Protector of Thristas: A Lisen of Solsta Novel

by D. Hart St. Martin

  “Go!” she shouted, and without preamble, their horses broke into a gallop, and she followed Korin out of the stable and onto the desert floor.

  Light hinted to the east, and Lisen thanked the Creators for winter and the low angle of the sun which would keep the daytime temperature down as they rode. She stayed on Korin’s left, which irritated him.

  “Come around to my right,” he yelled more than once. “I can’t see you.”

  But she didn’t dare or he’d see the blood. There was more than she’d thought there would be. Her tunic was soaked on that side, and some blood had flowed down her leg. It was a clean slice, which would bleed more than the puncture she’d inflicted on her attacker, but it had also done less harm. She’d stabbed straight through the damn Defender; he wouldn’t last the day. The satisfaction of that lessened her pain considerably. Damn the desert. She would never come back. She’d cleanse her soul of the place and live her life out in Garla.

  “Thisss isss my child. Until a parent givesss all, a child cannot live.” The words kept running through Madlen’s mind, and she couldn’t stop them. She’d heard Mantar speak. She’d heard Mantar acknowledge Rinli as Its own. “Then why didn’t you save her?” she asked, yet again, through her tears.

  She sat on the floor in Rinli’s chamber and wept for her friend, for the loss, for herself. No one in the mesa would weep with her. Except perhaps Korin, but he had the Empir and…

  “Maker and Destroyer.” She jumped up from where she sat. “Until a parent gives all, a child cannot live. They have to know.”

  She ran out of Rinli’s small cave and down the few steps to Korin’s chamber. The curtain stood open, and the place was ripped apart. And empty. They must have left in a rush. She tore down the tunnel to the stable. She had to catch them, tell them what Mantar had said. They needed to know. There may yet be a way to save Rinli.

  She reached the stable and found the stable hand ministering to a bleeding and likely dying Defender. Something horrible had happened here. Before the hand even noticed her, she’d run out onto the desert floor and looked to the northwest. In the distance, at least a mile away by now, maybe more, she saw two figures—people on horses. She’d never catch up with them. Mantar had revealed Its truth to Madlen, but she’d failed to fulfill her part.

  “Korin!” She shouted her loudest, but it was too far and she was too late.

  “Fear not.”

  Madlen whipped around.

  “In time, the parent will know.”

  “Mantar?”

  Nothing. She turned all around and still saw nothing. She dropped to her knees, tears returning. Rinli was dead, and the world itself was dying around her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  LEAVE HER TO THE DESERT

  The horses had gamely taken the trail up the Rim as fast as Korin could push them, and he and Lisen pulled into the cave one day to the hour after they’d torn out of Terses. Kopol awaited them in the cave with the other four horses, and as they reined in, she jumped up from her blanket, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

  “My Liege, Korin,” the commander said in the near-dawn air. She said nothing more, and Korin understood. She wasn’t going to presume anything until told.

  “We’re moving out of here now,” he ordered, “and back to Avaret. As fast as we can.” He threw his leg over his horse and jumped off, paying no attention to anything but getting the horses packed up and ready to go.

  “Korin?”

  He whipped around to see why Kopol had called to him and saw the commander helping Lisen off her horse with care. He dropped the satchel he was about to buckle onto his horse and tore around to get to where Lisen landed gingerly, aided by the commander. For the first time since they’d left Thristas, he saw her left side, a bloody explanation for her frustrating insistence on riding on his left. How else could she have kept him from seeing she was wounded?

  “What happened?” he asked as he lifted her left arm up until she yelped with pain.

  “That Defender I got?” she said. “Well, he got me first.” Korin leaned over to study the wound more closely. “I tell you, it’s nothing, just a slice. It hurts, and it’s bleeding of course, but I think it’s mostly stopped. I’ll be fine.”

  “Here,” he said, guiding her to a rock. “Sit down so I can dress it. Kopol, find something I can bind this with. And get her a clean tunic.”

  Without hesitation, Kopol grabbed a satchel—Korin presumed it was hers—and pulled an undershift out. Then she took the satchel from Lisen’s horse and began rummaging through it.

  Korin helped Lisen out of her tunic and her undergarment and examined the large gash she called “just a slice.”

  “It’s not too deep,” he told her. “Looks like he may have got some muscle though. Kopol, in my satchel you’ll find a medical kit.”

  “Aye.” She shifted her quest from Lisen’s bag to his.

  “I’m going to stitch it up, but you really should have a healer. Maybe we should head to the garrison. There’s got to be someone there who can do a better job of fixing this than I can.”

  “Not safe,” she said, gritting her teeth.

  “Then how about Rossla?”

  “No,” she countered. “I want to go home.”

  “Kopol?”

  “Got it.” The commander brought him the drawstring bag he always carried, but this was the first time since leaving the Guard that he’d had reason to use it.

  Inside he found soap for cleansing his hands and the wound. “Water, too, please?”

  Kopol brought a canteen over. “We don’t have much.”

  “We can go without until we’ve gotten through the Pass and can get all we need.” He cleansed his hands and then he poured some of the water over Lisen’s wound. She stifled a gasp as the water hit it, but he saw the tears she couldn’t fight when he added the soap to the mix. “I’m sorry, but we have to clean it.”

  “I know. Don’t stop on my account. Let’s get this done so we can be quit of this place.”

  “You should rest.”

  “Damn it, Korin. I’m fine. I’ve suffered worse in the training ring.”

  Korin shook his head. Kopol, who had settled in beside him, handed him a threaded needle, and he took it with hesitation. Should he stitch it up? He’d seen wounds go bad if they were sutured too long after their infliction. A much nastier scar would result if he left it open, but they’d ridden for a long time through the dusty desert.

  “I’m not going to sew it up,” he declared with a shake of his head and passed the needle back to Kopol.

  “Why not?” Lisen asked.

  “Too much time has passed. Better to leave it, wrap it loosely and clean it every few hours.”

  Lisen shifted. “Oh, great. You’re going to torture me to death.”

  “And you really shouldn’t move. It’s not bleeding now, but even at a walk, a horse’s gait is going to—”

  “Enough. Get me through the Pass. Then we’ll revisit this.”

  Korin sighed. He knew better than to fight with her. She’d only sit up, declare herself Empir and order him to do it. “All right. Kopol, wrappings?”

  Kopol handed him some strips of material that looked relatively clean. Once they got back to free-flowing water, he’d see to it they cleaned anything put next to the wound, but for now field dressings would have to do. After applying his healing salve liberally, he gently placed three layers, a layer at a time, directly over the wound. The salve would not only aid in the healing, but it would also keep the cloth from sticking to the severed skin and dried and drying blood. He then wrapped longer strips of cloth around her abdomen and chest, tying these tightly to keep the covering over the wound in place. And every time he tightened the strips, she gasped but said nothing.

  “I’ll check these a couple of times through the Pass, when we get to wide places where I can get to you. Once we’re on the other side and reach the river, we are going to stop long enough for us to wash and dry anything that touche
s it. This will allow you to rest for a day.”

  “I want to get home.”

  He rose then stood at her right side and leaned over, helping her rise.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded, but written on her face were the lines of barely pacified pain. “I’ll need a little help getting up on my horse.” She shrugged and gave him her silly smile, and he thanked the Creators—not Mantar; he’d never acknowledge that damn snake again—that her sense of humor had survived. At the moment, blessings were few and far apart, and he would accept this one with gratitude.

  At the moment, Lisen’s wound didn’t hurt. They’d ridden slower back into Garla than they’d ridden on the way out. Rinli was dead; their rush to Thristas had proved less than fruitless. But they did have the luxury of taking their time, and finally they’d reached the Khared—she, Korin and Kopol—and Lisen was ready for the rest they’d agreed upon here. She needed rest badly. The energy she required to will her injury to heal had dissolved into the effort to stay atop her horse.

  Korin checked the wound every time they pulled up for a meal or water, and at night, he cleaned the used dressings in the river they continued to follow and re-dressed her side with clean cloths washed the night before. It was cold here on this side of the Rim. Life in the mesa, short as it had been for her this time, had shielded her from weather, and life on the desert in winter had caused her to forget what January was like in Garla. She regretted losing her robe to that damn Defender, but he’d lost more, and that satisfied her.

  She pulled up behind her spouse and her commander and waited for one of them to come and help her down. She couldn’t yet manage it all on her own. They both fussed over her unremittingly. She tried to stop them; it only served to remind her of the daughter she’d failed and could never fuss over again. But dismounting was almost impossible, even with someone to help her.

  Korin stepped over to her and waited. They had a routine—difficult but workable. She lifted her right leg over her horse’s neck then hesitated. The next move would bring on the pain. She looked at Korin’s face and saw pain there that the imminent torture in her side could not even begin to equal. His daughter was gone, and Lisen couldn’t save her. She’d offered to, but Korin had made the impossible choice. She wished she could hold him until his grief slipped away, but she knew how grief worked. It sidled around like those evil snakes in Thristas until it found a potential breach, and then it struck. Again. And again. And again. She did all she could to ease his pain, just as he cared for her wound, but the hole created by Rinli’s absence would plague them both for a lifetime.

  She slipped down from the horse, leaning her weight against the animal as Korin guided her down. She landed a bit more steadily this evening than she had on previous nights. She chose to take this as a good sign—a sign of healing and health. If all went well, by the time they arrived in Avaret, her physical hurt would be gone. Korin must have noted her improvement because he brushed his lips across her cheek before turning to Kopol.

  “Commander, tomorrow, correct?” he said to her.

  “Tomorrow what?” Lisen asked as she limped to a spot on the ground that looked less uncomfortable than most.

  “Aye,” Kopol replied to Korin.

  “No. You’re not going to do this to me. No secret missions. I’m not some damn invalid. I’m the Empir, and I insist on one of you telling me about tomorrow.”

  “I’m sending Kopol to Erinina,” Korin said as he helped her sit. “She’ll get a healer from the haven, and they’ll meet us on the road.”

  “No, not Erinina. I want Titus.” She looked from Korin to the commander. “Go to Solsta and bring him to Avaret.” Kopol stared at her a moment, then stared at Korin and then came back to her Empir.

  “Lisen, a healer from Erinina will be able to start treating you several days sooner.”

  Lisen heard the desperation in Korin’s voice. He’d watched Rinli die. He’d carried her out and offered her to the desert. How much more could she demand from him? But she didn’t want just any healer; she wanted Titus. Perhaps if she’d felt a bit better and wasn’t grieving herself, she could have given him what he wanted, relieved him of the responsibility of keeping her from dying as well. She was sure that was how he saw it though she had no such fears herself. But she didn’t feel any better, and she, too, was grieving.

  “No, I want Titus. Tomorrow,” she said directly to Kopol, “you ride to Solsta.”

  “Aye, my Liege,” Kopol replied, sworn to her Empir and none other.

  And with the argument ended by Lisen’s swift cut to Korin’s desire, the three of them settled in, with Kopol building a fire and heating up some soup from last night’s dinner.

  Korin tried to get Lisen to move inside the cave for the night where it would be warmer, but she couldn’t bring herself to settle where she’d spilt so much blood sixteen years earlier. So she and Korin lay together with heavy coverings out under the stars. She’d acted selfishly about everything today, and all her selfish acts past and present swirled through her dreams all night.

  The beginning and the end, Rinli’s cell. All sins settle here, and she is powerless in their presence. The smell of hot blood boils her nose, and she can’t breathe. Her dreams have brought her here before, too many times to count, but never like this.

  First, the spy. She pushes through his defenses and immobilizes him. Then a stab up under the ribs into the heart. The flesh defends, but she persists, finishing him. She’s safe. But Jozan isn’t. Her blood covers Lisen’s hands, her clothes, her soul. Lisen is safe, but Jozan grows cold. Odd. The details elude her when she’s awake.

  The Empir’s bedchamber in the Keep, the brother she never knew on the bed before her. She cries out to him in the dream, but no response. There will be no release from this duty. She feels his heartbeat. The terrorized eyes, the silenced pleas and then her first planned push. He ends it himself, at her urging, but in truth she has killed her own brother. How will she ever forgive herself for that?

  She loses Korin to this act; this, she knows. But she lost him somewhere in the desert anyway.

  And the one who taught her the push. Without intent. She must silence the rogue, neutralize the woman who followed Lisen’s soul from Solsta to Thristas and back again. In her first act as Empir, she squeezes the consciousness out of the woman’s mind. She creates a mind wind, and like debris in a tornado, the rogue’s memories and talent rise up and disappear. The body lives on, but the one who watched is gone.

  The abduction. The gryl. The blinding when she first pushes through the gryl’s inhibition of her power. No one can find her. She alone can free herself. Her plan is plain. Moving in the darkness of the gryl, she kills seven, one at a time, unaware that help has come. Korin. And he’s seen her evil, the horror of her truth.

  She leaves Rinli’s cell. She’s done all she can. Or has she? She cannot answer.

  “Lisen?”

  The dream dissipates into the night, forgotten.

  She opened her eyes. Korin, who had lain behind her in sleep, sat up, poking at her wound.

  “Stop it,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  “You said Rinli’s name. In your sleep.”

  “Did I?”

  He nodded. “And you feel a bit feverish to me.” He touched her face with frigid fingers.

  This was their second night in the Khared. Kopol was off to Solsta, and Lisen was more than ready to leave. She couldn’t sleep inside the cave, and Korin refused to allow her to sleep alone.

  “I’m not feverish. Your hands are cold. Lie down and go back to sleep.”

  She felt him settle back down behind her and lay his arm gently at her waist, below her wound.

  “I love you, you know.”

  She smiled, in the dark, her back to him. No one knew this Korin save her. Their children knew a version of him, but not this.

  “I love you, too,” she replied. “And maybe I’m insane. Or maybe it’s the wound. But Rinli’s not gon
e, not really.”

  “I wish it were true.”

  So do I, my love, she thought. So do I.

  The desert tendered cruel intentions, even in winter, perhaps especially in winter. Madlen squatted, arms around her knees, back against the wall of the mesa watching the sun touch the tops of the mountains, then illuminate the height of the Rim and finally reach the desert floor itself. She’d come out here in the dark, as soon as she’d finished her chores in the kitchen, a desire for finding an end to the pain driving her. Not the end that meant she would join Rinli in the beyond, but a way to somehow cap the grief. She’d watched others in the mesa face loss, and not a one of them had suffocated in it the way she did now. Ten sunrises and sunsets had passed since Rinli’s murder—yes, that was what Madlen called it—and still she couldn’t find the path to peace. And so she’d come to the desert to ask, just to ask.

  She stared out across the warming sands of the desert floor and wondered where Korin had laid his daughter. He would have chosen carefully. But unless she went to Garla—a foreign place to be sure—she’d never see Korin again. The Tribe had left his and Rinli’s chambers alone so far, but they’d never welcome the father of the practitioner of hermit magic into their midst again. In their eyes, he was fully Garlan now.

  She sighed. Somewhere out there Rinli’s body lay—what was left of it, of course—and this was the closest Madlen would be to her ever again.

  I could look. She shook her head. No, that’s wrong. Leave her to the desert from whence she came. The words offered no solace at all. But she needed to know. A desire to look on whatever was left consumed her. She shook her head. Forever telling herself no. I’ll go to her chamber for a bit. And then home to sleep.