Part 31 (1/2)
”Have at me.”
Stabbing her staff into the ground, Gossamyr swung up her body and caught one rider on the head with her heels. The bourquinette flew into the air. The force of connection toppled the rider to the ground.
The other dismounted with a fluid ease, and swinging his sword in challenge, let out a banshee yowl. No humanity in that voice. But a chilling reminder of Faery. Two of the succubus's victims, then.
Ulrich, his head erect and eyes forward, miraculously dodged a wild sword slash and kept walking.
Slapping her staff into both hands, Gossamyr barely avoided a slice to the head from a seeking blade. Thrusting high, the staff vibrated in her hands as steel cut into the hard wood-and broke the fire-forged applewood in two. The force of the blow unsettled Gossamyr from her stance. Her arms swung back, a serrated half of the staff swinging in each hand. She caught herself from falling by redirecting her balance.
So easily her best defense was destroyed? A simmer of fear surfaced. What do you fear? No! Danger, it was hers to embrace.
A step dislodged the skirt from her waist and it fell to her ankles. Ill outfitted for this challenge. From the corner of her eye Gossamyr saw the first rider remained on the ground, groaning and pulling at his eyes with cutting gauntlets. Already the red had begun to seep from his pores.
”Ulrich, no!” The soul shepherd listened only to the silent and beguiling song of the succubus. A song that planted itself in the skulls of Gossamyr's attackers and had fruited into a wild, evil thing.
Now there! The fetch swooped low to hover over the head of the other man. He swung his sword at the creature; the fetch dodged and flew off.
Gripping both halves of defense to her sides, Gossamyr announced to the standing attacker, ”Deliver your best, blighted lackwit!”
Spinning one half of the staff in her right hand, she twisted at the waist and conked the armored beast upside the head with the other short staff. The bourquinette went flying. Another twist of her waist returned a blow to the crown of his exposed head. The hard wood connected with skull-cracking impact. Momentum pulled her around and she spun the short stick to a stop, stabbing the swordsman in the gut with the serrated end, just below the hard iron cuira.s.s. With a jingle of circled metal, Gossamyr tugged the staff from the mail. A guttural squawk quaffed out from him. He landed the ground, gripping his stomach, but was far from defeated.
Using his momentary befuddlement, Gossamyr raced to the wall before Ulrich, blocking his path with her half staff. ”Don't do it, Ulrich. She is calling to you. The Red Lady!”
”So pretty,” he murmured. Tears streamed down his cheeks, drawing thick runnels through his dusty flesh. Bespelled then. How to break the succubus's erie?
”Jean Cesar Ulrich.
What was the remainder of the man's over long name? The third...something. Blight!
Gossamyr used the only form of deterrent she knew would work. She blunted the staff into Ulrich's gut, folding him and bringing him down. His palms slapped the wall behind him for stability, yet found little as he slid to his haunches.
Now an attacker fixed to Gossamyr's back, the flat of his blade cleaving into her neck. She bent, heaving the man over her head and pus.h.i.+ng away the deadly blade as he landed the ground. Raising the staff above her head, she prepared to bring it down onto his skull-but paused.
Red tears poured from the man's eyes. The neck muscles tightened to thick cords, then released, softening his flesh. His mouth gaped, releasing a torrent of ichor swirled through with vibrant crimson.
Remembering the last time she had witnessed such a death- Gossamyr scanned the periphery in search for the pin man. Did he lurk in the shadows?
She hissed an invitation to challenge. ”You want their essences? You'll have to go through me!”
”Oh...” Ulrich stirred and, using the wall, managed to pull himself to his feet.
She dashed to him, lifted her skirts, and kneed him in the thigh to effectively pin him.
”What did you do that for? Ouch.” He toppled into her arms and began to retch dry coughs over her shoulder. ”That is the last time I kiss you!”
”You were under her spell.” She embraced him around the shoulders and held him as he heaved. ”I had to do something to keep you from the Red Lady. Steady, Ulrich. You are safe now-oh, my faery heart.”
”What?”
”Look.”
There, behind the mule snorting at a scatter of rotting hay, lay the first unfortunate fee she had laid out. And squatting over him, the pin man, a long steel pin held in wait. No hood concealed his hair this day. Capped in brilliant red, the long strands looked to be soaked by a b.l.o.o.d.y flood. Sunlight flickered across his face. The mark of the banished curled an arabesque about his eye.
”Avenall.” The name fell, a stolen whisper, from Gossamyr's lips. The fear she'd previously pushed back clambered to the fore and set her to keen attention. See me. Remember me?
Still holding Ulrich, and feeling his body yet convulse in protest to the blow she'd delivered to his gut, Gossamyr remained at the wall. She did not want to frighten Avenall away.
Nor must she allow him to succeed in stealing yet another essence for his mistress.
As well, she wanted him to recognize her. Was he a slave to the Red Lady? His mind trapped in her wicked thrall? Could Gossamyr broach that invisible s.h.i.+eld and draw Avenall out from the facade of the pin man? 'Twas sure a poke to his gut with her staff would do little but rile.
A small orange light emerged from the dead fee's skull, squeezing out in a globulus quiver and expanding.
”He's going to take the essence,” Ulrich hissed. ”Get him!”
”I...” Yet Gossamyr remained, strangely unable to move. For to do so would require force-against her lover.
At the exact moment the pin pierced the essence, the fee's armored body jerked. The sh.e.l.l of flesh and bone rose from the ground. Armor cracked and tore in a dull metallic rip. Out struggled a revenant from the rib cage. With a shrieking wail, the creature soared into the sky, away from Paris. Back to Faery to torment s.h.i.+nn.
Her heart stalled, Gossamyr could but witness.
Releasing a squeal of glee, the pin man turned and scampered to the other body. The fee lay but a half-dozen strides from where Gossamyr and Ulrich observed. Intent on the task at hand, the pin man did not notice them. Or maybe he did see them, which is why he worked so quickly. This time a pale green essence seeped out from the body.
”Enough!” Gossamyr shoved aside Ulrich and pointed her staff at the pin man. ”Move and I strike you dead. Look at me, Avenall!”
The pin man drew himself straight, taller than Gossamyr-as she remembered-and grinned so wickedly she thought any sane man's face should crack. Holding out his arms, he displayed a pin, decorated with an essence, in the left hand. Narrowing his eyes, he tilted his head and nodded. ”I make no move, my lady.”
Did he surrender so easily? What to do? To strike or speak?
Gossamyr maintained her pose, the staff-shorter, but no less effective to defense-ready for instruction. Her left hand strummed the chord of arrets at her hip. A step forward was halted by close-fitting fabric. Blight, this awkward gown!
”Tell me how you have my name?”
A conversation? Might be the thing to dissuade him from the burgeoning essence that sought a safe twinclian.
”I knew you when you lived in Faery, Avenall. I know the reason why you were banished.”
He gaped. So he did not know the reason behind his banishment? Most certainly, for then he would know her.
She must tell him. Mayhap win him from the succubus's erie.
The green essence quivered, slowly rising between them. If he moved, Gossamyr would leap forward and crack open his skull.
Studying him, she saw he was dressed in the finery of Faery. Skeleton leaves frilled about his neck, and at his wrists, fee lace fas.h.i.+oned of delicate arachnagoss. Yellow rose petals had been sewn for a doublet, and amphi-leather hose drew her eye down impossibly long legs. If the Disenchantment had set in, surely the clothing would not hold- Had s.h.i.+nn the ability to send the banished straight to Paris, yet still retain their Enchantment? For so long? Even s.h.i.+nn feared Disenchantment with an overlong stay.
”You...” he started, the pin held firmly in his left hand. A weapon, no doubt about it. ”...know?”
”Do you not remember your life in Faery, Avenall?”