22 Nights (22 page)

 

WHEN
Leyla woke, it was late afternoon, she could tell, by the slant of sunlight coming through the broken door and the fallen wall. The fire had died, the rain had stopped, and Savyn’s heart continued to beat, strong and steady.

She rose and placed her hand on his face, rubbing gently against his rough beard. There had been many times in her life when she’d wished she had no powers, no gifts which made her different. This moment was the only time she had ever wished to have a different gift. If she were a healer, she could take away Savyn’s wound, she could undo what Trinity had done.

As she caressed his face, Savyn stirred and opened his eyes. He did not look at her, but shifted his gaze to the side. He had never been afraid to look her in the eye. Did he blame her for what had happened? Did he hate her for bringing him into this situation which had almost killed him?

“Where is he?” Savyn asked, sitting up sharply, then gasping in pain as he placed a hand against his bandaged head.

“Gone,” Leyla whispered.

Savyn wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, all but crushing her to his body. “Did he hurt you?”

“No.”

“Are you certain he’s gone?” Savyn held her too tightly, but she didn’t mind. In fact, she reveled in the sensation of his arms around her. She stroked the back of his head as he said, “I won’t let him hurt you. I swear on my honor, I will die before I let him hurt you.”

Leyla’s heart skipped a beat. Thanks to her, Savyn could not remember what they’d once had. He should not be so intent on protecting her. He should not say these words which spoke so clearly of love and possession.

She rested her head against his shoulder. “You know I have a gift,” she said.

“Yes.” His answer was soft, as if he were reluctant to admit that he knew. Perhaps now that he did not remember their intimacy, he was afraid of her and what she could do, as so many others were.

“I used my ability to make Trinity go away.” Leyla stroked Savyn’s thick, unwieldy bandage, even though she knew she should move away from him. “He won’t come back. We are no longer in danger. He even left his horse and all that was with it, so when we leave here, we can ride to town. No more walking for us,” she said, trying to lighten her voice.

“We can set out in the morning,” Savyn said. “You will ride and I will walk, so we don’t put too much strain on the animal.”

“You will ride alone or we will both ride,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. “You’ve been hurt. I will have it no other way.” She tried to move away, but he was holding her too close. “Why wait here all day?” she asked. “I hate this place.” Trinity had revealed himself here; Savyn had been injured and almost killed here. She wanted only to escape.

“We need only wait until after the sun rises,” Savyn said, and as she had done for him, he ran his strong hands against the back of her head in a comforting gesture. “We cannot very well travel down the road in the pitch-black of night.”

A chill walked down Leyla’s spine. The hut was dimly lit, but there was plenty of sunlight coming through the fallen wall and the door and the holes in the roof; there was more than enough to light the interior of their rough shelter. Pitch black? She pulled away and took Savyn’s face in her hands, being careful of the wound on the side of his head. His eyes were unfocused. He was looking at her, and yet—he was not.

“Savyn, can you see me at all?”

“No,” he said. “It’s much too dark. I can’t see anything at all.”

Leyla closed her eyes tight and fought back tears. Crying would not help the situation. “Savyn,” she said gently, “my dear Savyn, it is no longer night. The sun shines. I fear the blow to your head . . .”

“Do not tease me, Lady Leyla.”

She took his hand, a hand she knew so well, and moved it into the warm sunlight that shone through the partially opened door. “Do you feel that?” she asked. “Do you feel the warmth of the sun?”

Savyn was very still for a long moment, and then he said, “I feel it. Why is everything so dark? Why can’t I see? ”

Once again, Leyla wrapped her arms around Savyn, and this time it was she who held too tight. Perhaps this was a temporary effect of the injury, but it might also be permanent. They would not know for quite some time. “The blow to your head has taken your sight.”

She wondered if the pain she’d inflicted on Trinity was enough to make him pay for what he’d done. At the moment, she suspected not.

 

THREE
men came around a sharp turn in the path and were surprised to see Bela and Merin waiting for them; armed and ready. Bela’s mind worked quickly. The three rough-looking men were not Turi, and they were not dressed like the miners who worked on the mountains north of Turi lands. They were armed, but had stored their knives and swords for the climb, as she and Merin had done.

Merin did not presume to force her to stand behind him as though she were a defenseless female, though he did manage to place himself a bit more in the forefront. And it was he who asked, “Who are you, and what do you want? ”

For a moment the three men were very still, and then one of them, the one in the middle, said in a lowered voice, “That’s her.”

Bela sighed. They were here for her. What now? Merin, an emperor, Nobel, and now this.

The men were obviously heartened by the odds—three men against one man and one woman—but they were ignorant to be comforted by their greater numbers. Bela was no ordinary woman, and Tearlach Merin was no ordinary man.

The three who had been following rushed forward, drawing their weapons as they ran, screaming a coarse sort of war cry that might’ve been meant to strike terror into the hearts of their intended victims. This section of the mountain was rough and rocky, but was also blessed with occasional large expanses of fairly flat ground. The landscape was sufficient for fighting, though Bela made a mental note not to move too far to her left as she fought, as there was a sharp drop just a few feet away.

And if she went over that edge, Merin would fall with her. They remained bound, and to undo the rope would mean remaining married. She had no problem with that, but she wasn’t sure about Merin. She had tricked him enough, in the name of what she wanted. She would not do so again; they would have to remain attached as they fought.

Merin stepped forward and took on the man in the lead, sword to sword. The second and third men came toward Bela. She was their intended target, so it made sense, she supposed, to send the greater number to her. Kitty shone brightly as metal met metal, and the men seemed to be surprised yet again. That surprise made her certain they were not Nobel’s men, nor were they here for the magical sword. For some reason, they wanted to kill her.

She was quick and well trained, and Kitty was remarkable in battle. Sparks flew, the tip of the sword moved with precision to cut flesh, the strength of the blade kept metal from finding and cutting Bela’s skin.

Merin quickly dispatched the man who had been foolish enough to take him on, and then the second man who fought Bela moved his attention to Merin, as the other, the man who was so obviously in charge, remained before Bela, his sword swinging and thrusting with some measure of skill.

Joined, and careful in their movements because of that restriction, Merin and Bela soon stood back to back, fighting without words, without hesitation. The men they battled were skilled swordsmen. Otherwise the fight would’ve ended very quickly. These were not common highwaymen who were lost, but were well-trained combatants. They were also very determined.

Merin killed his opponent with an impressive and well-placed swing of his sword, and Bela was momentarily distracted. The man who seemed determined to kill her took that moment to swing mightily and knock Kitty out of Bela’s hand. The magical sword soared, her grip shining brightly as she flew. As Kitty hit the ground and spun out of Bela’s reach, the potential killer’s sword came up, and the blade touched Bela’s throat.

At that same moment, Merin turned and placed the tip of his sword at the remaining attacker’s side. “Move, and I’ll gut you,” he said.

The response was quick. “Move, and this blade goes through her pretty throat.”

The three of them stood very still for a long moment. A breeze wafted through, cool and refreshing, whipping Merin’s curls and the strands of hair that had come loose from Bela’s braid.

“You cannot escape this,” Merin said, his voice rock solid and calm. “Walk away, and you can live.”

The man who held a sword at Bela’s throat shook his head. “No, I must finish this job.”

“Job?” Merin said. “This ill-advised attack is a
job
?”

The man was losing his patience. He glanced at the bodies on the ground, and Bela could feel the increased pressure at her throat. The one remaining assailant was close to panic. A moment more, and she’d be dead.

There was no time. A shock might slow him down. She held out her hand. “Here, Kitty!” In an instant, the sword streaked through the air and the shining grip smacked into Bela’s palm. She grabbed it, spun her head aside so her throat was no longer in immediate danger, and ran the blade of the sword through the adversary’s side, just as Merin did the same.

The last of the assailants fell, not quite dead but quickly headed in that direction.

Merin looked to Bela first and studied her quickly and efficiently, making sure she was unharmed. She nodded, and he dropped to his haunches to confront the wounded man. “Who hired you, and why? Was it Nobel?”

“I would not call my profession a noble one . . .”

“No, Nobel Andyrs,” Merin said impatiently. “Do not play games with me in the short time you have left.”

“Why should I tell you anything?” the man asked angrily. “You have killed me.”

Kitty whispered, and Bela could tell by the expression on Merin’s face, and by the words that followed, that they both heard.

“You are concerned about the fate of your soul,” Merin said. “You’ve killed before. You’ve done murder for money, and it has tainted your spirit. Confession at the end of your life might make amends for some of your sins. Perhaps you won’t burn, if you confess.”

The terror on the man’s face was real enough. “Fine. I was hired by the Lady Rikka to kill Belavalari Haythorne before she reached Arthes. If I could make it look like an accident, all the better. She did not tell me you would delay so long before beginning the return journey, or that it would be so damned difficult to get onto Turi land.” He coughed, and a trickle of blood ran out the side of his mouth. “During the commotion of a few days past, we were able to sneak onto the land and wait, and since you two headed into the mountains, we have been following.”

“Why?” Merin asked. “Why would Lady Rikka want Bela dead?”

“Didn’t ask,” the man on the ground said. “Don’t care.” He looked Bela in the eye, and she saw death there. Death and fear. “If you do not die, she will take her anger out on my family. I have a wife. I have children. I’m sorry,” he said weakly. “I’m very . . .”

With the last of his strength, the dying man burst up and grabbed Bela’s shirtfront. He yanked at her, and he screamed as he ran toward the rock’s edge.

And then he jumped. Bela’s feet came out from under her, and she felt only air and a heart-stopping fear.

 

THE
failed assassin’s final act took Merin by surprise. In a split second, the man went over the edge, taking Bela with him.

Merin was pulled along just as she was, thanks to the rope that bound them, but he dug in his feet and held on to the braided rope with both hands, dropping his sword to the ground. Near the precipice he latched onto a protruding rock, waiting for the force of Bela’s fall to pull at him, to try to yank him with her as she dropped. The sharp edge of the rock cut his hand, but he held on.

He was not pulled over the edge; the pressure that had dragged him this far ceased abruptly. Merin had a horrific vision of the rope that connected them coming undone so that Bela dropped to her death. After all, it was made of nothing more than fabric. Red, black, and white. It was not meant to hold the weight of a woman who dangled over the side of a mountain.

Bela deserved better than such an end. She should live to be an old woman surrounded by children and grandchildren, she deserved to live her life happy and wonderfully different and defiant. She deserved happiness.

He was heartened by the curses which reached his ears, and by the fact that while he was supporting Bela’s weight, she was obviously not free-falling down the mountain.

Sitting up carefully and keeping one arm around the rock for support, Merin glanced over the edge. Bela hung there, just a few feet away, holding onto a small protrusion in the side of the mountain. The man who had pulled her to the ledge and beyond lay far below, dead and broken. Merin tried not to look at that body and imagine Bela lying there, but it was difficult. It could’ve been her. It might still be her, if he was not careful.

She looked up and caught his eye. “Cut the rope.”

“I will not,” he said, holding on with all he had.

“If I fall, you might be pulled down with me!” she argued.

“Then don’t fall,” he said almost calmly.

Bela was stubborn, as usual. “Kitty!” she screamed. “Cut the rope that binds me to this stubborn man. Now!”

The sword, lying behind him where it had fallen when the attacker had pulled Bela to the edge, remained silent.

Merin turned all of his attention to getting Bela up and out of danger. If she could continue to support some of her weight by holding on to the side of the rock wall, he could pull her up and over the edge in short order. He dug in his feet and pulled. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Kitty’s grip shone bright.

“I’m trying,” Merin said anxiously.