The third rider bellowed a curse and swung a long club, but the woman’s staff was longer and she jabbed it forward like a spear even as she sidestepped just enough for the horse to rush past her. The butt of the staff caught the man in the stomach; he shot off the rump of his horse, striking with his club as he did. It struck the woman’s forearm, knocking down her staff, but the damage was done; “Have at you!” she spat as he scrambled to his feet, and swung the staff high one-handed, whirling it like a windmill.
The rider saw the power of that whirling weapon and stepped back, raising his club to guard.
The woman swung; he blocked, but the staff struck with ferocious momentum, knocking the club aside, then swinging high to strike again. The guard cried out in fear and leaped aside—but the giant came up behind him, catching his collar and yanking him off his feet. He struggled, kicking, and the giant spoke in a deep, mellow voice. “Not too hard, now. No need to murder.”
“Do I need to strike at all?” The woman stepped up to glare at the guard, adroitly ducking his roundhouse punch. “Do I, cat’s meat?”
“A murrain upon you!” the man snarled, and kicked.
The woman danced aside. “I take it that means ‘yes.’ ” The staff swung and the man’s eyes rolled up. The giant dropped him and heaved the burden he’d been dragging. Two more guards fell on top.
“Foully done!” the shapeless ghost intoned. “Fear, man, fear!”
“Fear?” The giant gazed off into space, seeming to examine something, then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Fear, fool!” another ghost cried, one who bore the semblance of a hard-faced old woman in an antique gown. She thrust her fingers into the giant’s head. “Shrivel in fright! Kneel in abject ten … aiiieeee!” She yanked her hands back; they glowed cherry-red. “He is a ghost-leader!”
“Unlike yourself, who is an ape-leader,” the woman snapped. “What is an ape?” one of the male ghosts demanded.
The female ghost turned and dived into the head of one of the horses. It was remarkable to see how her form diminished into a wedge, then narrowed even further as it sank in.
The horse’s head snapped up, its eyes widening in terror then narrowing in rage. Its whinny was more a scream, high and wild, as it pivoted and thundered down on the giant.
4
The giant leaped aside, but not far enough; the horse’s shoulder clipped him and he fell, tumbling head over heels.
“Gar!” the woman cried, and ran toward him, but three ghosts shot to bar her way, moaning in doleful harmony.
The possessed horse wheeled, rearing, iron-clad hooves poised to strike the giant as he strove to regain his feet.
The woman shied away from the ghosts in fright for a moment; then her lips thinned, and she charged right through the nearest.
She came out shivering but swinging her staff like a scythe, smacking into the back of the horse’s hind leg. It folded; with a scream, the horse fell back. Even with one leg weakened, it turned to face this new antagonist, forelegs raised to strike, lips pulled back to show teeth that seemed to glow in the night.
The woman struck one foreleg. The horse screamed again and she pushed the butt into its mouth. It bit down in fury, but its eyes locked with hers. Her voice vibrated with a strange energy as she chanted,
The horse glared at her, eyes locked with hers, malevolence burning, but the giant came up, standing behind the woman and glaring as she did. The other ghosts swooped and shrieked and gibbered at them, but the two ignored them, locking eyes with the horse until it peeled back its teeth, opened its mouth wide in a shriek—and the hag’s ghost shot forth from its mouth, taking the shriek with her, swelling to tower over them, howling in pain and fury even as the rage faded from the horse’s eyes.
“Only what you deserve!” Alea spat at the old woman’s shade. “Be still, or we’ll do worse.”
The ghost’s scream cut off. “She’s as bad as the mad folk in the cities!” she cried, staring at Alea in fright.
“Worse?” a man’s ghost blustered. “What could you do worse?” But his tone was hollow with hidden dread.
“You don’t want to know.” The tall woman turned back to the horse, which blinked, confused, looked about itself in surprise, then struggled to rise and sank back on the injured leg with a doleful neigh.
The giant stepped up behind it to lay a hand on its head. It whipped its nose about to bite, but froze and calmed strangely. After a minute or two, it relaxed, folded its legs, and watched the proceedings with mild interest.
The tall woman turned to find Mira beset. Three ghosts towered over her, their moans growing louder and louder in a dissonance that grated on Mira’s nerves; she clapped her hands over her ears. The tall woman winced but said, “Do I have to teach you to sing? Begone, fools, for even I can cause you pain!”
One of the ghosts—the one in the form of a guardsman in ancient livery with a long ragged scar that showed how he had died—clapped his hands to his head and shrieked. The other two stared at him in shock, then disappeared so suddenly they might never have been.
“Begone,” the woman commanded the ghost guard, and narrowed her eyes. His shriek soared higher; abruptly, he winked out.
“This cannot be!” the ghost of an old man quavered. His translucent robes shook with his trembling. “Mortals can only lead, persuade—they cannot command, for they cannot coerce!”
“ ‘Coerce’ might be too strong a word,” the giant admitted. “We can, however, cause you pain.”
The ghost doubled over screaming as though stabbed in the belly.
“Begone!” the woman commanded.
The old man winked out. The last two ghosts drifted backward warily.
“What’s a ghost without fetters?” the woman asked.
“An unchained malady,” the giant answered, and glowing links appeared in midair with manacles at either end.
With a wail, the last two ghosts disappeared.
Mira knelt, trembling and wide-eyed. She flinched away as the woman came to her—but the stranger knelt, saying, “Don’t fear, my dear, they won’t harm you anymore, and neither shall we. We simply can’t stand to see one against ten, no, especially not when three of them are armed and mounted, and the one is a woman alone.” She caught Mira’s hands in her own. “There now, the danger’s past, and neither my Gar nor myself will offer you the slightest threat. You’re safe with us.”
“But—but…” Mira forced herself not to pull away but was so frightened of the power these two had shown, of their size and strength, that she was afraid to let herself believe, afraid to trust.
“Are we so intimidating, then?” the woman asked with a sad smile. “We shouldn’t be, not to a poor lass alone in the night with bullies and ghosts out to chase her. Come, my name is Alea, and my companion is Gar. We both know what it is to flee and be chased, as you do, and would never dream of hurting one who has suffered as we have.”
Mira wavered, wanting so badly to trust but not daring to—but Alea let go of Mira’s hands and opened her arms. Yearning overcame fear, and Mira let herself fall into the other woman’s embrace, sobbing as though her heart would break.