The rider’s horse screamed and flailed, offering distraction. Lia went for the man with the crossbow next, whirling around and cutting the exposed strap so the weapon thumped harmlessly to the ground.

“Grab her! Grab her!” the other shouted, stamping the horse with his spurs.

Lia slipped around the flank and severed the saddle belt, slicing into the horse’s belly with the stroke. It reared in agony and the saddle slid off his back. The rider clutched the reins still, yanking the stallion’s head back further. It twisted and bucked and both rider and stallion crashed into the mud, pinning the man’s leg beneath it. He roared with pain and Dahomeyjan curses. Lia promptly stomped on his face, silencing him.

The sound of metal clearing a sheath made her look up as the last rider dismounted and cleared the blade from the scabbard. His face was mottled with rage.

“I have you all to myself then!” he hissed in Dahomeyjan, stalking her. “Eh? You feel brave with a puny sword?”

He swung high and then low, slipping in gracefully. She was outside his reach and so did not move to parry or counter. She counted his steps in her mind, struggling to subdue her fear. With her left hand, she slipped the dirk free.

“A trencher knife now! You wish to stab me with a trencher knife!” He lunged at her, extending his reach fluidly to close the gap. The blow was aimed at her shoulder, not her heart. She knew he did not want to kill her. That would ruin his purpose. Lia twisted, using her gladius to separate herself from the blade. She deflected the thrust high and stepped inside and locked their hilts together. He was taller than her, stronger by far. In a test of strength, he would win.

Already he twisted his blade free and grabbed her cloak with his free hand, jerking it hard to wrap her in it. Lia stepped the other way and brought her heel down on his foot. His face crumpled with pain, but he was not finished with her and she knew it. She dropped low and pressed the dirk blade into his groin.

“I will castrate you!” she warned in perfect Dahomeyjan. “Drop your sword! Now!”

His eyes bulged at the position he was in. She was low, the dagger already in the motion of stabbing. His fingers opened and the blade thumped into the mud.

“My foot,” he gurgled, his body trembling. “It is broken. I cannot…stand!”

Lia swung the gladius up and nestled the edge of the blade against his throat. “On your knees!” she ordered and watched until he obeyed. Then she moved around behind him, keeping the blade against his flesh.

“My foot!” he wailed, his face wincing.

“If you even twitch towards your sword,” she warned, “I will cut your throat. How many of Pareigis’ men are in the woods? Answer me!”

“How do you speak Dahomeyjan?”

She pressed the blade harder against his skin. “If you do not answer my questions, I have no use for you.”

He swore in vexation. “There are a score of us, her personal knights. The rest are survivors of the battle when her husband met his doom. Three hundred, spreading like a net around the Abbey grounds.”

Lia swallowed. Three hundred? “How does she keep them in line? That many men, how are they kept?”

“You do not know Pareigis.”

“You are not being useful again,” she said sharply.

“The knights keep the rabble in line. And the muted one with the tattoos. But only the kishion is allowed to enter the grounds, for he can move unseen.”

Lia knew she would not have much time to question him. If these three had seen her fall, others hidden in the woods might be running for help. “Why are you here?” she asked.

He winced, his face creased with pain. “To raze the Abbey if the Aldermaston defies her. You can tell him that, girl.”

“I will consider your suggestion. What does she want?”

“I do not know. She only tells the Earl of Dieyre of her plans. We stay in the woods and wait until the sign. And since you will ask me what it is, I will say this. When the gargouelle burn, it will be safe for us to enter the grounds and raze the Abbey.”

“Does the muted one make them burn?” Lia asked.

“He does. ”

She felt it then, the sniffling and mewling around her legs. The Myriad Ones swarmed around them, hissing and baying in the quiet storm. Revulsion swelled inside her. How it was possible, she did not know. She had never felt the Myriad Ones on the grounds before, never within the borders. She looked at the woods where the riders came from.

“The muted one,” the wounded knight whispered greedily. “Do you hear him yet? In your thoughts?”