| |
––––––––
DESPITE THE LONG NIGHT of tending the wounded and the toll of the healings, Brial could not remain still. Every time she sat down, she leaped back up and started pacing. Her thoughts whirled with the revelations of the day. She needed someone to talk to, but Karst helped the men with the dead raiders. Before committing the bodies to the hastily dug pit that would serve as the mass grave, they searched the faces and recorded any identifying marks. Supposedly to try to find information about any future attack. Brial knew the real reason Karst volunteered for the detail. He needed to see for himself if Medraut was among the fallen, to see that I am safe.
Trelleir was not available. He had flown off after the last healing with Nightbolt galloping in hot pursuit. According to Deneas, the stallion went to bring Trelleir back to the wagons when the raiders' trail ended.
Anyway, Brial decided, she was not sure she was ready to brace him and reveal her newly-acquired knowledge. Either about his true being or hers.
Telyn’s heading through the space between two wagons in a straight line toward her presented a chance to get away, even if it was just for a moment. Her need for a distraction was so great that Brial was on her feet before the girl even finished asking for help.
In the tight confines of the improvised paddock, excited by the noise of the battle in the field beyond, one of the hauler beasts had kicked another. "Mistress Brial, I cleaned and bandaged the wound," Telyn said. "I didn't want to disturb you when you were helping the others." Her face became crestfallen. "I am not sure if the beast's leg needs stitches." Tears reddened her eyes. "I don't want it put down because I made a mistake."
Since Telyn still had her short bow and quiver of arrows slung across her back, Brial complimented the ten-year-old on her preparedness. Following the child's example, she picked up her sword from the seat beside her.
The youth wove through the groups of people working to put the camp back to rights. All but the most severely wounded sat in chairs helping with the less physical tasks. Once past the barricades, Telyn led the way through a gap in the wagons and out to the field beyond, to a spot untouched by the battle.
A short distance farther out, Deneas strode through the tall grass following a short distance behind Sunfire and Nightbolt as the horses grazed their way to the improvised enclosure. Surprise at seeing the stallion raised the question of whether the horse being in camp meant that Trelleir had returned. Without breaking her pace, she decided he must have done so while she was checking on the newly healed or helping the young ones take the hauler beasts for water.
A sharply cut-off yell pulled Brial’s attention from Telyn's swinging braid in front of her to Deneas.
Deneas' arm had been wrenched behind her back. An arm wrapped around her throat tightened until she gasped for breath. Despite the distance from the pair, the harsh, "Don't make a sound," could be heard.
Brial's two running steps halted at the attacker's sibilant hiss. "Anyone who tries to interfere dies first." He leaned down and licked Deneas' neck. "Unless you please me, my dear slayer. Then I might see fit to grant lenience."
It took Deneas three tries to get out the words but she finally managed a stuttered, "Stand down."
Chills ran down Brial's arms. She had to get Deneas away from her former teacher. But how? There was nothing she could do but watch. Any action on her part would mean her friend's death.
Deneas bent her knees and stooped to pull a knife from her boot. The action meant to give her a weapon also revealed her attacker – Caldar.
The arm around Deneas' throat whipped down and with a brutal twist of Deneas’ wrist sent the knife flying to vanish in the tall grass. It didn't return to its stranglehold. Instead, it jerked the arm that had held the knife up behind Deneas' back with the other. Shifting his hold to control both arms together with one hand, Caldar yanked a leather strap from behind his belt. From the way he moved, Brial knew he had wrapped the strap around the wrists. Next, he dropped a loop over Deneas' head forcing her to hold the limbs at an unnatural angle.
Brial gasped at the cruelness of the action as pressure from the noose forced a grunt from the captive woman. Any action by Deneas to relieve the pain in her arms and shoulders tightened the noose. She had the choice of holding her arms up or strangling. With each pump of her heart, the pain would become even more excruciating.
We don't even treat our hauler beasts like that, let alone a person, Brial silently cursed. Helplessness surrounded her soul in glacial ice. The cold deepened when Caldar smiled. However, this time it was not directed at Deneas, but at her.
"You, come here now. Slowly this time." His voice hardened. "Don't even think about calling for help. A twitch of my wrist and this little slayer will join her mother."
Keeping her hands away from her sides, Brial obeyed. Her pulse raced. Between what Geren's wife had described as life in Darceth under Caldar's rule and the few things Deneas, Trelleir, and Karst had said, she knew Caldar would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Being the clan leader's granddaughter won't protect me. Just make me more of a target.
She had not even taken two paces when he twisted Deneas' arms even higher. "Careful," he snarled. "You wouldn’t want your friend to get hurt more."
Although Caldar’s arm was no longer around Deneas' throat, his actions showed his power and willingness to use it. All he needed was a minor exertion of a muscle on the strap to strangle his prisoner.
Deneas' low moan cut Brial deeper than the ones of the people she had lost to the fever. She arched her back to relieve the pressure.
Her effort failed as Caldar laughed and jerked down on the strap to remove the little bit of slack. "Now, now, slayer, you know better than to fight when it’s time for a lesson."
"Stop, don't hurt her," forced its way past Brial's tight lips.
After a few moments, the older slayer released his grip and let the leather return to its actual length.
Deneas' harsh gasps didn’t elicit any sympathy from her former teacher, only a low chuckle.
"Mistress?" Telyn’s little voice came from behind Brial. It broke through the singular focus that had gripped her mind and returned an awareness of the true passage of time. It had only been a few moments since Caldar had risen from the grass and imprisoned Deneas.
Thank Telyn's ancestors, Brial thought. Caldar was too focused on Deneas to see the child. I don’t dare turn to see what she wants. Even more so since Telyn had enough sense to hide behind me. I cannot betray her presence and give Calder another lever to use against Deneas.
Brial kept walking, looking straight ahead. "Stay back," she hissed.
"I can help," Telyn persisted.
A jab in Brial’s back told of the child’s plan. Hidden from Caldar’s view, Telyn had slipped the short bow from her back and notched an arrow.
Contrasting realities filled Brial's mind. All I have to do is snatch the bow without dropping the arrow. Then the chilling other part of the thought. Can I draw the string and shoot Caldar before he strangles Deneas?
A desperate look around failed to show anyone close enough to help rescue her friend. Or, Brial acknowledged, me. Frantic options were considered and discarded with every step. Shallow movement in the grass farther up the path provided hope of a hidden rescuer, only to have it dashed when the grass stilled. The closer she got to Caldar the more she felt Telyn’s plan was the only one.
The distance shortened between them until less than a single wagon length separated her from the man and his captive. I have to do this. And I need help.
Besides Deneas, there was one other resource, Sunfire. "That is if the stallion could understand what needs to be done," Brial muttered. He and his herdmate had fought alongside Trelleir. Sunfire chose Deneas as his rider so he might fight to free Deneas.
Praying that Caldar was too occupied playing with his prey to notice the message to Deneas, Brial mouthed a silent, "Drop on three." A breath and she gave the count.
"Now." Even as she reached back to grab the bow from Telyn, she yelled, "Sunfire, help Deneas."
The thud of hooves drowned out the twang of the string releasing the arrow.
DENEAS SLAMMED HER head back into full contact with the beaked nose she had hated during her training sessions. His "Arggghhh," mirrored her own moan as Caldar pulled down the noose, choking off all breath. The cry of pain that pierced the pounding of her pulse in her ears said Brial's arrow had struck true. She didn't know where, but prayed it weakened Caldar enough to give her the edge she needed. And with Caldar down, Brial won't have to worry about me. He isn't that good a fighter to handle her, let alone both of us once I get free.
She tried to bend forward to pull Caldar further off balance. But wherever the arrow had hit, it wasn't one of the arms holding her prisoner. The sensation of flying, not of being on the wing, but of freefall came with a loosening of the stranglehold around her throat. A tan blur filled her vision. The angry bugle and thunder of hooves meant Sunfire had attacked.
The ground came up and Deneas twisted so that her shoulder took the brunt of the fall. Caldar's not unsubstantial bulk landed on top of her. Stunned, she pushed down the pain and tried to roll away, Not only did Caldar not let go, but since he was on top with a push he rolled her onto her stomach. The rough edge of a stone cut into her face. Above the pounding of her pulse, she heard the elder slayer’s snarled, "You broke my nose." Chortling, he placed a knee in her back and pulled on the noose.
Deneas bucked trying to dislodge the weight. Her former teacher just laughed harder. Dirt sucked in by her desperate gasps for air filled her mouth and what air got through couldn't get past the noose.
Arching her back to try to get even half a breath into her starved lungs raised her head. The viewpoint didn't show either Brial or Sunfire, only the now trampled grass. The cloud of dust raised by the horse's stop obscured the rest of the area. Something moved in the haze, but Deneas couldn't tell whether it was a rescuer or just the wind. However, she had the impression of something rising from the grass, something other than Sunfire. The thunder of hooves sped her pulse. Sunfire was close. Maybe steel hooves could do what the first attack didn't – get Caldar off me.
Caldar's weight pushed her face back down into the dirt. This time when he pulled on the noose, she heard nothing but the beating of her heart. The world blurred and a darkness she couldn't hold off started to encroach on her mind. She cast a final message into the ether. "Trelleir, I'm sorry I failed. I love you."
"No.o.o.o."
Deneas heard the rage-filled scream in both her mind and in her ears. Trelleir? Is here?
Sadness at what might have been gripped her heart. He is too late.
From the pound of his hooves, Deneas pictured Sunfire's approach. The stallion didn't slow, and in her mind she saw a shadow leap from his back as the horse raced by.
Sparks filled Deneas’ vision. Suddenly, the weight holding her down vanished. She felt hands tugging at the leather strap, trying to free her hands. The noose tightened again and with it came the pain of her arms being wrenched even higher up her back.
"Sorry, Den." Brial's worried tone broke through the dull mind. "I have to cut the strap. Just hang on for a few seconds more."
Both the pain in her shoulders and the suffocation ended in the same instant. Gasp after gasp pulled air deep into Deneas' lungs until her mind sharpened. It was Brial who had freed her hands and removed the noose. But who – or what – was the shadow?
Grunts and the thud of a fist against bone had Deneas fighting Brial's hold to keep her on the ground and she scrambled to her knees.
Trelleir held Caldar up with one hand while he methodically beat the villager with the other. A sword lay at her tormenter's feet, just beyond his reach.
Deneas struggled to understand the sounds coming out of Caldar’s lips. The slayer spouted more than the usual threats to those who crossed him or the even harsher punishment than he had meted out as the interpreter of the Goddess. His message was personal. "Deneas will serve me. Then when I tire of her she will be judged by the Goddess as I did her mother."
"Deneas is mine. You will NOT hurt her again." Through her mental link with Trelleir she felt all the anger—and fear—he put into the statement.
One part of her wanted to tell Trelleir to release Caldar, that vengeance was hers to mete out. Another part of her heart said Trelleir had his own right to justice. Caldar had cost him his home. Even worse, Deneas thought, Caldar forced Trelleir to live with the guilt that he had not been able to save my mother. Saving me from the mob that night did not make up for losing a friend.
A final slap and Caldar's eyes rolled up in his head. He slumped in Trelleir's grasp.
"You will not bother Deneas any more," Trelleir hissed. He opened his hand and let Caldar fall. A final glance and turned his back on the beaten man. Three steps had him on his knees beside Deneas.
A gasp escaped her tight lips. Not from being choked by the leather strap, but from the pressure as his arms crushed her to his chest. Yet when he tried to back off and release her, she pulled him tighter and buried her head in his shoulder. Harsh gulps of air struggled to salve the pain in her chest. Tears of frustration, rage, and pain refused to be held back.
Time ceased to exist in the release of emotions restrained for too long.
Brial's sharp cry, "Trelleir," had Deneas reaching for a non-existent weapon and moving to face whoever approached.
Trelleir’s push moved her to the side, sheltering her with his body. A knife glittered in his hand.
"No." A cry of fear was torn from Deneas' throat and her heart. She saw what Brial had. Caldar stood behind Trelleir, a sword raised for a lethal blow.
Before the head slayer could close the distance, an arrow ripped through his throat. Then a second stuck out of his shoulder. Blood spurted from the wounds. A thud and the hilt of a knife protruded from his chest.
To Deneas, it appeared as if the man crumpled to the ground in slow motion. A twitch and a gurgle and he lay still. The man who killed her mother was dead. Yet she felt nothing. No satisfaction that vengeance had been obtained, felt no joy that Trelleir could return to the mountain cave he had called home for so many years. Return to his home and his books.
A stream of warmth on the side of her face had Deneas reaching up. Her hand came away covered in blood.
THE HORROR OF HER ACTIONS paralyzed Brial. Although she had been in battle before, killing Caldar was different. In the other fights, she had been one of many, merely an archer sending up a curtain of arrows against bandits and raiders. The tactic usually routed the attackers rather than killing them.
The same litany of thoughts kept repeating and with each echo, the ice around her soul thickened until there was no emotion, no hope, just an endless refrain of:
I killed a man.
I killed Karst’s father.
Will Karst forgive me?
Will he still love me?
A sob filled with soul-wrenching despair was torn from her throat. I lost Karst. I have lost all. "Brial ... Brial! Return to us. I need your help."
The words pierced the wall Brial had built to insulate herself from the world and the untenable reality of a world without Karst. Before the protection crumbled, she used the last of her conscious will to reinforce it.
The sting of a slap on her face cracked her resistance, turning the wall to dust.
Although there were no more blows, the demands grew more insistent until their meaning registered. Deneas needs me. A sigh of resignation and Brial opened her eyes, not to Karst’s as she feared but to Trelleir’s. The alarm in her friend’s eyes jerked her to full awareness. Following Tywyll’s worried croons she saw the reason for the helwr’s distress. A white-faced Deneas lay in a pool of blood. The saturated tunic hid the location of the injury until she writhed in pain and revealed a deep cut down her face and across her shoulder.
Brial gasped at the gaping slash across her friend’s throat. A sword on the ground explained the wounds. With his dying breath, Caldar had thrown the sword at the object of his hatred – Deneas.
"Brial, help me save Deneas." Trelleir’s voice begged. "I can’t."
"Trelleir, help me up," Brial ordered. With the aid of his arm around her shoulder, she staggered the few steps over to the wounded woman. A silent prayer to her and Deneas’ ancestors beyond the veil, and she summoned her healing magic.
A faint blue glow formed beneath her hand. Just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. Not in a shower of sparks but a shimmer into nothingness between one heartbeat and the next. I lost Karst. I will not lose Deneas.
"You can do this, Bri," Trelleir encouraged. "Your great-grandmother believes you inherited her gifts ... and so do I."
Despite the lightness of Trelleir’s hand on her shoulder, energy that could only come from his dragon form strengthened her healing powers. She also felt a sureness in her control.
Brial hardened her resolve. I will not lose a friend today.