Blooded (Lisen of Solsta Book 3)

by D. Hart St. Martin

  “It’s official. Our people from this side of the Pass have arrived. The Thristans started coming out of the west end of the Pass this morning.”

  Nalin looked down at Lisen, lying there unaware. “So they’ll be here…?”

  “Sometime tomorrow.”

  “Damn,” Nalin muttered. Bala placed a hand tentatively on his shoulder, but this time he didn’t pull away. He had no energy to fight anymore. Yet, somehow he would have to rally an army to do exactly that. “Tomorrow, you say?”

  “Aye.”

  “Who’s your best infiltrator?” he asked Tanres.

  “For what?” the commander said.

  “I’m thinking I may need someone to go in and extract a certain Thristan. Someone who can help us. With the Empir, I mean.”

  “I understand,” Tanres answered.

  “Well, I don’t,” Bala protested.

  “I’ll explain later,” Nalin told Bala then turned back to the commander. “Do you have someone?”

  “Yes, my lord. Me.”

  “Not Palla?”

  “Palla still feels betrayed by Korin’s abrupt departure from Avaret. He took it personally, and I think he would rather kill Korin than fetch him.”

  “Then all we have to do is wait for them to arrive.”

  “Aye, my lord. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have orders to give.” And, with a quick nod, the commander pivoted sharply and departed.

  “May I stay?” Bala asked. It was just her, the healer and himself left. Nalin reached up and patted her hand on his shoulder.

  “Get yourself a chair. It’s likely to be a long night.”

  Bala headed into the main room, and while she was gone, Nalin stared at his Empir lying motionless on the bed. He’d seen another motionless Empir once, but that one had died shortly thereafter. What was Lisen’s destiny? To die now after consuming too much gryl? He shivered that awful thought away and then sat up straight at an unexpected sight.

  “She moved,” he said to the healer. “I swear I saw her move.”

  “Likely a muscle spasm,” the hermit explained, “but I will examine her again.”

  “Yes, please.”

  Bala returned, asked what the healer was doing, and when Nalin told her, she sat down and took his hand. In the hermit’s assessment, it had, indeed, been what he thought—a muscle spasm. So Nalin and Bala sat together at their Empir’s bedside for the night, Nalin’s mind ticking through all the tasks ahead of him in light of the presumed imminent arrival of the Thristan army. By morning he’d decided that he harbored a great deal of anger at Lisen for what she’d done. Not only had she behaved foolishly, but selfishly as well, and he was left, once again, to pay the price.

  A forest. Squirrels. Bear. Deer. Boar.

  A space in a meadow, birds chirping, welcoming.

  A child in a cradle—dark wavy hair, light bright eyes—reaching up—to her.

  A question in the desert. An answer in the plain. What did it mean?

  Lisen returned to darkness.

  Korin lay on his pallet, head and back propped up, holding Rinli in his arms. When they’d arrived just east of Bellin Plain this afternoon, he’d pitched his tent some distance from the others. Nobody wanted him here anyway, especially with a baby. But he’d sought this opportunity. In fact, he believed Mantar had opened up this path for him so It could reveal Its plan. So, Korin had insisted on coming with an army he couldn’t support, exposing his daughter to either the most terrifying or the most remarkable of potentials, but damn, it had been a tiring trip with a baby.

  He gasped as a sharp, pointed object poked into his left side from outside the tent, and for a second he felt his worst fears begin to coalesce into reality.

  “Not a word, Captain.” A woman’s voice spoke in Garlan.

  He found breath again. This voice had issued orders to him before, and he recognized it immediately.

  “Commander?” he whispered, not moving.

  “I must speak with you.”

  “Come into my tent, then, before you bring the entire camp down on us.”

  Within seconds, the flap to the tent opened, and Commander Tanres, looking quite Thristan covered neck to ankles in a robe, crawled in on her knees.

  “You left your signal, I see,” the commander said, tossing him a red scarf. They’d drilled red or green into him from his first day as a trainee. As a way to identify yourself as a guard to another guard in complicated situations, it was the first thing he’d done after the tent was up, tying that red scarf around the front pole. Just in case. “And what is this?” the commander asked as her eyes alighted on Rinli.

  “A baby. And talk softly. I don’t want you waking her up.”

  “Korin Rosarel with a baby?” Tanres kept her voice down but still managed to convey a healthy degree of shock.

  “Shh. I’m watching her for a friend.”

  “Well, I hope you can return her to your friend because your Empir needs you.”

  All of Korin’s senses leapt to a higher level of alert. “My Empir? For what?”

  “Come with me and I’ll tell you. But first, let’s leave that baby someplace safe.”

  Not knowing how long he’d be gone, he grabbed the bag containing everything Rinli might need and followed Tanres out of the tent, holding Rinli tight in his arms.

  “Stay here,” he told Tanres. “I’ll be right back.”

  “No. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “All right, then. Come on.” He’d hoped to do this alone and not risk Tanres learning the truth, but now he’d have to trust Arma to lie for him with few, if any, clues.

  They tromped through the Thristan camp, he and his ex-commander, she playing Thristan in her robes, and he smiled when he remembered that she’d made her career before her promotion to Avaret as one of the Guard’s best infiltrators.

  They arrived at Arma’s tent, and Korin turned to Tanres with a hushing finger to his lips. Then he spoke.

  “Arma, I can’t watch your child anymore. I have an errand to run.”

  He waited. It seemed like Arma would never respond, but then, finally, the flap to the tent flew back, and there he stood.

  “Korin?”

  His body serving as a shield so the commander couldn’t see what he was doing, Korin flattened his hand in a halting signal, then pointed his thumb back towards Tanres.

  “I’m not alone,” Arma said in Thristan, and Korin trusted that his friend had understood his gestures. Tanres spoke Thristan, so there would be no hiding any misstep Arma might take in this conversation.

  “Well, you have to take this damn baby back. I can’t take her with me,” Korin replied, also in Thristan.

  “All right, all right,” Arma conceded, disappeared behind the flap, then reemerged, fully clothed. “Give her to me.” Arma reached up, and Korin passed his daughter off to his friend.

  “And here’s her stuff.” Korin shoved Rinli’s pack at Arma. “And I’ll take her during the battle, but not before, understood?”

  “Of course. I should be grateful I have you at all, right?”

  “Don’t know why you brought her in the first place,” Korin commented gruffly.

  “Seemed the right thing to do, seeing as she’s still nursing.”

  “Awck,” Korin chided. He dismissed Arma with a wave of his hand and turned to head out of the camp with Tanres, hiding the ache he felt at leaving his child behind, even with the honorable Arma.

  He and Tanres conversed quietly as they hiked the few miles around the plain from its eastern edge to the west. It felt like the longest walk Korin had ever taken. Something had happened to Lisen, and his chest constricted at the possibilities.

  “How did you know I’d be off alone in the camp?” Korin asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Your statement to the Empir about being with the Thristans but not fighting with them.”

  “Good. I’d hoped you’d get that.”

  “Korin, why are you here?”

  Korin sigh
ed but continued moving forward. His dilemma lay in how to answer truthfully without saying what couldn’t yet be said. “I’m here in case the Empir needs me. I guess I was right.”

  “She’s unconscious. The healer believes, and I agree, that she consumed some of that drug her abductors gave her. Creators only know why.”

  “Gryl?” At Tanres’ nod, Korin continued. “I’ve never heard of it causing unconsciousness.”

  “Perhaps in a large enough dose?”

  Korin considered this news. Why would she do this? The only reason he could see was a vain hope that she could control the outcome of the battle. But he had the way to peace. He’d brought it with him. She wouldn’t have to push once Rinli’s lineage was revealed and Lisen’s place in the prophecy was known. Damn. I should have told her.

  “A large enough dose?” he tried. “I don’t know.” He paused. “I just don’t know.”

  They moved on in silence, Korin contemplating what it would mean to his plans if Lisen remained unconscious for long. Only she could confirm that Rinli was hers, and he’d already prepared himself for the Empir’s initial denial which would likely greet his claim. To be left with no one to confirm or deny would leave him with no weapon at all, and a truce between Thristas and Garla would evaporate in the wind of deadly contention.

  “You seem awfully loyal for a deserter,” Tanres commented after several minutes of quiet.

  Korin shrugged. “She’s a fierce one, your new Empir. I admire her for that.”

  “And here you were, a Thristan all along.” Tanres chuckled softly. “I didn’t even see it.”

  “Half-Thristan, Commander, and I worked very hard to cultivate my Garlan persona. I’m surprised sub-commander Cunbae never told you.”

  They’d reached the camp’s eastern entry, and two guards confronted them.

  “Hold. State your business.”

  Tanres pulled her hood back, then slipped out of her cloak, revealing her uniform and the insignia upon her chest.

  Korin moved up directly beside her and whispered in her ear. “Well, that was gutsy, walking around over there with that on.”

  “Quiet,” she responded, then spoke to the guards. “You know who I am?”

  “Yes, Commander,” the older of the two said, and they both stepped aside, allowing the commander and her companion to pass.

  “Take your robe off,” Tanres ordered. Korin bristled at the command but complied. The less like a Thristan he appeared, the less talk there’d be circulating the camp come morning. Thank Mantar that in the darkness his eye patch could not be easily discerned.

  The closer they moved towards Lisen, the more aware he became of her cry for help. He didn’t know when precisely he’d begun sensing this; it had only now occurred to him that it was her distress he’d felt in the pit of his stomach the moment the commander had contacted him.

  “It’s bad,” he mumbled, to which Tanres only nodded.

  They reached the great tent around which all the other tents had circled, and the guard at the door immediately pulled back the grand tapestry of a flap. A great room with a great table and a great map of the plain greeted him. From everything he’d seen thus far, the Garlans had prepared well for war. Lisen had trusted and listened to him. If only he could encourage trust now in her companions as well.

  Three other rooms had been divided from this one. One for Lisen, one for Holder Corday, Korin assumed, and the other for…? He didn’t need to know. Tanres led him straight to the dividing curtain at the opposite end of the room and pulled it aside, and they stepped in together.

  “My lord,” Tanres said, and Korin watched as Corday pushed his way up from the chair. He leaned heavily on its arms and gave a little hop to turn and face the commander and Korin.

  “Captain,” the holder said. “Thank you for coming.”

  Korin looked down at the holder’s right leg and saw the stump. A grievous injury had forced the loss of his foot, and Korin wished there were a way for him to acknowledge the holder’s pain without embarrassing him. But his mission here was clear, and the holder was not his mission.

  “May I?” Korin asked nodding towards the bed where Lisen lay. He hadn’t dared look directly at her until now.

  “That’s why you’re here,” Corday replied and reached out towards Bala Tuane who still sat in the chair beside the holder’s. She handed him two crutches, and he moved around to stand at the foot of the bed while Korin went to the other side where the hermit had risen to vacate his chair in deference to Korin.

  When he reached Lisen’s side, he leaned over and pulled one of her eyelids open. Pure black of the pupil without a hint of color at all. He straightened up.

  “When she returned from her captivity, was she able to see?” he asked. “Was everything normal about her sight?”

  “Yes,” Corday replied. “Both she and the sergeant who accompanied her explained some of what had happened, but she looked completely normal to us and claimed she could see without difficulty.”

  “Come here,” Korin said and reached out to the holder to join him. “See.” He pulled the eyelid open again so Corday could lean in and see for himself. Then he let it go.

  “Then it is gryl.”

  “It appears to be. Did she inhale it or drink it?”

  The hermit healer spoke for the first time. “We found a cloth soaked in it over her face. There was also a goblet on the table with the remnants of a liquid in it that smelled like the cloth and the pan in which we believe she cooked it.”

  “You know about this drug,” Corday said. “What counteracts it?”

  Korin shook his head, unable to take his eye off the Empir. “Nothing that I know of save time. And I’ve never heard anything about it causing this. How long has she been unconscious?”

  “Since last night,” Corday replied. “She’s moved once or twice, but the healer says those are only muscle spasms.”

  “Is it possible she’s in some sort of trance state?” the healer asked.

  “You’d know that better than I, Hermit,” Korin admitted, “but I suppose anything is possible at this point.” Korin stared at Lisen for another moment. How long would this last? How long would be too long? In a few hours, both sides of this conflict would meet on the plain and turn it into a bloodied battlefield. At some point, even if she did revive, it might prove to be too late. “Forgive me,” he said, “but there’s nothing further I can do here. I need to get back before I’m missed.”

  “Stay, please,” Holder Tuane urged, but Korin shook his head.

  “I can’t. I won’t be fighting, but I still need to be there.” He didn’t add that he needed to be there with his daughter, that a moment awaited him and he had to be ready even if the Empir wasn’t. “I’m sorry.”

  And he turned and left—out of her room, out of the tent, out of the Garlan camp—walking step by step back to his people. It ripped his heart in two to leave her there, unaware and defenseless, but what other choice did he have? If the Maker—or the Destroyer—had decided he was to do this alone, then he must do it. And he couldn’t if he were miles away from his daughter in the opposition’s camp. He believed Lisen would survive. She had to survive, though why she’d done what she’d done, he might never know. Would she return to life before the battle? Unknown. But he was a soldier, trained to set aside personal consideration in favor of the greater whole. So on he walked, seeming alone, but a great lot of invisible unknown walked with him.

  Surfacing. Brown ocean. Gritty. Hot. Where is she? Where has she been?

  Time has passed, I sense it.

  Tread. Water? No. The not-water will hold her.

  Only for so long.

  Lost in a burning sea. Unable to breathe.

  Where am I?

  The child cries out.

  The child cries out?

  The child cries out for her. “Mother?”

  She slips into another darkness.

  “The fire awakesss.”

  Where are you?

&
nbsp; “And the child liftsss the burden.”

  Riddles!

  “Watch and sssee. “

  Memories seared into thought, not yet thinkable by mind. Explanations pile upon explanations. She’ll never remember them all.

  “You will.”

  A whisper in the dark.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  in the middle of it

  Impotence was a feeling with which Nalin had grown familiar. From the moment Rosarel had taken control of Flandari’s Heir at Solsta to the moment crashing down around him now, he’d experienced a multitude of such powerless moments. But a familiarity with impotence had not made the last few hours any easier. Lacking a foot, an ankle and with only half a calf on one side had reduced him to observing from a rise above the chaos of the battle, watching it unfold before him, and he had no patience for it.

  Bala had chosen to remain at his side, her troops led by Captain Palla instead of her, while Nalin had turned Felane’s troops over to a cousin from Grimmal. They’d all been instructed—holders and Guard officers alike—to hold their ground for as long as they could while Tanres and others assessed Thristan strengths and weaknesses from a distance. A fine plan, if the Thristans had cooperated. But their hordes had blown onto the field accompanied by chaos, their cavalry brandishing curved swords intended for slicing as they tore through the enemy.

  Commander Tanres was the third observer on the hill—the fourth being a corporal who could diagram positions and draw quick sketches of interesting fighting techniques for further study that night, all while sitting on a horse. Messengers came and went, most on foot for easier access to all areas in the field, and the commander would issue orders based on what she saw and what these messengers reported back to her.

  The consensus, based on grunts and shrugs and various other methods of nonverbal communication between the three watching on the hill, was that the Garlan faction would survive this day to fight another but they’d likely be outnumbered tomorrow. Soldiers—both guards and volunteers—were falling in droves while the Thristans kept charging forward with no seeming end to their assault. With Titus committed to Lisen’s care, only the three healers from Erinina and Rossla remained. Others who’d demonstrated healing skills followed each center of fighting as it moved around, doing all they could to dodge the sharp or blunt objects of destruction.