His heart thumped loudly with the thought of it.
He had to act. He couldn’t wait. He might not get another chance. Now or never . . .
A crack broke his concentration, like a huge old tree snapping under the weight of a gale.
Rin jerked up. Around him, sleeping Northmen flailed awake, gaping.
Then one of the guards pressed a hand to his chest, puzzled. He blinked a few times. He wavered. He opened his mouth to object.
“Anaaakh!” Garden screamed, even as the guard collapsed, hands dark with his own blood.
The camp sprang into motion. Everyone scrambled for their guns, even as two more shots rang out, and another fell.
A flurry of profanities spilled from Garden’s mouth as he reached for his gun. Rin ducked into cover. Others returned fire. The clearing burst into a thunderous cacophony.
A shadow—there! It slipped through the trees. Guns followed. Shots peppered the forest in wild abandon, splintering bark, scattering foliage like feathers from a ripped sack.
Only Jerad and Garden saw: from the opposite end of the clearing, a flash of bright steel.
Garden’s mouth fell open—
Now!
Jerad heaved himself into the man, toppling them both. A gun went off in his ear. His head rang. Noise vanished into a shrill whine. He might have yelled, though no sound reached his ears.
He seized Garden’s hand in both of his, jerked it up and away, and slammed it into the ground. The gun tumbled free.
So easy?
Until something pushed into his ribs. Jerad twisted and fire raked across his bones.
He roared, already wrestling for the knife, kicking and twisting, elbows, knees, and fists. But Garden was stronger and more experienced. The man wrenched the blade away and stabbed again.
Jerad rolled. The blade swung and ripped across his arm, even as he scrambled away, breathing hard.
Garden was saying something, sneering. There was a murderous glint in his eyes as he came at Jerad.
Jerad barely managed to get his arms up before Garden lunged. Another sting of pain. He grappled madly, desperate to get a hold on the knife. It nicked his palm, his elbow, down his forearm. Finally he latched on, and the hilt slipped instantly through his bleeding hand.
Garden seized Jerad’s throat, fingers biting into his skin. He leered over him, flipped the knife so he could punch the blade up—
“Jerad!”
Jerad’s hearing returned like a thunderclap.
He knew that voice!
And so did Garden. His teeth flashed into a snarl. He glanced over his shoulder.
Jerad slammed his knee between the man’s leg, and when Garden grunted and rolled, Jerad heaved himself up, bleeding and roaring like a wounded bear. His fists swung madly, heedless of the steel between them. Thinking only of that voice.
She was here. She had come back. And Garden, in all his grinning cruelty, was the only thing that stood between them.
Hyranna Elduna
As soon as Tandra Yourk took down the guards, Hyranna knew what she was supposed to do. Yet for a moment, she was frozen in terror.
The guns pounded on every side, a world fallen into chaos. Wild, aimless destruction exploded around her.
Tandra dashed through the trees, drawing their fire away from the slaves. Now was Hyranna’s chance to move. Now. And then Alutan leapt out at the other end of the clearing. His sword spun, a wide, strong arc. The slaver was cut down even as he turned.
Two more noticed. Guns flashed and one took Alutan straight in the chest.
No!
So fast. So horrible. Balduin’s father, the man he’d waited for for ten years, the man who’d saved her life, who’d followed her into the madness—
Fury engulfed her. She screamed and dashed towards the slaves. Cut them loose. Do it fast.
She was instantly exposed. One saw her and aimed, but Alutan leapt on him with a cry.
She seized the nearest rope and began to cut, even as she scanned the huddle of frightened slaves. They were cowering and wide-eyed, cries running between them. But one was missing. The only one Hyranna cared to see. Gone. Gone.
Her heart sank into the ground. She was too late. She’d failed.
She cut one loose, and another, and another, even as tears blurred her eyes.
“Hyranna! He’s alive!” An older woman shook free of the frayed ropes. “Garden took him.”
Panic and hope sprang up together. “Where?”
“That way.” The woman pointed towards the river.
Hyranna saw two men wrestling and one drove the other to the ground. It was Garden. And he raised his fist. No, a knife!
Her breath caught.
“Jerad!” she screamed. Everything else flew from her mind. Garden was going to kill him!
She sprang across the trampled earth.
Her cry distracted Garden, just for a moment. Jerad struck. He threw him over, lashed out, wild and seized with delirious hope. His body became a battering log, fists his only weapons. The knife spun away, flashing across the ground. Garden snarled in hatred, fending off the blows, twisting and grappling. Abruptly, he was fighting for his life, and he knew it.
Almost there! Hyranna thought. Almost there!
One of Garden’s hands scrambled for his gun, his knife, anything. It found a stone.
“Jerad, look out!”
He cracked Jerad in the side of the head. Jerad collapsed and Garden kicked him off. With startling speed, he spun and rolled neatly to his feet.
He met her now in a crouch, bleeding and sweating, and somehow unchanged. His lips parted, grinning viciously. His eyes were grey. Grey after all, unchanged from when she’d seen them through the Aktyr’s dead wash.
Hyranna halted. She noticed another man, roped to a nearby tree, pale and bloody and bruised. And suddenly within reach of Garden’s knife. Was that Mag? She tightened her jaw. She glanced back at Jerad. He was unconscious, bleeding from a dozen cuts. Her poor Jerad!
“Step away from him, you brute, or I’ll kill you!” she said.
“Is that so, little Todaby!”
“It is!” She brandished the knife at him.
Garden chuckled. “You know, I rather thought you dead, after my glimpse of poor Whiset. But ain’t it wonderful, chance bringing you back to me safe and sound after all. I was beginning to miss you, Todaby.”
“Shut it!” She stuck her knife out as far as she could, part bravery, part desperation—anything to distract him from Mag’s foot as it dragged Garden’s knife closer and closer. “I’ve had enough of your talk, and what happened to Whiset can happen again. Just you try anything, and I’ll flatten you too!”
“Is that so?” His voice dropped, laughing silently at her, eyes glinting. “Oh, how I know you’d love to.” He took a step towards her. “Then do it. Come on, little Meeka.” He took another step.
She backed away.
Mistake.
He sprang at her. She tried to dodge, slashing as she did so. She might have even hit something. But he grabbed her arm, twisting. The knife slipped from her grasp and her feet tangled, and when he shoved her, she fell with a cry.
She landed hard. Right next to a gun.
Hope flared. She seized the thing, wrapping her fingers around the trigger, just as Garden lunged. She pulled.
Nothing. No bang. No bullet coming out. Her chest went tight with panic. She was dead. Garden tore it out of her grasp and drove a boot into her stomach. Then cocked it back, aiming it straight at her.
“Don’t play with things you don’t understand, darling. First things first. Pull the hammer back, see?”
Jerad groaned and started to shift. She could hear shouting from the other end of the camp.
She dared not even look to see what was happening. Her heart was pounding at the sight of the barrel, the smoking emptiness, only a span from her face.
Garden grabbed something off the ground next to Jerad. A pack of supplies? He slung it over his shoulder,
then seized her by her shirt, dragging her to her feet. She bit back a cry of alarm. A moment later, he jerked her around, one arm crushing her against him, while the other pressed the gun to her head.
“One wrong move, and that’s it, Todaby. Singing’s over. So what are you waiting for, aye? You going to flatten me, as I recall. Hmm?”
She took a gasping breath, his stench threatening to overwhelm her. Tandra was running towards them. Alutan was holding off the remaining Northman. All the others lay scattered across the camp, dead or groaning from their wounds—except for the slaves. The slaves were moving, working at the rope Hyranna had started to cut, frantic to get everyone free.
“Hold it!” Garden hollered. “Hold it right there, or I put a bullet in this pretty thing’s head, you hear?”
She felt herself being dragged back, two steps, three. Back towards the treeline.
No, no, no . . .
Tandra ground to a halt, face twisted in disgust. And then she saw Mag. She changed colour. Even from a dozen steps away, Hyranna could see she was trembling. Rage poured out of her blue eyes.
“You bleeding bastard! Gods be, I’m going to rip your eyes out of your head and feed ‘em to you. You hear me?”
“One more step and your pathetic turnie dies. And then she dies.”
She stopped. Garden meant it. Tremors ran through his body, his voice pulled taut. He was scared.
“Now drop your gun!” he snapped. “Do it now!”
Hyranna wasn’t sure Tandra was even capable of that.
“Aunt . . . Tan?” Mag muttered.
The young Northman was stirring again, but every time he moved a spasm of pain crossed his face.
Alutan heard. He lunged and drove his sword through the last Northman, knocking him back, then spun towards them.
“You too!” Garden called. “Stop it right there, or I’ll kill her!”
Alutan froze. His robes were covered with blood. He should be dead, she thought. He seemed to stagger, barely holding on. Then one of the Northman, who’d been hiding in the supplies, popped up and shot him straight in the head.
Alutan fell.
“No!” Hyranna screamed.
Tandra spun and shot the man faster than he could duck back into hiding. Then aimed for Garden. A stream of Manturian words broke out of her, harsh and angry, heavy with the threat of tears.
“You didn’t seem to hear me,” Garden cut her off. “I’m giving you ‘til three to drop your gun and kick it to the river. You hearing me? One.”
Tandra swore and shook her head.
“Two.”
She dropped the weapon.
“Kick it over!”
She sent it scurrying across the ground and tumbling over the bank.
“Much better.” Hyranna could hear the smile in his voice. “Now if I’m not mistaken, I shot you once already. Which means I do believe that makes you the lucky carrier of what I’m after. Don’t you agree?”
Tandra’s face went hard. “Let her go.”
Garden clicked his tongue. “I have the gun, sweet-cheeks. You just hand it on over, and perhaps I won’t put a bullet in her. How’s that for bargaining? Seyah? Don’t say I ain’t reasonable from time to time.”
Tandra’s lips pursed, her whole body taut. She glanced over at Mag again. Then with a bitten curse, she grabbed for something in her pocket.
“This what you’re after?”
A perfectly round, white stone winked between her fingers. Pulsing, glowing. Hyranna heard Garden’s breath catch. But when he spoke, his voice was smooth and steady.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Toss it here. Perhaps I’ll even be so kind as to let your turnie rat live.”
Mag squirmed against his ropes, face contorting. The knife was gone. Hyranna swallowed, body tense. Waiting for something. Garden’s breath quickened too, as if he sensed the growing urgency.
“Now!” he screamed, digging the gun into Hyranna’s head, all pretense of calm vanished. “Now, or I’ll shoot her, Tandra Yourk, and I’ll shoot you, and I’ll take it anyway and piss on your filthy corpses!”
Tandra threw it. It arced through the air. Towards Garden. Over Garden’s head. Winking, pulsing.
He didn’t even follow it with his eyes. He lifted the gun, snarled, and pointed it straight at Tandra.
Hyranna gasped, unable to choke out a warning.
She didn’t have to. A hateful cry rose over the shot. Mag’s naked, battered body sprang from the tree. The bullet took him in the chest. He grunted and flailed, but kept his feet. Then he surged towards Garden like something already dead, risen from an untimely grave, eyes wide and wild. An inhuman scream tore from his throat, a knife flashing. Garden fired again, and again, stumbling back, still clutching Hyranna. Tandra dove for another Northman’s weapon, but Hyranna never saw what happened next.
Garden turned, bent to scrape something off the ground, and fled.
Soon Hyranna was stumbling, running. Garden’s rough hands shoved her forward. When she tripped and fell, he cuffed her in the back of the head and hauled her up again.
“Run, Todaby. Don’t you know how?” he hissed in her ear. “Run, I say. Faster, or I’ll shoot you dead.”
She had no strength to respond. Maker above, was she the only one left? Please, don’t let me be the only one left! Alutan was dead. And Mag was dead. She thought of Jerad, stirring on the ground. He was hurt but alive. Maybe he would be alright. And Maybe Tandra would come after her, though she had no reason to. Maybe . . .
Garden struck her again and sent her sprawling into the dirt.
“I said run!”
She scrambled to her feet. She ran. She wished she still had the shard. She wished she could crush him, but she had nothing.
And she was alone.
Alutan Na-es
The moment Alutan hit the ground, the fire flared up inside him. It was burning, slipping through his body as it closed the worst of the wounds, knitting back the flesh from the inside.
The bullet had cracked his skull, made everything go black, but as the fire seared up, everything rushed to that point faster than a breath of wind. In moments, he stirred. His eyes fluttered, debilitating pain drilling through his head. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t remember where he was and why and what was happening. And then, shots rang out. A woman shrieked. Tandra.
Get up, get up.
He sucked in a breath. His whole body ached, punctured, leaking, dragging him into the dirt, screaming at him not to move. He’d done his best to protect Tandra and Hyranna and take down the slavers when he could. But he wasn’t fast enough. He was too late. Again. Again!
He ground his teeth together. No. He wouldn’t give up. He shut his eyes. The bullet was working its way out, ripping backwards as the flesh closed up behind it, pain searing like a brand through his mind.
No time for pain. Get up!
He got up. He staggered to his feet, gripping his sword. Barely able to see through light-speared vision.
Tandra hovered at the edge of the forest, a revolver in her hand as she swore and hesitated—before turning back. Then she saw him and her eyes went wide. Her mouth hung open.
“Gods be!” she breathed. “You’re supposed to be dead!”
“Where’s Hyranna?” he demanded.
She didn’t answer. She threw herself next to the naked body of a young Northman. Mag, he realized. The man’s skin was stained with blood.
“Help me!” she ordered.
“Tandra, where is Hyranna?”
She whirled on him. “The bastard took her, and I’m going after them, but right now I need your help, damn it. You hear me?”
Alutan hesitated. Tandra was gathering Mag in her arms, laying him out. The man groaned and writhed. Blood was seeping out of his belly, his chest. One mangled hand clutched at Tandra while she pressed against the fresh wound.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Tan,” Mag gasped in Manturian. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I should have . . . listened to y
ou. Damn it. I’m . . .”
“Stop it!” she snapped. “You’re a damned fool, but let’s not argue about it now, you hear? Alutan, gods be, help!”
Alutan’s heart fell. He couldn’t do anything here, and Hyranna needed him.
“I can’t,” he groaned.
“Krunyn’s eye, you can’t! I saw you. I saw you bring back that girl from death. I saw you shot to your head and get up again, so don’t you dare tell me you can’t, you bastard, you hear me?”
“It doesn’t work that way. I can’t explain it, but—”
“Try!” Her naked grief tore at his heart.
Alutan staggered over to Mag. The man was shaking, lips blue. He’d probably been close to death even before the bullet. Mag laughed. It was a pathetic, gurgling chortle. “At least . . . at least . . . I didn’t . . . lose my eye.”
“Hush,” Alutan said. “Do not speak.”
He placed his hands on either side of Mag’s chest and shut his eyes. Immediately he could feel the brokenness. The body ached and gasped and strained. It was torn in several places, fingers missing, bones broken, ribs cracked, infection eating away at his leg, in the first, insipid phases. The strength was gone from him, fading from thirst and blood-loss, and now this. Now the ruin of his abdomen. Intestines were ripped open, fluids leaking, mixing, blood rushing out. He was gone. Not any medicine could put him back together, not even Alutan.
Mend what the Aktyr breaks. This was one man to another. A cruelty. A meaningless waste of life. But the Aktyr hadn’t caused this.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “His wounds are beyond my power. Let him go.”
Tandra said nothing. She just stared at him, uncomprehending.
“It’s . . . okay . . .” Mag said, shuddering. “I messed up. I . . . I couldn’t be strong. I tried to be like you, Aunt Tan. But I’m not. I . . . I just wanted to make . . .”
Spasms seized him. He jerked, groaning in pain. “Aunt Tan,” he gasped between convulsions. “Don’t . . .”
“I’m here,” she said, gripping his hand. “I’m here.”
“It hurts!”
“I know. Just hold on.”
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