“No? Ah well. Seeing you now, Sarillorn, seeing you at rest, I do.”
“You?” Beyond the one word, she could say no more. But the thought that Kandor might harbor his own resentment, his own anger, had never occurred to her. The Servants had been all grace, all light, all servitude to God; if they had questioned or felt anger or sorrow, she had never seen it.
Kandor smiled, although the smile was oddly stiff. “I was among the oldest of our number, Sarillorn. Yet even so I spent much of my time among the half bloods and the humans. I am Servant, yes, and to Lernan—but I am not immune to the effect of ... affection. It eases my time, in this darkness, to know that you are more peaceful.
“By the will of God and the will of the Lady, you are the last of our children.” The darkness held shadows that only Kandor could see; he gazed past her shoulder in silence before speaking again. “What will you do now?”
“We go to Culverne and its holdings. The patriarch of that line travels with me, as do three others.”
“And there?”
“There’s still resistance to the Malanthi rule in Culverne. We hope to contact it, to become part of it—and to use it.”
“Go then, Sarillorn.”
She nodded, feeling herself begin to slide away. “But I will come again.”
In the morning, the snow was thin and completely white; the sun, untrammeled by clouds, made a winter desert of blinding light. The guards donned boots and snowshoes, and Erin was shuffled off to the wagons before she’d had a chance to strap what looked like flat baskets to her feet. Robert, Gerald, and Darin all seemed reasonably comfortable with them, as did both Hildy’s guards and the guards of House Bordaril. Trethar disdained their use, but was spared any embarrassment by Hildy.
“At our age,” she said severely, “we don’t have to walk. Leave that to the boys, dear.”
Trethar, beard frosted with frozen breath, looked dour. He was many things: mage, member of the brotherhood, teacher. He was not a “dear.” But in the end, he chose to behave like any of the other men under Hildy’s command; he followed the orders that were liberally wrapped in her mother’s voice. Even the House Bordaril guards listened to her with only slight grimaces to show that they were used to a different master. It was obvious that most of them had traveled this route before. Both Erin and Darin kept as clear of them as possible without letting their previous experience with house guards show.
Still, Erin was nervous as she took to the wagons, and her nerves, tightly strung, caused a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.
It’s the house guards, she told herself firmly.
Hildy, however, seemed oblivious to the reason behind the shudder, and Erin found herself wrapped in a shawl, two scarves, and two layers of mittens. Winter wear, as Hildy had said, was not in short supply, and if all of it was oversized, Erin couldn’t see fit to point it out.
But when the wagons slid to a halt two hours from the inn, she threw off the woollen layers as if they were webs and reached for her sword before Hamin’s face appeared between the canvas flap.
“Hildy,” he said, in a low tense voice, “I think there’s trouble ahead.”
“Trouble?” Picking up Erin’s castoffs, she held out a bundled hand, and Hamin helped her out, into the daylight. Erin followed, a tense and dangerous shadow.
The first thing she saw were the backs of the caravan escort; Hildy’s in their plain winter wear, and the Bordaril guards in their crested livery. They had weapons ready; three had long-bows, strung, with arrows nocked.
All this, Erin took in, in a warrior’s glance; it had no time to register before her eyes were scanning the horizon. She cursed the snow, the light, and the conditions of the north that were so unfamiliar to her.
“There are men on the road, dear,” Hildy said to Hamin.
“Yes,” Erin replied, before Hamin had to think of something to say. “There are. I think about fifty.” She took a breath and then exhaled it in a warm, wet cloud. “I don’t see Church crests.”
Hamin raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got good vision.” He left Hildy’s side and came around to stand at Erin’s. “What else do you see?”
She squinted and muttered something dire about the sun. But as her eyes slowly adjusted themselves, she saw that at least one banner flew.
“Field of emerald green,” she said, shading her eyes. “Gold; I think it’s a crescent, curve up. I can’t tell; we’re too far away.”
Hildy said something very, very unladylike.
“Hildy!” Hamin’s jaw dropped.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Hildy said. “But that’s enough of a description.” She shook her head. “I think we’d best pull back.”
“It’s Vanellon, isn’t it?”
She nodded grimly.
“But they wouldn’t dare—the last time they tried to launch trade war here, they were wiped out to a man, and they had to pay a sizable compensation to Bordaril.”
“Yes, dear, we know that,” she replied. “Get young Jenkins, please.”
Young Jenkins was a man in his late thirties; he had served Bordaril for all of his adult life and had trained under their auspices for most of his youth. He wore three stripes and his age with equal dignity, and an odd sort of strength that might have been menacing in a different light followed the line of his brow and his dark eyes. He bowed to Hildy as he approached, but that was all the formality the situation allowed.
“Vanellon,” he said tersely. She nodded. “Retreat?”
“I think it best, dear. We don’t have the numbers or the strategic location that would make any other option wiser.”
He nodded again, perfunctorily; it was clear to even Erin that he had no intention of pursuing any other course, regardless of what Hildy recommended. It was also obvious that he was angry; his lips were white around the edges, his eyes narrowed, and his jaw muscles twitched.
Hildy stepped aside and began to make ready to turn the wagons, and the horses, in the confines of the road. “I can’t understand it,” she muttered to herself. “They wouldn’t dare do this unless something had changed.”
And Erin felt it then; a sudden surge of power that made her bones ache with remembered pain.
chapter twelve
“Off the road!” she shouted already in motion. “Hildy!”
Hildy froze and then swung around to see Erin’s body crest along the snow top. She took Erin’s urgent command, and magnified it with the strength of her voice and her voice’s imperative. No one in the caravan could escape the notice she gave. They fled, saving questions for later.
Hildy paused only long enough to cut the nearest horse from its straps; up and down the caravan, others had already made a similar decision. Then she, too, took to the dubious shelter that barren trees offered. She had no need to ask Erin why; the ground rumbled beneath her feet like a constrained giant.
Power crackled in the air, distorting vision in a visible, red aurora of light. The hair on Erin’s neck, fine and soft, stood on end. Her skin tingled, and her teeth ached with a chill that had nothing to do with the winter.
She heard the screaming then, a thin wild note that pierced air and the barrier of distance with pathos and ease. Cursing, she pulled her sword.
A Karnar was on the field.
Just as he had been taught, Erliss bound his blood-power in a net around his dying sacrifice. He could see lines that reached from his fingers around the whole of the young man’s body; they were red but bright, a fine, strong weave that tightened as Erliss concentrated. He traced each thread, each narrow line, and finally pushed.
Sweating, he held one hand aloft. The sacrificial blade gleamed red and silver as it met his palm; it bit, but did not sting as it passed beyond his thin skein of flesh. The red robes—an early gift from Vellen—that swirled around his arms and legs were a flag; in a field of white, red dominated all.
Gently, almost nervously, he reached down and placed his open wound against the throat of the dying man. Blood met
blood as Erliss joined the net he had made for God.
God answered. There were no words and no command, no ceremony, and no grand welcome. Nevertheless, hand upon death, Erliss felt the pulse of the Dark Heart as it became, for moments, his own.
He rose, and those Swords that had attended him in the ritual moved away like black-linked shadows.
Do not pull too much, Vellen, had said. Erliss did not feel, at this moment, that that was possible. Without care for archers, he strode to the front of the assembled line and gazed down the snow-covered road. There, casting tiny, fragile shadows, his quarry began to flee. It was important that they not retreat.
For the first time in his life, he had no doubts at all about his ability to stop them.
Darin knelt in the snow. His cheek brushed bark and branch, growing red with little cuts.
“Darin, are you all right?”
Renar touched his shoulder gingerly, and Darin spun around, Bethany clutched and levered as if to strike. He stopped himself, or Bethany stopped him—he wasn’t sure which. Shaking, he tried to look out to the road.
Darin.
I know. He bit his lip, while he listened for the shouts of Bordaril guards as they gave and took their orders.
“What is it?” Renar said, speaking more sharply than he had ever done.
“P-Priest.” Darin swallowed. “A priest is—is with them.” The road trembled again, and Darin rose, seeking safety in the thick of the woods.
“How in the hells can you see that from here?” Renar said, his forehead creased. “Even I can’t—” the rest of the sentence was lost as the ground began to buckle like simple, white linen, folding slowly into itself.
Initiate, Bethany said, her voice no less harsh than Renar’s had been. Ward.
Erin cursed again; she felt the folding of the earth and knew that the Karnar had seen to it that the wagons, at least, could make no passage back. She felt red-fire in the ground beneath her feet, a distant pain, and protected herself from it with the power of Line Elliath. Green light shimmered on the surface of her skin as white light struggled to fruition.
She knew what had to be done, and knew—again and always—that she could not be the one to do it. Daring the edge of the road and the hill that was forming out of snow and twisting dirt, she gazed out at the enemy.
Not one armed man had made any move toward them. They waited the outcome of their Karnar’s attack. Just as she would have done, had their positions been reversed.
Darin reached down for the simple dagger he carried as the ground attempted to prevent his action. Snow, like white earth, split and separated; trees loomed above like crippled limbs. He thought of tire—but not the flames of Trethar’s magic.
Darin.
Shaking, he righted himself, thinking of priests and the Dark Heart and slavery-whispers of death and the fear of it. Bethany’s voice was an urgent harmony to his gestures, as the knife came free.. He hesitated a moment, and then it came back: the True Ward.
He missed his palm, the first time. He tried to tell himself that it was the cold that caused the trembling, not the fear that the ward required. A distant scream of panic lit up like an aural flare; it lingered so close to his ears that he might have voiced it.
And then his blood, steaming slightly, graced the snow; he felt the sting of cold steel before he dropped the knife. He wouldn’t find it again, he was certain of that. It didn’t matter.
His hands crossed his chest in the Circle. His eyes grew green and bright and shining; he couldn’t see them, and Renar, who could, could not appreciate the first sign of God’s grace and the hope that it brought.
Darin felt Lernan’s power as it flowed beneath his skin and raised his hands high before he realized that he didn’t know what to do with it.
Initiate.
When had Bethany fallen? He didn’t remember dropping her, and he began to scramble around at his feet as the ground threatened to shift again. Bethany?
Take me up.
I can’t! I—
“Patriarch.” Darin jumped back in surprise, and Renar shoved Bethany’s cold, smooth form into his hands. “You were looking for this?”
He didn’t take the time to offer thanks.
Now. Touch the ground, Darin. Touch it. You will know what to do—and I will help. This man is Kamari; his power is, I think, greater than yours.
Darin touched the ground; snow melted against his hands, but he didn’t notice the cold; against the barrier of his fingers, he felt red-fire snap.
Erin felt it, too. Her ears, attuned to the red and the white in a way that even Darin’s would never be, heard the distant roar of power as the two blood-magics clashed beneath her feet. She dropped her head a moment, realizing what must have happened; her lips moved in a prayer of thanks before she raised her eyes to scan the northern road. Now, the enemy would have to come to them.
Erliss felt it the moment it hit. The ground, which had seemed an extension of his will and his desire, suddenly fought back, pushing the fingers of the Dark Heart’s power away. He had expected it—he told himself this as he bent himself to the task.
“Lord?”
Through gritted teeth, he shook his head, his lips turned up in a silent snarl. The Swords watched and waited his command.
“Darin?”
“Not now.”
Renar touched his shoulder. “Darin,” he said, softly but no less urgently, “we have to know—will the roads hold?”
We? Darin looked up and saw one of the House Bordaril guards standing stiff at Renar’s side. His face was bruised, and a trickle of blood trailed down his jaw, drying in the cool wind. “I don’t—I don’t know. I think so.”
Renar and Captain Jenkins exchanged a look. Jenkins nodded grimly. “We’ll start a retreat. Can you move?”
“No,” Darin replied, struggling with the word.
“Guard his back, then,” the Bordaril captain said. “You’ll know when to move.”
“I will,” Renar answered softly. He settled back against a lopsided tree and watched as the wind made moving shadows of low-hanging branches.
“Lord!”
Erliss glanced up; sweat beaded his forehead although the air was biting in its chill. His eyes, red, shone with God’s power; the Sword that had interrupted him so urgently fought the urge to take a step back. Erliss said nothing.
“You asked to be informed of the enemy disposition. They’re retreating.”
Erliss bent his power—his will—to the road; he felt the white shields of his ancient enemy give without breaking. Frustrated, he almost lashed out with the Dark Heart’s granted magic—but he held himself in long enough to let the Sword’s words penetrate.
He had two choices: He could continue to contest the stone and frozen dirt that he had hoped to use to achieve a painless victory—or he could order his Swords, and the guards of Vanellon, into combat. He had always been taught not to choose in haste—but here, he had no choice.
Darin suddenly collapsed into the snow. The movement was so sudden and so complete that it caught Renar unaware; before he could cross the scant distance between them, Darin looked up, shaking snow from his face.
“It’s gone,” he said.
“What’s gone?”
“The red. It’s gone.”
Renar clapped him on the back and caught his jacket to prevent him from sprawling, again, in the uneven snow.
“No,” Darin said, grabbing the thief’s wrists, “you don’t understand. I didn’t do it—it just stopped.”
“Just stopped?” Renar’s eyes narrowed, and then widened. He turned lightly in the snow and vanished over a newly created hill’s shelf. Darin had time to collect Bethany and gain his feet before Renar returned.
“It’s time to retreat,” Renar said quietly. “No—not that way. Off the road, Darin.”
“But what about Erin?”
“Now,” Renar said urgently. “The Lady can take care of herself.”
Erin heard the horses scant se
conds before she saw them. She didn’t take the time to warn Captain Jenkins, Hamin, or Hildy—she didn’t need to. Hamin’s brief curse, and Jenkin’s obscenity, made it perfectly clear that they, too, could see their danger.
“They’ll pay for this,” Jenkins whispered, just before he began to bark out orders to his men.
“Great,” Hamin replied. “They’ll pay. But we won’t be around to see it.”
“Haminl” Hildy’s voice sounded.
Hamin turned, half in guilt. “Yes?”
“We don’t need a chief morale officer, dear. Luke, pay attention to the roads. Where are Robert and Darin?”
“Someplace safer than here.”
Erin might have complained about the chatter, but even over it, Luke and Hamin were in motion. More of Hildy’s guards came to the fore, to stand loosely beside their Bordaril counterparts.
“Ma’am?”
She shook herself as a younger, crested soldier spoke. “Yes?” She responded.
“You’d best get behind the line. We’re fighting in retreat, but you and Hildy can probably get clear.”
The absurdity of having a guard of any house defend her—possibly die for her—made Erin wince. The world had grown strange and impossible in the past three centuries.
“Ma’am?”
She looked down at her blade—the bright sword that the Lady of Elliath had crafted for Gallin’s use. “No,” she said softly. “I don’t think that would be wise.”
“Dear?” Hildy’s voice was sharper than the young guard’s.
I’m sorry, Hildy, Erin thought, as she turned her back on the merchant’s unspoken command and joined Hamin and Luke, but this is the life I know best. And these are the enemies I’ve always fought.
“Hildy, dammit! Get out of here!”
Lady of Mercy Page 21
