The Hawks stood, truculent and reluctant. Then one man mounted, and the others, grumbling, followed suit, but the first rider snatched his crossbow from his saddle, slapped a bolt in it, and started winding.
“I forbid!” the tenor cried, and an arrow struck the man’s shoulder. He dropped the crossbow with a howl of pain.
“Let no man else try to load,” the Quilichen officer ordered. “All our bows are bent, and be sure we can loose three rounds for every one of yours!”
The shaft in the soldier’s shoulder had pierced boiled-leather armor, with bit enough left to lodge itself in the muscle. The Hawks slowly lifted their hands from their weapons.
“None may come to this domain without our leave!” the Quilichen officer cried. “Be off with you!”
“What of our enemies?” the Hawk officer retorted. “Will you let them stay?”
“I shall deal with them when you are gone,” the Quilichen officer replied.
The Hawk officer said, in a threatening tone, “Your town may need us someday. Do you dare court our ill will?”
“Do I dare court the ill will of the Blue Company?” the tenor returned.
“So, then,” the Hawk officer said, with a smile of cold malice, “it comes down to a question of which company you trust.”
“I trust that neither of you will let sentiment get in the way of business.”
The Hawk officer lost his smile.
“We shall have to take that chance, though,” the Quilichen officer said. “In the meantime, you must leave, or be turned into pincushions. Besides the archers you see, there are many more behind and to each side of you, who have crept up into the ruins while we’ve been talking.”
“You could be lying,” the Hawk officer said through stiff lips.
“I could also be telling the truth. Do you dare take the chance?” The Quilichen officer went right on without giving him the chance to embarrass himself by having to reply. “There are even more of my archers hidden flanking the path through the woods to the river. Again, I request that you leave, and don’t come back into Quilichen’s territory unless we hire you.”
“Or your enemies do!”
“That’s as may be, and the future shall show it,” the Quilichen officer replied. “Now go, and don’t stop till you’ve crossed the river, for you may be sure that archers of mine will watch you every step of the way. You won’t see them, but they’ll be there!”
Slow and surly, the Hawk officer moved his horse forward. His men fell into line behind him, grumbling, and the Quilichen riders stepped aside, opening a lane for them to exit.
When the last of them had ridden out of the courtyard, the officer spurred forward. “You on the walls! I see you are Blue Company by your livery! Why have you come to Quilichen?”
“To ask sanctuary of you,” Cort replied. “These Hawks ambushed my platoon on our way back to headquarters, when we were not yet at war. They have killed or wounded a quarter of my force, and would have slain all the rest. Quilichen was the nearest stronghold that might take pity on poor fugitives who were so vastly outnumbered.”
The officer turned aside for a quick conference with a sergeant, then turned back and cried, “You have chosen well and wisely! We have no great wish to make enemies of the Hawk Company, but we don’t have it in us to send you to certain doom! Lay down your weapons and come with us to our town, to heal your wounded and recover yourselves! We shall give you back your weapons when you leave!”
Without hesitation, Cort slid his sword back into the scabbard, unbuckled his sword belt, and laid it down on the rock. Slowly, Gar, Dirk, and Otto imitated him. Then, with great reluctance (for a spearman’s spear is his life), so did the rest of the men.
“Come down and be our guests!” the officer called.
Cort led the way, as was his right—led the way into possible death, but also into possible life. His only security was the hope that no free town would willingly bring down the wrath of the Blue Company upon itself by slaying soldiers to whom they’d promised sanctuary.
But the Quilichen archers cheered as Cort strode among them, and the officer dismounted to clasp his hand. “You fought valiantly even outnumbered and facing sure death! Any of us will honor you highly for that!”
“I thank you,” Cart said, feeling dazed.
“We, too.” Gar, Dirk, and Otto came up behind Cort. “We thank you for our very lives.”
“Have I the honor of addressing the Squire of Quilichen?” Cort asked.
“No, you have met the castellan, his sister.” The officer removed her helmet, and a wealth of chestnut hair tumbled down around her shoulders.
CHAPTER 11
Four men stared at large, dark-brown eyes, a finely chiseled face, and wide, full lips that were red without any aid of paint. The lovely, gentle face seemed incongruous above the chain mail and surcoat with the town’s emblem appliquéd on it, but the companions couldn’t deny her effectiveness.”
“I am Magda, castellan in my brother’s absence,” the officer explained.
“I have heard of women having to hold the castle while their husbands were away at war,” Cort said slowly, “but I have never met one.”
“I won’t be the last, I’m sure,” Magda told him. “My brother, Wilhelm, has taken service with the Achilles Company for a while, to see if he can hear rumors of any threats to us while we are still at peace.”
“That,” Gar said, “has more the sound of a restless young man who is eager for glory and finds little chance of it at home.”
“I’m afraid you read Wilhelm aright,” Magda admitted, then turned to smile at Dirk. “Have you never seen a woman warrior before, sir?”
“Uh … yes!” Dirk snapped out of a staring trance. “But never so many at once. A third of your archers are women, if I guess rightly.”
“You have sharp eyes.” Magda should have known, because those eyes were fastened on her, and hers on him, even though she spoke of others. “A man of our village invented a way of stringing a compound bow with pulleys, so that it takes a fair amount of strength to bend it, but very little to hold it ready. My women may not draw bows quite so powerful as those of my men, but they are quite strong enough to drive an arrow that will pierce armor.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Dirk said, with a tone of awe. Cort had a notion that the awe wasn’t for the wonderful bow. Gar was thinking that Dirk must have noticed the genders of the archers during the parlay, because he certainly hadn’t been looking at them since Magda took off her helmet.
She turned her horse toward the gateway from the ruins. “Come, let’s go back to Quilichen Town. You have men who must be buried, I see, and my footmen will dig their graves quickly.”
“I fear the Hawk Company were better fighters than we hoped,” Gar admitted. He fell in beside Magda, gaining a look of resentment from Dirk, but knew that his friend wasn’t quite up to the rudeness of asking what he was dying to know. “I’m surprised that your brother would risk his sister in the leading of your troops.”
Magda shrugged. “We’re at peace now, and there’s little danger. Besides, I’ve no one to leave bereft of care if I’m slain.”
Dirk stared, horrified.
“I’m sure your brother would be desolate,” Gar demurred, “and all your people.”
“I think they would grieve,” Magda agreed, with a trace of a smile, “but it’s not as though I would leave a husband to pine in melancholy, or children with no one to care for them.”
Gar could fairly hear Dirk’s pulse accelerate. “I’m amazed that you’re not married.”
“Because I’m too old, or because I’m attractive?” Magda’s smile was a little bitter. “Men often think that a beautiful woman unmarried is a waste, but women only think that a life is a waste without love.”