Emergence (Book 2) (24 page)

Garek ran a hand through his whiskers
. He looked about to say something else, then changed his mind, nodded, and went to join Rothel's two lieutenants. Bolin waited until the men moved off, then climbed back to the ridge where he'd been watching the marauder's progression. He rubbed his arm, and scanned the surrounding trees.

"All right, witch," he muttered under his breath, "where are you?"

A movement on the far side of the draw to the rear of the marauder column caught his eye. A rider moved within the trees half-way up the hill. As soon as Bolin spotted her she stopped and turned his way. The pain in his arm flared, but this time he was ready for it, and used a bit of the pendant's magic like a tourniquet to keep it from overwhelming him as it had done that night on the road. The witch called down to the marauders and they stopped. Someone called back, their tone harsh, the words undecipherable. Bolin expected the band to scatter into the trees, but after a moment they started back on their way up the draw, and the witch turned her horse and crossed behind them, heading toward Bolin.

She left her mount at the bottom of the ridge and made her way up through the trees, moving cautiously. Bolin held his ground.

"Has your master found you of so little value that he's sold you to the likes of them?" he asked, when she got within earshot. "I think you'll find them more honorable than him in most regards."

"Honor is an interesting word," she said. "I find each man has his own definition."

The hair rose on the back of his neck, and Bolin dropped instinctively to a crouch, a fistful of claws whistling through the air where his head had been a breath before. He rolled, kicking out a foot and catching his attacker in the legs. Something large and cumbersome crashed headlong down the side of the ridge toward the witch. Before Bolin could get his feet under him, another creature rushed forward: something that looked like a cross between a man and a beast. Bolin sucked in his guts to avoid taking the curved falchion across his stomach. He slapped the blade to the side, ducked under the shield, and wrapped his arms around the creature's waist. They fell and rolled in a tangle of limbs and weapons. Lights erupted behind Bolin's eyes as something hard connected with the back of his skull. His fingers brushed a grip on his attacker's belt, and Bolin yanked the weapon free as they tumbled again.

He drove the blade into the beast's side, up under the leather armor it wore, twisting until the hilt jammed against flesh. A deafening roar accentuated the pounding in his head. Good to know the witch's pets could be injured by cold steel. Bolin rolled out from under the beast and staggered to his feet, ripping the knife free and switching it to his left hand to draw his sword. The creature had dropped the shield to press a hand against its side in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. Bolin feinted to the left, pivoted and attacked on the weak side. The creature brought its sword across its body, but it merely skittered off Bolin's and did nothing to slow it. The beast's strangled cry vanished with its body and Bolin's stroke passed through as though cutting smoke. He fought to keep his balance, the sudden lack of resistance catching him off guard.

The air trembled, and Bolin caught a glimpse of the witch just cresting the ridge, flanked by two more of her grotesque pets. Both were armed and attacked together as soon as they saw him. Bolin sidestepped to avoid the first, and took the second one's thrust with the flat of his sword. He moved in tight, steel screeching on steel, flipped his sword and smashed the pommel up under the creature's jaw as hard as he could. The huge fangs snapped together with a spray of blood and shattered teeth. Bolin's hand flashed up, driving the knife through the thick throat.

His breath exploded from his lungs, and he went sprawling. The ground came up fast--faster still with a weight on his back driving him down. Jaws locked around his shoulder in a vise grip, crushing the links of his mail and driving them through his tunic.
Bolin twisted in vain to dislodge the creature. The jaws unclenched to get a better grip--specifically on Bolin's neck--and he took advantage of it to snap his elbow back. The beast grunted, and Bolin continued battering at it until it gave just enough that he could shove it off balance.

Claws tore at him, trying to get a grip as Bolin rolled over the top of it. He got as far as his knees
, and jerked his sword up at a sharp angle. The beast took it in the guts, falling forward onto Bolin and crushing him back. He cried out, his leg twisting painfully beneath him as the witch's pet pinned him and then, like the others, it dissolved into nothing.

Bolin struggled to his feet, scanning for the next attack, but the witch had vanished along with her beasts.

***

The patrol returned with one casualty and two injuries
, not counting the gash on Garek's head which he claimed to be a mere scratch. And though Bolin's tabard hung off him in shreds, he assured Ciara he suffered nothing worse than bruises and sore muscles. She frowned after him as he limped out of the infirmary favoring his right leg, then turned back to Sergeant Evan. The Sergeant gave Ciara a long, thoughtful stare as though not quite sure how he should take her offer of assistance.

"I'm a trained healer," Ciara said. "I know how to set bones, call fevers--"

"Magic healer."

"Yes."

His brows met in a sharp line. "Well, I--not meaning any disrespect, misstress--never had much call for your type."

Ciara tilted her head. "My...type?"

Evan rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, that is to say--"

Garek leaned in close to the Sergeant's ear. "Best just stop there and take the lass up on her offer. I don't much care for all that spooky stuff either, but she's a fair hand at healing, and I'm sure the lads will appreciate the softer touch."

"Aye, sir. If you say so." But the sergeant looked unconvinced.

Garek winked at Ciara. "That I do, Sergeant. That I do."

His frown deepened, but he showed Ciara where to find supplies, and put her in charge of cleaning and stitching a leg wound while he went to deal with a broken arm. The man with the leg wound lay on his back, one arm twisted behind his head, his mouth a tight line, his fingers clutching a handful of blanket so hard his knuckles went white. He looked about Garek's age, but clean-shaven and not nearly as large as the Commander. He slid his gaze toward Ciara when she settled beside the cot, then turned his eyes back toward the ceiling.

Ciara called up a bit of her earth magic
, and used it to help ease his pain as she cut away his leggings, and began to clean the gash across his thigh. The lines on his face softened, and he loosened his grip on the blankets. Her aunt Meriol would be chatting up a storm with him by now if he'd been her patient. She'd know his name, if he had ever married, how many children he had, how long he'd been in the guard--
Helps them feel at ease
, she'd told Ciara.
Takes their mind off what you're doing.
It's what had made her aunt such an excellent healer, but Ciara had never been any good at that aspect of her craft.

And now, as she worked, she felt Andrakaos watching over her shoulder.

Why do you help this one?
he asked.

Ciara darted a look at the man as thou
gh afraid he might have heard.
I'm a healer,
Ciara answered silently.
It's what healers do.

He has done nothing for you. You do not even know him.

That doesn't matter.

You did not offer to help the men you killed.

Ciara gasped.

The man jerked his head up. "Something wrong?"

"No, sorry."

Andrakaos circled her, watching the wisps of earth magic Ciara wove through the wound to stave off infection.
He will owe you his life now. Will you take it?

Ciara bit her lip. "What's your name?" she asked the soldier, ignoring Andrakaos and willing him back into his cavern. But he lingered, just at the fringes of her vision.

"Sanders," he said. "You're very good at this. Which guildhall did you train with?"

"None. My aunt was a healer, and my mother. They taught me everything I know."

"They must be highly sought after then."

"Only by the Goddess," Ciara said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.

Sanders furrowed his brow, and then she saw a sad understanding creep into his eyes. "Ah. I'm sorry for that. It's a hard thing to lose those closest to you." He looked back at the ceiling, but he had a far distant look in his eyes. "I've had too many of my brothers fall beside me. I used to ask the Goddess why, or why not me instead. How is it I came through today with naught but a cut on my leg, and a man with so much before him is now sitting in the Great Hall?"

"I didn't realize--"

He turned his face back to her, his eyes moist. "There's no understanding it, no matter how hard you try. Equally, no sense ranting against the Goddess for it. When I come to stand before her myself, I'll ask her. Until then, I'll have to accept what I can't change."

Ciara tied off the last stitch, and started wrapping a bandage around his leg. "I wish I knew how to do
that. How to just accept her will."

"The same way you accept the snow and the rain. We can't change the weather, can we? Cursing the clouds won't bring the sun out."

Andrakaos snorted.
Would it not be merciful to send him to ask her his questions now? To ease his suffering, and reunite him with those he has lost?

"No." Ciara snapped the word out.

Sanders startled, and several people turned to look.

Ciara tried to smile. "I mean, you're right of course. No amount of cursing will bring the sun out, will it?" She stood and laid a hand on his arm. "I'm going to brew some tea to help you sleep."

She hurried out of the infirmary, her pulse pounding.

***

Bolin had just found sleep when a knock on his door pulled him from its embrace. He growled something incoherent as he flipped the blankets back and got out of bed, groaning at the stiffness in his leg. He jerked the door open, blinking into the dull orange glow of a lantern. By the wide-eyed look of the man holding it, Bolin guessed his temper clearly showed in his expression.

"Begging your pardon, Lord General." The light trembled in the soldier's hand
, and Bolin wondered if they'd actually drawn straws to see who got to wake him. "There's a disturbance at the wall, sir."

"And?"

"Captain Rothel asked if you could come out, sir. Someone's gone to fetch Commander Garek as well."

"What kind of--" But the prickles creeping up his arm with agonizing familiarity rendered the question moot. His focus slid inward
, and a woman's form wavered there; dusky skin, violet eyes, high cheekbones. She smiled, a cold, hungry expression, and beckoned him forward. "Damn the unholies."

The soldier flinched and took a step back. Bolin whirled around. No time for mail. He yanked his boots on, shrugged his leather jerkin over his tunic, grabbed his cloak and shoved past the still lurking soldier while cinching his sword belt.

A sleep-befuddled Ciara met him in the hallway in nothing but her shift, rubbing her eyes and blinking in the dim lantern light. "Wha--"

Bolin grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her back into her room. "Stay here."

"What's wrong?"

"Just stay here." The dregs of sleep fell off her in a hurry. Bolin turned to the guard. "She's not to leave this room under any circumstances, do you understand me?"

The soldier snapped to attention. "Yes, sir."

"Bolin, you can't confine me here."

"Yes, I can." He released her and closed the door, wishing for a lock and all too aware a locking ward wouldn't hold her for long. His glare narrowed on the guard, and the man did his best not to visibly wither. "Under no circumstances. Unless I personally send for her. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Three strides down the hallway and Nialyne met him coming out of her room. She held up a hand before Bolin could say a word. "You may need me."

Bolin didn't argue. He didn't have time, and he well knew the ineffectiveness of trying to sway Nialyne when her mouth and brows formed the same, tight line.

A bell tolled, echoing across the city. Bolin took the steps to the top of the wall two at a time, leaving Nialyne to trail after. Torches lit the entire length of the battlement, their light dancing with the shadows in the heavy breeze. Rothel had archers placed along the wall, and some on the tower as well for all the good they would do. Garek stood above the gate, his men arranged around him, even Berk, his crossbow loaded and laying on top of the parapet. He flexed his left arm, his hand on his shoulder as he rolled it in a stiff circle and tried not to grimace.

"Report," Bolin said as he came alongside them.

"Someone tried to breach the gates," Garek said. "Killed two of the guards, one as he sounded the alarm. Good thing Sul has a habit of walking around in the middle of the night, or we may have lost more than that because at the same time some...thing...let itself in through the south gate."