Chapter 19
This Is No Victory
Una saw Keir before he saw her. Tall and pale, he was a hard man to miss.
He climbed up the stone steps, a flock of Dickson soldiers at his back.
Grahame men rushed towards him, but he dispatched them with almost lazy swings of his sword.
As he reached the top, a hulking Grahame soldier charged at him, but Keir stepped thoughtfully aside, quicker than might have seemed possible.
He kicked out at the larger man, sending him toppling backwards with a horrible scream.
While the parapet facing out at the countryside was chest-high, there was no parapet behind, leaving only a sheer drop into the courtyard.
The soldier fell from the top of the wall, back into the courtyard. The man flailed as he fell, landing with a sickening crack on the cobblestones.
Swallowing, Una peered down. The man had landed in a rare patch of space that wasn’t occupied by fighting men. He lay spread-eagled, clearly dead, as limp and broken as a puppet. She hastily dragged herself back from the steep drop, in case she got dizzy. Nobody would survive a fall like that.
Backing away, Una looked this way and that, trying to get a handle on what was happening. The courtyard below was a seething mess of fighting men, and blood was already running between the cobbles.
Whenever the moon sailed between the clouds, however, the scene turned dark, transforming into a heaving, black mass of arms and legs and heads, blades glinting here and there.
It was hardly better on top of the wall, but there was a little more light.
As the Dickson soldiers advanced, more and more archers had to turn back from the parapet, abandoning their bows in favor of swords and knives.
In the narrow space, with everybody afraid of falling onto the courtyard below, they fought silently.
Una had her sword in her hand before she knew what she was doing. A Dickson man, snarling, came running towards her. She dodged, feinted, and drove her sword neatly through his chest.
He gasped, clawing at her blade. His arms were long, and he actually managed to close one hand around the hilt.
And then he fell.
He fell sideways, limp, probably already dead, the sword still stuck through him. But he hung onto the hilt. The sword was dragged out of Una’s grip. She staggered forward, the man’s weight and momentum nearly pulling her down, too. She recovered, staggering back.
My sword. I just lost my sword, only minutes after the battle’s begun.
I’m dead.
She staggered backwards, avoiding a swing from a faceless man’s sword. He disappeared, swallowed up in the melee. Una fumbled for her knife. It was a good knife, but a knife in a swordfight was no good.
And then he was standing in front of her. Keir, pale as a ghost and grinning like a banshee.
“Ye know, we’ve heard of ye, Una Alcorn,” Keir whispered.
She clenched her teeth. “Ye have said that already.”
He chuckled as though she’d made a joke. “Nay, lass. I mean we’ve heard of ye, and what ye have done. Seduced Struan away from his rightful place, ye have.”
Una wanted to laugh. “Seduced him away? Ye are mad. I’ve done no such thing.”
“Hm. Deny it all ye want, but ye and that sister of his have brought him low. Turned him into a traitor. He’ll pay the price, but so will ye.”
He lifted his sword, a glittering longsword with a razor-sharp point. There was no blood on it, Una noticed.
He saved it for me.
There was no further warning. Keir lunged forward, sinuous as a snake. He was a skilled swordsman, which was immediately apparent. Una barely parried his first strike, coming a hair’s breadth away from getting her throat cut. She backed away, sweating.
Is this how I die?
She gritted her teeth, pushing the thought away. She had to keep her mind clear, or she’d sink. One strike from this man, and it would be over.
She tried an attack of her own, a complex, swirling gesture that Thomas had shown her only once. Every time she’d tried it herself, she’d won, sending her opponent’s sword flying out of their hand and skittering away.
Not this time, though.
Keir flicked his wrist, twisting his sword, and the blade came shooting down over Una’s knife towards her hand. She pulled back at the last instant, which probably saved her from losing her hand altogether. As it was, his blade bit deep into her wrist, just above the curve of her thumb.
Crying out in pain, Una released the knife. It was instinctive, a gesture she could not help. The knife went clattering away, disappearing in the darkness.
That’s it, then. It’s over.
Keir gave a low chuckle. He flicked up his sword, the point angled only inches from Una’s throat. She backed away, clenching her fist, and her heel landed on empty air.
The wall, she realized with a sickening lurch, stumbling forward to save herself from falling. This brought her neck even closer to Keir’s sword. She saw a smear of blood on the blade and realized that it was her own.
“Nicely done,” Keir remarked. “I don’t often offer praise, lassie, but that was decent.
Generally, I would expect to dispatch somebody as inexperienced as ye within a second.
But no, ye did well. And with a knife, too!
What a waste to kill ye. Shame. Still, never mind. Talented swordsmen are easy to find.”
Una gritted her teeth. “I’m not a man.”
“Nay,” Keir answered thoughtfully. “Ye are not. It makes no difference, though, does it? We all end the same way. In death.” He paused, tilting his head, and glanced over at the chaos to the side of them. “Ah, Struan, here ye are. Took yer time to join us, eh?”
Una hadn’t seen him, but Keir was right. Struan came staggering out of the shadows, breathing heavily. Blood streaked one side of his face, and she couldn’t tell whether it was his or not. He clutched his sword in one rigid fist, and blood dripped from the tip.
“Let her go, Keir,” Struan hissed, his eyes wide and wild in his bloodied face. “Let her go, or I’ll make ye wish ye were never born.”
“Oh, I doubt it.” Keir laughed. Then, quite slowly, the smile slid off his face.
At first, Una couldn’t hear anything beyond the roar of her blood in her ears. Then, gradually, she heard it too.
Horses. Hooves thudded against the ground. And not just horses. Una could hear the drum of boots on the ground. Then, quite clearly, the low scream of a trumpet echoed through the air.
They’re here, she thought dizzily. Brendan and Thomas and the others. The army is here.
They must have run all night.
A sort of ripple was spreading through the soldiers.
Down below in the courtyard, the Grahame soldiers were trying to pull back and regroup, while the Dicksons were slowly realizing that they were going to be trapped in an enemy stronghold.
Una couldn’t see it, but she could imagine that chaos was spreading through the soldiers still outside, suddenly realizing that they were going to be attacked from the rear.
She imagined them turning in a panic, ready to face the new threat, while the soldiers inside the Keep fought against the rush of people to get out.
Slowly, her gaze returned to Struan. He stood a little straighter, shoulders squared, his head cocked as if he was listening to something only he could hear. Their eyes met, and he gave a short nod.
“Huh,” Keir remarked, sounding thoughtful. “Inconvenient.”
“Ye should pull back now,” Struan said, lifting his chin. “Ye will be trapped between the Keep and the armies of two clans. A rock and a hard place, for sure. Retreat is yer only option.”
Keir glanced at him, his eyes narrowing. “Not our only option. But before we go, I’ll take care of business, shall I?”
He turned back to Una, lifting the sword a little higher. She swallowed thickly, weighing her options.
There weren’t many choices. She could jump and take control of how she died for herself. She could fight with her bare hands and risk losing limbs before he killed her. Her knife was just a few feet away, resting near the wall.
If I can get away from him, I can grab it.
Then Keir glanced over at Struan. With a flourish, he lifted his own sword and stepped back.
“Ye carry one of their swords, lad,” he said softly.
“There is still time. Prove to yer father that ye are still loyal. He wanted ye to have one more chance, ye know. Kill her now with that dirty Grahame steel, and we’ll all see whose side ye are really on.
Then come away with us. It’s not too late. ”
Struan stiffened, eyes widening.
“My father…”
“Still loves ye,” Keir replied, eyes glinting with eagerness. “Come on, lad. This is a last, last chance.”
A lump formed in Una’s throat. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a familiar face in the knot of fighting. Turning her head a fraction, she caught sight of him.
Kai. There he was, fighting hard. He kept glancing upwards, face pale and grim, and she knew that he’d seen her.
I’m glad I found him at last.
Breathing in, Una met Struan’s eye squarely. There was a sort of wildness there, and his knuckles stood out white around his sword hilt.
“I imagine ye have already decided what ye will do,” Una stated, offering a faint smile. “So I won’t say anything beyond what I already have, Struan. I know who ye are, and it’s not an animal in a cage. Ye are a man, and I see no cage around ye.”
Keir gave a snort. “Touching. Anything else?”
She met his eye and gave a cool smile. “Nothing.”
Struan took a step forward, sword raised. Una heard her name called, a weak shout that barely made it above the roar of noise. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the dizzying drop just behind her. If she were stabbed or struck now, she’d fall to her death.
Kai stood far below, gasping for breath, soaked in blood, his sword clutched loosely in his hand. Horror was written clearly on his face. He could see it all; Keir, holding his sword menacingly, and Struan slowly but surely advancing.