2
Once they pushed their way past the screen of weeping willow branches that masked the bridge, the town of Westmere — such as it was — was clearly visible. Huddled in a wide, flat basin on the other side of the river and surrounded by low hills that were probably the original riverbanks, it would have been difficult to find coming from any other direction.
And pretty easy to overlook coming from this one. As Galen led them from the bridge and up the main path, Ton-Kel eyed the sorry collection of tumbledown shacks with their overgrown gardens and wondered why the people bothered hanging on here.
Several of the houses looked deserted, but it was hard to tell. A woman stirred a kettle before the door of a hut that looked like it was rotting where it stood, holes gaping in moss-eaten wooden sides, weeds growing from the remains of a shingled roof. A few good stone cottages, their roofs tight-thatched against the probable evening rain, stood out like plump cattle in a herd of starveling goats.
The people wandering the muddy trails that passed for streets stopped to stare as the Triad and its guard passed, and Ton-Kel saw that, though a few bobbed curtsies or offered awkward bows, there were many who simply looked and turned away with dull indifference. No one smiled or called. Even the children were silent.
"So much for the hero's welcome," Paulo murmured beside her. "What's wrong with these people? Do they no longer have respect? I wonder if the Red or Green Triads have done something."
"Or maybe these folk just don't have any spirit left," Ton-Kel whispered back. "It's as though all the heart's been bled out of them. I just hope the other Triads know what's going on."
"I just hope they're happier to see us than these folk are," Paulo replied.
The thought hadn't occurred to Ton-Kel, and she almost groaned aloud. Oh, please, merciful God. She didn't want to have to fight another Triad, not here, not now. Not ever, truth be told.
Surely they were all here for the same purpose. Some sort of truce could be worked out. It had to be. She was tired, hungry, thirsty, and all she wanted was food, a bath, a bed. Quarrels would simply have to wait for another time.
Just ahead of Baraccus, Galen turned and pointed up the path. "There's the inn. The other Triads are staying there, but there's still plenty of room." He looked at the Cavalier, and his face briefly became as stern as when he'd first appeared from the brush. "I allow no dueling within the town limits. If you insist on it, you must go to the other side of the bridge. I trust you will respect our laws."
"I have no intention of dueling anyone," Baraccus replied, "I'm sure my sword will have enough to do in the next few days without that. I want no trouble with your laws."
Galen nodded in satisfaction. "Good. I appreciate your understanding. I run an orderly town. We don't usually have much trouble with law-breakers."
Ton-Kel had survived so far in life by always knowing the odds. "Tell me, Constable," she asked sweetly, "what sort of punishments do your laws entail? And with so few guards, how do you enforce them?"
Galen hesitated, then sighed. "Of late, it is habit as much as a desire to maintain order that keeps the unruly elements in our town in check, since I no longer have the manpower I once did. The people are all aware that our survival depends upon one another at this point. On those rare occasions we need to, we lock violators in the stockade until trial."
"Stockade?" Baraccus looked around politely — and Ton-Kel with alarm — but there was no building that the imagination could easily convert to such a use. From what she'd seen so far, she could kick her way out of almost any structure here barefoot.
Galen gestured toward the bridge. "Out there, where we were when we spotted you. It was built with living trees, so it looks like just another thicket. Hard to see unless you know where to look. It's saved us all a few times, I can tell you." He resumed his progress up the path that led to the base of a hill with a sheer rock face.
Ton-Kel scanned the crest of the hill but saw only a few rocky spires like chimneys silhouetted against a sky just deepening toward the blue of early evening, brightened with the first rose and apricot blush of oncoming sunset. A faint wisp of smoke trailed out of a spire even as she watched, and she dropped her attention to the hill below it. Sure enough, as they rounded a final bend and the face of the hill came into full view, she saw an inn carved into the hill itself.
A wide, rounded door at the base stood open in welcome, its carved stone frame partly masked by a veil of beautiful climbing roses. A sign hung above it with a crude painting of a red horse, beneath which was written "The Roan Horse Inn" in letters considerably less crude.
Flowering vines covered much of the rest of the wall, filling the cooling air with their fragrance. Flat paving stones, swept spotlessly clean, covered an area in front to form a rough terrace large enough for dancing, and neat, round tables sat awaiting patrons.
A single bench stretched beside the door, and a man in a green cloak sat there, weaving strands of flowers into a wreath.
Something about him teased her attention, beaconing like the light that gleamed warmly from the windows higher up on the rock above, but at the moment she was more interested in the setting.
She nodded approval; a snug little place — pretty and easy to defend. She hoped it was as comfortable inside as it looked from without. But then, even a bare black cave would have looked good to her right now.
Now, who was the cloaked man?
Galen paused at the bottom of the rough stone steps that led up to the terrace and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Lily, I've customers for you," he called. Turning back to the Triad, he smiled broadly." She likes a little warning. Watch your step on these stones — they're a bit loose."
Baraccus followed on Galen's heels. The guards fell back to let the Triad go first. Ton-Kel hoped they would now consider their duty done and go back to whatever they were doing before. Their dour silence damped Galen's more hearty welcome and kept her wishing for something solid at her back.
Grateful for the escape, she hastened up the last few steps, glancing down as she felt the worn stones shift beneath her feet.
She almost walked into Baraccus's back before she looked up again, and teetered off-balance on the edge of the top step. She started to grab him to save herself, but Galen spared her the necessity by snagging her hand and pulling her to level ground. "Your pardon, Lady," he said, "those steps. I really must speak to Alfred about their repair."
Baraccus took a single belated step to one side to give her room, but neither spoke nor looked at her.
Ton-Kel flashed her smile at Galen in gratitude, but her annoyance at Baraccus took precedence. She looked at him to catch his eye, hoping to send him at least a glare for his heedlessness, but his attention was elsewhere. She followed his gaze to the inn door.
A girl — no, a young woman — stood poised in the doorway. If that was Lily, it was certainly an appropriate name for her. Skin of a fine, alabaster whiteness, the sort rarely seen outside of some lord's court, ivory shoulders bared by the sky-blue dress cunningly sewn to enhance her willowy curves, hair like pale honey that rippled to her waist, framing a face of kittenish prettiness. To Ton-Kel's seasoned eye, such a face could easily turn predatory, might warn a man off as easily as lure him in. But there was no denying her appeal.
So Baraccus was human after all. Ton-Kel was uncertain whether she was more amused or angry. On the one hand, she disliked feeling eclipsed. On the other, it was reassuring to find a chink in Baraccus's icy armor.
Lily's eyes, a paler blue than Galen's, widened as she gazed at Baraccus, then swept the rest of the group. In the fading sunlight, Ton-Kel was sure their marks were fully visible and wondered what the lovely Lily thought of yet another Triad appearing on her doorstep.
But the woman's eyes returned to Baraccus and her welcoming smile widened with practiced allure. "Oh, we are honored indeed. Welcome, noble guests, to our humble inn." She turned her head slightly to call back i
nside, "Alfred, the Black Triad has come!"
Ton-Kel watched Baraccus from the corner of her eye, saw his own smile change to answer Lily's, and felt a sudden urge to stamp on his foot.
He took another step forward, but his black eyes flickered to movement behind Lily and he stopped again, his smile fading into its former frozen politeness.
A second woman loomed in the doorway behind the delicate Lily, almost dwarfing her. She clamped a gloved hand on one of the slender white shoulders, and Lily moved aside with startled haste to let her pass.
Cavalier, Ton-Kel thought with a flutter of apprehension and glanced at Paulo in time to watch his face shift through surprise and alarm, to wary alertness. She returned her heightened attention to the woman in the doorway.
Paulo had seen what she had: not just a Cavalier, but the Cavalier of the Green Triad, and fully armored.
Ton-Kel took a step back before she could stop herself; she would have toppled down the stairs had Paulo not been quick to brace her. "Steady," he whispered, "this one's trouble.”
"You don't say," she hissed in reply, not taking her eyes from the martial figure that stopped before them, radiating hostility.
The woman was not as tall as she had first appeared; the raised shoulders of her plate armor and the lion's mane of fiery red curls crowning her unhelmeted head gave her the illusion of greater height and mass.
Either some man had designed her armor for her or she was vain to the point of foolishness, for it was cunningly made to enhance her figure and leave no doubt of her sex, to the detriment of her protection. A blend of well-tempered alloy buffed to a dull silver and chain trimmed with brass and copper dags, it covered most of her, but displayed the tight green leather she wore beneath in too many places to offer a solid defense.
A second, more careful look caused Ton-Kel to make a rapid reassessment, and she discarded vanity as a motive. The armor was a work of art, but discolored streaks and patches marred its surface. What could be seen of her clothing was stained, the dirty, thigh-high green boots scuffed and unbrushed. And that glorious hair looked like neither water nor comb had come near it in a good long while.
The woman's face would have been attractive, but her mouth was set in a hard line that denied beauty, and her eyes, sunken and dark-rimmed from exhaustion, were harder still.
No woman who put much importance on her looks would neglect them so completely.
"You are not welcome here," she said to Baraccus, her harsh voice in strange contrast to the lilting accent Ton-Kel recognized from one of the Killaloe dialects. "Go back."
"We have been sent here," he replied, his voice frost on steel. "We have no quarrel with you, but we will not leave until our mission is accomplished."
"The Black Faction has no business here," she spat in reply, "and neither has its Triad. Go, and live. Stay, and die. Your choice, Black."
Baraccus's voice took on a sharper edge. "Even a Green should know how to issue a proper Challenge, if that's what you intend. If not, move aside and let us pass."
With a snarl like a cougar's she took a step forward, but stopped herself, fists clenching and uncurling as though she longed to wrap her fingers around his throat. "That was a warning, rather, for the threat comes not from me. But for your insolence, so be it. By the Seven and by the Three, for Honor and Glory, I Challenge Thee."
Baraccus fell silent, his face empty of all expression, eyes glittering like a snake's as he took the other Cavalier's measure.
Don't accept, Ton-Kel pleaded silently, knowing he had no real choice. For whatever reason, the woman was looking for a fight, and she would offer one insult to his honor after another until he was forced to accept. It might as well be now.
But perhaps they could wait — Baraccus had to be as tired as Ton-Kel and Paulo were. Did the rules permit asking for a delay? She couldn't remember. She shot a pleading stare at Galen, hoping for help, but he stood by in silence and watched, an angry frown pulling his brows to a solid line.
"For Honor and Glory, I Accept." Baraccus answered, his voice level and hard as the stone beneath his feet.
Now Galen stepped forward. "Rowan, need I remind you that I will permit no dueling here. If you want to go through with this, do it on the other side of the river where no one else can get hurt."
The woman nodded curtly, not taking her eyes off Baraccus. "I'll get my helm and shield and we'll be off."
From the bench beside the door, the man in the green cloak rose, laying aside the flowered garland. He was little taller than Paulo, Ton-Kel guessed, but something about him made him the instant focus of attention. "This is unnecessary, Rowan," he said mildly. "Fate will do with them what it will, and you and I have neither power nor right to prevent it."
"I have the right to protect what is mine," she retorted. "Come or stay here, but I do what I must."
The man turned to the Black Triad. "You may leave your packs here, if you like. It will spare you carrying them back and forth across the river again, should you win." His voice said that he did not expect them to do so, and Ton-Kel bristled despite the apparent courtesy of his offer.
"And I suppose you hope to claim them as spoils if we don't," she snapped.
The man pushed the hood of his cloak back and looked full at her. The solid green triangle on his forehead almost glowed against his coffee-colored skin, and the eyes beneath, darker still, seemed to pierce her flesh and look inside her.
Her heart raced and she had to stop herself from quailing, though his expression was calm and no anger flashed in the dark wells of his eyes.
"Your packs are safe here," he said. "You may reclaim them later in total safety. You have the word of Ankh, Mystic of the Green Triad, and Rowan, Cavalier of the Green Triad."
Stupid! she railed at herself, and inclined her head as much to conceal her thoughts as in respect. This was no ordinary Mystic. She'd sung songs about Ankh. He'd been the Green Mystic for years, having survived several Triads — Ton-Kel couldn't remember how many off-hand. The mark on his brow proved it even if she had never heard the tales, even if he didn't radiate an aura of power that made her skin tingle. She abandoned the half-formed plots she'd been trying to build and resigned herself to fate's mercy.
She knew her powers gave her a chance against the Cavalier, if need be, if she took her by surprise. Even against the so-far absent Green Ranger, provided she was clever — and Ton-Kel had a great deal of faith in her own cunning.
But she had acquired her Mystic skills and knowledge through trial and error, through listening at windows, spying, stealing and snatching bits of schooling where she could. She had traded songs or drinks — and sometimes other favors — for teaching from trained Mystics down on their luck who found themselves stranded in Tir.
She was no match for a mage of Ankh's caliber, not now and perhaps not ever.
But there was no harm in at least trying to disarm him. "Your fame is widespread, sir. I had never hoped to meet a living legend such as yourself." She straightened to look at him, her eyes as wide with sincerity as she could make them. "I am only sorry that we are not working together, that I might have a chance to learn from you."
He smiled with surprising gentleness. "Nothing is written, my child. To my mind, we are not foes. But a Cavalier…." He shrugged. The ways of Cavaliers were sometimes past understanding, the shrug seemed to say.
Without a glance at her Mystic, the Green Cavalier turned and strode back into the inn. Baraccus shrugged off his pack and pulled his helmet from its wrapping. Paulo, quickly lowering his own pack to the ground, stepped forward to help him. Ton-Kel debated with herself, and finally laid her pack on the stones, though she kept the smaller pouch slung over her shoulder.
She hated leaving her worldly possessions among strangers, for she'd been a thief herself too long to trust the honesty of others, but the ability to move quickly and unhampered might be more important later. The smaller pouch held the tools of her t
rade, and those were what she was most likely to need.
Lily had vanished, Ton-Kel noted, and Ankh had withdrawn to stand by the doorway, waiting for his Cavalier. She wondered again where the Green Ranger was.
She turned to caution Paulo to keep his eyes peeled but found herself facing Baraccus's chest. He had taken his breastplate off the back of his pack and stood arms akimbo while Paulo cinched it on. She looked up and met his eyes, which bored into hers with unnerving intensity. "Quickly," he whispered. "What do you know of the Green Triad?"
She shook her head. "I'm not sure — I don't know who the Greens are now." She took a breath, thinking rapidly. She'd never paid heed to the songs she sang as anything more than entertainment. "I think this Rowan must be the tourney champion. Last I heard, the Ranger was Jax the Axe; I don't know who it is now. But that Mystic is Ankh. He's been Mystic for the Green Triad for years. He's the one who took Raven's place after Anderson's Ford. If we had time, I could sing you songs about him. He's got to be only a step or two away from being an Ironlord by now."
She glanced at the other Mystic, who seemed serenely unconcerned, then returned to Baraccus, dropping her voice another notch. "If he stays out of it, we'll be all right. But if he decides to help her, we're lost. I can't fight him. None of us can."
Baraccus dismissed the notion with a jerk of his head. "This is an honorable duel; no one can interfere once we're in the Battle Circle." He narrowed his eyes at her warningly. "That means you, too, Ton-Kel. Don't try to be clever. Just watch my back until we reach the circle. From then on, I'll deal with it."
Ton-Kel bit back the retort that rose to her lips; she didn't really want Rowan to teach him a lesson, even if the Green Cavalier — or anyone else, for that matter — could beat the arrogance out of him. She just wished none of this was happening. She knew duels were one of those things Cavaliers did. It was to be expected. Nevertheless, couldn't it have waited?
She stepped back and watched while Paulo helped re-wrap Baraccus's sword belt around his armored waist, comforting herself with the thought that at least it was unlikely to end in anything serious. The Green Faction was not known to be bloodthirsty, and duels with Greens tended to end in disarms or yields, or so she had always heard.
If anything, the Black Faction had a more lethal reputation; Black Cavaliers were far more likely to duel to the death.
She wondered how Baraccus intended to handle it. As the challenged party, he had the right to decide weapons — and terms as well, if Rowan did not name them.
Rowan reappeared, a long, green-wrapped sword hilt jutting at an angle over one shoulder and another slung at her right side, while a long dagger rode her left hip.
So, she was left-handed, was she? From her own street-fighting days, Ton-Kel knew left-handers were tricky opponents, simply because they were so unpredictable.
Without speaking, the Green Cavalier passed her Mystic and the Black Triad and strode down the steps to the path that led to the bridge. Looking after her, Ton-Kel could see a round metal shield slung across the extra sword, a helmet dangling from the quillions. The woman certainly wasn't taking any chances.
Paulo sniffed. "Short on courtesy, isn't she? The least she could do is ask you for your terms."
"It doesn't matter," Baraccus replied curtly. He pulled his helmet, a salet with a fixed visor, over his head and buckled it, then held out his hands to let Paulo fasten the metal gauntlets in place. When that was done, he turned to start down the steps. "Let's get this over with.”
"You need not concern yourself over much," said Ankh from beside Ton-Kel.
She jumped, suppressing a swift curse with difficulty. She had not even noticed his approach. Paulo, too, jerked around, his eyes wide with surprise. Baraccus turned smoothly on the first step, his expression concealed by the helm.
Ankh continued as if he had not noticed their reactions. "Rowan is not herself at the moment. She has undergone a great many trials in the last weeks; that and concern for a friend have put her out of sorts. She will be perfectly satisfied to fight to no more than first blood, if that is what you desire."
"I haven't made up my mind," Baraccus replied coolly. "But your courtesy is appreciated, especially since your Cavalier is so lacking in it."
The Mystic spread his hands, his pale palms like outspread moth wings in the fading light. "I have said this is not her way. You will understand when you have been here a few days."
"Please," Ton-Kel said, reaching toward him to draw his attention without touching him; that would have been, at best, discourteous and, at worst, fatal. "Can't you tell us something of what's happening here? No one has had a chance to tell us what's wrong, but I'm sure you must be here for the same reasons we are. Surely it is better if we all help each other?"
He smiled and shook his head. "This is not the time. Perhaps after this nonsense is behind us and everyone's tempers have had a chance to cool." He gestured politely toward the steps where Baraccus waited. "Shall we proceed?"
With a resigned shrug, she fell in behind Baraccus, saw Paulo slip behind her out of the corner of her eye. Ankh, she assumed, would follow in his own time.
They retraced their steps through the town and across the bridge. The trees threw the banks beyond into twilight, and at first Ton-Kel could not see anyone there. Then Rowan, her face now concealed behind the visor of a bassinet with a tattered green plume, stepped away from the tree she'd been standing beside and stood silhouetted against the light of the dying sun. When Ton-Kel looked at the ground, she saw a circle scratched into the soil in the level area just beyond the riverbank.
Baraccus approached and stopped on the opposite side of the circle from Rowan. "Single sword," he said, drawing his own curved, single-edged blade. "To first blood only."
Ton-Kel realized she'd been holding her breath, and let it out with a sigh of relief. Baraccus, at least, was being reasonable. Rowan only nodded, and reached back to free herself of her shield and the extra sword that held it in place. Drawing the weapon at her side, she stepped into the Battle Circle. The long, straight blade caught a shaft of the sunset's fading fire and gleamed hot and golden in her hands. It had not suffered the neglect the rest of the woman's gear had.
Baraccus flowed at once into his fighting crouch, stalking Rowan like a great black-and-grey cat. He always wore his light armor of hardened black leather with burnished alloy plates on cuisses, shoulders, upper arms, and throat; with the metal breastplate, salet, and gauntlets he now wore, he was actually better protected than Rowan in her showier plate and chain. He had a hand or so of height on her, as well, which gave him better reach. True, the salet left the lower half of his face exposed while hers was fully covered, and he already had a long, hard day behind him. But if he was tired it didn't show, while Rowan didn't exactly look like a daisy herself.
Ton-Kel's eyes flickered from one to the other, slightly reassured. Rowan moved stiffly, as though she were the one reluctant to fight, though her sword never quivered as she held it poised to strike.
Baraccus made the first move, a testing blow at Rowan's side, which she blocked more swiftly than Ton-Kel thought she could. He was back out of reach before the Green Cavalier could return the attack, and Rowan resumed her defensive crouch, sword unmoving, waiting. Again, Baraccus stalked her, long legs carrying him smoothly over the ground, his steps whispering in the dried leaves that covered the earth.
Ton-Kel almost missed his second strike; his blade came up, and as Rowan's rose to block it, it flickered out and down like a snake's tongue, snapping at her leg—
Rowan took the blow on her cuisse, rose like a wave and smashed down on him from above, crunching through his helmet as though it were wood. The world seemed to slow; as if in a dream, Ton-Kel watched Baraccus topple slowly backward and lie still, his broken helm falling away from his blood-smeared face.
The cry that vibrated in her throat went unvoiced. She saw Rowan raise her vi
sor and as if from a great distance heard her say, "First blood is mine. Patch him up and get out of here, and take him with you." The Cavalier strode off, her feet crunching heedlessly through the fallen leaves, and Ton-Kel finally made her legs move, lunging across the circle to kneel at Baraccus's side.
She pressed her shaking fingers beneath his jaw and gasped aloud with relief as she felt the pulse beating weakly within. "He's alive," she said as Paulo dropped to his knees beside her, her voice shaking as badly as her hands.
"Can you save him?" Paulo asked, his face blanched.
Ton-Kel fumbled at her side, cursing as she failed to find her dagger. "Get out your knife and cut his helmet off. Hurry." The Ranger whipped his blade from the sheath at his waist and neatly sliced the leather strap that held the shattered remains of the salet in place.
"Careful," she admonished him. She cradled the blood-soaked black head in her hands as Paulo gently lifted the helm away. Baraccus's eyes were closed, his olive skin almost grey beneath the streaks of bright blood.
She carefully lifted strands of his hair aside, trying to get a look at the extent of the wound, but the fading light and the sheer volume of blood foiled her. She would have to tackle this blind. "Paulo, go get me some water from the river."
The Ranger bounced to his feet and was gone, afire with the same urgency that burned in her own gut. Part of her, standing aside and watching, was surprised at her own fear. She didn't even like this man. How could the thought of his death fill her with such dread?
"If this is beyond your strength, I can be of service," said Ankh, kneeling across Baraccus's body from her.
Ton-Kel looked up, teeth bared like a bitch over a litter of pups as a bolt of fierce protectiveness shot through her. "Get away from him. He's my Cavalier. I'll take care of him." She could feel the energy suddenly crackling through her, lifting the fine hairs along her arms and burning like fire in her eyes.
Ankh lifted his hands in a gesture of peace and rose, shaking his head. "I understand your anger. I wish you good fortune, and hope he recovers." He paused. "And please feel free to return with your Cavalier to the inn where he may recover fully. I will speak to Rowan."
"She doesn't need to be spoken to — she needs to be chained like a mad dog," Ton-Kel retorted. "She is beyond reason. There is no excuse for this! What makes you think she will listen, even to you?"
Ankh shrugged, unmoved by her fury. "Much the same thing happened with the Red Triad, but their Cavalier is now resting upstairs at the inn and she ignores them. She'll do the same for you." He turned and walked away toward the bridge, while Ton-Kel stared open-mouthed at his back.
She had no more time to consider his words, however, for Paulo reappeared beside her, extending the battered cup he usually drank from. "Here," he said. "What else can I do?"
She took the cup from him, trying to refocus her thoughts on the matter at hand. "Here, help me. I need to rinse his hair away from the wound so I can see it. And I need to mix some ink in a bowl in my pouch there." She shrugged one shoulder to indicate the strap from which it hung. "Dig it out for me, and a little brush that should be with it, and the little green leather wallet."
Ignoring the occasional tugs as Paulo obediently dug through her bag, she bent over Baraccus's head, dribbling the water over his scalp.
It occurred to her that she had never before allowed anyone to touch that pouch, but the thought was distant and of far less import than the blood-matted hair beneath her hands.
Carefully, she lifted the hair away from the wound, which still pumped blood. Trying to assess the damage, her stomach knotted. What if the skull was cracked? She had never even tried treating so extensive an injury before. Were her abilities up to it?
But they had to be; there was no choice, if Baraccus was to live. And he had to. She would not let him die.
Again, that fierce protectiveness burned through her, and she drew a steadying breath. Beside her, Paulo extended bowl, brush, and wallet in shaking hands. "Here," she said to him, "support his head and don't let it fall in the dirt."
Carefully she transferred the weight of Baraccus's head into Paulo's hands, then wiped her hands on her trousers and picked up the bowl. She flipped open the wallet and spilled a tiny mound of the powder it contained into the bowl, then dabbed water from the cup and blood from the wound into it until it made a thin paste.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she drew a deep breath and called on the energy coursing within her. The symbols. The symbols she needed were of knitting, of weaving, of wholeness. If there was a general symbol of healing she didn't know it, but there was one for health, and one for cleansing. She called them to mind also, picturing them firmly, how they had to look. Maybe she should add the one for vigor as well.
When they were all there in her mind's eye as clearly as she could picture them, she opened her eyes, dabbed her brush in the liquid, and began to paint the symbols across Baraccus's brow.
A song rose in her throat, and she let it flow out. She didn't know where the music had come from; it had simply poured from her lips the first time she had tried healing someone, years ago. When she wasn't healing, she could never remember it, but it was there when needed, helped her focus her powers and free her mind for the energy to flow as it should. Wordless, the melody floated into the cool of the evening, creating a small pocket of warmth around the huddled Triad.
A feeling of rightness filled Ton-Kel, draining away her fear and leaving her feeling buoyant, at peace with her surroundings and the world in general. Baraccus would be well. Of course he would be. She was his Mystic, and she could heal him.
When the last of the symbols lay clear and perfect against his skin, she set down brush and bowl and spread her fingers over them. Closing her eyes, she abandoned herself entirely to the song, letting the wordless melody flow over and through her like water, carrying her awareness into the broken flesh and bone beneath her fingers. Energy coursed through her, tingling through her fingers.
Then the song was done. Ton-Kel blinked, feeling as though she were waking from a dream, and bent to examine her handiwork.
The symbols had faded to mere shadows dappling his skin. The Cavalier lay as if asleep, his breath slow and even. She pressed her fingers against his neck and found the pulse strong. I've done it, she thought, struggling with sudden disbelief.
It's never come to me so strongly before, so easily. Finally — a benefit from having been Chosen.
She looked up at Paulo and smiled. "He's going to be fine," she whispered, and was surprised to hear her voice so hoarse and weak. "We need to get him back to the inn."
Paulo beamed, relief returning the color to his face. "We need to get you both back to the inn. You look like you could use a few days' rest yourself." He clapped her on the shoulder. "Good work! And don't you worry; if Rowan tries to stop us, I'll fill her so full of arrows she'll look like a pin cushion."
Ton-Kel returned his grin, warmth suddenly chasing away her exhaustion. She looked from Paulo's cheerful face to Baraccus's sleeping one. So this is what it's supposed to feel like. This is my Triad. Mine!
As they rose, slinging Baraccus between them with no little difficulty, she mused over the new feelings budding inside her. She had never belonged anywhere or to anyone before. She had always valued her freedom above all other things, loved being a loner, a free spirit, answerable only to herself.
I'm bonding. A thrill that was as much fear as pleasure stole over her. I'm bound to these two men — we really do belong together. Maybe the differences don't matter so much as time goes on.
Whatever else that crazed Green Cavalier had done, she'd broken the first of the barriers between three very different people. Whether she knew it or not, she had made them into the Black Triad. Ton-Kel chuckled at the thought, and Paulo glanced at her from the other side of Baraccus's chest.
"What's so funny?" he gasped.
"I was never b
aptized as a child," she wheezed, throwing him a quick grin. "But I think I know what it must feel like."
Tales from Opa: Three Tales of Tir na n'Og Page 31
