by Trudie Skies
“Then you burn him.”
Tears ran down Alistar’s cheeks. “Mina, I’m begging, don’t burn me. Don’t.”
“I’m bleeding. I can’t summon my fire.” Garr rubbed his torn shirt and held up fingers smeared with his own blood. He’d been shot too. “I’ll hold him steady. Just one quick burst of fire. That’s all he needs.”
“You’re not burning me!” Alistar tried to shuffle away but Garr grabbed his wrists and pinned him down. “Get your hands off me!” Alistar writhed and hissed a flurry of words in his Neu Bosan language, but Garr held on until Alistar’s strength waned and he slumped in Garr’s arms.
“Now, Sword Dancer!”
“Mina! Don’t!”
Alistar’s eyes were filled with absolute terror. She was the monster of his fears, but if she didn’t do this, if she didn’t become that monster, he’d bleed to death and she’d lose her friend.
She took Alistar’s thigh.
“Mina, Arl, don’t—”
Flame burst from her palm.
Alistar shrieked. His leg spasmed, but Garr held it steady.
A heartbeat later and Alistar’s screams cut off. He collapsed, unconscious.
She sat back and gaped at the steaming wound. The flesh looked red, raw, pulpy, and stank of cooked kabob, but the blood flow had stopped. Garr fetched a canteen from his horse and attempted to clean the wound, then dress it with a bandage.
Mina only watched, too numb for words.
Unconscious on the ground, Alistar seemed calm, almost serene as Garr worked, though his skin remained as pale as a Hartnord.
“I burned him.” She stared at her hands stained with her friend’s blood.
Garr wiped sweat from his brow, leaving a bloody smear. “You saved his life.”
“He’ll never trust me again.”
“You saved him. But we’re not out of this yet. Listen to me, we need to travel on—we need to get him to a healer.”
“Myryn—”
“We can’t go back there.” Garr jerked his thumb at the bodies littered behind them.” That’s where they followed us from.”
Gods, she’d forgotten about the bodies. Dark ripples were already crawling over their former selves. Shadows. She needed to question them, but not like this. Not with Alistar wounded and lifeless. Not with Garr watching.
The blood bond tugged; her Lunei instincts were already asking her to burn the bodies, but they’d hurt her sorran—what afterlife did these men deserve?
She scrambled to her feet. “I need to burn the bodies.”
Garr looked at her, dumbfounded. “Forget the bodies. We don’t have time—”
“That’s exactly what an Ash Maker would say.”
“The dead have a luxury the living don’t. All the time in the world. Your Bosan needs a healer now.”
He was right. They didn’t have time to burn multiple bodies, and she couldn’t stomach the thought of summoning her fire now, not when the stench of burned flesh and blood danced on her tongue—and with Alistar’s screams fresh in her mind.
Garr stretched to his feet. “I’ll take your Bosan. He’s light enough to ride on Dancer with me. You can tether his horse to yours.”
“Grenai. We ride south through the night.” Raj would still be waiting in Grenai. There was no other Green Hand she’d trust with her sorran’s life.
They gathered the horses quickly. As she approached the campfire to snuff it out, she noticed Garr pawing at one of the bodies.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for coin.”
“Seriously? You’re looting the bodies? You’re disgusting.”
“What, you think they deserve to keep it? In case they need it in the afterlife?”
“We don’t have time for this.”
“What have we here?” Garr stood up with a bottle in his hand. Not purple but clear—with a silver liquid inside.
Lune’s Tears.
Why did the raiders carry Lune’s Tears? Were they working for Prince Wulfhart?
“Is this some sort of Sandarian liquor I’ve never heard of?” Garr popped open the top.
“Don’t drink it, you fool!” She yanked the bottle from his hands. “It’s—it’s complicated. But it’s not liquor.”
Garr grunted his disappointment. “Fine. Help me get your friend onto my horse.”
Mina shoved the bottle into her pocket and ignored the urgent pull of her blood. If Lune wanted these bodies burned so badly, she could fall from the sky and do it herself.
39
THE LONG PATH BACK
It took a night and half a day of hard riding before they reached Grenai. Alistar slept the entire way in Garr’s arms, though the Ash Maker didn’t once complain. With his help, Mina twice washed and changed Alistar’s wound and tried to force some water past his lips, but Alistar tossed and turned in fitful dreams.
Of all the lessons she’d learned from the Green Hands during her childhood, she knew fever wasn’t a good sign.
Raj waited inside the Temple of Gai, organizing shipments to Solus. He took in Alistar straight away. Mina sat outside Alistar’s room on a stone bench, listening to his moans and the coughs of other sick Gaislanders occupying the temple. Her mouth was parched, her clothes dirty and bloody, and her body hollow, but she refused to move and instead stared at the shafts of Rahnlight that pierced between the vines covering the temple’s glass windows.
Warmth bloomed through the blood bond. Are you safe? it seemed to ask.
Gods knew what emotions she’d been sending through the House bond to her family, but she tried to send her reassurances, even if half-hearted.
Garr had wandered off to find food or drink or something. On his return, his clothes were still bloody, like hers, but his arm had been wrapped with a fresh bandage. She’d been so concerned for her sorran, she’d forgotten Garr had been hurt too.
“How’s your wound?”
He rolled his shoulder. “Just a scratch. You need to drink, Sword Dancer.” He offered her a canteen from his belt.
She lifted it to her lips and caught a whiff of strong alcohol. “This isn’t water.”
“You haven’t slept. The healers have a spare cot. That’ll help you get started.”
“I’m not leaving him.”
“He’s not going anywhere, and you’re not helping him by wasting away here.”
“Since when did you care?”
“Since you saved my life.” His amber eyes held a sincerity that sent a rush of anger in her gut. Sure, she’d saved his life, but her sorran—her gods-damn friend—was sick with fever in the room beyond. She was his master; his life was her responsibility, and he’d cried and begged as she forced her own fire onto his flesh.
She was nothing but a monster.
The curtain to Alistar’s room parted and Raj stepped out.
She pulled herself up onto shaking legs. “How is he?”
Raj rubbed a stray sweaty strand of hair from his eyeline. “His leg is, um, it’s pretty bad. We’re cutting away the infected skin, but… it’s deep. We might need to amputate.”
Amputate.
Amputate.
The word reverberated through her.
She slumped against the wall and the canteen slid from her hands.
If he lost his leg, he’d never walk again, never swing his sword, never jump on boats, never… never forgive her.
Garr scooped the canteen and offered it to her again. “You saved his life.”
She smacked his hand aside. “You. You told me to burn him. You used him as bait. You wanted him dead!”
“If I wanted your Bosan friend dead, I would have let him bleed. He pulled the arrow out and made his injury worse. I’m no healer, but the blood’s supposed to stay inside.”
“You didn’t burn.”
“I was wounded—”
“A scratch, you called it. You brag of your legendary power, Ash Maker, but I’ve
yet to see you summon a single flame. We were outnumbered by raiders, and you didn’t even think to burn to protect us?”
“You didn’t use your legendary power either, High Priestess.”
“I burned my friend!” And his screams would haunt her dreams forever. “But you’re as much a monster as I!”
“I bled for you. I killed for you. What more do you want?”
She shoved him aside and marched out of the temple. Raj called after her, but neither he nor the Ash Maker followed. She wandered and kept wandering, not paying attention to where she went, nor caring. Eventually, she found herself by the bench where had Alistar sat, staring north to Myryn. She sank onto the stone with her head cradled in her hands.
She’d burned her dearest friend.
Defenseless and screaming for her to stop.
She’d become the monster of her childhood tales.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the tiny bottle of Lune’s Tears. If she didn’t have blood fire, none of this would have happened. Gods, they wouldn’t even be here. If every Fire Walker drank this, they wouldn’t be marching to war.
Rahn gave them the power to turn their own blood into deadly flame. Why?
For all of her proclamations that the Fire Walkers were innocent, there were enough of her kind that used blood fire to harm. Men like Saeed. Perhaps Prince Wulfhart and Hiram were right. So long as anyone in Sandair possessed blood fire, eventually someone would misuse it.
Or be misused because of it.
She turned the bottle over and it glittered with all the stars of the sky. Lune’s Tears. With this, she wouldn’t burn again. Alistar wouldn’t fear her.
The tiny bottle shook in her grip.
A shadow fell upon her. She shoved the bottle into her pocket. Garr stood over her and offered his canteen without uttering a word. She snatched it and gulped a strong fruity red that sent fresh tears to her eyes.
Garr chewed his lip as though restraining himself from words that would make her yell. “Your healer friend wanted me to tell you that your Bosan is sleeping—”
“He has a name.”
“—and that Grenai hosts the best healers in the world and they’ll do all they can. But they’ll have to keep him here for a few weeks. Maybe longer.”
She couldn’t afford to remain in Grenai for weeks. It had taken almost two weeks to reach Gaisland, and then another three days to ride to Myryn and back. The Fire Walkers still needed her, and they were running out of time.
Scarcely more than two weeks remained before she’d be expected to march to the front lines. There would be only days left, if even that, by the time she reached Solus. She was the only one who could appeal to the Council and stop war.
But she didn’t want to leave Alistar. She couldn’t bear it.
“You’re not a monster,” Garr murmured.
“Aren’t I? I burned my friend. I killed two men.”
“You saved your friend and protected him from bandits who would have cut his throat and robbed his corpse. That makes you a hero in most tales. I’ve met real monsters, Sword Dancer, and they’re a lot uglier than you.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“Supposed to be.” He gave a slight smile, but the amber in his eyes dulled. “I’ve killed men.” He tugged at his stained shirt. “That’s their blood, and it doesn’t fill me with joy.”
She glanced down to her own shirt. Alistar’s blood. Raider blood. All the same color, and she was no stranger to it, yet seeing it hadn’t gotten any easier. It didn’t make her feel like the hero of her childhood tales. Would Malik the Merciless have spared a thought for the lives he took? “I thought Ash Makers enjoyed killing.”
“Like we enjoy drinking blood?”
“That’s what the tales say.”
Garr sat down beside her. “And how many of those tales are true?”
Perhaps the tales had been exaggerated. But the Lunei wouldn’t have painted them as monsters without reason.
He rubbed a bloody smear from the back of his hand. “Monsters enjoy killing. Men don’t.”
What was Garr? More man than monster? You’re as much a monster as I. “You’re right. I’m no help to the Fire Walkers or Bosan by staying here. But you should stay. War won’t come this far west.” She dug out a coin pouch and tossed the entire thing into his lap. “What you do when I leave is none of my concern.” He could return to Myryn and take the nearest boat to nowhere for all she cared, and at least then she’d have fulfilled her promise to Jonan to get rid of him forever.
He tossed the pouch back. “I’m your guardian, aren’t I? That’s why you dragged me to this bug-infested forest.”
“I’m giving you a way out, you fool. Take it.” She shoved the pouch back into his hands.
“We were attacked by six men. They could be tracking us still. You won’t make it across the plains without me.”
“Try me.”
“Are you always this stubborn?”
“I could ask you the same. I thought you didn’t want to fight in a pointless war?”
“I don’t.” He gently pushed the pouch into her lap. “Take your coins before I escort them to the nearest tavern.”
“Fine, but we’re riding at dawn.” She shoved the coins into her sahn and passed him the canteen.
Garr took a long gulp and gasped. “At dawn, then.”
Mina stopped by the Temple of Gai before leaving. Raj informed her that Alistar was still sleeping, though she wasn’t sure if this was a gentle lie and Alistar simply didn’t want to see her. The Guardian of Gai also visited. His hands were wrapped in thick bandages, though he still intended to lead his men into war, even if he couldn’t wield a sword himself. He offered to write to Hiram—or dictate a letter at least—and pass on news of his son. One less task for her to agonize over.
Her heart ached at the thought of returning without Alistar or Raj, but duty pulled her east.
Truth be told, she was glad Garr had chosen to journey with her. The nights were lonely without her friends, and camping in the forest was a jittery experience compared to the Duslands, where the only howls she needed to worry about were an oncoming dry storm. The trees and the bugs and the damp heat were Alistar and Raj’s life, not hers.
Two nights later, she and Garr passed Gai’s Tree and emerged out of the Emerald Forest into bright Rahnlight. The air brushed along Mina’s scalp in a refreshing breeze, but she had no time to enjoy it.
They were back in the Solands. And in fourteen days, the kingdom’s soldiers would march north with her Fire Walkers whether she made it in time or not.
She needed to ride fast.
They’d barely left the shade of Gaisland when Garr called out behind her, and as she slowed Luna’s pace, the whistling wind was replaced with thunder.
Horses.
“We’re being followed, Sword Dancer!”
Raiders. She drew her sword. “Get in front!”
Three men on horseback came bounding across the plains. She squinted in the Rahnlight: these wore the same headscarf and leather armor as the raiders in Gaisland. Whoever they were, they were gods-damn persistent.
She kicked Luna with a hoyt and led the raiders on a chase. They soon caught up—there was no outrunning them when she’d run her own horse ragged these past few weeks. And Garr’s beast was hopeless as a racehorse besides.
Two raiders rode up on either side to pin her in, scimitars raised.
One she recognized immediately—the Duslander. He waved a hand in a command to stop.
Her lungs burned as she breathed into the wind. “What do you want?”
The Duslander pointed behind her.
She glanced to Garr. His horse flagged behind, and the third raider easily kept pace with him, with a steady bow aimed at his chest. Garr didn’t stand a chance.
“Tell me what you want!” she yelled.
The Duslander sliced his sword down in signal.
>
The arrow flew through the air.
Garr yanked his horse back and the arrow whizzed inches in front of his face.
She barged Luna into the raider on her left. She ducked a slice of his sword, yanked hard on Luna’s reins, and spun around to race back for Garr.
The next arrow pierced his horse’s leg.
The horse screeched and bucked. Garr yelled and wrapped his arms around the horse’s neck to keep from getting thrown. Another arrow hit the horse’s abdomen, and another punctured its neck. The horse crashed into the dirt and tossed Garr clean from his saddle.
The archer stopped his horse in front of Garr and nocked an arrow.
“No!” Mina screamed. She was still five horse lengths away—too far—and the Duslander on his fast horse had caught up with her. He swung his scimitar at Luna’s neck. Mina blocked it with Hawk and hissed as the clang reverberated through her tired muscles.
The Duslander pushed down with his full strength, despite the injury to his arm from Alistar’s arrow. These weren’t just common raiders, that much was clear. Who were they?
From the corner of her eye, she watched Garr dive behind his still-thrashing horse to shield himself from a barrage of arrows. Then he threw his dagger at the bowman’s horse and hit his mark.
The horse fell, throwing its owner. The Duslander jerked his head toward the commotion, distracted enough for Mina to pull her sword free.
Hawk shook in her grip and her heart battered at her chest. “Who sent you? A Hartnord or a Bosan?” Though there were many Houses who might have hired raiders to track her down and kill her, these raiders came from Myryn. They’d attacked with restraint, because they didn’t want her killed. They wanted her alive.
And they carried Lune’s Tears.
Not even Hiram would be callous enough to send assassins after his own son. Would he?
“Who’s paying you? For what purpose?”
The Duslander watched her with wary eyes but didn’t utter a single word.
“Emir!” the bowman yelled with a garbled voice.
The Duslander—Emir—whipped his head around to his companion as an arrow whooshed past his face.
