Heart of Fire (2 page)

“Orit fell and hurt his leg on the
rocks. Come, please.” Corah’s hands clenched, as if she wanted to
grab Jessalyne and pull her along.

“You should practice what I’ve been
teaching you.”

“I can’t, not on my brother. We need
you.” Tears welled in Corah’s eyes as she glanced over her shoulder
toward the small gathering by the rocks. “Please, it looks bad.
Very bad.”

Orit was the alpha buck’s only son.
Jessalyne nodded. “I’m coming.”

The cluster of cervidae surrounding
Orit parted to let her through. She knelt beside him. The young
cervidae’s eyes were dark with pain, and he’d reverted to his fawn
form, another indication of how badly he was hurt. She gently ran
her hand over his warm dappled coat. A long deep gash along his
rear flank exposed shattered bone.

“Oh, Orit...” Jessalyne held her
pity. The child needed reassurance, not further hurt.

“Should I get mother?” Corah
asked.

“Not yet,” her father replied. “Your
lady mother need not see this in her condition.”

Jessalyne glanced up at Lord Tyber.
Not once had her father held such concern for her in his eyes. “I
can’t do this here. Bring him to my cottage, but move him as little
as possible.”

He nodded and tenderly lifted his
fawn-son. Orit bleated in pain at the movement. Tyber
winced.

“It’s father, Orit. Rest now,” he
whispered, moving quickly but carefully into the woods toward her
home.

Jessalyne sent Corah to gather herbs
before hurrying after Lord Tyber. Even with Orit in his arms, he
arrived ahead of her. He settled Orit into the small second
bedroom, then took up pacing the braided rug in her front
room.

Jessalyne paused on her way to the
kitchen. “Please, cease that. You’ll wear out my rug, and besides,
I know what I’m doing.”

He stopped, resting one hand on the
dagger tucked in his belt. “My apologies. I know you’re skilled,
but I cannot help my concern for my son.”

“I’ll do my best to heal
him.”

His expression was stony. “I expect
nothing less.”

The words spun in her head but she
shook them away. There was too much work to do to worry about what
Tyber expected.

Into a kettle she measured valerian,
skullcap, and nightflower to dull Orit’s pain and make him sleep,
then asked Tyber to fill it with water and set it to brew on the
stove.

Corah came in as the kettle trickled
steam, her arms full of fresh herbs and roots. “How is
he?”

“Hurting. Take a mug of that tea to
him and see he drinks as much as possible. I’ll be in to clean the
wound shortly.”

After adding the few last
ingredients to the cleansing solution, Jessalyne grabbed some clean
linen towels and joined Corah and Tyber at Orit’s
bedside.

Evening approached, muting the light
filtering in the windows. The muscles in her neck tightened. She
didn’t want her fear of the dark to disturb her efforts to care for
Orit. Nothing bothered her so much as the loneliness of night, the
empty stillness when memories turned into nightscares and unbidden
thoughts ruled her dreams.

At the cursory flourish of her hand,
every candle and lamp in the cottage sparked to life.

Lord Tyber and Corah glanced at one
another, a brief wordless communication, before returning their
attention to the now slumbering Orit. Jessalyne ignored the look
the pair exchanged. She knew what they were thinking. Their
shifting magic was harmless. Her magic was not. She frightened
them.

Just one more reason to
leave.

Lord Tyber finally broke the
silence. “Corah, go home to your lady mother and gently tell her
what has happened. Let her know Orit is in Lady Jessalyne’s capable
hands.” Jessalyne knew the cervidae called her lady out of respect
for her as their healer, but now she wondered if their fear had
prompted the title.

“But I want to stay with Orit.”
Corah remained seated.

“Now.” Tyber’s stern tone put Corah
on her feet.

She bent to kiss her brother’s head.
“Yes, Papa. Good eve, Lady Jessalyne.”

Jessalyne nodded and went back to
her work. Cleaning the bits of bone from the wound and setting
Orit’s leg left her drained and aching for the beautiful fawn
child. Although she had done her best to stitch the deep gash
neatly, it would leave a scar. He would forever bear a reminder of
the pain he’d suffered.

Hours later, Jessalyne perched on a
short, carved stool near the bed sipping a cup of anise tea and
watching Orit’s rhythmic breathing. Firstlight softly brightened
the sky. She glanced through the doorway at Lord Tyber. He’d
drifted off in one of the twig chairs by the fireplace. Would he be
happy when she told him she was leaving?

Chilled by memories of her own
father, she pulled her loosely woven shawl tighter around her
shoulders. She pushed hair out of her eyes and pressed her palms
against her forehead to blot out the thoughts of the day her mother
died.

Those thoughts turned the sweet tea
bitter in her mouth. She could count on one hand the times she’d
seen her father since the day he’d left. Giving her a share of his
merchant’s take seemed to fulfill what little paternal obligation
he still felt, whether he did it in person or by leaving a sack of
coins on her flagstone porch. Didn’t he know coin meant nothing
here? Where would she spend money in Fairleigh Grove? She
sighed.

Orit moaned but didn’t wake. She got
up and smoothed the coverlet over him. As soon as he was well, she
was leaving. Waiting for another worthless sack of coins held
little allure.

* * *

Glass globes of phosphorescent
angelmoss washed the cobbled streets with weak light. By the
position of the crescent moon, Ertemis knew it was well past
midnight. There was no sign of the merchant in any
direction.

Ertemis exhaled in frustration. If
he hadn’t needed the coin, he never would have agreed to this
arrangement. Even with Dragon, his warhorse, he could have gotten
out of the city on his own. Somehow.

A rat scurried through the gutter.
Ertemis cloaked himself in elven magic and merged into the shadows,
disappearing against the grimy wall of the butcher’s shop behind
him. Once shrouded by the enchantment, only elven eyes could see
him. There was safety and a sense of comfort in being hidden this
way.

His fey blood had healed his
throbbing head, but the hush night brought to the city pleased him.
He relaxed against the wall and opened his senses. A full spectrum
of sounds filled his angled ears.

The thump of his own heart, the soft
snuffling of Dragon hidden in the alley behind him, the whoosh of
wind through the streets, water dripping, the distant scutter of
nocturnal creatures. The quarantine had made Slodsham unnaturally
quiet. Focusing, he shut out those sounds and listened
again.

This time footsteps echoed in the
distance. Footsteps that had better belong to Haemus. Before long,
the merchant arrived at the meeting place.

Ertemis reached out and gripped the
merchant’s shoulder. The man stiffened, his breath caught. Haemus
whirled around, his face gnarled in fear.

Ertemis dropped the enchantment,
stepped out of the shadows, and revealed himself. Haemus slumped
with relief, then opened his mouth to speak. Ertemis put a finger
to his lips and motioned for the man to follow him into the
alley.

The dank lane stunk with the
butcher’s refuse. The fetor evoked memories he longed to forget –
battlefields littered with sun-bloated corpses, puddles of blood
dotted with flies. He forced the thoughts from his head. Dragon
snuffled in recognition of his master, and Ertemis greeted the big
grey with a hearty nose rub.

The shadows sculpted Dragon,
magnifying his size. Haemus eyed the beast warily. “That’s the
biggest horse I ever seen. Whaddya pay for him?”

Ertemis focused on the merchant and
bolstered his gaze with a dose of elven magic to set his eyes
afire. The look had the desired effect, stifling the man’s question
and sending him back a step.

“You ain’t gonna hurt me, are ya,
now?” Haemus rubbed at the scars on his throat.

Ertemis ignored the question. “Is
your contact in place?”

“Aye. We best go. I don’t know how
long he’ll wait.” Haemus coughed nervously.

The man needed be quieter. Ertemis
checked the wraps on Dragon’s hooves, a precaution against clatter
waking any light sleepers or busy bodies. Killing someone would
only complicate his night. The wraps were snug. He nodded his
readiness.

Dragon’s leads in hand, he followed
the merchant through a series of back streets and side lanes, until
they arrived in Slodsham’s Stew. The mosslights here held devil’s
fire, the same lights used by the Legion for night patrols. The
warm-water algae shed a red glow over the bawd houses.

Tonight, the regular bustle and hum
of the Stew was silenced. The bawd house balconies stood empty of
their usual painted faces. Even the pink skirts didn’t work during
quarantine. Only healers were allowed on the streets during a
quarantine curfew.

Ertemis studied the rusted, rundown
postern. Easy to see why it was the least used gate in the entire
city. It looked barely wide enough for Dragon.

Lantern light shimmered through the
dirt-streaked window of the dilapidated guard shack beside the
locked passage. Haemus walked toward the shack and Ertemis hid
himself and Dragon with magic. Might as well let Haemus have first
go.

The merchant rapped twice, paused,
and then rapped once. The door creaked open. A stunted creature
with watery eyes and swamp-colored skin emerged.

“Haemusss,” the goblin hissed
through large, wet lips. “Twuag wasss about to leave.”

“Good of ya ta stay since ya owe
me,” Haemus said.

“Perhapsss a little gold would help
Twuag find the key fassster.” The goblin offered up his warty palm
suggestively.

Haemus sighed. “I thought ya might
feel that way. Twuag, meet my banker.” He jerked his thumb over his
shoulder as he moved out of the way. “Ya want gold, ask
him.”

Ertemis dropped the enchantment
slowly, revealing only his eyes at first. Experience had taught him
just how effective the sight of two glowing, disembodied eyes could
be.

Twuag shuddered and herked his bulk
back into the guard shack, peering around the doorframe. “What
givesss?”

Dragon slid his head over Ertemis’s
shoulder. He dropped the enchantment altogether. Man and beast came
into full view, outlined by mossglow, a glimmer of moonlight and
the unmistakable sheen of elven magic.

An uneasy smile twitching on his
lips, Haemus crossed his arms over his chest. Twuag whimpered,
taking obvious notice of the high, tattooed ears. Goblins rarely
fared well against the fey, be they half-blood or full.

The squat-legged creature dug the
keys out of his pocket and scuffled toward the gate. Frantically
trying each key, Twuag peered over his shoulder every few moments,
keeping one bulging eye on the dark elf’s whereabouts.

Ertemis grinned slightly when he saw
the smug look in Dragon’s eyes. By Saladan’s britches, that horse
is full of himself. He stepped a little closer to the fumbling
goblin. “Hurry, goblin,” he whispered into the creature’s knobby
ear, “or Speckled Fever will be the least of your
worries.”

“Twuag isss hurrying,” the goblin
whined under his breath.

At last the lock popped open. Twuag
dropped the keys and disappeared into the city.

Haemus grinned his gap-toothed grin.
“I knew ya was goin’ ta be handy with that one.” Spinning on his
heel, he sauntered through the gate.

Ertemis shook his head and began
easing Dragon through the narrow space. He walked backward through
the corridor, leads in hand, mindful of the limited room for his
own passage. “Head down, one shoulder at a time,” he urged. “Come
now, you can do it.”

He worried the beast would be caught
at the hips. “Steady now, almost through -”

But it was not to be. Dragon stuck
fast and fumed about it, snorting hot breath, nostrils flaring,
eyes wild. Knowing the horse’s strength and persistent nature,
Ertemis goaded Dragon further.

“Pity you haven’t the strength to
get through, old friend. If you hadn’t gorged on that second
helping of oats, you might be standing next to me—”

Dragon burst from the gate with
enormous force, knocking his master back. Ertemis stifled his
laughter as the beast pawed the ground indignantly, snorting and
stomping his still-muffled hooves. “All right, hush, you’ve proved
me wrong.”

He righted himself and shook the
dirt from his cloak. He reached for Dragon’s front hoof and
stripped the wrapping off, working his way around until all four
were freed. After stuffing the wraps in his pack, he adjusted the
cinch on his scarred black leather saddle.

Haemus coughed again. “That’s quite
a piece of horseflesh ya got there.”