Page 15 of Chained Knight

None were very attractive.

11

GOLDEN ARMOR

No fog,no cloud, and though her astronomical knowledge was nearly nil it didn’t matter since she couldn’t see more than a few bright white diamond stars peeking through the canopy anyway. Night thickened between tall grey tree trunks; at first she thought the guys were going off for bathroom breaks and was glad her own bladder seemed to have forgotten all about her.

The worst part of camping was peeing in the woods. Just plainundignified.

Ari soon realized, however, that her captors—or protectors—were standing guard. They exchanged grim looks when they returned to the fire at intervals, and always left one of their number with a bow and two full quivers.

When she finally dared to move, raising her head from grass-stained knees and stretching as unobtrusively as possible, Majan—the darker blond, ropes of pale hair brushing his lean shoulders as he fed the fire—smiled in her direction, seeming almost pleased. “’Tis difficult to rest, when first arriving.”

She used to know how to relax, it was natural. Just take a deep breath, settle down, and let it happen—but not anymore. Not after the white house on the hill, full of its tense colorless gas.

More important was that simple term,when first arriving. If it wasn’t a mistranslation it could add up, withmortal, to something incredibly disturbing. If the problem wasn’t inside her head, or with her perceptions… but that was indeed looney-tunes, and she needed all the sanity she could grab right now.

He was studying her intently, Ari realized, and was acutely conscious of being alone in the woods with a group of men. The fire was happily chewing at a heavy branch fallen from a tree that might have just been a sapling that morning, if the fast-forward growth was any indication.

“I am passing curious,” he continued, sinking into an easy crouch with his back to the log she was braced against. “Do they still put dishes of milk upon the doorsteps, certain nights?”

What?Ari wasn’t sure the question had been translated right. A vague memory from childhood reading and a long-ago Lit class popped up, though, and she decided old, literal fairytales were no crazier than the rest of this nonsense. In fact, they explained a lot of what she was seeing and hearing.

The relief of having a mental peg to hang all these events on, some classification that was at least consistent, was overpowering—if she could trust it. Her fireside companion was clearly waiting for an answer.

“In some places, maybe.” She watched carefully for any sign the translator was breaking down on his end too, but he just nodded and looked pleased.

“Good. They should remember.” He scanned the woods, a quick flicker of awareness. Firelight brushed his cheekbones, and his eyes gleamed from shadowed hollows. “You are very quiet, my lady.”

Best way to get through this. Or anything else. Keeping her mouth shut had never been Ari’s strong suit, but three years of Wanda Lee’s gimlet eye—not to mention her husband’s steady stare and son’s escalating rages—would turn even the biggest chatterbox into a mime. Ari tried a shrug, hoping it was the right response.

He stiffened, nearly leaping to his feet.

A jolt of dark, hideous fear slammed through her, Ari’s heart leaping high and hard like a fish at dawn. She shrank against the log, but Majan wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he whirled and stared into the forest, head upflung, the green and brown of his clothing melding with shadows.

There was a click, a whir, and a yell from the woods. Majan hopped onto the moss-cushioned log, landing like a cat. The bow was in his hands; he nocked, swiftly drawing to his ear. A high hardtwangaccompanied the release of an arrow, whistling as it leapt into the night.

“Stay down!” he shouted, and his hands blurred. Another arrow followed the first, then a third. The clicks and whirring were now accompanied by a discordant metallic clamor, and Ari stared uncomprehending at the darkness.

A gleam swelled between two trees. Firelight ran wetly over something big and reflective; when it staggered into the small circle of visibility she couldn’t even scream. The shapes her eyes relayed to her brain refused to make sense.

A plus-sized suit of golden armor, easily eight feet tall and topped with a horned helm, wicked gilt-painted curves coming to high sharp points. Broad spiked shoulders swelled above a barrel chest sheathed in metal, columnar legs ending in segmented boots, massive arms and gauntlets very much like the chained man’s but bright mirror-polished gold instead of dull iron.

Did he get cleaned up and come back?No, this thing was too big; the chained man been very tall and broad-shouldered, but unquestionably of human dimensions. This thing was definitely super-size, and the way it moved was wrong too—terribly fluid where it should not be, and jerky-disconnected in certain other places.

Majan’s bow spoke again. The arrow flickered, burying itself in the dark bar of the visor, but the big bright thing didn’t stop. Its head turned slightly, and the quivering back end of the bolt’s fletching pointed unerringly at Ari.

As if someone trapped in the armor was looking at her, despite the arrow buried in his face. Its bright-gauntleted hands held a massive broadsword, the blade glowing-gold, and the razor edge clove soft evening breeze with a low ugly whistle.

The sword’s tip also pointed right at her now, and the thing took a stamping step in her direction. Another arrow bloomed in its neck, sticking with athuksound like a steel bit punching through sheet metal. She hadn’t heard that particular noise since high school shop class, but it was horridly familiar all the same.

“For the Moon!” Another shout, and Jazarl appeared from the darkness. A solid silver arc was his rapier, singing as it swung, and the thin flexible blade bent as it sought the tiny space between the big golden thing’s horned helm and gorget. Sparks sprayed, not colorless but bright yellow; a deep grinding noise filled the small clearing as the thing shuddered to a halt. Its arms jerked, a parody of puppet-motion, and there was a popping mechanicalping, something critical hitting the underside of a car hood.

That sound always meant trouble; the last time she’d heard it the Oldsmobile had started spewing curtains of steam. A trembling glitter buried in the thing’s eyeslit, right next to the arrow, was exactly the same color as a Check Engine light.

No.Hot acid bile burned the back of Ari’s throat.Please, God, no.

But God had never been interested in her pleading. Not when she got that terrible phone call about Mom’s accident, not during any of Mike’s rages, and not now.

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