by Dana Marton
He hesitated, then his head jerked once in agreement. And I healed him at last—as much as I was able.
Most of my healing worked by drawing an injury into my own body, then letting my healing spirit repair it there. A burn, a cut, a fever I could take. A broken bone I could soften, then knit together by following the pattern of my own good bones. But the prince’s injury I could neither take into me, nor follow the pattern of my own body to repair. Our parts in question were mismatched. I could but take what remained of the infection and draw his pain, this last a temporary measure. As long as his flesh wasn’t fully healed, the pain would return. Yet what little I was able to do helped. His tightly drawn eyes relaxed.
“Go!” I shouted over the din.
“Are you certain?”
“They need you more out there than we need you in here.”
He was through the broken doorway before I could finish, calling back an order for his guards to remain with me. Commander Durak followed him anyway. I insisted that the rest of them go as well. The prince sent four of them back.
I watched him catch up with the captain, the two in heated discussion, then the captain shouted, making changes. Just in time. We nearly crashed into the Kadar ship as we pulled up alongside it.
The ships scraped along each other. I lurched, grabbing on to Marga for support, and managed to stay on my feet. Our men on deck rushed to the enemy ship to throw their hooks and planks. I watched the ones who hung back, injured. Many were burned, their shirts melted right into the skin on their backs.
My healing power rose, and I felt it arc from my body. It had happened before—at the siege of Karamur for the first time. Mostly, my healing required closer proximity, my hand on my patient. But during the siege, and a few other times since, I had been able to heal from afar.
As much as I had grumbled at Batumar for insisting that I use only herbs during our ocean voyage, now I was grateful to him. My powers were strong and ready.
I took away the agony of the injuries first, dropping to my knees when it became too much. I refused to stop. I repaired burn after burn, man by man, until the blood in my veins turned into a river of pain.
I thought the Shahala might help from the harbor once they sensed my power. At the siege of Karamur, they had been able to join in. But the enemy must have trapped them in their houses, because no help arrived this time. We would free them and soon, I swore to the spirits.
While I healed, our sailors lashed the two ships together, and our soldiers rushed forward to board the Barmorid.
Our soldiers fought hard for every foothold. The enemy gave little. From time to time, I even thought it might be the Kerghi who would conquer us, but each time, we prevailed. The endless days of practice during our voyage paid off in full. For most of our soldiers, this was their first naval battle, but they fought well.
Men from both sides were cut down and fell into the water. Those of ours that I could reach with my power I did, healing them enough so at least they could swim.
I was stanching a heavily bleeding head injury when a shout rose, drawing my attention to the wharf where Kerghi soldiers clambered into boats, paddling toward us to kill us in the water once our burning ship sank. It did look like it might. Most everything on deck seemed to be burning. Our sailors rushed to put out the flames, but they fought in vain. The flames were winning. Smoke began to fill the cabin.
Marga paced, wild-eyed, shaking her head over and over, trying to shake the smoke from her nostrils. The tiger was near fearless, but she hated fire. She roared when the back of the cabin suddenly collapsed outward and fell into the water below with a splash we could hear even over the battle din.
I shoved her toward the opening. “Go! Jump! Fight!”
She hesitated to leave me. Then I pushed harder, and she loped forward at last, splashing into the sea. In but a moment, shouts of alarm rose from the men below. Then a scream.
Marga was fighting. I could not cower in the cabin any longer either. The fire arrows had stopped, and, in any case, the burning cabin no longer offered protection—just the opposite.
I had healed the worst of the injuries for now. Other tasks yet waited. I gathered my strength, then pushed my way through the Landrian guards, shouting, “We need to fight the fire!”
They had no choice but to follow as I grabbed a bucket and headed to the nearest water barrel that held the last of our precious sweet water. If we won the day, the barrel could be refilled. If we lost, the lack of water would not matter.
“My lady!” Boscor called, standing in the doorway, but I had no time to reassure him.
The guards would not leave me. They helped me instead. Time stopped as we battled the flames, coughing from the smoke and sweating from the heat. But we made progress. We triumphed over the fire.
Marga too had done well. By the time I looked over the railing, wiping soot from my face, only a handful of enemy boats remained in the water. The tiger had been busy turning them over.
Our caravels were catching up with us and joining the battle. Our archers were picking off the enemy survivors who still struggled among the waves. Now and then, Marga swooped in and grabbed one by the neck, then shook the man until his spine snapped.
She knew how to fight, how to kill without being distracted. She did not stop to eat from the prey but moved on to the next enemy and the next. The blood of battle tigers ran in her veins.
Once Lord Karnagh’s ship reached us, he gave the command, and the Selorm tigers too jumped into the water. They finished off the last of the enemy, then swam for shore to clear a foothold for us there.
By the time our troops disembarked, the ground they reached was red with blood. The tigers were tiring, but the soldiers from our caravels were fresh. They pushed the enemy back from the harbor, little by little.
Batumar fought in the middle of the battle, his great sword dripping crimson, his tall frame and wide shoulders standing out among the other warriors. He was like an avenging god come to fight among mortals. I checked on him from afar from time to time, but stayed on the flagship, setting bones, stitching up wounds, stopping men from bleeding to death.
Only when I had seen to the worst of the injuries on the ship did I rush to disembark. More of our men needed my help on land.
Prince Graho caught up with me. His clothes were splattered with blood, but I saw no new injury on him save for a cut on the back of his hand, which was shallow enough not to need immediate assistance.
“You must stay on the wharf, my lady.” He stepped in front of me to block my way. He took Batumar’s request to protect me seriously. “We might have to withdraw to the ship if the battle turns.”
I skirted around him and kept going, heading for the nearest man on the ground. “I have full confidence, my lord,” I called over my shoulder, “that you will not let danger reach me.”
He argued no longer but sent forth two of his men with “Find our wounded and bring them to the Lady Tera right here.”
He sent another two men to fetch clean well water from the section of the city our men had already taken, and any clean cloth that could be used for bandages.
The moans of the injured and the cries of the dying surrounded me. I barely noticed as the noise of the battle moved farther from the harbor. The royal guards brought more and more men to me. Prince Graho inspected them first and led me from one to the next, in order of greatest need.
He even patched up some lesser injuries himself, once water and bandages arrived, and barked orders to his guards to do the same. He had seen me work often enough. Now he showed his men what he had learned. His wound must have pulled and pained him once again, but he refused to allow his injury to hold him back.
Soon Shahala healers appeared to help, a handful at first, then a few more, coming in a slow trickle. They lent me their potions and implements freely. All of us worked together. The simple joy of being with my own people once again renewed my strength.
Marga found me too, padding across the field
of bodies, sniffing but not touching. I sent her toward the narrow beach next to the harbor to keep her away from the dead and the dying. She could fish in the shallows to fill her stomach.
I healed the injured through the afternoon, working myself into sweaty exhaustion, until Batumar appeared before me at long last at twilight, wearing blood-soaked armor and a darkly satisfied expression.
He smiled that rugged, scarred warlord smile of his that always set my heart aflutter. Then he pulled me up from my knees and into his strong warrior arms, and the look in his eyes changed to one of hunger. He was often…ravenous after battle.
His obsidian gaze held mine as he said, “We have the port city.”
I searched his face for any sign of pain, running my hands over as much of him as I could reach. “Are you injured?”
“Nay.”
Thank the spirits. “Have we lost many?”
“We had the numbers for a speedy victory. Our losses could be much worse.”
“What of the enemy?”
“Slain.”
“All?”
“Save a few we left alive for questioning.”
I shook my head, regret and chagrin stiffening my muscles. He knew this was not my way. I wished always to offer terms of surrender.
“The decision was made.” His tone was heavy and hard. “We cannot take prisoners with us into the next battle, nor can we leave them here behind our backs.”
The decision was made. He meant Lord Karnagh, Tomron, and himself—three warriors making a warrior’s decision.
“If we wish for a different world, must we not make different decisions, my lord?” I asked. “Look at what men who commit senseless murder wrought on Rabeen. The new world we will build must be better.”
His gaze would not leave mine. “You cannot win a war with kindness. You have seen this and worse on the mainland.”
I shook my head to shake his words from my ears. I believed with all my heart that kindness could not only survive but triumph under even the worst circumstances.
“I thought we would… When we reached home…” I released the pent-up air from my lungs and softened in his arms again. He had won the city. He was hale. Sheharree was free. Now was not the time to quarrel.
“Are we safe here, then?” Prince Graho limped over and broke the momentary silence. “What about enemy reinforcements? Should we not prepare for the possibility?”
“Since none appeared thus far, it is doubtful that they have a great number of troops anywhere near,” Batumar responded, letting me go and turning to the prince. “Sheharree is the largest Shahala city, the largest port. The enemy would have put their main southern force here. If other troops are strewn across the Shahala lands, they are smaller bands. Should they arrive, we shall stand against them. But I do not think any of the enemy got away to give warning to the rest.”
I spotted Tomron striding toward us, covered in blood. I hurried to meet him halfway. “Are you injured?”
“Kerghi blood for the most, my lady. I need but a good bath to wash it off.” He looked at Prince Graho and Batumar behind me. “The city delegation is at the harbor’s entrance. They wish to speak to us.”
To offer us an official Shahala welcome—including the traditional feast.
I could barely stifle a moan, so much did I wish for a meal. Dinner and a bed on solid ground tonight sounded like a dream—a bed that would not toss under me with every errant wave.
Before I could say anything, Tomron added, “Lord Karnagh sends a message. He is holding some beggar who is demanding to see the Lady Tera. He claims to be the Guardian of the Gate. Lord Karnagh says the youth is likely addled in the head.”
Batumar caught up to us, and I shot him a hopeful glance. “To have the Guardian with us… But how could he have reached the island?”
Last we knew, the young Guardian had been trapped on the mainland. When his father had sacrificed his life to close Dahru’s Gate, the son had been visiting the Gates of other realms, learning, as had been his duty.
I wiped my hands on the bloody rag that hung from my herb belt. “I must speak with him.”
“As you wish, my lady.” Tomron sent one of his men to Lord Karnagh, then hurried off to organize the harbor’s defenses.
I might have been exhausted to the bone, but Tomron’s news went a long way toward restoring my spirits. I smiled at Batumar. “The Guardian of the Gate might be here on Dahru.”
Where we were too, home at long last. I pictured our three well-armed ships sailing into Kaharta Reh. We had a chance. We had the element of surprise on our side.
Sheharree was already free. We had won our first battle.
Now we would replenish our food and water. Now we would fill the empty spaces on our ships with Shahala healers to aid us in our battles up north. Now we would fight for freedom for all our people.
Now we would win.
Chapter Thirteen
(Sheharree)
Blood had dyed my pale brown dress a hundred shades of red, from fresh crimson to dry brown. As happy, excited, and impatient as I was to meet with the Shahala Elders, I wished to clean up beforehand. Except, on the ship, I would have only a bucket for cleaning. In the house of our host, I would be able to have a true bath in a wooden tub. My aching body begged for warm water, enough to cover every patch of my skin.
I sank into the fantasy for a spell, then let it go and resigned myself to cold seawater in a bucket.
“We best clean up before we meet with anyone,” I said to Batumar, then turned to Prince Graho. “We shall not make the Shalala delegation wait long.”
While the prince sent a message with his guard, Batumar and I walked back to the Shield. His black boiled-leather breastplate did not show stains, but it did show myriad scars where swords had tried to cut through to his heart. I walked a little closer to him, close enough so our arms would brush against each other.
“You are beginning to think like a war queen.” He smiled as we walked up the plank. Exhaustion deepened the lines around his eyes, but he was clearly satisfied with the day.
So was I, even if we were not finished yet. “We need a tight alliance with the Shahala. We need them to trust us, to believe in us, believe that we can take back the island. They need to see leaders and power. I hope to take at least a hundred healers north with us and have our ships fully resupplied.”
“Some of the Shahala farmers and merchants might join our army,” Batumar said. “Our soldiers were farmers and merchants once. If a farmer can wield a sickle, he can wield a sword. And merchants carry swords already, to fight off robbers.”
I shook my head. The warlord did not know my people as I did. “The Shahala will not join us in the fight. They will help with healing.” And I was grateful for that. “But they will go no further.”
We crossed the deck and reached the front hatch that stood open, then climbed down below.
I walked into our room first, glancing back at Batumar. “Where is Urdy?”
Batumar scowled. “Ran off already, from the looks of it.”
I stripped off my blood-soaked dress. “Wherever he is, I wish him no harm.”
“The question is, my Tera, does he wish us harm?” Batumar dropped his leather armor into the corner, where it fell with a hard clatter onto the worn wood. “Emperor Drakhar’s spies in Uramit no doubt informed the emperor when we set sail from the mainland. And then we find an assassin on the very island where we are most likely to come out of the hardstorms. An enemy ship is anchored in the very harbor on Dahru where we would be expected to go next. All by mere chance?”
“How could the enemy know how long it would take us to cross the storms?”
“The pirates know the hardstorms. It is not that difficult to make a pirate talk. They are happy to take coin.”
I was not convinced and let my expression show it. Batumar did not press his point. Neither of us had any proof one way or the other.
We washed hurriedly, while I stole glances at him to assure m
yself that he truly was unhurt. He had a fresh shirt on before I could catch a glimpse either of his chest or his back. I did see plenty of bruises on his arms and legs, not to mention fresh cuts on top of his old, white scars.
“If you even think about calling those bramble scratches injuries,” he warned, “I shall be offended.”
I rinsed my hair in the bucket, then combed my fingers through the strands. “You could be sensible, my lord, and let me disinfect them. Even a very small injury can cause a dangerous infection. Prince Graho can vouch for that.”
The warlord hesitated for a moment. As he loosened the neck of his shirt, the teasing glint disappeared from his eyes. “Maybe some herbal wash, then, before we bed down tonight.”
I bit back a smile. “Very well.”
I headed to the door, but he caught my wrist and pulled me against his hard chest. That look of ravenous hunger returned in his gaze. With his free hand, he reached under my chin and tipped my head up. “Do you know what I find most healing, my Tera?”
“Camel urine mixed with powdered goat eyes?” I asked with all innocence. “A wisewoman in Uramit told me it cures near anything.”
The warlord claimed my mouth with a warning growl. Ah. My eyelids drifted closed, but not before I saw his eyes crinkle with laughter.
He might only have meant to show me the dangers of teasing a warlord, but his kiss stole my breath, my thoughts, my heart. By the spirits, how I wanted this war to be finished.
As if he heard my thoughts, he eased back, promising in a rough tone, “We are back home. We will retake the island. We will live in peace again.”
I lay my head against his shoulder and gave thanks to the spirits that we still had each other. I knew how easily Batumar could have been one of the bodies left on the battlefield. He always rushed into the thick of the fighting. On the mainland, I had seen him take on two, even three, of the enemy at once. He gave no thought to his own safety, only to the safety of his men and winning.
I wrapped my arms around him and raised my lips for a second kiss. His fingers tangling in my hair, he responded with heat in his eyes and a carnal smile. And perhaps we would have done more than kiss if Urdy had not walked in at that moment.
