Sworn To Raise: Courtlight #1 (18 page)

She stared at the longbow arrow jutting from the animal’s ribs. However, it wasn’t enough to bring him down. Only a blade or magical blast to the heart could do that. In pain and fury, the whitehart elk whirled around to face his tormentor. He saw the general a dozen feet away and charged. Ciardis watched as the elk raced toward
the general, who now clutched a sword in his hands. The elk lowered his rack to spear the invader.

The general knew that he would have one chance to slay the beast. He just needed to get underneath its jaw and pierce straight through to the heart. Ciardis scrambled up and dashed toward the two combatants. She couldn’t do anything from here; the elk’s magical protection was already going down, thanks to the verbane-laced arrow
,
and there was no way she’d get a heart-shot in from behind.

Barnaren glanced at her. His concentration had been broken by Ciardis’s movement, and he quickly looked away. The elk reached him in that moment and Barnaren had to dodge to the side and under it’s angry hooves. It wasn’t quite enough. His sword stroke missed, but as the stag raced past, it managed to spear the general’s thigh with a tine. The tine snapped off in a clean break, but another immediately grew in its place.

The blood poison of the tines did its work within seconds. General Barnaren collapsed, unable to move his leg. His sword lay a few feet to one side.

The beast whirled on its hooves to finish off its now helpless opponent. In desperation, Barnaren scrambled across the ground, dragging his leg behind him as he reached for his sword. Making a spilt section decision Ciardis reached down and grabbed the sword first. She faced the elk.

“Ciardis, here,” said the General in a harsh, pain-filled whisper behind her.

Turning to Barnaren, she stared at his outstretched hand for what seemed like a long moment before taking it. She had no idea what he was up to.

Baring his teeth in a grimace, his slammed his mage strength into hers. She realized that the poison was affecting not only his movement, but also his ability to practice magic. He was trying to save them both by giving her the power to defeat the elk.

But her magic didn’t work like that, something the general suddenly understood. Swallowing quickly, she said, “Take my magic into you instead.”

With no options left, he reversed the push into a pull and grabbed for her power in order to drain her core. Instead, he felt a wealth of power—not from just Ciardis, but from the power she was pulling from the very earth beneath them. Taking what he could, he fashioned it into a spear of magic. A heavy arc of power raced from the general’s hand to the whitehart elk, which was almost upon them now.

The bolt crashed into the middle of the beast’s chest, and Ciardis saw the moment when its great heart stopped and the glimmer of life left its eyes. Before it had even crashed to the ground, its lifeblood had ceased to flow. Stone dead, the whitehart elk skidded to a halt in the mud and grass near the edge of the little lake.

As it lay there silently, Ciardis turned once more to the general, and then looked down at their clasped hands. Taking a deep breath, she looked at his leg, noting the bone-white tine that protruded upright from the mangled mess of his thigh.

At that moment, she heard a voice call down from the ridge. When she looked up, she saw the general’s guards cresting the ridge and scrambling down. She could see a healer in white rushing toward them.

“Thank you, Ciardis,” the general gasped weakly. “Without your power, we would have both died.”

“I only did what I have been trained to do – giving you the power,” she responded.

“Nevertheless, in battle, the ones who win are those who can face their fears and get it done. You,” he said, pausing to cough, “got it done.”

The healer reached them and knelt to examine the torn leg. The healer ignored the beast behind him except for a cursory glance to determine that the material that impaled the general’s leg was, in fact, a tine from the beast’s rack. The healer then set to work. Moving with extreme care, he checked the tine’s position—it had missed the great artery in the thigh—and then slowly pulled the tine from the bone with magical energy. It was a struggle, as the tine was awash with the magic of the beast, and he might not have accomplished it had Ciardis not reached out and grasped his hand. She quickly explained about her talent, and how she could strengthen the magic of other mages.

As he clutched her hand, his magic surged, and he was able to both remove the tine and combat the poison drifting in tendrils from it, cutting off the spread of the toxic vapors. After he’d tossed the neutralized tine aside, he cleansed the darkness from the general’s body. Then, with a firm hand, he pushed the bones of the general’s thigh back into place with a
snap
, and smoothed the torn muscles in his leg. The healer began working to fix the torn muscles like a sculptor with clay. Ciardis watched in fascination. She could actually see the healer’s magic as he smoothed the frayed flesh and knitted the muscles and skin back together.

It was amazing.

Once his patient had returned from brink of death, the healer met her eyes. “You have my thanks, Mistress Weathervane,” he said gratefully. “He is past the critical stage now. We can take care of any other necessary treatments at the Healers Guild in Sandrin.”

Turning to focus on Barnaren the healer said, “I need to put you in a healing sleep, milord, if you will permit it.”

“Of course, Barthis. A moment, though.” General Barnaren turned his head and told his second-in-command to take charge for the time being. She knew that General Barnaren was currently running a military campaign in the White Mountains. The basic knowledge had been passed to her as a part of his dossier – his high-ranking role with the military meant he would often be away from his estates and therefore, her.

She wasn’t sure if Barnaren was commanding his second-in-command to take charge of the Hunt or the military campaign itself. Before she could ask the healer put a hand over General Barnaren’s forehead and his eyes closed in slumber. Turning back to the task at hand the healer finished wrapping a dressing around the wound.

Barthis turned to look Ciardis straight in the eyes. “Without you, this would not have been possible. To do what I just did would have taken two healers, at least. I’m grateful,” he said, bowing his head.

“You’re welcome,” said Ciardis, “I’m grateful you were here.” They stood up and Barthis signaled to several guards to come forward. Two of the men who bore the insignia of Air mages band egan conferring with the healer.

“It’s best to lift him with air. Could you do this?” Barthis asked one of the Air mages.

“Yes,” the Air mage confirmed. Ciardis watched as two other guards came forward to lift their commander and the Air Mages commanded the wind to lift the air from General Barnaren from the arms of the guards. They made their way back up the hillside with the healer beside them.

Ciardis turned to their fallen foe, the beautiful whitehart elk. Sighing, she knelt by its side. Except for the arrow piercing its ribs, it had no visible wounds; there was no sign of the lightning arc that had killed it on its soft white fur. Stifling a sob, she rested a hand on its cheek. After a moment she rose and made her way up the ridge on the heels of the guards.

Damias said, “Not to worry, my dear. We’ll get this settled—and don’t forget, your first Hunt ball is tonight!”

Joy,
thought Ciardis with trepidation.

When they reached the city and their company parted ways, Damias urged his horse into a canter up the racing thoroughfare with Ciardis following closely behind. Damias never let her ride on this street. The thoroughfare was known for fast traffic and lots of accidents involving the galloping messengers and nobility looking to show off. She knew he was worried then – the only reason he would use it would be to speed their travel back to the Companions Guild. This street was set aside for fast-moving horses only; no carriages, wagons, or pedestrians were allowed. It was the ideal way to get through the city quickly.

When they reached their turnoff point near the Companions Guild, they slowed their lathered horses to a sedate walk, and proceeded to move quietly through the crowds. It didn’t take them long to reach their destination, though by then it was early evening and Lady Serena was pacing in the main hallway.
Maybe she already knows?
thought Ciardis with some relief.
At least I won’t have to tell her.

That hope was dashed in the next moment when Serena threw up her hands screaming, “You’re late! We have only two hours.
Two hours
to get you ready for the ball! You were supposed to be here hours ago.”

Today just went from bad to worse.

Beside her, Damias sighed and. “There’s something you need to know, my dear Serena.”

“Whatever it is can wait,” snapped Serena. Her arms were crossed in front of her angrily, her delicate foot tapping impatiently on the flagstones.

Serena summoned a legion of hammam girls and started issuing orders. “Five of you are to go with Ciardis and prepare her for tonight. Use scented water. Her hair is to be combed and styled, her skin lotioned, and her face made up.” Serena turned to face the one hamman girl whose name she could remember because of her bright red hair – Rose. “You are aware of the desired hair style?” Rose gave a swift nod. “Then get to work,” said Serena with a dismissive wave.

Immediately, the women descended upon Ciardis and urged her towards the stairs leading down to the hammam. As she looked over her shoulder, Ciardis caught Damias’s eye. With her eyes she pleaded with him. He gently took Serena’s arm, directing her attention away from Ciardis, and began to explain in earnest what had happened at the Hunt and the delay that had almost cost them the general’s life.

As Ciardis descended into the gloom, the heat of the steam bath rose to greet her. She was stripped of every article of clothing she wore. Huddling in the center of a pile of dirty clothes, she struggled to cover her private areas, mortified. The girls couldn’t have cared less, of course. One stood behind her and untwisted her bun until her hair fell in a cluster of loose braids. Unweaving the strands, the girl set about combing it.

Another girl hustled her over to a large standing tub as the hairdresser scurried along behind her, still combing. Ciardis was urged into the tub, and after maneuvering her to their liking, the girls scrubbed and brushed until Ciardis’s skin felt raw. Then, without warning, they pushed Ciardis under the water once, and then a second time. She came up spluttering, trying to get wet curls out of her face and the water out of her eyes.

As she stepped out of the tub a moment later, a girl with ginger hair began to rub a mixture of chestnut oil and lotion into her skin, making sure to knead it into every crease as if she were preparing bread for baking.

An hour later, Ciardis emerged from the baths primped and clean as she was handed off to the dressmaker and her minions.

She was soon standing in her bathrobe in the center of a large room, the center of a flurry of activity. When she’d arrived, Lady Serena had eyed her from head to toe, but hadn’t acknowledged her otherwise. Serena now stood in the corner discussing something with the dressmaker.

Ciardis huddled miserably in the middle of the room while a girl applied the final touches to her hair, which was elaborately done in a beautiful mix of curls and thick, twisted braids on top of her head. The hairdresser had a difficult time with Ciardis’s bouncing chestnut curls, but had managed to tame them for the evening. Ciardis eyed her reflection with happiness in the glass mirrors set on the wall.

On a pedestal before her was an orchid-purple dress, similar in make to those that the female Companions wore to court functions, with gossamer sleeves and pearls knitted into the fabric. The skirt was loose enough for full, fast strides. Beside the dress stood two pairs of orchid-purple shoes; one set of proper heels with a high arch and slender clasps, the second more curious in design. The set that stood beside the heels were leather boots with a simple pattern stitched into the material.

Ciardis knelt down to look at both shoes as the dressmaker’s assistant came up behind her. Smiling proudly, the girl—who couldn’t have been more than fourteen—said, “The boots are for your Hunt.”

“And the dress shoes?”

“For the dances, of course,” was the dressmaker’s assistant’s amused reply.

Next the dressmaker came over with Serena walking behind her. They showed Ciardis a nook with a privacy screen in front for her to change. When she emerged she wore the radiant purple dress and the surprisingly comfortable purple heels. She was given drop pearl and amethyst earrings to match her dress, and allowed to keep the moonstone and sapphire anklet as long as it stayed hidden beneath her dress.

A few minutes later, Ciardis, Lady Serena, and Damias stepped into a large carriage on their way to the Duke of Carne’s villa. “Well, Damias has told me about what happened on your blood hunt. I’m quite disappointed. To almost have the General die…we’ll
never
hear the end of this. The gossip will be the talk of the imperial court for the whole season!” said Lady Serena sharply,