part0010

L ady Dread kicked her steed, sending it racing into the woods. Trees flashed past, their branches whipping at the demon horse’s head. Behind her, the two remaining Jagged screamed and smashed through the undergrowth. Fast as they were, they could not dodge through trees. They bounced off the large oaks, screaming as their broken bodies and bones slammed against the wood.

Now I need only worry about the Dread Horsemen. Lady Dread risked a look back, but the trees hid her pursuers. I have a head start. I can outrun them.

Her steed needed no food, water, or rest, but neither did any of the dread horses. Still, she was the fastest of them all. She just needed to break free of the woods. Then she could put as much distance as possible between her and the Dread Horsemen. After that she could find a safe place for the baby.

She pushed the thought away, too alien. What mattered was speed. Speed she understood. The king’s forest was twenty miles deep, and fifty wide. She knew the Dread Captain would send men to encircle the forest from either side, hoping to trap her. Even though she rode faster than the others, the woods might slow her enough for the riders in the fields beyond to catch her.

Sunlight flashed between the trees, revealing a hundred shades of green as it burned Lady Dread’s eyes. The pain grew with each passing moment. The only comfort Lady Dread took in it was that the Dread Horse, out in the open, suffered worse.

This was the king’s wood. His personal hunting ground. His foresters cut away the worst of the underbrush to make it easier to hunt. Lady Dread’s horse couldn’t move at a full gallop but much faster than if they had been riding through wilderness. She looked to either side, searching for a clearer way. The trees moved past at a blur, branches whipping at her like living things. Her demon horse jumped over a fallen log then ducked its head. She crouched just in time, wrapping her body around the baby. A branch scraped the back of her armor, almost pulling her from the horse.

She pulled on the reins. Her steed twisted and galloped to the path. It was clear, wide, straight, and ran through the forest. The demon horse went into a full sprint, eating up the trail beneath it and turning the passing trees into a long, green smear. Lady Dread crouched, keeping a grip on the baby tight enough to not hurt. They reached the other side of the woods before an hour had passed. She no longer heard the Dread Horsemen, though she did not doubt they still pursued her.

He could not conquer the lands between them and keep up with her. He would have to spread his army over many miles or send small, faster squads out, hiding them under cover of magic. Either way, it reduced his advantage.

They escaped the forest in the early afternoon. Lady Dread sat up in the saddle, searching for the Dread Horsemen. She saw no sign—only a road that wended west through hills alive with color.

The sun, high in the sky, burned her eyes. Even so, she could not keep from staring at the profusion of life that flowered on the hills. One hill shone green with plants fresh-sprung from the soil. Another was a riot of purple, blue and red as thousands of wildflowers bloomed. Hundreds of bees buzzed back and forth over the flowers, gathering pollen. Each hill was its own little demesne of growing splendor, no two alike.

Spring. The word bubbled up from deep in her mind. It is spring.

The road was plain dirt but maintained. Mile markers showed the distance, and signs at every crossroad let her know where they were. Whitestorm fell sixty miles behind in a pair of hours. Had the way been flat and straight, it would have sooner, but the makers of it were farmers and merchants, not engineers. And so, the road wound around the hills, slowing their pace.

The afternoon was almost over when the baby began to cry.

The child’s eyes shut tight, and its mouth opened wide. Its face reddened, growing darker with every wail. Worse, the blanket it lay wrapped in was soaked. The smell of fresh shit rose from it and filled Lady Dread’s nose.

Now what do I do? She couldn’t care for an infant. She could unwrap it, but not wash it or feed it. She needed someone to care for the child. Someone who could clean it and nurse it.

The villages close to Whitestorm stood either empty or in ruins. While she and the main army had attacked the border forts, she had sent squads of Dread Horsemen across the borders to raid and spread terror. It forced more people into the city, swelling their numbers, reducing their food supply, and increasing their fear.

The baby did not care about Lady Dread’s problems. It was wet and unhappy and wanted someone to make it better. Its wails grated on Lady Dread’s ears—and worse, alerted everyone for a mile around of their presence. Her steed glanced back over its shoulder, managing to look reproachful despite its rotting, half-skeletal face.

Reproachful. Not ready to kill. Why? Lady Dread set the question aside. She had more pressing needs. There has to be a village still intact somewhere.

The first one she came upon had been razed to the ground. Soot blackened the stone buildings. The rocks themselves had cracked from the heat of the fires. Not a single building was spared. The charred remains of corpses lay in the doorways of the houses where they died. The next village was empty, doors and shutters locked tight. No animals stood in the barns, and the gardens grew wild. There wasn’t even a stray cat or dog. She kept riding. Somewhere along the way, the baby fell silent.

Four hours later she spotted a small, worn sign declaring that Bull’s Pond was only three miles away. The sign was faded, the lettering nearly gone. Tall grasses and wide-spreading weeds overgrew the so-called road. What she could see of it looked halfway between a cart-trail and a cattle path.

But there were fresh cow droppings along the road.

The sun was at the horizon when she reached the village. A line of clouds had spread across the sky, glowing gold and orange in the setting sun’s light. The buildings came into sight—a cluster of stone houses, surrounding a large, walled farm with moss growing on the stone. Despite that, there was no sense of decay or disuse. The village did not look ramshackled so much as worn-in.

She tapped the beast’s ribs with her heels and tugged the reins to the side. The horse turned off the path and behind a hill. Lady Dread dismounted, the child in her arms, and walked to the top.

The baby lay motionless. Only the gentle movement of its chest and the quiet hiss of its breath showed it was alive. The blanket was still wet, the smell still present, but the infant had long since ceased squalling and fussing. It worried her.

Lady Dread was not used to worrying. It felt like something had gone into her armor and was gnawing on her. She kept glancing down at the child as best she could through her heavy armor. She needed to find a way to make things better.

She had no idea why and it irritated her beyond belief.

Lady Dread sat near the top of the hill, keeping low to be unseen. She peered into the village. Only women and older men walked or chatted in the village square—the young men had all gone to war. A few children ran and played among the legs of the adults, who chatted in the fading light.

One woman had a child on her breast.

She stood half a foot shorter than Lady Dread, with long dark hair and sun-browned skin. She wore a ready smile for the others and always let them wave or talk to her child. But her dress looked worn, and even from where Lady Dread sat, she saw the exhaustion written beneath the woman’s eyes.

At last, the woman went to her house. It was small, but the walls looked solid, the thatch roof tidy and well maintained. A garden, bright green with new shoots, stood behind it.

Lady Dread waited until after sunset when the people had all gone inside before she stood. She cradled the child as best she could in both arms and walked down the hill.

A dog set to barking inside the largest farm’s walls. Someone called to it and opened the gate. They raised a lamp and peered out. Lady Dread stood in the shadow of a wall and watched until the gate closed. She resumed walking. Her boots clanked against the ground, but not so loud as to attract attention.

The woman’s door was locked. Lady Dread considered forcing it, but the woman would raise the alarm. Instead, she gently pushed against it, feeling by the amount of movement where the bolt was placed.

She raised her free hand and summoned the smallest possible spark of magic. With the same concentration she’d used to hack apart the Jagged, she turned the magic into a small blade at the tip of her finger. It glowed purple and flickered in the darkness. She put it into the crack between the door and the frame. With a quick flick, she sliced through the bolt.

The door’s hinges creaked as it swung an inch open.

“What in the name of—”

Lady Dread stepped inside and shoved the door closed behind her. The woman sat in a rocking chair, wearing only a plaid skirt and a blanket over her shoulder. Her shirt and bodice lay on the bed. Her brown eyes went wide, and she opened her mouth to scream. Lady Dread crossed the room in a flash and caught the woman’s neck. She squeezed just enough to cut off her air supply. The woman struggled, and the blanket fell away. Her child lay on her lap, its mouth firmly clamped around one dark nipple.

“If you make a sound, I will kill your child.” Lady’s Dread voice came out as a low growl. “Then I will kill you. Nod if you understand.”

The woman nodded, horror writ large on her face. Lady Dread let her go. The woman gasped, her hand going to her bruised throat. Tears started down her face. Lady Dread held out the bundle of wet, stinking blankets.

At the sight of the child, the woman’s eyes opened so wide the whites showed all around her pupils.

“Help it now.” Lady Dread put enough force behind the words that the woman trembled. She reached down, slipped a finger into her own child’s mouth and broke the seal of its lips around her nipple. The child fussed, and the woman shushed it. She laid her child in the crib and stroked its hair a moment. Then she took the baby from Lady Dread. She knelt on the floor and undid the bundle, wrinkling her nose at the smell. Three layers of blankets covered the baby, the one closest to its skin a simple linen wrapper.

“At least it caught the mess,” she muttered. She peeled away the inner linen. “A girl, are you? You poor child. How—”

She shut her mouth abruptly and glanced at Lady Dread. The woman frowned but said nothing more. She put the soiled linens into a bucket. From another bucket, she drew a clean wet cloth and wiped the child’s skin. Throughout it all, the child didn’t stir.

“What’s the matter with her?” The woman looked at Lady Dread. “Why isn’t she crying?”

Lady Dread did not know and so said nothing.

“This child is not well,” the woman said, desperation in her voice. “Where is her mother?”

“Dead,” Lady Dread said.

The woman paled, swallowed hard. “When?”

The woman frowned. “Has she eaten since?”

The woman shook her head and washed the rest of the filth off the child’s body. Then she pulled a clean length of linen from a shelf and swaddled the girl. She picked her up, sat in her rocking chair, and put the baby to her other breast. The child didn’t respond.

“Dammit.” She wrapped her hand around her breast, thumb above, finger below, and squeezed toward the nipple. A small spray of milk came out, hitting the child’s face. The woman gathered the milk with her finger and pushed against the girl’s lips until her mouth opened. She pushed the finger in, and the baby sucked on it.

“Good girl.” She replaced her finger with her nipple. The infant suckled on it at once. “Oh, thank Aten.”

Lady Dread watched. The woman was shaking, and more tears rolled down her face. Even so, she forced herself to look up into Lady Dread’s eyes.

“Is…” She faltered, her voice shaking with fear. She tried again. “Is the child important?”

“Yes.” Though I do not know why.

“You need to take care of her.” The woman’s voice shook, making the words come out in pieces. “Or she will die.”

Lady Dread said nothing.

“She needs to be fed,” the woman said. “Every four hours. Day and night. Just like mine. She needs to be clean, and she needs to have time out of her swaddling or she will get sick. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” I cannot do that. I don’t have the skills for it. Or the milk. She pointed at the woman’s breast. “How long?”

“She’s very hungry.” The woman looked at the child. “A quarter hour, maybe more?”

A rumbling, faint and on the edge of her hearing, caught Lady Dread’s attention. She recognized the sound. It was the Dread Horsemen, riding at speed.

“Go faster,” Lady Dread said. “They are coming.”

“Who?” The woman started to rise. “Who comes?”

“Sit,” Lady Dread growled. “Feed the child. You move, and I will burn down the village.”

The woman sank back into her chair, her pale face now white as snow. Her eyes went to her own infant and tears welled up in them. Lady Dread left her. She raced through the buildings not caring how much noise she made. She crested the hill in moments and saw in the distance a hundred flaming manes charging the road toward them.