turned, looked uphill with an astonished expression. The third arrow took him in the throat. Harald gave a glance to Hrolf's man, down as well, and rode for the courtyard.
The wounded man at the rear of the attack heard the hooves, turned, died. The ram swung again, the noise echoing through the courtyard; the door split, revealing a slight figure with shield and sword behind it. The ram swung back, fell to the ground; the last of the three carrying it looked with astonishment at the arrow point emerging from his chest, went to his knees, collapsed. There was sudden silence.
The Lady in the doorway stepped forward, shield up. Harald sheathed his bow with his left hand, raised his right palm out and empty, slid down.
"Where are the horses?"
She looked at him, confused.
"They came on horses. Left somewhere, probably with a man to watch them."
"I don't know. Pounding on the door. Mara went. I have to see if she's . . ."
Harald looked up at Hrolf. "The horseholder. Then our horses."
Hrolf rode out of the courtyard; Harald helped the Lady lift the body. The sword the fallen Lady had been holding clattered on the stones. Although he had no doubt, he still felt for a pulse.
"I'm sorry."
"She can't be. So quick. Took the second one's sword arm before he had the shield up. But there were so many. She told me to close the door. I did."
"She was right. She won. They lost."
He caught the Lady with an arm around her shoulder, held her against him until she stopped shaking. Together they carried the body into the hall, laid it on the table.
"Back in a minute."
He spent it walking around the courtyard making sure there were no mistakes.
When he came back, the Lady had been joined by two more. She was young, they younger—by age and dress not yet full members of the Order. One, with a pale face, was holding a cloth tightly to her shoulder, blood oozing between her fingers and around the arrow shaft. He turned to the oldest:
"Heat water to clean her wound; I'll get my kit."
He went to the door, whistled; when his horse came he reached into the right-hand saddlebag, pulled out a wrapped bundle. Back inside he found the wounded girl seated, the other holding her hand with one hand, the bandage over the wound with the other.
"Arrow out, clean the wound, sew it up. Not fun but you should live—I did. Can you hold still?"
She nodded.
By the time the arrow had been broken off and the barbed head carefully drawn, the Lady was back with a basin of hot water. Harald cleaned the wound. From his bundle he got a small flask, pried free the wax seal.
"This will hurt. Sorry."
He carefully poured some of the contents onto the wound. The girl drew a hard breath. He reached into the bundle again, drew out a long strand of sinew, needle already threaded. In a few minutes it was over. He looked at her face; her eyes were still open.
"If you can put up with my surgery you can survive anything. Live."
She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath. He looked around, spoke to the Lady.
"She should be lying down. Do you have a pallet you can bring in?"
She nodded, left. There was a noise of hooves on stone. The unwounded girl looked up, startled.
"It's all right."
Hrolf came in.
"There was only one. I left their horses—too many to deal with by myself. Ours are all in the courtyard."
The Lady came back with a pallet. Harald helped her arrange it by the fireplace, picked up the wounded girl, laid her gently on it, kneeled there a moment. Stood up.
The Lady looked at him, suddenly shy. "I'm sorry. I should have thanked you. We, the sisters . . . We're in your debt."
"An old account, both ways; figuring the balance is past my powers."
She looked curiously at him; he fell silent a moment, then spoke. "The question is what you do next."
"What can we do?"
"You could complain to court of murder by His Majesty's Wolves, but from what I've heard of matters I don't recommend it."
"Or?"
"You can
The wounded man at the rear of the attack heard the hooves, turned, died. The ram swung again, the noise echoing through the courtyard; the door split, revealing a slight figure with shield and sword behind it. The ram swung back, fell to the ground; the last of the three carrying it looked with astonishment at the arrow point emerging from his chest, went to his knees, collapsed. There was sudden silence.
The Lady in the doorway stepped forward, shield up. Harald sheathed his bow with his left hand, raised his right palm out and empty, slid down.
"Where are the horses?"
She looked at him, confused.
"They came on horses. Left somewhere, probably with a man to watch them."
"I don't know. Pounding on the door. Mara went. I have to see if she's . . ."
Harald looked up at Hrolf. "The horseholder. Then our horses."
Hrolf rode out of the courtyard; Harald helped the Lady lift the body. The sword the fallen Lady had been holding clattered on the stones. Although he had no doubt, he still felt for a pulse.
"I'm sorry."
"She can't be. So quick. Took the second one's sword arm before he had the shield up. But there were so many. She told me to close the door. I did."
"She was right. She won. They lost."
He caught the Lady with an arm around her shoulder, held her against him until she stopped shaking. Together they carried the body into the hall, laid it on the table.
"Back in a minute."
He spent it walking around the courtyard making sure there were no mistakes.
When he came back, the Lady had been joined by two more. She was young, they younger—by age and dress not yet full members of the Order. One, with a pale face, was holding a cloth tightly to her shoulder, blood oozing between her fingers and around the arrow shaft. He turned to the oldest:
"Heat water to clean her wound; I'll get my kit."
He went to the door, whistled; when his horse came he reached into the right-hand saddlebag, pulled out a wrapped bundle. Back inside he found the wounded girl seated, the other holding her hand with one hand, the bandage over the wound with the other.
"Arrow out, clean the wound, sew it up. Not fun but you should live—I did. Can you hold still?"
She nodded.
By the time the arrow had been broken off and the barbed head carefully drawn, the Lady was back with a basin of hot water. Harald cleaned the wound. From his bundle he got a small flask, pried free the wax seal.
"This will hurt. Sorry."
He carefully poured some of the contents onto the wound. The girl drew a hard breath. He reached into the bundle again, drew out a long strand of sinew, needle already threaded. In a few minutes it was over. He looked at her face; her eyes were still open.
"If you can put up with my surgery you can survive anything. Live."
She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath. He looked around, spoke to the Lady.
"She should be lying down. Do you have a pallet you can bring in?"
She nodded, left. There was a noise of hooves on stone. The unwounded girl looked up, startled.
"It's all right."
Hrolf came in.
"There was only one. I left their horses—too many to deal with by myself. Ours are all in the courtyard."
The Lady came back with a pallet. Harald helped her arrange it by the fireplace, picked up the wounded girl, laid her gently on it, kneeled there a moment. Stood up.
The Lady looked at him, suddenly shy. "I'm sorry. I should have thanked you. We, the sisters . . . We're in your debt."
"An old account, both ways; figuring the balance is past my powers."
She looked curiously at him; he fell silent a moment, then spoke. "The question is what you do next."
"What can we do?"
"You could complain to court of murder by His Majesty's Wolves, but from what I've heard of matters I don't recommend it."
"Or?"
"You can
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