Well of the Damned (30 page)

“Vandra?
How the hell are you still alive?” Cirang asked, pressing
herself flat once more against the wall. Her chest heaved from the
exertion, and the pain in her side seemed distant and insignificant.
She moved the sword to her right hand, dagger to her left.

“I’m
tougher than you think. Set your weapons down and walk out slowly.”

Cirang
judged the distance by the volume of her voice and breathing. Vandra
was close, maybe within reach if she simply swiveled into the open
doorway. Calinor’s big body on the floor in the doorway,
however, left little room for her to maneuver.

“Surrender
to me, and I’ll tell King Gavin you were cooperative.”

Cirang
gave a derisive snort. “That’s not going to happen. If
you run now, get on your little mule and ride like your life depends
on it, I won’t stop you. Otherwise, we’re going to fight
to the death, and I’ve already died twice. I’m not afraid
of it anymore.” Of course, she preferred not to die again so
soon, but saying so wouldn’t have sounded as good.

She
looked back down at Calinor, judging how the placement of her feet
would affect her balance. Maybe she should step on his back. Her
footing wouldn’t be as sure, but she would have surprise on her
side. He wore a thick leather cuirass, which might provide more
stability under her bare feet than if he’d been wearing a mail
shirt or no armor at all.

“You
should be, because you won’t live to see the sun rise,”
Vandra said.

Cirang
spun around the corner, stepping up onto Calinor with her left foot,
and thrust with the sword. Vandra was quick. She blocked it and
turned it away. Cirang didn’t give her the luxury of a
counterattack. She punched hard with the blade of the dagger, aiming
for the throat above the neck line of Vandra’s mail shirt.
Vandra dodged it. The thrust sliced through air.

Vandra stumbled over Calinor’s
legs when she tried to step back. Cirang pressed forward, bringing
her sword around again. Now on solid floor, she was in the open,
facing her opponent in the dark great room. Her night vision wasn’t
the best, but it couldn’t be any worse than Vandra’s.

“You’re
naked,” Vandra said.

“Does
that get you hot?”

Vandra
answered with a straight thrust of her sword. Cirang barely avoided
it by leaning right and sweeping its tip left with the dagger. Now,
with her arm extended, she was vulnerable. Cirang stepped with her
left foot, turning her evasive lean into a spin move, and came down
with the sword. Vandra should have been sliced open across the back,
but Calinor’s dull sword glanced off the mail shirt, giving
Vandra time to twist away. Already, Cirang was breathless. She’d
suffered a loss of strength in gaol, and her injuries taxed both her
ability to manage pain and her endurance. Surrendering wasn’t
an option, especially not when she had Vandra’s honor on her
side.

Cirang
stepped back, clutching her forearm against her side and feeling the
wetness there. “I... can’t fight you,” she said.
“My injuries are... grave, and I’m... weak. I surrender.
Please. Show mercy.” She hunched over and hissed in pain.

“Toss
your weapons to the ground, and I’ll give you a quick death,”
Vandra said.

“No,
King Gavin promised me... five years in gaol... before my execution.
You must let him... decide whether to... uphold his... promise.”

Vandra’s
breathing was loud in the darkness. “Since then, you killed his
friend Calinor and tried to kill me. I don’t think he’ll
be interested—”

Cirang
sprang forward, thrusting with the sword and slicing with the knife.
Vandra blocked the sword, but Cirang’s dagger lagged as it
sliced through flesh. Warmth bathed her hand and arm, spattered her
face. She stepped back, ready.

Vandra
slapped her free hand to her neck. “You... bitch.” She
wavered on her feet before sinking to her knees and then falling
forward. Her blood continued to flow in ever weakening spurts.

“I
was always better than you,” Cirang said as she bent over to
catch her breath once again. She waited until her enemy’s blood
flow stopped pulsing, and then put two fingers on Vandra’s
wrist. She felt two weak pulses before it stopped. A pool of blood
spread beneath the body, glistening black in the light of the Moon.
It filled the room with its distinctive, coppery scent.

Cirang
had no time to stand over her kills and gloat. Kinshield was surely
not far behind. She returned to the bedroom, cursing at the pain in
her side. Must have ripped a stitch or two.

She
rinsed off her face and hands and splashed water down her arms. Using
one of the clean towels, she wiped away the blood trickling down her
torso. After cutting a length of the bed sheet, she tied it around
herself, exhaling to get it as tight as she could, and got dressed.
When she pulled the tunic over her head, the neckline picked up a red
stain of blood.
Damn it.
The blood had even spattered her
hair. She didn’t have enough clean water to wash her hair and
didn’t have time to hunt for the well to draw some more. In the
other bedroom she found a mirror and a sharp razor the surgeon
undoubtedly used for shaving.

Carefully,
she lifted small sections of hair starting at the top and began to
cut it. By the time she finished, her hair was almost as short as
Lilalian’s was. Her reflection pleased her, and virtually all
of the blood had been cut off. The few specks remaining were easily
wiped away with a damp cloth.

She
pulled Vandra’s mail shirt off — harder than she thought
it would be with the uncooperative dead weight of the corpse
resisting her. She rinsed off the blood, patted the armor dry and put
it on. This would give her even more legitimacy if she needed to
claim to be in the king’s service. Mercenary battlers could
rarely afford mail. This one was marked with ribbons woven through
the links around the elbow-length sleeves in the king’s blue
and gold.
Welcome to the First Royal Guard, Cirang.
With this
armor, she might receive free food and lodging, maybe even a foot
massage.

A
sense of urgency quickened her pace. She preferred Vandra’s new
sword to Calinor’s old one and took it, along with its
scabbard. She stuffed two of the remaining clean towels into her
knapsack, removed the coin purses from the bodies of the two battlers
in the doorway and left, shutting the door behind her.

A warhorse and the mule grazed
lazily in the front of the house. She took their reins and led them
to the barn in back, despite their protests. Stabling the mule would
keep it out of sight, and maybe Kinshield would simply ride past
without stopping. Inside the mule’s saddle bag was a flint box
and toothbrush, which she put into her knapsack. Everything she
didn’t have to steal or buy would get her that much closer to
her escape.

The
mule happily munched hay in one of the stalls, but when she tried to
mount Calinor’s golden battle horse, it balked with wide eyes
and loud neighing. The white mare and painted stallion in the barn
were no more willing to let her get near, even threatening to bite,
which was both insulting and aggravating. She had to trap the stupid
warhorse against a wall to mount it. It tried to buck her off, and
she hauled in one rein until its nose was touching her boot. She was
master here, and it would do as she commanded or suffer her wrath.

When
at last it surrendered to her will, she followed the road towards
Ambryce and her freedom.

Chapter 34

Gavin
packed up his bedroll. “Brawna, wake up.”

“Huh?”
Brawna asked, blinking sleepily. She propped herself up on one elbow.
“What’s happening?”

“Vandra
and Calinor are almost to Cirang. She’s in a house, sleeping,
and they’re about to go inside.”

She
got up and began packing up her belongings. “They’ll be
wary. Vandra’s a good battler.”

“How
far away are they?” Daia kicked dirt over the pale glowing
embers of their cook fire and splashed some water onto the wood.

“Three
or four hours, I’d guess,” Gavin said. He started putting
saddles on the horses.

“We’re
too far away to be of any help,” Daia said. “If Cirang
manages to defeat them both, she’ll be gone before we get
there, and Vandra and Calinor will be dead.”

“Well
I can’t just go back to sleep and hope for the best,”
Gavin said as he mounted his horse. He created a ball of light and
pushed it over Golam’s head and onto the rocky ground in front
of the horse’s feet.

“Of
course not,” Daia replied. “I just don’t think we
can do any good from so far away.”

“Then
stay here,” Gavin said. He tapped his heels against Golam’s
sides and started off at a trot. He rode close to the tree line where
the ground was flatter and there were fewer stones for his horse to
stumble over.

“Gavin,
wait! Damn it.”

He
knew they wouldn’t let him go on without them, but leaving got
them moving faster than talking did. When he heard the sounds of
horses’ hooves beating the ground behind him, he stopped and
waited so as to give them all the benefit of the path light.

“You’re
the most hardheaded man I’ve ever known,” Daia said as
she rode up beside him.

Gavin
grinned at her. “It’s part o’my charm. Let’s
go.”

They
talked as they rode, speculating that Vandra would be on her guard
after Cirang’s last attack. Although Calinor was aging, he was
a skilled and experienced battler. Gavin wouldn’t say so out
loud, but he didn’t think a woman armed with only a dagger
could best him. She would have to take him by surprise.
Be
vigilant,
he thought.

Though
he was tempted to stop and use Daia’s gift to see what was
happening at the house, he didn’t want to waste more time. If
someone was injured, they would need him, and every second could make
the difference between surviving and dying. Stopping to satisfy his
curiosity wasn’t worth the risk. He wouldn’t have that
weighing on his shoulders for the rest of his life.

When
he saw a house in the distance, he urged Golam to a gallop. A sense
of urgency made his heart pound, though he didn’t know why. He
leaped from his mount’s back and drew his sword.

“Could
you bring the light?” she said. “I can’t see.”

Gavin’s
magic-enhanced vision was fine, but he needed her ready too. He
pulled the path light from where he’d left it and pushed it
ahead of him.

“Be
ready,” Daia whispered, stepping in front of him.

“She
ain’t here,” Gavin said with certainty. Aldras Gar was
quiet, and the gems in his sword remained dull, unlighted by the
warrior’s wisdom magic imbued in the sword. “Brawna, tie
up the horses.” He pushed the door open and went inside. The
smell of blood filled the house.

The
floor near the dining table and chairs was drenched in blood. Bloody
footprints were concentrated at the edge of a small rug and extended
towards a room where two bodies lay in a pool of blood. Gavin rushed
to them, unmindful of Daia’s cries of warning.

Calinor
was half-sitting, half-lying against a wall with his head bowed. The
sound of ragged breathing accompanied a slow, shallow rise of his
chest. Daia knelt next to Vandra and checked for a pulse while Gavin
fell to his knees beside Calinor and set Aldras Gar down. He put his
hands on his friend’s shoulders, shut his eyes and began to
feel the warmth build in his belly. It flowed through his arms, out
his hands and into his injured friend. The warmth became intense heat
like a small sun was burning within him. He gritted his teeth and
squeezed his eyes tightly, resisting the urge to yank his hands away.
It wouldn’t last long. Just a bit longer. He pushed through the
pain to a place of inner calm and sensed the familiar white
fluttering in his mind. That part of the healing process was as
pleasurable as the previous part had been painful. If he could find a
way to get to this place without the pain or without someone being
injured, he might like to stay a while. This time, something was
different. He sensed another energy added to his own, combining to
heal even faster. Then he realized Calinor had magic healing power
himself.

His hands cooled more quickly than
usual and the calm white fluttering dissipated. He opened his eyes to
find Calinor watching him with a surprising expression of guilt on
his face.

“All
these years...” Gavin said, shaking his head in disbelief. He
offered a hand to help Calinor sit upright. “You never let on.”

Calinor’s
blush was deep enough that, even in the dim glow of the magic light
ball, it was plain to see. “A man’s got to keep his own
secrets,” he whispered, “but you have my thanks.”

“Your
secret’s safe.” Gavin patted his shoulder. “Glad
you’re still with us.”

Footsteps
approached from behind. “King Gavin?” Brawna said. “Are
you hurt?”