part0018

L ady Dread opened her eyes. She lay on the barn floor, Mari’s wool blanket under her naked body. The smells of manure, urine, and cows filled her nose. Mari sat beside her, the two babies lying on the blanket, naked and cooing. The rays of the setting sun shining through the open door gave everything they touched a red tinge.

Lady Dread sat up. Her flesh didn’t hurt anymore. She looked at her arms and saw only skin. No muscle showed through, no ooze, and no holes. She touched the top of her head, and found her skull whole and healed. Fuzz covered her scalp, and it took a moment for Lady Dread to realize it was hair. She ran her hand over it, bemused.

“You’ve been asleep for hours,” Mari said. “How do you feel?”

“Strange.” Lady Dread put her feet under her and rose. Her body moved without pain or stiffness. She looked down, taking stock.

She stood on strong, well-muscled legs below solid hips. Her groin, like her head, had only a thin layer of fuzz. She ran her hands over her backside and felt muscle there. The skin of her stomach was smooth to her navel. Below it lay the lines of her stretch marks. She rubbed her hand over them, felt the rippled and rough flesh there.

Jade. A deep sadness welled up in her. At least I have proof I birthed you.

She pulled her hand from her belly and looked at it. Her fingers were long and strong, her hands calloused from training with fists and sword. The forearm muscles shifted as she turned her wrist. Her upper arms felt as solid as her legs, and layers of muscles sat on her chest under her breasts.

“Cover yourself, woman!” The farmer stood in the doorway. He held his ax—the old head on a fresh-shaped handle—in his hand. He looked less frightened than he had. “Where is the Dread Knight?”

“I am the knight.” Lady Dread put her body in front of Mari and the babies.

“You are not,” Derek raised his ax. “You’re just a woman. And a shameless one.”

“Just a woman?” Lady Dread walked forward.

“Don’t come near!” The farmer shifted his grip. Lady Dread moved her finger, and the head of the ax fell to the earth, the handle neatly sliced. He stared at it, dismayed.

“I am the Dread Knight,” she growled out the words, low and rumbling. “And I need clothes and a sack to carry the armor. Get them. Now.”

“Go away!” Derek pleaded, his voice shaking. “Please. Don’t hurt my family. We’ll give you whatever you want, everything we have, but leave!”

“Clothes for me. A sack for the armor. Food and water, and cloths for the babies. The sooner we have what we need, the sooner we will leave.”

“Do you promise?”

“I give you my word. Get us what we need, and we’ll go.”

The farmer stared at her, eyes wide with fear and just a hint of hope. He turned and stomped out of the barn.

A moment later he started screaming.

Lady Dread dashed to the barn door and looked out. The farmer squirmed on the ground as a Blood Haunt ripped its knife-claws into his belly. Blood spurted, and viscera spilled out. Three more Blood Haunts charged the farmhouse door. The farmer’s wife screamed and slammed it shut.

“What is it?” Mari demanded. “What’s happening?”

“Blood Haunts.” Lady Dread ran to the pile of armor. She couldn’t put it on, not with the spikes still protruding from the metal. “Take the babies and get as far back as you can.”

Out in the yard, the farmer’s screams cut off. Lady Dread pulled her sword from its sheath. Naked, she ran into the yard, the horse right behind her. Lady Dread raised her sword and called the dark magic.

Shit. She tried again but felt nothing. The dark energy that had been hers for the taking was gone. She reached for the Spellbinder magic but had no time to gather it before the Blood Haunts were upon her.

They came at Lady Dread from all directions, knife-claws reaching for her. Her horse screamed and charged, hooves and teeth lashing out. Lady Dread dove away from the closest Haunt into a roll that brought her up beside the second. She hacked it with her sword, cutting through the Haunt’s knee. Before the creature could topple over, she was on her feet, slicing through the spine of the next one. It flopped, control of its legs gone. The third one slashed out, and she pulled her body back. Its claws cut the air as they whipped past her bare stomach.

She took its head and spun, looking for more.

Three Blood Haunts threw themselves against the farmhouse door. Two still fought her horse. Four more jumped over the low fence around the yard and ran for the barn. Lady Dread put her body between them and it and summoned her Spellbinder magic.

Spikes erupted from the farmhouse door, impaling a Blood Haunt. The others sprang back, hissing in rage. They spotted Lady Dread and loped toward her.

The other four got to her first.

She hit the closest with a blast of power that blew a hole in its chest. It collapsed and didn’t move again. She cut the second one’s reaching hands from its body, then its head on the backswing. The third leaped into the air, trying to get above her. She impaled it on the tip of her sword. The fourth howled and tried to jump at her.

It fell on its face, tangled in grass that had grown and wrapped around its feet. Lady Dread threw the Haunt off her blade and delivered a killing blow to the trapped one. Her horse kicked out, its hooves going through a Haunt’s head like a brick through a melon. The other turned to run. Lady Dread ran him through with a leaping lunge that drove her blade through the vertebrae of its neck. It screeched and collapsed.

Lady Dread turned a slow circle, watching for more attackers. Nothing stirred in the darkness beyond the farmyard wall. The farmer lay on his back, eyes open and staring at the sky. The injured Haunts in the yard dragged their broken bodies toward her.

“Finish them,” Lady Dread said.

The horse snorted and headed for the nearest Haunt. Lady Dread opened the barn door and shouted in. “Are you all right?”

“Yes!” Mari’s shaking voice suggested otherwise, but at least she was not being attacked.

Lady Dread walked to the farmhouse. She released her magic, and the spikes on the door vanished. Behind her, the horse huffed and crunched one of the Blood Haunt’s skulls under its hooves. Lady Dread knocked on the door. She reached out with her magic, found the bar that blocked the door and sent it falling to the floor.

“Leave us alone!” the woman inside shouted. “Get away from us!”

Lady Dread pushed the door open slowly. The farmer’s wife had turned their table over to act as a barrier. She held a long kitchen knife and her child. She raised the blade to her child’s throat.

“You stay away!” Horror filled the woman’s voice, the knife trembling in her hand.

“No!” Lady Dread lowered her sword. She looked down at the ichor covering her naked flesh. I look worse than the Blood Haunts. “I’ve not come to hurt you. Either of you.”

“You brought this on us.” The woman spat the words. “Where’s Derek? Where is my husband?”

Lady Dread sighed. “Dead. In the yard.”

The woman turned white. She wobbled a moment then collapsed, disappearing behind the table. The boy wailed and clutched at his mother. Outside, the crunching continued as her horse made sure none of the Haunts would rise again.

Lady Dread stepped inside, past the crying woman and her child. The house had four rooms—the front room that served as kitchen and parlor, two bedrooms, and a storeroom. In the last, she discovered five rough woven sacks and took three. She took a wheel of cheese and a loaf of bread and put both in one sack, along with six wizened apples. In the bedroom, she found a second suit of clothes for the farmer. She might have taken the woman’s, but Lady Dread stood much taller than her, and the woman still needed them.

She walked out of the house, past the dead Blood Haunts with their crushed heads and the corpse of the farmer, Derek. Inside the barn, Mari stood before the back stable, a pitchfork in her hand. She shook like a leaf but kept the tines of the fork pointed at the door.

“Is it done?” Mari asked.

“How did they find us so fast?”

“I don’t know. Are the babies all right?”

“Them?” Mari laughed, high and brittle. “They’re fine. Lying in the hay and having a royal old time.”

“Good.” Lady Dread put the clothes and sacks on the ground. “We’re leaving.”

“Let me go.” Tears streamed down Mari’s cheeks. Her face twisted with anguish and fear. “The girl is large enough to start solid food. I can show you how to do it, and then Griffin and I could go home. Please!”

“You can’t go home.” Lady Dread picked up the armor. “The Dread Horse burned your village, killed everyone in it, and by now Lord Necronis’s army has sacked Whitestorm and is marching east again.”

“Sacked…” Mari sank to her knees, still clutching the pitchfork. Mari’s voice quavered. “I don’t understand!” Mari shouted. “You’re a monster! How did you become human? Why are you doing this? Why are you helping a child you can’t even name ?”

I wish I knew. “Just get ready to leave.”

Mari’s head fell into her hands, and her body shook as she wept.

Lady Dread finished packing the armor, grabbed the bucket and went to the well. Several buckets later, she dried her body with the blanket and put on the farmer’s clothes. She needed a pair of tries to figure out the order, but she soon had the underclothes—mid-thigh length for summer—on and tied at her waist. The hose came next, covering her legs from toe to groin and tying on the outside to the rope holding up the underclothes. Shirt over top, then knee-length tunic with belt atop that. Last came the cloak, with slits for her arms. The boots were tight, but not terribly so. She suspected they would hurt if she wore them too long, but she didn’t have an alternative.

It all felt quite peculiar.

They were similar to the clothes she’d worn training with Furion in her memories, but she had not remembered how cloth felt against flesh. The shirt, underwear, and hose were soft linen, which rubbed and tickled against her skin. The cloak pushed on her shoulders, and her neck itched where it touched the wool. It seemed heavier than the armor, which was absurd.

She put her sword belt around her waist. The weight of her weapons—sword on one side, thick dagger on the other—was at once strange and familiar. “We need to leave here, before more come.”

Mari didn’t look at her. Lady Dread sighed. How would I have felt in her shoes?

She took off the cloak and dropped it on the woman—a small offering of apology. Then she walked past her and fetched the girl’s sling. She grabbed another cloth and laid the baby on it.

The child’s skin felt so soft beneath her fingers. It gurgled at her, a smile on its face. Lady Dread breathed deep, inhaling the smell of clean infant. Her mind went back to her blonde, blue-eyed child, so far away in time.

She folded the cloth up between the child’s legs and around the sides of her waist and tied the ends together. The girl kicked and fussed, then cried as Lady Dread lifted out the small blanket to swaddle it.

“Hush little one.” The child squirmed as Lady Dread caught her feet and swaddled her. “At least this time you won’t have to bounce off my armor for the entire ride.”

She wrapped Griffin and brought him to her mother. Mari still lay on the barn floor, hands over eyes. Lady Dread nudged her with a boot until the woman glared up at her.

“Here,” Lady Dread held out the baby in his sling. “We’re leaving.”

She helped Mari with her pack and took her to the horse. Lady Dread mounted and used magic to help Mari sit in front of her. Mari clung her child. Lady Dread guided the horse out of the yard and stopped.

“What are you doing?” Grief left Mari’s voice raw. “Where are we going?”

“The mountains.” Lady Dread looked over the miles of plains and copses of trees that spread out before her. “Which way are the mountains?”

“Then we go west.” She nudged the horse into a trot. And hopefully home.

They rode until the sun broke the line of the horizon, its light spilling over the land and turning it gold. They passed a dozen farms in the night, and while Mari looked at each one with longing, Lady Dread did not stop. When the morning came, Lady Dread rode on, the sunlight now welcome and warm instead of burning pain.

She found a strand of trees away from human sight, for Mari and the babies to rest. Lady Dread felt neither tired nor hungry.

Why not? Why am I not exhausted this time? Given how the battle at the river drained her, she expected her eyes to fall shut by themselves. Of course, I had used far more magic then . I had to keep us on the water, fight, and then I exploded out of control against Furion—against the Dread Captain. No wonder I was exhausted.

Lady Dread had no answers. She waited an hour for Marie and the children to rest, then put everyone back on the horse. For the rest of the day they avoided the farms and people, stopping only long enough to feed and change the babies. When evening came, she found a small, wild grove for them to spend the night.

Mari was almost asleep in the saddle. She roused enough to lie out the blanket and clean and feed the babies. Then she collapsed beside them and started to snore. The horse wandered beyond the strand of trees, tearing up the grass and chewing it. In the dim evening light, its half-ruined body looked horrifying. Wounds from earlier battles covered its skin. The beast’s flesh was no longer rotting—but it showed no signs of healing.

Lady Dread called it over and pulled down the sacks of armor. The horse snorted at her and carried on grazing. She opened the bags and poured out the contents into a clanking pile.

She stared at the blackened, stained metal.

Skullcap and visor. Neck and chin protector. Shoulder pieces, breast and back plates, upper and lower arm guards, gauntlets. Waist skirt, thigh plates, shin and calf plates, foot covers.

The other pieces that had formed her seat and groin, and the steel plates that were the bottom of her boots were not part of a knight’s armor. Lord Necronis had drilled them into her pelvis and foot bones to complete her form and give her a way to sit and walk. Those pieces looked crude, compared to the rest. She turned the helmet over and looked at the spike. It had the same crude style.

She turned the pieces over in her hands. They were light, for steel, and strong. In their shape, she could see the craftsmanship that made them. She rubbed at the filth on the breastplate. It didn’t move. She knelt and dug into the earth with her fingers. With a handful of dirt, she scrubbed at the breastplate until grooves formed in the black. She grabbed another handful and rubbed until shining gray metal and specks of red and gold showed through the grime.

She wanted to scrub the armor until the filth on it vanished; to see the steel shine and the red enamel restored. She rubbed hard at it, then opened her hand and let the dirt fall. It would take hours with brushes and oil to clean it. To lacquer it again needed a craftsman.

At least I can get rid of the spikes. The metal would be harder to cut than the farmer’s ax handle, but the principle was the same. She laid the breastplate on the ground and took up the helmet. The spike there was largest. If she could remove it, the others would be simple enough. Lady Dread reached for her magic.

And dark power filled her.

But I couldn’t use it before. Why now? She looked at the helmet in her hands, and then put it down. The dark magic faded at once. Of course.

Lady Dread focused her mind, and instead of calling for magic, searched for it.

It flowed through the armor. Bands of black and purple and gold and silver magic pulsed and wove in and out of one another, their lines forming a cage around each piece. Lady Dread frowned and reached farther.

Three types of magic inhabited the steel. Spellbinder magic, older than the others, formed the base layer of the mesh. Dark magic came next, weaving through the Spellbinder Magic.

Is it protective magic? Or is it something else? On impulse, Lady Dread put her hand on the helmet. Her magic blazed like a torch touched to a barrel of oil. She could read the armor as easy as seeing the sky.

The Spellbinder magic is designed to strengthen the armor and to amplify and focus the power of the person wearing it. The dark magic… She frowned. The dark magic had intertwined with the Spellbinding magic, using the same spell to amplify and focus dark magic, but more than that…

It calls dark magic to the armor. It isn’t the same as blight magic that sucks the life out of things or Spellbinder magic that draws on all the energies of the world. This magic…

She frowned and looked deeper. The dark magic came from somewhere else. From some dark, pulsing source too vast to comprehend. The touch of it made her skin crawl—which felt quite odd to one who didn’t have skin two days earlier.

She pulled her mind back from the dark magic and turned to the third magic source in the armor. It felt like the dark magic, but personal and close. She examined the spike inside the helmet, felt the magic glowing from it. She laid her fingers on it.