Rift (26 page)

Barrow swore. “These look deep, but I can barely see. I’ll try to bind them as best I can.”

He was gone from her side and she soon heard the rip of cloth. When he returned, he helped her sit up, then wound long strips of fabric around her body, covering her upper back and shoulders.

The pain was so horrible that Ember could barely stay upright. Her body was shaking and the night had gained strange floating colors that rose like fog as she gazed into the darkness.

“It’s a poor job,” he muttered. “But it’s the best I can do.”

He left again and soon another string of curses floated through the night air. When he returned to her, Barrow said, “The fates are cruel. I’ve found you, but the horn is gone. I can’t call the others to us and I don’t want to move you until there’s light to guide us.”

Ember didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She simply let her body fall to the ground as it wanted to. She heard her mentor whispering to himself.

“Damn! She’ll freeze to death before the morning.”

What happened next only came to her in snatches. The sound of a girth being unfastened. The soft, curious whicker of Toshach close by. The gentle tones of Barrow’s voice as he spoke to the horse.

She was vaguely aware of the sudden welcome warmth as the stallion’s huge body settled on the ground next to her and of her own form being carefully pushed up against Toshach’s side.

“Don’t think me a churl, Ember.” Barrow stretched out next to her on the opposite side of Toshach. “If you aren’t kept warm, you might not see the morning.”

He moved closer, his body pressed against hers, his cloak covering both of them.

“Stay strong,” he breathed into the crown of her hair. “Daybreak brings us aid. I swear it.”

Through the haze of pain Ember smiled slightly. Part of her believed she had no chance of seeing the morning Barrow promised. But at least she would no longer die alone.

The morning did come, and at its first pale light, Ember’s eyes fluttered open. She felt wretched, stomach-sick and still dizzy, but her mind was clear in a way it hadn’t been the night before. At least she was warm. With a sharp breath she became aware of the cause for her body’s sole comfort. Barrow still slept. His lips were slightly parted and his steady breath peaceful.

Ember watched his face, entranced by the opportunity to observe the warrior so closely without his knowledge. Her breath hitched the longer she looked at him, mimicking her uneven pulse.

She’d never been this close to a man, not even her father, who’d regarded affection toward his children as foolish coddling. Tucked against Barrow’s chest, she breathed in his scent, earth and pine mixed with sweat and the warmth of skin. The heat of his body kept the chill of morning at bay. Unable to resist, Ember reached out and touched the bare skin where Barrow’s shirt was open at his throat. Her fingers stroked the hollow above his collarbone and slid down until she could feel the rise of his chest muscles. Her hands were trembling, but she didn’t want to stop. He was so warm.

Barrow’s eyes opened and suddenly he was gripping her arms. She worried that lingering in his arms without waking him, and going so far as to touch him, had earned his disgust, but Barrow wasn’t looking at her.

“Be still,” he whispered. He rolled over and his gaze swept the forest.

She heard it then. A quiet rustle of cloth followed by a crooning, mournful sound.

“Can you move?” Barrow asked, voice low.

Ember tested her shoulders, wincing at the sharp pain in her back that answered the motion. But it wasn’t unbearable. She nodded.

“I’ll help you onto Toshach’s back.”

He leveraged her body carefully up and onto the horse.

Toshach flicked his ears, turning his head to look at his new rider.

“Slowly,” Barrow told the stallion, and Ember wound her fingers in his mane as he lurched up.

Barrow stroked Toshach’s nose, whispering too low for Ember to hear.

He turned and drew his sword. Toshach followed as Barrow crept with silent steps through the trees. When Barrow paused, she peered around the horse’s long neck.

The body of the striga caught her attention first. Of course it would still be nearby, though she barely remembered crawling away from it in the dark. The sight of the thing in daylight was more awful than her first glimpses the night before. Devoid of life, it had a desiccated, hollow appearance and its mouth lay open, fixed in a final death cry—like something with a hunger that could never be sated. The crooning sound came again, drawing Ember’s eyes to the right.

A figure was hunched over the striga’s corpse. The head lifted and Ember saw it was an old man. He stood up, revealing a bony, thin body covered by tattered robes. His white hair hung in long, greasy strands around his face. When he looked at Barrow, he appeared neither surprised by nor afraid of the approach of a sword-bearing knight.

Instead he looked down at the body again and sighed. “You didn’t have to kill her.”

To his credit, Barrow took the strange comment in stride as well as the surprising fact that he’d spoken in English. “I’ll have to disagree with you there.”

“She only tried to lead you to me,” the old man told him. “As she was bidden.”

“And the others?” Barrow kept his sword at the ready. “Were they hoping to lead us somewhere else as well? If so, your beasts conveyed such an intention poorly.”

A rasping cackle escaped the old man’s throat. “My servants must eat. I cannot forbid them sustenance. I only needed one or two of you to find me.”

Ember watched Barrow’s grip tighten around the hilt of his saber. “I see.”

“And the others you fought?” the man asked with a pained expression. “Are they dead as well?”

Barrow nodded. “How is it that you’ve come to this forest?” he asked. “Give me your name.”

“My name does not matter.” The man showed Barrow a toothless smile. “It has meant nothing to me or to the world for many years.”

“Why is that?” Barrow asked.

The old man’s smile vanished. Squinting, he tilted his head and peered at Barrow for a long while without speaking.

“You are not the one,” he said.

When his eyes rested on Ember, she clung to Toshach’s neck, pressing herself into the horse. The old man’s eyes were much younger than his body and filled with a cold fire that made Ember shudder.

“Neither is she,” he said.

“How is it that you summoned so many striga?” Barrow took a threatening step toward the man.

The old man’s mouth twisted in disdain. “You are not the one.”

“That’s hardly important to me,” Barrow told him, advancing another step.

“Kill me if you will, knight.” The stranger’s odd grin was back. “My corpse will answer you no sooner than I in this moment.”

Barrow didn’t respond, but Ember noted the quivering tension in his shoulders. The old man’s eyes rolled up in his skull.

“Your friends approach.”

The words were barely off his lips when rapid pounding hoofbeats sounded nearby. A moment later Lukasz, Sorcha, Kael, and Alistair were upon them. Caber was tied by a lead rope to Alistair’s mount.

When the knights saw Barrow, sword drawn, facing the old man, they quickly formed a half circle behind the stranger, cutting off any path of escape—not that he’d shown any inclination to flee.

The man turned around slowly, looking at each of the warriors in turn. He shook his head with a weary sigh.

“Not here, not here,” he muttered, and began shuffling anxiously in place. He continued speaking under his breath, carrying on some mad conversation with no one but himself.

While the others kept watch over the stranger, Lukasz guided his mount to Barrow.

“We’ve been searching for you all night,” he said. “Why didn’t you summon us?”

“The horn was lost sometime last night,” Barrow told him. “I had no means to call for your aid.”

Lukasz frowned but turned his gaze on Ember. “And, Lady Morrow, are you badly injured?”

Ember managed to straighten on Toshach’s back though her own back flared with renewed pain. “I’m not sure.”

“Are you in pain?” the commander asked her.

“Yes,” she said, deciding there was no courage in a lie.

“I did what I could,” said Barrow. “But my bandages are no substitute for the art of a healer.”

“We’ll soon return to the keep,” Lukasz assured Ember. “And your wounds will be tended.”

Ember smiled her relief and allowed herself to lean forward against Toshach’s neck.

With Barrow at his side, the commander walked to the old man, who’d ignored their exchange in favor of turning in a circle while wringing his hands.

Lukasz’s booming voice broke through the stranger’s quiet ranting. “Are you the sorcerer who brought this evil upon us?”

The stranger’s nod was bizarre, almost eager.

The commander’s face grew troubled. “All of the night flyers we faced last night were summoned by your will alone?”

“Mine. Yes. Mine. Mine.” The old man gave a few jerking hops, as if dancing in some twisted celebration.

“Bind him,” Lukasz told Barrow. “His power is much greater than any we’ve encountered before. He must be brought before the Circle.”

The stranger offered no resistance when Barrow tied his hands and feet. He made no sound nor did he struggle when Lukasz and Barrow slung him belly down over Caber’s empty saddle, securing him to the horse in a way that would prevent him from putting the horse to his own uses. Caber pinned his ears and pranced, nostrils flaring at the strange scent of the old man bound to him. The chestnut stallion craned his neck and whinnied, turning his head in Ember’s direction.

“I think he misses you,” Barrow said, passing her and continuing into the forest.

He returned a few minutes later with Toshach’s saddle. Lukasz stayed at Ember’s side while Barrow saddled the stallion. They both helped her mount and Barrow climbed into the saddle behind her.

“Pardon my company, Ember,” he said.

“I’m sorry to be such a burden.” Ember fought the urge to lean against him. The memory of waking in his arms was close and startlingly vivid. She could too easily slip back into sleep, letting the security of his presence carry her away from the pain that held her body in its grip.

It was Barrow who pulled her against him. “A wounded warrior is never a burden. Rest now. You’ll soon be in more able hands than mine.”

Ember was grateful to relax against his chest. Her eyelids were heavy, eager to obey Barrow’s command. As they dropped down, she saw Alistair watching her. When he caught her gaze, he lifted his hand and offered a tight smile. But she was already too far gone to return it.

TWENTY

BY THE TIME EMBER
stirred again, the landscape that welcomed her from sleep was familiar. The steady motion of Toshach’s gait slowed to a stop in Tearmunn’s paddock. Ember sat up and immediately winced from the pain.

“You needn’t move.” Barrow’s voice was at her ear. “We’ll send for healers to bear you to your cell.”

The thought of being carried in a litter from the stable to the barracks mortified her. “No, no.” She straightened further without flinching to make her case. “I can walk. I don’t think the injury is that serious.”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

Ember gritted her teeth. “I can walk . . . please.”

“As you wish,” Barrow said. “But I hope you’re not so eager to suffer that you’ll refuse a bath and an elixir to ease your pain if I order them for you.”

Ember smiled at the promise of hot water brought to her cell, and she would have eaten newt eyes if someone claimed they’d take the pain in her shoulders away.

She could feel blood and grime caked to her face and back, itching as it dried. Beneath the itch lay a steady, building pain nagging her like the drone of insects. Barrow’s hastily wrapped bandages chafed at her wounds, but at least the sudden bites of pain kept dizziness at bay.

“If you insist,” she said, and felt his chest rise and fall with quiet laughter. Unfortunately the motion sent pain shooting through her shoulders, but she worked hard not to show it.

He slid from Toshach’s back and handed the horse’s reins to a waiting stable hand.

Ember bit the inside of her cheek as she slowly pushed herself out of the saddle. If she moved carefully enough, she could almost ignore the pain. She felt strong hands grasp her waist, easing her to the ground. Despite her claim that she didn’t need help, she turned with a smile to thank Barrow for his assistance. But it wasn’t Barrow’s face she found upon turning. Alistair still held her waist, though he dropped his hands from her sides when her eyes widened upon seeing him. From over Alistair’s shoulder Barrow watched them. He didn’t interfere, but his brow knit together as the pair stood awkwardly while the stable hand led Toshach out of the paddock.

“Thank you,” Ember muttered, and moved away from Alistair. Though she felt unsteady, she managed to make her way toward the barracks. She could feel Barrow’s gaze boring into her back with each painful step.

I will not falter. I will not falter.

“Let me help you.” Alistair touched her arm and she jerked away before she could help it. His grimace was fleeting, though, replaced in a moment with a gentle smile.