Page 16 of Chained Knight

Jazarl landed, whipping his sword free with a thin bright sound of metallic strain, and more shouts echoed from the woods, accompanied by a cacophony of clanging. The armored thing’s bright broadsword wove in midair, sharp-shining length running with wet firelight.

Majan hopped down from the log, landing cat-soft once more and bending to snatch the second quiver. It was on his back in a twinkling; he leaned further down, his hand closing around Ari’s upper arm. “Up,” he said crisply, in their rolling foreign language. “As you love life, lady,up.”

Ari’s legs, numb from terror or sitting, unfolded like springs. She collided with the platinum-haired man, overbalanced, and nearly toppled into the fire. He saved her with a neat, graceful tug on her upper arm, the bow in his other hand held well away.

The big yellow thing’s gleaming horned helmet turned, the arrow’s feathered hind end following her again. Oily crimson fluid dribbled from the gash between gorget and helm, running in a thin rivulet down the expanse of armored chest.

It wasn’t quite blood, but close enough. Metal ground and strained as the thing took another heavy, clumsy step toward them. Hellish forge-clatter surged through the forest, the night alive with banging and the screech of tearing tin.

It didn’t look like the monstrous mechanical armor-suit was going to stop. It tottered, lurching with nightmare slowness.

Jazarl was somehow past it, skirting the campfire in a quickshuffle two-step. Majan dragged her sideways, a bruise-hard grip on her right arm, and then they were running, Jazarlbehind them, Ari doing her best to keep up. Trees reared on either side, a piercing whistle rose in the darkness.

No firelight meant she was temporarily blind, but Majan didn’t falter. The world spun, confused motion on a turntable, another hand closing on her left arm, and between the two grips she was lifted bodily over unseen obstacles. Her hair streamed on the wind of their passage, and if there had been anything left in her stomach Ari might have brought it up in a painless hot rush, adding to the festivities.

Chill breeze on her cheeks, her right boot touching down and nearly torn from her foot, a violent yank and she was flying again. Her legs dangled, her heart strangle-lodged in her throat, hot tears squeezed from her eyes, and when the wild motion ceased she hung limp between twin vise-grips, wondering if she was still alive.

Faint silvery light filtered from above. Her feet touched soft loam and her knees promptly gave out, arms nearly yanked free of their grasp as she reeled.

I don’t care.It was enough that she was away from the lurching, grinding metallic armor-puppet.

“Peace,” someone said quietly, and the nightmare wasn’t over. The word held a sibilant in both English and their strange language; she recognized the voice as Jazarl’s even on such short acquaintance. “Peace, my lady, we are safe for the moment. Majan?”

“Here,” the other man said grimly. “It came for her, even damaged.”

That does not sound good. She was too occupied with not throwing up or screaming to worry much about anything else at the moment, but suspected the thought would come back soon.

“Aye.” Jazarl exhaled sharply. “Alzarien? Sarle?”

“Curst clockworks,” someone growled. “Alzar?”

“At least three of them will trouble us no more.” The fourth and final guy was obviously all right, and Ari was dimly grateful.

She’d been worrying about being alone in the woods with strange men, but they hadn’t left her behind. Which was nice, and she was glad they were all right.

Nothing about this is all right. A shapeless sound escaped, despite her longstanding habit of keeping her mouth shut on any whimper that might drive Mike into even deeper rage.

“How fares our lady?” Sarle, urgently. “Is she?—”

“It was damaged.” Majan’s hand loosened slightly. “Yet still it turned in her direction, Jazarl.”

“Yes, I saw.” Jazarl’s breath came in deep hard swells, like her own, and he finally let go of her. Ari squeezed her eyes shut, swaying against Majan’s grip. She didn’t quite want to break free; she was just a ship pulled by the tide, straining against a hawser without intent of its own.

I’d really like to wake up now. She thought she knew every tint and shade of terror, but this was something else. “Not people.” She tried to find another specific word forhumanin their tongue, but it wouldn’t come. “Those… thosethings…”

“The Golden.” There was a soft sliding sound—Jazarl’s rapier, returning to its sheath. Then his hand found her shoulder, patted awkwardly. “The Bright King’s clockwork horrors, enforcers of his rotting Law. Worry not, my lady Ari. We shall not let them take you.”

That’s good, I guess. She had the idea being ‘taken’ would be very uncomfortable; if this was the Bright King's police force he was probably nobody she wanted to meet. More strange terms to add to the list in her head. Something had to start making sense soon.

I’m being very optimistic. Mom would approve.Ari found her legs were shaky, but they would now do their job reasonably well. She tried to straighten, to let Majan know she didn’t have tobe held up like wet laundry; maybe he understood, because his fingers gentled.

“We must make for Gesthel,” Sarle said, heavily. “If Darjeth and Naithor do not find us they will go there, to tell the Grey Lady.”

Another new term,Grey Lady. At least it sounded better thanBright Kingandenforcers. Ari didn’t like the theory taking shape inside her aching, ringing skull, but at least it explained everything going on with distressing neatness.

“But what ifhe…” Alzarien’s tenor was ragged. There was a slight sound—cloth tearing, and he hissed in a breath. “Would the prince have the strength to travel?”

Prince. Add that to the list.Ari’s eyes continued adapting, the world filling in with chiaroscuro. The light filtering through branches above was definitely not sunshine, but it was far more intense than simple starlight.

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