It only took the Heroes ten minutes to pass over the rise and out of sight of Lyf and his King’s Guard, though by then Syrten was drenched in Yulia’s blood and she was failing so rapidly that Lirriam began to fear that no healing magery could save her. The bloody arrow was still embedded in her belly, her chest hardly moved with each breath, and she was as pallid as a corpse. Even her opal fingernails had lost colour; they barely shimmered in the fleeting rays of sunlight.
“Don’t leave me, Yulia,” said Syrten. “You—mustn’t—die. Lirriam, do something.”
Lirriam took off her sweat-soaked cloak and laid it on the driest patch of ground she could find. It was still cold from last night’s frost; she could feel it through the fabric. She shed her green coat, laid it on the cloak and stood there, shivering, the keen wind raising goose pimples on her back and arms.
“Rufuss, I need your cloak.”
His face hardened as if the mere request was an outrage. Perhaps it was to him; almost everything angered Rufuss these days and he had only one remedy for it—blood. She met his eyes and refused to look away, and shortly he drew off his black cloak and threw it at her.
“Stand guard,” said Lirriam.
“I have my orders. I don’t need them repeated.” He stalked off.
The cloak had the same charnel smell that Rufuss trailed after him, though Yulia was beyond sensing it. Nonetheless it had a virtue that Lirriam’s coat did not—it was huge as well as thick. She folded it three times, laid it on top of her coat to make the best bed she could, and gestured to Syrten.
He set Yulia down on the cloak and knelt beside her, holding her slender hand in his golem hands and gazing at her with tragic, dog-like devotion. Lirriam had to get him out of the way.
“If I’m to save her, I’ll need a fire and hot water, lots of it,” said Lirriam. “Right away.”
He rose without a word, and ran. No one was better than Syrten at following orders—he lived to be told what to do. She did not check on Rufuss. Grandys had ordered him to guard them, and Rufuss would obey. Momentarily she wondered how Grandys’ confrontation with Lyf was going, then dismissed the thought to focus on the healing.
Lirriam tucked the cloak around Yulia’s feet and legs to keep them warm, then cut away her coat and blouse to expose the entry wound, which was in the lower belly, midway between her navel and pubic bone. It was only an inch-long slit on the outside but her middle was swollen as if she had lost a lot of blood internally, and while the arrowhead remained inside her she would keep bleeding. Unfortunately enemy arrowheads were barbed to make them difficult to remove; pulling it out could cause more damage than its impact.
With less dangerous wounds it was often simpler, though agonisingly painful, to push the arrowhead through and out the other side, but the arrowhead was in a dangerous place, packed with organs—bladder, womb, bowel—and blood vessels, and Yulia’s spine was behind it. Pushing it through wasn’t an option. Lirriam tugged on the arrowhead, very carefully. It moved towards her. Not embedded in bone, then, but dark blood ebbed from the wound and Yulia let out a little gasp.
Syrten staggered up, carrying a small dead tree over his shoulder. He dropped it six feet away and stood there, staring at Yulia’s face and swaying on his broad, square feet.
“No change,” Lirriam said without looking around. “Get a fire going, then fetch water.”
Syrten smashed the tree’s trunk to pieces with his iron-hard fists and made a pile of kindling and larger pieces of wood. After crumbling a chunk of wood in his hands he rubbed it together so furiously that it smoked and burst into flame. Ignoring the flames licking around his opal-armoured fists, he thrust the burning material into the kindling. It blazed high. He turned and ran.
Lirriam considered the arrow. Had Grandys been here he might have used brute-force magery to crush the barbs on the arrowhead flat, then draw it out through the entry wound. Lirriam could not do that kind of magery; hers relied on subtlety rather than strength. She could probably shatter the arrowhead, though how could she be certain of getting all the fragments out? If any piece remained in the wound it was unlikely to heal, and sooner or later infection would kill Yulia.
Lirriam checked the vital signs again. Yulia was fading; if Lirriam did not act immediately it would be too late. There was only one thing to do.
She took a firm hold of the arrow’s shaft and pulled. It moved a quarter of an inch before meeting resistance. She rotated the shaft each way until the resistance lessened and drew it out further. Resistance again. She was bound to be doing more damage to the organs the arrow had passed through but there was no alternative. Lirriam continued, rotating the shaft each time until she felt the least pressure on it, and finally it came free in a gush of blood.
Lirriam sensed it in a tiny part of herself that had been bonded to the other Heroes ever since they had sworn to each other on the First Fleet. She felt the emptiness of loss, too. Tossing the arrow aside, she put her bloody hands over Yulia’s breastbone, created a mental image of her heart and directed a sharp pulse of power through it. Yulia’s heart beat once, twice, and stopped. Lirriam sent another pulse. Yulia’s heart beat four times before stopping.
Why? Presumably she was still bleeding internally and there was only one hope of stopping it—by sealing the wound from top to bottom. Lirriam put her hands around the arrow wound and pressed down firmly. Blood flowed from the slit, at least half a pint. She pressed again, expelling a little more blood, then opened the wound with two fingers and looked in. What she saw, even through all the blood and torn flesh, shocked her. With the index finger of her right hand, Lirriam directed a searing blast down through the wound as far as it extended.
Yulia jerked convulsively and smoke wisped out of the arrow slit. Lirriam put her hands over Yulia’s heart and sent another pulse of power through it. After a second Yulia’s heart started—and this time it kept going, faint but steady. Lirriam moved her hands to Yulia’s belly and gently began the healing process.
Thud, thud, thud. Syrten reappeared with two metal buckets of water. He put them on the fire.
“She’s a little better,” said Lirriam before he could ask.
Syrten crouched to take Yulia’s hand.
“Go and stand guard,” said Lirriam.
“She needs me,” Syrten said brokenly.
Lirriam could not concentrate with his massive presence close by, radiating dumb terror.
“Go now!”
He went. She heated one of the buckets of water by thrusting her fist in and directing power through it, then washed her hands carefully. She tossed in the rags torn from Yulia’s blouse, heated the water to boiling, fished the rags out and cleaned the wound as best she could. As she finished, Grandys appeared from behind her. He stood at Yulia’s head, looking down. His mouth opened and closed. She saw a large squad of guards further out. He must have brought them with him.
“I think she’s going to live,” said Lirriam. She took the second bucket, which was boiling, out of the fire. “Though at some cost. I had to cauterise the wound—I don’t know how much damage that’s done…”
He did not speak. She looked up, sharply. His face, where the skin could be seen through his patchy opal armour, was a bilious yellow-green, a colour she had never seen on human flesh before—at least, not on live flesh. His eyes were staring, his breath ragged.
“Grandys? Are you injured?”
Icy sweat dripped off his chin. He jerked his head from side to side. “Lyf attacked Maloch. Said I wasn’t its true master. Said its true master was Rixium.”
“That’s absurd,” said Lirriam. She had heard the true master mentioned before. Where, though?
“Lyf cast some spell and—and—” It exploded out of Grandys: a cry of pain and rage and, to her astonishment, no little terror. “Maloch refused me!”
“How do you mean?”
“It held itself in its sheath so tightly that no force or order of mine could budge it.”
Lirriam put her hands on Yulia’s cold belly and directed a gentle, healing force through her. She was breathing steadily now; she would live.
“Did you kill Lyf?” she said.
“No,” Grandys gasped.
“He escaped?”
“Not exactly.” He swayed on his feet, then scrubbed at his face with both hands. Small pieces of armour crumbled off.
Lirriam had never seen Grandys so shaken. A part of her wanted to gloat that the bastard had finally been mastered; another part was shivering. What did it mean? Were the Five Heroes finished?
“What happened?”
“I was weaponless. And his King’s Guard were racing in, nine of them. I—I had to retreat.”
“You ran?” she said incredulously. Lirriam struggled to contain herself. Was this her reward for Grandys breaking her jaw? “The invincible Axil Grandys,” she said mockingly, “the greatest warrior of all time, ran from the field of battle like a rank coward?”
“I retreated,” he said stiffly, “the better to fight again.”
He drew himself up to his full, intimidating height. The bilious colour was replaced by his customary tomato-red flush, and his eyes hardened. Clearly he regretted telling her, though there had been little choice—Lyf would spread the story soon enough. But she knew that, more than anything, Grandys regretted revealing his own deep-seated terror to her.
“What if the true master is Rixium?” Lirriam said thoughtfully. “He’s only twenty and a brilliant warrior, strong and fast.”
“I’m bigger and stronger,” snapped Grandys.
“But you’re forty-four,” said Lirriam, “and you look older. You’re past your prime, Grandys, while he’s yet to reach his. What are you going to do?”
“I can’t believe what Lyf said was true. He must have used some kind of deception…”
“You sound doubtful.”
“I’ll sort it out.”
“Are you losing your nerve?”
He bridled, as she had known he would. “Once I’ve taken the power of king-magery I’ll be able to command Maloch’s loyalty, and no power in the land can break such a command. Even if Rixium should be the true master, which I very much doubt, he won’t be able to do anything about it.”
“If you don’t take him on he’ll know something is wrong, and so will everyone else. It’ll strengthen him and weaken us.”
“I never said I wouldn’t take him on. I’m going to play cat and mouse with Rixium. He’ll never know when I’m going to strike—or which of his supporters I’m striking at. You can break a man’s spirit quickly that way, without ever coming face to face with him.”
He walked around Yulia several times, looking down at her, then turned away. “Take her—and Tali—to Bastion Barr with a guard of a hundred men. Syrten and Rufuss will escort you. I’ll join you there shortly.”
“What are you up to?” said Lirriam.
“When you’re knocked down, you get up at once and fight all the harder.” He headed west towards his army, leaving the squad of guards behind.
Lirriam, taking pity on Syrten, called him across so he could see that Yulia was going to live. After allowing him a quarter of an hour with her, Lirriam sent him to bring the horses, dry clothing and clean bandages, and a horse-drawn litter for Yulia.
Lirriam had much to think about. What could “Maloch’s true master” mean? Where had she heard it before? And was Grandys losing his nerve? There was much to be lost if he was—much to be gained, too, if she had the courage.
She put her hands over the wound again. Yulia was too cold. Lirriam rejuvenated her healing charm, then followed it with the strongest warming charm she could manage. Yulia soon grew warm under her hands and the pallor began to be replaced by pink. Her breathing strengthened.
Lirriam sat back on her heels. Her head spun and she had to support herself with her hands. It had been a long, wearying day—her part in the creation and maintenance of the black, protective pyramid this morning had drained her to the marrow of her bones. Then the long, bloody battle, plus the shield charm she’d had to hold in place all through it to protect herself from errant arrows, spears and sword thrusts. And now this utterly exhausting healing. It had all come from within her and the day wasn’t finished yet.
“Lirriam?” Yulia said in a faint voice. “Do you have—water?”
Lirriam rose wearily and tested the water in the second bucket. It was still hot, though not too hot to drink. She held a half mug to Yulia’s lips and supported her head while she drank.
“Was I… dead?” said Yulia.
“Very close. Your heart stopped a few times.”
“But you saved me.” Yulia raised a hand as if to reach out to Lirriam, but lacked the strength to complete the gesture. Her hand flopped down.
“Yes.” Lirriam looked around. Rufuss was still standing guard fifty yards away. There was no sign of Syrten or anyone else. “Yulia, do you remember when we were on the First Fleet, coming here from Thanneron?”
“I was just—sixteen. It was the adventure—of my life. Of course I remember.”
“Do you remember how Grandys ended up with Maloch?”
“Why does it… matter?” said Yulia. Her voice was fading.
“It matters. I’m sorry; I need to know right away.”
“It came to him after… after Envoy Urtiga was murdered… month out of Thanneron. She left a… a signed deed—”
“What did it say?”
“If she died before completing… quest,” said Yulia, “Grandys… take over… aided by Maloch. That was when he bound us… in Five Heroes. You must remember.”
“I remember. Was anything said about Maloch’s ‘true master’?”
“Heard it mentioned…” Yulia’s voice went hoarse. Lirriam gave her some more water and she spoke more strongly. “Master has to be Grandys… can’t be any of us. Couldn’t bear to touch Maloch—could you?”
“Not willingly,” said Lirriam. She lowered her voice. “Who do you think killed Urtiga? Could it have been Grandys?”
“Always thought… Rufuss.”
“So have I—even then he had the air of a killer. I’ve never understood why Grandys protected him, or why he made Rufuss one of the Five…”
“Don’t want to think about him.” Yulia reached down towards her belly.
Lirriam moved her hand away. “Don’t touch the wound; I’m worried about it getting infected.”
Yulia caught Lirriam’s hand instead, holding her in a surprisingly firm grip. “How—how bad is it?”
Lirriam had never thought of herself as being particularly compassionate but she could not bear to say the words. She did not want to cause Yulia, the closest person she had to a sister, so much pain, or to rob her of the thing she most wanted. No, Lirriam thought, I’ve already done that.
“You were dying,” said Lirriam, looking away. “I did what I had to do to save you.”
“Tell me the truth. I’ve got to know.”
“The arrow missed your bladder and bowel, luckily, and it didn’t touch the spine…”
“But?”
“It tore through your womb, and you were bleeding so badly—”
Yulia’s hand clenched painfully around Lirriam’s. “Tell me!” she gasped.
“There was no time. I had to seal the wound at once, to stop the bleeding. I’m sorry. It did a lot more damage. I—I don’t think you’ll ever be able to have children.”
Yulia held her hand for a few more seconds, her eyes searching Lirriam’s face as if hoping, desperately, that it was not true. Then her hand fell away.
“Then what’s it all been for?” she said in a dead voice.
Lirriam did not reply.
“I was sixteen when I became one of the Five,” said Yulia. “Now I’m twenty-eight.”
“I know,” said Lirriam. “I was eighteen and now I’m thirty-two.”
“Thirty-two?”
“I lived another two years after you were turned to opal… before Lyf did the same to me.”
“Oh!” Yulia continued, speaking in gasped phrases separated by long pauses. “I’ve spent almost half my life pursuing… sacred quest for the Promised Realm… and all that time I’ve made excuses for the bloodshed… the destruction, the barbarism. It’s for our quest, I told myself… and once we found our Promised Realm… we’d make up for all the ruin by creating a beautiful new world… I told myself I’d make amends… for all the terrible things I’ve collaborated in… all the things I’ve turned a blind eye to… by little creations of my own.”
“You’ve wanted children as long as I’ve known you,” said Lirriam, aching for her.
“I kept thinking, just another year… and just another year. Now it’s too late… I was a party to all the destruction… and there’s nothing I can do to balance it. How empty our lives have been… how wasted…”
“Yes,” said Lirriam. Not being the contemplative type, she had never thought about the meaning or the value of their lives. Now she did, and did not like what she saw.
Yulia clutched Lirriam’s hand again, with both hands this time, twisting it back and forth in her agitation. “Promise me you’ll do better. You’re the only one of us who has a chance.”
“Because I’ve got Incarnate?”
Yulia tried to sit up, moaned and fell back. “No, don’t use it,” she said in a ragged voice. “It allows perilous choices. Forbidden choices. Get rid of it!”
“Then why do you say I have a chance?”
“You’re the only one… who never really believed in the quest… the only one of us who isn’t irredeemably corrupt… You can change, Lirriam; there’s still time. Promise me, when the war is over… you’ll live a better life—a life of creation rather than destruction.”
“There’s only one way to do that,” said Lirriam. “By going where no one has ever heard of the Five Heroes.”
“That’s not what I meant!” cried Yulia. “We’re… only family you have. How could you bear to abandon us… for some land where you know no one… where everything is strange?”
“You can’t imagine how I long for such a land, where no one knows anything about me. It’s the only escape I have.”
And there was only one way to find such a place. Lirriam had to wake Incarnate, whatever it cost.