Piercy turned on his heel and in a few long strides was back at the column. He gripped it with both hands and stared at the necklace, willing it to move. He could remove it from the room, yes, and if he were very careful he could probably get it out of the monastery, but it was unlikely that would cancel the forbiddance, and Hodestis’s magic could do nothing against divine power. The necklace would be useless to them if no one could touch it.
He reached out to pick it up, then pulled his hand back before it could begin to tingle. Without knowing what the spell did, it was pure insanity to simply take it. Ayane would no doubt have made that her first action. How fortunate she was busy being the prophet. He rushed back to the window. The Welkennish had come close enough to begin encircling the monastery, though the front door was on the other side of the room—he ran there and couldn’t see any riders. They weren’t inside yet. But he needed to figure something out, and quickly.
He turned around—and a dark-robed figure flashed into view not five feet from where he stood. Piercy pressed himself against the wall and went motionless. The ascetic didn’t seem to notice him, but ran forward, toward the nearest column, and began fumbling with something concealed by his full sleeves. There was a flash of pale light, almost gray, then the ascetic picked up the thing on the column and put it into his sleeve, juggling it in his haste. He moved to the next column, stumbled and fell, then pulled himself up incautiously and yelped as the humming began. It cut off abruptly, and this time Piercy could see a flash of silvery metal in the ascetic’s hand. Piercy took a couple of silent steps sideways, then more noisily stumbled forward, getting the ascetic’s attention.
“Thank the God you’re here,” he panted. “The prime told me to join you, but she gave me no means to take these precious artifacts from their proper places.”
The ascetic’s hood fell back, revealing that he was actually a woman, and now she pushed it all the way off her forehead. She was young, surely no older than twenty, and her eyes were wide with astonishment. “Who are you?”
“I am the Princess—the prophet’s bodyguard and companion,” Piercy said. “You’re retrieving the sacred things against the attack we are currently undergoing, yes?”
“Yes, but you are not—no one not of Cath’s order belongs in here!”
“That is precisely what I told the prime, but she insisted I assist you. Please, let me hold the treasures while you remove the forbiddance. Based on what I saw, we have very little time.”
“But—”
“My dear, the God has not struck me down for defiling his holy place, and I have traveled a long way with his prophet. I do not pretend to be a holy man, but I daresay Cath makes do with imperfect vessels, don’t you think?”
The ascetic looked incredibly torn for a few more seconds, then said, “All right. Don’t touch them until I say.”
“May I ask what happens if one touches them while the forbiddance is active?”
“No one knows. No one’s ever come back to say.”
Piercy pondered this while waiting for her to use her strange device, a cube that flashed light when she pressed its sides in a certain pattern. He probably should memorize the pattern, just in case something happened to the ascetic, but he was so keyed up by the approach of the Welkennish and the sense that he was so very close to their goal that all he could do was watch for the flash of light, then snatch up the next object.
He hooked the crown around his left forearm, not quite daring to wear it, piled cloth and key and a handful of other objects into the crook of his arm, then they were at the necklace and the light was flashing again. He snatched the necklace up, pretended to add it to the pile, and dropped it down the loose neck of his shirt to nestle against his stomach. It felt cold and hot at the same time, a disconcerting sensation, and he had to make himself focus on the remaining treasures to keep from simply bolting with what he had. He still needed to get their little group out of the monastery and away from the invaders.
“If you sheathe that, I can put it through my belt,” he said when they came to the sword. The ascetic handed it to him with the sword belt wrapped around the sheath, and he nearly dropped it, expecting it to be much heavier. Yet it didn’t feel like a toy; it was perfectly balanced as far as he could tell, and the grip was solid in his hand, as if it had been made for him, down to the wear in the leather wrapping. He slid it into his belt next to the walking stick and hoped the two wouldn’t develop an animosity toward each other.
He snatched up the last item, a carved wooden box that rattled, and said, “Let us divide this lot between us, as I fear I might drop one of these.” The ascetic nodded and began taking things off Piercy’s pile and stowing them away in her sleeves, like a stage performer preparing a series of tricks. Then she went to the niche without waiting for him and vanished. Piercy gave her a few seconds to move out of the way—the Gods alone knew what might happen if he tried to occupy the same space she did—then stepped onto the disk.
The door out of the crèche chamber was just closing as he arrived. Piercy let out a sigh of relief and pushed through the door. He could leave these things on the floor in here, and possibly someone else would find them—
—or he could take them with him. Surely all these objects had been destroyed with the monastery; why couldn’t they be retrieved the way Hodestis intended with the necklace? How much good might they do in the hands of the divines at Cath’s temple in Belicath?
He juggled his armload around again and ran out of the storage room into the hall, then paused for a moment, calculating how far he’d come and which direction would bring him most quickly back to Hodestis’s room. He turned right, took three running steps, then had to dodge out of the way of several ascetics who were pelting down the hall, screaming. They took a sharp turn into the gardening storage room, and moments later the sounds of screaming cut off. Piercy set off again at a run. So one of those niches was an emergency exit. That, or they foolishly thought they could take shelter in the spire or one of the Gardens. He prayed it was a route to freedom.
Roars of fury and screams of terror bounced off the black walls, echoing louder until the sounds came from everywhere at once. The torches flickered violently, some of them going out as Piercy passed, dodging ascetics who ran past him in both directions. One or two of them looked as if they wanted to know what he was doing with their treasures, but he shouted, “For the prime!” and kept running, outpacing their objections.
He could hear the Welkennish, or what he assumed to be the Welkennish, shouting words in their own language he couldn’t understand, but hadn’t seen any of the invaders, just terrified ascetics. He had to stop abruptly to keep from running into a door flung open in his face, and a Welkennish warrior burst through, sword held at the ready and dripping with blood. He grinned at Piercy, revealing a mouth full of teeth sharpened to points. “Delanes,” he grunted, then swung at Piercy’s head.
Piercy dropped everything, cursing, and reached for his stick. Instead, his hand fell on the sword’s hilt, and he whipped it out of its sheath and brought it up to parry the first blow. It was so light he nearly overbalanced himself, and he braced, expecting the wide, notched blade to snap his in half, but to his surprise the sword blocked the blow with barely a quiver at the force with which the Welkennish struck.
The Welkennish looked as surprised as Piercy was, but Piercy immediately pressed the attack, forcing the man back against the door he’d opened. It had been a while since Piercy had had to fight for his life, and daily practice bouts were no substitute for the real thing, but as he struck and parried and struck again, it felt as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
He bared his teeth at the warrior in a fierce grin, saw him falter, knocked his blade out of the way and struck at his chest. The beautiful sword slid between the warrior’s ribs to pierce his heart, and Piercy withdrew the blade and took a step back to avoid his enemy’s falling body. He was still breathing lightly, and there was no tension in his arms or legs. This is most certainly an enchanted sword, and I hope Cath does not strike me down for using it, he thought, then sheathed the blade and ran on.
He had a moment’s worry that he wouldn’t be able to find Ayane in this chaos, then remembered she would of course go back to Hodestis’s room so he could find her. He just had time to think She makes an excellent partner before he ran into the main fighting and had no time to spare for anything but battle.
Was it his imagination, or was the sword eager to take the fight to the enemy? He was certain it wasn’t actually intelligent, just very well made and touched by the God’s power. As if there was anything “just” about that. He slammed into a Welkennish warrior and skewered him when he fell, slashed another man across the throat, and step by step pressed farther toward where he trusted Ayane and Hodestis waited.
Finding himself in a pocket of calm, with the Welkennish occupied fighting the ascetics—many of whom were surprisingly capable in a fight—he ran the short distance down the hall and had the door to Hodestis’s room open and shut behind him before anyone noticed.
Ayane knelt at Hodestis’s side, shaking him by the shoulders. She was dressed in the oddest clothing, a hooded cowl like the ascetics, her own boots, and a form-fitting black gown made of some fabric that shimmered where the light struck it. Even in his haste, he took a moment to appreciate her beauty. No time. Focus.
“He won’t wake up,” Ayane said.
“He isn’t dead, is he?”
“No, just deeply asleep. The medicine they gave him was too effective. We’ll have to carry him.”
“That will be extremely dangerous. There is still fighting around the doors, which I have just realized are still shut. How did the Welkennish get inside?”
“Magic. They shattered the outer walls and just kept going until they reached the sanctum. The prime is dead. We can talk about the rest later. I think you’ll have to carry him.”
Piercy sheathed the sword without cleaning it and heaved Hodestis to his feet, then over his shoulder. “Pass me the bags. You’ll need to have both hands free for fighting.”
“Should we try to reach the horses?”
“I think it will depend on where they are stabled. If the stable yard is too near where the breach occurred—”
“Agreed. Are you ready? Then let us go.”
They emerged into carnage. Welkennish and ascetics battled hotly in front of their door, bodies lay slumped across the passage. As Piercy and Ayane fought their way through the melee, an ascetic tripped over the body of one of his fallen comrades and screamed as a Welkennish blade found its mark.
Hodestis was a limp, heavy bundle, and Piercy struggled to keep him balanced on one shoulder and their few bags on the other as Ayane cleared them a path. He’d seen her fight before, but this terrified him, how she faced down men armed with swords and clubs holding only her long knife. But Ayane never let them get close. She used their bulk and her greater agility to dodge blows and plant her knife where it would do the most damage, a throat, an eye, a belly.
Piercy followed her closely, shoving the bodies of her victims out of the way. They reached the short corridor leading to the front door, and Piercy said, “If it is too heavy, I should—”
“It’s locked,” Ayane said. “It’s not barred. But it’s locked.”
“Hold him,” Piercy said, and thrust Hodestis at her. He grabbed the lock picks from where they were mercifully still stuffed into his waistband and fumbled around until he found the lock to the small door. It was almost too dark to see anything, so he closed his eyes and pictured the inner workings of this mechanism, felt the little tumblers shift as he worked at them. This was entirely the wrong kind of pick for this ancient lock, it had to be at least two hundred years old, which made it four hundred and fifty years older than anything he was accustomed to opening. And now he was making excuses for his poor performance.
“They’re coming back this way,” Ayane said.
“That is salutary information that will in no way make this process go faster,” Piercy said, and at that moment the last tumbler clicked. Piercy put the lock picks away and lifted Hodestis over his shoulder. “Go,” he said, and Ayane pushed the door open and held it for Piercy and his unconscious burden.
They shut the door behind them and made their way around the monastery in the direction the ascetics had taken the wagon. The stink of burning wood and flesh rose in great clouds into the sky, but the sounds of battle and screaming were distant. Piercy was tiring in a way he hadn’t when he’d been fighting; his back and arms ached from carrying Hodestis and the bags. “Can you see the stables?”
“I see fire. That’s not good,” Ayane said, and they came around one corner of the pentagon to see a long, low building ahead of them with its thatched roof on fire. The high, terrified screams of horses drowned out the more distant sound of fighting.
“We can’t let them die,” Ayane said, bolting ahead with her blade still drawn, and Piercy cursed, laid the still-unconscious Hodestis on the ground next to the bags, and ran after her.
The stable doors were latched shut, not bolted, and a couple of dead ascetics lay nearby. There were no Welkennish visible, but Piercy kept watch while Ayane threw open the doors and dashed inside, heedless of the fire burning just above her head.
Soon a black horse pounded out past Piercy, screaming in terror or relief, then a couple of donkeys, then Ayane reappeared, dragging their two horses with her and trying to keep them from bolting. She had slit her dress along both sides and it moved with the night breeze and the heat of the fire. “Take this,” she shouted over the noise of the fire, and handed him the bay’s reins. He wrenched his gaze away from her long, bare legs and hauled the horse back to earth.
“Tell me you did not take time to bridle these animals,” he said, trying to stay out of the way of the frightened animal’s attempts to bolt.
“I didn’t,” she said. “I don’t know why they were still bridled, except I think someone was preparing to go for a midnight ride on our horses. We have to get out of here, Piercy.”
“Agreed,” he said, and led the bay back the way they’d come, soothing it until it was nearly calm. It nearly bolted again when he laid Hodestis across its withers, and it took him far too long to calm the animal enough that he could mount in turn, trying not to convey his own agitation that at any minute the Welkennish would come spilling out the front door and attack them.
With his hand firmly gripping Hodestis’s coat, he guided the bay westward, trying not to feel as if he were deserting all those people. What had happened to the young ascetic carrying the rest of those treasures? How many of the ascetics would survive this night?
“There is a part of me that would dearly love to take Cath by the collar, or whatever it is Gods have in the vicinity of their necks, and ask him some very pointed questions about why he would allow his servants to be massacred like that,” he said grimly.
“The ascetics I knew would say Cath teaches them not to fear death no matter what form it comes in,” Ayane said, but her voice sounded choked, and Piercy carefully didn’t comment on her tears. “I’m sure it’s all some Godlike plan. I just wish Hodestis hadn’t made us part of it.”
Piercy looked down at the sleeping magician. “I wish we could have saved them,” he said.
“I tried. I told them almost immediately that invaders were coming to overrun the monastery and kill them all. They were convinced I had some other doom for them.”
“As if that one wasn’t enough.”
“No, that was the funny thing. They accepted it would happen and they even believed it would happen soon. They just didn’t find it important. They were so sure…Piercy, I hope we did the right thing. Please tell me you got the necklace.”
“I did,” Piercy said, and dug in his shirt for it, feeling briefly panicked when his hand didn’t fall on it immediately. Finally he drew it out and shook it so the metal caught the moonlight. “I don’t know what metal it’s made of, which I find remarkable considering I am quite the connoisseur of ladies’ jewelry.”
“You would be,” Ayane said, but without rancor. “It’s pretty enough, but I can’t imagine anyone wanting it when they could have gold or silver instead.”
“That was my thought. I only wish I could have saved more than this.”
“Didn’t you? Where did the sword come from, then?”
Piercy’s hand dropped to the hilt of the sword. He’d forgotten he had it. “I suppose I did save something,” he said. “And what a beautiful thing to save.” The guard caught the moonlight as the necklace had; he guessed if he unwrapped the hilt, he would discover the grip was made from the same metal.
“I wonder what it does. Assuming all the things they kept in their treasure room were artifacts like the necklace.”
“I should probably take it to Cath’s temple. It belongs to them, after all.” He felt somewhat downcast at the thought of giving the sword up. Well, it would take time to return to Belicath, and he could experiment until then. Surely they would encounter bandits on the way? And there was no sense letting a perfectly good sword go unused when one could turn it to one’s defense and that of one’s companions.
He gripped the hilt and was again thrilled by how perfectly it fit his hand. That, and how easy it was to wield, and how he hadn’t tired—those things were surely evidence this was a magic sword. If Cath hadn’t yet struck him down for impiety, it surely meant he was allowed to wield it.
They rode for a few hours until the moon set and it was too dark to continue, then stopped to rest in the shelter of a twisted, ancient tree that clung to its last few leaves like a miser hoards gold. They had no tents, no food, nothing but their personal possessions and the horses, and Piercy sat with his back against the tree and reflected on how exhausted but content he was. Ayane sat next to him, rummaging through her bag. “I’m going to change,” she declared. “And I’ll knife you if you so much as think about looking.” She was smiling, though, and Piercy was sure she was joking. Mostly sure.
“As I am a gentleman, I would of course never dream of watching a lady change her clothes,” he said. “I think it a pity, however, that you need lose the dress. It suits you very well despite the mutilation you inflicted on it.”
Ayane was silent. Piercy mentally replayed what he’d said and cursed himself. Was he completely incapable of speaking to a woman without turning it into some kind of comment on her appearance? “That is,” he began.
“Thank you,” Ayane said, and went behind the horses to change. It stunned Piercy so much he couldn’t remember what he’d been about to say. That he admired her as a fighter and a companion? That she was beautiful whatever she wore? That he was glad she’d tumbled into this time with him? Nothing seemed to fit.
Back in the monastery, she hadn’t been a Santerran resistance fighter or the daughter of a legend or a shy noblewoman; she’d been a partner, and he remembered his utter certainty that she would be at Hodestis’s room and thought I wonder if she feels the same. It was so unlike any relationship he’d ever imagined having with a woman he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it, or what to say to her. It didn’t really matter, though, because in less than a day, or however long it took Hodestis to finally wake up, they’d be back in their own time and could return to their proper lives. The thought left him once again downcast. They might not even be able to stay friends, if that’s what they were.
“I don’t suppose our snoring friend has shown any signs of waking,” Ayane said. She was back in her own clothes and had the shimmering dress wadded up in her hands. She shoved it into her bag and added, “I hope he’s right that he can open the portal anywhere. We won’t be able to outrun the Welkennish whether we try to find Kemelen or head west to Rainoth.”
“He seemed quite certain of his ability,” Piercy said. “Do you think you can sleep? I don’t mind sitting a watch. Though sitting may be all I’m capable of.”
“I’m not tired. I wish we had a fire, though.”
“So do I, except I think it would make us a target.”
“I’m afraid we’re going to be an excellent target in about four hours when the sun comes up. I’m almost anxious enough to suggest we ride on, except if the horses get injured, we’re truly stuck.”
“Agreed.” Piercy yawned. “I think I will sleep, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t. I’ll wake you if I feel tired.”
Piercy scooted back to get away from the knot of the trunk digging into his spine. “We worked well together back there,” he said, offhandedly, hoping…he wasn’t sure what to hope for, from her.
“We did,” Ayane said. “I’m glad you’re not the self-absorbed flirt I thought you were.”
“I’m glad you are not a shy maiden who has never been closer to a blade than at the dinner table.”
She laughed. “Sleep well, Piercy.”
He was asleep almost before her laughter died away.
He woke to the sun in his eyes and a weight on his shoulder. Ayane had fallen asleep on him. Her mouth was slightly ajar and her breath whistled in through her nostrils and out through her open mouth, making an intermittent sound like air blowing across the top of a bottle. He shifted, felt her begin to slide, and put his arm around her to keep her steady. She stirred and lifted her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking at him with those golden-brown eyes that caught the sunlight and seemed to glow. He let out the breath he was holding, slowly, hoping she hadn’t noticed. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“Had we been slaughtered by Welkennish marauders last night, I have no doubt I would have spoken to you sharply about it,” he said, “but as we are still alive, I find myself reluctant to scold you.”
He gently removed his arm from around her shoulders, and she sat up, turning away from him. She really was beautiful, and ten days ago he would have turned her moment of incautiousness into an avenue for flirtatious remarks, but now all he could think of was how comfortable it was to sit so close to her, how much he wished it could go on longer.
“I can’t believe it. Mr. Hodestis is still asleep,” she said, standing stiffly and going to check on the little man.
“We should move on regardless,” Piercy said. “He will wake when he wakes, and we will return to our own time, and at some point after that I intend to have a large, elaborate breakfast I hope you will share with me.”
Ayane helped him haul Hodestis over the bay’s back. “I’m counting on it,” she said, mounting her own horse. “But I hope it’s soon, because there are people coming, and if they’re bandits, I want to avoid them.”
“You are destroying your reputation as Santerre’s most bloodthirsty daughter.”
“I only said those things so you’d take me seriously. I can be sensible.”
“Fortunate for all of us. Let’s ride, then, and take a route well out of those riders’ path.”
Ten minutes later, Hodestis began to stir. “What am I doing on this horse?” he mumbled. “Why are we here?”
“In the most general sense, we are here because you allowed love to overcome your rationality,” Piercy said, “but to answer what is no doubt your specific question, we have acquired the necklace and are riding away from the monastery’s destruction. You have slept the sleep of a rather large infant and now we hope you can work your spell and return us to our own time.”
“I feel sick. Could I get down, please?”
“Those riders have changed direction and are coming this way,” Ayane said. “I don’t like how intent they seem on catching us.”
“What did she say?”
“That we are about to entertain guests who may or may not be interested in killing us for the meager contents of our bags.” Piercy helped Hodestis down; he staggered, bent over, and began coughing. “Are you quite recovered, Mr. Hodestis?”
“From the sickness, yes. I think there was something funny in the medicine, though. I’ll need a few minutes to be ready to cast the spell.”
“We have nearly ten minutes before the riders reach us,” Ayane said, this time speaking Dalanese. “I suggest you recover quickly.”
“It takes a few minutes for the spell to work, too,” Hodestis said. “Is that going to be a problem?”
Ayane drew her blade. “Not for us,” she said.
Piercy loosened the sword in its sheath. “Just take your time, Mr. Hodestis. I think we would all prefer to fight off bandits for a minute than to be trapped here permanently.”
“I’ll do my best,” Hodestis said, though he had his head between his knees again.
The riders continued to approach. Piercy paced between Ayane and the horses until Ayane said, “If you do not settle down, the bandits will think we are easy prey.”
“Or they will believe I am eager to shed their blood.”
“That is not a thing that ever happens.”
“Mr. Hodestis, can I inquire after your readiness?”
“I’m casting the spell now.”
The air did feel different, greasy and warm compared to the brisk chill of the autumn morning. Piercy cast a swift glance at Hodestis, but the spell wasn’t visible; there was only the colored stone he’d seen the man take from the first portal and a wavering in the air like heat haze. He turned back toward the riders, who were only a few hundred feet away now. They wore strange dark clothes, and downturned hats like—
“Oh, no,” Piercy muttered.
“I thought we had escaped them,” Ayane said.
The rider in the lead pulled his horse up a few feet from where they stood. “You should not have fled, princess,” the raspy-voiced Santerran said.