Guardian Last (Lords of Syon Saga Book 2) (47 page)

“Well, hearing this, Dame Liddy takes it on herself to pluck
out the mages one by one, to let the demons know fear again, aye, and ease your
way?  A fine proud plan, that.  But her arrow pops a mage’s protections, and
all at a shot, like they set themselves to just this end, comes lightning and
fire and destruction and mayhem awash over the archers.  Narrowly missed your
father, though not by his doing, for he goes flying into the maelstrom, comes
pulling out Grayson, nearest to him, who was badly burned.  We had to hold your
father back from going after Liddy and Peringale, who were as good as ash as
they fell.  B’radik, fie.  No hand of Hers was helping to hold him back.”

“As ever,” Renda replied, ignoring her blasphemy, “you have
my thanks.”

“Daerwin of Brannagh is near as dear to me as he is to you,
Renda.  I’d not let him fall, not while I yet draw breath.”  She shook her
head.  “I just wish he would not run headlong toward his death at every turn. 
Is the missing of your mother as gives him rash courage, and his fear of losing
you as well.”

She nodded, hating the dry lump of grief that lodged in her
throat. 

“Will Grayson live?”

Gikka shrugged.  “Laniel holds it likely, though he won’t be
as pretty as he was.  Hard upon this chaos it was that His Grace came riding
through our midst and out into the battle, not hearing a word to stop him, and
none of us able to give chase.”  She nudged Zinion forward again.  “Of the
swordsmen as rode with you, only Kerrick and Amara live for certain.  Came
riding in at daybreak, they did, just as I was mounting to leave, leading Qorlin
between them.  Amara and Laniel did what they could, and he lived yet as I left
to seek you, but…”  She shook her head.  “The poison was already well along
with him.  I’d not expect him to survive.”

Liddy.  Peringale.  Qorlin.  Not to mention Mida and Benn. 
“What of Vonn?”

Her squire frowned and looked down.

“Gikka?”

“Renda, he…” She looked up at Renda, and the fear in her
eyes was unmistakable.  “Well, he is dead, too, but the how of it is Kerrick’s
to tell––him or Amara––and I’ll let you draw your own mind about it.  I’ve
thoughts of my own as terrify me to the winds, but I’ll not be tainting your
mind with ‘em.  Best you hear for yourself and judge.”  They crossed over a low
ridge, and below, they could see the riders moving eastward over the broadest
part of the grassland trampled flat by the passing of a thousand demons.  As
they had during the war with Kadak, they raised their swords in silent salute
to her as she approached.

They stopped only long enough for Laniel to rub some
unguents on Alandro’s sore limbs and to make sure Renda was all right after the
blow she took to her head.  Jath brought Zati, Qorlin’s horse, for Renda to
ride while Alandro recovered, and soon they were moving again.

For several miles, Lord Daerwin only held his daughter’s
hand as they rode, unable to speak more than the occasional “Praise B’radik.”

Nestled in a pouch before him on his saddle rested his
harrier, Colaris, with his back and wings generously swabbed in salves to fight
infection and ease the pain.  With his free hand, Daerwin caressed the drowsy
bird’s chin, one of the few places that was not injured, and occasionally fed
him bites of dried fish.

Behind them, Laniel and Amara rode beside the pair of
makeshift travois in which lay Grayson and Qorlin.  The priest had said that by
day’s end, Grayson would be fit to ride again and would no doubt prefer to be
mounted since the travois was far from comfortable for a conscious patient.

To their surprise, Qorlin had not yet died, and they
entertained cautious hope that perhaps he might yet live, in spite of their not
having any way to treat the actual poison.  They had cut away as much poisoned
tissue as they could without crippling him and leeched out what they could of
the rest with poultices of dried peachwillow bark mixed with the grasses that
grew around them, in the hope that his body could fight what remained.  His
convulsions had stopped, and by now he was able to take sips of water.

Gikka and Dith rode near each other in companionable
silence, near but not near enough for Zinion to take fright.  Occasionally, a
few words would pass between them in Hadric, a touch, a smile.

Chul supposed lovers took privacy as they could, even if
only in the language they whispered to each other, but that particular
language, even in murmur, set his teeth on edge.  Finally, the Dhanani had
removed himself to the back of the formation, behind Kerrick who was deep in
his own thoughts, behind the duke and Nestor, to ride with Jath and the spare
horses. 

He had not spoken since Chul and his horse fell into place
beside him.

Nothing.  You saw nothing.

He had not had a chance to talk to Jath since the prisoner’s
escape, and he was not certain what he could even say, but he felt he had to
say something.  He felt as if he’d learned an awkward secret, or part of one,
and he was not sure how to incorporate that knowledge into their friendship. 
Until they spoke of it, it would crowd out all other conversation.

He tried to hurt Damerien.

“You carry a knife,” Jath said finally in Brymandyan. 

Chul looked at him curiously.  “Of course I carry a knife,”
he replied in the same tongue.  “I am Dhanani.  All Dhanani carry knives.”

Jath met his gaze and smiled gently.  “But it worries you to
know that I have one, as well.”

Chul considered.  If Jath carried a blade, it would not
bother him. A blade, he could understand.  This was something different.  “It
is not the same.”

“Is it not?”  Jath cocked his head.  “You can kill. I can
kill.”

“It is not the same somehow.”  Chul shook his head, working
to find the words he had learned.  “I do not know what to think.”

“Yet you seem to have made up your mind anyway.”

“Jath.”  Chul swallowed hard.  “I kill with a blade.  You
kill with a thought.”

“You kill with a thought, too.  Your knife is nothing
without thought to guide it.”  Jath glanced at him.  “Besides, it’s never as
simple as killing with a thought.”

The Dhanani looked away, remembering when he killed the
Wirthing knight outside Brannagh, remembering his decision to strike and how
once the decision was made, the blade seemed to fly on its own as if it had
been simply waiting for permission.  He remembered feeling the man’s life bleed
away under his blade.  He also remembered feeling nothing, neither exhilaration
nor remorse.

“If it will ease your mind,” Jath said at last, “know that I
did not kill the prisoner.”

Chul looked at him for a moment, then turned back, the
relief evident on his face.  “When you said he tried to hurt Damerien, I thought….”

“I know.”  He smiled sadly.  “People have a way of
misunderstanding what I say.  The truth is, I should have killed him, Chul, and
I would have, in just that way, but I was slow.  A quicker mind than mine
protected Damerien, for which I am ashamed.”  As they rode, Jath looked out
over the field, over the withered mummified bodies of several mages.  “This
time,” he smiled coldly, “I was fast enough.”

“Lord Windale saw more of what happened than I.”  Amara kept
her eyes locked on the lengthening shadows and sipped at a cup of water.  The
sheriff had called a stop to rest the horses, and Amara used it to walk and to stretch
her own legs as well as to check the two injured men.

“Aye,” Renda said softly.  “And I shall ask him of it
directly, but for now, I would hear from you what you saw.  What became of Sir
Vonn?”

Amara gently peeled away the Bilkarian poultice and dried
Grayson’s burned chest with a clean cloth she’d found in the priest’s bag.  She
showed Renda the skin of the knight’s chest where it was raw and tender, but no
trace of the burn remained.  “With no help from his god at all, Laniel can heal
wounds nearly as fast as the B’radikites and far faster than I.”  She shook her
head in amazement.  She put a fresh poultice across Grayson’s chest, bound his
shirt across it and drew up the blanket over him.  “By morning, he should be
able to take horse, and another day gone, he should be able to fight.”  She
looked out over the darkening hills ahead.  “A good thing, I think.”

“Aye, so it is,” Renda nodded patiently, watching Laniel
feed sips of water to Qorlin and bathe his forehead with wet cloths in spite of
the chill in the air.  “This is unknown territory for all of us.  We will need
every hand if we are to survive,” she said, and looked at Amara pointedly. 
“And every bit of information we can bring to bear.”

“Yes.  Yes, I know.  The truth is, I… saw very little, my
Lady.”  She wiped her hands and retrieved her cup to drink.  “You should better
ask Ker––the Viscount.”

Renda’s eyes narrowed slightly.  Was Amara on such friendly
terms with the viscount, to use his given name?  She chuckled slightly at
herself and drove the first wisps of jealousy away.  Why shouldn’t Amara be on
such terms with him?  After all, not only had they served in the war together,
but she had spent a season with him defending his family castle.  For all she
knew, they were lovers.  She set that thought aside for later consideration.

“I shall ask him, in good time.  But I would know from you,
above all, that we did not leave Sir Vonn yet bleeding out amongst the dead.”

“That we did not, my Lady,” Amara murmured.  “You have my
word upon it.  He is dead.  Please do not press me for more, for i’faith, I do
not know what it was I saw, and I would not mislead you.  I know only that his
blood is the last upon my sword.”

“Your sword?”

“Aye, mine and Lord Windale’s as well.”

Renda absorbed what Amara had said.  “Did you mistake each
other in the haze of battle?  It has happened before in battle.  We were under
concealment.  Perhaps…”

“No,” Amara nearly shouted.  “The concealment had broken. 
The demons attacked us, and we fought them.”  She looked forward, to where
Kerrick rode, and lowered her voice.  “It went this way.  Vonn saw something
and rode into the midst of the demons.”

“What did he see?”

She shook her head.  “He shouted something, but I did not
hear him.  I had my own fight, as did we all, and when I had a moment to look,
I could not see him.  Neither could I see you or the others.”

Renda nodded.  “What next?”

Amara looked away.

“Knight,” Renda said softly, “report.”

“As I told Gikka, I cannot, truly, not with any
reliability.”

“Just tell me what you saw or what you think you saw,” Renda
replied, watching Amara’s uneasy glance toward where Kerrick sat beside the
sheriff, “and let me weigh it myself.”

Amara nodded and lowered her voice.  “I was fighting, and
then I was not.”  She shrugged.  “Perhaps I took a blow to the head.  I only
know that I was senseless for a time.  When I came to myself, I was alone,
slumped over my saddle, sword still in hand, and Odra, my horse, was wandering
aimlessly.  Around me, I saw demons bleeding from their eyes with terror, some
running headlong off the side of the landbridge into the sea, some trampling
others to get away.  I also saw some of the mages shrivel and die, and I saw
their magic swallowed up into nothingness as they cast it.”

Renda nodded. She had seen the bodies, as well.

“I chased down some of the demons and killed them, but when
I saw they were in full retreat and no longer fighting, I did not pursue them. 
I returned to guard the Lacework and to regroup in case the retreat was a
ruse.”

“Aye, commendable and wise.  But Amara…what of Vonn?”

Amara did not speak for a time. “Lord Windale and Sir Qorlin
and I found each other first because we were still horsed.  At once, we began
combing the rubble for you and for Vonn.  We caught Alandro for a time, but he
broke free of us when––”

“Broke free of you?”

Amara nodded.  “He broke free and bolted away just as we
spied Vonn, afoot and coming from between the panicked demons.  It made the
other horses nervy, too, come to think on it.  In the midst of all this comes
Vonn, afoot, as I say, and carrying one of the huge battle axes, like a
trophy.  Qorlin rides forward to greet him, arms outstretched.  We had won,
don’t you see?  The demons were in full retreat.  He had no reason to fear…”

Renda saw the tears running down the knight’s face, cutting
through the caked blood and dirt.  Amara looked down at the travois where Qorlin
lay, pale and sweating.

“He rode near and offered a hand to Vonn, to bring him up
onto Zati’s back since he had lost his own horse.”  She shook her head, as if trying
to deny the memories as they flowed over her.  “But Vonn swung the ax at him,
cutting him across his chest and down his thigh.  Immediately, the flesh began
to sicken.  Had Zati not jumped back, the blow might have been fatal even
without poison.  Even at that, Qorlin did not draw his sword.  He thought Vonn
had simply mistaken him, and he called a hail to him.  But Windale saw.”

“So I did,” spoke Kerrick quietly.

Amara jumped.

“Sorry,” he smiled.  “I did not mean to startle you, nor do
I mean to intrude if the conversation is private.”

“On the contrary,” Renda gestured for him to join them.  “I
was coming to speak with you next.”

“You speak of Vonn’s death?”  He looked down.  “When I saw
the look in Vonn’s eyes, I knew something was very wrong.”

Amara hesitated.  “Vonn was trying to say something, but we
could not understand him, and his eyes had such a strange and unnatural glow.” 

“What?  You mean like a fever?”

“No.  Different.  Like nothing I have ever seen.  Like he
was not himself.  We saw it and rode at once to Qorlin’s defense,” her voice
broke.  “Qorlin just could not believe that Vonn would attack him. Weakened as
he was…he just reached his hand out again, not understanding…”