Fire Witch (8 page)

"We'll build a fire," Chelan said, and she could've hugged him as she thought about the radiant heat washing over her skin.

"Aren't you afraid they'll catch up to us?" Raga said.

"I hope they do," Chelan said. "Exhaustion should have drained the mutiny from them by now." He stood with arms crossed, scanning the horizon thoughtfully. Aislin watched as he nodded to himself and began kicking at the ground with his boot.

"This will have to do," he said.

She noticed when he moved to take the blanket from the horse's back that he limped and favored his left side. Now and then, his hand strayed to his rib cage and rubbed it absently.

Raga set about coaxing flame from detritus and a small flint, and she was pleasantly surprised when moments later he had managed a tiny but efficient fire. She hovered over it, ignoring the industrious way Chelan shook out the horse blanket and spread it nearby. She had a bad feeling about the way he looked her over as he did so, and suggested she search for firewood.

He shook his head. "Raga will do it."

"You don't trust me not to run off."

"I don't think you can find wood."

She squared her shoulders, annoyed. "I'm not a blind woman," she said. "I can find wood."

"Here in the grass? With no woods except a hundred horse strides away?"

"So you are afraid I'll run off."

He lifted a wiry but toned shoulder, the armband on it winking in the meager light. "Can you be trusted?"

"This far from home, running back toward three angry men?" she said. "I think you can trust me not to go anywhere."

"They shouldn't be angry anymore," he said and eased himself down onto the blanket. As close as he was to the scant firelight, she could see him wince. Once he'd settled, he nodded silently at Raga who tromped off through the grass and disappeared into the shadows. She imagined he would head for the tree line that she knew was out there somewhere, even though it was too dark for her to see it.

She rubbed her hands over the paltry flame and breathed into it, imagining herself as part of the flame, controlling it, willing it to bend. For one skipped heartbeat, she saw it shudder and lean toward her. She could do it; she knew she could. Make the fire obey her command. She got a fleeting glimpse of her mother within, and she told herself things would be different. Now that Indiris had lost her heir, she would be sure to mark her when the rescue was won. She knew it would be won.

"Did you kill Feran?" she dared ask.

"Probably not," Chelan said laughing without a trace of humor. "The man is damnably hard to kill." He peered up at her with his head cocked to one side and then he patted the space next to him on the blanket.

She swallowed hard even though no amount of water would obey her throat.

"Come here," he said.

Apparently the time had arrived. Perhaps what he had been waiting for all along was isolation and with Raga out searching for wood and his companions hours behind, what better time than the present?

A hundred scenarios raced through her mind. She could run, but then she'd be alone in the dark somewhere with no fire, no food and they certainly wouldn't fall for any ruse now that she had played the escape option already. She could fight him off; he was injured that much was clear. She might even be able to scorch his feet if he decided to chase her when she ran. Thinking she had choice empowered her.

"I won't," is what she decided on. Let him decide whether what he wanted was worth getting up for or forcing her over. She certainly wouldn't deliver it. For extra measure, she added: "You can't make me."

"I'm not sure whether to be flattered or insulted," he said, sighing heavily. "I'm tired." He stretched out a hand for her, his bracelets glinting orange as the fire danced over them. "And you're cold."

She realized she was shivering and wrapped her arms around her waist. "I'm not that cold."

"You
weren't
all that cold," he corrected. "Now that I'm not holding you, you're freezing."

"Nothing but nerves," she said. "It will go away."

"Don't make me come get you."

There was no way she was going to lie down next to him. Bad enough she'd had to sit so close to him on the horse. She might be untried, but she was no fool. She'd felt his demand plenty of times during the ride. She'd rather take her chances with the skinny youth. At least she'd be able to shame him off her if she had to.

"No."

His voice went tight as though he was clenching his jaw. "There is no way I'm letting you out of my reach while I sleep."

"I'll stay with Raga."

His dark chuckle surprised her. "You think he's harmless."

She squirmed as she stood there. "He's young," she said.

"Don't let his youth fool you," he said. "He's no virgin."

She wasn't sure why she was so shocked, except she truly had believed the boy's age would've lent him some sense of naiveté. She remembered his hand on her thigh during the battle in the woods, and she shivered again, this time for a different reason as she recalled holding his hand so chastely.

"And what else isn't he now that you've ruined that?" she said.

"He's no cook," Chelan said.

She couldn't help laughing at that. "No surprise there," she said.

"And he's no rider."

"That explains a lot," she said.

"He's very good at killing, though," Chelan said in a musing way. "No one expects it of him and so it makes him even more lethal."

She felt as though someone had blown cold air down her neck and hugged herself tighter. When he noticed, he pushed himself to his feet and limped his way to her. She took a step backward and fetched up against his horse. He placed either hand on the beast behind her, trapping her between his arms. He smelled distinctly of musk and blood and perspiration, but there was a spicier fragrance that spilled around him as though he was in the habit of eating cinnamon and that it was bleeding from his pores.

"Do you need me to carry you?" he said, his face so close to hers that she thought he would bury his mouth into her neck the way Feran had.

"No," she squeaked out.

"Good," he said. "I don't think I have it in me." His hand slipped down behind her shoulders, finding the small of her back as he gave her a hearty shove toward the blanket. With a certain amount of trepidation, she went down on her knees and found a comfortable spot on her side, facing the fire. When she thought he would take his place behind her, Raga broke through the darkness with an armload of fuel that he dropped next to the fire. Then he shoved his hands into a pouch tied to his belt and came out with a pile of dark matter.

"It might smell a little," he said. "But it will burn just fine."

"I'll never complain about a little bit of shit if it keeps me warm," Chelan said as the youth threw piles of dung into the petering flame. Moments later, it blazed a little brighter. She could swear she saw a woman within with long blazing hair, torching men at her will.

"I'll take watch," the boy said. "I'll let you know when they come."

"Let me know before they come," Chelan said. "Just in case they feel a resurgence of mutiny when they catch sight of our red-haired beauty here."

The youth pulled his blanket from the back of his horse and strode off again into the darkness. Chelan climbed down onto the blanket and wrapped himself around her back. Even as her mind refused to give in, her body melted against his with relief as she felt his heat envelop her.

"Much better," he mumbled into her hair as he laid a heavy arm over her waist. An equally solid and heavy leg tangled over and between hers, effectively pinning her to him.

She thought she would stay awake until he fell into a near comatose sleep, and then she would slip out from beneath him and creep to Raga's horse--Chelan's was too big a monster for her to manage – once astride, she'd find a way to get home.

She dreamed of lighting her own fires as she fled, using her power as fuel, gifted to her through her mother's bond. She'd seen her mother scrying through flame before and she was certain now that her mother was sending her a message. Be ready, it said. Together we will burn these two-legged beasts alive.

She waited several moments for his even breathing, and then she remembered no more.

She woke with the sense that something was wrong. At first, she thought it was because she knew she had slept all night without a single nightmare to spoil her rest. There was no suffocating cavern where she lay smoking beneath yards of linen and oil, with her flesh threatening to leap into flame. It had become so much part of her life that she feared she had finally given in to its crouching presence and mourned when it went missing. Then she realized it was because the warm body next to her had gone rigid and there was a wall of frigid morning air snaking beneath her armpits and creeping up her bare legs. She blinked her eyes open, shading them against the bright morning sun with a weary palm.

At first she couldn't comprehend the shadows that stood over her, blocking out shafts of light until she realized the shadows were men and that one of them had a sword pointed downward. She followed the trail of it to Chelan's adam's apple.

"I suppose I should be grateful I'm still alive," Chelan drawled.

The man holding the sword shrugged. "No need to be grateful," he said. "I just didn't get a chance to pierce the skin yet."

Aislin tried to scramble off the blanket, but one of the other men crouched down and grabbed her by the throat. "Stay put," he said and she nodded frantically.

Chelan's leg was still thrust over hers and she pulled it off slowly, resting his knee against her hip.

"Raga?" he said.

"Sleeping like a baby," the man said and Chelan cursed.

"Do what you want to me," he said. "But leave her alone."

The man snorted. "Fall in love overnight, did we?" he said.

"Think what you like, Owyn, just don't touch her."

Aislin craned her neck to look over her shoulder at him. He was in a half seated position, his palms behind him on the blanket. She knew it had to be killing his ribs to be holding himself up that way and yet his face revealed no sense of exertion or pain.

"She has red hair," was all he said.

"We'll see how red it is," the man laughed and he gave her a lecherous look much the same as Feran had. She reached out for the reassurance of Chelan's hand and found it already clutching his knife. Evidently, none of the other hoodlums noticed. Even Chelan gave no indication that she had discovered he was armed. She hoped he stuck it beneath the bastard's kneecap.

"Tell me, Owyn, what was it Conn tasked us to do?" he said with trace amounts of patience in his voice.

"He didn't task you; you begged him for the chance to save your sorry hide."

"Be that as it may," Chelan said. "What did he send us to retrieve?"

She could see the man thinking. His lower jaw was working as he chewed the inside of his cheeks. Chelan noticed it and placed his free hand over the sword's blade and give it a gentle but firm push away from his throat. The warrior didn't resist; instead, he took a short step backwards, letting his sword hang next to his leg.

"He sent us for the redhead," Chelan said when the sword was a nicely liberating distance away and he had the opportunity to push himself to his feet. She noticed he didn't even try to hide the fact that he still held the knife.

He waited until everyone sought out her form before he spoke again.

"We made a mistake at the village."

"You think this is her?" Owyn said. "Not the other one." His brows scuttled down in thought and then when his eyes turned to her and he let his gaze roam her body from hair to heal, she collected the corners of the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"The other one didn't make any sense," Chelan said. "She was too young." He peered down and captured Aislin's eyes with an unflinching matter-of-factness. "She's the one we were sent to gather."

"What are you talking about?" Aislin said as the man sheathed his sword and stood back. There was a collective sound of realization that made something cold snake down her spine. She pushed herself to her knees, the edges of the blanket crossing over in front of her and weighing down her shoulders.

"Tell me," she said to Chelan. "What's going on?"

No one would answer her; instead, each man in the party sheathed their swords and weapons. Chelan brushed his leathers with the flat of his hands as though he wanted to wipe away the memory of being at another man's mercy.

"If Feran had harmed her, you'd all be accountable."

She looked from one man to the other and saw the same expression of relief creep over them. Even Raga, who had stumbled into the small campsite with the bleary look of sleep in his eye, managed to look suitably chastened. It took long moments before the man who had held the sword to Chelan's throat clapped him on the shoulder.

"Feran always was a fool," he said.

Chelan tensed at the man's touch. She had the feeling he didn't forgive quite so easily as his words indicated. "A fool you were willing to kill for," he said.