Before daylight on the ninth day, a fat, stinking old woman came bearing a plain white linen sheath for Alyx to wear. Without a protest, calmly, Alyx slipped it on, leaving it loose over her stomach. At the proceedings she’d pleaded for her child’s life, but the men had only given her a blank look, totally uninterested in her. One of the judges told Pagnell to silence her and one slap from him had made Alyx hold her tongue. There was nothing she could say to sway them anyway. They figured they had to burn her now while Raine was still hot for her and the child must also be endangered. Pagnell laughed and said he’d hold Raine and make him watch while Alyx burned.
With her chin high, using all her strength to control the shaking in her knees, Alyx descended the stairs before the old woman who carried Alyx’s dress over her arm—pay for risking being in the same room with the witch.
A priest waited at the foot of the stairs, and quickly, Alyx made her confession, denying that she was a witch or that she carried the Devil’s child. With an air of disbelief, he blessed and sent her on her way.
It must have looked strange, Alyx thought, for someone of her size to be escorted by so many large men: one in front, one in back, two on each side. The clanking of the full armor they wore was the only thing louder than the pounding of her heart as she fixed her eyes on the platform in front of her. A tall stake reached skyward and all around it was a pile of brush and dried grasses.
The crowd was joyous as they watched her approach, jubilant at the special treat that awaited them. Not many witches were burned nowadays.
As Alyx climbed the stairs, the guards kept her circled, their backs to her as their eyes scanned the horizon. Involuntarily, Alyx also looked at the landscape. Hope and fear mixed together within her. She feared for Raine’s life should he try to save her, yet she hoped she would not have to die.
A guard grabbed her arm, pulled her to the stake and tightly tied her wrists behind her.
Alyx lifted her eyes skyward, fully aware that this would be the last time she’d see the day. The early morning sunlight was just lightening the day and she looked across the high brush and into the crowd. It was bad, very bad, that these were the last faces she’d ever see, that she’d go to Heaven—or Hell—with these faces on her mind.
Closing her eyes, she tried to picture Raine.
“Get on with it,” came a voice that made Alyx open her eyes. Voices were life to her; she’d more likely remember a voice than a face or a name. Scanning the crowd, she saw no one she knew. They all seemed to be an especially dirty, scarred lot.
“Let me light the fire,” came the voice again, and this time Alyx looked into Rosamund’s eyes. A chill went all over her skin, her scalp tightening and a tiny flame of hope surged through her.
The guards, all around her, were taking their time in lighting the fire as they studied the country around them, looking for some sign of a knight and his men.
Not sure whether to trust her eyes, she looked at the crowd again.
“What’re ye waitin’ for?” came a voice Alyx kne
w as well as her own. There, in the forefront, with blackened teeth and a dirty, bloody bandage over one eye was Jocelin. Beside him stood a man Alyx recognized from the forest camp, one of the men who’d accused her of stealing. They were changed, some looking dirtier than she remembered, but the whole forest camp was there, gazing up at her with half-smiles of conspiracy as they saw she recognized them.
In spite of all she could do, tears began coursing down her cheeks, but through her blurred vision she could see that Joss was trying to say something to her. It took a long moment to understand what he was mouthing.
“This fire should make the witch sing loudly,” he said, and Alyx recognized exasperation in his voice.
Surreptitiously, she glanced at the guards as they frowned at the bare distance, never even glancing at the crowd at the foot of the platform.
“We’ve waited long enough,” said one of the black-robed judges from behind Alyx. “Let the witch burn.”
One of the guards lowered a flaming torch toward the bracken and as he did so, Alyx filled her lungs to capacity with air. Desperation, fear, hope, joy, all combined in her voice and the note she emitted was so strong, so loud, that for a moment everyone was paralyzed.
Jocelin was the first to move. With a cry much like Alyx’s, he leaped to the top of the platform and behind him came twenty men and women. One confessed murderer threw his weight onto the guard holding the torch, sending the flames backward, to land in the pile of branches behind Alyx, where they went up instantly.
There were six guards and four judges on the platform. The judges ran away at the first sign of trouble, their robes raised to their knees, flying out behind them.
Smoke curled around Alyx’s body as she watched the men and women fight the steel-clad knights. With each blow that hit flesh she felt it in her own. These people she had treated so badly were risking their lives to save her.
The smoke grew thicker, making her cough and her eyes water. Heat, like the hottest sun, hurt the back of her. Trying to see, she looked at the people around her, fully aware how fragile they were compared to the knights in their heavy armor. Her only consolation was that Raine had been sensible enough not to risk his life in this fight. At least he’d stayed away somewhere safe.
It was some time before she became aware that one of the knights was not being attacked by the forest people. It was only when she heard his roar, hollow from inside the helmet, that she realized that one of her guards was Raine.
“Jocelin! Cut her loose!” Raine commanded as he brought a double-edged ax down on the shoulder of an armored knight, sending the man to his knees. A woman jumped on the fallen knight, pulled his helmet off, while a one-eyed man slammed a club into the head of the dazed knight.
The smoke was so thick Alyx could see no more and her throat was raw from coughing. More tears flowed as Joss cut the ropes about her wrists, grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the burning brush.
“Come with me,” he said, pulling her by the hand.
She’d halted, looking back at the platform. Raine fought two men at once, swinging mightily at them with a steel-studded mace, sidestepping, moving with slow grace in the heavy armor. Behind blazed the fire, flashing off the men’s armor, turning it to a frightening, bloody red.
“Alyx!” Jocelin shouted at her. “Raine gave me orders of where to take you. He’s angry enough at both of us. For once, obey him.”