"Then it seems you've selected an equally infantile moment and manner to do so again." He lifted his nose to the air while Saxa hurried to cleanse his boots of sour lamb chunks.
"It's too soon," Saxa worried. "You won't even make it to the door."
"I'll make it," Alaysha said and she thought she heard a low hum come from Gael's chest.
"Stop coddling her," he told his sister.
Alaysha felt bolstered enough to take a wobbling step. The accompanying pain in her side took the breath from her lungs.
Gael glanced down at her. "I've got you," he said, and Alaysha let the water in her legs ooze to the floor. She would have fallen, except Gael did indeed have her. Just being able to let her strength go for a moment gave her back her lungs.
"I can do it," she said and kept her gaze hard on Saxa's face. The smoky brows were scuttled down in concern, but at least the face wasn't terrified. Rather, it spoke of cautious confidence.
Alaysha took another step. The pain still shrieked its existence, but at least she was prepared for it and kept her legs. The wooziness was another tale entirely, and she determined that she would take a step and another until she had convinced them she wasn't worthless. Even as she thought it, she found herself wondering why she cared.
Gael took a step toward the table, and Alaysha took one, carefully, with him. It was odd not to have her body do exactly as she willed without extreme effort. She would have been discouraged by all the energy it took just to make such small, insignificant steps, but she wouldn't show weakness in front of this condescending man or the woman who had showed her kindness despite the very real danger to her that she'd undoubtedly faced each day that Alaysha was under fever.
She sweated and she cursed, and eventually she made it to the table, where Saxa had a tankard of spiced and honeyed ale, cooled by the earth storage of the food pit.
Nothing ever tasted so good. She even shot a grin at Gael who grinned back, however fleetingly.
"Get me some of that stew, Saxa," she declared when she saw the smile slink from Gael's face, "I feel like chewing on some meat."
To her surprise, it was Gael who strode to the pot and spooned out four lumps of meat then grabbed for a trencher of bread.
"Here." He thrust it at her, then made for the bucket next to the bed and brought it close to the table within easy reach for her. "When you're done, we'll make our way to the well."
He gave her a queer look before striding to the door.
The meat was tender and delicious, with a stewed-in flavour that sat on the back of Alaysha's palette.
"What spice did you use?" she asked Saxa. "It's hot but sweet at the same time."
Saxa looked pleased. "Herbs. And it's two. The first one lingers but a moment and introduces you to the second. That's the one you taste now. I call it the bottom. It grows on the edge of the mountain on the shady side."
"And the first?"
"I call it the greeter."
"I've not tasted either before." Alaysha didn't want to admit she'd not tasted many things beyond what she could find or scavenge.
Saxa chuckled. "I discovered they have useful properties beside taste; although I keep those to myself."
Something tingled up Alaysha's spine.
"How do you feel?" Saxa asked with a note behind her voice that spoke of mild curiosity.
Alaysha chewed thoughtfully. "Kind of warm, but in a good way."
Saxa's gaze went to the table, but not before Alaysha saw something in it that raised her suspicion. "Would Yuri feel the same after his meal?"
Saxa pulled a stool close and sat on it. She took Alaysha's hand. "No. He would feel very differently, but it's not a bad thing. There's no poison."
"Then why do I feel so..."
"Tingly?"
Alaysha nodded and Saxa put three fingers against her heart as she spoke. "The greeter opens the pathways from here."
"And the bottom?"
"There's the secret," Saxa said, "the bottom carries nourishment from there to every part of your body straight to the toes."
"Then why would Yuri feel different than me?"
"Yuri's pathways do not carry his blood so well anymore. It's possible he merely feels normal."
Alaysha could feel the confusion puddling in.
"Are you saying my father is ill?"
"I'm saying he would be ill."
"If you weren't feeding him this elixir of medicine."
"Theron has told me Yuri's heart is weak."
"Theron?"
"The shaman. He tends to Yuri with his drafts, and I tend to him with mine." Saxa shrugged. "Who knows which is helping or hurting, but until I can find a medicine to strengthen his heart, this potion will have to do. He has no idea. He just believes I am a better cook than Bodiccia."
Alaysha thought of the giant of a woman who did all of Yuri's food preparation on campaign. She pictured the twist of men's teeth around the woman's forearm and the way she coddled Yuri with the most succulent of meals. Yuri trusted no one else to prepare food for him – except, obviously, Saxa. She found it interesting that the only other cook he trusted was actually drugging him without his knowledge, and that the drug was very possibly keeping him alive.
"Gael, too, ate of the stew," she said.
"Gael will feel invigorated like you do." Saxa got up and took Alaysha by the arm. "And since it seems you will not vomit out any more of my medicine, I shall help you to the well."
It wasn't an easy task to rise again, but Alaysha did feel as though her legs were more solid than a swelling river eroding its banks. She took to her feet without swaying and her stomach didn't churn at the feel of meat within. She met Saxa's eyes and nodded encouragingly.
Gael stood beside the well, when they'd made it that far, seeming oblivious to the dozens of chickens rooting about his feet or the line of young girls come to draw water.
Alaysha noticed the pile of bodies that had been there half a fortnight earlier during Edulph's planned attack on Sarum had been cleared and that the platform was loaded again with archers. They were dressed oddly for a Sarum collection, with motley tunics and filthy breeks. For a second, a flash of memory came to her and threatened to overtake the hard work of walking so far, and she had to gulp for air.
Saxa's voice grounded her. "Do you feel well?"
Alaysha nodded weakly.
"It's only your body remembering its insult."
Insult was a weak word for what had been done to it, and with the curse of power came that curse of long memory. She could easily imagine Drahl dancing in front of her again, his sword wet with blood, the water from the well rising in mist to quench the fire of pain in her belly. Alaysha had to swallow hard to remind herself that fear was not part of a warrior's code. That she needn't fear that which was already done and survived.
"I'm not sure my body will ever let me forget," she said. "I just hope it hurts less each time I remember."
Saxa stopped within feet of the well and twisted so her face was in full view. "I can help with that."
"With the pain or the memory?"
"Both."
Alaysha threw a glance at Gael who had crossed his arms to indicate his impatience.
"How do you know so much?" Alaysha asked. "And how much does he know?"
Saxa looked over her shoulder at Gael. "He has the gift of war. I have the gift of peace." She shrugged. "I just know, Alaysha. Don't ask how. My father wanted to know the same thing, and I couldn't answer." Her fingers were on Alaysha's hair and she felt her forehead swept clean. "It's why he beat me."
Alaysha didn't know what to say at such a forthright and emotionless admission, and when Saxa's face brightened and her tone shifted to a more conversational one, any chance of saying more was gone.
"Don't let him work you too hard, Alaysha, he's a bear for duty." Saxa left with a pat on Alaysha's back and a promise of a brew to help with what ailed her.
It seemed she would have to make the last few steps to Gael by herself. H
e neither put out a hand, nor took a step forward. His eyes, so much like his sister's, were inscrutable. Alaysha easily recognized the battle training of steely composure and knew he at least wouldn't laugh if she fell.
She tried a step and found if she kept her eyes on his, she could make it without feeling too much pain. She took another. Another. She was nearly to him when she felt a great thud from the side. A slice of burning pain shot up from the healing wound into her throat. It was all she could do not to cry out.
She landed on the ground, her cheek against the cool dirt, her knees drawn up to her stomach before she could stop herself. She decided, in light of the pain, that lying there might just be her best option.
"Get up."
She felt a boot tip in her ribs.
She hadn't realized her eyes were closed, but when she opened them, she saw Gael's face in front of hers. His eyes weren't smoky, she realized. They were green, outlined with brown. Peculiar. And stunning.
"I told you to get up."
She might speak to defend herself if she wasn't biting her tongue to keep from crying. He sighed and his face spoke of frustration and impatience. She had the unnerving thought that he would kick her. Maybe he had kicked her.
"You pushed me," she managed to say.
He gave her a dry look. "It was a boy. No more than three seasons who pushed you."
His tone implied she was weak.
"I have been injured, you know," she said in her defence and wasn't sure she liked the sulky sound in her own voice.
He appeared unaffected. "Many get injured. Many die; some live. You are lucky."
She groaned because she knew he was right. "I know," she said. "Get up."
He folded his arms across his broad chest and Alaysha found herself comparing him to Yenic. Yenic. She'd get up if only to spite him.
She inhaled deeply to send as much air to her lungs as she could. She braced her palms on the ground and tried to isolate her triceps so as not to disturb the still-tremoring muscles of her core. Then she focused on her biceps, telling them to heave her upward to her knees at least. She heard Gael's impressed grunt, but didn't feel his hands on her in aid. She hadn't expected it, in truth, but it would have made the shaky journey to her feet that much easier.
He said nothing when she gained her feet, merely lowered the bucket into the well and dipped a wooden cup in. This he offered to her.
She drank greedily, barely feeling the iciness of it against her teeth. In one swift wash, the sweat of pain and effort was gone. She offered him a grateful look.
Then promptly felt an icy rush flood back up her throat.
He looked at his boots in renewed disgust; Alaysha wasn't sure if she could keep the nervous laugh inside, so she dipped the cup into the bucket and emptied it repeatedly over his boots.
"That's enough for today," he said and strode back to Saxa's cottage. Alaysha had no choice but to follow.
And she was grateful beyond belief.
Each day for three days went like that: a quick meal with Yuri, who ignored her, a trip to the well. The only difference was Alaysha needed no one to help her from the bed or to walk. Gael said little. It was obvious he hated his new duty and it was equally obvious he felt the same about Alaysha.
She didn't mind. Rather, it felt familiarly comfortable to be hated again.
She made it to the well behind Gael in a huff of breathlessness and looked back towards the mountains that towered over Sarum. Yuri had built his city in a cleft of the mountain and bordered it on a wide river. He felt safe on at least two fronts but not all four. For a wise Emir, it was strange he chose to build beneath the mountain and not on top. It left him vulnerable from the most critical point. She wanted to ask Gael what he thought of this revelation, but he'd suddenly set his back to her and was shifting oddly side to side with his hand reaching backward, shepherding her behind him.
Curious. What could have the disdainful giant feeling so protective?
"What's the trouble?" she asked him only to be rewarded with a harsh shushing sound.
"Is it the other witch?"
"Yes," came the response, but he didn't sound convincing; in fact, he sounded rather stoic.
A scream of agony met Alaysha's ears and she immediately reached for a sword upon her back that was not there. She satisfied herself instead with a large rock someone had lain on the well's lip.
Gael pressed her against the well and she pushed back against him, furious that he would hinder her.
"Don't crowd me."
"I'll crowd you all I want."
"If I'm in danger, I don't need your protection."
He made to hold her by the shoulders. "The danger is not yours to meet, Witch."
She might be damaged and sore, but she could manoeuvre enough if she wanted. She feinted left, swallowing down a streak of burning pain, and then leaned right. By the time Gael recovered, she'd already seen what he was doing his best to hide from her.
Two swarthy men, very reminiscent of Drahl, were holding down a teenage girl inside the iron forger's cottage. In the brief seconds, it looked all the world like they were pouring water over her throat.
Alaysha sent her power sniffing for water. The dankness of well came, sweat too. She tried to focus it, sent it to the smith's but all she got was a wash of wet heat so strong she felt as though her chin was on fire.
It was then she knew.
"They're scalding her."
She knew the smith; he was a hardworking man, captured during one of Yuri's first campaigns, so long ago she imagined the smith had forgotten he'd had a life before Sarum. Still, it made no sense he'd want to brand a chattel in such a way. It was too odd; most had their cheeks branded by iron, not this painful scalding.
She took the first painful steps towards the hovel. She didn't care how many men she had to face, or if she only carried a rock for defence, she would not see a young girl treated so inhumanely.
She felt a meaty hand on her shoulder.
"Stay," Gael told her.
"I will not." She pulled away and the weight of the stone made her balance, such as it was, awkward. She nearly fell. If he hadn't gripped her by the elbow, she would have.
"It's too late. It's done."
Alaysha listened and heard only the regular sounds of chickens and the snuffling of hounds. A roar of chatter met her ears from the good people of Sarum going about their chores, but no more shrieks. The girl had obviously fainted.
"She needs to be taken to the shaman."
He nodded. "Have no fear; she will be."
She looked at him, suspicious, but his expression kept the same stolid blankness. "How do you know this?"
She brought the image back to her mind. Teenage girl, black hair from what she could see. Most of Yuri's true tribe was fair; more evidence the girl was an outsider and probably a slave. Alaysha tried once more to get by Gael. He was as moveable as a castle wall.
"It's time you were back at Saxa's," he said and began steering her in the direction they'd come.
"I'm not weary." She rooted as best she could to her spot. "I want to walk more. I feel much stronger."
He didn't look as though her believed her. "mmph," was all he said but he reached for her waist and Alaysha was certain he'd hoist her over her shoulder, except he paused as he pulled her close enough to do so. He paused, cocked his head, and pushed her instead to the ground.
An arrow landed just next to her ear as she fell with a thud. Even as she was wondering how he could possibly have heard it winging its way toward her, several more thunked into the earth around her. A girl screamed. A hound yelped and fell a few strides away, an arrow protruding from its belly. The chatter of Sarum's people doing daily chores turned instantly into chaos.
Rather than cover her head with her arms as he instinct told her to do, Alaysha rolled toward the well and curved against it as best she could, opposite where the arrows seemed to be coming from. She'd wait till they'd spent and had to reload. She doubted the assailan
ts had thought to rally the shots – there were just too many at once. By then, all unwounded citizens had found some shelter. A few lay on the ground moaning. Some wept. Alaysha steeled herself against their cries and sought out the source. And found it.
It seemed Gael had already done the same work. He had ducked and run toward the archer platform that defended the east wall, where at least a dozen archers were already pulling new notches from their quivers. So. Those motley dressed men were not Yuri's after all. But whose?
Alaysha scanned the area. Besides the wounded worming their ways to cover, or people who'd succumbed to their shots, or dogs and chickens and the occasional pig who'd been shot, the only target was Gael. And he was flat out in the open – running, true, but flat open. He made a pleasantly easy target.
Before she could consider what she was doing, she pulled herself to her feet. She could draw some of the fire, but it wouldn't be enough. She knew they'd already set their sights on Gael. She'd have to remove him as a target just as they released, and by the look of it, that time was a few heartbeats away.
She breathed deeply and cupped her hand against her belly to offer it some support as she darted forward. His strides were long; she knew they were taking his measure even as he ran. She shouted at him, hoping to distract him for a second. Her side vision told her some of the archers had shifted their aim to her. It was now or never. She darted like a hare trying to outsmart a hound, still moving forward. He paused, taking the measure of the men he would be facing, their placements, their heights, and Alaysha could see the moment his gaze fell on the first of the men he'd have to kill. He'd never make it, but at least it gave Alaysha the time she needed to catch him. She launched herself forward and thudded into his chest.
He fell, pulling her down with him, and she used the force of it to roll, pulling him with her, yanking him atop her, then to their sides.
A dozen arrows struck the earth where they'd landed. She let go a pained grunt.
"Get up," he told her then was on his feet, using the short moments of reload to aim for the stairs.
Alaysha knew the archer's arrows were useless by now, that they would be pulling out whatever blades they secreted into their boots or breeches. She did as she was bid and got, swaggering, to her feet.
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