Page 67 of Queen of the Shadow

“Yes.”

On silent feet, Scáthach left the clump of grasses near the water to be embraced by the shadows that dwelt at the base of the fort’s wall. They circled their queen, cloaking and concealing her and her daughter so completely that their movements seemed only to be the night breeze flowing within mist and darkness. When she spotted the correct place for their vault, Scáthach nodded to her daughter, placed her hands on the pole, and then sprinted forward. Planting the spiked end firmly into the soft, mossy ground, the vault carried her up and forward. Her legs pointed skyward as she flew over the wall, reaching to arch at the apex of her vault before she twisted in the air and dropped back to earth, silent as a cat. She landed in the rear of the fort, where Aife had hobbled Lethra’s peerless horses.

The herd began to snort and shift nervously, but Scáthach was quick to soothe them and move them aside before Uathach dropped from the sky.

Together they petted and calmed the herd before they jogged back to the wall. Cloaked by shadow, they followed the wall around the fort, which was overcrowded with horses and Aife’s men. It was difficult to count through the mist, and many of the warriors were inside tents they’d erected between roundhouses. Campfires glowed dimly, their smoke adding to the shrouding fog far more than they illuminated. Normally if a group this large visited the fort, like at Samhain or Beltane or any other feast day, they would camp on the mainland between the stone bridge and the pine forest. Their horses and wagons would not enter the fort, leaving room for all.

Aife’s men crowded the fort. Scáthach thought about how foolish Aife had been to put herself in a situation where the fort could be kept under siege. They did not have enough supplies to last long. Her precious herd would be the first to go, starved by their lack of pasture and by Aife’s lack of common sense. Scáthach frowned as she noticed tents pitched atop kitchen gardens, and too many campfires over which spitted goats and pigs roasted, perfuming the air with the succulent scents of meat.So wasteful,she thought.Her army shows no discipline. The fort’s supplies should be rationed.

The two women paused frequently to allow groups of warriors to pass, sometimes so close Scáthach could smell their sweat and the beer on their breath. They were overloud, blustering and bragging and laughing with great barks of sound that made it obvious the warriors were drinking to try to drown their nerves. Aife should be out and about in the fort, calming and bolstering the morale of her warriors. Scáthach watched for her sister but caught no glimpse of her. More and more she agreed with Geirr and the wise people of Lethra. Aife was unfit to lead.

None of the braying warriors so much as glanced their way. What was there to see? Nothing but the deepest of shadows.

The shadows got them as close to the front doors and the sentry stations above them as possible, but tall braziers had been lit and torches hung from the stone wall on either side of the double doors as well as above on the lookout platform. Even though fog wafted like smoke throughout the fort, the area around and above the entrance blazed with light, allowing Scáthach to see the thick iron drawbar that ran the width of the doors, holding them securely closed. From deep within the last of the shadows, Scáthach counted six sentries on the raised platforms—three above and on each side of the doors. Their backs were to the fort as they focused on the bridge and the fog-blanketed forest beyond. Two more heavily armed warriors stood by one of the braziers very near the front doors. They wore the distinctive cloaks of the elite Lethra Wolfskins. Her lip curled in a sneer. Traitors to Lethra.Scáthach studied them carefully. They were young, far too young to have known her as a child but they might have seen her earlier that day. She assessed her options and sighed softly. She knew the quickest way to silence the two Wolfskins, though she did not look forward to it.

Scáthach tapped her daughter’s shoulder, motioning for her to retrace their path back into the deepest of the concealing shadows. They crouched against the wall, heads tilted together as they spoke in whispers. “I can handle the two by the fire, but you’ll need to take out all six sentries before they can alert the fort.”

Uathach unstrapped the bow from her back. It had been well oiled before their swim in the loch, and even in the deep shadows the rich wood gleamed. She opened the watertight lid of her quiver and took out six arrows. “Easily done.”

Like her daughter and the rest of her Shadow Guard, Scáthach was dressed in their uniform of a short black tunic over black leather breeches. Leather boots also dyed black laced to her knees. She peeled off her wet tunic, leaving herself naked from the waist up before unsheathing two daggers, one from around her waist and one from the back of her boot. She met her daughter’s gaze. Uathach raised one brow and did not attempt to hide her grin.

“You’ll get their attention,” whispered Uathach.

“It’s almost too easy,” her mother replied softly. “Nod when you’re ready and then wait until I step from the shadows and you know they’ve seen me before you begin.”

Together, mother and daughter returned within the shadows to the front of the fort. Scáthach halted and Uathach continued until she was as close to the doors and the sentry platforms on either side of them as the shadows would allow. Uathach planted five arrows, tips down, in the ground beside her within easy reach. She turned her head and looked behind her at where her mother was only a slightly lighter shape within shadow and fog. Uathach notched an arrow and drew her bow. Then she nodded.

Scáthach placed her tunic, sword, and sheath on the ground, cupped the two daggers, one in each hand, and shook back her hair so that it fanned her, cascading in thick waves to her waist. It was drying and as it did, it spread around her, a true mane, though it did not conceal her naked breasts. Then she watched and waited, and when she saw or heard no other men except the two Wolfskins by the fire, she stepped out of the shadows. As gracefully seductive as a dancer, Scáthach glided toward the two warriors. They didn’t notice her at first. Her approach was too quiet. But when she arched her back, twined her arms overhead, and began moving her hips in a sinuous, snakelike motion, her tawny hair caught the firelight, drawing the gaze of one of the Wolfskins. She met his eyes and smiled seductively, an open invitation as she traced circular patterns with her hips.

The other Wolfskin noticed his friend’s sudden stillness and the intensity with which he stared into the foggy darkness. His gaze followed, easily finding her. He licked his lips when she turned her attention to him. Instead of smiling at him, Scáthach bit her bottom lip and began twirling slowly while she continued to move toward them. Her arms traced a pattern from over her head down to her sides and then, with a teasing little twist, her arms disappeared behind her back. She arched her back even more so that her breasts, still damp from loch water, were perfectly enticing globes—all the two men saw as she danced ever closer.

She was only a couple yards from them, so near she could feel the warmth of the fire in the brazier, when she heard the distinctive sound of an arrow being released. Even before the body of the first sentry fell heavily from the overhead platform, there was the sound of a second arrow releasing, and then a third as Uathach cleared one of the two sentry platforms.

Scáthach’s dance turned deadly. She brought her arms forward and flicked her wrists, sending the daggers flying at the Wolfskins, where they slid silently into each man’s throat. She sprinted back to her tunic and sword, and was dressed, sword in hand, before the second of the two men dropped to his knees, joining his comrade in death.

At the sound of falling bodies, one of the remaining three sentries turned to look down into the fort. “Hey, what’s going on down th—”

Thwap! Thwap! Thawp!

The last three sentries died. Two tumbled over the wall and the other slumped on the platform.

Behind them a voice called from the fog, “Harald! Erik! I thought I heard...” The fog muffled the rest of what he said, but it was clear he was headed their way.

Without speaking, Scáthach and Uathach sprinted to the double doors. Uathach notched an arrow and stood guard while her mother slid the heavy iron drawbar back. The ragged scream of iron against stone split the night. Suddenly, footsteps running toward them beat against the hard ground of the fort.

Thawp! Thwap!Uathach stopped two warriors.

“To arms! We’re under attack!”

The warning shouts echoed through the fog as the Queen of Shadow opened wide the double doors to the fort and took a torch from the wall. Standing before the bridge, she waved the torch back and forth over her head, hoping the Shadow Guard was close enough to see the signal through the fog.

She didn’t see her warriors. She heard them. Hooves pounded on stone and then Scáthach jumped aside as her Shadow Guard thundered into the fort and the night exploded into violence.

Chapter 16

Sentanta had known something was very wrong. Nothing made sense.

She called herself Scáthach. She appeared to be Scáthach. He verymuch wanted her to be Scáthach. But the pain in his head was a white-hot dagger piercing his mind and lacerating his thoughts, and the bitter taste in his mouth choked his words.