The Maid's War(28)

The memories of Vernay were assaultive. Alensson’s heart was in his throat; his pulse was pounding in his skull. The longer they stayed, the more men would die. A crew of soldiers equipped with shields and a battering ram hammered at the main door. Each grunt and charge rocked the doors, but every few moments one of their numbers dropped, felled by archers. Alensson kept Genette in sight at all times, watching her cry courage to her men as she waved her banner before them. If a stripling girl had the courage to make herself a target for her enemies, none of the men would dare break and run.

Another attempt was made to put a scaling ladder against the wall. Several men held it down while others began to climb. Genette planted her banner in the destroyed ground and rushed forward to help the attempt.

Alensson remembered her warning the instant before it happened.

An arrow pierced Genette’s chest, right near the neck, a blow that would have killed any man. Genette toppled backward from the force of the impact and the men around her watched, momentarily stunned. A cheer went up from the wall of defenders as Alensson raced over to her. She had warned him of this, but it was one thing to hear her tell it and another to see it happen. His heart breaking with sadness, he grabbed her beneath her arms and began pulling her away. Another man joined him, hoisting her legs so that they didn’t have to drag her. She groaned with pain from the movement, and cries of anguish rose in the air as the men watched the Maid be carried off the field, her banner rustling listlessly near where she had fallen.

“Fetch a surgeon!” Alensson shouted to a soldier with a panic-stricken face.

“Set me down!” Genette said through a grimace.

They had put some distance between themselves and the combat, and although arrows continued to fall nearby, they were stray ones. Alensson nodded to his fellow, and they carefully set her down. The arrow was embedded deep inside her. The wound would cripple her arm, he could see that at once—and that was only if she managed to survive the bleeding. The armor was stanching the wound somewhat, though, and he was surprised there was not as much blood as he’d feared. Of course, there was only moonlight and starlight to see by, no torches.

“Pull it out,” Genette said with a gasp, looking at his face.

“It may do more damage that way,” Alensson said, shaking his head. “Sometimes it’s better to push it all the way through. I sent for a surgeon.” His hands were shaking. The bitter taste of defeat was in his mouth—familiar and acrid. Could he survive another Vernay? He wasn’t sure he could bear it.

“Pull it out!” she insisted, grabbing his hand and trying to lift it.

He jerked away from her, recoiling. “I dare not! It could kill you!”

Genette’s face was pale. Several other soldiers had gathered around them. Suddenly, Aspen Hext pushed his way into the circle, shoving aside a bystander so hard the man went down.

“She fell?” Hext growled. The look of respect in his eyes was immense as he stared down at her writhing body. She had proved she was no figurehead of the army. She had struggled on the front lines alongside the bravest of them. “The men started to flee when they heard!”

Alensson looked back and saw the soldiers slinking away from the battle.

“Pull—it—out!” the Maid growled, her eyes finding Alensson’s. “It’s a bee sting. I need to get back there. They cannot flee. We must take the outer wall tonight!”

“Lass,” Lord Hext said. “You need a surgeon. It will take hours to get that out.” The huge red-bearded man turned to face Alensson. “I’ll carry her to the tent. Try to rally the men. No, girl, stop!”

Alensson had been looking at Lord Hext, so he hadn’t seen Genette reach for the arrow herself. With a cry of pain, she wrenched it from her shoulder and flung it aside.

“Get me up! Get me up!” she said viciously, grabbing the front of Alensson’s tunic to hoist herself up. Somehow the girl made it to her feet. Somehow, he didn’t know how, she stayed on her feet, though she wobbled.

“Back to the wall!” she said. “They need to see me! Back to my banner.”

She grabbed Alensson’s arm and started back the way they’d come. At first Alensson’s feet wouldn’t heed him—how could she be walking? How could she even be standing? He’d seen how deeply the shaft had penetrated her. She should be gushing blood; she should be dying. Though he genuinely believed she was the Fountain’s champion, this . . . well, he’d never seen the likes of this. Her stride grew stronger as they walked together, one of her hands clutching his arm, her other hand on the pommel of her sword. He noticed the raven symbol on the scabbard. It caught his eye, though he couldn’t explain why. Was she drawing strength from the blade Firebos? Was the Fountain itself pouring life back in to her?