Warcry (23 page)

Lanfer punched her, splitting her lip, snapping her head back.

Darkness rose, coming to claim her. She felt her legs go out from under her, felt herself fall to the floor. She should be afraid, but what flooded over her was regret. And a desire to see Heath one last time, and tell him . . . tell him . . .

From somewhere far away, Lanfer laughed. There was a blinding pain on the side of her head, then the darkness was complete.

CHAPTER 31

HEATH DIDN’ T NEED TO SEE THE SECOND SLIPPER as he ran up the stairs. He could hear the sounds of a struggle above him. He hurtled up the remaining stairs, put his shoulder to the trapdoor, and burst through without stopping.

Lanfer had Atira pinned to the wall, naked, her hands bound behind her back. Her dress was in tatters, and her breasts lay bare. Lanfer’s trous were undone. He’d startled the bastard, and Heath ran forward, fully intent on running him through.

Lanfer yanked Atira’s head back and placed his dagger on her throat. “Stop,” he croaked.

Heath stopped just paces away, breathing hard, his weapons ready. “Let her go.”

Atira was limp in Lanfer’s arms, her eyes closed.

“Why don’t I just take her while you watch,” Lanfer taunted. “These Firelander women sleep with anything, or so I’ve heard. I’ll just—”

“Durst is dead,” Heath said. “Executed by the Queen’s command. Your followers have fled or died or surrendered. Do the same, Lanfer.”

Atira groaned, blood at the corner of her mouth. Her bruised and battered face twisted with pain. But there was a flash of rage beneath her eyelids.

“Never mind,” Heath said, unable to suppress his fury. “I will kill you for what you have done.”

Lanfer laughed, an ugly, deep sound. “Watch how I—”

Atira turned her head to the side and retched all over him.

Lanfer recoiled, dropping Atira, taking the dagger away from her throat. She slid down to sprawl at his feet.

Heath leapt for Lanfer, slashing for his neck.

Lanfer dodged, running for his own sword. Heath gave chase, but Lanfer was fast, getting to his weapon in time to take a defensive stance.

“Why not just admit right now that I am the better fighter,” Lanfer taunted him. “I’m bigger, I’ve a better reach. You can’t win now.”

“Only one way to find out,” Heath growled, and lunged.

ATIRA COUGHED WEAKLY. SHE WAS A MESS. ANY ATTEMPT to move, and the agony swept over her, pulling her consciousness with it.

But the sound of blade on blade drew her and helped her focus. Heath was fighting Lanfer, each maneuvering around the other, feinting and striking, then moving back to strike again. She drew a deep breath, put her good arm against the wall, and used her legs to force herself up. She stood there, trembling, leaned against the cold stone, and waited for whatever strength she had left to gather.

Even with the fight raging before her, she couldn’t help herself; she turned and looked toward the Plains. The needle of light was gone, but there was something coming, something on the horizon. It was golden and moving swiftly up the valley at an odd angle. She blinked again, staring at a wall of golden light that seemed to sparkle as it bore down on the tower . . .

. . . and passed over, like the wind over the grasses of the Plains, to continue on, over, and into the mountain itself.

The two men never noticed, intent as they were on killing each other.

Atira blinked again, wishing she could rub her eyes. Perhaps it had been her imagination, except . . . there was another ring of light coming, golden and flowing up the valley.

Even as she watched, she rubbed her bindings against the stone, trying to free her hands.

“YOUR WHORE LIES BROKEN,” LANFER TAUNTED, moving well away from the open trapdoor. “And I broke her.”

Heath followed, watching his footing. The taunt meant nothing. What mattered was the location of his enemy’s blades. Prest’s voice seemed to echo in his head as Heath waited for his chance.

Lanfer moved in, his sword raised for a blow to Heath’s head. But the sky turned gold, and Heath caught the glitter of Lanfer’s dagger snaking around, trying for Heath’s side.

Heath twisted to take the blow on his shoulder, letting the blade slide down his armor, and swung for Lanfer’s wrist. Heath felt the blade cut to the bone.

Lanfer cried out, dropping his dagger.

Heath rammed his dagger into Lanfer’s stomach and turned the blade.

Lanfer fell to his knees, then forward, driving the blade in deep.

Heath stood, breathing hard, his sword in hand, waiting as the pool of Lanfer’s blood grew larger.

“I’m pretty sure he’s dead,” came a whisper.

Heath stepped back, still eyeing the man’s body. “Atira, are you—”

Atira choked back a sob. “I think he broke my shoulder. Oh, Heath, last time, last time, it took forty days to heal. Forty days. I—”

Heath started to laugh weakly. He kicked Lanfer’s body over, watching for any sign of life. There was none.

“Eln will make me drink that elements-cursed tea,” Atira moaned. “Maybe you should just grant me mercy.” She had slid down the stone and knelt there, her hair falling around her, her dress ruined and bloodied.

“The tea is bad.” Heath choked out a laugh, then moved to her side. “But you’ll be alive to drink it.” He knelt, setting his weapons to one side. He was afraid to touch her. Every inch of her was bruised and scraped, her one shoulder oddly hunched forward.

“I’m going to have to drink buckets.” She eyed him through her hair. “You should clean those weapons, you know.” She lisped slightly; her lip was still bleeding and swollen.

Heath snorted a strangled laugh, reached out, and gently brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I will, I will. But let’s get you to the healers first.” He looked behind her. “You almost wore through those bindings.” Her poor wrists were bloodied.

“Almost,” she muttered. “You got to kill him.”

Heath picked up a dagger. “I’m going to cut you loose.” He paused. “It’s going to hurt.”

Atira rolled her eyes. “It can’t be any worse than—”

Heath slit the cloth bindings.

Atira screamed as her hands parted and her shoulder shifted its position. “Oh, yes it can,” she shrieked. “Yes it can! Skies above!”

Heath leaned back as she panted through the pain. “Now where is my stoic Plains warrior, eh?”

She glared at him, then used her good hand to brace the other. “I am never wearing a dress again. Ever. He’d never have broken my shoulder if I hadn’t been wearing that foolish piece of nothing.”

“Never?” Heath asked plaintively.

“Never,” Atira said, moaning as she gripped her bad arm with the good one. “I’d rather be naked.”

“You are so beautiful,” Heath said, letting his hands hover over her, looking for a safe place to offer comfort.

She eyed him through her hair. “I am covered in sweat, blood, and vomit.”

“I know,” Heath said, weak with relief. “And more precious than anything in this world or the next.” He leaned over and kissed her, thanking every power that ever was that she was safe.

Her lips moved over his for just a moment, returning the kiss. But then she spoke against his mouth. “Ow.”

“I need to get you to a healer,” Heath said, leaning back. “I can carry—”

“Don’t you dare,” Atira growled.

Footsteps, running up from below. Heath went for his sword, but relaxed when Tec popped his head up. “Captain, you’re wanted, sir,” Tec said, scrambling out as Dustin followed close behind.

“Ya got him.” Dustin was looking at Lanfer’s body. “Good on ya, Captain.”

“Who wants me?” Heath asked.

“The Warlord. The chamber’s been searched and he won’t let them seal the doors until you’re there. Seems the babe is coming fast,” Tec said cheerfully. But then his eyes popped. “Sun God, she’s naked!”

Atira muttered something under her breath.

Heath choked off a laugh. “Get me a cloak, quick as you can,” he commanded.

Both Tec and Dustin disappeared from view.

“Very well, my lady.” Heath knelt back down, using a scrap of cloth from her dress to clean his blades before sheathing them. “If you won’t let me carry you, let’s see if we can get you on your feet. We’ll support each other.”

“That will do.” Atira took a deep breath and reached out to him with her good hand. It took some doing, but she was on her feet when Dustin returned to hand Heath a cloak, his eyes politely averted.

“We’ll see to this, Captain,” Dustin said, gesturing to Lanfer’s body.

Atira groaned as the weight of the cloak settled on her shoulders. Heath pulled her good arm over his shoulders and wrapped his other arm around her waist as they started down. “Stupid stairs,” Atira gasped. “You city-dwellers and your love of
up
.”

Heath decided that silence was really the only answer that was safe.

They had rounded the first turn when the stairwell filled with golden light that passed through and left them blinking.

“What was that?” Heath asked.

“I don’t know,” Atira sighed as she took the next step. “And right now, I really don’t care.”

They’d reached the door of the Queen’s chamber when a woman’s cry rang out.

Heath looked at Atira, who nodded in answer to his unasked question. “The Warprize’s time is upon her.”

CHAPTER 32

HEATH HAD HIS ARM AROUND ATIRA’S HIPS, SUPPORTING her every slow step. He was relieved to see Detros at the door of the Queen’s chambers. “Just in time, Captain,” Detros said as they walked up to the chamber doors. His eyes narrowed as he took in their condition. “Lanfer?”

“Dead.” Heath stopped and held Atira tight as two women went past, carrying buckets of water.

Detros nodded in satisfaction. “Eln’s inside. Crazy Firelanders—begging your pardon, miss—are washing everything. Archbishop and the witnessing lords are already in.”

“You’ll seal the doors?” Heath asked. There was a bunch of guards standing about and runner lads sitting farther down the hallway, ready to take messages.

“Aye, we’re ready.” Detros heaved a sigh. “Been a damn hard day, but we’ll cope.”

“Aye to that,” Atira grumbled.

Heath tightened his grip on her hip, and they entered the room. It was good to know that Detros had things under control.

The new Archbishop was standing by the door with his two acolytes beside him. Iain was trembling, and Heath knew the young man was probably exhausted. But the grim look on his face told Heath that Iain was determined to do his duty.

That grim look turned to concern as he took in their condition. “Eln is in with the Queen,” Iain said as he shut the door behind them. “Perhaps we should send for another healer before I seal the doors.”

“No,” Heath said.

“We look worse than we are,” Atira groaned.

“I am not sure that is possible,” Iain replied, but he threaded a golden chain through the bolt and pressed a soft lump of lead to both ends. One of the acolytes handed him a crimper to use, squeezing the Archbishop’s seal into the soft metal. Heath thought the lad seemed pale; he sympathized as Lara cried out from her chamber.

The hearth was filled with fire and pots of water. Marcus was busily working, providing kavage and tea to all. The room was filled with all of Lara’s bodyguards and the witnessing lords.

“Let us all witness the sealing of the doors,” Iain announced, his voice wavering a bit. “The birth of the heir can now go forward.”

“As if he has anything to say about it,” Atira mumbled.

Heath snorted, then flinched as Lara cried out again.

“The healer’s in there with them.” Marcus scowled at him. “Take her in there.”

Heath girded up his loins and did just that.

ATIRA WISHED SHE COULD SCREAM WITH LARA.

Lara had just taken to her bed when they pushed their way through the bedchamber door. She seemed to be fighting off the efforts by Anna and her women to put her in bedclothes. “A sheet will be enough,” Lara growled. She was sweating, her curls plastered to her head.

Keir reached over, grabbed up the nightgown, and over the cries of the women, opened the heavy wooden shutters and threw it out the window.

Eln was at the foot of the bed, letting Amyu pour water over his hands. He nodded in approval of Keir’s action. “That takes care of that, I think.”

“Men in the birthing chamber,” Anna scolded as she spread the sheet over Lara. “It’s not proper. They’ll just get in the way, or faint or some such, wait and see.”

“I was there when the babe was created.” Keir settled in at the head of the bed, moving to support Lara. “Why not now?”

Anna flushed bright red.

Lara laughed and groaned, and then caught a glimpse of Heath and Atira. Her eyes went wide. “Dearest Goddess, what happened to you?”

Eln turned, raising an eyebrow as everyone else stared.

Heath shifted his weight from one foot to the next. “Maybe we should stay in the other room. We can wait.”

“I’m just in labor.” Lara scowled at him. “You both look like you’ve been dragged through the streets.”

“Over here.” Eln moved to a bench by the wall and cleared off some supplies. Heath limped over and settled Atira down on the bench as carefully as he could. Atira groaned, but she managed to stay upright, putting her back to the wall.

“Lanfer?” Keir asked.

“Dead,” Heath said.

“Good,” Keir growled.

“Where does it hurt?” Eln asked.

“Everywhere,” Atira replied, trying hard not to breathe.

“He broke her arm,” Heath said. “And she vomited during the fight.”

“Let me see,” Eln said. He tipped her head back and looked into her eyes. “How’s your stomach now?”

“Better,” Atira said.

“Can you see? Are you dizzy?” Eln knelt, digging through one of the bags on the floor.

“Yes,” Atira replied. “Yes.”

“All right then.” Eln pulled a bottle out of the bag. “We’ll start with this.”

Lara was struggling to sit up, trying to see. “Orchid root? Eln, if she’s been brain-bruised—” She groaned and fell back into Keir’s arms. “Oh Goddess.”

“Her eyes are fine, Lara.” Eln scooped out a small bit of thick red paste onto his finger. “Open wide.”

Atira eyed him suspiciously.

“It will take the pain away,” Eln said impatiently. “Unless you want me to touch your shoulder without.”

Atira opened her mouth.

Eln put the paste on her tongue. “Just let it melt. Heath, get that cloak off her.”

Heath helped her ease the cloak down over her shoulder, revealing the tatters of her dress. Atira would have ripped it off, but Heath seemed intent on keeping her breasts covered. City-dwellers.

The thick paste was melting on her tongue with a sweetish taste to it. Atira grimaced and swallowed hard.

Lara was panting now, and Keir was leaning over, whispering to her, offering his muscular arms for support, letting her grasp his strong hands. Anna and the women, all dressed in white, moved about the bed like clouds in the sky. The whole room seemed to take on a glow, and Atira sighed, relaxing, suddenly feeling warm and content. She felt herself tilt over onto Heath’s shoulder. It was a good shoulder, and she liked the way his hair smelled.

“That’s the way.” Eln’s voice seemed to come from quite a distance, and Atira blinked as his strong, thin hands explored someone’s arm. She frowned, thinking that she should be concerned about that for some reason. The person the arm belonged to might be hurting.

“Ah.” Eln had reached the other person’s shoulder and neck and was feeling the bone under the skin. Pain surged over Atira, and she blinked as her arm suddenly belonged to her.

“Now, this might hurt a little,” Eln said as he gripped her wrist. He wrenched her arm over and—

By the time she regained her wits, Eln was tying a cloth around her neck that encased her arm. “The joint was out of its socket. Not much more I can do than this and willowbark tea.”

Atira grimaced as she stood and walked back to the bed. “How long?” she asked, trying to clear her head.

“Depends on the depth of the bruising,” Eln said. “Could be a few weeks. Could be a month or more.”

“I knew it,” Atira whispered to Heath.

“You need to wash again, healer,” Amyu said as Eln approached the bed.

“Yes, yes.” Eln stood and tossed a packet to Heath. “Brew her some of this, and make it strong. And don’t try to move her just yet. The orchid root will need time to wear off. But for now—”

Lara groaned again.

Heath went white and swallowed hard. “I’ll see to the tea,” he said. He gave Atira an anxious look. “Will you be all right?”

Atira leaned back against the stone wall and looked at him. “She’s just having a baby.”

“Yes, well,” Heath said, darting a look at the bed. He gave her the oddest look, then made his escape.

Atira laughed weakly. The Warprize had explained that Xyian men did not normally aid at the birthing. Which made little sense to her.

She sighed again, then yawned. Healers always seemed to make it worse before they made it better, but she had to admit that paste and the cloth had eased her pain. Now, if she just didn’t have to move for a month or so . . .

“I see the head,” Eln announced as he took his position between Lara’s legs.

Atira blinked and focused on the scene before her. That seemed fast, although one never knew with first babes. Still, it was good to know that Lara’s time would be short.

Lara was breathing hard now, following Eln’s instructions, and pushing as best she could. The women were gathered with warm clean cloths in which to take the babe.

Eln was reaching now, his long, thin fingers encouraging the babe’s progress. Atira got a quick glimpse of a mass of dark hair as the healer started to smile. “Oh-ho, what have we here?” He lifted the bloody pink mess that wriggled in his hands. The tiny face screwed up, and then a cry rang through the room.

The room echoed with joy as everyone smiled and laughed. Atira smiled, too, but there was an odd tugging at her heart. An old sorrow hovered over her as memories crowded in.

“A boy, and a fine one,” Eln announced.

Anna was standing there, cloth at the ready, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, he’s lovely, Lara,” she said as she took the babe and waited as Eln tied the cord.

“Let me see, let me see,” Lara said, sobbing and laughing at the same time and reaching out. Anna obliged, leaning over the bed to display the babe. “Welcome to the world, Xykeirson.”

Amyu stepped away from the bed, averting her face from Lara and the babe. She caught Atira’s eye and drifted over to the bench to sit beside her.

Lara groaned again and started to pant. “Eln, the afterbirth? That felt more like—”

Anna drew the babe back in alarm, but Eln just started to laugh. “Push, Lara. Push!”

“It can’t be.” Lara started laughing then and straining again. As Anna and the rest of the ladies looked on in wonder, Eln worked swiftly, then lifted another babe with a head full of dark hair. He took a cloth from one of the women, used it to cradle the child, then stepped around to place the bundle in Keir’s hands. “A Daughter of Xy!”

Lara burst out into happy tears.

Keir looked down, astonished. A little hand appeared, waving in the air as the little girl squalled at the top of her lungs.

Eln returned to his place. “There’s still work to be done here, Lara.”

Lara panted, propping herself up on her elbows. “Two? Twins? Let me see, Keir.”

Keir held the bundles close, and Lara started crying again. “Oh, beloved.”

“They are perfect,” Keir said in awe. “But she needs a name, Lara.”

“Kayla for the girl,” Lara said, easing back onto the pillows to finish the business. “Her name is Xykayla.”

Atira watched as Keir was overcome, tears forming in his eyes.

One of the women offered to take the babes, but Keir was having none of that. He took the children over to Anna, and together, they started to clean them.

Atira stifled a sob, sorrow welling up within her, remembering all too well performing her duties for the tribe. One did not speak of the pain that life-bearers carried, except for. . .

Keir and Anna were placing the babes on Lara’s chest, letting her touch them and exclaim in delight. The Warprize had made it clear from the very start that she would not follow the ways of the Plains in this. She would nurse and rear her own children, according to Xyian custom. Those of the Plains would guard and aid, but she would be as thea to them.

As mother to them.

It was too much. Atira dropped her eyes, unable to watch.

Amyu’s head was down as well.

Grief shared is halved. Atira reached over and touched the back of Amyu’s hand. “We are the life-givers. Life-bearers of the Plains.” Atira whispered the words that were chanted at every birth on the Plains. “This is our burden. This is our pain.”

Amyu stiffened. Her sorrow was of a different kind, she who was unable to bear. How many births had she witnessed; births of babes that she alone could not bring forth. But she nodded, acknowledging the shared grief. “The tribe has grown. The tribe has flourished,” she responded, her voice meant for Atira’s ears alone. “This is our burden, this is our pain.”

“Our babes are taken. Our arms are empty.” Atira’s throat closed at the memory. “This is our burden, this is our pain.”

Amyu finished the chant. “This is the price of our freedom.”

Lara yawned as Eln declared himself finished with his task. “You need sleep, Daughter of Xy,” Eln continued, starting to wash his hands.

“We must present the babes to the witness and have them blessed,” Anna said. “Lara, close your eyes for a bit. We’ll get you cleaned up shortly. Amyu, we’ll need more water for washing.”

Amyu got up and followed Anna and Keir out the door. Eln was right behind them, a cloth-wrapped burden in his hands. The afterbirth, no doubt. The other two women had some of the dirty linens in their hands as they followed him, laughing and happy. Atira could hear the shouts of happiness and surprise as the door closed behind them.

Lara sighed, her eyes already drifting shut.

Atira yawned as well. It seemed like forever since—

A noise brought her back. The sound of a door being barred.

Atira opened her eyes. One of the ladies in white was still in the room, moving around to the head of the bed. Atira glanced at the door. It was barred.

She frowned. That was wrong. Why would she bar the door?

The woman had a pillow pressed over Lara’s face.

Lara was struggling, but she couldn’t seem to reach the woman. Atira pushed herself to her feet and staggered toward the bed. “Stop,” she rasped, the room spinning widely.

A pounding at the door, with voices raised outside. Keir’s was loudest. Then the doors seemed to bulge as the men began to ram something against them.

“This whore killed my son.” The woman looked at Atira, her eyes filled with madness. “Women die in childbirth all the time.”

Beatrice. Durst’s bonded. Atira remembered seeing her, a shadow next to her lord. There was no sanity there, no reason. The winds had taken her wits as sure as the sun rose. Atira staggered over, grasped the pillow, and yanked it out of the woman’s grasp.

That was her intent, at least. But the woman hung on with both hands, and they tugged it between themselves.

Lara heaved in deep breaths, clutching at the bed with her hands, staring wildly about the room.

Atira’s grip was with a single hand, but Beatrice used both. So Atira tugged hard, and when Beatrice struggled harder, she released the pillow, sending the woman staggering back from the bed. Atira placed herself between Lara and the madwoman and reached for her dagger.