Ciare caught up a stick and struck him in the face.
The soldier howled and dropped his knife. Coll swung the butt of his staff, cracking it against the man’s forehead, and the soldier slumped to the ground. Then Coll leaped in front of Ciare, spear raised to guard her. Another soldier came at him, howling rage and swinging a halberd. Coll shot his spear up to block and kicked the man in the stomach, but the axe head ripped his left arm as the soldier doubled over. Coll shouted in anger and swung the butt right into the man’s face; he tumbled to the ground and lay still. Coll gave him a quick glance to be sure he wasn’t moving as he pulled back on guard.
But there were only three men still standing: Dirk, who stood in the center of four fallen men, his blade naked, eyes alight, chest heaving; Gar, who stood with rapier and dagger ready; and a knight, who hauled himself up from the ground by clinging to stirrup and saddle, then stepped away from his horse and drew his sword. His lance lay broken on the ground.
“I am Sir Lageb of Oxl,” the knight called from behind his visor. “Who are you, that I should deign to cross swords with you?”
“Nice excuse,” Dirk taunted, but Gar said clearly, “I am Sir Gar Pike.”
“Deserter!” the knight shouted, and advanced, cleaver swinging.
Gar parried with his rapier, and the broadsword sliced deep into the turf. As Sir Lageb yanked it free, Gar wound up a ferocious figure-eight swing, cut low in a feint and, as Sir Lageb dropped his hilt to block, swung high to clash his rapier into the knight’s helmet so hard that it rang. Sir Lageb stumbled back, then fell. Gar dropped to one knee beside him, tore his gorget loose and his helmet off, then swung a short hard stroke with the hilt of his dagger. Sir Lageb went limp.
“Yes,” Gar mused, “he does look familiar.”
“He’ll feel better when we tell him we were trying to come back, but got delayed,” Dirk assured him. “Uh … Coll?”
“Later, if you please, Master Dirk.” Coll held Ciare sobbing into his shoulder, his eyes closed, face a study in bliss. Dirk grinned and turned back to Gar, but the big man was already stopping over Master Androv, splashing water on his face. Dirk turned to help one of the other greybeards, but Dicea threw herself into his arms first.
“It’s done now,” Dirk soothed. “It’ll be all right.”
“But they have taken Enrico!” Dicea wailed.
Dirk stilled. “Enrico?” He exchanged a glance of relief with Gar, who turned back to Master Androv; the player chief was already trying to get up.
“Not so fast,” the giant advised. “Take a drink, then tell me what happed to Enrico—and, now that I look, all your other young men.”
“Not to mention your other cart,” Dirk added. “Need you ask?” Androv said bitterly. “Soldiers!”
Gar nodded. “The king pressed your young men into his army?”
“Nay—Duke Trangray! He has marched his whole army to the border of Earl Insol’s estates, and is gathering every man he can find to throw against His Majesty’s spears!” Dicea gave out a keening cry.
“Must be some way to stop the battle,” Dirk offered. “None ever have,” Androv said grimly.
“And your cart?”
“At least they threw our trunks and properties out before they took it and the oxen that drew it. They took one ox from this cart, too, and told us they were being generous to leave us so much! We pressed on to seek sanctuary with the king, but you see what has come of that—his soldiers came to take our last ox for food and our actresses for their pleasure!”
“Which they have not, praise you young men!” Mama came tottering up to throw her arms about her son. “However did you know we needed you?”
Dirk looked up, startled, then turned to Gar. “Good question. How did we know?”
“Simply good fortune,” Gar assured him. “Just good fortune?”
“Well, perhaps a little bird told me.”
“Yeah, the little bird who sits in your brain!”
Coll would have wondered at that, but he was too much occupied with the two women who meant the world to him. Ciare finally managed to pull a little away from Coll, gasping away the last of her tears. “I was so frightened! Oh, thank Heaven you came in time, Coll!”
“Thank Heaven indeed,” he agreed fervently. “Oh, I have so worried about you, Ciare!”
“Worried?” Ciare stared. “After the way I scolded and shouted at you? How could you still care?”
Coll caught her hand tightly in his own, looking deeply into her eyes, and said, “How could I not?”
Ciare still stared at him, then lowered her gaze, blushing. “I-I was so much a shrew! I have cursed myself far worse than ever I scolded you! Oh, forgive me, Coll!”
“I think he already has.” Mama smiled, amused, then turned away to soothe the other older women.
“There is nothing to forgive,” Coll told her gravely. “I wronged you horribly. We brought danger upon you all, and I could at least have told you.”
“Not without breaking faith with your masters.” Ciare looked up into his eyes again. “I saw that later. But I didn’t think at the time; I only knew that I was very, very hurt. And here you come charging in to save me from three times your number! Oh, Coll, I can’t even be angry with your masters now, and certainly not with you!”
“I should have told you anyway.” Coll gathered her in, holding her and savoring the feel of her next to him. “I should have told you.”
Dirk had to turn from comforting Dicea as one of the soldiers stirred. He dropped down to one knee, dagger poised to strike the man’s head again, but the soldier only squinted painfully up at him and pleaded, “Hold your hand, I pray you, sir knight! You strike hard indeed!”
“Not if I don’t have to,” Dirk said in a warning tone. “You don’t,” the man assured him. He touched the bump on his head gingerly, gasped. “You’re a mill of battle.”
Dirk went completely still, though he was poised for action. “Like the mills of the gods?”
“No,” the soldier said. “You grind your enemies quickly. The mills of the gods grind slowly.”
“But they grind exceedingly small,” Dirk breathed. He stared at the man a moment longer, then sheathed his dagger and called, “Gar? You’d better come over here.”
The soldiers had gathered up their knight and were marching back to the castle beside his horse, six of them carrying the meat of the butchered ox; at Dirk’s insistence, they had even paid for it from the knight’s purse. Gar and Dirk were discussing their little surprise. Coll overheard, and it made sense to him later, but at the time, it was just part of the wondrous music of the forest all about him, birdsong and windsong and the murmurs of the players as they gathered up their belongings and stowed them once again in the cart.
“Remember the soldiers we talked to, after the show?” Dirk asked.
“In which town?” Gar returned.
Dirk shrugged. “Any one you want—or, more to the point, all of them. Seems they listened better than we thought. They went right back to their platoons and set up cells!”
“But how did they make contact with other cells outside the armies?”
“Just repeated the password until somebody gave the countersign, I guess. Frankly, I don’t really care about the why of it anywhere nearly as much as I care about there being cells in both armies.”
“He claims the king’s army is fairly riddled with them,” Gar said, musing, “and that at least half of Duke Trangray’s men are pledged to the uprising.”
“Just how big an uprising are we planning, Gar?”
“Whatever’s necessary.” Gar shrugged. “A dukedom or two … or three, or ten … the royal demesne…”