The Sworn (6 page)

“Most of these are young in the Dark Gift,” Laisren replied, moving with Jonmarc to gather up the bodies of the maimed prisoners. “They’re vulnerable in their day crypts. The fanatics know to injure them without striking the heart or cutting off the head. It takes the young ones so long to heal that they’re helpless from the pain.”

“What about him?” Jonmarc said with a jerk of his head toward the body impaled by the knife as he hefted one of the prisoners into his arms.

“He was old enough to be more cautious,” Laisren said, walking toward the
vayash moru
. With one swift motion, he removed the knife from the man’s heart. The man’s body convulsed and he gave a deep groan.

“Get on your feet,” Laisren said, helping the injured
vayash moru
up. “We’ve got to go.”

Jonmarc glanced around the chamber. A small corridor branched off, sloping down into darkness. “What do you suppose is down there?”

“If it’s what’s been feeding on the blood, you don’t
want to know,” Laisren said as they headed for the stairs, carrying the bodies of those too badly injured to walk.

This time, Sakwi and the
vayash moru
led the group, armed and ready for a fight. Two mortals remained behind.

“Burn what’s left.” Jonmarc did not turn as he climbed up the stairs. When they had reached the top, running footsteps sounded behind them, followed by the roar of fire. They hurried toward the shelter of the forest, and Sakwi raised the fog around them once more. Dark shapes darted through the fog, huge gray wolves called by the land mage to protect their
vyrkin
brothers.

“I hope you’ve told them we’re off the menu,” Jonmarc said with a warning glance toward Sakwi.

The land mage gave a grim smile. “Of course.”

Just before they reached the tree line, the
vayash moru
took to flight, carrying bodies of their fallen comrades. Inside the forest, horses awaited the mortals. A few of the
vyrkin
were well enough to ride in human form; the rest, Jonmarc and the others strapped carefully behind their saddles, wrapped in blankets.

“I hate to think what Carina’s going to say when she sees this,” Jonmarc said to Sakwi as they swung up into their saddles.

Sakwi smiled. “Since she’s been married to you, I must say that her vocabulary has grown. She’ll do what she always does. First, she’ll curse like a merc, and then, she’ll send the rest of us running to fetch her healing supplies.”

“I wish I didn’t bring her so much business. At least, not this kind.”

“How many more like this do you think there are?”

Jonmarc shook his head. “They’re like rats. Every
time you think you’ve found all the nests, another one shows up. We won’t know until we find more of the day crypts violated. The Blood Council’s issued a warning to their families, but Dark Haven’s been getting so many refugees—living and undead—because of the plague, we don’t know where the newcomers are going to ground. Same with the
vyrkin
. They move here to keep from being hunted in Nargi or Dhasson, and before they can find a safe place for their pack, the Shanthadurists are on them.”

“Can King Staden help?”

Jonmarc shrugged. “He’s sent some troops, but I get the feeling he’s stretched thin, keeping peace as the refugees pour in. There’ve been some outbreaks of plague near the Dhasson border. Plague’s gotten so bad in Margolan, Staden’s closed that border.”

“Didn’t Cam just leave for Isencroft? He’s got to cross Margolan to do it.”

Jonmarc nodded. “Carina wasn’t too happy. Said she didn’t fix her brother up just to have him catch the plague, but Cam’s as hardheaded as Carina.”

“They are twins, after all.”

“Cam’s a soldier first. He’s fixed up well enough to return to service, and Lady knows, King Donelan needs him. Anyone who can escape Isencroft’s Divisionists and live to tell about it can get across Margolan in one piece.”

“He was barely in one piece when he got to Dark Haven.”

Jonmarc grimaced. “Yeah. Only Cam would blow up the place where he was being held prisoner to warn the king.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Finally, they reached the forest’s edge and saw Dark Haven looming
in the distance. The manor house was large, austere, and foreboding. Jonmarc reached up to brush a strand of long brown hair from his face as the wind swept across the flatland that separated the forest from the manor.
Vyrkin
in their wolf form went first, intent on flushing out any surprises lurking in the high grass. They howled an all clear for the others to follow.

When they reached the manor gates, Jonmarc was not surprised to find Carina waiting for them. He swung down from his saddle and went to her. Short, dark hair framed her face, and even the full cut of her healer’s robes could not hide that she was well along in her pregnancy. Jonmarc knew she was appraising him as he approached, looking with a practiced eye for injuries.

“How bad?” she asked as he reached her.

Jonmarc laid a hand on her shoulder. “Our side got lucky this time—no injuries. Laisren’s informants had good information. Sakwi took down their magical protection, and we were on them before they knew what was happening.”

Carina’s green eyes searched his, and he knew that she could tell he was evading a full answer. “And the prisoners?”

“It’s bad. Real bad.” She started to move past him and he grabbed her arm. “Carina, please, let the other healers help, at least with the
vyrkin
. If you collapse again…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he glanced down toward her belly, growing large with twins. “Please,” he repeated quietly, “be careful.”

Carina nodded, but her gaze was already going to where Laisren and the others had begun carrying the limp bodies into the manor house. “I know. There’s just so
much to do.” She reached over to squeeze his hand. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

He watched her go, forced to smile as she took charge of the rescue operation, summoning guards to help transport the wounded, and sending servants to gather supplies.

“You were successful?”

Jonmarc turned. Gabriel, his sometime seneschal, sometime business partner, had approached with the annoying preternatural silence of the
vayash moru
. “Yeah,” Jonmarc replied. “Got in, got out, killed the Durim we could find, and burned the hole. But there’s nothing to say there aren’t a dozen more holes like that one, and I don’t know if we can keep the peace if this goes on much longer.”

Gabriel’s expression was troubled. “It’s not the first time plague has brought oppression on my people. Ironic, isn’t it? We can’t die of the plague because we’re already dead, and yet so many mortals want to destroy us rather than letting us help.”

Jonmarc glanced at him. No one would mistake Gabriel for anything other than an aristocrat. Even dressed as he was this night, in a simple black tunic and pants, everything about his manner spoke of power and breeding. Long, flaxen hair fell shoulder length, framing an angular but not unpleasant face. But while Gabriel had the face and form of a man in his early thirties, Jonmarc knew the other had existed for over four hundred years, to become one of the most powerful lords on the Blood Council that ruled the
vayash moru
in Principality and beyond. “You’ve seen this happen before?”

Gabriel nodded. “Once a century or so. Fashions change. Monarchies change. People don’t.”

Jonmarc pushed back a strand of long, brown hair and
wiped the sweat from his forehead. He’d risen from smuggler to Lord of Dark Haven when he’d helped Tris Drayke win back the Margolan throne. When he’d gone to war against an uprising of renegade
vayash moru
to avert a bloodbath, Jonmarc had become the protector of the mortals,
vyrkin
, and undead within his lands. He tugged at the collar of his shirt against the summer heat that made the air sticky, even in Dark Haven’s northern climate.

His fingers brushed the long scar that ran from his left ear down beneath his collarbone, and the two pink puncture marks at the base of his throat. The scar was old, a “souvenir” of a long-ago battle with magicked beasts. The punctures were new, evidence that he had survived the rogue
vayash moru
’s attempts to kill him. Around his neck, two faint scars were a permanent reminder of the years he’d been a prisoner of the Nargi, forced to fight for his life in their betting games. There were more scars beneath the shirt, and they were proof, if anyone still doubted, that he deserved his reputation as the most fearsome warrior in the Winter Kingdoms.

“Between the Durim and the Ghost Carriage, I don’t know how many more refugees Dark Haven can hold,” Jonmarc said as he walked next to Gabriel into Dark Haven’s massive entry hall. The lower floors had been repurposed as a hospital for as many of the
vyrkin
and
vayash moru
as possible. Upper floors where daylight might intrude had rooms for the worst injured of the mortal refugees. Carina presided over it all, directing the cadre of mortal and
vayash moru
helpers, as well as the handful of mages who came to lend their magic to the effort.

“Have you heard more from Kolin? Does he expect to have another Carriage run soon?”

“Last I heard, he said to expect him in about a month,” Jonmarc replied. “Said he’d be going back into southern Dhasson, near the Nargi border, for a dozen or so
vyrkin
and
vayash moru
they smuggled out of Nargi. Depending on how often he has to hide out from the patrols, that should mean a new load soon.”

“We can take them at Wolvenskorn, if there’s no more room here,” Gabriel offered.

Jonmarc gave him a sideways glance. “You’re helping fund it, aren’t you? The Ghost Carriage? You and Riqua.”

Gabriel smiled, making his long eyeteeth plain. “Of course. Riqua and I have been among the hunted too many times ourselves to stand by when we could be of help. We’re fortunate to have a brave network of mortals and a few
vayash moru
who refuse to leave the others behind. I know too well what it’s like, hiding in cellars and caves, waiting to be betrayed and burned. So we help others ‘disappear’ and take them to safety.”

“That’s why they call it the Ghost Carriage.” Jonmarc grimaced. “I just hope Kolin doesn’t push his luck too far. Nargi border patrols are nothing to fool around with. I’ve gotten in and out of Nargi myself a few times, if you recall.”

“Usually in about the same shape as the ones you brought in tonight, as I remember.”

“True enough.”

“Another long night.”

Carina looked up at Carroway and nodded. “Seem to be a lot of them lately.” She laid a hand on her swollen belly and Carroway gave her a look of concern. “I’m all right. Honestly. Just tired.”

“Do I need to tell you what I think?”

Carina smiled and patted Carroway’s arm. “I can guess. But there’s work to do.”

“You know, when Tris sent me to Dark Haven, I don’t think he expected you to put me to work!”

“Think of it as part of your healing. It gets you out of bed and moving around, plus it keeps you from feeling sorry for yourself.”

Carroway grinned as he got to his feet. He stretched out his hand to her and winced as she pulled herself up. After six months, he wasn’t good as new, but his left hand had regained nearly enough strength and mobility for him to begin trying to play the lute again. A knife had impaled his hand as he struggled with the assassin who had tried to kill Kiara. That injury left him worse than crippled. For Margolan’s Master Bard, it was a devastating blow. He sighed.

“Maybe I should just go back and focus on arranging music and events,” Carroway said. “Macaria’s been trying to tell me that it’s not the end of the world if I can’t play.”

Carina shook her head. “You’ve made progress. You’re getting flexibility back in your fingers. And the hand pains you less than it did before. Don’t give up. Laisren and Jonmarc both think that you’ll be fine with a little more time. And both of them have been banged up badly enough to know.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m good, free help,” Carroway joked.

Carina gave him a tired smile. “Well, there is that, too. I don’t know what I’d have done these last few months without you and Macaria—and Cam before he went home to Brunnfen.”

“Think he’ll have any problem crossing Margolan? I heard they closed the border, with the plague and all.” Carroway gave a tired grin. “Which also means you can’t get rid of Macaria and me now, even if you wanted to.”

Carina shook her head. “As I heard it, you can leave Principality to go to Margolan, but you can’t enter Principality from Margolan. And no, I don’t think Cam will have problems getting to Isencroft. As for Brunnfen, well, we haven’t been home in twelve years. Now that Father and Alvior are dead, it’s nice to be welcomed back, but it takes more than a letter to make it home again.”

“You’re worried.”

She shrugged. “Of course. I’d have gone with him if I could.” Her hand fell to her belly, and she looked out across the windowless room at the badly wounded
vyrkin
and
vayash moru
Jonmarc and Laisren had brought in from tonight’s attack.

Carroway laid a hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him. “Cam will be fine. You’ll see. And as for this mess,” he said with a look at the crowds of injured refugees that huddled in the room, “we’ll figure something out.” He grinned. “After all, they’ve heard the stories about how you and Royster and Taru fixed the Flow of magic when no one had been able to in over fifty years. And if that didn’t make you a legend in and of itself, then when word got out that you could take away the pain from
vayash moru
and ghosts, and that you were willing to use your talents on
vyrkin
, well,” he said with a chuckle as Carina blushed, “you can’t blame them for hoping that if they reached the protection of Dark Haven and its brigand lord, the legendary healer Lady Carina Vahanian could take care of them.”