Thinking of what the path had looked like in front of the gates, Marsh focused on becoming one with the shadows and stepping through them to shorten the distance in between. Her arrival startled the guards, and only Roeglin’s swift warning kept her from being skewered. As it was, Gustav barely managed to turn his blade away in time.
The shadow master rolled his eyes, and Marsh ignored him.
“This way,” she said, cutting through Gustav’s apology. “There’s a gate.”
Again, she drew on the shadows to guide her, but this time she didn’t seek to become one with them, remaining solidly human. Leading the way through the shrooms and boulders clustered around the base of the waystation’s wall, she took them to the gate and was relieved when it opened beneath her hand. The kat brushed past her to investigate the territory behind, and Marsh didn’t try to stop her.
None of her companions made any comment, but she knew that more than one of them would be thinking that whoever had taken over the station had made the same mistake as Monsieur Gravine—they’d barred the gate and forgotten the secondary entrance.
Or they left it clear so they could escape if they needed to, Roeglin murmured.
Marsh might have rolled her eyes at his words, except the man had a point. Drawing on the shadows and on a more natural magic, she tried to see if there was anyone waiting inside. It was a relief when the shadows showed the space on the other side of the gate to be empty. It was even more of a relief when her nature magic showed that the dark ahead of them was devoid of anything except Mordan’s brightly flaming life force.
Now all they had to do was reach the gatehouse. She led the way along the wall, hoping there was an inner gate as well as an outer one. The Deeps knew her uncle had insisted two gates were safer.
She glanced back to make sure the others were following and muffled a snort when she saw Gustav carefully lowering a locking bar over the small doorway. Someone, at least, had learned from past mistakes, even if they weren’t his own.
To her relief, they reached the gatehouse without encountering anyone or anything—and the original builders had decided to install an inner gate, which the current occupants had closed. Once they’d quietly opened them and slipped inside, Gustav and Izmay shut it again and lifted the locking bar and dropped it back into place. The sound echoed loudly around them.
It probably echoed loudly in the courtyard beyond too, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that they’d reached safety and could finally rest. Marsh was feeling the effects of the long ride, the battle, and using her magic, but there were more important matters. She looked over at where Henri was helping Gerry settle to the floor.
The redheaded shadow guard was looking pale in the light of Henri’s lantern.
“Need a hand?”
Henri looked bleak.
“He got clawed.”
Of course, he did. Marsh looked around the gatehouse.
“Anyone else get clawed?”
Her question led to restless shuffling as everyone stopped to check themselves. Zeb gave a soft exclamation of surprise and sank to the ground. His action drew Gustav’s attention and the guard captain uttered a quiet oath, reaching down to help the man to his feet and guide him across to sit beside Gerry.
“I thought you shadow mages were made of sterner stuff.”
Zeb managed a tired chuckle and pointed an accusing finger at Marsh.
“Didn’t notice it until she made me look.”
“Yeah, she’s all kinds of trouble, that one.”
Gustav patted him on the shoulder and looked at the others.
“Anyone else?”
Marsh wondered if they could be that lucky, and breathed a soft sigh of relief when the others shook their heads.
“Nope. All good here,” Izmay said, and Jakob echoed her.
They’d been luckier than they deserved.
Agreed, Roeglin said, then added, You’d better get to work.
Marsh glanced at him, and then at Izmay, who was rummaging in her pack. She shot a look toward Mordan, but the kat had settled along one wall and was cleaning her paws. If she’d been hurt, she’d have been licking the wound, instead. Izmay’s voice drew her attention back.
“Lost what I had on the mule, but I’ve still got these,” the dark-haired shadow guard said, pulling out a small bag and looking at Marsh. “You know how to clean a wound?”
Marsh shrugged.
“I can learn.”
“I do.” Jakob’s quiet assertion made them both turn, and they watched as he pulled his own small bag from his pack.
“What?” he asked when he caught their stares. “Plenty of guards get hurt on the caravans. I learned.”
Marsh wondered if anyone had suggested he try seeing if he could heal using magic, but he’d already taken a pannikin from his pack and was tipping the contents of his canteen into it. He passed both to Gustav.
“I need hot water,” he said. “Those wounds need to be cleaned.”
He seemed completely unaware that he’d just given his senior an order, and taken the reins from Izmay without asking. Neither of them argued with him, though. His attention was focused on the two injured.
“Someone want to light a fire? We need to sterilize the wounds.” His face was grave as he looked around, his voice somber when he added, “We have to try, anyway.”
“I’ll help,” Marsh told him. “I can draw the poison from the wound.”
His eyebrows rose. Izmay’s and Gustav’s, too.
Zeb gave a half-hearted laugh.
“So we do have a chance…”
From the sound of it, he might not have much of one if she didn’t hurry, but Marsh hesitated. She looked at Jakob.
“Your call,” she said. “Which one needs me more?”
Her words made him blink, and he crossed swiftly to where the two men waited.
“You need to lie down,” he told them, helping Zeb do as he asked while Henri assisted Gerry.
Neither of them looked good.
Zeb had three deep grooves on the outside of his thigh, and Marsh wondered how he’d been able to run.
Battle heat, Roeglin told her. You don’t feel a thing until it wears off. That, and the deeper the wound, the more your mind blocks your awareness of it—until it can’t.
Great, Marsh thought, watching as Jakob finished inspecting Gerry and then looked at Izmay.
“You any good with a needle and thread?”
She glared at him.
“I’m not a seamstress.”
“I meant for stitching wounds.” He sounded exasperated. “I don’t give two shits for your skill at mending clothes.”
Izmay colored, then nodded, bringing her bag of supplies.
“Never done it before.” She slid him a look laced with sly humor. “But if the ability to mend a seam will help…”
“It’s better than nothing.”
Marsh wondered if he’d meant to be that short, but Jakob was already looking at her. When he saw he had her attention, he pointed to Gerry, and Marsh noticed what she’d missed before: the man’s side was soaked with blood.
The shadow guard caught her expression and his lips twitched.
“It’s what armor’s for,” he said, and Marsh realized Henri had cut the armor away so Jakob could inspect the wound.
She crossed to where he was, hoping the shadow monster’s claws hadn’t gone too deep, but was severely disappointed by what she saw.
“A la putain.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Henri told her. “Do what you can.”
From his tone of voice, the man wasn’t holding out much hope for the shadow guard’s survival. Marsh didn’t bother replying, just nodded and knelt beside them. As soon as she was settled, she closed her eyes, laying her hands on either side of the injury and concentrating on the guard’s life force.
It was stronger than she’d feared, and Marsh felt a small part of herself relax. If he was still this strong, he might make it until the hea
lers on Master Envermet’s team could reach him.
Not if you don’t deal with the poison.
Roeglin’s voice was an unwelcome distraction in her head and Marsh pushed it aside, finding the dark threads of shadow poison lacing their way through the brighter reds and yellows of a healthy life force. Marsh drew a deep breath and let it out, reaching for the shadows and asking for their help, then linking the shadow of the poison to the shadows outside the wound.
The darkness inside the body was connected to the darkness outside it, right? The shadows in the poison linked to the shadows of the air beyond…and she’d done this before.
For Roeglin.
Don’t remind me, the mage protested, but Marsh needed to remember, if only to remind herself it was possible.
Roeglin had been injured by a poison-laced blade. Shadow poison and the dark; she could do this.
Holding firmly to that belief, Marsh focused on pulling the poison from the wound, drawing it back along the shadows and out of the body. When the dark threads no longer stretched tendrils from the wound, and only faded health could be seen, she opened her eyes and looked for somewhere she could put the poison.
When she’d done this before, she’d realized she couldn’t just dismiss it to the shadows, or it would affect anyone who came into contact with it. She’d had to… Roeglin pointed to the discarded fragments of armor and clothing that had been cut away from the injured, and Marsh directed her ball of shadows and shadow monster poison into it. When she was done, she disentangled the shadows from the poison before returning them to the corners of the room, then looked at Jakob.
He was staring at her.
“How… When…”
“Later,” she told him. “I’ll work on Zeb next.”
Roeglin stirred uneasily, and Marsh hoped he wasn’t about to suggest she rest first because there wasn’t time. Shadow-monster poison acted fast. If she rested, it might be too late.
“I know,” Roeglin told her aloud, but his voice was laced with worry. “Just…do what you can. Okay?”
At first, Marsh didn’t understand why he was so concerned, and then she went to stand. Izmay caught her before she could fall forward onto Gerry, and Henri helped his fellow guard drag Marsh upright again. Jakob looked on with concern.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?”
Marsh looked from him to Zeb, casting a glance at Roeglin that dared him to deny her. The shadow guard was watching her, and from the look on his face, he expected her to have to stop. His expression mingled resignation and understanding, and he closed his eyes when he saw she’d noticed.
“It’s okay.”
“Yes,” Marsh said, glaring at Roeglin and pushing away from Izmay and Henri, grateful when they kept a hold on her and helped her reach Zeb’s side. “Yes, it is okay.”
Ignoring Mordan’s sudden growl of alarm, she placed her hands over the lacerations in Zeb’s thigh. This time, she didn’t close her eyes but used her life sight to overlay the map of the poison’s path on what she could see of his body. The dark veins had already threaded their way to a brighter line of red tracing the way up the inside of his leg; it was spreading fastest along that.
“Well, merde,” she murmured, and asked the shadows to come once again to her aid.
This time, she had three wound entrances to clear, three different sources from which the poison spread. A dark web of deadliness traced its way out of each wound but converged on the thick red line to become a river. She was going to have to use a different approach.
Taking another deep breath, she went to work. Instead of following the poison along the pathways of the body and drawing it back, she turned to where it pooled in the gouges in Zeb’s leg. Gathering the shadows, she sought the shadow in the poison infecting his thigh.
It was harder this way. The dark puddle slid and twisted away from the darkness she called from the corners of the room. Marsh frowned and called more shadow, trying to get the poison to soak through the threads she drew into the wound and willing it to flow out and seek a new home in the mat of shade she’d pulled over the wound.
As she worked, she noticed how the shadow mat overlapped the second gouge, so she spread her concentration to begin drawing the well of poison from that wound as well. When the shadow threads were saturated, she lifted it away and separated poison and shadow, soaking the pile of waste cloth with what she’d taken.
When the shadows were empty, she applied the mat to the wound again, drawing more poison until the wounds were empty and no longer able to feed the river streaming into Zeb’s body. After that, she began the more familiar process of pulling the strands of poison from the tracery of veins it had followed.
Balling it in shadow, Marsh moved to place it in the pile. As she did, she felt her concentration falter, saw the ball start to dissipate, and tried separately to regain control as the room wavered and faded. The last thing she heard before she lost consciousness was Roeglin’s alarmed shout.
She didn’t know if the shadow would stay as a ball, or dissipate and release the shadow monsters’ poison to vanish into the air around it.
3
Reunion
Marchant woke with a pounding headache and a raging thirst. She groaned as she stirred, trying to open eyes that felt like they’d been glued together. The minute she made a sound, someone’s hand descended over her mouth and Roeglin’s voice whispered through her mind.
Ssshhh.
Marsh lifted a hand that felt like lead and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. She raised her other hand and rubbed the gunge away from her eyes, slowly unsticking her lids. When she could open them, she looked up to see Roeglin crouched above her, his head raised and tilted to one side as though he was listening to something.
Taking a deep breath and then holding it, Marsh turned her head, listening to see what he’d heard. It took her a couple of minutes, but she was able to make out the sound of footsteps outside the door leading into the waystation.
Lots of footsteps. Mordan crouched beside her, tense and ready, her tail lashing.
Marsh moved her head again, and Roeglin lifted his hand as he looked into her face.
I ought to kick your ass.
Why don’t you? Marsh thought back. It wasn’t like she could stop him.
For some reason, Roeglin ignored that, and there was a moment’s silence as they listened to the monsters moving outside. Marsh sat still, her whole body feeling like she’d run a marathon and taken a beating afterward. Her mouth was dry, so she swallowed trying to moisten her throat, but it didn’t help, and her breath caught. She managed to stifle the resulting cough, but that only made it worse. She couldn’t stop the ones that followed.
Outside the gate, the footsteps stopped. Gustav cursed, softly, and Mordan growled in disgust.
“Well, now they are sure,” the other shadow guards said.
Marsh looked in their direction and caught both Henri and Jakob give her stares of utter exasperation.
“I told you we had until she woke,” Roeglin said. “It’s not like you weren’t warned.”
“Should have knocked her out again,” Gustav grumbled, while Jakob raised a brow at the suggestion. Henri just shook his head and turned away.
“Thanks for that,” Marsh muttered, and the words caught in her throat, making her cough again.
Roeglin hauled her into a sitting position, leaning her against his chest while he lifted a canteen to her lips.
“We don’t have anything else,” he murmured after she took the first few sips and discovered water.
Marsh didn’t reply. She was too busy trying to piece together what had happened. She’d been pulling the poison out of Zeb’s wound…had pulled it out, had balled it into shadow, hadn’t… She swept the room with a glance, noting Henri, Jakob, and Gustav standing with their swords drawn as they faced the waystation’s gate.
She looked farther and saw that Izmay stood facing away from her, her hands outstretched as though she were leaning on the g
ates without touching them. Gerry and Zeb were sleeping, but their chests rose and fell in a regular rhythm, and some of her fears eased.
“How are you all still alive?”
Gustav snorted, and Roeglin’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. It was Henri, however, who answered.
“I dumped a blanket over the top of it,” he said. “It caught the poison when the shadows went back to wherever you’d called ’em from. You’re welcome.”
Marsh stared at him as though he’d slapped her.
He pretty much just did, Roeglin told her, keeping it between them, but before Marsh could respond to that, Henri spoke again, adding insult to injury.
“It was your blanket.”
Marsh opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again and rested her head back against Roeglin.
Honestly, what was the point?
He lifted the flask in front of her face and shook it.
“More?”
Marsh shook her head. She’d had enough to drink. Now she needed… The internal gates rattled, and she jumped. Roeglin set the flask to one side and wrapped his arms around her chest. Before she could protest, he scrambled to his feet, taking her with him so he could move her into a corner.
“Sorry, Marsh,” he said, propping her against a wall, and tucking her feet close to her butt. “We’re gonna need the space.”
And I’m as useful as a rotting shroom, Marsh thought, but she was grateful when Roeglin didn’t confirm it. She leaned against the wall, missing the warmth of his chest as the cold leached out of the stones into her back.
By the Deeps! Why did she feel so…so…so sick!
“You pushed the magic too far,” Roeglin said, glancing down at her.
He’d call a shadow-blade to one hand and a shield to the other, and stood with his back to her. Mordan had gotten to her feet and was standing beside him. The gate rattled again, and Izmay grunted.
“Ro…” Izmay began, but something crashed into the outer gate and they all jumped, cursing in surprise. “Never mind.”
Exactly why she’d canceled what Marsh knew was a request for the mage’s help was obvious. Roeglin had dropped the sword and shield and flung his arms out, mirroring Izmay’s position but facing the outer gates. From where she sat, it looked to Marsh like he was leaning on the gates—except he wasn’t. He had called the shadows, slamming them against the gates and sealing the timber from view beneath a thick veneer of black.
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