emerged so quietly they all but disappeared as Claye's cry rose in pitch and volume until it sounded like a river in flood. He scrambled for her arms again. Yvon stretched out his hand, to hold the baby off more gently. But Claye grabbed a fistful of skin and hair, and pulled himself hand over hand up Yvon's arm, like a man scaling a rope, until he grasped Xaragitte by the neck and clung there.
Nothing Xaragitte did comforted Claye. Her singing and her soothing strokes were to no effect, nor would the boy take her breast. He cried like a lost child, forlorn.
The rain poured through the roof, soaking everything. Yvon couldn't tell what was wet with rain and what with blood. He leaned against the wall and Xaragitte, like a buttress holding both of them up. The pain stabbed at him. He wanted to move.
Outside, he heard the troll drum its chest again. It sounded nearer. He looked at the wide-open door, and then over at his sword lying half-sunk in a muddy puddle. His hand jumped to his throat. He still had two charms as well.
"M'lady," he said very softly.
"It's raining," she mumbled, trying to rock Claye. Then she started to sing, in a wheezing off-key voice.
"M'lady, I have to look outside."
"Kady was a soldier," she said softly, eyes unfocused.
"I have to block the door again."
"He would have been a knight. Lord Gruethrist was going to make him a knight." She glanced at Claye, who sucked on his thumb, eyes closed. "You're Lord Gruethrist now. Will you make him a knight? Sir Kady, the barrelwright's handsome boy."
Her voice was weak. A shudder racked her body. Yvon put a hand on her shoulder to steady her, and she flinched away.
"I'm going to stand up now, and step outside, and then I'll be back straight away," he said.
"Death follows me, just like Bwnte," she said. "Bury me deep; let new life sprout up again like a seed."
"No one needs to bury you yet," Yvon said, turning away. He gritted his teeth to bite back the pain when he picked up his sword, pulled it from its sheath, and shook the water off it.
Xaragitte's head leaned sideways in his direction. "We all die. You too, even you." She sang it. "You too, even you. You too, even you."
He shook his head, shivering at her voice, and went to the threshold. He stopped to kick aside the branch he had used to block the door. A stick that puny wouldn't last two seconds against a troll. He needed something larger.
The stark shapes of the trees pricked the dark, clouded sky like a hedge of thorns. The rain had tapered off to a few scattered drops. Holding his sword before him, Yvon stepped outside. He didn't see any sign of the troll on the ridge. One cautious step was followed by another, and then he hurried away from the house, turning in case the troll came out behind the corner-nothing there.
He stopped and tugged on the cords that held the last two magic ampules, letting them rest outside his shirt. He could use them on the troll if it came too close.
With one eye to the ridge, he searched for a fallen branch big enough to block the door. When he found one as thick as a man's forearm and twice as long as a man was tall, he couldn't hold it with his left arm. He had to switch his sword to his left hand, where fingers gripped it numbly, and drag the branch in the crook of his right. Still it kept slipping away. It took a long time to get it all the way back to the cabin's door.
Panting hard, he dropped it outside and stepped through to see that Xaragitte and Claye were safe. He saw Claye lying on the ground in the corner.
"No no no."
Xaragitte's voice made him jump. She stood just inside the door, leaning against the wall. He felt a sharp pain in his heart as he saw her.
"M'lady, you shouldn't be on your feet." He lifted his hand to touch her.
Her eyes narrowed. The pain twisted suddenly sideways.
He teetered forward, sword dropping from his fingers, and looked down. The hilt of Xaragitte's knife protruded from the left side of his chest, between his ribs.
Nothing Xaragitte did comforted Claye. Her singing and her soothing strokes were to no effect, nor would the boy take her breast. He cried like a lost child, forlorn.
The rain poured through the roof, soaking everything. Yvon couldn't tell what was wet with rain and what with blood. He leaned against the wall and Xaragitte, like a buttress holding both of them up. The pain stabbed at him. He wanted to move.
Outside, he heard the troll drum its chest again. It sounded nearer. He looked at the wide-open door, and then over at his sword lying half-sunk in a muddy puddle. His hand jumped to his throat. He still had two charms as well.
"M'lady," he said very softly.
"It's raining," she mumbled, trying to rock Claye. Then she started to sing, in a wheezing off-key voice.
"M'lady, I have to look outside."
"Kady was a soldier," she said softly, eyes unfocused.
"I have to block the door again."
"He would have been a knight. Lord Gruethrist was going to make him a knight." She glanced at Claye, who sucked on his thumb, eyes closed. "You're Lord Gruethrist now. Will you make him a knight? Sir Kady, the barrelwright's handsome boy."
Her voice was weak. A shudder racked her body. Yvon put a hand on her shoulder to steady her, and she flinched away.
"I'm going to stand up now, and step outside, and then I'll be back straight away," he said.
"Death follows me, just like Bwnte," she said. "Bury me deep; let new life sprout up again like a seed."
"No one needs to bury you yet," Yvon said, turning away. He gritted his teeth to bite back the pain when he picked up his sword, pulled it from its sheath, and shook the water off it.
Xaragitte's head leaned sideways in his direction. "We all die. You too, even you." She sang it. "You too, even you. You too, even you."
He shook his head, shivering at her voice, and went to the threshold. He stopped to kick aside the branch he had used to block the door. A stick that puny wouldn't last two seconds against a troll. He needed something larger.
The stark shapes of the trees pricked the dark, clouded sky like a hedge of thorns. The rain had tapered off to a few scattered drops. Holding his sword before him, Yvon stepped outside. He didn't see any sign of the troll on the ridge. One cautious step was followed by another, and then he hurried away from the house, turning in case the troll came out behind the corner-nothing there.
He stopped and tugged on the cords that held the last two magic ampules, letting them rest outside his shirt. He could use them on the troll if it came too close.
With one eye to the ridge, he searched for a fallen branch big enough to block the door. When he found one as thick as a man's forearm and twice as long as a man was tall, he couldn't hold it with his left arm. He had to switch his sword to his left hand, where fingers gripped it numbly, and drag the branch in the crook of his right. Still it kept slipping away. It took a long time to get it all the way back to the cabin's door.
Panting hard, he dropped it outside and stepped through to see that Xaragitte and Claye were safe. He saw Claye lying on the ground in the corner.
"No no no."
Xaragitte's voice made him jump. She stood just inside the door, leaning against the wall. He felt a sharp pain in his heart as he saw her.
"M'lady, you shouldn't be on your feet." He lifted his hand to touch her.
Her eyes narrowed. The pain twisted suddenly sideways.
He teetered forward, sword dropping from his fingers, and looked down. The hilt of Xaragitte's knife protruded from the left side of his chest, between his ribs.
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