Assassin's Quest

I was proud of her. She asked no questions, but sat up immediately. She pulled her dress on over her nightgown and thrust her feet into her shoes. She folded up the bedding around Nettle until she looked like little more than a bundle of blankets. The baby did not wake.

Meanwhile Burrich had drawn on his own boots and taken up a shortsword. He motioned Molly toward the shuttered window. "If I tell you to, go out that window with Nettle. But not unless I say to. I think there are five of them."

Molly nodded in the firelight. She drew her belt knife and stood between her child and danger.

Burrich stood to one side of the door. The entire night seemed to pass as they waited silently for their attackers to come.

The bar was in place, but it had little meaning on such an old doorframe. Burrich let them slam into it twice, then, as it started to give, he kicked it out of its brackets, so that on their next onslaught the door was flung wide. Two men came staggering in, surprised at the sudden lack of resistance. One fell, the other fell over the first, and Burrich had put his sword in and out of both of them before the third man was in the door.

The third man was a big man, redheaded and red-bearded. He came in the door with a roar, trampling right over the two injured men who squirmed under his boots. He carried a long sword, a lovely weapon. His size and blade gave him almost twice Burrich's reach. Behind him, a stout man bellowed, "In the name of the King, we've come for the WitBastard's whore! Put down your weapon and stand aside."

He'd have been wiser not to rouse Burrich's anger any brighter than it was. Almost casually, Burrich dropped his blade to finish one of the men on the floor, and then brought the blade back up inside Red-beard's guard. Red-beard retreated, trying to get space for the advantage of his blade. Burrich had no choice but to follow him, for if the man reached a place where he could swing freely, Burrich would have small chance. The stout man and a woman immediately surged into the door. Burrich spared a glance for them. "Molly! As I told you!"

Molly was already by the window, clutching Nettle, who had begun to wail in fear. She leaped to a chair, snatched the shutters open, and got one leg out the window. Burrich was busying Redbeard when the woman dashed behind him and sank her knife into his lower back. Burrich cried out hoarsely, and frantically parried the longer blade. As Molly got her other leg over the windowsill and began to drop outside, the stout man leaped across the room and snatched Nettle from her arms. I heard Molly's shriek of terror and fury.

Then she ran away into the darkness.

Disbelief. I could feel Burrich's disbelief as plainly as my own. The woman pulled her knife from his back and lifted it to strike again. He banished his pain with anger, spun to cut her a slash across her chest, and then turned back to Red-beard. But Red-Beard had stepped back. His sword was still at the ready but he stood motionless as the stout man said, "We've got the child. Drop your sword or the baby dies here and now." He darted his eyes at the woman clutching at her chest. "Get after the woman. Now! "

She glared at him, but went without a murmur. Burrich did not even watch her go. He had eyes only for the wailing babe in the stout man's arms. Red-beard grinned as the tip of Burrich's weapon slowly dropped toward the floor. "Why?" Burrich asked in consternation. "What have we ever done, that you attack us and threaten to kill my daughter?"

The stout man looked down at the red-faced baby screaming in his arms. "She's not yours," he sneered. "She's the WitBastard's bastard. We have it on the best authority." He lifted Nettle high as if he would dash her against the floor. He stared at Burrich. Burrich made an incoherent sound, half-fury, half-plea. He dropped his sword. By the door, the injured man groaned and tried to sit up.

"She's only a tiny baby," Burrich said hoarsely. As if it were my own, I knew the warmth of the blood running down Burrich's back and hip. "Let us go. You are mistaken. She's my own blood, I tell you, and no threat to your king. Please. I have gold. I'll take you to it. But let us go."

Burrich, who would have stood and spit and fought to the death, dropped his sword and pleaded for the sake of my child. Red-beard roared out his laughter, but Burrich did not even turn to it. Still laughing, the man stepped to the table and casually lit the branch of candles there. He lifted the light to survey the disheveled room. Burrich could not take his eyes off Nettle. "She's mine," he said quietly, almost desperately.

"Stop your lies," the stout man said disdainfully. "She's the WitBastard's get. As tainted as he was."

"That's right. She is."