Blooded (Lisen of Solsta Book 3)

by D. Hart St. Martin

  “Esar,” the intruder announced while still out of sight. Ondra stepped forward, sheathing her shindah, and everyone else relaxed.

  “Come,” Ondra ordered. “What in the Destroyer’s name are you doing here? I told you to stay and watch the child.”

  “Ondra, you told me to stay and kill the child.”

  “Yes. I did.” She waited for Esar to deliver his report, but when he hesitated, she prodded him. “And? Did you?”

  “No.”

  Ah, the answer she’d hoped for. She hadn’t realized it until after she’d given the order and sent Esar to Terses that she wanted to keep the child alive for the sake of the prophecy. Not that Korin or that Garlan girl deserved it.

  “Why not?” she asked, maintaining her previous public position on the matter.

  “Korin put an Elder in charge of her, and the other Elders rallied to help out.”

  “Hozia, no doubt,” Barok offered. “She’s always been soft on Korin.”

  “And Korin? Is he coming?”

  “I believe so. He left before I did. Took a few members of the Tribe with him.”

  “And you didn’t see him on the road?”

  “No.”

  “All right. Gather around.” Ondra motioned everyone to join her in the middle of the main cave. “According to Esar, Korin’s bringing reinforcements.”

  “Not that many,” Esar chimed in.

  After glaring at him, Ondra continued. “Although how he’s going to convince other Thristans to attack us is beyond my comprehension. Regardless, we need to prepare for an attack from out there. I want a guard on duty at all times to alert us. I’ll leave it to you to divvy out the assignments. And include me wherever I’m needed.”

  She turned and left them there to check on her charge. She grabbed the torch in the tunnel and made her way back, and when she reached her captive’s cave, she stopped but did not sit. The girl sat quiet, hood over her head, hands tied behind her back. Ondra clicked her tongue a couple of times and then spoke.

  “Won’t be long for you now, little one.”

  Then she turned and left, thinking that maybe, if she were lucky, the act of killing the Empir would not only destroy Korin but wake the Thristans up to their subjugation to the so-called “Protector of Thristas,” as well.

  She returned to the main cave and found a transformation had begun. To aid in a prompt response to a surprise attack by night, her companions had consolidated the sleeping arrangements. Then, they’d rearranged the weapons for maximum availability, and they’d moved the supplies back out of the way.

  She smiled. Let Korin come. She wanted him to come. She wanted to kill his damn Empir right in front of him. But what about the prophecy? she asked herself. Wait. Why can’t I attest to the child’s parentage? And, satisfied with her latest plan for managing this mess, she joined with her allies in completing their preparations for Korin’s arrival.

  For two days, Lisen had sat, every nerve on edge, prepared for whatever might come. “Won’t be long for you now, little one,” Ondra had announced four meals ago, and that was the last Lisen had heard of her. The woman who acted like a servant had delivered every meal since then without a word. Lisen had recognized her by her shuffling feet and by the thoughts that accompanied her arrival. This woman had been cautioned to say nothing, just lift the hood up, force the food in, then leave. Lisen wasn’t happy with this arrangement, but she followed orders without questioning. Lisen would enjoy killing this one the least.

  She couldn’t put it off much longer. She’d loosened the bindings on her wrists hours ago so she could slip her hands out. Lisen counted on the servant woman delivering the next meal, and she knew the woman would have a knife. Just a little push through the drug forever on the hood and Lisen’s journey home would begin.

  She’d studied them closely ever since her first success at contacting their minds, and she’d even been able to find Pharaoh. What a relief that had been—her only means of getting home ready and waiting for her to command. She’d even sensed a little of his horsey mind. He didn’t like competing for grass with the other animals; he much preferred his prestigious stall and the special stuff they fed him in Avaret. But most of all, he missed the caring one—Lisen assumed he meant Jal. She’d smiled when she’d made contact with him.

  And so she sat, ready to spring, ready to control mind after mind until she’d controlled and neutralized them all. If neutralizing meant death, then so be it. She needed to know if Nalin still lived, and if he didn’t—bile rose in her throat at the thought, but she fought it down—Lorain, who would have seized the opportunity to step into his place, had to be stopped. Lisen had put up with the games here long enough; it was time to go home.

  Some time later, the woman arrived. Lisen had lost track of night and day, but it didn’t matter because she couldn’t see light anyway so dark would be better for her. The woman crouched down in front of her, and as she did so, Lisen twisted her hands from their leather bonds. At the same time, she grasped the woman’s mind with her own and held her firm as she freed the woman of her knife. With the other hand, she groped for the tray of food, grabbed it before it clattered to the ground and stabbed the woman the way Korin had taught her, the way she’d stabbed the spy in Halorin—up from below the ribs and into the heart. She didn’t want this one to suffer.

  After gently easing the woman’s body down onto the rock floor and checking her neck to assure herself that no pulse continued to thud through the woman’s arteries, Lisen took a moment to stand, stretching long muscles she used only for trips to the chamber pot a few feet away, and straightened out and up. She ripped the hood off and inhaled the stuffy air of the cave. Now to navigate to the chatter of minds and still them, one at a time, without letting on to the others what she was doing.

  She felt along a tunnel wall, going right at the fork and avoiding what she sensed was another small cave just past it. She continued, checking the air flow to be sure she was headed in the right direction, and moved on down the tunnel. A huge opening to the right left her wondering, but the mind chatter told her the prey she sought wasn’t there. She moved slowly at first, then sped up as she felt herself latch onto the minds of each of them, hooking them like fish on a line, adding one after another until she had the remaining six tethered in place. Unaware that she already had them, they continued to talk as she took a left turn. They had already died, roped and tied down as they were by her mind. They’d drugged her to weaken and block her gift but had succeeded in strengthening it instead.

  She halted as fresh air hit her face. She could hear their voices as they spoke softly to one another in Thristan. She cocked her head to assess where each of them stood. Elder to my left. The one they all think of as “big” to my right. Farther on to the right, Rika. A turn forward to the left, the woman who jumped Pharaoh. At the entrance on the left, the other man. And finally, to the right, Ondra.

  The map carefully drawn and burned into her brain—recognizing that they could move despite her restraints on them and she must remain mindful—she rushed first for the Elder. He wanted to warn the others, but she stifled his voice to give her a little more time before they all knew she’d come. She had him from behind in two strides, her left arm holding his chin up from his neck, her knife slitting critical veins and arteries in one swipe. She felt warm blood spurt forward and cover both of her arms. She dropped his limp body and charged for the big one as she maintained her hold on all the others. How easy it was to control them. She’d always known, she supposed, but had felt shame that she possessed such power.

  The big one had prepared himself for her, even though he’d been unable to move on her directly, and he tried to toss her aside before her knife could connect. His strength nearly had her until she pushed harder, and she felt his grip slacken enough for her to plunge her knife into his gut and slash as deep as she could. Immediately he let go of her, and blood splashed out at her feet.

  She headed to her right, toward Rika, but the blo
od from the big one proved too slick, and she lost her footing and slid face first towards Ondra’s spouse, her hair hanging down over her face. As she reached him, she stretched her hand up to his groin and stabbed with every bit of force she possessed. She knew the other three watched, but her hold on them remained steady. This time, blood blew into her face and irritated her eyes which hadn’t known to blink. They stung from the salt and other minerals in the blood, but she didn’t dare wipe them and make it worse. Let tears dilute the blood; her eyes couldn’t see anything anyway.

  She regained her feet, strode over to the woman who’d ridden behind her on Pharaoh her first day of captivity. She didn’t have time to make a neat cut, and, realizing her ability to hold the last of her abductors wouldn’t last much longer, she didn’t care what she did to the rest of them. Just get them out of the way and move on.

  A stab up under the ribs finished the woman off, and Lisen moved on to the last of the men. He seemed to be the logical thinker of the bunch. His mind continued to calculate his chances of survival as she approached him. He wanted to plead for his life, but Lisen wouldn’t let him. Another quick stab, and he was gone.

  And then, she turned to Ondra.

  Only minutes from the Khared, Korin rode with his band and wondered what he’d find when they arrived. Did Lisen still live, or had Ondra already murdered her? Would Ondra release her into Korin’s custody, or would she force him to fight for the Empir’s freedom? Even with a plan, he’d warned his band to remain flexible, just in case.

  The guards and Thristans had maintained a shaky but peaceful relationship which had left him free to think about the possible outcomes of his folly. Ondra had invited him, and he’d jumped up and run in her direction. Why had he done that? Because you still feel a duty to the Empir, he reasoned. Or, more likely, I still feel something for her beyond loyalty, and that worries me. It isn’t seemly. And in a choice between Ondra and Lisen, Thristan and Garlan, which would he choose? He hadn’t managed to answer that question, not yet, not to his satisfaction. When the time came, if it came, that’s when he’d know.

  And what of his daughter? What of their daughter—his and Lisen’s? He’d promised Rinli she’d know her mother one day, and she couldn’t if Lisen were already dead. So, presumably, if she lived, he would choose the Empir with the copper hair over the Thristan with the gold.

  The mouth of the Khared lay only a few feet away now. He pulled up and put his hand out to stop the rest. He turned back and mouthed, “Come when I call,” then slipped off his horse, his leg over its neck, with a silent drop to the ground. He stepped gingerly, his back to the outside wall of the cave, and listened closely. He heard only the cry of a bird on the air. It was daylight; he should hear some sort of noise from inside.

  A gasp and a thump, and he froze, straining to hear more. Another thump, a sound like no other, a sound he recognized. Two bodies had fallen without crying out before they dropped.

  “Damn.” He stood just beside the entrance to his left, on the side where everything was blocked from sight, and he turned to see whatever he could. A man, someone he didn’t recognize, lay on the ground, his arm stretched out beyond the entry, his eyes open in the shock of sudden death. Only two possibilities—one of Ondra’s own people had tried to mutiny or Lisen had. And had succeeded. Drawing his sword, he inched forward trying desperately to see more, get more information, and then he did.

  Remaining outside in the sun, he positioned himself so he could see everything. Lisen twitched but didn’t look at him.

  “Korin?”

  With her breath coming in heaves, her hair cascading over her face like a fall of fire, blood covering her and everything else, she stood there with eyes that were too dark and a shindah drawn and pointed at an unusually quiet Ondra.

  “Yes, my Liege,” he said softly as he assessed the remainder of the scene. She’d killed them all. He could see four more bodies, including Rika’s and Elder Barok’s, but he couldn’t imagine how she’d managed to do it.

  “I sensed you.”

  “Here, my Liege.” Her head turned in his direction, but her eyes stared darkly past him. Blind, he determined. “Come to me.”

  “No.” She turned back as though to look at Ondra, though what she could see he had no idea. Then, before he could stop her, she had lunged forward and had plunged the shindah all the way up to her wrist into Ondra’s abdomen. He stood there, his mouth slack, as he watched her pull the knife out after murdering the last of her captors. He’d watched and done nothing. She’d pushed Ondra, and he hadn’t moved a muscle to keep her from doing it. Had she pushed him as well? He didn’t feel manipulated, just unwilling to stop her. And then he realized—it was their Bonding that had shackled him.

  Ondra’s body dropped to the floor, and Lisen released the shindah to clatter on the rocks at her feet.

  “Korin, is that really you?” Her voice quavered as she spoke. “I can’t see you.”

  He stood there, frozen, wanting to rush to her, embrace her, tell her he loved her and understood what she’d suffered at the hands of Ondra and her cohorts. And yet, a reluctance to open himself to the power that had made this massacre possible compelled him not to budge from where he stood.

  “Yes, my Liege. Stay there. I’ll come to you.” But before he could move, Sergeant Kopol stepped up beside him.

  “The others are right behind me,” the sergeant said.

  Korin would have taken the Empir in his arms, but the arrival of the Thristans and guards forced him to take only her wrist and navigate her out of the cave. He brought her to a log and sat her down.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked as he searched frantically with hands and eye for any sign of a wound.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  He pulled away, embarrassed he’d taken such liberties. “Stay here, my Liege. I’ll be back.”

  The Empir nodded silently in response, and he left her there alone, shrouded in her darkness.

  Utterly and completely blind now, Lisen sat on the log where Korin had placed her. She could hear the scurrying of many boots somewhere in front of her, presumably from the mouth of the cave. The sun warmed her left arm and back more than it warmed her right side, and the metallic smell of blood permeated her nose and every cell of her body. Horses neighed and stomped their hooves behind her, but she could see nothing anymore, not even in the eye of her mind.

  Her chest heaved with exertion. Or, with the thrill of the push. She didn’t know which. She’d never moved in such a state of amazement and wonder as she just had through the cave, an experience so invigorating it should be considered illegal, immoral. But then again, it was immoral, wasn’t it?

  She hung her head down. She’d done it. She’d freed herself, but for what? She should have been steering Pharaoh towards the river so they could follow it home. Instead, Korin was here, barking orders to people, people he’d brought with him, people she couldn’t see and could barely hear. Who were they? And would she be brought back to Avaret or taken to Thristas? She began to consider sneaking herself over to the horses, finding her Pharaoh and taking off with him; she didn’t know if she could trust Korin. He’d sounded soothing enough in the middle of everything, but what would keep him from beheading her for crimes against morality? Nothing that she could think of.

  Seven. Creators, I killed seven people. I didn’t think about it while I was doing it, but I murdered seven people. Korin’s going to kill me for sure. She remembered the madness of possession and how it had nearly consumed her soul. Killing seven people when you couldn’t even see them—that must be madness, too.

  She heard the rustle of leaves and stiffened as someone approached her.

  “My Liege.”

  “Korin?”

  “Let me take you to a quieter place where we can talk.”

  Lisen nodded, and she felt her lower lip twitch. This may not have been as forbidding as dealing with a stranger she couldn’t see, but it was a conversation she feared nevertheless. She reac
hed a hand up and allowed him to lead her away from the log and the bustle in the cave. When they stopped, she could just make out the sound of the river’s rushing water somewhere behind her.

  “Here, my Liege. There’s some grass.”

  She squatted down, felt around, confirming his statement, and sat. He stepped away, and she heard what sounded like something—a hand?—immersed in the river. What was he doing?

  In a weak voice, she asked, “How did you know I was here?” She turned her head towards the sound of the river.

  “Ondra sent me an invitation,” he said as he returned and sat down in front of her.

  “And you came?”

  He lifted one of her hands and began wiping it, then the arm, with a wet cloth, cleaning the blood off, she assumed.

  “She threatened your life if I didn’t.” He snorted a quick laugh. “I guess she was a bit overconfident.”

  “How can you laugh? She’s dead.” She found his touch comforting, tender, and wished he could always be like this. But then, he wouldn’t be the Korin she’d come to know, would he.

  “Forgive me, my Liege, but she did bring her demise on herself.”

  “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

  He switched to wiping off her other arm before he answered. “Ondra made a fatal mistake, and I doubt she was even aware of it. Tell me, did she make you breathe something that left you without your hermit magic?” He released her arm, stood up and walked away again.

  She turned in his general direction; she wanted to see him, damn it. “Well, yes, but—”

  “And then you forced your way through it little by little? Until you could do what you did today?”

  This time she only nodded.

  He sat down in front of her again. “I believe what she gave you was gryl,” he continued. “Now stand up. Let me clean your legs.”

  “Gryl? What’s gryl?” Lisen asked as she rose.

  “Ach, your leggings are a mess,” he noted as he began to wipe what he could off leather and skin. “Gryl was developed over a hundred years ago by the Thristans. They thought if they could disable the hermits, they might have a chance at gaining Thristan independence. But it didn’t work out the way they’d planned. Turns out it only disables one of the gifted as long as they don’t try to push through it, and then the gift comes back stronger than ever, even adding new gifts. It’s only temporary though. Sit.” And as she did so, he rose again and left her for the river.