Page 32 of Chained Knight

No good, the guys said there were shattered robot corpses inside now. Nowhere to rest, not even a closet with someone yelling outside.

The group stopped, all the guys rapidly dismounting before one of the last houses on the left—a structure larger than the others, its gardennotovergrown but trim and well-weeded behind a low white-painted wooden fence. An arch covered with blue flowers on thick, ropy vines held a white gate. A thin thread of smoke rose from the cottage’s chimney, and Ari was now faced with the problem of how to get down from the horselike thing with her legs numb and the rest of her not too happy either.

The chained man lifted his arms, clearly expecting her to know what the hell. She decided it would be least awkward to attempt mounting in reverse, since falling on her ass was more embarrassing but less painful than on her silly head.

Getting her knee up enough to hitch one leg awkwardly over the beast’s massive rump was a problem, and letting go of the saddle to trust-fall on the way down was even worse. But her waist was caught and she was lowered, slowly and carefully, until her boots touched the road.

Her knees buckled, but he didn’t let go. Ari found herself facing the warm living bulk of the equine with its faint scent of fur and fresh air, the chained man behind her, equally warm despite his metal sheathing. His chin dropped, breath touching her hair, and under the smell of sun-warmed iron was a tinge of spice and musk mixed with the odor of a big, clean male animal.

Oh, no. Panicked retreat wasn’t possible. The thought of what Mike would do if he found out she’d been this close to another man swam through her, retreated on a wave of hot acid-blue fear.

“A day’s easy jaunt,” he said softly. “Though perhaps not for one who is unused to such things. Tell me, do mortals still ride?”

“It’s my first time.” Trying to explain cars to this guy probably wouldn’t get them anywhere, though the distinct implication that others from Ari’s particular world had stumbled into this one was enough to check off a mental box next to that item on her question-list. Would her hair start turning a vivid Kool-Aid shade if she survived long enough?

Ari took a deep breath, willing her lower half to shape up and do its job. As soon as she tensed he retreated a bit and she could turn, unsteady on wobbly knees.

But he was still far too close, looming over her. She froze, staring at the chains crisscrossing his broad, armored chest.

“Ah.” Did he sound faintly amused again? How did someone so big, scary, and metal-clad manage that trick? “Shall I carry you, my lady? It would be an honour.”

Oh, hell. Now he was mocking her. Ari shook her head, and to prove it she sidled toward the horse-beast’s front end. Thatmade her back brush against the animal’s shoulder, but it didn’t seem to mind.

The chained man stepped away, almost reluctantly. His gaze locked with hers, though, and the stupid flush was back, rising in her cheeks.

Maybe it was a side effect of the pondwater. She could do with another shot right about now, but that was probably out of the question.

A new voice broke the village’s murmuring quiet. “And what is this? Visitors, at such an hour.”

A tall, dark-haired man appeared in the largest cottage’s now-open door, a pale streak glowing at his right temple. He wore a version of the other guys’ Robin Hood getup, but in grey cloth and likewise indeterminate leather, no hat, and his boots taller than theirs though clearly just as functional. Shadows moved behind him, along with warm yellow lamplight rendered pale by rubescent sunset; his grey gaze was cool and direct, his thin mouth set as if he didn’t like what he saw.

The chained man half-turned, glancing absently at the house, and Ari peered under the equine’s head, suddenly finding her balance. The sensation was very much like being plonked on dry land after a long ferry ride, and she edged from behind the big black creature, thinking a little distance from both something with those sharp teethandthe chained man’s razor edges might be a good idea.

“My lord Fox,” Jazarl called. “We come bearing good news, for once.”

The pale-eyed man might have replied, but the motion behind him turned into the first woman Ari had seen in this place.

She was slim and short, only reaching the grey-clad man’s shoulder, and pushed past him with no visible fear. At first Ari thought she was elderly, since her hair was a wildly curlingashen mass, small braids on either side of her heart-shaped face to hold it back, the rest falling past her hips. Her dress was ash-colored as well, low-waisted in a V, double sleeves with the underlayer close to her wrist and the outer falling free, a hint of décolletage showing at the square neckline. Her eyes were wide and dark, the lids swollen and reddened as if she’d just finished crying, and her pretty, aristocratic nose was pink.

This had to be the Grey Lady, Ari decided, and watched curiously as the woman hopped down two wide, whitewashed stone steps. The man followed closely, every line expressing protectiveness; his palm rested easily on a plain, functional rapier hilt at his low-slung leather belt.

The woman’s hands raised to her mouth, her shoulders hunching. Her gaze was locked on Ari as she nearly staggered down the flagstone path, past well-trimmed mounds of greenery and red trumpet-shaped flowers. Other plants bloomed riotously on either side—blue, purple, white, and pale green like some species of hellebore—and one high-arched, succulent bush held spiny fruit looking amazingly like cactus.

Jazarl and the others moved aside, Sarle chirruping gently to his equine.

“Careful, Hannixe.” The grey-clad man tried to get in front of the woman, but she was too quick and the gate under the arch squeaked slightly as she blundered through. Her skirts made a sweet silken sound, and heavily embroidered slippers—black thread on grey material—peeked from under the hem as she reeled.

Is she okay?Ari glanced nervously over her shoulder. The chained man did not move, his gauntleted hands held carefully at his sides.

The woman’s pace quickened. She made a beeline for Ari, and there was nowhere to go except ducking behind the equine again. But the Grey Lady didn’t look angry, just distressed,so Ari’s hands moved on their own, lifting and spreading, an instinctive move to offer comfort.

“My lord prince.” The man in grey made a perfunctory bow in the chained man’s general direction, but his gaze never left the woman who let out an inarticulate sobbing noise and flung her arms around Ari, hugging tightly.

She was taller than Ari—everyone was, in this place—and her chin touched Ari’s cheek; she smelled of a light floral perfume and sweet health, a lingering touch of green sap. Her breath sobbed in, out, and she held on like she was drowning. Ari hugged back, confused and wondering if the other woman needed some kind of rescue. Eight armed men, the odds were bad, but maybe?—

“Oh, m-my queen,” the Grey Lady stammered in a husky, broken voice, each word cracked and halting. “Oh, b-by silver, it is you, you have f-finally…” A huge, shuddering inhale, and her grip tightened again. “Finally. You have r-returned. Oh, blessed day, blessed d-day.”

The grey-clad man’s jaw dropped; he recovered quickly, and his next bow was not cursory at all but deep, respectful, and aimed at Ari. “Blessed indeed,” he echoed. “The long wait is over.”

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