Kral had taken his injured and cantankerous self back to bed—at Trond’s orders—and to the relief of more people than just me. Once he wasn’t around, his men stopped pretending I didn’t exist, and some even sang as they worked. It had never occurred to me that fighters could double as sailors, though to be fair, I’d never set foot on a sailing ship before this journey. Efficient of the Dasnarians, though I’d never say so to Kral. His ego needed no help.
Either the fish-birds had grown wilier or Kral’s lookouts more complacent, but we had little warning before the creatures fell on us. It meant the lookout had his sword out and carving through the fish-birds, bright green pieces falling to the deck and grabbing my attention at the same time as his shouts. They hit us hard, in great numbers from the outset, several of the men falling under the hordes almost immediately. Seeing Jens swarmed at his critical post, I leapt to his defense, as he could hardly hold to our careful course and fight off the fish-birds also.
“You can’t stay out here,” I yelled at him.
“Have to keep the wheel,” he gritted out, ducking a razor swipe at his cheek.
I went into the Whirling Wind pattern, somewhat hampered by my still-injured hands. Might have been smarter not to worry the wounds by working Kral over, especially as he hadn’t been worth the effort. Water under the bow, as it were. Speak of the demon, himself appeared on deck, wearing his gleaming black armor, complete with helm and gauntlets, and bellowing orders. I knew that bellow, and also Kral’s lean height and effortless command. He sent men below as he reached them and made his way to us.
“We’re helpless pinned against your barrier.” He flung up his face plate and shouted the accusation at me, as if it were all my fault.
“Busy here,” I informed him, not pausing the spin.
At least he provided some assistance, taking my back and weaving his own pattern with the broadsword to keep the things off Jens. Slower than would be perfectly effective, but fast for the considerable weight of the weapon—and taking into account the previous day’s injuries. Another man would not have recovered as well so quickly. I had to admit, donning the armor had been a smart move. The first time I’d seen it, when I escorted Kral and his bodyguards through Ordnung’s gates to approach the High Throne, the exotic armor struck me as ridiculously rigid. Daunting, yes, as it made the wearer look much larger, and creepily fierce, like a hard-shelled insect that promised a painful sting. But not at all practical to my mind.
Now I rather envied him the protection.
“Take us away from the barrier,” Kral ordered Jens.
“Not so easy with the men on the sails under attack.”
As if to answer that, a man up on one of the crosspieces gave a wailing cry as he fell, plummeting from above and hitting the deck with a sickening thud. A flurry of bright green bodies descended on him like flies feeding on fresh droppings, more heading that way with hungry cries that sawed on my nerves.
No, that was the screech of the edge of the ship against the barrier. I still couldn’t see the thriced thing, but the sight of wooden splinters flying as the Hákyrling ground against nothing would be difficult to miss under any circumstances.
Kral shouted a curse. Then flung a fierce look at me. “Keep him alive and on the wheel or we’re all dead and I’ll send your corpse personally to your Tala friend so she’ll see what her tender heart cost.”
I focused on keeping my speed and momentum, admirably refraining from spending any energy on pointing out that Kral wouldn’t be sending anything anywhere if all of us were dead. Keeping maybe some of us from being all dead took serious precedence. From the edges of my vision, I spotted Kral climbing the rigging, surprisingly agile in that armor, which had to weigh as much as a small child, shouting in Dasnarian so rapid and thick I couldn’t make it out, even if I’d been able to spare the attention.
Sails flapped as the Hákyrling wheeled about, moving away from the barrier and going more north and east, away from where Zynda would bring Andi to meet us. Not that I was inclined to argue. But the Three had better have a plan to keep this from being a complete and utter disaster. More bodies accumulated on the deck, at least occupying substantial numbers of the feasting fish-birds and making them less inclined to go after those of us who still fought back.
Still, I was hard-pressed to keep them off of Jens, who gallantly held the wheel as he took us at what felt like a strong diagonal, at a steadily increasing speed as the sails angled to catch the wind. My muscles wept with exhaustion, still not recovered from the previous day’s fight. Internally I kept up a singsong prayer that alternated between beseeching Danu’s assistance and lamenting my loss of stamina from days gone by. It would have been handy to be in top form.
Kral appeared again, black armor smeared with blood and bits of glistening green scales, accompanied by several of his smaller, faster men, all similarly armored and now using a double-bladed attack as I did. They set up a perimeter while Kral neatly ducked through the opening I made for him in the whirling defense around Jens. “Follow us,” he shouted in my ear from behind.
In a wearied fog, I did, grateful that the other fighters helped thin the fish-birds who made it through to my blades. I’d slowed, and slow meant death. Run as fast as you can or the bear will catch and gut you. Kral carried Jens over a shoulder, head hunched against the flying razored beaks, as he bolted at top speed for the cabin door to safety.
I should have savored going in and out of that doorway at a leisurely pace earlier, while I still could.
Kral made it through the door, which shut behind him and Jens. Two men ahead of me, one behind. I put on a burst of speed, which curiously upended itself. I’d fallen through that hole before, through the long, slow, dizzying drop of a mortal wound. As I crashed to the planks, I expected the warm rush of my guts spilling out with nauseating pain. No one should feel that and live.
Maybe I hadn’t and all this had been a dream as I lay dying at Uorsin’s feet. Trading one bear for another. I should have heeded that omen. Apparently I learned nothing from my mistakes.
As my vision went bloodred, then black, I sent a prayer to Danu to find a better warrior to complete my unfinished business. Like mother, like daughter. Failed in the end.
Lost.
I blinked at the wooden shutters above. Not Ordnung. Had I been captured? The Tala, Duranor . . . Oh, right. The sway of the Hákyrling brought it all back, along with an excruciating headache. With a groan of self-pity, I lifted a hand to press whatever spike drove itself into my temple to help it finish the job and let me die already.
A man said something and I managed to focus on him. Twisted, hard-edged words. My sluggish brain churned to make sense of them.
“Your head hurts due to blood loss,” he said more slowly, and wrapped my hand around a flask. I really didn’t want mjed—just the thought made my stomach heave. “Water,” Trond insisted. “Drink, Ambassador. If you die on us, it will look very bad for Kral.”
There was an upside to everything. Except if I died, I wouldn’t get to watch Kral squirm as Ursula skewered him.
“It could mean war between our realms,” Trond reminded me with a reproving frown.
There was also that. I gulped the water, slowing when he reminded me to sip. Not easy, as my drained body seized on the desperately needed moisture, every tissue screaming for more. I’d been in this place before. Only that time I’d awaked to Ash’s scarred face and gentle green gaze studying me with concern, instead of this big Dasnarian medic. And Ash had healed me, mostly. Turned out even only partial magical healing had it all over being bandaged. As my head descended from the numbing cloud of unconsciousness—which had frankly been quite preferable to reality—more and more of my body awakened and began clamoring for attention. That’s how pain worked, an alarm call that something bad was happening to the body. Really not all that useful in the aftermath, however. In pitched battle, I never felt the wound, and afterward there wasn’t a thrice-cursed thing I could do to change it.<
br />
I hated pain. I really did.
Some of the meditation Danu taught worked to mitigate wound pain, but first you had to be able to banish enough of the distraction to concentrate on it. Vicious circle. Also, something nagged at me. Something I’d forgotten.
“Where are my knives?”
Trond gave me a wry smile. “Both of you alike—the general put them under your pillow.”
I slid a hand under, immeasurably reassured by the familiar sense of edged metal within easy reach.
“How do you feel?”
I really hated that question, too. What did they think anyone would say? “Like a skinned and bled-out deer must feel when slow smoked over a campfire to be made into jerky, only the deer gets to be dead.”
A grin cracked his face. “Excellent.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Always a good sign when my patients show spirit. The general ordered me to make sure you lived.”
“Such a reasonable guy.” I scowled at the wooden ceiling, seeing for the first time that even it had the Konyngrr crest inlaid with silver metalworked into the wood. Great for the psyche, to see that fist tugging the spiderweb of control and intrigue on waking and sleeping. No wonder Kral was sideways in the head. “Do I want to know why I’m in his bed?”
“No significance.” Trond tucked another full flask next to my hip. “The general’s room was closest and gives me more room to work than your smaller cabin. We had you on the floor for a while.”
I followed the tip of his head to see the wide stain of drying blood on the wood. “Ouch.”
“Considerable blood loss.” Trond reiterated, lifting a shoulder and letting it fall. “Surprising that such a small body can contain so much, eh? I thought you were dead more than once.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I commented. How many lives had I used up? At least three now. Kral likened me to a cat, and they supposedly had nine. Could be I had . . . five or six more. That sounded downright optimistic, looking at it that way.
“It amuses you that you nearly died?”
“It amuses me that I seem to be hard to kill. Maybe Danu is looking out for me. How long was I out, anyway?”
“All night and the following day. It’s coming on sunset again.”
Whoa. I tried to sit up, and my head spun so that I couldn’t muster any resistance when Trond pressed me back again. “No sitting up yet, until you make more blood.”
“What about the fish-birds? Where are we? Where’s Kral?”
“Still following, somewhere in the Nahanaun archipelago, and up on deck. The general has everyone going above in full armor.”
“Smart of him.”
“Kicking himself for not thinking of it before,” Trond noted with a wry smile. Heavy bootsteps approached and the door opened. “Speaking of whom,” he said, giving me a cautionary look I couldn’t quite interpret. Another thing I hated—the significant warning glance that gave no information. All the scouts I trained knew to give detail before vague alarms.
Maybe making mental lists of things I disliked would distract me from the grinding pain.
“Does she live?” Kral asked, striding over to the bed and peering at me before Trond could answer. “You’re awake,” Kral informed me.
“And you’re a stunning master of observation.” I didn’t like how it unsettled me to see the man in that striking black armor; even with the faceplate up and his broadsword safely sheathed on his back, he looked menacing. The sharp edges of the narrow opening only made his icy-blue eyes more intense and penetrating. Didn’t help that I was naked, but for the copious bandages, and too weak to even sit up. I sucked furiously on the water. Come on, body, make that blood.
“I’ll see about getting you some meat broth, now that you’re ready for that step,” Trond said, fleeing the battlefield.
“How do you feel?” Kral demanded.
This again. “Like killing about a thousand of those fish-birds and stomping their shiny green bodies into dust,” I snapped.
Kral reached a hand to the back of his helm and yanked it off, tunneling through short hair made a darker gold than usual with sweat, and grinned at me. “That’s my girl. I figured a leathery piece of meat like you would be tougher to kill than that.”
However oddly phrased, the remark warmed me. Probably counted as an actual compliment in the Dasnarian book of male communication. Fascinated, I watched him remove the armor, plate by plate, stowing it in a cabinet I’d not yet found. The armor sections seemed to connect with each other much the way the cabinets fit flush into the wooden walls. He wore padded cotton beneath, also soaked through with sweat, and began stripping that off also.
“You will not go above,” he ordered over his shoulder, “until we have seen the last of the fish-birds.”
Oh, joy. “That’s hardly a workable solution.”
“Unless you have armor I don’t know about?” He pointed at the bloodstained floorboards. “That’s going to have to be sanded out as it is. Nobody is going above without armor, no matter how miserably hot it is. Stupid that I didn’t think of it before. I wouldn’t have lost five men if we’d taken that simple precaution.” Naked, he kicked at the pile of sodden cotton in furious disgust. Then he triggered a panel that folded out into a table, pulled out a basin and pitcher, and began washing himself. The water and the glow of lantern light did fine things for the golden lines of his body. I sipped at the water, appreciating both the sight of his muscular back and ass flexing as he moved, and the entertainment. I could kind of see his point from the day before. Lying abed feeling like a critter caught in a snare too long, starved and gnawing off its own paw became marginally less torturous with interesting company.
I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of being trapped inside for the foreseeable future, but neither was I eager to feed either the fish-birds or the wooden planks more of my blood. “So, what is your plan? When Zynda returns with Queen Andromeda, they won’t know where we’ve gone.”
“Now who’s the master of observation?” He grumbled, though not in a particularly mean way. Almost philosophical. He turned, treating me to a full frontal of his excellent chest, abs, and thighs. Not to mention that generously endowed cock, impressive even flaccid. Too bad it was attached to an obstinate idiot. “We’re sailing through shallower waters, so we can anchor if need be, though being in motion seems marginally more effective for keeping the fish-birds from swarming. Fortunately, their numbers don’t seem to be growing and we’re continuing to pick them off, so they might even be decreasing. Plus, we tipped the corpses overboard, and many of the scavengers followed that food source—and with nothing to eat aboard ship, they seem to be losing interest in us.”
He and I shared a grimace for that reality.
“Jens predicts that your people shouldn’t arrive back at the magic barrier before another day and a half or two days. We’ll head back that direction in the morning by indirect route and hope to have lost enough of the flock that the fish-birds won’t attack your people when they meet us.”
“Probably Zynda would be persuaded to clear the air and water of them with her magic, should it come to that.”
“What makes you think her bleeding heart will be moved to self-preservation this time?” Kral said sourly.
“She said as much before she left.”
Kral’s hands stilled in midwash long enough for me to drag my gaze up to his face. Not nearly so pleasant, set with that black expression. “And you only see fit to mention that now?”
“We had no reason to think the fish-birds would be back. I can see her point on that. You don’t go around wiping out species that aren’t directly threatening you. Kill all the mountain cats and you’ll be ears-deep in deer.”
“I’d think that would be a good thing for simple hill folk following their food source around.”
“Clearly you’ve never survived off the land. Too many deer means they eat down all the vegetation, which means none left for people and then blood and bon
e disease follows. There’s a reason Danu requires balance in all things.”
“I’m rather tired of hearing about Danu, balance, and sympathy for predatory fish-birds. In Dasnaria we either possess or kill. No in-between for women’s tears.”
“Control or destroy? Fits with what I know of your empire. Can’t say I find it admirable. Or all that effective.” That last wasn’t quite the word I wanted, but my head seemed to be going muzzy again.
Kral shrugged into loose pants and a light shirt, both in a dusky blue that did a great deal to soften the ice of his eyes. He left the ties undone on the shirt so it lay open to his navel. Made up for losing the entire view to some extent. Not entirely, since my new rule—a line never to be crossed again—was looking only. No touching.
“The Dasnarian Empire is nothing if not effective, nor does it require your admiration.”
“I’m sure there’s something cutting I could say about that, but it’s not coming to me.”
Kral came over to take the water from my hand. Could be the dizziness, but he looked concerned. Gentle, even. “Sleep, then. Let your body recover and you can fight with me tomorrow.”
“Are you being nice to me?”
“No.” But he smoothed my hair back from my brow. “It’s no fun to spar with you with your weapons so dulled.”
“I’m in your bed,” I muttered sleepily.
“Where you belong, rekjabrel, as you agreed from the beginning.”
“Where will you sleep, though? I should move.” Though I couldn’t. Weariness dragged at me, and his bed was hugely softer and more comforting than my hammock.
“I’ll think of something.”
I fell asleep to his hand stroking my brow, mulling hazily how long it had been since someone touched me that way, outside of sex.
The Edge of the Blade Page 8
