Hard Frost- Depths of Winter

by Thia Mackin

  Then the last binding was free, and he went to his daughter to untie her feet as I did the same to his wife. His wife thanked me, though her eyes never left her family.

  “Jeremy, just take Leara through the Gate. I’m right behind you.”

  Stubborn man ignored his wife, though he did lift the child as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Then the woman was free, and the family moved toward the Gate together.

  Three more to go, I noted, including the one I had initially freed in the number. The arrows hit faster and faster, but my partner kept my shield at full power. At last, the final hostages stepped through the Gate, and I slipped the knife back in the sheath and pulled the Glock. Taking careful aim, I fired at the archer three times. The tight cluster took him to his knees. Then he dropped.

  The number of attackers had swelled during my inattention, and Abinaleh fought in melee with three. The scimitar cut through one’s defenses, and he fell. Her mount sidestepped then kicked to precisely strike at another demon approaching from behind. A curse word escaped my lips as I ran back to Romtal, mounting easily from long practice.

  “Pull your energy back,” I snapped above the dying sounds of distant battle.

  Immediately, the feel of static in the air retreated, and Abinaleh backed Drout toward me. I moved forward, shooting the demon running towards me. As I’d suspected, the mercenaries multiplied as they Gated toward us from other parts of the battle. Luckily, my partner only had another ten feet until she reached me. Then we’d retreat together, quickly.

  “Coming up,” I shouted as my bullet felled the man engaging her left side, warning her to keep Drout from kicking back as he felt us approach.

  “Clear,” she called, sending her mount another few steps our way.

  “Almost,” I murmured, finishing off the clip as a fireball hurtled toward us from the corner of my eye. “INCOMING!”

  I dropped the Gate, pumping the energy into the shield protecting Romtal and me. Abinaleh braced. Heat poured over us, singeing the invisible hairs on my arms. Both Romtal and Drout screamed in fear, but neither moved. And the spell vanished, leaving us unharmed, but my shields barely stood.

  “Having Romtal send us to Mystor. We’ll come out mid-city. I’ve got your back. Hit it running as soon as it opens,” I ground out, emptying my second gun and dropping the magazines into my lap as I reloaded.

  Her sword cut down another attacker, and she called out in surprise as a hail of arrows fell toward us from the main battle party. Bracing, I continued firing and sent a prayer up that my shields held. Then pain flared in my right thigh, and a glance down revealed a shaft sticking out of it. My shields fell. “Anti-energy spell!” I warned, panicking.

  When Abinaleh looked at me, her pupils took up most of the iris. Her mouth never moved, but her voice whispered in my mind. “Go. Go now.”

  Uncertain where to go with no shields, I left it to Romtal as I urged him to open a Gate. As we rushed forward to close the five feet between ourselves and safety, an earthquake shook the sand. Rock and debris exploded into the air, causing Romtal to break into a gallop. I glanced back over my shoulder as Abinaleh’s lips opened in a silent scream. Then the darkness of the Void welcomed us.

  Chapter 7

  “Vivo,” I murmured through gritted teeth as I leaned my shoulder against Romtal for balance. My fingers wrapped tightly around the arrow’s shaft to snap the fletching off the end. The damn anti-energy spell coating it nulled my ability to manipulate energy. Until it was out, I wouldn’t be able to Gate or shield. Goddess, I really didn’t want to remove the damned thing; bleeding to death after excruciating pain wasn’t on my top ten list of fun activities. Of course, I also didn’t enjoy the idea of dying alone in the middle of a sweltering desert off-Terra. Any desert really, but especially not this one.

  On that thought, I regripped the shaft and my Latin. I live. “Vivo.” The word was a grunt as the barbed tip slowly tore through the flesh of my thigh as I pushed. The thought of my living became less enticing as the pain escalated. Concentrating on my breathing, I slowed it back down. Then I inhaled deeply and held it. He/She lives. “Vivit.” The tip passed out the other side of my leg, and the quick exhalation that escaped wasn’t quite a scream.

  Blood oozed from the dual wounds, but nothing spurted. No spurting was good. Well, not good but definitely better than the alternative. You live. A comforting thought. “Vivis.” Still, the real question was how much longer that would last. I tried not to contemplate it too deeply as my fingers dug through Romtal’s saddlebags for clean dressings. Damn. No water to clean the wound, and my antibiotics were in the wagon with my other supplies.

  Chills raised goosebumps on my skin as I wrapped the dressing around my thigh and tied it tightly to stop the bleeding. Goddess bless. Either we Gated near the Banded Traveler or we threw ourselves on the mercy of Bretinoc Eshrai. A better than average chance of a mugging awaited us if I missed my mark in the city of Mystor. If we came out a half-mile from Bret’s stables, we would still be safe on his land once he sensed the energy. “Okay, Rom, we are going to Gate to Terra. Let’s go see our pal, and maybe he’ll forgive us my fit of temper if I choke hard enough when I swallow my pride.”

  And once we were healed, we’d find Abshoc. If he had betrayed us…

  Romtal stood stone-still as I held tightly to the pommel and lifted with my arms until my left foot connected with the stirrup. Clenching my teeth, I threw my right leg over the saddle. No amount of Latin conjugation could prevent the blackness from mobbing my vision as my body crumpled against Romtal’s back. Not bothering to grasp the reins where they rested near the pommel, I instead gripped handfuls of mane for balance. Unable to steady myself with my legs, my body bounced hard against Romtal’s. I am going to pass out. Fingers curled into the coarse hair of Romtal’s mane, I prayed to the Goddess—Please let us make it to help!—while channeling my rapidly fading energy into forming a Gate.

  Without hesitation, the horse lunged forward, nearly unseating me in his haste. Instinctively, my legs locked against the barrel of his chest, and pain ricocheted from my thigh to my spine and into my skull. Blackness of the Void surrounded me in the place between, but my grip was swiftly slipping. Romtal stopped sharply, and nothing could have prevented my unintentional descent.

  Two men, two dogs, and the ground rushed to meet me.

  With my lips compressed tightly over my locked teeth, the only sound that emerged as the left side of my body cushioned my fall was a growl loud enough to set the dogs’ ears back against their skull. Their ruffs stood on end, making the Great Pyrenees appear half-again larger. A command from one of the men prevented them from tearing me apart, though my hand remained clasped across my chest for a quick draw of the gun resting beneath my armpit. Death by dog ranked higher on my do-not-want list than death by desert, which was quite an accomplishment.

  The older gentleman—appearing in his early thirties, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with work boots—danced with Romtal, trying to soothe the warhorse into acquiescence. Just out of my reach, the younger man—in his twenties, maybe—crouched. The way his broad shoulders and muscular limbs coiled into a loose but tense squat screamed martial training, even if his shirt hadn’t screamed “ARMY OF ONE.”

  Sudden black spots and bright dots clouded my vision. I couldn’t distinguish his features or see whether he held a weapon. The fingers of my right hand touched the ground behind me in an effort to gain balance, and small pebbles and sand touched my palm. If it weren’t for the fact that the sun had been high in the sky when we entered the Gate on Aclan and now the moon was rising, I would never think we’d skipped Planes.

  The man before me gestured to the one behind me, clearly a signal to stand down. Definitely military and, unless something had drastically changed, definitely not Bretinoc’s land.

  “We arrived here by mistake. Have him back away from Romtal, and we’ll leave,” I offered, speaking slowly to prevent my voice from breaking or my teeth from audibly c
hattering. The temperature had plummeted over the past minute, and goosebumps rose across my skin. In my periphery, my mount pawed the ground and reared. Whatever the stranger’s intention, he wasn’t having any.

  “Where did you get the horse?” the younger man questioned, his eyes flicking to the palomino’s evasion tactics.

  My fist clenched around the butt of the gun, and I slowly pulled my left leg under me to rise. They weren’t taking my godsdamn horse.

  “Hold up, soldier-girl. I’m not threatening him. Or you.”

  The longer he maintained the crouch, the less quickly he would be able to move out of it. Lactic acid would build up, and his muscles would react slower. By the same token, blood loss would do the same to me.

  “Let us leave.”

  Despite the dim light of dusk, his reluctant smile was easily visible. “My mother would hang me by my toenails, and she’d make Dad sleep in the barn for a month. You are injured, in need of a healer, and a liability to the paranormal community. Lucky you, Mom is a healer. If you have somewhere else to go, I’ll escort you there once she stops your bleeding.”

  I laughed softly, the sound hysterical against the quiet of the night. “You expect me to believe you are going to help me from the goodness of your heart. I don’t know who you are, and your family doesn’t know me. One thing we both know is that the world doesn’t work like that.” Struggling, I managed to bring myself to a one-legged crouch. The injured leg was limp but numb, an improvement over nonstop stabbing pain except that unresponsiveness was a bad sign. “Romtal, venis.”

  Like a well-trained dog, Romtal appeared at my side. As my arm touched his chest, I felt his muscles bunch. Gripping the stirrup allowed me to remain standing as he kicked behind him in warning to whoever approached from the rear.

  “My name is Rankar Sirach, and this is my parents’ land. We are Tuatha de, and I give you my word that we will not harm you if you offer us no harm. My mother will use all her skills to heal you if you let her. Soldier-girl, I promise.”

  Goddess… His voice sounded so strong and sincere. Romtal was worn, hungry, and fighting with the last of his strength. I was, well, worse. If someone boosted me into the saddle, I wouldn’t be able to stay there. Most reassuring, Mr. Sirach didn’t press his advantage. He waited patiently for me to evaluate the situation.

  “I, Sarki Kinan, promise that I will not harm anyone who doesn’t intend me harm first, and I will pay back your family’s hospitality the moment I am able.”

  “Fair enough, Sarki,” Rankar said, rising to his full six-foot-plus height. He stood for a moment to allow the blood back into his legs. “Will you allow my dad, Mycal, to cool down your mount and get him settled into the stables?”

  My throat closed, and I rethought my stance. I’m not going to cry, either. “Romtal,stās.” The order for him to stand down was weak, but his ears quirked in a manner that proved he heard.

  The soldier scuffed his feet intentionally as he approached, and I glanced his way. “I’m going to carry you into the house. Mom already has the porch light on, which means the stillroom is ready for us.”

  “I can walk.” Tension spread through me, and I was prepared to battle him over it.

  He nodded, and the fact that he was visible was a good indicator of how close he was now. At five feet ten inches, my nose came to his chin. His skin was tanned and his eyes were dark, likely a shade of brown. “I know you can walk, Sarki, but it may do more damage. Trust me. I can lift you.”

  He approached me as a zookeeper would approach a wild animal, and the nearer he came, the wilder I felt. “Call me Kinan. Not Sarki.”

  He obviously sensed my skittishness, because he paused for a moment. Smiled, no teeth. “Okay, Kinan.”

  The other man was taking Romtal’s reins, and the battle-trained horse was letting him. Because you told him to stand down, idiot. Still, my breath caught. If something went wrong, Romtal would be out of sight. If they weren’t trustworthy, he might not even be in the stables if I needed to run. If…

  “I’m good for my word, and I promised.” The steady voice whispered near my ear.

  “If you can lift me, you can support me. I’ll walk,” I managed around the panic closing my throat.

  Any other man might have made a comment about my stubbornness, but he only murmured “right side” as he slipped his arm underneath my shoulder and around my back. Immediately, his nearness chased away the chill that coated my skin.

  “No hurry, Kinan. One step at a time, and tell me if you need to rest.”

  My arm around his shoulder pressed down every other step, as though he were a too-tall crutch. When we came to a waist-high fence, he paused long enough to flip the latch and push it open. Then we moved forward again like two children in a three-legged race. At the door to the house, he didn’t even reach for the handle. Instead, a woman opened it from the inside and stood aside as we passed.

  “Kinan, this is my mom, Karyn Sirach. Mom, this is Sarki Kinan,” he introduced without stopping.

  She appeared to be late twenties, early thirties. Her hair was lighter blonde than her husband’s or son’s, and she stood inches shorter than me. If he hadn’t told me so earlier, it would have become obvious the family was paranormal to all appear so close in age.

  My hand balled into Rankar’s t-shirt, pulling down slightly as I tried to hold myself up. Without comment, Rankar settled his hand beneath the armpit of my left arm and lifted me. Despite the discomfort, I didn’t complain. The position cradled me against his side while also holding me just far enough from the ground that I was no longer walking. “Almost there,” he murmured, turning us sideways to enter the doorway.

  Immediately after entering, I noted that the room was perfectly square and smelled like herbs and disinfectants. From the surface of the thick granite countertops to the cabinets and shelves, the room was pristine. On the range, pots already boiled. Obviously, the healer had never had any doubt about the outcome of my standoff with her son.

  “Rankar, go help your father,” Karyn Sirach ordered as soon as he had me perched on the side of the table.

  “You might need…” he argued, or tried.

  She paused while washing her hands in a bowl of steaming water on the nightstand. The look she directed at him made me consider walking out, so his brusque nod of agreement didn’t surprise me. He closed the door with a click, but his footsteps were silent as he walked away. The heat fled the room when he left.

  Cold again, I wrapped my arms around my midriff and stared at the droplets of blood dribbling from my boot onto the floor. Instead of plinking like the pings of a water faucet leaking into the sink, the sound was more like snowflakes falling in the forest. Soothing, pleasant, gentle.

  A loud snap near my ear caused me to fall backwards, reaching for my gun. The holster was empty, noticeably so as my hand touched only leather. However, her hand on my back slowed my descent until it touched the table.

  “Ms. Kinan,”—she handed me a glass of herbal tea and nodded for me to drink it—“this is a game I have played often with patients. You can pretend to be tough and invincible until the sun sets on your corpse. Even immortality can’t cure stupidity.” After I raised on an elbow to sip the warm infusion, she picked up the pair of shears from the table and knelt at my feet. “What I’m saying is, you are ill. You obviously are losing time, you have a fever, and you are chilled. If we are honest with one another, you’ll be healed faster.”

  The snips as she cut the wet leather sounded loud in the quiet of the house. The herbal tea tasted very similar to one Eliecha gave me last time I’d ended up in her infirmary, so I continued to drink it.

  “Ma’am, it’s just Kinan.” The air whooshed from my lungs as she removed the pants from the wound, cutting all the way through the waistband until she left only my panties. Though terrible, it hurt less than expected. “I was shot through the upper thigh with an arrow, definitely iron and spelled. If it was poisoned, I would be dead by now.”

 
The glance she gave me was a warning, and I braced myself. Her gloved fingers spread the edges of the wound, and the expression on her face was terrifying unreadable. Abruptly, she stood and moved back to the store of medical supplies.

  “We are going to have to clean the sand and horse hair out. Then I’ll suture it closed.” Her lips twitched. “Finish that drink; the painkillers in it will help. Also, before you pass out, are you pureblooded Tuatha de Danaan?”

  The impulse to argue that I wouldn’t faint while locked in the room with a stranger passed when I realized that the healer was more than slightly fuzzy around the edges. “As far as I know. My parents were both fae.”

  The words warped at the end, but she nodded as though she understood. Her hands were warm against my leg as she lifted it enough to slide a stack of towels beneath my thigh. My eyes opened, but blackness and snowflakes frolicked in my vision. When had I lain flat? Or closed my eyes? “If I die,” I began, tripping over my tongue. Send Romtal back to Bretinoc Eshrai.

  The words were an exhalation of breath as the cold darkness pulled me under.

  My eyes swelled against dry eyelids, and swallowing was impossible. My fingertips were cold, my face was afire, and my leg was numb. Lead weights trapped my arms against the bed, so force of will lifted my eyelids. The smell of clean sheets and herbs invaded my nose, and I could see the moon disappearing with the promise of dawn through the surfeit of windows. Though disjointed images of an infirmary haunted my memories, this room with its openness was not familiar.

  Beside my head, something moved. The size of a cat but blue in color, a drakyn watched me with wary eyes. Reptilian scales gleamed in the light of the bedside lamp. Like all of his kind, the little guy—he had to be male, all blues were—appeared to be a tiny replica of the Western dragon. My examination caused the drakyn to chirp, breaking the silence. Out of sight, something larger moved.

  “Kinan?”

  A palm pressed against my forehead moments before a semi-familiar face entered my line of vision. Though I opened my mouth, no sound came out. The man’s expression was grim, and I didn’t like it. With Herculean effort, I raised my hand to touch his face. Only for a second, just long enough to draw a small smile.