But in a malicious twist, the healing magic fought back, recoiled, and did exactly the opposite of what he wanted. Instead of sealing the bleeding wound, the magic ricocheted and rebounded, becoming a monster that destroyed rather than repaired.
Magic flowed out of Nathan as he pressed down with his hands to stop the blood. The vengeful backlash erupted—ripping the spear wound into a huge gash, splintering the man’s ribs, and turning him inside out. His heart and lungs spilled out in a horrific explosion of blood and tissue. The man didn’t even have time to scream, but lay back arching his neck, then collapsed.
Nathan stared in revulsion and disbelief down at his blood-drenched hands. He had felt the magic. He had tried to heal the poor victim … but instead of just dying peacefully, the man had been split open like an overripe fruit. Nathan had done that! The victim would have died anyway, but not like this!
Nathan staggered back, opening and closing his mouth, but he had no words. He thought he had lost his magic, but this was worse than merely being impotent. The gift had turned against him. If his ability did come back to him, what if he couldn’t control it?
He stared in dismay at the appalling, mangled corpse, sure that a crowd would gather to accuse him of a terrible crime. He wondered if even on her worst days as Death’s Mistress, Nicci had done such an awful thing.
When he looked up, he met Bannon’s glassy gaze. The young man seemed so filled with horror at the events of the night that this new instance had very little effect on him.
Bile rose in the wizard’s throat, and he turned away, his shoulders slumped. He didn’t want Nicci to see this either, though perhaps she could help him understand what had happened. How could his gift have turned so violently against him? For now, even if he sensed magic returning to him, he didn’t dare use it. He might cause an even worse disaster.
Another astonishing realization came to him. What if he had decided to hurl a ball of wizard’s fire at one of the Norukai ships during the battle, and it recoiled on him instead? If the furious white-hot flames had struck back, they could have wiped out half the town of Renda Bay.
Nathan groaned deep in his throat and lurched away from the people who were busy bandaging and tending the injured, splinting broken bones, propping up wounded heads on rolled cloths. He felt ashamed and afraid.
He was dangerous.
Instead, he picked up a bucket and joined the firefighting crews to help extinguish the last blazes that still spread through the town. In that, at least, he could cause little damage.
CHAPTER 25
The fires in Renda Bay burned until morning, and afterward smoke continued to curl into the gray sky, staining the dawn. Houses and boat sheds still smoldered, some charred all the way to blackened mismatched skeletons. A group of fishermen had salvaged six boats from the ruined docks, while throughout the town numb-looking people assessed the damage, talking in subdued voices.
Nicci reflected on the previous day’s easy activity, the relaxed conversations among neighbors, the quaint town activities, the small but busy market square—a way of life now struck down by swords, fire, and blood from the raid.
Seemingly in a stupor, Bannon sat recovering on a splintered wooden bench next to an overturned gutting trough. Silver fish scales spangled the wood of the trough like miniature coins in the morning light. He gripped Sturdy’s leather-wrapped hilt with both hands, as if drawing on its strength. His shirt was torn and stained with soot and blood.
As she stepped up to him, Nicci noted at least five deep cuts on his arms, across his back, on his shoulder. The young cabbage farmer looked engrossed in thought, refighting his battles. He had aged greatly.
Though Nicci was exhausted from expending so much magic during the battle and treating the grievously wounded afterward, she found enough strength to heal Bannon’s cuts and wounds. He didn’t even seem aware of them.
Nathan came up to them with haunted eyes, his long white hair and his borrowed shirt matted with clumps of gore. Dried blood caked his hands.
When Bannon looked up at his mentor, his face showed little recognition. The wizard said in a soft voice, “You fought like an unbelievable warrior last night, as if someone worked a rampaging spell on you—but I know that was no spell.”
The young man’s face was drawn and pale. “Slavers were attacking the village. I had to fight. What else could I do?”
“You did well enough,” Nicci acknowledged. “You fought even harder than you did against the selka.”
“These were slavers,” he said, as if that were explanation enough. With an obvious effort, Bannon struggled to compose himself and even managed a false, horrid-looking smile. “It’s what I was supposed to do. I hated the thought of all of these people being hurt … and enslaved. They … they had a very nice life here in Renda Bay, and I didn’t want it ruined.”
Nicci glanced at Nathan, who wore a skeptical frown. Neither of them believed Bannon’s explanation. Nicci said, “That is an acceptable answer, but it’s not the complete one. Tell me the truth.”
His expression filled with alarm. “I—I can’t. It’s a secret.”
She knew it was time to be stern, to push him in a way that would make him respond. His wounds were far deeper than the obvious ones, and they might become either tough scars or dangerously unstable fractures. Her assessment of him had changed in the past week, and she suspected there was more than the naive, careless country boy. She needed to find out.
Grasping Bannon’s shirt, she pulled him to his feet and pressed her face close to his so she could capture his attention with her searing blue eyes. “I don’t want your secrets for the sake of titillation, Bannon Farmer. I ask because I need to know the answer. You travel as my companion, and therefore your actions might affect my own mission. Are you unreliable? Are you a hazard to me and what I must accomplish for Lord Rahl?” She softened her voice. “Or are you just a brave, but reckless fighter?”
Swaying, Bannon looked at the sorceress and then at Nathan with a beseeching expression. He tore his gaze away to stare out at the burned wreck of the nearest Norukai vessel, which was half sunk in the calm bay. Nicci suddenly remembered how oddly the young man had also behaved when they camped near the much older hulk of a wrecked serpent ship.
“You’ve seen those ships before,” she whispered. “You know about the Norukai.”
Finally, he said, “It’s because of Ian … my friend Ian. The slavers…” He sucked in a long, deep breath. His hazel eyes were bloodshot from the fires and smoke, as well as his own convulsive weeping. His eyes held much deeper secrets, a clear and colorful childhood memory being stripped away to reveal the raw bones of truth.
Hauling out his words like a man surrendering precious keepsakes to a moneylender, Bannon told his tale. “Ian and I were boyhood friends on Chiriya Island. We would run down to the shore or race each other across the windswept grasses. One time, we walked all the way around the island—it took us a full day. That was our whole world.
“As boys, we pulled weeds in the fields and helped harvest the cabbage heads, but we also had time to ourselves. Ian and I had a special cove on the far side of the island, where we would explore the tide pools. Most of the time we just played. We were best friends, both the same age, thirteen summers old that year … the last year.”
His voice grew raspy and hard. “One morning, Ian and I got up early because we knew it was a low tide. We went to our special cove, climbing down the sandstone cliffs, finding footholds like only boys can. We had empty sacks stuffed in our belts because we knew we would bring home a good haul of shellfish and crabs for the dinner pot. Mostly we enjoyed the peace of each other’s company, instead of being back in our own homes … which weren’t very peaceful.” His voice turned sour.
Nicci said, “You always described your island home as idyllic and perfect, but dull.”
He turned his bleak, empty eyes toward her. “Nothing is perfect, Sorceress. Shouldn’t you be telling me that?” He shook his head and
stared out at the still-smoldering Norukai ship.
“That day Ian and I were preoccupied with the tide pools, watching hermit crabs scuttle among the sea anemones, the little fish that had been trapped there until the next high tide. We didn’t see the slavers’ boat coming around the point. The six Norukai spotted us, rowed in, then splashed onto shore. Before Ian and I knew it, we were surrounded.
“They were burly, muscular men with shaved heads and those awful scarred and sewed mouths. They had nets, and ropes, and clubs. They were hunters … and we were just prey.” He blinked. “I remembered when hunting parties from my village would march across the grassy pastures in the headlands with nets, banging pots to chase down goats and round them up for the winter slaughter. The Norukai were just like that. They came after me and Ian.
“We both screamed and ran. Ian was ahead of me. I made it to the base of the cliffs and started to climb before the first two slavers caught up to me. I was just out of their reach, but my foot slipped, and I fell. The men grabbed me, swung me around, and dropped me to the rocky beach. It knocked the wind out of me, and I couldn’t make a sound. But Ian was yelling from halfway up the beach. He had almost gotten away.” Bannon sniffled. “He could have gotten away.
“I fought back, but there were two of them, and the Norukai were strong. They tried to pull my arms together so they could lash my wrists. Another slaver grabbed my feet. I couldn’t get away, couldn’t even scream. Even when I caught my breath, my voice was hoarse. I thrashed and kicked.
“Just when they were wrapping a rope around my wrists, I heard an even louder shout. Ian had turned and come back, yelling at the slavers. They threw a net at him, but it missed. He just shrugged them off and came running toward me. In the struggle he snatched up one of the Norukai cudgels and bounded across the rocky beach, leaping over tide pools. He came to save me.
“Ian swung the club. I heard a skull crack—it was one of the men trying to tie me. Blood gushed from his eye and nose. Grunting, the other man grabbed at Ian, but my friend smashed him in the teeth, turning his lips to pulp. Ian yelled for me to run, and I tore my wrist away, sprang to my feet, and raced toward the sandstone cliff. I ran as I never had before. Tugging the ropes from my wrists, I made it there and began scrambling up, climbing for my very life.
“Ian shouted again, but I didn’t turn back. I couldn’t! I found the first foothold and pulled myself higher. My fingers were bloody, my nails torn.” Bannon was breathing hard as he told his story. Perspiration sparkled on his forehead. “I pulled myself up, found a foothold, climbed, and then turned back to see the slavers closing in on my friend. Two of them threw a net again. The men he had clubbed now pounded him with their fists. They crowded around him and he couldn’t get away. He screamed.”
Bannon’s voice hitched with a sob. “Ian had come back to save me. He risked his life to stop those men from tying me up. He made it so I could get away! But when they captured him, I froze. I could only watch as they wrapped the net around Ian and beat him again, kicking him over and over. When he cried out in pain, they laughed. I could see blood running from a gash in his face—and I didn’t do a thing. They bound his wrists and ankles with rope—and I just watched.
“It should have been me under that net. He had helped me—and I just watched!”
Bannon released his grip and let Sturdy fall with a clatter to the ground. He pressed his palms against his eyes, as if to hide. “I was halfway up the cliff when the slavers came for me again, and I panicked. When I reached the higher ground, I looked back down at the beach. The Norukai were dragging my friend toward the longboat. He still struggled, but I knew he was lost. Lost! I caught a last glimpse of Ian’s face, full of despair. He knew he would never get away … and he knew I wasn’t coming back to rescue him. Even at that great distance, his eyes met mine. I had abandoned him.
“I wanted to shout that I was sorry. I wanted to promise that I would come for him, but I had no voice. I was out of breath.” He turned away. “It would have been a lie anyway.
“Ian stared at me with a look of shock and confusion, as if he couldn’t believe I would betray him. I saw hatred behind those eyes just before the slavers threw him into the longboat.
“And I just ran.” Bannon shook his head, sniffling. “I left my friend behind. I didn’t help him. He came back to save me, and I … I just saved myself. I ran away.” His voice hitched and he sobbed again. “Sweet Sea Mother, he fought to save me, and I abandoned him.”
The young man looked down at the blood on his shirt, at the cuts on his arms. He touched a deep wound on his neck and winced in surprise, but he clearly didn’t remember how he had gotten it. The tears in his eyes had not washed away the stinging, painful memory.
“That’s why I fought so hard against the slavers here in Renda Bay, why I hate them so much. I was a coward when the Norukai took Ian. I didn’t fight then, but I have a sword now, and I will fight to my last breath.” He snatched up Sturdy from where it had fallen on the ground and inspected it, satisfied that the edge still looked sharp. “I can’t rescue Ian. I’ll never see him again … but I can kill slavers whenever I see them.”
CHAPTER 26
After a full day of picking up the pieces, the grieving survivors of Renda Bay were exhausted. With Holden dead, a man named Thaddeus accepted the position of town leader. Thaddeus was a beefy, square-faced fisherman with a long, frizzy beard. He was well liked among the villagers, but he looked completely out of his element.
Nicci had been watching the people throughout the day. She had always hated slavery, and it was her mission to stop tyranny and oppression in the name of Lord Rahl, as well as for her own soul. In a way, this was how she could help save the world for Richard, but she doubted this was what the witch woman’s prophecy had meant.
Nathan and Bannon had washed the grime from their hands and faces, but their hair was still tangled, and their clothes were still covered with blood that had long since dried.
Together, the villagers made a solemn procession out to the hillside graveyard, with mules and shaggy oxen drawing a line of carts to carry the dead. The people, already weary, sore, and heartsick, spread out to mark burial sites for the thirty-nine villagers who had died in the battle. The townspeople carried spades and shovels but seemed daunted by the task of digging all those graves.
“We must also erect twenty-two wooden posts,” Thaddeus said in a wobbly voice, “to remember the good people taken by the raiders.”
“Carve the names into the stone and make your wooden markers,” Nicci said. “I can use my gift to assist with the other work.” She released a flow of magic to scoop aside the grasses and dirt on the hillside to fashion a perfect grave. It was easy enough once she went through the process. She made an identical grave adjacent to the first, and then a third. She had many more to go.
The villagers watched, too tired to be amazed, too frightened to express their gratitude. When she finished the thirty-ninth grave, Nicci stepped back, feeling weary. “I sincerely hope you will not need more anytime soon.”
With little ceremony and acknowledging that they would all grieve later, in their own time, the people of Renda Bay buried their dead. The men and women spoke the names aloud as they took each body from the cart and interred the victims, a mixed range of farmers, a carpenter, a jovial brewer, two young boys killed in a fire after the house in which they had taken refuge burned to the ground, and town leader Holden, who had given up his life on the sea to lead Renda Bay.
The seamstress Jann spoke her husband’s name and wept, bowing her head over the grave as Phillip’s body was laid to rest and covered with dirt. “He just wanted to build boats,” she said. “After the accident with the fishhook, he prefered to stay on land. He thought it would be safer.” Her shoulders shuddered. “Safer.”
Nathan stood next to the small woman, his gaze somber, his head lowered. Awkwardly, the seamstress held out a folded gray garment for him. “This is another of Phillip’s shirts, Nathan. You
fought with us, you saved me, and—” Her voice broke with a quick choking sound. She sniffled, and her lips trembled. “And your first new shirt was ruined. Phillip would want you to have this.”
“I would be honored.” The wizard pressed the clean linen against his chest.
Although they had fought alongside the people of Renda Bay, Nicci did not feel she had finished her mission here. After they had filled in the graves and woodcarvers had cut names into the fresh-cut posts, Nicci addressed the villagers before they left the graveyard.
“This is why you need Lord Rahl,” she said. “His goal is to stop such violence and bloodshed, to crush slavers so that all people can live their lives in freedom. Yes, he is far away, but the D’Haran army will not tolerate such lawlessness and oppression. It may take time, but the world will change—the world has already changed. You must have noticed the stars.”
The villagers muttered, listening to her with a different attitude after their ordeal.
She continued in a stronger voice. “But you have to be responsible for yourselves as well. When you’ve picked up the pieces here, send an envoy on the long journey north to the People’s Palace. In D’Hara, swear your loyalty to Lord Rahl and tell him what happened here. Tell him about all the lands of the old empire that need him. He will not let you down.”
Nathan said, “Before you send envoys, we will write a message for him, as well as a summary of what we have seen. If someone could deliver that, we would be most grateful.”
Thaddeus swallowed hard. “Even though they were defeated last night, the Norukai will return. How soon can your Lord Rahl send his army?”
Nicci wasn’t finished. “You cannot simply wait for help. All people are responsible for their own lives, their own destinies. You must improve your own defenses, and you will need more than a bonfire and a lookout tower. The slavers believe you are weak, and that is why they prey on you. The best way to insure your peace is through strength. Maybe last night was a lesson for them. We were here to help this time, but you would not need to be rescued if you weren’t victims in the first place.”
Death's Mistress Page 18
