His fingers brushed the long scar that ran from his left ear down beneath his collarbone, and the two pink puncture marks at the base of his throat. The scar was old, a “souvenir” of a long-ago battle with magicked beasts. The punctures were new, evidence that he had survived the rogue vayash moru’s attempts to kill him. Around his neck, two faint scars were a permanent reminder of the years he’d been a prisoner of the Nargi, forced to fight for his life in their betting games. There were more scars beneath the shirt, and they were proof, if anyone still doubted, that he deserved his reputation as the most fearsome warrior in the Winter Kingdoms.
“Between the Durim and the Ghost Carriage, I don’t know how many more refugees Dark Haven can hold,” Jonmarc said as he walked next to Gabriel into Dark Haven’s massive entry hall. The lower floors had been repurposed as a hospital for as many of the vyrkin and vayash moru as possible. Upper floors where daylight might intrude had rooms for the worst injured of the mortal refugees. Carina presided over it all, directing the cadre of mortal and vayash moru helpers, as well as the handful of mages who came to lend their magic to the effort.
“Have you heard more from Kolin? Does he expect to have another Carriage run soon?”
“Last I heard, he said to expect him in about a month,” Jonmarc replied. “Said he’d be going back into southern Dhasson, near the Nargi border, for a dozen or so vyrkin and vayash moru they smuggled out of Nargi. Depending on how often he has to hide out from the patrols, that should mean a new load soon.”
“We can take them at Wolvenskorn, if there’s no more room here,” Gabriel offered.
Jonmarc gave him a sideways glance. “You’re helping fund it, aren’t you? The Ghost Carriage? You and Riqua.”
Gabriel smiled, making his long eyeteeth plain. “Of course. Riqua and I have been among the hunted too many times ourselves to stand by when we could be of help. We’re fortunate to have a brave network of mortals and a few vayash moru who refuse to leave the others behind. I know too well what it’s like, hiding in cellars and caves, waiting to be betrayed and burned. So we help others ‘disappear’ and take them to safety.”
“That’s why they call it the Ghost Carriage.” Jonmarc grimaced. “I just hope Kolin doesn’t push his luck too far. Nargi border patrols are nothing to fool around with. I’ve gotten in and out of Nargi myself a few times, if you recall.”
“Usually in about the same shape as the ones you brought in tonight, as I remember.”
“True enough.”
“Another long night.”
Carina looked up at Carroway and nodded. “Seem to be a lot of them lately.” She laid a hand on her swollen belly and Carroway gave her a look of concern. “I’m all right. Honestly. Just tired.”
“Do I need to tell you what I think?”
Carina smiled and patted Carroway’s arm. “I can guess. But there’s work to do.”
“You know, when Tris sent me to Dark Haven, I don’t think he expected you to put me to work!”
“Think of it as part of your healing. It gets you out of bed and moving around, plus it keeps you from feeling sorry for yourself.”
Carroway grinned as he got to his feet. He stretched out his hand to her and winced as she pulled herself up. After six months, he wasn’t good as new, but his left hand had regained nearly enough strength and mobility for him to begin trying to play the lute again. A knife had impaled his hand as he struggled with the assassin who had tried to kill Kiara. That injury left him worse than crippled. For Margolan’s Master Bard, it was a devastating blow. He sighed.
“Maybe I should just go back and focus on arranging music and events,” Carroway said. “Macaria’s been trying to tell me that it’s not the end of the world if I can’t play.”
Carina shook her head. “You’ve made progress. You’re getting flexibility back in your fingers. And the hand pains you less than it did before. Don’t give up. Laisren and Jonmarc both think that you’ll be fine with a little more time. And both of them have been banged up badly enough to know.”
“You’re just saying that because I’m good, free help,” Carroway joked.
Carina gave him a tired smile. “Well, there is that, too. I don’t know what I’d have done these last few months without you and Macaria—and Cam before he went home to Brunnfen.”
“Think he’ll have any problem crossing Margolan? I heard they closed the border, with the plague and all.” Carroway gave a tired grin. “Which also means you can’t get rid of Macaria and me now, even if you wanted to.”
Carina shook her head. “As I heard it, you can leave Principality to go to Margolan, but you can’t enter Principality from Margolan. And no, I don’t think Cam will have problems getting to Isencroft. As for Brunnfen, well, we haven’t been home in twelve years. Now that Father and Alvior are dead, it’s nice to be welcomed back, but it takes more than a letter to make it home again.”
“You’re worried.”
She shrugged. “Of course. I’d have gone with him if I could.” Her hand fell to her belly, and she looked out across the windowless room at the badly wounded vyrkin and vayash moru Jonmarc and Laisren had brought in from tonight’s attack.
Carroway laid a hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him. “Cam will be fine. You’ll see. And as for this mess,” he said with a look at the crowds of injured refugees that huddled in the room, “we’ll figure something out.” He grinned. “After all, they’ve heard the stories about how you and Royster and Taru fixed the Flow of magic when no one had been able to in over fifty years. And if that didn’t make you a legend in and of itself, then when word got out that you could take away the pain from vayash moru and ghosts, and that you were willing to use your talents on vyrkin, well,” he said with a chuckle as Carina blushed, “you can’t blame them for hoping that if they reached the protection of Dark Haven and its brigand lord, the legendary healer Lady Carina Vahanian could take care of them.”
Carina sighed and gave him a black look. “And whose fault is it that the stories have grown with the telling, hmm?”
Carroway grinned. “Once a bard, always a bard, even with a busted hand.”
The servants arrived with the supplies Carina had requested, and she signaled for Carroway to help. At the far end of the room, Macaria began to play a calming song on her flute, and after a few moments, Carina could see her patients begin to relax despite their pain. Macaria was an excellent musician, and her music had a bit of magic that could sway the moods of listeners.
Carina maneuvered to kneel next to her first patient, one of the most severely injured vayash moru. He had been gutted, slit from ribs to waist, and his organs protruded from the wound. Other gashes were evidence that his captors had not been satisfied to cripple him, inflicting a dozen more deep cuts to increase his pain. Sakwi knelt next to her. “The magic in the cages didn’t just keep them prisoner; it also hampered their natural self-healing. All the Durim had to do was injure them too badly to fight when they captured them during daylight, and the cages kept them from healing enough to break free or fight back.”
Carina muttered curses under her breath as her hands glided over the gaping wound in the man’s belly, pushing his entrails back into place. The dark ichor that replaced blood for vayash moru covered her hands.
“Use this,” Sakwi said, creating an elixir from herbs he took from pouches on his belt, mixed with a sharp-smelling liquid from a flask he pulled from one of the pockets of his robe. “If they’ve poisoned the wounds, it should clean them, and it may lessen the pain.”
The vayash moru groaned as Carina gently touched the wound. He looked to be in his early twenties, and Carina guessed that he had been undead less than fifty years to be captured so easily. A faint blue glow formed beneath her hands as Carina’s healing magic began to work, cleansing the wound and supporting the vayash moru’s own regenerative powers, helping him heal more quickly. After a few moments, the gut wound had closed, and Carina could see that the other gashes that had marred the man�
��s arms and torso had begun to heal.
The vayash moru grasped her hand feebly. “Thank you,” he managed. Carina nodded, and signaled to a servant who brought a flask of goat’s blood and a goblet, pouring a drink and holding it for the weakened vayash moru.
“What’s your name?”
“Deinol.”
“How were you captured, Deinol?” Carina asked as she and Sakwi gathered their supplies.
Deinol took a long sip of the blood and closed his eyes. “I was betrayed by family. My wife and children kept my secret, and I remained with them until they died. But my granddaughter’s husband saw a chance to advance himself by courting the favor of the magistrate. He must have alerted the Durim.”
“When you’re ready to travel, Lord Gabriel’s people will help you find a safe day crypt.”
Deinol met her eyes. “I want to fight. I want to join Lord Vahanian’s militia, if he’ll have me. There are more out there, like the ones who captured me. I want to stop them.”
Carina nodded. “I’m sure Jonmarc will be glad for the help. Now, rest.”
Sakwi was already treating the next patient, a vyrkin whose front leg had nearly been severed by a vicious ax blow. But before Carina could kneel beside him, she heard a shout.
“Carina, I need help!”
An auburn-haired girl in her middle teens knelt next to an injured vyrkin in human form. The man had begun to convulse, his body rigid and shaking, eyes wide and staring. Carina and Sakwi hurried to help as the girl skillfully maneuvered a rag between the man’s teeth.
“Berry, I need some herbs from my storeroom—valerian and withania, along with red wine. Will you—”
But before Carina could finish the request, Berry was already gone. Sakwi placed a jade disk in one of the man’s hands and a disk of emerald in the other, and began chanting to ground the convulsion. Berry returned within a few minutes with the needed ingredients, and as Berry and Sakwi held the man in place, Carina mixed an elixir and removed the cloth from between the man’s teeth so she could drip the mixture into his mouth. Then, Carina placed her right hand on the top of the man’s head and her left hand over his heart, focusing her healing magic until a faint, blue glow created a nimbus beneath her hands. She willed the humours to sort themselves, separating water, fire, land, and air into their proper courses. As she worked, the man’s tremors gradually lessened until he lay still and sweating.
Carina managed a tired smile as the man groaned and opened his eyes. “You had a nasty blow to the head,” she said as she moved her hands carefully down the injured vyrkin’s body, watchful for strained and torn muscles from his seizure. “I know vyrkin heal quickly, but you need to make sure you rest or it will cause another fit. You can sleep here without worrying. We’ll watch over you. You’re safe now.”
The vyrkin looked up at her with the clear violet eyes that marked him as a shifter. “Is anywhere safe, m’lady?”
Carina took his hand. “I wish I could answer that,” she said quietly, glancing to Sakwi, who took a carefully wrapped wad of herbs from his belt. Carina showed it to the vyrkin before carefully inserting it into his mouth, behind his back teeth. “Chew on this. It will ease the pain and help you sleep. Berry will stay with you for a few moments to make sure it takes hold.”
Berry looked up at Carina. She was almost fifteen summers old. Her auburn hair was caught back in a simple braid, and she wore a plain linen shift. I wonder how many of the wounded would believe that Princess Berwyn is fetching them water and binding their wounds? Carina thought. Berry’s eyes sparkled with excitement, and Carina knew Berry was thrilled to be part of the action, showing the same reckless courage she had displayed two years before, when Jonmarc had rescued her from slavers. Her father, King Staden of Principality, had sent her to Dark Haven to avoid the plague. Carina doubted he had envisioned that Berry would take such a lively role as Carina’s assistant, but she was glad for Berry’s help and her enthusiasm.
“M’lady, you asked me to give you an update.” Carina turned to find Lisette behind her. Tall and red-haired, Lisette was Laisren’s partner, and though she appeared to be in her early twenties, Carina knew that Lisette was over two hundred years old. Originally assigned to be Carina’s lady-in-waiting, Lisette and Carina had become fast friends and Lisette was one of several vayash moru Carina had trained to help her with healing both mortals and the undead.
Carina took a deep breath and stretched, hoping to ease the stiff muscles in her back. “I hope it’s good news.”
Lisette smiled. Vayash moru didn’t tire as quickly as mortals, and with the constant influx of new patients to be cared for, Carina was thankful for the stamina of her undead helpers. “As good as this day gets, I suppose. Sister Taru and her assistant made one pass through the upper floors, and they’ve put to rights those with minor ailments. Those who’ve been healed well enough to leave have gone home, to make room for the ones waiting in the bailey to be seen. Taru’s assigned three mortals—a hedge witch, Sister Glenice, and one of the village women—to watch over the patients on the upper floors during the day so we can take our rest.”
“Has Neirin started the shelters yet?” Neirin, Jonmarc’s grounds manager, had promised to build large canvas structures in the bailey to house those who had yet to find a safe place to stay once their healing was complete.
Lisette nodded. “He’s got crews working day and night—mortal and vayash moru. It should be ready by tomorrow night.”
“Sweet Chenne, how did the world come apart at the seams like this?” Carina murmured tiredly, looking out over the room full of injured vayash moru and vyrkin.
“As it always does, one crazy person at a time.”
Carina jumped at the voice behind her and turned. A man she didn’t recognize smiled and extended his hand. “I’m Sior.” Sior looked to be in his thirties, with a close-trimmed beard and rich brown hair flecked with gray. His violet eyes revealed him as vyrkin, but there was something familiar in his face that made Carina pause. “I was a packmate of Yestin’s.”
Carina caught her breath. “That accounts for the resemblance. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Sior inclined his head. “He died bravely, in battle, defending his friends. There are worse ways to go.” He looked out across the rows of patients and his eyes darkened. “Lord Jonmarc sent me to let you know that I’ve rallied the packs and brought as many as can be spared from guarding our dens. We’ve pledged our service to fight or assist in any way necessary. I was told that we could be of most help here.”
Carina smiled tiredly. “Thank the Lady! We can use help here, with the vyrkin and vayash moru. I’d be especially grateful for a translator—we’ve got a few who were too badly injured to shift and I want them to know they’re safe before I start working on them, so I don’t lose a hand. If your people can help here, I can send the mortal workers upstairs to help the day shift.”
Sior bowed. “At your service, m’lady. We are in Lord Jonmarc’s debt.”
It was nearly dawn when Carina and Sakwi tended the last of the wounded vyrkin and vayash moru. Carina could see the fatigue in Sakwi’s face. The land mage began to cough hard enough that it racked his thin frame, but he held up a hand to fend off Carina’s help.
“Nothing you can do, m’lady, great as your power has grown. My cough is my burden, I fear,” he said, and shook a powder into his hand that smelled of hot pepper and garlic, which he put under his tongue. His dark, luminous eyes widened for a moment, and his face flushed with sudden heat.
“I wish you’d let me try.”
Sakwi found his voice again and laid a hand on Carina’s shoulder. “Perhaps when things are quieter—if such a time ever comes. These folk need your help more than I do.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not the only one with a sense for how others fare. Time for you to rest, Carina.”
With a sigh, Carina nodded. “Mother and Childe! It’s taking all we have to care for the injured, and we haven’t begun to deal with the refugees yet. Berry
just received a letter from her father. The plague’s grown worse in the city. Taru says that once the weather turns cold, it could spread faster with everyone packed inside.” She shook her head. “I feel guilty about resting when there’s so much to do.”
Sakwi smiled and glanced at Carina’s belly. “If you won’t rest for yourself, then rest for the two little ones. You can’t push yourself the way I know you’re used to doing.”
“You’re right.” She was quiet for a moment, looking out over the now mostly silent room. The vayash moru patients had fallen into their deathlike slumber at sunrise, even though the windowless room gave no hint of the dawn outside. The vyrkin, too, were quiet. Able to go abroad by daylight, the vyrkin preferred the night, and many had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion.
Carina met Sakwi’s eyes. “I thought that when we put Tris back on Margolan’s throne things would get back to normal. But it’s never going to be the way it was again, will it?”
Sakwi shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that. I’m afraid we’re doomed to live in ‘interesting times.’ Your friend Royster might love chronicling times like these, but the dull periods of history are much nicer—for the living and the undead.”
“I just hope that when the plague has run its course, there’s still someone around to tell the story.”
Chapter Four
You’re sure this is the right road?” Rhistiart fidgeted in his saddle.
Cam glanced over his shoulder. “I’m sure. I used to live in Brunnfen, you know.”
Rhistiart shrugged. “You said yourself that that was a long time ago.”
“It’s not the kind of thing you forget.”
“You’re reasonably sure they aren’t going to try to kill us again, aren’t you?” This time, Cam detected a hint of true nervousness in the voice of his silversmith-turned-squire. He couldn’t really blame Rhistiart. The two had met as prisoners of the Divisionists. Cam had enabled Rhistiart to escape with a message for King Donelan, and then had managed to make his prison explode, warning the king of the traitors’ position and nearly getting himself killed in the bargain.
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