Dark Lady's Chosen (25 page)

Gabriel nodded. “It’s a funny thing, when one accepts the hand of the Lady. Time is different for Her. The soul you swore to Her was already claimed. The vengeance you bargained was already moving forward. You belonged to Her before you made the Bargain. And She will claim what’s Hers in Her own time. So was it fate, or did She know what your heart would choose before you did?”

Jonmarc closed his eyes. “My head hurts too much to figure that out. Kiara once told Tris they were like the hounds of the Goddess, going where they were bid and coming when they were called. By the Whore, I hate that thought.”

“Then consider a
vyrkin
instead of a hound, obligated by nothing except loyalty and honor.”

That was too close for comfort, and Jonmarc let it pass without comment. “If what Kolin says is right, about Carina and Tris and the Flow, then we’ve got to stall Malesh tomorrow until seventh bells. They deserve that chance.”

“You’re not in any shape—”

“Try to stop me.”

The tenth bells were ringing when Jonmarc hauled himself out of bed. A servant had brought up a plate of venison and a bottle of brandy for supper, and after several candlemarks of sleep, Jonmarc was hungry. He found clean clothing set out for him, and wasn’t surprised that it fit perfectly. He slipped on his boots and buckled his sword belt.

Although he knew he was safe inside Wolvenskorn, it made him feel better to feel his sword at his hip. His short sword and the single arrow launcher lay on the bedside table along with his baldric and knives and his crossbow. His body protested as he moved, but he ignored the aches that remained.

Any
vayash moru
would be downstairs, in the common room, Jonmarc knew. Over the last few days, Wolvenskorn had become the headquarters for those who opposed the breaking of the truce. He was surprised that the sounds of heated conversation carried to him, a sign that Wolvenskorn had more guests than usual.

A word with a passing servant confirmed Jonmarc’s destination. He paused at the door of a room down the hall from his, then knocked gently. Yestin’s voice answered. “Come in.”

Yestin lay in bed, his ribs bound with cloth and his arm and thigh bandaged. Yestin’s face was haggard, and his eyes haunted. Jonmarc guessed that he’d also fought off the same drug. “Glad you’re still breathing.”

“Thanks to you.”

Jonmarc shrugged, and winced as his recently-healed shoulder twinged. “I wouldn’t have placed bets on either of us, tell you the truth. Took one of those damned darts in the neck myself. How do you feel?”

“Like I was dragged by a wagon. You?”

“Yeah. A wagon with low clearance on a rocky road.” Jonmarc paused. “Did you find anything out about the hunters who ambushed you?”

Yestin shook his head. “Not really. This kind of thing happens when humans and
vayash
moru
fight. My kind—all the
werekin
—get caught in the middle. But I heard that Kolin got attacked on his way back to Dark Haven. Someone set a fire trap for him.”

“Damn.” Jonmarc could barely look at Yestin without feeling ashamed at what other mortals had done. He remembered the look on Gabriel’s and Laisren’s faces when they saw the carnage Malesh left behind at Westormere. Now, he understood their shame and horror.

“Don’t.”

Jonmarc looked up, puzzled.

“You’re thinking you need to apologize. Don’t. You’re not responsible for what other mortals do. We make our own choices.”

Jonmarc swallowed and nodded. “Can I get you anything?”

“No. I’ll be all right.” He met Jonmarc’s eyes. “I understand why you swore Istra’s Bargain.”

The loss Jonmarc saw in Yestin’s eyes made him look away. There was nothing to say.

“I’ll be on my feet for the fight tomorrow night,” Yestin added. “Gabriel says the house and grounds are filled with
vyrkin
and
vayash moru
from across Principality—maybe further. It’s going to be one hell of a fight.”

If Malesh’s side were gathering in equal numbers, Jonmarc didn’t doubt that at all. “Then you’d better rest.”

“Aren’t you the one who says, I’ll rest when I’m dead?”

“Yeah. And maybe I finally will.”

Carina set down her quill and sprinkled sand across the parchment to dry the ink. Carefully, she shifted the paper to let the sand that blotted her ink run off before she folded the letter and sealed it with wax. She pressed her signet ring into it, the ring Jonmarc commissioned for her. It bore the same symbol as the
shevir
bracelet he had given her: the combination of his old river mark as a smuggler and his crest as Lord of Dark Haven.

“What are you doing?”

Carina jumped as Taru entered the bedroom. She sighed, knowing better than to evade the mage’s question. “Writing letters. I didn’t want to leave Kiara and Cam without saying goodbye.” She’d written a third letter, one she feared would go unread. She stared at it, at Jonmarc’s name written on the outside of the folded parchment. In case he returned. She knew better. He had sworn the Bargain. She was past the point of being afraid, but not too numb to grieve.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Carina looked at Taru. “Yes, I do. The Flow has been reaching out to me to heal it. The way the magic is failing, it’s got to be affecting Tris and the war in Margolan. If he can’t win against Jared’s loyalists, Kiara and their baby will never be safe. Isencroft won’t be safe—

and neither will Cam and Donelan. I’ve lost Jonmarc. I won’t lose the rest of them—not when I might be able to do something about it.”

“You don’t know that Jonmarc is lost.”

“He’s not coming back.”

Taru came to sit beside her. “I know you saw men swear Istra’s Bargain when you were with the mercs. And a vow to the Goddess is always binding. But did you ever consider this—it’s up to the Goddess when she claims his soul?”

“What do you mean?”

“Time doesn’t work the same way for immortals the way it does for humans. A day, a year, a decade–a lifetime—when you don’t have a lifespan, they stop holding any meaning.”

Taru met her eyes. “If the Goddess accepts Jonmarc’s vow, all it means is that he’s sworn his soul to Her. She’s not obligated to take it until She pleases. You said that Gabriel called Jonmarc the Lady’s

Chosen. What if he was right? Does the Goddess really need a champion to swat down a
vayash moru
who’s barely a century old?” Taru shook her head. “He’s sworn fealty to Her, much like he made a vow to Staden when he received the title to Dark Haven. I wouldn’t count Jonmarc out of the game, Carina. Not yet.”

Carina looked at Taru and felt the first stirring of hope she’d felt since she found the ink and stylus in the chapel. “I hope you’re right.”

Lisette came into the room to draw the draperies. Dawn was only minutes away. “You should eat before you rest,” Lisette said, sounding motherly. “You’ll need your strength for tomorrow night.”

Carina sighed. “I know. Raen came to remind me, just before Taru and I started talking.”

The ghost girl glimmered in the shadows, and Carina knew that the ghost had probably heard everything. Raen’s spirit might be over two hundred years old, but in other ways, she was still a teenager.

Carina steeled herself and took the glass of milk and blood Lisette offered her. Whenever her nerve began to fail her about stepping into the Flow, Carina just had to think about feeding like this and her determination returned. Lisette and Taru pretended not to see her grimace as she forced herself to swallow the awful mixture. Carina knew she would have to fight with herself for several minutes to keep from bringing it up—and having to drink another glass.

The sounds of shouting in the distance nearly made Carina drop the empty glass. Out of reflex, she moved toward the window, but Taru stopped her. Making sure the others were far enough away to avoid being burned by the daylight, Taru slipped between the heavy draperies, letting them close over her to leave the room in shadow.

“Sweet Chenne. I don’t believe it.” Taru moved carefully from behind the drapes to rejoin them. “Dark Haven is under attack.”

The rap at the door startled all of them. Lisette opened it, to find Neirin in the doorway. The grounds manager’s worry was clear in his face. “Neirin, what’s going on?” Carina asked.

Neirin motioned for them to follow him. “Come quickly, m’lady. I want to get you and the others into the inner rooms where you’ll be safest. I’ve already sent for Royster to be brought. Please hurry.”

“Who’s out there? What’s going on?” Carina didn’t budge. “I’m not moving until you tell me who’s attacking us. It can’t be Malesh’s brood. The sun’s up.”

Neirin shook his head. “It’s not. They’re mortal. They want the
vayash moru
who’ve been given sanctuary here.”

Carina gasped. “Does Riqua know?”

“I know.” They turned to see Riqua in the hall. “It’s because of Malesh they’re here. Neirin and I have been seeing to the refugees all night.”

“Refugees?”

Neirin winced. “I didn’t want to bother you, m’lady. I know what a burden you’re already carrying. The people you healed who held the vigil for you were afraid to return home. Since Kolin was attacked, we’ve had a steady stream of refugees coming to the back gate. We haven’t had very many
vayash moru
—they seem to have taken sides and gone to fight. But their mortal kin are afraid. They’ve always been safe in Dark Haven. Now, they fear that their neighbors might come after them to draw out the
vayash moru
.” Carina could hear the pain in Neirin’s voice. “
Vyrkin
are coming, too. The females with young and those too old to fight.”

“Why?”

Neirin’s eyes were sad. “Because the same people who are attacking the
vyrkin
and burning out day crypts are going after the mortals who defend them. The night guard found five bodies, with the nooses still around their necks, dumped near the front gates. Someone had carved ‘
rethirnis
’ into their skin across their chests.”

“What does that mean?” Lisette said, and Carina could hear fear in her voice.

Carina shivered. “I haven’t heard that word in a long time.” She looked up defiantly. “It means to betray your blood. Not just kingdom or family, but everything, your essence.”

Carina met Neirin’s eyes. “Take me to the refugees.”

“M’lady, you need to save your strength,” Neirin protested.

“He’s right Carina. If they need a healer, I can go. Rest.” Taru stepped forward.

A bitter smile twitched at Carina’s lip. “As Jonmarc is fond of saying, I’ll rest when I’m dead.

I may not be able to heal, but I can serve. I’m part of the reason all this has happened. I can’t rest, knowing that, without trying to help.”

“I’ll keep working with Royster to make sure everything is ready for tomorrow night,” Riqua said. “I need only a few candlemarks’ rest.”

Carina and Taru followed Neirin downstairs. All the way down the stairs, the two healers listed off items they would need. Carina was expecting there to be a crowd like the ones that had

come for healing before the attack at Westormere. She caught her breath as they reached the inner rooms that were protected from the daylight. The large, windowless common rooms were filled to capacity with people who had barely enough space to sit. In the torchlight, Carina saw that the majority of the crowd were women, children and elders. Most of them were wounded; how badly, she couldn’t tell without a closer look. They sat quietly, as if they were too exhausted or too much in shock to do more than whisper.

“It’s like this in the courtyard and in the rooms where daylight reaches, m’lady,” Neirin said quietly. “I don’t know what we’ll do if they keep coming. There’s only so much room—and so much food.”

Carina nodded. “Inventory what we’ve got. Tell the cook to make the food stretch as far as she can. If it means we all eat gruel, then at least we all eat.” She managed a lopsided grin.

“Cam and I survived many a winter on gruel when the mercs were between jobs. Builds character.”

Neirin smiled. “You have a most colorful background for the lady of the manor.”

Carina chuckled. “Not nearly so much as the lord.”

Taru recruited two of the mortal chambermaids to help her in the outer rooms, while Carina and Lisette began to make the rounds of the inner rooms. The silence unnerved her. With so many people pressed together, Carina would have expected noise. Instead, the crowd was eerily quiet, as if so stunned to find themselves in hiding as to be beyond conversation.

“Let’s sort out the ones who’ll need Taru’s help from those we can fix up with some potions and bandages,” Carina said, grateful that Lisette’s experience in all the weeks of tending to the holding’s sick and injured would make this task a little easier.

“I know it’s been dangerous and difficult for you to come here,” Carina said, raising her voice. The people in the torch lit room looked up, and she looked out over their fearful faces. “We’ll do our best to get you what you need. Right now, I want to find out who’s injured. If you don’t need a healer, come to the left side of the room.” She waited while the people shuffled past each other in the crowded room to comply. Most of the room’s occupants stayed where they were, making the uninjured the clear minority.

“Lisette and I will take care of minor injuries. Sister Taru will handle the deep healing. Then we’ll see about getting everyone fed.”

Carina knelt next to the first patient. A young man cradled a woman in her mid twenties. Her arm was wrapped with a strip of rags, and Carina could see the blood seeping through the cloth. “Please hurry,” the young man said. “She’s lost a lot of blood.” Carina looked up, and realized that the young man was
vayash moru
, and guessed that decades, not months, separated him in age from the woman in his arms. “She’s my granddaughter,” the
vayash
moru
said, and as Carina looked at him more closely, she saw that the skin on his back was charred.

“What’s your name?”

“Gwill.”

Carina and Lisette busied themselves tending to the deep gash on the woman’s arm.

Carina cleaned the wound and treated it with an herbal tincture that elicited a groan from the woman. “What happened?” Carina asked as she worked to close the wound and bind it to stop the bleeding.