Hello, all! Thanks for sticking with me! Particular thanks to those of you who take the time to review - your encouragement, support, and comments are so valued. And to my wonderful beta, WellspringCD, who hasn't gotten tired of fixing my battle scenes yet. In other news, I recently figured out where the screenshots folder is, and for your viewing pleasure there's a picture of Judith in my profile (or will be shortly).
1 Kingsway:
Judith began to pack up the small campsite where she and Daniel had spent the previous night. So far, this was turning out to be a good idea, she had to admit it. Although her stomach was fluttering more and more often as they came closer to the little village she barely remembered, the time alone with Daniel had been incredibly restful. He was whistling as he wrestled the tent into submission, and Judith stood watching him, a small smile playing around her mouth.
Daniel looked up from the now-folded tent. "What?" he asked.
"I love you."
He grinned, standing up and walking toward her. "It's just a tent. I'm sure you could have folded it."
"Don't be ridiculous," Judith purred. She grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him closer. He came willingly, bending down to kiss her.
Zev was dozing in the fork of the tree when he heard the jingle of mail nearby. There were more noises, as well, people moving through the trees. This was it, then, he thought, sharply awake now. They weren't even trying to be silent about it. Who 'they' were and what they wanted with Morrigan, he hadn't worked out yet.
He waited, poised but unmoving, to see what would happen. More sounds of movement from the surrounding forest, but nothing from the house. Until suddenly he heard the unmistakable sharp, cool voice of Morrigan. "I know you are there, Templars. Come no closer, or it will go badly for you."
One of the surrounding party shouted something back at her, but Zev was too startled by Morrigan's tone to pay attention to the Templar's words. Someone who didn't know her wouldn't have heard the slight quaver at the end of the sentence, but Zev had not traveled with her for so long for nothing. Morrigan was nervous. And if Morrigan was nervous, he would need to be much more careful in his decision-making. He hadn't recognized the men as Templars, but he respected Morrigan's greater experience in these matters. Zev suspected the attackers already knew he was there, so escaping to get help didn't seem a likely move. Moreover, how would he know what happened if he left? Briefly, he considered the idea of letting them kill Morrigan—what a neat little package that would tie things up in—but without more detailed knowledge of what the ritual Alistair had participated in entailed, he couldn't take that risk. Now he wished he had interrogated the young King; besides information, it would have been worth doing for the sheer amusement value of making Alistair recount the details of his night with the witch.
So it seemed Zev had to stay and form part of the battle. For battle there would be, he was sure of it.
He didn't have long to wait. The Tempars were moving in closer, tightening the net. What was Morrigan doing? Shapeshifting? But if she could shapeshift, surely she could just fly out of the cottage, or skitter out as a spider, unnoticed. Suddenly, it occurred to Zev why Morrigan was nervous, why she was still there. Because of the child within her, she couldn't shapeshift. How the mechanics worked he was sure Morrigan could have explained to him, but even without full understanding Zev knew in his bones that this was why she was in danger.
That put a new tan on the leather, then. Who knew what more of Morrigan's powers had been dampened by her pregnancy? He shifted carefully, sliding a small well-balanced dagger out of its sheath. He crouched in the bole of the tree, readying himself.
A flash of blue filled the clearing—a holy smite of the area. Zev hoped Morrigan had been ready for that. He saw a single Templar approach the cabin. The armored figure was coming from the opposite edge of the clearing, facing Zev, who was glad to see his adversary was not wearing the standard Templar armor, but instead a rather cheap suit of chainmail. Carefully, Zev took aim. The dagger flew through the air, the gleam of the sun catching it the only indication of its flight. It struck the relatively unprotected expanse of the Templar's inner thigh and fell to the ground. Despite the shallowness of the wound, the powerful poison coating the blade took effect almost instantly, and a gurgle escaped the Templar as he fell.
Zev heard whispers near his tree and was glad he had taken precautions against this circumstance. Carefully he got up, scaling the nearest limb until he reached the place where it brushed a large limb from another tree. Quickly he switched trees. In his time in the clearing, he had mapped out a route around the little house, to avoid being stranded up any one tree by an attacker. It served him well today, because the Templar under the third tree he moved to seemed unaware of Zev's progress. It was an endless amusement to Zev that so many warriors seemed to believe covering their heads with massive helms that cut off their sight and hearing was the safest choice in a battle. Clinging to an overhanging limb with his hands, Zev hung silently down from the tree. His strong legs wrapped around the Templar's helmet and snapped the man's neck with a single practiced movement. Lithely he curled back up into the tree. He took a moment, clinging to the limb, to count. As far as he could tell, there had been eight of them, and he'd taken care of two. But in the time it had taken him to move from tree to tree, the rest of the Templars had closed the circle. They were approaching the cottage warily. As Zev watched, one of them put a foot wrong and tripped some kind of ward of Morrigan's. The Templar gave a shrill scream, body going rigid with pain for a moment before slumping to the ground.
Five left.
The rest of the Templars paused in their advance, while one, presumably the leader, moved cautiously around the perimeter. From his controlled, ritualistic motions, Zev was pretty sure Morrigan's wards were being dispelled. It was an interesting thing to watch, this battle between Morrigan's old magic and the Templars' practiced resistance.
He wanted to throw another dagger, but in his current perch didn't think he could manage to aim it effectively. He shimmied along the limb toward a more stable location.
The Templar who had been testing the approach to Morrigan's cottage suddenly cried out as a crossbow bolt came through a conveniently placed hole in the cottage door and caught him in the stomach. He fell, writhing and moaning, clearly out of commission.
Four.
The other Templars didn't even go check on their fallen fellow, a fact Zev noted with trepidation. The Crows had never been known to pay attention to fallen members, either, but most groups of fighters didn't have that kind of discipline. It meant their goal was more important to them than how many people had to die to get it, and that made them a far more dangerous set of adversaries than he had anticipated. He could not afford to become complacent, even now that they were down to four.
Quickly Zev got down from the tree. Speed was more important than subtlety now, and he moved as quickly as he could.
Then he heard the door of the cottage splinter. He came to the corner just in time to see a second crossbow bolt shoot through the remnants of the door and spear itself into the neck of another Templar—three. The remaining Templars drew their swords.
"Drop it now," one of them barked.
"Very well." Zev had never heard Morrigan's voice so defeated, and he could almost hear her thought processes—if she fought, and was killed, the child would die with her, and then what? Zev would have liked to know what would happen if the child was killed inside Morrigan. He had never seen her flinch from battle before, never seen her put living above freedom. If she was willing to do so now, the consequences were the child to be killed must be very serious indeed. Or the child was extremely special.
Morrigan appeared in the doorway of the cottage. Two of the Templars had her by the arms, and the third walked behind her, a crossbow cocked with the tip of the bolt poking into her spine.
"I am going of my own volition," she snapped. "You can let me go."
"Hardly," sneered one of the men holding her arms.
Zev, so far unnoticed, took out his last throwing dagger, hurling it with as much force as he could manage at the Templar with the crossbow. From this distance, his aim was rather good, and he was pleased to see the dagger find the gap between the Templar's helm and the top of the shoulder. The poison worked its magic, and the Templar dropped. The other two whirled in surprise.
Now, Zev thought. Only two? He and Morrigan could take them out easily. But as the thought crossed his mind and a jaunty line of repartee began to bubble to his lips, a crossbow bolt whizzed from the trees and caught him low in the abdomen. He stared down at the shaft of the bolt in shock. He had miscounted. How long since he'd made such an amateurish mistake?
"Well, now." A ninth Templar, this one in civilian garb with a cape thrown over his shoulder, had appeared behind Zev, pushing the blade of a sword hard enough against Zev's spine that the Antivan could feel the skin beneath break. "This is a surprise. Zevran Arainai, unless I miss my guess. If I had known it was you here, I would have taken you out before you wasted so much of my manpower."
The blood was welling around the wound. Zev, veteran of the Blight, had seen a few wounds like this, and he knew if he could get to the healing supplies in his pack, he would survive this one. But the Templar didn't need to be aware of that. He allowed his eyes to glaze over as if in pain.
"Too little, too late," the Templar said.
Zev buckled his knees, falling to the ground. He made sure he fell to the side, curled a little, so his breathing would be more difficult to see. The pain was legitimately intense now. The Templar leaned over, wrenching the bolt out of the wound, which immediately began to bleed more heavily. With an effort, Zev remembered to give a dying man's whimper rather than a scream at the pain of the bolt's removal.
Without a backward glance—truly a mistake, Zev thought, fighting not to pass out—the Templar walked away, leading Morrigan and the two Templars holding her out of the clearing. Just as she reached the edge of the clearing, Zev saw Morrigan's fingers wiggle slightly, and there was a faint sensation of cool relief in his body as her unfocused healing spell drifted over him.
Dimly, he heard a Templar shout in frustration, "'Ere now, no magic!" He hoped she hadn't endangered herself trying to heal him. Zev waited, conserving his energy, until he was sure they were gone, then with difficulty moved out of the clearing, leaving a trail of his own blood behind him.
