She had been a powerful healer before, but not like this. Never like this. He could see the energy she forced into the soldier. When she was done, Merin dropped to his knees and gently opened the sentinel’s shirt. The wound which had soaked his shirt and vest with blood began to heal before their eyes.
Again, a frightened soldier began to pray.
Ariana glanced up at the men who surrounded her. “Don’t be afraid of me,” she said. “Please don’t be afraid. You all know that I have magic, that I am, by birth, a witch.”
“Yes,” the praying man said. “But I have never seen the likes of that.” He pointed to the healing gut of his comrade.
Ariana would not let their reticence stop her. She moved from one wounded sentinel to another, healing each one in the same fashion. In the dark of night, they sought out wounded sentinels. She could not save the dead, but those who were injured she healed with the touch of her hands and the power that had grown within her.
It was a mighty gift. The mightiest.
She was covered in her own blood, and the energy she expelled was great. Yet she did not falter. She did not hesitate or think of how she might be draining herself.
Dawn was upon them when she healed the last of the sentinels. None of the wounded were ready to do battle just yet, but even those who had been near death would be able to march on in a few days.
When the sentinels were healed or healing, Ariana’s eyes were drawn to a wounded soldier who had fought for Ciro. He was a dirty, odorous, badly dressed red-haired man with an ordinary face and a kitchen knife clutched in one hand. Streaks of gray colored his wild hair and his beard, and his belly showed signs he’d been well fed.
As Ariana stopped beside the unconscious man, a sentinel snatched away the bloody knife.
Losing the weapon shocked the man to consciousness. “Give me that!” he commanded.
He had numerous wounds, and had lost a lot of blood. Ariana dropped to her haunches beside the enemy. “Do you see it?” she whispered.
“See what?” Sian asked, wishing he had the right to force her away from the enemy soldier who appeared to be harmless at the moment, but could be anything but harmless.
“This man has no soul,” Ariana said, wonder in her voice. “No light at all. No dark, no white. Nothing. He is no better than a wild animal. I did not see it before when we were fighting, but now it’s so clear to me.”
Her trip to the Land of the Dead and back had infused her with increased powers. She could heal in a miraculous way, and she could see that this creature had no soul. How else had she changed?
It was Merin who asked sharply, “You’re not going to heal him, are you?”
“Don’t,” Sian said, adding his protest. He did not understand this new power Ariana had brought with her when she’d come back from the dead, but he did not want her energy to be mingled with that of a man who had no soul.
Ignoring him and Merin, Ariana laid her hands over the man’s chest. She closed her eyes and concentrated until her entire body began to tremble. This was different from what had happened with the wounded sentinels. The soulless man’s wounds did not begin to heal. There was no glow of health returned to his cheeks.
For a while it seemed that her efforts would not work on the soulless man, and then, both Ariana and the wounded enemy lurched.
Ariana dropped her hands and backed away quickly, ending up several feet away from the enemy soldier, sitting on her backside. Sian assisted her to her feet. The man on the ground looked confused, and then a light of understanding lit his dull eyes. “Oh,” he whispered.
Merin stepped forward with his sword drawn. He brought it down swiftly and took the man’s life.
Ariana did not protest. “Are there others of the enemy left alive?”
“Why?” Merin asked angrily. “Surely you would not gift them with this... this miracle.”
Ariana smiled tiredly at her first in command. “Did you not feel it, Merin? Did you not feel the shift in this battle when his soul was returned to him?”
The sentinel stopped and stared at her. “No. How... what...”
“I’m not exactly sure how or what,” Ariana admitted. “But I do know that when I returned that man’s soul to him, dark and damaged thing that it was, the Isen Demon—Ciro himself—was weakened by the loss. Not considerably, mind you, but he was weakened. It’s as if the Isen Demon is not a proper demon at all, but a chain of dark souls linked together. If I can snatch back other souls, if I can disrupt the chain...”
Merin needed no more explanation. “I will have the men search among the bodies to see if any others are left alive.”
All night and into the morning, Ariana had shared her gift, and Sian had been beside her. Now that they were alone, she turned to him and smiled. “You will never believe what I saw,” she whispered, and then she fainted into his arms. He caught her, lifted her, and carried her away from the carnage.
***
Ariana woke to find herself and Sian in a quiet, secluded clearing. The place was heavily shaded, with thick bushes and trees on one side, and a tall rock wall on the other. She heard the trickle of a stream nearby, and the calm words of her adopted brothers in the near distance. She felt the cool wisp of a damp cloth on her body, and the rough rasp of a blanket at her back.
Sian was washing away the blood that had once soaked her uniform. Her blood. She did not open her eyes, not immediately. She lay there and reveled in the way he touched her. The way the damp cloth he wielded so gently cleaned her skin, the way he took such care around what little was left of her healing wound. If she had ever doubted his love... all that doubt was now gone. She had never experienced such love as she now felt in his touch.
“You cannot fool me,” he said roughly. “Open your eyes, woman.”
Ariana smiled as she obeyed. “Woman?”
“You would prefer ‘sister’?”
“Not from you,” she admitted freely.
Sian bent over her, his long black hair loose and falling over his shoulders, hiding much of his face from her. She was completely naked, and a fire which was not necessary at midday burned nearby. She had but to glance in that direction to see that what remained of her white uniform burned there. Even her hat lay upon the ruins.
“Am I now to march into battle naked?” she asked lightly.
“You are not to march into battle at all,” Sian said, his voice low and rough.
“Is that your decision to make?”
“Yes, I believe it is.”
“How so?”
Sian pulled her into a seated position, so that her bare chest was resting against his black shirt, and her eyes were close to his. She saw purple flame there, as hot as the fire which consumed her white uniform. “You are mine to protect, and I will not allow you to risk your life so foolishly. You are a healer, Ariana, and that is the gift you must take into this blasted war.”
“Yes, I know.”
He sounded so angry, and yet the love was there. She took Sian’s face in her hands and kissed him. Oh, she had missed kissing him. Her tongue teased his lightly, and then she caught his lower lip between her teeth. She pressed a hand against his chest and felt the steady thud of his heart.
His kiss turned hungry very quickly, and she felt his desperation and his love. She also felt his fear, not at anything Ciro could do to them, but at losing her again. At losing... more.
His hand caressed her back, stopping at her hip to hold her in place, to tease her curves. Curves he knew well.
All this time, he’d been so close and yet they’d remained separated. She wanted Sian to be her lover again. She wanted the pleasure and the closeness and that wonderful sense that she would never again be alone, because she carried a piece of him with her always. Surely he wanted that, too. After all, he had said he would watch over her, and she felt his love as surely as she felt her own.
She reached down to stroke him lightly. Yes, he was hard. Ready. He wanted her desperately. With great effort and reg
ret, she took her mouth from his. “Did you bring the potion I gave you with you?”
“No.” His voice near rumbled.
She sighed. Of course he had not. “Do we need it?”
Her entire body trembled for Sian. She wanted him inside her, she wanted the release, she wanted his body and hers joined, and yes, she wanted his child.
He rested his head on her shoulder. “I do not think I can bear to bury another child. Does that make me weak, Ariana? Does that make me a coward?”
“No, love,” she whispered. “It does not.”
“I do not wish to lose you either,” he confessed. “Not again.” He lifted his head and looked her in the eye. “You were truly dead, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you came back from that death. I did not know it was possible. How? More importantly, why?”
“I was given a choice. I came back for Ciro,” she said, “and for my family.” She stroked his hair gently. Should she tell him that she had also come back for him? For what they might have together? No, he wasn’t ready to hear that, not now.
Sian had not asked for healing for himself, even though there was a large lump on his head and his throat was damaged and raw. Ariana placed one hand on his head, and drew out the pain. Beneath her palm, the knot eased and shrank. She laid her other hand over his throat when that was done. This injury pained him more than he had admitted, and she quickly eased that pain. She discovered a small cut on his forearm, and healed that as well.
Returning the dark soul to Ciro’s soldier had drained her, but healing... no matter how horrible the wounds she treated were, healing them did not drain her energies at all. In a way they fed her, making her stronger. Making her capable of facing whatever lay ahead.
“She died giving birth,” Sian said briskly. “My wife. She and the baby both died, and there was nothing I could do. The baby, a little girl, she came too soon and with many complications. All my training, all my worthless tricks, they could not even take away my wife’s pain, much less give her or the child life. For more than a day I listened to her scream endlessly, helpless and frustrated and terrified. And then the screams stopped, and that was worse.”
Ariana wondered if knowing that there was a very real existence on the other side of this life would help Sian, but she suspected not. Not yet, in any case. Maybe one day.
“I once scoffed at your gift, but even when you were a simple healer with nominal power and a bag filled with dried herbs, you possessed more magic than I will ever have.”
“You’re tired,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. “So am I. Can I sleep here, Sian? Will you hold me while I rest?”
She did not give him the opportunity to answer, but drifted to sleep while he held her naked body close.
***
He had promised the departed empress a body to call her own, if she would lead the woman who had the power to defeat him into his trap. Well, the Isen Demon had promised, and Ciro and the demon were now almost entirely one.
“I’m skinny,” Diella complained as she felt her own breasts, squeezing and pinching herself.
“Eat,” Ciro directed hoarsely. “You’ll be fat soon enough.”
“My face is damaged.” Her fingers traced the shallow cut he’d made with his teeth.
“It will heal in time.”
“Could you not have chosen a more suitable body?” she complained.
Ciro did not possess an abundance of patience. “The body you now occupy is young and healthy, and it’s yours. You have no need to share it with anyone. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Diella sat in the hard chair which dominated this dismal cabin they had taken. What remained of his army—little more than sixty men—waited outside in the night. They did not deserve shelter, animals that they were.
The previous occupants of this small dwelling had been disposed of on arrival and dumped behind the cabin they had called home. Ciro was still disappointed that there had been only two residents here, and they were both elderly. Neither did him any good at all, especially as they had both possessed white souls. Up here, in the middle of nowhere, two white souls which he could not yet take. He had drunk their blood greedily, but he craved yet another soul.
Something was wrong. He felt weakened. Almost... bereft. The reason for the weakness teased him, dancing just out of reach.
Diella left her chair and ran to him, crossing the short distance quickly and throwing herself at him. Instinctively, he caught her.
“I’m bored,” she said lazily. She had riffled through the old woman’s things in this simple home and had donned a plain, gray dress that was much too big for the body he had taken for her. The frock had been declared inadequate, but preferable to the sentinel’s uniform she had been wearing when he’d found her. “I have been sorely neglected in my years without a body. This body of yours seems fit enough.” She ground herself against him. “How about a tumble?”
His body responded, but he set her away from him. “I cannot. My seed is for another.”
She made a face of disenchantment and disappointment. “Don’t be silly. Every man thinks his get is extraordinary, but one man’s spurt is really no different from another’s.”
“In that case, you can find a willing companion outside.” He gestured to the door.
She wrinkled her nose. “Your soldiers are not exactly the most handsome fellows in all of Columbyana, or the cleanest. Several of them have a tendency to drool. It’s quite unseemly.”
“I thought one man was like another,” he said calmly, throwing her words back at her.
“But you’re so handsome.” She pouted, but Ciro stood firm. He was saving himself for Rayne. Once he was inside her, their son would be made. His fine, extraordinary son.
Our son.
Finally Diella sighed and turned away from him. “How about a touch of Panwyr? You do have some with you, don’t you? Oh, I’ll bet this body has never experienced the rush of that first Panwyr experience. It will be like starting the journey all over again. What fun! After my first dose, I imagine those dirty soldiers outside will look almost as pretty to my eyes as you do.”
Ciro grudgingly shared his Panwyr with Diella, wishing he could just kill her and have done with it. The demon wouldn’t let him. Apparently they still needed the former empress; she had not yet served her purpose.
Diella took a small amount of the Panwyr up her nose, sniffing it in an almost ladylike manner. Shortly thereafter, she began to dance. Hands that had recently explored her breasts and found them lacking explored once again as she danced. She caressed herself, fondling her own breasts and the crevice between her legs, readying herself for a sexual liaison with some unknown soldier—one of his Own—who would gladly give her what she wanted.
Ciro sat back and watched. Once, he even smiled. The body Diella possessed was attractive enough, and when she was properly dressed in expensive gowns that fit well, she’d be presentable. When the time came, if he didn’t kill her first, she’d make a fine second empress and stepmother to his remarkable son.
He suspected they would remain in this cabin for several days. It was not as luxurious as the homes he was accustomed to—the Imperial Palace in Arthes or Fynnian’s isolated home—but it would do. Here his soldiers could heal, and when Diella had finished having her fun, she could tell him more about the prophesy and the plans the woman Ariana had set into motion before he’d killed her.
His army was much smaller than it had been, but Ciro was not concerned. There were more of his Own out there, and they were coming. They were drawn to him, and for a few days, perhaps a week or two, he would wait here. When he closed his eyes, he could see them, making their way down dusty roads and through dense forests, each armed, each hungry—each connected to him, and to one another.
He missed knowing what those who wished to defeat him knew and planned, and in a way he wished he had made Diella wait for her body. She was not very good at waiting, and for s
ome reason the Isen Demon indulged her.
He smiled as he heard Diella’s frenzied laugh drift to him from outside his temporary home. Soon he would be so strong, the plans of his enemy would be insignificant.
Chapter Sixteen
Ariana’s army slept and healed. They celebrated their victories and mourned their dead. Those who had passed into the Land of the Dead were buried. Their friends and comrades were buried with honor and emotion; the enemy dead were put into the ground out of necessity.
While Ariana rested—and Sian burned her clothes—two more enemy soldiers were found barely alive. As she had done with the first living enemy she’d recovered, she returned their souls, snatching them away from the Isen Demon with great effort. Each time, she experienced the same sense that she’d weakened the monster Ciro had become. Not significantly, but to some small degree. As he had done with the first of the soulless men, Merin dispatched the enemy once their souls were restored. This part of war was distasteful to Ariana, as a healer and as a woman, but she realized that it was necessary. The dark souls could be called back to the demon if the men were allowed to live, and she could not allow that to happen.
One day passed, and then two. The sentinels began to grow restless. They were waiting for her to direct them, Ariana knew. They were waiting for her to lead, as she had been chosen to do.
She knew without doubt that Sian loved her, and yet he denied his love so staunchly by his actions that she was confused and hurt, in a girlish way she could not afford to indulge. Since that morning when he’d bathed her and told her about his wife and child’s deaths, he’d barely spoken to her. He didn’t even look at her, and if he could manage to pass his time in the farthest part of the camp from where she found herself, he did so. He had all but cast her aside. Her broken heart meant nothing at a time like this, and yet... it was broken.
It seemed that everyone was treating her differently since she’d come back from the dead. She still felt a bond with the men who’d survived, but they remained distant and sometimes suspicious. Maybe they sensed that Diella, who was by far the stronger of the two of them, was gone, and Ariana was now unfit to lead. Maybe they were frightened by her return from the dead. Some said she had only been stunned and had not been truly deceased, but those who had seen her die knew differently.
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