Текст книги "Warsworn"

Автор книги: Elizabeth A. Vaughan

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

“They just do.” I sighed, resigned to the change of subject.

“It should be called something else.” Keir looked at me intently.

“Whose game is this, anyway?” I asked. “Let’s go over the moves one more time.” With his memory, it took no time at all. Once he had them down, he looked at me expectantly.

“The best way to learn is to play.” I moved one of my center pawns out.

Keir gave the board a close look, and then lifted an eyebrow at me, his eyes sparkling for the first time since he’d gotten sick. Father had taught me chess long ago, and we’d played many games during his illness. I knew myself to be a fair player. Father usually won, since he’d had an uncanny knack of holding all the possible moves in his head well in advance of the actual turns. I knew that once Keir learned the strategies behind the moves, I’d never be able to beat him. Best to take full advantage while I could.

Keir made his first move carefully. I reached out and advanced another piece, and then watched as he committed a classic beginner’s mistake.

A few more moves and I had him. “Checkmate.”

“What?” Keir frowned, glaring at the pieces. “What did I do wrong?”

I stood up. “When you figure it out, call me, and we’ll play another game.”

He was muttering under his breath as I left the tent.

I was doomed.

It had taken most of a day for Keir to pick up the basics. I’d gone about my business at the stilltent, returning when Keir would bellow, make my move, smile and then leave to let him contemplate the possibilities. This frustrated him to no end. But once he learned to avoid the basic mistakes, he started to take great childish glee in seizing my pieces and hiding them in the rumpled bedding, chuckling over my pending defeat. I spent the next morning barely avoiding the capture of my king. I hadn’t lost to him yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Keir was gaining strength, but he was still weak. He’d manage a trip to the privy area, and then I’d insist that he return to the bed. He made a token protest, but he leaned heavily on Marcus for the few steps back to the bed.

But he felt and I agreed that he was strong enough to receive the reports of his warleaders. So there was a great deal of coming and going as the warleaders prepared to make their reports to their Warlord. For Keir needed to see and hear as much if not more than to be seen and heard. The warleaders needed the reassurance that he had survived the illness.

I could feel the burden of command lift from my shoulders as we crammed into the sleeping area, even Sal, looking thinner and weaker, but determined to participate. Iften stood by Keir’s bed, shooting fairly nervous glances in my direction.

No one had the strength to talk long, so all kept their words short. Keir listened intently, asking few questions, sometimes only grunting in satisfaction. Yers’s report took the longest, as Keir questioned him as to the minds of the warriors. Keir’s eyes flickered with surprise when Yers began to speak, and his gaze traveled over the room before settling back on Yers, concentrating on his words. I suspected that Joden’s absence had been noted.

My heart lifted as Gils stood confidently under the scrutiny of his superiors and reported that the number of the newly ill had fallen off dramatically. As proud as I was of Gils, I also felt a guilty sense of relief at his words. Relief, that it was almost over. Guilt, because so very many were dead, and I still had my Warlord.

Gils’s report put new strength into everyone. Keir gave Sal permission to range the hunting parties further afield, and resolved a few other issues before his strength started to wane. And not just his—the others were tired as well. The warleaders departed quickly, with Iften in the lead.

Keir reached for the chess board, but I beat him to it, removing it from his grasp. “Sleep, Keir.”

He sighed dramatically, but the effect was spoiled when it changed to a yawn.

Marcus had put together a meal of fry bread, kavage, and gurt. As tired as I had grown of those foods while on the march, they were a welcome change from the soups and stews that we had been eating. Isdra and Gils joined us in the stilltent, and we all dug in, eating in silence.

It was only after we were full to bursting that Gils spoke up. “Warprize, I’s thinking that Iften is saying that the illness was spread on purpose by the Xyians.”

Isdra muttered something under her breath, and Marcus gave her a sharp look. “Careful, warrior. Iften is Second, and earned that rank through challenge. Twice your size, and the better warrior.”

I stiffened, surprised to hear Marcus say something like that without a token, but Isdra merely shrugged. Marcus scowled, and opened his mouth for a blistering comment, but there was a noise outside the tent. Isdra took advantage of the interruption. “That’s Pisila, returning with Meara.” She left the tent.

I looked after her, but Marcus shook his head. “Young’un, you at least listen to me, yes?”

Gils nodded. “I’s staying out of his way.” Gils also stood, grabbing for his satchel. “There’s all that fever’s foe that we might not be needing. Maybe Sal will have wax for the sealing, Warprize.”

I nodded. “Keep track of the new cases, Gils. We have to stay isolated for forty days from the last case.”

He nodded, looking serious. “I’s remember, Warprize. Forty days.”

Voices rose outside, Isdra’s the loudest, with a sharp exclamation of anger. We all rose and went out to find Is-dra yelling at Pisila, a younger girl, of fair skin and a serious look on her face. “Isdra, I did no wrong. She had to be marked!”

“You had no right to make the decision without the Warprize’s approval!” Isdra was outraged, her hands on her hips.

Between them lay Meara in her basket, her little arms waving about, playing with a wide strip of privacy bells. I took another step and bent down to look closer, and gasped.

A tattoo. Goddess above, a tattoo.

Marcus and Gils moved and we all stood there, looking down at the smiling babe, with two thin tattoos on her tiny upper arm. I confess, my voice was a shriek. “YOU TATTOOED A BABY?”

Everyone looked at me in horror, but it was Pisila that answered. “Earth, no! Warprize, I used-”

“A stain.” Marcus knelt down, holding out a finger, which Meara grabbed with glee. He stretched out her arm for me to see that it was a stain, two thin parallel lines on her pink skin. I remembered now, Isdra had mentioned that to me. As I looked closer, I could see that the lines were really thin willow leaves. “With a fair hand.” Marcus added, clear impressed by the work.

Pislia’s smile was smug. “My thanks.”

Isdra was not appeased. “You had no right, warrior. The Warprize has not chosen a design.”

Pislia looked confused at that. “She has not? But I thought—” she gestured to my upper arm and I realized she’d mistaken my scars as tribal marks. “I thought that was the mark of Xy.”

Isdra proceeded to tell her how stupid she was as I

stood there, stunned. I couldn’t blame the young woman, I could understand her confusion. The scars on my arm were from when I’d been attacked by Xyians in the Fire-lander’s camp outside of Water’s Fall. How ironic that she would see it as my tribal marking, as was their tradition.

Meara waved the bells in the air, gurgling with laughter, as Isdra and Pislia argued.

I put my hand over my mouth, but I couldn’t keep my shoulders from heaving.

They all looked at me, worried, and Pislia spoke anxiously. “Warprize, forgive me. The stain will wear off.”

“Eventually,” voiced Gils.

That was it. I lost control, laughing so hard, I thought to wet my trous.

After they’d departed with the babe, a wave of weakness came over me. Marcus fixed me with a look. “Bed for you. Hisself sleeps, you sleep.” He gave me a long look. “You could sleep in the command tent, yes?”

“I don’t want Keir disturbed, Marcus.” I stared into my kavage. “I’ll sleep here.”

He frowned as he gather up the dishes. I shrugged, and played with the hem of my tunic.

“What is wrong, Warprize?”

It was my turn to sigh. “I feel guilty, Marcus. Why did it never occur to me that their lungs were filling? If I’d realized that in the village, maybe they would have lived and none of this would have happened.”

“Don’t you think that Isdra wonders why she failed to offer Epor comfort in that fashion? If she had, maybe he would have lived. No one knows the wind’s way, Lara. And you will make yourself mad trying to predict or say ‘what if’.”

I had to smile. “You sound like Eln.”

“A wise man.” Marcus chuckled, and picked up the pile of dirty dishes. I watched, but stopped him when he would have left. “Marcus? Would Isdra… ?”

He sighed and gave me a long look. “She made you a promise, Lara, and Isdra is not one to give her word lightly.” He looked off at the tent entrance. “But the breaking of a bond is a painful thing.”

“Like yours?”

He turned on me, the dishes in his arms rattling. “What do you know of that?”

I took a step back, surprised at his sudden anger. “Someone told—”

“No business of yours, or any other. Say no more of this to me.” Marcus spat out the words, and left.

I stared at him, bewildered at the sudden change. Suddenly, it all seemed too much, and I sagged, tired in body and spirit. We all were short of temper and energies.

A voice caught my attention, and I stumbled over to the entrance, to hear Keir calling my name. Goddess help me, that man was supposed to be sleeping.

I walked over to the command tent to find Rafe and Prest there, guarding the entrance. As Keir bellowed yet again, I looked at them and smiled. “Anyone interested in learning a game?”

Of course, I’d forgotten about their memories. Not their memories, exactly. It never occurred to me that they could hold the picture of the board in their minds, telling each other the movement of the pieces without having an actual board in front of them.

Rafe and Prest took to the game like ducks to water. They cheerfully learned the moves from Keir and then started playing. This had the added benefit of keeping Rafe from trying to do too much. I’d worried that he’d put our security before his well-being. Sitting and studying the chess board wasn’t as good as sleeping, but I would take what I could get.

Thankfully, Marcus had grown curious, and had started asking questions about the moves and the pieces. I made sure that they had the moves right, and left them to their own devices. I’d thought to kill two birds with one thrown stone, since Keir would have others to play with and I might be able to get him and Marcus to rest while playing. But Marcus grew adept at calling out his moves to Keir as he worked.

As the day wore on, they all kept themselves amused for the most part. I would go over to check on Keir regularly, but all was well, except for an odd feeling that I had. Both Keir and Rafe seemed worried about something, but what it was I couldn’t get them to tell me. Rafe in particular seemed always on the verge of asking me about something, only to change his mind at the last minute. Keir was just cranky about something.

Finally, when Rafe gave me that odd glance for about the tenth time, I confronted him. “Rafe, is there something you want to ask me?”

Rafe straightened, and gave Prest a beseeching look, as if asking him for help. Prest just shrugged.

“Warprize, some of the warriors, they are worried.”

“Worried?” I frowned, concerned. Perhaps there had been complications that hadn’t been reported.

“Worried.” Rafe nodded. “Especially the male warriors.”

Male? I thought about that for only a moment before the answer hit me. Of course. Male warriors not used to illness and its effects. I put a hand over mouth to cover my smile, thinking of Rafe and his four ‘nurses’. I only spoke when I could do so with a serious tone. “Rafe.”

“Warprize?”

“Rafe, sometimes, with this kind of illness, the male warriors may have other problems, lingering effects, that might worry them.”

Rafe looked at me, his face intent. “Problems?” His eyes drifted down slightly, then returned to mine.

“Problems.” I said firmly, giving him a steady look. “Such as maybe their… bodies… not working as they did in the past. But it is passing, and will return to normal when their full strength returns.”

“So.” Rafe thought for a moment. “Can I spread word of this?”

“Please.” He stood, as if to go, and I raised my hand. “And please spread the word that any can come to me when they have… problems.”

He paused. “Are you sure? It’s hard to know, Warprize, your ways are strange to us. No one wishes to embarrass you or to anger the Warlord.”

“I’m modest as to my body, Rafe. But not as to my patients. I have a token. I know what it means. Tell them to use it.”

“I will, Warprize.”

I watched him walk off to spread the word, and then turned and contemplated the command tent. Seems I

might need to have a quiet word with one very cranky, and very worried, Warlord.

“It’s called a’draw’.”

Keir and Prest glared at me. I remained calm, looking down at the playing board. “When neither player can maneuver the other into checkmate, it’s called a ‘draw’. The game is over with no winner.”

“There is always a winner.” Keir declared.

“And a loser.” Prest agreed.

I rolled my eyes. “Not always. Keir, you weren’t a clear winner against Xy.”

Keir flashed that boyish grin of his. “Ah, but I claimed my Warprize, didn’t I?”

I blushed. Luckily, Prest was studying the board. He grunted, “But I’ve no piece to offer as warprize.”

Somehow, they’d assigned sexes to the various pieces. They didn’t like the fact that the Queen was the only female piece on the board. I wasn’t sure how they’d assigned genders but they managed to their satisfaction. So now they both looked at the remaining pieces intently. Finally, Keir sat back. “With no Warprize to offer, I suggest we regroup our troops and meet in battle again.”

Prest nodded, and they started to rearrange the pieces.

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again. I suspected by the time we returned to Xy, the rules of the game would be so changed as to be unrecognizable.

Ortis entered the tent, ducking his head to avoid the top. “Papers from Water’s Fall, Warlord.”

We both looked up, startled to see a bundle of letters in his hand. He spilled them out on the bed at Keir’s feet. “Exchanged at a distance, as commanded.”

I looked up at him, and he smiled and nodded. “I sent your papers back the same way, Warprize.”

“Thanks, Ortis.”

Prest had moved when Ortis had entered, and he now moved the board away from the bed and took his leave. I started sorting through the various letters, looking for familiar handwriting. Most all were formal missives from the Council, but I found one from Eln, Othur, and what looked like another one from Simus.

I paused, feeling the heavy paper crackle in my hands, looking at the wax seal. I wasn’t really sure that I wanted to know their contents. These would contain word of the plague and its effects. I glanced up to see Keir looking at me, patiently waiting. I broke open Othur’s seal.

Lara,

All is well, dearest girl. Eln’s letter and the reports of the Council will give you the details, but the Sweat seems to have passed us by. Thanks to your warning we were able to close the gates, and isolate the few that sickened. Eln was surprised by the change in the disease, but I am sure his letter is filled with that information. I do not know of its effects in the outlying manors and villages, but we are well. Send us news of yourself as soon as you are able.

Would that all was as well within the castle. Alas, that you have inflicted me with one Simus of the Hawk.

Never mind the fact that Simus strides from his chambers to the mineral baths naked as a plucked chicken, smiling and greeting all and sundry with a cheerful smile.

Never mind the fact that he and Warren have taken to weapons practice in the Great Hall, jumping from table to table swords in one hand, flagons in the other, fighting and laughing, and cursing each other, causing ladies to swoon and leaving heel marks on all the tables.

Never mind that half the lords want to kill him, the other half want to befriend him and that all of the ladies seem entranced. Which includes my own Lady Wife, thank you very much.

Oh no, the worst of it is that Simus is having relations with Dye-Mistress Mavis, or so the sounds echoing in the castle halls at all hours of the night announce to all and sundry. By his tradition, Simus does no wrong, or so Dye-Mistress Mavis has informed me, Warren, and the Archbishop. Further, when we confronted her, she told us in no uncertain terms that she is an adult and Master of her trade and that her behavior is none of our concern. She added something to the effect that you aren’t the only one willing to make sacrifices for her guild. Which had the Archbishop clutching for his holy symbol.

I think Dye-Mistress is only after the cloths that Simus wears like a peacock. I have tried to explain that to Simus, but he just smiles that wide smile of his and indicates that he sees no harm to being ‘used’.

The entire Court and Council is scandalized. They all come to me and complain, taking the greatest pleasure in going over every juicy detail.

Durst is recovering, gaining strength slowly. Eln is uncertain that he will ever recover his full vigor. I think his health suffers more from the hate that festers within than the wound itself. He holds all of the

Firelanders responsible for his wound and the death of his son. Which places Durst firmly in the camp of those who wish to kill Simus of the Hawk and any other Firelander that he can get his hands on. Although he hasn’t moved from his bed, he foments trouble with the other lords. He has been warned, but his temper flares every time he hears of the Fire-landers. I’d send him to his estates, but I’d rather have him here under my eye.

The official letters will hold more of the details, Lara. Send us word as soon as you can. We are terribly worried about you.

Your Warden, Othur

My Lady Wife begs that I add this note and sends her love and best wishes and wonders if perhaps you are pregnant? She asks that you send word as soon as you can.

O.

I fell back on the bed, laughing in delight at the image of Simus wreaking havoc in the Court of Xy.

I’d returned to the stilltent, after I’d read Simus’s letter to Keir, along with the rest of the letters from Water’s Fall. Eln had written of his dismay over the disease and its severity, but he’d come up with no alternative remedies. I took comfort from the fact that I had already sent a letter to him outlining our treatments. But I took far more comfort that the Sweat had not reached the City. It would be months before we knew its true effects.

The Council reports were dry, but Keir seemed interested, so I read them out to him. I’d left him with a firm promise that he’d sleep. I decided that the time was right to clean and reorganize the stilltent. It had been sometime since Gils had reported a new fever, and I prayed that we’d seen the last of it.

I had a bucket of jars and bottles to clean when I was done, and I took them outside and sat on a log to start cleaning them. There was still a bit of sunlight to enjoy, and I wanted to take advantage of it. Isdra was off some ways, supervising some warriors doing laundry. Rafe and Prest were at the command tent, sitting outside, playing chess from the looks of it.

I was content with my small chore, setting the clean items on a cloth to dry when Gils stumbled up and sat next to me, his satchel in his lap. The strap fell off his shoulder. I smiled, then frowned as I saw how tired he appeared.

“Gils, you are exhausted. Let me get you some kavage.”

He sighed softly. “Just had some, Warprize.” His face was turned, and he was looking at the sunset. “I’s just very tired.”

“Gils?”

Without another word, his satchel slipped from his fingers, and he collapsed against me, his head on my shoulder. I put my fingers on his warm forehead and cried out for help.

Chapter 11

People poured out of the tents in answer to my cries. I’d clutched Gils in both arms, trying to keep him from collapsing. Clean bottles and jars rolled everywhere as I tried to get purchase to support us.

Yers reached us first, Isdra a breath behind. They lifted Gils off me, cradling him in their arms. As I stumbled to my feet, my gut clenched to see Gils so pale and still, as the baby had been before she…

Others came, even Rafe and Prest gathered about us. Keir was coming as well, walking slowly with Marcus hovering at his shoulder.

I reached my hand out, intending to feel the extent of Gils’s fever. He had run himself to exhaustion helping others. Would he have enough strength to survive the Sweat?

Gils convulsed, limbs jerking in spasms, his head thrown back, gasping for air.

Yers staggered, almost dropping the lad in horror. But Isdra stepped closer to Yers, taking more of Gils’s weight. They both managed to hold steady as Gils stopped thrashing as quickly as he had started.

I froze, dread deep in my bones. Convulsions? Goddess, what was happening to him? There’d been no others with such symptoms—

Isdra’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Warprize? The lake?”

I moved then, my hand on his forehead. Gils was warm, but not extraordinarily so. Had his work weakened him to this point? “Gils?” I called his name, but there was no reaction, no indication that he was aware. I placed my fingers at his neck, feeling a slow, weak pulse.

Quickly, I checked for any kind of head wound, or perhaps he was choking. But his head showed no sign of injury and his throat was clear. There was no sign of other injury, it had to be the plague, and yet there was no odor, no real sweat on his body. But the headaches could cause these kinds of problems, if they were severe enough. A new fear gripped me. Had the Sweat changed again? Or had the Sweat came on him so fast that it was causing convulsions? I spent precious moments checking every possibility I could think of, but I had no answers. Gils’s breath was rapid and labored, perhaps…

With Yer’s help, Isdra and I got the boy in the position that we could drum his lungs. If I could just clear his lungs of the fluids there—

Again, Gils jerked in spasms. Those around us stepped back, looks of fear on their faces. I had no comfort to offer, and what was worse, I knew that no amount of cold water would cure this ill. His breathing was slowing, as was the beat of his heart. I looked around, finally focusing on Keir’s face, a question in his eyes. I met his gaze, and let my tears fall, answering with a shake of my head.

“You can do nothing?” Keir rasped as he reached us.

“No.” I ran my fingers through Gils’s red curls. He didn’t react, and I was desperately afraid that he was dying. “He’s in the hands of the Goddess now.” I stepped back, and gestured to Yers. “Bring him into the tent.”

“Grant him mercy.” Keir said firmly.

“What?” Shocked, I watched in horror as Yers and Is-dra lowered Gils into a patch of thick grass off the path. Yers unlaced Gils’s jerkin, as Isdra stepped over to stand next to me. Rafe and Prest each knelt, and took hold of a leg, removing Gils’s boots. Joden took Gils’s left arm, and pinned it over Gils’s head. Marcus left Keir’s side, pulling his dagger as he drew closer.

“No!” I cried out, leaping to stop this. But Isdra grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms, and bore me to the ground.

“We’ll not let him suffer, Lara.” Keir looked at me, his eyes blue sparks under grim brows.

“The fire warmed you.” Joden began, his voice trembling.

The others responded in unison. “We thank the elements.” They pressed Gils to the earth as he convulsed again. He seemed to be fighting them, even as I fought Isdra. They couldn’t do this. They couldn’t!

“The earth supported you.” Joden’s voice was firmer now.

“We thank the elements.”

Marcus drew closer, but as he did, Yers looked up, and said something I couldn’t hear. Marcus handed him the dagger, and they traded positions.

“The waters sustained you.”

“We thank the elements.”

I cried out, denying their thanks, begging them to stop. Isdra pulled me back and wrapped her arms around me. “Would you let him suffer?” she whispered in my ear. Bile rose in my throat even as I cried out again, trying to deny this, trying to deny that I was helpless to stop his death, from the plague or from the dagger.

“The air filled you.”

“We thank the elements.”

Yers leaned forward. “Go now, warrior. Beyond the snows and to the stars.”

He thrust the dagger between Gils’s ribs and into his heart.

I screamed, and collapsed sobbing in Isdra’s arms. I turned in toward her, hiding my face on her shoulder. Her face was damp as well, and she rocked me as I wept. Why hadn’t I kept a better watch over my own apprentice? How had he sickened to such a point under my very eyes?

“Is this my fate? To sing dirges and laments for days unending?” Joden asked. Silence was the only answer. He sighed, lifted his face, and began to sing.

I hid my face again as they began to prepare the body. I only looked up when Marcus placed Gils’s satchel by my feet. I reached out to take it, my arm trembling at the effort. Had I ever told him how proud I was of him?

I looked up at Marcus. “I couldn’t heal him,” I swallowed hard. “I failed him.”

Marcus knelt, and wrapped his arm around both Isdra and I, saying nothing.

Joden’s chant ended. Within the warmth of their arms, I looked up to see Keir standing over us, looking at where Gils lay, his jaw clenched. He looked down and met my gaze and looked about to speak, when another voice rose, angry and scornful. “This is what comes of Xyian ways.”

We all turned to see Iften standing with Wesren and Uzaina next to him. “The death of our best and brightest, through their filth.”

Keir growled deep in his throat. “Iften—”

“No.” Iften cut him off. “Once before I challenged, and stepped back. Not this time. I call senel to witness and hear my challenge and see you answer with your blade. Summon the warleaders, summon those who can still walk and all will hear my truths.” Iften spun, striding toward the command tent.

Isdra helped me to my feet. Marcus stood next to Keir. “If there is a challenge, he will win.”

Keir nodded, a resigned look on his face. “He will.”

“You can’t!” I wiped my face of its tears. “You can barely walk, much less fight. Iften can’t. Simus said that the rules—”

“Normally.” Keir stepped closer to me, reaching to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. “But the situation is hardly normal. He will use that to his advantage.” Keir straightened a bit, and used his hands to adjust the leather harness of his swords. “Your pledge still stands?”

“It does.” Marcus answered.

“I will do what must be done.” Isdra responded, looking off after Iften.

Keir gave her a long look, but didn’t push the matter.

“We’d also see to the Warprize’s safety.” Rafe spoke quietly, with Prest nodding his agreement.

“This isn’t right.” I looked over at Joden, but he looked away and said nothing.

Keir reached out, and enfolded me in his arms. My eyes still red, I buried my face in his neck, trying hard not to weep. The soft brush of his lips against my ear had me desperate for more, and I took his face in my hands and kissed him.

Keir broke the kiss and stepped back. “Let us face Iften’s truths.”

“Gils,” I turned back, to find that Gils had been lifted from the ground unto the arms of some younger warriors.

Yers spoke. “They will see him taken care of, Warprize.”

I stepped over by them, to look into that dear face one more time. Gils seemed asleep, as if he’d awaken if any but called his name. I arranged his curls with a quick gesture, saying a silent prayer to the Goddess for him.

“Go with them, Lara.” Keir urged. “You do not need to attend this senel.”

I took a step back, and turned to face Keir. “My place is at the side of my Warlord. They will care for his body. Gils is safe in the hands of the Goddess.” I walked over and took Keir’s hand.

Keir smiled with pride, and we walked toward the crowd together.

The warleaders had gathered by the time we arrived, forming a circle outside the command tent. Iften was speaking, almost shouting, to the crowd, his sword and shield in hand. “We are cursed by the elements, and this foul Xyian is to blame.”

Many heads were nodding in agreement, and I shivered at the implication. Keir moved to stand before us, standing at the ready. I moved up beside him, with Prest and Isdra at my shoulders. Rafe was a step behind, watching our backs. Marcus was behind Keir, and to my surprise and relief, Yers was there as well.

“Her filth strikes deep, and leaves its taint. Even a child of her own lands falls victim to her corruption. A child that carries the corruption now within her!”

This remark was met with scowls, a negative reaction that surprised me, Iften saw it too, and hurried on. “Keir of the Cat has brought this upon us, by bringing his Xyian into our midst. He is to blame for what has happened here, and he must answer for it.” Iften was shouting now, spittle flying from his lips.

Keir had not yet pulled his sword, but I could tell that he was prepared, a cat about to leap upon its prey. My heart seemed stuck in my throat. He’d not refuse this challenge but—

Iften pointed his sword at me, his face full of disdain. “Gils had the new knowledge of healing and the elements killed him because of it. Epor was curse—”

A scream split the air, freezing the blood in my body. Isdra launched herself from behind my shoulder, her face a snarl, Epor’s warclub in her hands.

Iften moved fast, his sword out and his shield up to meet the blow. But he’d been facing Keir and Isdra’s attack forced him to shift slightly to meet her. What precious moments she gained Isdra used, the warclub a blur of motion in her hand. The blow fell on Iften’s forearm, and I thought I heard the crack of bone.

Everyone scattered, trying to give them room, forming a loose circle around the fighters. It was a large circle, showing a healthy respect for the reach of those weapons.

Isdra never paused, never let up, pressing Iften with a series of blows to his shield. She had eyes only for her target, grim and calculating.