Sophia, Princess Among Beasts Page 16

  Silence. Had Balor gone in the other direction? Maybe he couldn’t fit through this hallway. I closed my eyes and prayed.

  And then I heard footsteps, careful, creeping toward me in the dark.

  Once again I ran, nearly as blind as Balor in the dark hall. Ahead lay a twisting staircase, and I paused for just a breath before hurling myself down. Stumbling on the craggy, crumbling steps, I spiraled lower and lower into the shadowy castle. Balor crashed behind me, too big for where I led him but too bent on capturing his prey to give up.

  At the bottom of those countless stairs, I fell forward onto hard-packed dirt. When I lurched up again, I staggered through the castle’s vaulted undercroft and into the main courtyard.

  Through the slanting rain, I could see the stables near the curtain wall—and closer to me, a storage structure half collapsed from neglect. I scrambled inside, and there, amidst the dust and spiders, I felt the gritty scabbard of a long sword. Grabbing the hilt, I pulled with all my strength, and the blade screeched itself out. It was blackened and rusty. This was a poor weapon or else it wouldn’t be here. But it was better than bare hands.

  I held the blade out to feel its heft—it was well balanced, and heavy enough to cut off my leg if I wasn’t careful.

  I peered through the doorway and saw Balor stalking in the courtyard, his heavy head turning blindly from side to side. His clenched fist was the size of a boulder.

  “Show yourself, Princess,” he shouted, “and maybe I’ll spare you.”

  Feeling along the shed’s wall, I found the shaft of a broken axe. I picked it up and flung it as hard as I could, and it thudded into the ground behind Balor. When he turned around, I rushed toward him across the rocky courtyard. With all my strength, I swung the sword low and sideways. The blade bit into his calf and he roared in anger, twisting back around. His giant fist caught me in the shoulder, and I went sprawling, my blade sliding away across the dead wet grass. I scrambled to my knees and lunged after it, pain exploding in my shoulder.

  Balor’s laugh was louder than thunder. He didn’t have to see me—he knew exactly where I was. “The little gnat stings,” he said. “No matter. It’s over. Do you understand, Princess? I will use you as a match to light the village on fire.”

  I had the sword in hand again, though, and I swiped it at him. But my aim was off. The brittle metal glanced off the hard leather of his boot, smashed against a rock in the courtyard dirt, and shattered.

  I saw Balor’s great bristled lashes tremble, and slowly his huge eyelid began to open. A blinding ray of light streamed forth, as if a piece of the sun itself had suddenly fallen to the ground. Behind me, the storage shed burst skyward in a pillar of fire.

  The flames hissed in the rain but only grew higher, and in seconds the courtyard seemed as bright as day. Acrid smoke stung my eyes. Balor pivoted toward me, and I threw myself out of the way as a trail of flames followed me. They caught the hem of my dress, and though I stomped them out, I knew I couldn’t outrun the fire.

  Then, suddenly, the giant bellowed out in shock and pain. He flung his head back and forth, a channel of fire still streaming from his forehead as he clawed madly at his back.

  I saw a silhouette, teetering high on the curtain wall. As I squinted through the darkness and the rain, I felt my breath catch in my throat. It couldn’t be!

  And yet it was.

  Raphael.

  Why had he come? How did he know?

  He stalked high above the courtyard, taunting Balor, goading him into fury. “Over here, beast,” he shouted. “Turn around and face me!”

  When Balor did, howling with rage, I saw what pained him: the spear that Raphael had thrown stuck out between the massive planes of his shoulder blades.

  A river of flames poured from the giant, arcing up to where Raphael stood. Raphael jumped away, ducking behind the shelter of a drum tower. Balor’s fire ignited the castle’s flags and the wooden hoarding that ringed the upper part of the tower. The courtyard flickered yellow and red in its glow.

  “Balor,” I shouted. “I’m here! It’s me you want.” I tightened my grip on the broken sword.

  The giant turned back around, burning a path through the stubbled grass. Flames leapt and danced between us. He looked back and forth, and I realized that he couldn’t see me through the smoke and fire. I, on the other hand, saw him perfectly.

  I crouched low and took aim, thinking of Odo, who could do this blindfolded. As Balor staggered forward, I hurled the broken sword right at him. Like the dagger Odo had trained me to use, it went whirling through the air, end over end. I held my breath.

  And then it found its target: the center of Balor’s eye.

  The giant let out a shriek that seemed to rip the sky in half. His head became a corona of light. I watched in shock as his arms shrunk, curling inward, and his legs twisted and shriveled. His enormous, herculean body began to collapse, as if he was being devoured, sucked into oblivion by his own terrible eye.

  After a few horrible moments, Balor was only cinders, and I lay shivering on the ground.

  Raphael clambered down into the courtyard on a thick, knotted rope. He held out his hand. When I took it, he lifted me to my feet, and I felt his other hand press close in the small of my back with an intimacy that made me gasp.

  I wanted to kiss him again, but something about his expression stopped me. So instead I spoke. “You came for me,” I said.

  “I did,” he said. “And I’m not alone.”

  CHAPTER 57

  Where are we going?” I cried as we ran.

  Raphael didn’t answer but pulled me toward the castle postern—the secret back gate that led to the treacherous cliffside stairs. Tonight, it stood wide open.

  “See for yourself, Princess,” he said.

  Though the rain had stopped, lightning flashed above the wet sand and the roiling bay. I peered dizzily over the edge and saw dark shapes scrabbling up the stone steps, weapons strapped to their backs. There were dozens—hundreds—of them, scaling the monstrous crags like beetles.

  “The villagers,” I whispered, amazed. The beasts.

  “They’re coming,” Raphael said, “all of them.” Then he pulled me away again, and we hurried back toward the inner stronghold. “More came across the mudflats and are being hoisted up on the platform,” he said urgently. “Any minute, they’ll come streaming through the undercroft, and we will be here to meet them.”

  “But I don’t understand—”

  Raphael unbuckled a short sword and a dagger from his waist and thrust them at me. “Revolution,” he said. “Isn’t that what you were after?” He glanced at my opulent gown, now torn, dirty, and sopping wet. “Although you’re hardly dressed for it.”

  “Perhaps you should have warned me?” I inquired. Though I was glad to see the villagers’ uprising—and had even urged them to do it—I’d had no idea it was going to happen.

  Raphael looked away and said nothing.

  “Wait—you weren’t sure you could trust me,” I whispered.

  “Sophia, now’s not the time—”

  “You’re right,” I interrupted, “it isn’t. So I will take the matter up with you after our victory.”

  “I look forward to it.” Then his fingers gently, fleetingly, touched my cheek. “Do not enter the fray too early,” Raphael said. “The first assault is better left to stronger, larger soldiers.”

  And I knew enough about battle not to be offended by his plea.

  The courtyard lay peaceful and open beneath a towering mountain of thunderclouds. No torches flared, no alarms had sounded. Wherever Ares and his men were, Balor’s death hadn’t summoned them.

  A castle’s defenses depended on its walls remaining unbreached—my father had taught me that. But even now, someone was raising a platform of soldiers into its understory. What traitor to Ares sought to bring his enemies inside?

  Whoever it was, I hope Ares never found him out.

  I reached for Raphael’s hand. “Remember, the inex
perienced swordsman stands with his arms out—”

  Raphael gave me a wry half smile. “Are you still calling me inexperienced after all our practice?”

  But before I could answer he went on.

  “I know, I’m not a seasoned fighter. But perhaps, when the inexperienced swordsman fights, he does exactly what he isn’t supposed to do, and it catches his enemy by surprise.”

  I looked at him in concern. “I hope that isn’t your actual strategy!” I said. “You’ll be killed.”

  “I’m not afraid of dying,” he said. “I’ve done it before, remember?”

  And then suddenly, like a huge, clamorous wave, the villagers poured into the castle courtyard, sweeping Raphael along with them. Some ran into the castle itself. From the black sky came the warning screech of the harpies, and a battle horn sounded its ringing notes. For another moment, the castle was dark and still. Then shouts rose from all ranks as flaming arrows rained down from its windows.

  I couldn’t see Ares’s knights—only the villagers with their swords raised, taunting them to come down from the castle and fight. A stone crashed in the center of the crowd, and I heard an agonized cry as someone was crushed beneath it. A moment later, another stone landed not ten feet from where I stood. A trebuchet on top of a flanking tower had pivoted toward us to fling down missiles from above.

  Servants rushed from the castle, metal clashed against metal, and screams rent the air when arrows found their mark. From some dark underground lair, the Ekhidna uncoiled herself, her beautiful face made hideous by anger and her snake tail lashing with lethal force. I watched from a helpless distance as she attacked the villagers, sending their ranks into disarray. When Ares and his men finally charged into the courtyard, the villagers fell back.

  But even as I despaired that I was now responsible for still more deaths, the villagers regrouped and surged forward again. They had but rudimentary shields, and their weapons were crude swords and even simple wooden clubs, but they ran at their enemy with a ferocity I could never have imagined.

  I saw Mordred, dressed head to toe in gleaming mail, hacking at them with his broadsword. The dog-faced man, caught in the head by a sideways blow, howled as he fell.

  A billhook caught in Mordred’s mail and pulled him sideways. A horned man threw himself at the knight, as Mordred, screaming, tried to claw out his eyes. The old man from the village square, bearing a lance so heavy he could barely lift it, staggered forward to aid his horned friend, as behind him the giant chambermaid stomped through the melee, an axe clutched in her fist.

  I saw a flash of white along the base of the curtain wall: Hasshaku Sama, trying to escape.

  I ran toward her, my sword held high, and she rose in the air as I approached, her laugh like dry leaves rattling in the wind. “You cannot kill what you cannot touch,” she said, fitting an arrow into her bow.

  I threw the sword aside and grabbed the dagger Raphael had given me. Before Hasshaku Sama could loose her arrow, I sent my blade flying, and it found its mark in her throat. She gave one gasping, watery gurgle before falling to the ground.

  I stalked over to her body. “My knife can touch you well enough,” I told her. But she was beyond answering.

  I grabbed my sword again and ripped the bloody knife from Hasshaku Sama’s throat. And then I felt it: the icy pull of evil, tugging at me with a force like the dark suck of a whirlpool.

  Reiper had come.

  CHAPTER 58

  He was nearly incandescent with fury, and I watched in horror as he stabbed his sword through two men at once. He left them writhing there on the blade as he advanced, pulling another sword from his waist. And then, suddenly, he stopped. His head swung around as his cold, narrow gaze passed over the battlefield.

  I knew he was looking for me. I crouched near the castle wall, waiting. My sword seemed to shiver, as if eager to make its blow.

  And yet—

  I was no match for Reiper. Perhaps I’d wound him a little, and then what?

  A villager staggered by me, one hand clutching a bleeding gash in his leg. “Stop,” I hissed, “give me your bow.”

  He looked at me like I was mad. Shaking his head, he careened toward the shelter of the stables, listing sideways because of his wound. I lunged after him. “I’m sorry,” I said, as I ripped the bow from his hands. Then I grabbed an arrow that had buried its tip in the ground. It hadn’t hit its target the first time, but I hoped it would now.

  Kneeling in the mud, I pulled back the gut, feeling the string cut into my fingertips. The bow wasn’t my weapon of choice, but it was the one that kept me farthest from my target.

  I held the pull, waiting, my arm shaking with effort. I didn’t breathe. I didn’t blink. I tried, even, to still my heart, as I aimed the arrow at Reiper’s back.

  Yes, I would kill him without warning. It was the only way I could. As my father had once proclaimed: there is no honor among beasts.

  And I knew whose side I was on.

  The sounds of battle seemed to cease. There was only me and Reiper, and the arrow that would soon travel between us. I felt like a bolt of lightning about to strike. I tracked him with the point of the arrow, and then—I let go.

  My breath and the arrow rushed into the night at the same time. The gut twanged; the shaft spun through the air, its path straight and true as it flew toward Reiper’s unsuspecting back. A perfect, deadly target. In another instant it would bury itself in his flesh.

  But suddenly he moved, pivoting sharply, and the arrow glanced across his shoulder and skittered away.

  The blood pounded in my ears—for an instant, the world went black.

  I had missed.

  CHAPTER 59

  Reiper whirled around, and this time, he saw where I hid. His eyes bored into mine and his mouth twisted in fury. “You thought you couldn’t bear to be my bride.” His voice was quiet, but I heard every word perfectly. “Now you will wish you’d said yes.”

  I grabbed my sword and fled along the curtain wall, sliding on the wet ground and nearly falling over prostrate bodies. Reiper came after me, slinging his sword like a scythe. Above us, the trebuchet heaved another jagged piece of obsidian that shook the ground on impact.

  I saw an opening in the wall ahead—it was the door of a cavalier tower. I flung myself inside and raced up the stone steps, spiraling upward until I found myself on one of the wall walks. Wind screamed through the battlements. On one side of me was the din and chaos of combat, on the other, hundreds of feet below, the frigid waves of the foaming bay.

  The wall arced out, following the curving line of the cliff. I raced along it, lungs heaving, every muscle screaming in exhaustion and terror. Something caught my foot and I fell forward. My sword flew from my grip and went spinning over the wall as I slammed into the ground, striking my chin on the stones. I heard my involuntary cry of pain. Dizzy and breathless, I staggered to my feet. My jaw ached, my palms were shredded and bloody, and now I had no weapon.

  Behind me, Reiper smiled coldly. As he strode forward, he drew a curved knife along the hard, smooth leather of his armor.

  He was sharpening his blade.

  “This is my gift to you, the girl I thought I would marry.”

  “Your forgiveness?” But I said this knowing it could not be true.

  “No. Only a promise that you will not suffer too much.”

  I wasn’t interested in suffering, no matter how brief. Using what was left of my strength, I clambered to the top of the stone wall that bordered the walkway. And then I flung myself into the air.

  Another sensation of sickening, spinning dread before I landed on the roof of the courtyard smithy. As I lay there, stunned from the impact, rain began to fall again. The icy drops revived me and I crawled to the edge of the roof. Did I dare risk another leap?

  Below me the battle still raged. I saw Seth sinking his teeth into the cheek of a villager, and the air smelled of blood and smoke and burning tar. The stench of bowels slit open seemed to come from hell itsel
f.

  I turned to look at Reiper, who was balanced on the wall, about to jump after me. A shadow raced toward him in the downpour.

  “No!” I screamed, and then clapped my hand over my mouth. Too late. Reiper spun around and saw what I had: brave, foolish Raphael, rushing toward him with his blade raised.

  Swiftly Reiper dropped down from the wall to meet Raphael’s attack.

  Raphael pulled up short—he’d lost the element of surprise.

  And it was my fault.

  The two of them squared off. They held their swords at long point, the tip of each aimed at their enemy’s heart. For several seconds neither spoke nor moved. To lunge from this position opened one’s body to counterattack—would Raphael remember that?

  I held my breath as he suddenly skittered backward, ducking his body low and then shooting forward, bringing his blade up from below to strike at Reiper’s leg. Reiper blocked the attack with a clash of ringing steel.

  “Pitiful,” Reiper shouted, as Raphael backed off, readying himself again. “Did I not best you once already? You are such an amateur that I could simply wait for you to impale yourself on my sword! Who trained—”

  Raphael, lunging forward again, sliced his blade through the air, and the tip caught the back of Reiper’s sword hand.

  Blood flowed from the wound. Reiper looked down at it in surprise, and Raphael used that split second to attack again. But once more Reiper deflected the blow, and then he laughed. “Slightly better,” he said.

  And then, quick as a striking snake, he slashed at Raphael’s chest. Raphael spun his sword and blocked the blow, but its power shoved him backward and he reeled, off balance.

  “You’re getting worse again,” Reiper said maliciously.

  I watched helplessly from the roof as Reiper feinted left, smiling. Another strike, which Raphael warded off. They stood close together, and for a moment their crossed swords seemed to rest against each other. But then Reiper lurched and drew his blade upward along Raphael’s, and when it came free, the point sliced deep into Raphael’s cheek.