Grace?! he called with his thoughts. There was no reply, although he still felt her close at hand. Grace? Unable to get a response he looked back at Alyssa, “Where’s Grace? What happened?”
“She was hurt,” whispered Alyssa. “I didn’t see it. Your friend can explain.”
His eyes scanned her face. Clearly she wanted to say more, but her expression was apologetic, whether because of her difficulty speaking or because of her lack of direct knowledge he wasn’t sure.
Sitting up, he found his body was remarkably free of injury, although his back twinged from lying too long across a lump in the uneven grass. Gram’s throat felt raw, but as he approached Chad he managed to croak, “Tell me everything.” He didn’t bother saying more, it hurt too much.
Chad nodded, “I don’t know the full story myself, lad, but after we parted ways I stalked you for a while. After yer confrontation with Grace, I followed her to where our little princess was leadin’ some sort of breakout. Half the town was after ‘em, and yer dragon was apparently chasin’ after the bigger one. Then some sort of metal monster showed up and starting destroyin’ everything.”
The ranger sighed deeply as he remembered, “It had weapons like I’ve never seen, magic I guess. It moved on four legs, and it had this weird box that it would just point at things and boom, they blew up. It shot Moira with it, an’ I think it damn near killed her.
“It had another weapon too, on the other side. I think it used that one more cuz the first one took time to reload or something, but it was almost as bad. It would point that thing, and it would light up, like fire was comin’ out, along with this continuous thunderin’ sound, but it wasn’t like a wizard’s fire. The fire was just near the weapon, like it was just a side effect. Somethin’ I couldn’t see was hittin’ everything it pointed at. Anything in front of it just died, whether it was ten feet away or a hundred.”
Gram nodded before looking down at Moira, “How did we get here?”
“Our little princess managed most of it,” answered Chad. “Somehow she got back up and not only healed your dragon but got us out of the city. The things she did…” The hunter shuddered as he remembered the invasion of his mind. “…well I don’t really understand it, but she got us out. Once we were outside, she fixed you an yer wh…” He stopped abruptly before rephrasing his words, “…yer girlfriend there. That must’ve been too much for her, though. She collapsed afterward. All three of you have been sleepin’ like babes for the past couple of days.”
“How did you move us after that?”
Chad shrugged, nodding at the dragon over his shoulder, “After that the big girl here took turns flying us to the hills.” He didn’t see any point in mentioning the last desperate fight. It had really just been a footnote to the entire escape.
Cassandra lifted her large head, “Don’t let the old man sell himself short. At the end there were still more after you. He fought like a demon to protect you until I could get you all clear.”
Gram met Chad’s eyes, seeing the embarrassment there; after a second he nodded and the older man inclined his head for a moment. Words weren’t necessary between them. Trying to spare his voice, he pointed at the stranger who lay on the other side of his position under the lean-to, raising his brows to indicate a question.
“The good baron, the one who went to the palace with Moira—I know he don’t look much like himself anymore,” said Chad by way of explanation. “I ain’t had the story from her, but considerin’ how much blood’s been let out of him, I think he didn’t do much better with his king than she did.”
The man in question didn’t much resemble the nobleman whom Gram had met a few days prior. His fine coat was gone and the rags he wore now spoke more of blood and dirt than nobility. His hair was thick with dirt and what might be mud or dried blood. The Baron had no shoes or boots, and close examination showed that the tattered clothing that covered him was actually the remains of his underclothes. Someone had stripped away his finery.
The ranger saw the thoughts passing across Gram’s features. “I figure they must’ve locked him up with our lady. Guards usually take anything good from their prisoners. I dunno who stuck him, though. She must’ve healed the wound. There’s a big silver scar on his ribs. I been tryin’ to get water in him, in drips and drabs, but I don’t think he’s long for this world, if he don’t wake up soon.”
Gram sighed and then took a few steps, walking away from the improvised shelter. Circling around Cassandra, he found Grace’s quiet form nestled gently against her side. The slow rise and fall of her ribs was the only sign of life in her. He ran his hand over her shoulders, feeling the warmth there, and then he looked down the hillside, across the plain, toward Halam.
The capital of Dunbar wasn’t visible from their current campsite, but a smudge on the horizon probably represented the smoke that rose from the many chimneys in the city. Raising his forearm before him, he gazed at the tattoo that Matthew had put there. With a thought and a word that was barely more than a whisper he summoned Thorn, feeling the great sword’s comforting weight in his hands. Another word sheathed his body in shining enchanted steel. The armor looked like scale mail, being composed of countless small interlocking pieces, but it was far better than that. Unlike normal mail, this armor locked in place when confronted with blows, becoming rigid to protect its wearer. It combined the flexibility of chain with the protection of plate, and its enchantments made it nearly indestructible.
It covered his face as well, although the parts that covered his eyes were invisible, allowing him full vision. Despite enclosing him completely, it allowed air to reach him as well, though Matthew had never explained the parts of the enchantment that allowed that particular miracle to occur. In truth, he didn’t care. It made his head hurt whenever his friend had tried to explain the various workings of what was probably a masterpiece of the enchanter’s art.
“Your father will be proud when he sees what you have created, Matthew,” he whispered to himself. “And I will be sure to show it to him—after I’ve demonstrated it for King Darogen of Dunbar.”
The great ruby set in Thorn’s pommel pulsed with crimson light, as though the sword agreed with that sentiment.
Chapter 18
Something bright was shining in Moira’s eyes, and she screwed them more tightly shut to try and keep the unwanted light out. The light was relentless however, until at last she was forced to cover her face with her arm to block it out.
“She’s moving,” said a rough voice. It was a woman’s voice, although it was hard to identify it as one it was so coarse.
Moira risked opening one eye and peaking over her forearm to identify the speaker and was rewarded with a blaze of light that seemed to sear straight through her brain. “Unh!” she exclaimed, shutting the eye again.
Someone else spoke then, “She’s awake! I saw her open her eyes.” That sounded like Gram, although his voice also sounded uncharacteristically thick.
“Go away,” she murmured, speaking to whoever might be within range of her voice. The effort made her head throb harder. “It hurts.” Ouch. She wondered why she was so stupid as to have spoken again, despite having learned the result with one phrase already.
“Can ya hear me lass?” That was Chad Grayson leaning over her and speaking close to her ear. His breath was none to pleasant.
Moira rolled over and buried her face in the relative security of her bedding—and promptly jerked her head back as she found herself inhaling a noseful of dirt and grass. She sat upright then, sneezing and opening her eyes more fully. Sunshine was beating brilliantly upon the landscape all around her relatively shady position under what appeared to be a makeshift shelter. Her head felt as though it had been stuffed with thistledown, and when she attempted to expand her admittedly unclear magesight she was rewarded with a throbbing surge of pain.
“Uhn,” she groaned, leaning her head forward and covering it with her arms as though blocking the light would reduce the ache. It didn’t. Remo
ving the visual stimuli only increased the discomfort as her mind focused more on her magesight. The world seemed to spin and contort, and she immediately opened her eyes again, seeking the stability of the sunlight.
“Are you alright?” asked Gram, leaning closer. His voice boomed, overwhelming her senses.
She put out her arms to ward him away before covering her ears. She kept her eyes open this time, however. Everything hurt. The world hurt, throbbing in the center of her being. Even the light was painful, but if she shut them the nausea was worse. The light kept things steady at least.
Eventually the others got the idea and gave her some space, talking in softer tones from ten or fifteen feet away. Chad chuckled, “I don’t envy her. She looks like she’s got the mother of all headaches.”
Except I didn’t do any drinking, she thought bitterly.
Her memories were fuzzy, so she spent a while reconstructing what she could remember of the period of time that had led up to her painful awakening. Frankly, a lot of it was difficult to believe, even as it began to be evident that she hadn’t dreamed it. Gram and Alyssa were both standing nearby, free of their parasites, so that part was definitely real.
Risking her magesight once more, she found Grace lying on the other side of Cassandra. The effort sent new waves of nausea rolling through her, and she struggled to keep from retching. I overused my power.
She recognized the symptoms now. She had been through this once before, years ago, when she and her brother had attempted to save Gram’s father from the enchanted gate that had crushed the life out of him. It felt even worse this time.
You almost died.
The words came in her own voice, but they were not hers. Another presence moved in the back of her mind. You’re still there? she asked.
I couldn’t be otherwise. I’m sort of stuck here, unless you choose to make me a vessel, responded her spell-twin.
I thought maybe you would have faded out while I was unconscious, she replied unapologetically. Her usual spell-mind constructs would fade and disappear over time unless she provided them with a new supply of aythar every so often.
Her inner twin winced mentally, ouch.
I’m not saying I wanted you to disappear…
…but it would have been more convenient, her other self finished.
Moira didn’t have a good answer to that.
On the bright side, I’ve been keeping watch while you slept, although I have to admit it was really boring.
Keeping watch? asked Moira curiously.
Even though you were unconscious, I wasn’t. There was still some excitement after you collapsed, and I can show you everything that happened while you were out. Master Grayson was rather heroic, actually. Other than that the last couple of days have been completely dreary.
Dreary is better than the headache I have right now, thought Moira wryly.
Her other self was silent for a moment. Well, I’m not going to try and win at this pity-party, but I will say that being stuck here for days unable to do anything but observe was almost maddening.
Were you truly that helpless? wondered Moira. You seemed able to do plenty before I passed out.
I suppose I could have tried to make myself a spell body or something, said her spell-twin, but that might have killed you, and then where would we be?
Killed me?
It’s your aythar, your power, explained her mental companion. Everything I do draws upon that. I don’t think it’s smart to exert your power after collapsing from exceeding your limits. Do you?
“Oh, that makes sense,” muttered Moira aloud. She regretted it when the sound of her voice increased the pain in her head.
“Moira?” asked Alyssa tentatively. “Is there anything I can do?”
She stared at the other woman thoughtfully for a long minute before whispering, “Tea?”
“I think there’s some in the bags,” said Gram, grateful to have a purpose. He moved toward their supplies.
“I’ll heat some water,” offered Chad.
***
Two days passed while Moira recovered, and by then the baron had regained consciousness as well. She sat next to him in the afternoon sun, watching Gram and Alyssa sparring. The two warriors were the least wounded of their party, suffering only minor damage to their voices.
Gerold’s face was lit with interest, “I’ve never seen anyone fight like that. Are all of your warriors so skilled?”
Moira coughed, “I thought their skills came from Dunbar. Alyssa is from here, and it was her father who taught Gram.”
The baron took another sip of water. It seemed he was perpetually thirsty since he had awoken. Glancing at the beautiful lady beside him, he considered his words, “We have wrestling and boxing in our yearly games, but nothing like this. Our soldiers train with weapons and armor. If there’s any emphasis on close fighting, it would be with knives.” He choked for a moment, eyes going wide as Alyssa ducked into Gram’s arms, delivering a solid blow to his sternum before dropping down and sweeping his legs.
Gram rolled away before she could land her finisher. He was struggling to breathe. The young man got to his knees before Alyssa leapt at him again.
A flurry of blows ensued as Alyssa assaulted him with palms and knees, but somehow her dazed opponent warded himself from every attack. Gram seemed to tire, however, unable to recover his wind. Wavering for a split second, he missed one of her jabs, taking a glancing blow to his head. Though Gram was off balance and still on his knees, Alyssa seized the opportunity to drive a lightning fast punch toward his head with her left hand, only to find herself spinning.
Gram had caught her wrist, pulling her forward as he bent back, tossing her over and behind him. The exchange ended when he flipped over and pinned her beneath him, twisting one arm back and applying his forearm to her neck in a brutal chokehold. Alyssa growled and strained, but she had no way of escaping.
Gram held her tightly, leaning in to bite at her ear as he softened his choke and let his arm drift downward.
Moira looked down, smirking in simultaneous amusement, embarrassment, and perhaps a tiny bit of jealousy. “Is that like the wrestling in Dunbar?” she asked.
Gerold was turning red, “Our games are only between those of the same sex, and—no, not like that.” His eyes darted back to the two fighters, who were now engaged in a shameless display of primal affection. “That’s just wrong. A moment ago they were fighting, now they’re kissing!”
“The annual Dunbar games might be more interesting, if there were more matches like that,” suggested Moira with a smile.
The baron studied her for a second, captivated by the twinkle in her eyes as he realized she was joking. Laughing, he agreed, “You might be right.”
“I’m thirsty,” announced Alyssa suddenly, still captive.
“Me too,” said Gram. “Let’s go fetch some water.” The two of them left abruptly, forgetting to take the only bucket with them.
Gerold looked askance at Moira as they left, “They aren’t even married. How long have they known each other, a few days?”
“Much longer than that,” she answered, knowingly. “In fact, I think they’re still betrothed.”
“It sounds as if there’s a story there,” said the dark haired baron.
“Would you like to hear it?” asked Moira.
The baron nodded, and Chad stood up a few feet away. “I’m going to hunt,” announced the ranger.
Gerold took note, “Does their story offend you?”
“No, but while they’re off making like bunnies in the bushes, I haven’t been laid in over a month. The last thing I need to hear is a sappy tale of tragic romance,” replied Chad.
The massive dragon resting on the other side of the camp spoke then, “You don’t have a bow.”
“Like I need one,” growled Chad, checking his knife in its sheath before drawing their rope from the packs. He left then, carefully choosing a route in the opposite direction from the one Gram and Alyssa had taken.<
br />
***
That evening they all sat around a cheerful fire near the lean-to. Chad had returned with a brace of young rabbits and a collection of plants harvested from the hillside. Adding some salt from their packs and the water that Gram and Alyssa had eventually collected, he produced a stew that was far better than anything else they had eaten over the past few days.
Finishing his bowl and putting aside his spoon, the hunter looked over at Gerold, “Well Baron, what will you do now? Will you return to Lothion with us or chance returning to your home?” His accent was noticeably subdued.
Before Gerold could answer, Moira spoke up, “We aren’t going home yet.”
Gram nodded in silent agreement.
Chad glared angrily at Moira, “I don’t know if ye remember all that well, princess, but we barely made it out of that city alive.”
“My father is there.”
“Aye,” said the ranger, nodding, “and we can return with an army to sort that out. Yer mother will bring every tool at her command to bear on Dunbar to force his release. Runnin’ in there by ourselves is a fool’s errand.”
Gram stood, “I should go alone.”
Chad gave him an incredulous look, “Last time you went in there, boy, ye kissed the first girl to look twice at you, and a metal worm nearly ate yer brain!”
Alyssa covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, but Gram didn’t find the remark amusing. Lifting his tattooed arm, he spoke a soft word and armor covered his body in glittering steel. “Not this time…”
“No, this time one o’ those metal monsters will bend you over and shove it up yer dumb ass instead,” interrupted the ranger.
“Grace already destroyed the monster,” countered Gram.
Chad covered his face with one hand, “Yeah, that one, an’ she’s still unconscious. We don’t know how many of those things are in the city.”
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