“Uh... qua... es... um....” Cole should've practiced his Midraic more... or at all.
Laeta was obviously fluent, but Cole didn’t know about the others. At graduation, Catillia responded to everything he said with fluid Midraeic and bouts of giggling, making him think she was chief family translator, and probably making fun of him (Nika assured him she was, but it was very funny). He had always intended to practice his Midraeic, but was, admittedly, very busy.
“Speak Ainjir.” Laeta smiled at him, keeping her voice to a whisper. Her pronunciation jogged memories of Nika's first year at the Academy, syllables practiced but troublingly spaced. That and her eyes, that seemed fleck for fleck and lash for lash to match Nika's, was enough to send Cole reeling. “We all understand.”
“Where is Catillia?” Cole asked.
The girls glanced at one another. Laeta's mouth hardened into a frown. “She is with her husband.”
Cole felt sick anger build in his gut. “A Comid officer?”
They nodded.
“It was one of Gaius' sons,” Laeta said. Cole couldn't quite restrain his look of surprise. “Vox Populi Gaius, vero – yes, I mean to say. The first way he sought to bargain for my brother's loyalty, to make his family our family.”
Apparently, Durante and Cole were wrong; 'Gaius' was neither a pen-name, nor a total fabrication, but a real individual.
“It is not bad,” Auriol said, not quite looking at Cole. She spoke gently, her tone soothing; he remembered her voice as naturally soft as a whisper, matching her solemn gaze. She and Catillia were of Nika's father's first wife, who died fleeing the persecution in Geron. Catillia had come with jovial strength, and Auriol, for all her demure attitude, Nika described as 'not to be tampered with'.
“My sister would not have gone if she did not want to.”
Part of Cole doubted her, but he caught Laeta's unhappy gaze and remembered the thousands of times Nika had told him stories of his eldest sister. Even as a teenager, wiping the floor with cadets in combat practice, he had mentioned her with reverent, fearful awe. At any rate, Cole would have to take Auriol's word for it.
“Where are your parents? Paciano?”
Laeta shifted the chair leg to her other shoulder. Walking to a bed, she sketched a quick map with her finger as she spoke. “We are here.” Making a divot in the sheets in the northeast corner of her 'map' to mark 'here', she made the lines of a hallway dividing most of the house with an east-to-west line. “They are in the workroom. We must cross the hall and break in the door – it is always locked, and we do not have the key. There is a key-keeper for each shift; this shift Caper keeps it.”
“Who is Caper?”
Ursula made a face, scrunching up her button nose. “The billy-goat, guard-keeper. He is foul – ruffiano.”
“He… gazes at Spes,” Laeta said. She turned to her older sister, who fixed her fine mouth, brows coming together as she resolved herself. “He is often loud, obnoxious.”
“Stupid,” Ursula added.
“That room is like this one?” Cole asked.
“The matching room to this one is separated into two parts – the workroom is towards the front of the house, where they keep our mother and father, and Paciano.”
“Separate for a reason?” Cole asked.
“Paciano is sick; Mother tends him,” Ursula said of her twin. As Cole and his two companions exchanged glances, she amended with an unconcerned frown. “Eha, nihil. Paciano is always sick. Boiata.”
Auriol frowned at her. “Tua frater, pagana!”
“Aut’m vero…” Ursula grunted.
“He will be able enough. Paciano makes it worse than it is,” Laeta explained, “so they cannot do to him what they did to Abban.”
Though she mentioned his name lightly, it seemed a chill fell over the room – but now was not the time. Grieve they would, when they had time and that in their own ways; it was easy for him to see in Laeta's eyes the same sort of constant fury Nika could hide in his.
“What's in the other rooms?”
“There is...” Laeta sought the word, “Mess... the mess-hall, all along this wall. 'Barracks' is in extra room; they sleep in shifts of twelve, except Gio. Gio is... imperator... he is leader of the guards. He keeps day-hours. The room towards the back,” she pointed again to the vague imprint of the split room, behind where her parents were kept, “is the guest room. Gio uses it when Gaius is not here.”
Cole's head shot up from the pretended map on the bed between them. He looked at Ross, who was looking back at him, both of them thinking exactly what Muir unwisely muttered.
“Are you fuckin' serious?”
Nika's sisters, being proper Midraeic girls, blushed and turned away. Ursula giggled.
Laeta cleared her throat. “Yes. If you had only arrived when Vox Populi Comidri Gaius was here, your timing would be perfect.” She hefted her chair leg back onto her dominant shoulder. “As it is, your timing is only 'good'.”
That Gaius was a real individual that they had missed meeting by perhaps days, or even hours, set Cole back on his heels. Laeta raised her chin, for all she might've been four inches shorter than him, nonetheless looking down her nose at Cole for his undue delay. “The timing is also short, Esras Cole. What do you plan?”
After a moment, Cole sketched one out for them. Laeta and her sisters conferred, then she turned and nodded once.
He gave them their parts, then watched them play it back. She was right, time was short, but so was their allowable measure of error. Already, the night had gone too fast, and fighting would only spend it faster still. They rehearsed, and didn't ask questions that did not have to do with the task at hand.
Not even, 'how is my brother?'
They trusted him – both of them, Cole and Nika. They had to. After all, hadn't Cole come? Hadn't he brought soldiers and didn't he try to free them? Whatever doubt they had had of their brother's word was long dispelled by that alone. Now they just had to have the same faith he did, that his heathen lover could pull them through it.
Heathen, but faithful.
Rehearsal done, Cole took stock both of his soldiers and the sisters. “Are you ready?”
Settling into position, Ursula snorted at him, “Et tu, admissarius fratris?”
Cole wasn't sure what she said, but Auriol gave a look that would've killed a smaller animal.
Laeta got the gist of it, anyway. “We were ready five years ago.”
Cole hung the strip of black cloth that had covered his knife from the shutter.
The north- and southwest guards died.
Laughter sounded from the kitchen, loud and drunk.
Spesnova kissed her sisters, for luck.
Ursula, coat and supplies shed, slipped out of the doorway in her nightgown, and ran to the door across the hall. Picking up the padlock on her parents' door, she used the pick from her room to try to pry free the lock. She quietly cursed when the slipping pick did no good.
Spesnova slipped out after her, soft feet like cat's paws on the wood floor, tugging her stubborn sister's arm, pleading her voice. Ursula was always sneaking out, doing foolish things.
“Stop it, Ursula, or they will start locking us in again,” she whispered, in urgent Midraeic.
“I don't care,” Ursula hissed back, “I want to see my brother. I had a dream they killed him like they killed Abban.” By this uniqueness of being twinned, Ursula and Paciano had gotten much leeway from their keepers.
“Don't be foolish,” Spesnova muttered, voice musical even in distress. “They wouldn't do that. He is sick.”
But there was no arguing with Ursula. There was never any arguing with Ursula.
The pick slipped again and Ursula cursed. Behind the door, Cole watched Auriol flinch, and decided it must have been a good one.
“Come back,” Spesnova pleaded. “They're going to hear...”
“Going to hear what?” They heard the tap of boot heels on the floor, the scraping of chairs. They heard Spesnova gasp, and the shuffling of their bare feet over wood.
“Well?” The voice asked again, deep and masculine and more inebriated than Cole would've ever let his soldiers get, even on as long and uneventful a duty as this one. The girls did not respond. Auriol mouthed 'Caper'.
“Nothing,” said Ursula, petulant. “Drunkard,” she muttered even lower.
Quick heavy steps over the wood, and Cole felt Auriol's hand squeeze involuntarily around his. He held tight.
As far as Ursula's insults went, it was tame, but it didn't seem to matter. They could hear Caper grumbling unhappily, the sound of the other guards from the kitchen shifting their weight.
“What is it?” a slurry voice asked. “Throw the little slut back in the room and let's get back to our game.”
“I saw her,” Caper said. “She had something in her hand.”
Even behind the door, they could hear the shuffling, the angry noise of Ursula fighting to get free, and eventually a slap and sullen silence. If it had been Ursula doing the hitting, she had promised them an insult loud enough for them to hear.
That meant Caper hit her. Both of Cole's Elites shifted their knives in their hands.
“Come on,” Caper said. “Where is it?”
There was another silence, then another slap. The shuffling of bored feet.
“Little girl, I will search you.” More shuffling – an outraged noise quickly stifled, the thump of something against the wall.
Auriol, her face set with unhappy lines, gripped Cole’s hand so hard he started losing feeling in it.
Grumbling drunken laughter, and the sound of the audience of guards making quiet exclamations – another thump, and Caper's voice was almost too low to be heard, “Maybe that's what you want, huh? Gaius said not to impose, but it's not imposing if you're asked, is it? I've heard about you, little kitten...”
The sound of struggling worsened. Neither he or his soldiers could understand the words, but with an exchange of dark looks, they all knew they understood.
“Stop it!” Spesnova said, an unmasked note of panic in her voice.
Spesnova was the careful one, the quiet one, the timid and avoiding one. When they had discussed the plan, the sisters had mentioned that as soon as Caper had shown interest, Spesnova had been exceedingly careful never to put herself in dangerous situations. Never alone, never caught doing anything suspect, never nearer the guards than she had to be, or out of sight of those who might protect her.
She was unwilling to run risks, and though Cole would've assumed this would breed a certain amount of resentment amongst her more fiery siblings, they instead seemed to understand more gravely her position. Caper's attention made her twice-prisoned. When the time came to ask, they simply did not ask her. So, it would have been more believable if it were Laeta or Auriol sneaking out to restrain their rambunctious little sister.
But Spesnova had insisted. She was the only one with whom they could be absolutely certain. Anything less than absolute certainty was unsuitable.
“Leave her alone,” Spesnova said, voice as quiet as if she were still trying to hide behind silence.
“Why?” Caper asked, amused. “Why leave the little one alone? Maybe she gave it to you...”
They could hear Ursula's continued struggles, more fury in her frustrated noises, but it was clear Caper had turned his attention down the hallway, away from the kitchen. The thin wood of the door didn't vibrate as much with the echo of his voice.
“Well?” Caper asked. They could hear him laugh, and Ursula's outraged cry. “Do you have an answer for me, pretty one?”
Though they could no longer hear anything of Spesnova, they heard the audience of guards' 'ooo'-ing like children before a fight.
“Maybe you have something better than answer,” said Caper. “Maybe you will give me something the little one will not...”
Another chorus of chuckles and jeers and encouraging noises from the audience of guards. They heard a struggle and thump, as something fell to the floor – or 'someone', rather. They heard Caper's heavy boots crossing the ground, a whimper that could've come from no other than Spesnova, much farther down the hallway, towards the front door. They heard Ursula's growl of animal rage as it traced towards the front door, the hurried steps of the audience of guards as they rushed to stop her from doing whatever it was she would do.
“Monster!” Ursula roared. “Heathen! Filth! Leave her alone!”
Jeering and chuckling, and 'go on, go on', which sounded the same in any language.
They had been warned that whatever Caper would do would likely be loud enough to garner attention, to call the guards waiting on the other side of the front door, who usually stopped whatever trouble the off-duty guards inside were causing.
But, this time, nobody came.
Cole's Elites had exceeded their own expectations.
Still, Caper hurriedly shushed his compatriots rather than push his luck. A deadly quiet spread.
Caper urged in a lover's murmur, “Come, beautiful, what will you give me to leave your little beast alone?”
Spesnova's voice was almost too quiet to be heard. “She just wanted to see our brother, she wasn't doing anything...” but by the wet sound of her voice, Spesnova knew it didn't matter whether Ursula had done anything.
“Oh, but, my doe, I have the key to their room. You could just ask me, and I would give it to you.”
“Please...” Spesnova said, but it had nothing to do with asking for the key.
They could practically hear her flinch when Caper interrupted her. “Ah, but now you've done something you shouldn't have. I can't just give it to you now. Now you have to give me something in return.”
They could hear the hastily stifled chuckles of the men, and Caper's too-loud drunken muttering, “Unless Gaius feels generous again, it's not like you're going to find husbands locked up here... there are plenty of women who are happy 'married to the cause'...”
The audience of guards drunkenly, quietly cheered, but their cheering soon turned to gasps.
Caper laughed, as a man startled by something he has no cause to fear. “Is that what she gave you?” At his laughter, the guards laughed.
Cole shifted his weight. Ursula was too quiet.
“And what would you do with that? Is this your way of saying no, love, or giving me exactly what I want?”
“Bastard!” Ursula shouted – the signal that Caper had laid hands on Spes.
Auriol let go of Cole's hand.
“Let me show you mine, and teach you its proper use – and after you can plead to be kept marriageable.”
There was an almighty ruckus, and the hard grunt of men being kicked, and Ursula shouted, voice trailing half-way down the hallway, “Matris fututor!”
Even if that hadn't been the signal, the look on Auriol's face at the exclamation would've prompted action.
Cole kicked the door open – it bounced off the leg of a guard Ursula had knocked on his ass – Cole threw himself against it to force it open and it crunched to a stop two thirds of the way, crushing the guard’s hand. The guard had no time to howl, as Cole crouched and put his knife through his throat before the pain could hit him. He felt the brush of air as Ross stepped over him, rushing to engage the guard who had barely been missed by the door before he could put his newly – and idiotically – drawn sword through Cole's spine.
Auriol and Laeta slipped over Cole and the dead guard, sliding against the wall and partly-open door to sprint the other way – Auriol for the kitchen, to block one of the two doors that lead to the outbuilding housing the rest of the guards, while Laeta, heedless of the fighting, pressed herself to the door to her parent's room, shouting instructions in Midraeic.
“Papa! Block the barracks door! Use whatever you can! Keep them from coming in at all costs! We're getting you out!”
Cole needed to get to Ursula and Spesnova. Through the legs of Ross and his opponent, Cole could see Caper's startled glance over his shoulder, then that too was blocked – but by Ursula, who had latched herself like a squirrel to the last guard and now attacked as if she could rip him limb from limb with her bare hands.
'Little Bear' indeed.
Cole started to stand – Ross’ opponent wildly swiped at him, sending him back down, then up at Ross, who tried to slip into the gap – the narrowness of the hallway he could get no killing blows in with that type of sword, but neither could they effectively reinforce one another – especially not if he kept Cole in a crouch – so it effectively kept them at bay.
Auriol couldn't hold that door by herself, and it was only a matter of time before Caper realized he had a hostage. Two if Ursula did not take down her guard. Vicious and tenacious as she might be, he had seen her blood as they had come out the door; she had already been hurt before their trap had even sprung, and she was so much smaller...
Cole felt a not-so-light foot on his back, but it was gone a moment later, when he saw Muir, body aimed like a javelin, clearing the narrow gap between the fighters' heads and the wall. He hit the floor and rolled, stumbling but upright, on his knees – his knife struck like a serpent's tooth into the thigh of Ursula's guard. The man tumbled on top Muir with a sharp scream, and Ursula on top of them both.
There were benefits to being small.
Muir’s leap distracted Ross and his opponent; Cole thrust his knife into the back of the guard's knee, and Ross stabbed him in the chest as he fell. A squeal and a thump came from the kitchen, and Cole pushed Ross towards it.
The kitchen window was their line of retreat; their path needed to be secure. Reinforcements might come either from town, or from the barracks in the house, so everyone had to be out of the house, mounted and running, as soon as possible, or odds of escape dropped sharply – at least escape without deaths.
And sooner death for Cole and his Elites than death for one of Nika's sisters.
Which meant he had to get to Spesnova.
Cole leapt the struggling pile of Muir, Ursula and their guard to get to where Caper's back still blocked the girl from sight, knife drawn.
Even as he drew it, Caper’s knife clattered to the ground. Caper fell to his knees, eyes rolling back at Cole as if supplicating him, face ashy with shock.
Blood and worse than blood poured from a gash in his stomach, under his folded hands.
Spesnova turned her eyes up to Cole, wide and white-rimmed, but her mouth set with furious determination. The metal pick Ursula had handed off to her, that they had been using to 'break the lock' she held in both her trembling hands, like a bundle of flowers.
Blood and worse than blood reached up to her elbows, spattering her nightgown.
She had needed both hands to push it into Caper's stomach, and then up. Once she had started she didn't know didn't know when she could stop, but bone was hard to push through.
Soon he would be screaming, so Cole stepped forward and slit Caper's throat before he could. Tucking away his knife, he kicked the body aside as it fell. He knelt, held her bundled fists gently, and, taking out the black cloth he had used to hide his features, began to wipe her hands clean.
He kept his motions soothing and deliberate, as if they had all the time in the world. Once the blood was mostly gone, her arms felt less like wood in his hands, like she remembered they were flesh and blood and belonged to her. Cole had not looked, but he could hear her sniff, whatever tears she may have wanted to shed already caught and stemmed. Her too-wide eyes looked down at Cole, as if blood and weapon were all slightly embarrassing, a result of fate importuning her too harshly. Cole stood, dropped the cloth on Caper's body, and held out his hand, as if helping her out of a carriage – like any gentleman would.
She took his hand, stepping lightly, and pulled herself into his arms, squeezing tight.
After a moment's hard silence, she drew away.
“He was a dog,” she said, and spit on the corpse, but she wasn’t used to spitting. Rubbing her lips with her shoulder, she bent to retrieve the key from the mess.
“Muir,” Cole said, watching her coolly rob the body of its keyring, dirtying her hands again. “Quit dicking around.”
“Yes... sir...” Muir said, face half-crammed against the wall. With Ursula's help, he wrestled his opponent to the ground. Holding the guard's arms down with his feet, he locked his elbow under the guard's chin. Ursula sat on the guard's back, and Muir heaved back, hearing the liquid crunch of flesh and bones.
“Sorry, sir,” he said, panting.
Spesnova handed Cole the key, and went to Ursula's side; they had a conversation in quick Midraeic, the tone of which seemed congratulatory, at least from Ursula's side. Spesnova, though appearing determined to not seem pleased, let go a tight smile.
There was still work to be done. A gathering rumble of thuds, and the sounds of voices were beginning to sound from the kitchen, but Auriol had not yet called for help. Muir picked his knife up from where it had fallen on the floor and guided Laeta away from the door, directing all three sisters towards the kitchen. Cole unlocked the padlock, and Muir pressed himself to the wall, ready to attack in case the guards got through.
Leaving the lock just barely hanging in place, Cole reversed his grip on his knife. With the hooked edge of the knife, he draw the lock off, while his other hand threw open the door.
Cole didn't recognize the man at the door – it was a very good thing that Laeta did.
“Papa!”
Ignoring Cole and Muir's weapons, she threw herself at her father, wrapping arms around his neck. The other girls followed with cries (had all of them ignored his orders?) and hugs and their own.
Cole found himself staring into wide gray eyes so strange to him that he could hardly connect the thoughts together – Nika, Nika's father. Serafinus Galen.
Nika really took after his mother.
Laeta let go of her father and dashed into the dark of the room. Cole watched warily as the old man in front of him lowered the improvised club in his hand and stared back at him as if he had never seen anything quite like, either.
Then again, it made sense: he had never met Cole. As for Cole, the template to which Cole compared his features was young, and life had not left much youth in Nika's father. He was supposed to be about the same age as Cole's father, but looked decades older. His hair had gone white, his face sagged, and the black hairs of his beard far outnumbered by the gray. Wary lines of worry were etched into his forehead, around his eyes, as if he were a man who had never found much occasion to smile. He was tall, at least as tall as Cole, but slowly being bent by time.
Still, though his features were harsh, his long-fingered hands grasped the arms of his daughters with urgency – love – as they cried to him in turn, as if making certain for them as well as for himself, that each was still there.
Muir said something about heading for the kitchen and Cole nodded. Quickening streams of Midraeic flowed past him, and finally the old man broke his gaze. A black-haired woman came to his side, and he put an arm behind her shoulders, an instinctive gesture of protection. He bent his neck and his daughters threw arms around him again, and around their mother, babbling quickly and watching for his nods as if he confirmed the facts of the world.
Nika's mother – whom Cole had met once and with whom he had not exchanged a single word – walked up to him and, taking his face in both hands, dodged his bloody knife to plant kisses on each side of his face.
“Salvator, salvator...”
She grabbed his hand as if he were her own son, bringing his knuckles to her chest and hugging tight. Cole remembered, she had smiled at him five years ago – once.
So that made twice.
There was a thump and a yell. Muir's face appeared down the hall.
“Gen'ral Cole!” Another loud thump and the sound of wood cracking.
Breaking his reverie, Cole poked his head into the dark room past Nika's father; it looked like every piece of furniture in the place had been stacked into front of the door. Given that most of it was oak, that door wasn't going to open anytime soon.
A fit of throaty coughing caught his attention – Paciano. Thin where his sister was strong, but in almost every way her double, and, Cole realized, now Nika's only brother – their father's second heir. As a fourteen-year-old, Nika had said, he had entered into all the difficulties of manhood with all the will needed, and none of the strength. His sickness made him envious, difficult, insistent – determined not to be left behind, to his own peril.
Now, he looked at Cole, and his lips set into a line of weary resolve; he would not be the one to hold them back.
And perhaps he had told his family he exaggerated his illness, but Cole knew he was far too sick to travel, and to travel as quickly as they had to, without grave risk.
Nika's father shuffled the girls down the hallway, along with their mother. Taking Paciano's arm, the bent old man looked up at Cole for instructions.
“Just get him to the kitchen. We exit out the window. Horses are waiting,” Cole said, and heard the splintering of wood from down the hall, and the screams of women. The old man nodded, throwing Paciano's arm over his bent neck.
Cole ran for the kitchen. Ross was on the floor, holding his shoulder, looking dazed. Auriol had pried the window open, but she, their mother, Ursula and Spesnova were now pressed to the far corner, Auirol's long arms spread around them defensively. A dead Comid guard lay in the center of the kitchen, a sickening splatter of blood all that remained of the side of his head. Cole arrived in time to see Muir barely dodge another swipe from the crack in the door, busy keeping the overturned table pressed to the rapidly shattering door while he tried not to get skewered by the guards on the other side. Laeta backed away haltingly, spatter-dashed chair leg held before her as she backed towards the wall.
A living Comid guard had Ross' knife in one hand, his own sword in the other. He was muttering some invective in Midraeic, and Cole heard the ‘thunk’ of his blade sinking into wood as he took a swipe at Laeta.
Cole slammed into his back, knife catching on the guard's shoulder blade; he had turned at the last moment, alerted by Cole's footsteps. The elbow aimed at Cole's side missed by fractions of an inch, and the sword that followed tore through his uniform. Were the blade any longer he had have spilled blood, but rather than failed, the wild blow had done better work – Cole’s knife, buried uselessly in layers of uniform, had been caught and pulled from his grip as Cole narrowly avoided having his guts spilled.
The guard lunged again. Catching the guard's wrist, Cole made to snap his elbow, and instead had to dodge aside again, or risk skewering from the sword.
The door cracked and Muir lurched forward, slamming back with his whole body to keep it shut.
“Any other exits for the guards?” Cole asked, and managed to avoid another gutting.
Laeta had sunk to floor, silently gasping – someone must have hit her in the chest before Cole arrived. She had stayed on her feet as long as she could. Spesnova responded from the corner. “No, but the walls aren't much stronger than the door. It was originally built for storage.”
“Muir?” Cole asked, watching the sword as if it were a snake.
“Lock's busted, General,” Muir called, and the thunk and splinter of the wood of the door over his head drew him into a crouch. “Table's not heavy enough to hold on its own.”
“Cask,” Cole said, dodging another swipe. The cask the guards had illicitly tapped for their entertainment was next to the wall by the girls. He hoped it had been a new one.
Auriol swept from the corner to the cask as if the Comid guard didn’t exist. Bracing herself against the wall, she shoved, hopping away as the cask flipped on its side with a crack. A trickle of red-gold liquid ran like blood between her feet. The smell of sweet brandy filled the room, and Cole got to hear the delicate Auriol curse.
Casting out his own curse, Cole tempted and dodged the sword again, drawing his opponent away from Auriol's path. The guard wasn’t so distracted as to forget her, but Cole didn’t let him spare her any attention. Ursula dashed over the kick the limbs of the dead guard out of her way as she rolled cask over to Muir, who helped her add its slowly diminishing weight to their barricade.
“Ross,” Cole said.
Perspica ran to crouch by Ross' side. She said something in Midraeic, which set Ursula and Spesnova to ravaging through the kitchen shelves. Pulling Ross up into her lap, she slapped his cheeks.
“Vivet,” she said.
“He'll live,” croaked Laeta from the floor.
“Not this one,” Cole murmured, all thoughts bent to Comid guard opposite him.
Time was on the guard’s side, and he knew it – his reinforcements were coming through the splintering door – but Cole kept giving him opportunities too tempting to forgo.
This time, Cole baited the sword, watching it strike out for his stomach, and lunged around the back side of the blade, one hand catching the guard's wrist while the other slammed hard into his face. Rather than pulling the fist back into his body, Cole brought his elbow down on the guard's arm – if he were quick it could collapse rather than break
The guard chose 'collapse' – or whether by choice at all, his body bent into Cole's strike. Turning his hand, Cole grab a fistful of the Comid's hair, and Cole’s knee smashed his face. The crunch of bone and leaking of blood meant an opponent out, but not down; Cole grabbed his tangled knife, still hanging off the guard’s shoulder, and sank it into his bent back, letting the body fall as death robbed him of his strength.
Serafinus, Paciano slung half-over his neck, appeared from the hallway. Auriol and Muir were now piling chairs, tossed shelves, and wedges of cheese against the doorway, dodging splinters as the guards broke through, jabbing swords through every crack. Auriol, though she didn't stop piling, paused long enough to smile.
“The window,” Serafinus said, his voice low, as calm as Cole's and rich as cream, as if it weren't the middle of the night and they weren't having a prison break. “Pers.”
She nodded to him, gathering her daughters and bundling them towards the window. Cole put a hand down to help Laeta to her feet, now gulping down air as if it were water in the desert. She nodded her thanks and, in turn, walked to Ross, now sitting up with a hand pressed to his temple. She helped him to his feet, though she had to use all of her strength to do so.
“I'm sorry... I...sorry...” Ross said to her – there was something wrong with his eyes.
She shook her head, squeezing his hand reassuringly.
Muir cursed and a shower of items shoved against the door cascaded to the floor. Another loud thump shook the walls, and Cole realized they must have found a suitable ram.
Everyone jumped at a shout sounding from down the hall, but a loud, angry thump followed quickly after.
Nika's father shrugged. “I put the padlock back on the door.”
Relief was cut short by another chunk of goods falling from in front of the kitchen door. Muir flung a cheese that punched a broken board back into a Comid guard’s emerging face.
“Ross,” Cole said, as he dug under the Comid guard for his sword, “Exit first and give signal, prepare for pursuit.” Thought still wobbly, Ross saluted and exited through the window – Laeta nodded, as well, as given Ross’ state, he might need her.
“Muir,” Cole nodded to the door, and Muir dodged through the mess to press himself against the upturned table, again their strongest barrier. He crouched low to stay out of reach of the shattered boards above its edge.
Though unsteady, plenty of light now leaked through the door, so Cole took the kitchen lantern from the ceiling and gave it to Nika's mother, who pulled her daughters tight to her. The Comid sword he gave to Nika's father, who took it with grim but familiar distaste. His knife he gave to Paciano, pretending not to see the flare of suspicion, and then gratitude in the sick young man's eyes. Most of the girls still had some kind of weapon, and it wouldn't due to have anyone unarmed.
A heavy thump threw Muir from the doorway, and they could hear the scrape of the table across the floor, and the crack of crushed wood. In spite of the blades and shouts beginning to poke through, Muir cursed lightly and threw himself back against it again. A sharp, two-note whistle drew their attention to the window. All seven Elites materialized on the edge of the wood.
Cole nodded to Nika's mother, and she began to shuttle her daughters out the window with the help of the Elites on the other side. Another driving thump cracked the table under Muir's back, and he grunted resentfully. Cole finally drew his own sword.
Muir held against one more thump, as it decimated what remained of their barrier. They could see the Comid guards clearly as they ripped away the shattered planks of the door, shouting invective in Midraeic as the last of their prisoners helped his son through the window.
It was perhaps unwise, but as the guards began to break through, Nika's father stopped before Cole, shifting his sword to his left hand. Reflexively, Cole did the same.
Nika's father grasped his wrist, calm gray eyes meeting Cole's.
Letting go, he paused long enough to look scornfully back at the guards breaking through the door, and disappeared out the window.
Muir dodged back from the door as it gave, drawing his sword and falling back to Cole's side as the Comids kicked and shoved their way through the mess.
“You first, Muir,” Cole said.
If he hadn't been an Elite, Muir would have argued – even as it was he looked at Cole as if he had the words ready on his tongue before he obeyed, vaulting out the window.
Though the narrow path between foodstuffs and shattered furniture, the first guard charged, quite unwisely; the Comids favored a heavy sword, and Cole's lighter blade could slap it foul and bury itself in the guard's body before he could react. Cole greeted his second attacker with the body of his first, kicking it free of his sword and slashing the second guard's arm as he did. The Comid's sword dropped from his numb hand and Cole brought his sword around again, heaving it through the guard's stomach and dropping him to the floor. A third guard, caught by doubt mid-charge, Cole grabbed with his empty off-hand and disarmed, flinging his body around by his cranked wrist and pushing him to his knees. Slicing across the strong arteries of the neck, Cole kicked his body forward, letting the gouting of his blood across their ranks check the tempers of those remaining.
Check them it did. Cole re-set his sword in the ready position, and watched them think it over with his cold blue eyes.
Slowly the lined themselves up four abreast, swords drawn, approaching en masse to better their odds. Cole tried not to smile too cruelly.
“Cole! Duck!”
Laeta's voice. Cole ducked.
Something breezed just over his head, and he heard a grunt, and felt hands tugging the back of his uniform. One of the guards grunted as he was hit, just before the sound of shattering glass and the ground before him bursting into flames. A set of shouts and flash of blue, and in one swallowing wave the kitchen was alight, the first massive, flaming puddle spidering out along the trails of alcohol on the floor. Cole put his sword in teeth and grabbed the sill to follow the urging of the yanking hands, vaulting himself out before the liquid flame caught him.
It was dark as coal outside. His hands caught in the grass as he tumbled forward, an already growing ambient heat against his back. Alcohol would not have been enough alone to account for the heat – they had kindled fires in the grasses all along the edge of the room, barely sparing the space under the window so Cole could get out. Sheathing his sword dirty, he spat to clear the taste of iron and blood in his mouth and rose to see his Elites standing like cats with claws out, trailing Nika's family with them into the woods. Laeta's hands smelled of lamp oil, and slipped as she helped pull him to his feet, before the Elites could hustle her off towards the horses. He could see them all like ghosts passing from world to the next, disappearing into the shadows, made light with spectral glow by the sudden rise of flame consuming the hot-burning house.
If ghosts, they were ghosts traveling towards the world of the Living, new-laid before them, as that of the Dead passed behind.
The sound of confusion still leaked from the house, over the roar of flames. Smelling smoke and cut grass, Cole sprinted into the dark, his hands wiped clean of blood by the fresh-fallen dew.