Marsh tried to help, but her headache flared the minute she tried to touch the darkness surrounding them.
“No magic, Marsh.”
As a command, it sounded like it was given from between gritted teeth.
Sure, Ro. Marsh closed her eyes. She’d meant that last to be said out loud, but her mouth hadn’t moved, and all she wanted to do was close her eyes.
“Gustav, can you give the girl a cookie?”
If the emissary thought it was a strange request, he didn’t argue.
“Where?” He could only mean one thing.
“Pack.”
Again, it sounded like the mage was speaking through gritted teeth. There was another thump against the gates, and they shuddered. Roeglin pushed forward as though resisting the pressure. He glanced at her and grimaced.
Marsh thought it might have been meant to be a smile, but it failed miserably. The gates rattled again, the sound accompanied by what sounded like the frustrated scrabble of claws. Marsh tried to push to her feet, but her legs refused to hold her and she swore.
“And I thought you tried not to say anything stronger than ‘merde’, shadow mage?”
Gustav had returned, and he had a bag in one hand. He knelt beside her and held it out.
“Can you get your own cookies or do you need me to feed you?”
Feed her? Oh, by the Deeps, no!
Marsh forced her hand up, trying to ignore the way it trembled as she closed it around the bag. She wanted to say something witty, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she took the bag, settling it into her lap as soon as she could. Gustav reached over and opened it when she couldn’t coordinate her fingers enough to do it for herself, but he drew back when he was done.
He didn’t get up, though, even if he kept casting anxious looks toward the gates. He stayed crouched beside her until he’d watched her fumble one cookie clear and lift it to her mouth. Apparently satisfied that she’d be okay, he stood and moved over beside Roeglin.
“Eat them all,” Roeglin said, and Marsh felt his words echo through her head, and the strange sense of compulsion that followed them.
It didn’t help that she was already hungry and her body craved the sugar in the pastries. She’d chewed through three big bites and was lifting her second cookie from the bag before she’d registered what he’d done.
I’d be mad at you if I could be bothered, she thought, but she knew she couldn’t. She just didn’t have the energy. There was another loud bang, and the doors rattled again. Roeglin grunted and pushed back, pulling more shadows from the ceiling and the corners of the room, and thrusting them against the gates.
Marsh wondered just how effective a shadow barricade would be against shadow monsters, her mind drifting as she wolfed down her third—or was it fourth?—cookie. What if the creatures could slide along it and into…
“Not helping, Marsh.”
Oh.
Marsh reached into the bag for another cookie, but this time her hand came up empty. She looked down at the bag and realized there really was nothing in it. With a sigh, she leaned her head back against the wall.
Why was she so tired? She’d used shadow magic; it was her magic, dammit! She should be feeling energized, not…not like this!
Can’t. Help. You there. Roeglin told her, his thought voice punctuated by grunts as more thumps came from the gates. We’ll look into it later. Right now. You need. To. Sleep.
Sleep? Oh, he wouldn’t…
Even as she thought it, Marsh’s mind slid toward oblivion.
When she woke up, they were going to talk about…this…
Only, when she did wake up, they didn’t. They weren’t alone, and it wasn’t Roeglin who came to her when she stirred. Marsh caught sight of an unfamiliar face and lashed out. Fortunately, the healer was faster, closing a fist around her wrist and arresting her strike before it could connect.
“Son of the Shadow Deeps!” Marsh shouted, twisting to her feet and lashing out with her other hand.
The healer caught that too and then turned her around, pulling her against his chest and wrapping her tightly. Marsh lashed back with her foot, catching him in the shin and drawing an exclamation of pain.
“Shadow Mage Leclerc!”
Envermet’s voice rang out, the command buried in its tones breaking through Marsh’s panic and outrage. She froze, but the healer didn’t let her go. He held her tightly until Master Envermet was standing in front of her.
Instead of scolding her, the shadow-guard captain tilted his head and looked into her eyes, his face a mixture of consternation and compassion.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m…” Marsh had been about to say that she was all right, but it struck her that she wasn’t. Rather than admit it, she changed the subject. “Where are the others? Did they…”
She swallowed against the sudden fear that stole her words, and then she tried again.
“Did…”
Again she stopped, silently cursing her weakness, but the shadow master understood.
“We reached them in time,” he said, “but they are sleeping.”
Again that head tilt.
“As should you be. Please don’t hurt my medics; they’re only doing as I asked them.”
He went to move away and then stopped.
“How much magic did you use?”
As Marsh tried to formulate a reply to that, another voice replied, “She drained herself dry before they broke through. I put her out.”
Roeglin sounded like he’d then done his best to use up all of his own reserves as well, and Marsh almost laughed—except he’d what?
Master Envermet turned toward Roeglin.
“Why?”
“If you hadn’t arrived, she’d have been helpless.”
The implications of what he wasn’t saying sank in, and Marsh felt her stomach go into freefall. Her head spun and she caught herself starting to sag but straightened up, pushing back a rising tide of nausea.
“Let me go,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even. Then, more loudly when the arms around her didn’t immediately loosen, “Let me go!”
This time the medic complied and she pushed herself away from him, reaching out to gain support from the wall.
“I’m going outside,” she said, her voice hoarse with emotion even as it defied anyone to say otherwise.
The healer reached out as though to stop her, but Marsh caught it when Master Envermet tapped him on the shoulder and shook his head. It was a relief that no one else tried, even if someone fell into step just behind her not long afterward. Marsh ignored them, heading for the first door she could find. It took her another four steps to realize she was no longer in the gatehouse, and she stopped, waiting as another wave of dizziness passed.
Where in all the Deeps was Mordan?
The person accompanying her stopped also, but they did not touch her—and they did not speak, for which Marsh was grateful. When she resumed her journey to the door and through it, they came with her, but they neither spoke nor reached out to her. Marsh did her best to ignore them, just moved slowly out into the courtyard beyond, wondering what had happened to the kat.
When she saw the courtyard, she stopped to take in the troops in the space. One squad of twenty was doing sword drill, except that each and every one of them was calling shadows to coat their blades, finishing their kata, and releasing the shadows before repeating the process. Two more squads were practicing group maneuvers with physical swords and shields, while another cluster of men and women sat around outdoor tables, relaxing as they ate.
A familiar brown and grey form was sitting on a rooftop, overseeing it all. She turned her head as Marsh appeared, and although joy leapt along the link between them, the kat didn’t move. She was content. Her pride was safe—her attention returned to the soldiers—and the hunters were improving their technique. They were in good company.
The sight was enough to make Marsh pause. She might not know the faces of the folk
in front of her, but she knew the uniforms; the insignia of the Four-Caverns Protectors gleamed dull copper, silver, or gold on the chest of every tunic or corselet she could see. Marsh moved to one side of the infirmary door, preparing to lean against the front of the building she’d woken up in. That changed when she saw the rough bench drawn up against it.
Without a word to her silent companion, she dropped onto it and buried her face in her hands. Tremors ran through her body as the full meaning of Roeglin’s words slammed home. He’d put her out so she wouldn’t… He…
She ended up on her knees throwing up.
What the shadow monsters did with their prey when they caught it…
Her stomach lurched again. When it was finished, Marsh stayed on her knees, her eyes closed as she tried to steady her breathing.
Well, that had been less than elegant, she thought as a familiar voice spoke.
“You done?”
Just what exactly did Brigitte mean “was she done?” Of course, she wasn’t done. She might never be done.
“You’re not going to be much use to the children in that condition.”
There was sympathy for you. No concern for her, just for the children, like the little brats needed any. They were…
Wait…
They were here?
Outrage sparked through Marsh and she pushed herself to her feet, turning on the journeyman in anger.
“Do you mean the children are here?”
Brigitte flashed her a quick smile and then fixed her with a stern stare.
“When you’re finished feeling sorry for yourself, Master Ilias says you need to eat—and Tamlin and Aisha are waiting at the table.”
Marsh was mortified. What if they’d seen her? She’d been a mess; not at all what a guardian should be. Brigitte read her face and tucked her arm through Marsh’s.
“I made them sit inside for a reason,” she said. “They didn’t see a—”
“Marsh!” Aisha’s clear voice rang across the courtyard, and Marsh had to laugh at the expression on Brigitte’s face.
“You were saying?” she teased, although her voice sounded cracked along the edges. “Come on, before the little brat… Never mind.”
She sighed as Aisha scampered between two formations of soldiers, Scruffknuckle and the hoshkit bounding alongside her. It was hard to say which of them caused more devastation as soldiers tried to avoid stepping on or skewering them…or as they barreled under upraised feet and took people’s legs out from under them.
Then Tamlin ran through, the second kit at his heels.
“Sorry!” the boy yelled, apologizing as he went. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry! Oops.
That last was punctuated by a resounding crash and the clatter of metal as the boy and two soldiers hit the cobbles in a shower of armored flesh and dropped shields and swords, the kit dodging out of the way before it was skewered. Tamlin lost no time in pulling himself free and running for the edge of the practice ground, cries of outrage in his wake.
“Petitfeu!”
“You!”
“Boy!”
“Deeps damn it, child!”
“Hey!”
“Leclerc!”
Marsh didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and it was certainly too late to hide. Instead, she just watched the kids come, not sure whether to scold them or beg forgiveness for their interruption.
“I’d beg forgiveness,” Roeglin said from the doorway.
He sounded tired, but Marsh heard the smile in his voice.
“No. I’ll beg for forgiveness.” Master Envermet didn’t sound like he knew how to smile. “You need to get them corralled before they do any more damage.”
“I’ll see to it,” Roeglin told him as the children arrived.
Aisha hit with the force of a small boulder and Marsh ended up back on the bench, dragging Brigitte down with her. Aisha scrambled into her lap and Scruffknuckle put both paws on her shoulder, the young hund washing her face with undiminished enthusiasm as his tail blurred with joy. Tamlin stood to one side, the kits sitting solemnly at his feet. When Scruffknuckle finally stopped licking her and contented himself with hopping up on the bench beside her, Marsh looked at the boy.
“You staying out of trouble?” she asked by way of greeting, and he shrugged, looking at the courtyard, which was slowly coming back to order.
His mouth quirked.
“What do you think?” he asked, gesturing at the rapidly diminishing chaos. “And we haven’t even had breakfast, yet.”
Aisha sat up and looked behind them.
“Oh. Oops.”
Brigitte groaned.
“You had to ask.”
Marsh watched as Master Envermet moved from one squad commander to another, speaking with each one as he went and looking chagrined as he did. More than one smiled at his apology and shook their heads, as they glanced at the children. Marsh blushed.
“Come on,” Roeglin urged. “Mess hall is that way.”
Mess hall. It took Marsh a moment to realize he meant the dining hall, and her stomach rumbled.
Aisha slipped off her lap and slid her hand into Marsh’s.
“Come on! They have pancakes.”
Pancakes? Marsh wondered where they’d got those from. Tamlin caught her look and answered her question.
“The raiders hadn’t been here long enough to eat everything in the pantry, and whoever ran the place had just stocked up before they were taken.”
Now that she thought about it, Marsh remembered passing a caravan going in the opposite direction when she’d made her last trip from Kerrenin’s Ledge. That seemed like a very long time ago.
“Different world,” Roeglin agreed. “Are you coming? Do you need a hand?”
His words caught Aisha’s attention, and the little girl frowned. She looked up at Marsh.
“You hurt?”
“Too much magic,” Roeglin told her like he was helping, and Marsh rolled her eyes.
“I’m fine!”
It was too late. Aisha gave her a shocked look, then put both hands on Marsh’s stomach and shoved her back onto the bench.
“Magic hurt?”
Marsh shook her head, even though she felt like she’d been run over by an entire pack train.
“I’m fine, kiddo,” she said, trying to stand up. Aisha did not believe her and pushed her back before she could get to her feet.
“Are not!”
Marsh glared at her and Aisha glared right back, her blue eyes blazing.
“Not nice to lie.”
Roeglin started to snicker.
“Hear that, Marsh?” he teased. “It’s not nice to lie.”
Marsh rolled her eyes.
“Fine! I’m fine. I just need to rest and eat and…” Marsh stopped mid-sentence as Aisha shifted her hands so they touched bare skin.
“Wait…” she began, but the little girl’s eyes shifted from blue to a brilliant shining green and Marsh felt energy rush through her, pushing aside the fatigue and aches.
The surge lasted for less than a heartbeat, then Aisha’s eyes returned to their natural shade…until she turned to Roeglin.
“You, too?” she asked, advancing on the mage.
Roeglin shifted back two hasty steps, almost falling over, and it was Marsh’s turn to laugh.
“Remember, Ro, it’s not nice to lie…”
“Aysh, I…” It was too late; the child reached out and took him by the hand, her eyes flaring briefly green before she let him go.
“See?” she asked, looking up at him, her eyes their natural shining blue. “All better.”
Roeglin started at her, astounded.
“Yes. All better,” he said, casting a surprised look over her head at Marsh. “Right, Marsh?”
It didn’t take Marsh long to agree.
“Yes.” She looked at the child. “Thank you, Aysh.”
“Master Leger.” The shadow captain had returned.
Marsh stood as she and Roeglin turned to face him. Master E
nvermet wasted no time coming to the point. He glanced at Aisha and then back at the shadow mages.
“Master Ilias needs her. He’s used all the magic he dares.”
It wasn’t a question, and he wasn’t asking permission, but Marsh and Roeglin understood. They weren’t the only ones recovering from the battle.
“Was anyone else clawed?”
Master Envermet turned to her.
“After you’ve eaten,” he said, his tone showing he’d tolerate no argument.
“Do they have time?”
He hesitated and Marsh caught his eye, daring him to tell her a lie.
“I’ll check,” he said, and Brigitte sighed.
“Tams and I will go find food.”
“And kaffee,” Roeglin told her.
“And chocolate,” Marsh added.
Tamlin sighed, and Marsh turned toward him. Instead of trying to reach him with words, she crossed to his side and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He tensed briefly, then returned it.
“I missed you too,” Marsh told him as she stepped back.
He nodded like he didn’t trust his voice and turned away. After he’d taken a few steps, he stopped and looked over his shoulder.
“Don’t fall over while I’m gone,” he said and led Brigitte back across the courtyard.
4
Healing Mischief
It didn’t take them long to find Master Ilias. He smiled when he saw Aisha and frowned at the sight of Marsh and Roeglin on her heels.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, and Aisha rebuked him.
“Rude!”
He reached out and ruffled the child’s hair, keeping his gaze fixed on Marsh and demanding an answer.
“You’ve got people who’ve been shadow-clawed.”
His face clouded but he didn’t deny it.
“I do.”
“Which one is in the worst shape?”
He started to turn and then stopped.
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