Pixilated (13 page)

"Right. And just how close to a reclusive,
elfish prince heir do you think I’m going to get?" Kree barked a
short laugh, winced, pressed his hand to his side. "Not close
enough for talking. That’s a solid fact."

He pushed up from the table. "Ma’am, is
there some place more private where I can clean up?"

"Hob’ll show you, sir."

"Chana, fetch my field kit. I'm going to
need some stitching."

While Hob stoked a small iron stove to heat
water for his bath, Kree eased himself onto the bench running the
length of the bathhouse. He'd just finished cutting away his
britches leg when Chana returned with his field kit. She knelt
beside him, flipped open the box, gave a low whistle at the ugly
seeping gash running from his hip to his knee, and pulled out a
flask of whiskey.

"Do you want to hold or sew?"

Kree snagged the flask. After taking a gulp
of whiskey, he poured a liberal portion over the gash sucking in
his breath at the burn. His eyes watered.

"Sewing is women’s work."

"Good to see you’re not dying. Unless, your
smart mouth gets you killed."

He jumped when Chana stuck him.

"Keep still. You are such a baby."

"Your pardon." Kree took another gulp of
whiskey, flinched again on the next stitch.

"Hob, get over here and hold his skin
together." Chana glanced up at Kree then back to Hob. "Talk to
him."

Hob nodded. "That little scar by your ear
means you’re one of them Goddess-born fellas. Right?"

Leaning back with his eyes closed, Kree
sipped whiskey. "Uh huh."

"How come your hair is not real long? I
heard Goddess-born don’t cut their hair. How come you’ve got no
blessing braids? You look like a monstrous good fighter to me."

"Good? Nah, I'm lucky. Ask Chana." Kree
opened his eyes and gazed at the young man. "I lost my temper and
cut my hair off. I don’t wear braids, because I don't go to Temple.
I quit."

"I didn’t know Goddess-born could quit."

"This one did." He closed his eyes again.
"Are you interested in the Temple?"

"That stuff—Goddess nectar, is it what made
you so monstrous big?"

"Combined with a lot of hard work, yeah. A
natural predisposition doesn’t hurt either. I was bred for
size."

"Kree." Chana chided.

He smiled at her use of his given name.
Taken with her tone, she thought he was being crude. Women. "It’s
true. You know it. Are you almost done?"

"Just about."

Kree sipped whiskey and wiped his mouth with
the back of his hand. "You didn’t answer my question friend, Hob.
Are you interested in the Temple?"

"I might be." Hob picked up Kree’s emergency
Goddess nectar and held it up to the lamplight. "Is this the
stuff?"

Kree’s eyes popped open. "Put that down,
friend."

"If I drink it, would I look like you?"

Kree threw back his head and laughed. Pain
shot through his side. His laughter turned into a groan. He pressed
his hand to his battered ribs. "If you drink that, friend, you’ll
look dead. That extract is for the Goddess-born, not Templemen.
They start us on it as soon as we're born. You seem like a good
man, Hob, so I’m going give you a few solid facts. The most the
Goddess Namar can do for you is adding definition to the muscle you
already carry and increase your stamina. They’ll give you an
extract designed just for you. It will make you feel stronger and
more powerful than you really are, and after awhile you won’t be
able to live without it.

"Temple life isn’t what it was, say, ten
years ago. My advice to you is stay as you are. Find yourself a
sweet wife and raise a houseful of babies. But if that's too boring
for you, you're welcome to come down to Qets. First Lieutenant
Duncan will tell you in very short order whether you have the right
stuff for a trooper."

"Finished." Chana tied off the suture and
packed away the catgut and needle. "Now, let’s see what’s under
here." She yanked his shirt out of his pants.

Searing pain lanced across Kree's chest and
down his side all the way to his toes. He drew in a quick breath.
Sweat popped out on his forehead. "Cut it away. Bloody sodden hell,
woman! Are you trying to kill me?"

Using the tip of her knife to slit the
garment from hem to neckline, Chana laid it open assessing the
damage to Kree’s ribs with a practiced eye. "Namar's tears, My
Captain, how many times did you let them ride you down?"

Kree rolled his eyes. "I didn't count. I was
busy staying alive long enough to persuade the other bastard to
die."

"You need a healer."

Kree limped around for a minute testing his
weight on his newly stitched leg and found it sound. The stitches
held. There was no seepage. "You've got to fight with the army you
have. We both know that. Be a good little soldier. Help me bathe
and tape up my fucking ribs. Then, we’ll decide what to do about
Sandahl."

Once the painful process of taping his ribs
was completed, Kree and Chana walked to the barn. Slowly. He did
not object to Hob tagging along. The woodcutter had a young man’s
lust for adventure and Kree could not fault him for it. In fact, he
sympathized with it. Besides, the lad knew the area. They could use
him.

A quick search through Eldren’s pack yielded
the map Kree wanted. He spread it flat on the square hay bales. His
finger traced a line from Tarburg to the forested foothills. "I
think we’re about here." He glanced at Hob for confirmation.

"About." Hob pointed to a thin blue line
representing a stream. "This is our water source. It runs behind
the house."

Kree pointed at an unidentified X mark
farther into the mountain range along the watercourse. "This is
where Eldren wants me to go. Do you know what’s there?"

Hob nodded. "Guardians. Sometimes. They have
a hunting lodge up there. Belongs to one of their high lords. We
supply the firewood."

The captain studied the map for a few more
minutes before lifting his eyes to Chana. "I want you to take
Sirocco, and ride back to Qets. Push him. He has speed and
endurance you can’t imagine. Tell Duncan to bring Red Fist to me.
Here" Kree tapped the city of Arabla southeast of their present
location. Hob excused himself.

"What do I tell Duncan about his mission?
You know how he is. He’ll want minute details."

"Tell him I need him. Here." Kree tapped the
map again.

"You'll make him crazy. You know that. He’ll
have us sleeping in our saddles."

Kree grinned. "Yeah."

"So what's there?"

"A major Temple. I'll see a healer, and rest
for a day or two. Our enemy does not know we’ve lost Eldren. They
won’t expect us to move south. I should be able to make it in a
day." He thought about the jarring horseback ride and the state of
his ribs. "Better say a day and a half."

Chana saddled the gray stallion while they
talked. "Okay, but aren’t Templemen working against us?"

Kree snorted. "I am Goddess-born, and a
Gryphon to boot. We’ll be safe enough. Besides, I am not convinced
these fellows are Templemen, and I have a good relationship with
the Matriarch at Arbala. If I mind my manners and jump through
enough hoops for her, she’ll help me sort it out."

Chana stopped tightening the saddle girth,
and stared at Kree, amazed. "Don’t tell me you’ve slept with a
Matriarch."

He regarded her in silence for moment, his
lips pressed into a thin line. "Not at Arbala. Arbala is—was my
home Temple. The current Matriarch is my birth mother."

Chana returned to her task. "I didn’t know
you had a mother."

"What did you suppose? I sprouted on papa’s
stoop one night like a mushroom, or that he was such a bounder he
didn’t know whom he got me on?"

"Temper. Temper. I simply meant that I
thought the Goddess-born were not supposed to know their natural
mothers since they are supposed to be the sons of the Goddess
Namar."

Kree shrugged before he thought. It hurt.
"My papa believed I had the right to know where I came from, who I
was. The point is my mother will know who is hiring Templemen
around here. And if Duncan can’t get to me before I’m ready to ride
on, I can leave orders and a map with her without worrying they'll
go astray."

Hob returned carrying a large sack. "I asked
Mama to pack some food for your journey, Sister."

"Thank you." Chana mounted. "I don’t need a
map, My Captain. I could track you across water."

As Chana disappeared into the forest, Kree
muttered, "I should never have left the fort without Red Fist,"

"Then why did you?"

Realizing he’d spoken aloud, the captain
raked his hand through his still damp hair. "Because, Hob, I am a
prideful man. It makes me stupid sometimes." He blew out a long
breath. "I could justify it by saying I didn’t have all the facts
when I made my decision, but I won’t. Point is, I promised to keep
Katie safe. Instead, I’m dragging her deeper and deeper into
danger." Kree scrubbed his hands over his face. Goddess, he was
tired. "I wish I had another option."

"Miss Kayseri could stay," Hob offered,
"with Mama and me I mean. Just until you and the little guardian
finish your business on the mountain."

"She could?" Kree’s face split into a grin.
"She could!"

Hob nodded. "I’ll run tell Mama." He
stopped. "Do you need help getting back to the house?"

"I’ll be along. I need a minute—to see to my
horse."

The barn smelled of animals and hay, a
combination Kree always found comforting, peaceful. He bent to pick
up his pack, wincing as pain lanced down his side despite the fact
that Chana had wrapped his ribs so tight he could scarcely draw a
breath. Leaving the pack where it lay, he eased his weight onto a
hay bale, his injured leg outstretched, and waited for the pain to
subside. He had been in much worse shape and survived. Granted, he
had been younger then not to mention higher than a kite.

Chapter Ten

Kayseri watched Kree from the shadows
cloaked in mischief. He had donned his uniform, black riding
britches and a sleeveless black pullover shirt made of finely woven
cotton. A thin line of shocking blue piping set off the shirt's
high neckline. A jacket of the same shocking blue, dragon’s eye
blue they called it, lay beside him on the hay bale. Like the soft
stretchy fabric, the dye for it came from Elhar manufactured there
exclusively for Qets Garrison. She let her mischief fade.

"You can't make me stay here."

"Hells bells, Katie! How many times do I
have to tell you not to do that? I might accidently hurt you."

"I don't care. I won’t stay here and let you
ride away when you're injured." Kayseri picked up the saddle pack
he had reached for and put it in his lap. "My Captain, you need to
rest. You need to take care of yourself. We are not at war."

Kree took her hand and kissed it. "
We
will be, if you don’t stop spying on me. Listen, sweetheart, I can
think of twenty good reasons to leave you behind, and not one good
reason to take you with me." He gazed into her eyes with that
intensity that made her stomach do flip-flops. "This is fatal
business we are tangled up in. People are dying. People are going
to die. You will not be one of them. You will stay here and that is
a solid fact."

"Prince Eldren is dying isn't he?"

"He won’t last the night, sweetheart. I am
very sorry, so very sorry I can't prevent that."

Sweetheart.
Kayseri's heart melted.
She liked the sound of it so much better than little girl. Her gaze
traveled the length of Kree’s body. "And you?"

"I'm not dying today." Kree flashed a brief
half-smile. "My body can take a lot more punishment than this.
Believe me I know my limits. Tomorrow?" He made a balancing motion
with one hand and winked at her.

"Don’t you dare make jokes! You didn't drag
me into danger. I dragged you. If I hadn’t been so childish, I'd
have let you take Eldren to the garrison. He would have told you
about Sandahl, and you would have the Red Fist with you right now.
Eldren wouldn’t have been shot. You could have been killed today,
and it's entirely my fault."

"I could be killed any day. It is not as
though I have a safe quiet job." Kree’s thumb traced lazy circles
on the back of her hand. "Don't fret yourself, Katie, no one can
predict outcomes. Battle is about chaos. Troopers lay down their
hopes and dreams and charge into the chaos, because if we didn't
we’d be so paralyzed by fear we couldn’t fight at all."

He paused, pushed a stray curl off her
cheek, smiled wistfully. "It doesn’t matter when death claims me,
because I signed on for it. But if I died tomorrow, I'd feel better
knowing you're safe and sound. Please stay here. Please be
safe."

The expression on Kree's face puzzled her.
He had kissed her as if he had wanted to devour her. It had been
scary and wonderful. Maybe he did not love her. But he cared for
her and he desired her the way a man desires a women. Inexperienced
though she was, she was not pixie-stupid. Would desire be enough to
move him? No. There was no undoing the mate bond, and Kree knew
this as well as she did. He would never turn desire to action.

"Kree." He looked as stunned as if she’d hit
him between the eyes with a board. "What do you know about taking
care of little girls? Sandahl has nothing. She will have to have
clothes made for her in Arbala. She’ll have to have someone to
dress her for this Prince Rian. Can you do that?" Kayseri laid her
palm against his chest. His heart beat fast. "You help people all
the time. Just this once, let someone help you. Let me come with
you. Let help you." Plainly, Kree had not considered any of these
practical girly things. Kayseri saw it in his eyes and felt it in
the sigh beneath her hand.

"I'll take you if you promise to do what I
tell you, when I tell you, and there will be no mischief either, or
I’ll bring you right back."