the Scale who used to stuff rags into bottles of liquor and then throw them at people. Not very precise, but it can be effective.”
“Is that comrade evil now?”
“No.”
“How can you know—oh. Sorry for your loss.”
“It’s unfortunately common in this life,” Aspen said. “I miss them, though. You never knew what would happen in a fight when Serenity was around.”
“We have some people in the troupe like that,” Charm said.
“Do you ever think about what inadequate little summary people will give when they remember you?” Aspen asked and then wished she could suck the words back into her mouth. What a maudlin, ridiculous thing to say.
“She was the most beautiful, captivating performer I’ve ever seen,” Charm said without missing a beat. “And the best fuck of my life.”
Aspen blinked. “That’s what everyone will say about you?”
“Only the lucky ones. And you?”
“It was a silly question,” Aspen said. “There are maybe two or three people in the world who’ll remember me, if that.”
“You make more of an impression than you think,” Charm said. “Anyway, my sorrowful and stoic walking arsenal, we’re not dead yet. Though I gather we might be soon.”
Aspen shifted to pull her knees up to her chest. All she wanted was to stop hurting people. She’d run from Pike’s bastardized version of the Scale for exactly that reason, no matter what accusations Pike had made at the time. This was why she needed Integrity. Left to her own choices, Aspen blundered. She jumped to rescue women who didn’t need rescuing and then put them in even more danger.
“I’m sorry. I should have done a better job warning you. You asked me about the Hanging Scale when we were still in Cheyford.” Was that only yesterday morning? So much had happened since.
“They were good and now they’re bad.” Charm smiled and rolled her eyes, both amused and exasperated.
“I’m a weapon,” Aspen said. She scooted back when Charm reached for her. The woman, for once in her life, heeded a warning and dropped her hand rather than touch. “But our leader, he was a master strategist, and he treated us all with care. When he died…” Murdered. He was murdered, and Aspen had failed to bring his murderer to justice. Instead she’d let Pike blame her and run her out of town in disgrace. “I need direction. You have first hand evidence of what happens when I’m on my own. Botched rescues and the like.”
“You’re too hard on yourself,” Charm said.
It was a sweet sentiment. Aspen wanted to believe it, but that was exactly why she couldn’t. Anything she wanted was suspect.
“At the Flagon…” Charm started and then stopped, her voice low and stripped of all its artifice. “If I’d been in trouble the way you assumed, I would have welcomed your rescue. Your intentions are good. We need to work on your insight.”
“We?” Aspen asked. She shook her head. Charm’s presence was like one drink too many, impairing her ability to make the right choice. Her first mistake had been lingering at The Full Flagon, besotted, hoping for one glimpse of The Traveling Harstead Players’ most captivating actor. If not for that, Aspen could have avoided all of this.
Though if she’d done that, Cooperation and company would still be terrorizing the Harstead hills.
“We’re together until this is solved,” Charm said.
“Have you already forgotten your misguided rescue?” Too harsh, even if it was true. Aspen adjusted her tone. “You’re right that I didn’t study the scene in the tavern long enough to uncover the truth. Or I didn’t know you well enough to see it. But it goes both ways. You don’t know me or my style either. An unfamiliar team is a bigger liability than a solo fighter. Trust me.”
How long had it taken before she’d trusted Strength at her back? How many times had she and Ayzeh been in each other’s way before they’d clicked? And they’d had a common foundation. She and Charm were from different worlds. They wouldn’t be able to predict and then complement each other’s decisions. That kind of understanding required time.
“I understand if you aren’t very impressed with me,” Aspen said before Charm could work herself into a proper outrage. “But this is my realm now. Acting, petty theft, that’s yours. This is arson and murder. I don’t want you here for the fight, but I could use your help. Can you ride to Cheyford and get some constables for the aftermath?”
“I’m not a good rider.”
“Mouse can get you there,” Aspen said. It was a huge leap of faith, letting Charm ride Mouse, but at least Aspen knew for sure that Mouse would come back.
6
Mort was many things—a drunk, a lecher, a fool—but he wasn’t a liar. Aspen surveyed the charred remains of his home and felt a stirring of pity in her chest. She knew what it was like to get in over her head. She’d sunk deep, too, but she’d mostly managed to claw her way out. Mort hadn’t.
The fire had clearly been set and then managed, because some of the walls still stood. They were blackened with ash, and a strong push would knock them over, but the Scale clearly intended to return to make something of this place. Hand the property deed to someone suitably afraid of them so they could profit off the land again.
She walked through the skeleton of the house, open to the late afternoon sky since the thatched roof had burned, picking her way through mangled belongings. Aspen felt sick from the violence of it all. The pots and pans in the kitchen were dented beyond use, the round table scorched. A fine silt of ash covered the floors. Thatch, probably, or maybe it had once been blankets or clothes. In what might have been a bedroom, one lone shutter hung crooked from its hinge.
It was a lot of house for one person. Did Mort have a neglected family somewhere? Would they ever get the chance to come back to this place and rebuild it?
Once Aspen had walked the main house and the small barn, she began to lay traps. On one side of the barn, she knocked the boards loose so the slightest bump would send them crashing down. On the opposite wall, she pried a few free and laid them over a pit she’d dug, leaving just enough room for unwary attackers to fall through the boards and twist an ankle or gouge a leg. She covered the whole thing with a layer of dirt and hay.
In the kitchen, she used scrap wood and broken furniture to shore up the walls and barricade all the entrances but one. As she worked, she found farm tools—scythes, shovels, pitchforks—and stashed them within easy reach. Anything could be a weapon. It never hurt to have extra.
As the sun slipped behind the trees, Aspen wiped her wrist over her forehead, grimacing at the dusty streaks of sweat. She was used to being filthy, but these few days so close to Charm had made her notice it anew. Even after a day on horseback and a night on the forest floor, Charm had glowed. Aspen never glowed. Aspen’s sweat soaked her tunic and smelled like hard work. Instead of a glimmer of pink on the apples of her cheeks, her whole face turned red with exertion.
But Charm wasn’t here. Aspen was. And thank all the trees in the Wood for that, because she couldn’t see Charm digging the holes that Aspen needed to even the odds.
Aspen stopped once visibility, or the lack of it, became a danger. She ate a supper of hardtack and dried fruit from her saddlebags, not risking a fire, and then she settled inside the fortified remains of Mort’s home. She slept fitfully, waking at every noise, waiting for Cooperation. Mort had to have woken up by now and made contact with him. They’d be on their way as soon as they knew where she was.
By the time dawn lit the sky, she was grateful to do something other than pretend to rest. She risked a climb into what remained of the barn loft, as rickety as it was, bringing her bow and her spyglass. Next to her weapons, it was the most valuable thing she owned. She scanned the horizon but saw no sign of Cooperation yet.
But they were coming.
Aspen had cultivated patience during her training. She still hated the hours before a fight. She ate again, adjusted her traps, checked her weapons (bow, sword, knife on her hips, two small daggers in her boots), stretched, used her spyglass, adjusted her traps one hair’s breadth from how they had been, checked her weapons (no change), and peered through her spyglass.
There they were. With only a few lines of trees demarcating the fields, Falland’s open farmland and the low angle of the setting sun made it easy to spot an enemy’s approach.
Three horses. The riders were indistinct. Was Mort with them? Aspen wasn’t sure if she should treat him as a victim or a threat.
Not for the first time since she left the Scale, she wished for someone to give her direction. What would Integrity do in this situation?
Eliminate the threat. Set things right as much as possible. Which meant Mort stayed alive and had his farm returned to him. It would take work to restore it, probably more than Mort was capable of, but that was his punishment for the situation.
A steady trot brought her three enemies toward her. No doubt, Cooperation knew she had eyes on him and was taking his time as a show of how unconcerned he was. If he thought the three of them could intimidate her, he didn’t know her.
She raised the bow. Her arrows were in easy reach. Once her opponents were comfortably in her range, she had three shots at most before she had to abandon her post. It wasn’t her preferred weapon—she was better on a longbow than a recurve, but the longbow was awkward in a niche like this one. Besides, she didn’t want to hit their horses, and they’d scatter quickly once she started shooting, so a faster weapon was better. The sun was at her back, so she’d have an extra moment while they tried to spot her against its glare.
Taking a deep breath, she relaxed her muscles. She lowered her heart rate. Finesse work like this required concentration.
She aimed at Cooperation. Wait for it. Wait for it.
She fired.
And missed.
She hastily nocked an arrow as Cooperation called out a warning and orders. He and Niwa zigzagged to keep her from getting a clear shot. Unity and Mort shared a horse, which made them slower. She targeted them.
A deep breath and then she released the string, letting it roll off her fingers as the arrow whistled past her cheek like a Wind danger call. This time, her aim was true. The arrow ripped through Unity’s shoulder and then Mort’s.
Mort shouted in pain and slumped off the horse.
Aspen couldn’t see if he got up because return fire had her cursing and abandoning her perch. She jumped down to ground level and peered out through one of the spy holes she’d made. Cooperation and Niwa had split so they could come at her from two directions. Cooperation was headed right for one of her ditches, so Aspen unsheathed her sword and waited for Niwa, hidden in the barn.
A furious shout told her Cooperation had fallen.
“She rigged it!” Cooperation called to his companions.
“Yes, she did,” Aspen muttered before she leapt from her hiding spot.
Niwa was on her guard, and Aspen’s initial attack didn’t land. Niwa dodged and slashed at Aspen with her long knife. Hers was barbed at the end, meant to do even more damage when it was pulled out. Aspen pivoted away.
“You aren’t enough,” Niwa said as she swung at Aspen. “Even with your little tricks.”
“I have to be,” Aspen said. “So I will be.”
She jumped back to avoid the bite of Niwa’s blade. And then she swept her foot out. She caught Niwa’s ankles, and the woman buckled, but she didn’t fall. Still, she was off balance enough for Aspen to press the attack.
Drive. Block. Swing. Duck.
Aspen caught Niwa’s wrist. The barbed blade was inches from Aspen’s throat. Don’t think about that. She twisted the woman’s arm behind her back until the blade slipped from her grip. Aspen kicked it far out of reach.
Niwa whirled. A different blade bit into Aspen’s side, its point slicing through the snakeskin leather vest she wore. Fuck. She stumbled back and touched her fingers to her side. It was a shallow stab, but it would grow more inconvenient the longer the fight went on.
Aspen charged Niwa, driving her backward into the wall. She shouted as she did it, a wordless explosion of noise, and Niwa crashed into the loose boards. She flattened two as she fell backward. Two more slammed down on top of her. The whole barn groaned.
Niwa grunted. Alive, then. Aspen picked up one of the boards and bashed her in the face for good measure.
A footstep captured her attention. Cooperation stood in the barn’s entryway. Aspen jumped to the side and a throwing knife skittered across the dirt.
Aspen sprinted for the kitchen. She made it into the house, but not all the way into the kitchen. He was hard on her heels. Cooperation was dirty from his fall into the pit, filthy sweat streaked across his forehead and his arms and hair clinging to his hair.
His gaze dropped to the tear in Aspen’s vest. Blood hadn’t darkened the brown snakeskin, but he was keen enough to guess that she was bleeding. He’d target her left side. Better guard it well. She blinked sweat out of her eyes and then wiped her face on her sleeve.
“No wife to rescue you this time?” Cooperation asked. “I looked for her when we rode in, but you’re alone again. Mort tried to tell me you were recruiting his neighbors. Clever of you to use him like you did.”
“That’s me,” Aspen said. “The clever one.”
Cooperation threw another knife. Aspen ducked, and he charged. He knocked her on her back, and she lost her grip on her sword. He swept it aside and then drew his fist back and punched her in the face.
She took the blow and grunted at the impact. He drew back again, shifting his weight. She turned to the side, avoiding his next blow and throwing him off balance. She scrambled to her feet as he did the same. This time, she ran at him.
She hit him in the side, just under his ribs. She hit him a second time and then a third. He got her good, right in her stab wound, and she cried out. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head down to meet her knee as she drove it up.
