The blood king cotn-2

by Gail Z. Martin

  He bested three of Dorran's men before he could no longer fight. The contest became a free-for-all, and might have ended there if Dorran hadn't shouted for order and sent guards into the fray to pull Vahanian from the angry mob. They dragged him back to the priests for healing. This time, it took longer for the priests to repair the worst of the damage.

  When the priests were finished, Vahanian was led to a post in the middle of the practice ground. A guard tore away what remained of Vahanian's shirt, and lashed his wrists around the post. Vahanian's heart thudded as he saw Dorran approaching with the quartermaster, who held a knotted whip in his hands. He had seen Nargi martial discipline meted out during his captivity. Forty lashes could leave a strong fighter incapacitated. More than forty at one time were likely to kill. He hoped his expression was impassive as Dorran and the quartermaster stopped in front of him. A Nargi priest stepped up beside the quartermaster.

  "Offenses in a military camp are subject to military law," Dorran announced as the camp began to assemble in a circle around the post. "For the

  crimes of murder, theft, trespass, impersonation, and blasphemy, I sentence Jonmarc Vahanian to death."

  The crowd roared its approval. Vahanian watched balefully as Dorran basked in the spectacle, then held up a hand for silence. "I'll mete out the final punishment myself," Dorran added, to the cheers of the group. "But first, it is only fitting that he pay fully for his crime."

  Dorran looked at Vahanian. "I could have you flogged to death. You've seen it done."

  Dorran turned back to the crowd. "Forty lashes," he pronounced, and the crowd cheered for more. Dorran looked to the priest. "Keep him alive. I don't want to be cheated out of the satisfaction of killing him myself."

  Vahanian closed his eyes, bracing himself. He clenched his jaw as the whip snapped, and the first lash fell.

  NIGHT HAD FALLEN when the guards returned Vahanian to his cell, throwing him in to land face down on the hard-packed dirt.

  "Wben I call for you the next time, I'll kill you." Dorran said from outside the stockade. "You can't know how much I enjoyed this afternoon. You truly are the best fighter I've ever seen. Pity. I've had the healers patch you up to keep it from being too easy. I do enjoy a challenge. Sleep well, Jonmarc. Perhaps tomorrow, if you beg, I might cut my pleasure short."

  "Go to the demon," Vahanian managed, tasting dirt in his mouth.

  "Not this time. You'll see Her first."

  The only way out of this one is in the arms of the Dark Lady, Vahanian thought. Thanks to the healers his mind was clear, although his body barely moved at his command. By their work, the priests denied him the respite only shock and unconsciousness could bring.

  The camp was silent when Vahanian heard the call. It roused him from a distressed sleep, barely audible over the snoring of his guards. A child's voice, calling his name. Sure he was hallucinating from the pain, Vahanian raised his head. The camp lay in a heavy shroud of fog, so thick that he could not see the banked fires across the practice area. As he watched, the door to his prison swung open. In the doorway stood the transparent image of a young girl, beckoning him to come.

  "Come, Jonmarc," the apparition said. "It is time."

  Vahanian had passed the point of fear. Already resigned to death, the vision made him catch his breath. "Are you the Childe?" he rasped, his swollen lips barely able to form the question.

  "Come," the vision repeated impatiently. "It is time."

  Vahanian crawled toward the open door, stopping part way to glance back, expecting to see his own crumpled form behind him. "It's time to go," the ghostly child urged, standing with an outstretched hand just beyond the stockade. In the distance, Vahanian could hear the thunder of a horse riding at full gallop, and heard the guards rouse. But he dragged himself to stand, clinging for support to the posts of the stockade. He was unprepared for the sight that burst through the fog. A

  cloaked rider on a white horse, riding at demon speed. Beneath the heavy cowl, eyes burned like fire.

  "The Dark Lady!" Vahanian whispered, sure now that he was dead.

  The Nargi soldiers pointed at the specter in terror. Half of the them fell to their knees, prostrating themselves before the rider with a babble of desperate prayer as the priests begged the apparition for mercy. The other soldiers, frightened but dubious, held their ground, freeing a hail of arrows at the rider that bounced harmlessly off its cloak. With strangled cries, the archers dropped their weapons and fled.

  Heedless of the confusion, rider and horse bore down directly on Vahanian, never breaking speed. The cloaked figure reached down, grasping Vahanian's arm and tossing him like a broken doll across its lap.

  Borne into the fog, Vahanian lost consciousness.

  WHEN THE REAR door opened at Jolie's place, the room erupted into chaos. Nyall took the body of the unconscious fighter from the arms of the cloaked figure and carried him to a cot. Sakwi looked up from stirring a cauldron of healing herbs. Carroway and Carina rushed forward to help Nyall.

  The cloaked figure shrugged back the cowl to reveal Tris's face. The illusion of the Dark Lady blinked out of sight, leaving only the theater makeup Carroway had improvised. Kiara handed Tris a moist towel to wipe away the last vestiges of the night's work.

  "You found him," she exulted, helping Tris out of the heavy cloak, exposing a breastplate of leather and ring mail.

  "Thank you for insisting on the armor. Nargi are quick archers." Tris released the buckles on the armor, and set it aside. "And thank you for the cloak." He handed her the magic-shielding cloak from the Sisterhood. "I felt a little less like a beacon for Arontala, even though it didn't require much actual magic."

  "The river ghost, did she come?"

  Tris chuckled. "She thought it was a great game. I hate to imagine what Jonmarc made of it."

  "When he finds out he's still alive, he may forgive you." Kiara planted a quick kiss on his cheek. She took his hand and they approached the cot where Carina worked.

  "Sweet Chenne," Carina swore under her breath, surveying the damage. Vahanian's face was purpled and swollen almost past recognition, and the gashes and deep bruises on his chest and arms bore mute witness to his ordeal. "Let's see what we're dealing with on the back," Carina replied, her growing anger clear in her clipped instructions. Carroway complied, gentling Vahanian onto his side.

  Carina blanched. Welts criss-crossed Vahanian's back, evidence of a thorough lashing. Red and angry, they already bore signs of infection. Reflexively, Carina laid her hands over them. Some of the marks immediately began to fade, losing their color and puffiness. She signaled Carroway to ease Vahanian back down.

  "How bad is it?" Tris asked. Jolie stood behind him, her expression making it clear that she would

  have no difficulty taking the lives of those responsible for Vahanian's injuries.

  "He's been healed several times-deep healing. Damn them!"

  "I don't understand," Kiara said.

  "They didn't heal to end the pain, they healed to prolong it. They fixed just enough so that he didn't die too quickly and spoil their game."

  "Can you help him?" Jolie asked.

  Carina nodded. "Whoever healed him before knew what they were doing. What's here is bad, but not life-threatening. Some broken bones, a lot of deep bruises, some torn muscles and tendons, deep cuts-his back is a mess," she listed dispassionately, attempting to distance herself enough to work her gift. "They must have been striking to maim, not kill, because they obviously had the opportunity to do otherwise."

  Tris moved to stand beside her. "Draw energy from me, if it will help."

  "Can you do that without alerting Arontala?"

  Tris shrugged. "I've never sensed him when I've helped you heal-I'm not sure it's enough power for him to read. And you've pulled from both Cam and Carroway for energy, and they aren't mages. It's a chance I'm willing to take."

  Sakwi appeared at Carina's side with the cauldron of steaming herbs and a fresh cloth. For the next two candlemarks Ca
rina worked in silence, easing her way down Vahanian's body, first healing as best her strength would allow, and then applying Sakwi's poultices and binding the wounds that remained. Any materials the healer required needed only Jolie's terse word to the guards outside the door, who returned with the desired articles in minutes.

  Nyall hunched near the fire, clearly overwhelmed by the company in which he found himself. The others stood ready to respond to Carina's increasingly ill-humored commands, as the fatigue of healing coupled with her anger. Jolie stood silent sentry near the foot of the cot, her hard eyes unreadable. Carina worked for more than three candlemarks, until she was pale with the exertion and both she and Tris wavered from the strain.

  Finally, Sakwi intervened, taking Carina's shaking hands in his own. "You're exhausted. There's nothing more you can do tonight."

  Carina shrugged free with a glare. "There's always more to do."

  "I'm still too spent from the spells I wove to help you." Sakwi laid a hand on her arm. "But I can feel what you've done. He's in no danger now, and he rests as comfortably as is possible. Now, you must rest."

  Unwillingly, Carina let herself be led away from the cot. Kiara gave Tris's shoulder a squeeze in farewell, and sprang up to slip an arm around her cousin. "I'll take her back to our room," Kiara said, frowning at Carina when the other began a faint protest. Carroway, too, looked ready to drop from his ordeal, and made his way to a chair by the fire.

  "Astir," Jolie summoned the vayash moru from where he stood silently by the door. "Take Jonmarc to the room I've readied for him upstairs. Anjela will show you. He can rest undisturbed there."

  "Someone should sit with him," Carina said. "He shouldn't be alone."

  "Nyall can spend the night in a chair," Jolie decided, and the river pilot made no protest. "The rest of you look worse than when you dragged yourselves out of the river. Off with you, to bed. Wake when you will. There'll be food enough for you whenever you rise." The others fell tiredly into line for the journey upstairs. The gaming house was silent, its patrons and its ladies asleep, and the barkeeper was just finishing up his sweeping. With all the night's excitement, Tris doubted that he would quickly find sleep, but his exhausted body decided otherwise as he stretched out on his bed, and sleep overtook him.

  KIARA GUIDED HER cousin into their room like an overtired child. "Let me help you dress for bed," she said solicitously, but Carina shook her head.

  "Not yet. I need to clear my head from the working." Her voice was ragged. She hadn't bothered to heal her own bruised cheek. The purple of the wound made the dark circles beneath her eyes more pronounced.

  Kiara stooped beside the fireplace to pour a cup of hot tea from the boiling kettle Jolie's people had readied. She pushed the warm cup into Carina's hands, and the healer paced over to the window, looking out across the moonlit river, toward the darkness on the banks of the other side.

  "Jonmarc had to know what would happen if they caught him," Carina said after a long silence.

  "He knew."

  "Then why did he come after us?" Carina turned from the window. Her hands trembled as she raised the steaming cup to her lips, and sipped the hot liquid like elixir.

  Kiara kicked away from the wall and ambled slowly over, resting against the back of a chair. "He told Jolie it was because you saved his life, because you were his friends. Jolie tried to talk him out of it. I thought they might come to blows."

  "I might have liked to see that. I'd put my money on Jolie."

  "Not on this one. The Lady herself couldn't have stopped him."

  Carina looked down, as if she sought the answers to her questions on the surface of her tea. "I wasn't frightened when we went into the water. It was so cold. I knew that if we didn't reach shore, it would be over quickly, like falling asleep. Carroway's a strong swimmer. He pulled me out."

  "I guessed where we were when the soldiers came. But I don't think I was frightened until the next day, after the tribunal, when the soldiers kept stopping at the stockade. I knew what they thought should be done with us, just by their gestures." She shivered. "Some things don't need words."

  "Carroway was frightened, but he tried to take care of me. I think we'd both given up hope. And then, when Jonmarc came…" She shook her head. "It's my fault they captured him. If I'd kept a proper hold on him, he would have come through with us."

  "It was an accident," Kiara protested. "You can't blame yourself."

  Carina shook her head. "I tried to hold on, but we had been outside all night, still wet from the river, and my hands were too numb. Mother and Childe, Kiara, how did we ever get mixed up in this?"

  Kiara laid a strong arm around her shoulders, hugging Carina tightly. "Blame the Lady. I know you'd give anything to be getting ready for the Hawthorn Moon back in Isencroft."

  "But that's not possible, is it? If Tris doesn't succeed, we'll never be able to celebrate like that again. I never wanted to make history, Kiara. I just wanted to heal my patients and not worry about the rest."

  "I don't think any of us bargained for this," Kiara said reassuringly. "No one but the Goddess could have put together such a group of misfits. Look at the bright side. The healings you've worked on Jonmarc alone should qualify you to open the best healer's school in the Winter Kingdoms."

  Carina smiled. "You may be right. But wouldn't I have to have him stuffed and mounted to display?" Tired as she was, the absurdity of that image made her chuckle.

  "I'll remember to tell him you've finally found a use for him, once he wakes up."

  Carina looked away. "What's wrong?" Kiara asked.

  "I'm so afraid, Kiara. After what happened with Ric, I've been afraid to let Jonmarc get too close. But all day yesterday, not knowing whether we could get to him in time, I can't pretend anymore. Goddess help me, Kiara, I love him," she said, tears streaming down her face. "I can't help loving him, but I'm so afraid I'll lose him, too."

  Kiara wrapped her arms around her cousin. "Have you noticed how often Tris starts a sentence, 'If I live to take the throne?' Every time he says that, I think my heart will break. But he's right, of course. We both know the odds. This whole thing is an awful gamble-and I'm not sure I'd place bets on us."

  "Jonmarc has lost so much. I don't know how he has the courage to try again."

  "Jonmarc is a soldier. Soldiers know better than anyone that you can't take tomorrow for granted. All you have is today. I guess that's all we ever have, but most of the time, we're not aware of it. It's not too late. Stop running away, and let him catch you."

  "Maybe I should let him recover a little, so the shock doesn't do him in." Carina gave Kiara a hug. She slipped out of her healer's robes, pulled her chemise close around her against the chill, and crawled tiredly into bed. "If I don't get some sleep, I'll be done in. There's more to do before Jonmarc's going to be able to go anywhere."

  "I'll sit up for a while, in case you need me," Kiara offered.

  "Thank you." Carina yawned, but she was asleep before Kiara could reply.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  C'ARINA WOKE AT dawn. She shook her head, -trying to separate the reality of the night before from the dreams that had made her sleep sparse and fitful. Her bare feet had hardly touched the cold floorboards before she tore her shift over her head and slipped her robes in place. Her stomach growled but she ignored it, intent on checking her patient.

  Nyall sprawled snoring in a chair near the fire in Vahanian's room, rousing as she entered. She motioned for him to be quiet and indicated with a jerk of her head that he was free to join the others for breakfast. Gratefully, the river pilot abandoned his post.

  Carina approached Vahanian hesitantly. She and Tris had worked until exhaustion on the healing, but there had been much left undone. She drew a chair up beside the cot and looked silently at Vahanian, afraid to discover whether he slept or had not yet regained consciousness. Carina closed her eyes and stretched out her hand, running it lightly just above his face and chest to ensure that she had overlooked n
othing vital. A hand locked around her wrist with an iron grip, and her eyes snapped open to find Vahanian looking at her.

  "Are you dead, too?"

  "I'm not dead," she said gently. "Neither arc you. You're at Jolie's place. You're safe."

  Vahanian dropped his hand, and closed his eyes. "How?" he managed with a dry mouth.

  Carina fetched a glass of water from a pitcher on the nightstand and helped him sit enough to take a drink.

  "Tris bent a few rules to go after you," she said, settling him again.

  "Arontala-"

  "Tris managed to do it without much magic. With some help from Sakwi and Carroway."

  "The Goddess," Vahanian murmured. "I saw-"

  "You saw one of the river ghosts," Carina explained, wetting a cloth and laying it across his forehead. She checked his bandages as she spoke, then nudged him onto his side to assure herself that the welts on his back were healing nicely. "The rider was Tris. Sakwi managed the fog, and Carroway handled the disguise. I wouldn't be surprised if Sakwi sleeps for a week, after what we've put him through."

  "I didn't think… anyone would come."

  Carina bit her lip as tears filled her eyes unbidden. "Did you really think we'd leave you there?"

  "It was too much of a risk."

  "And what you did wasn't a risk?"

  "Now we're even," he replied weakly. "Truce?"

  "Truce." She broke the awkward pause by standing. "Well," she said professionally, "you need to sleep. I'll just go downstairs-"

  Vahanian held out a hand to her. "Stay with me. Please."

  She moved a step closer and reached out to take his hand. He said nothing, but his whole form relaxed. Within moments, the regular pattern of his breathing told her that he was asleep. She looked down at his hand, cut and bruised from his ordeal, and beneath those wounds, older scars. Maybe we're not quite so different after all, she thought, placing her other hand gently atop his. She settled down in the chair, resting his hand in her lap, and dozed in the warmth of the fire.