Allegiance (28 page)

He stuck his torch into a bracket on the wall and opened his pack, tossing the items he had mentioned to me. I grabbed an armful of furs, spreading a few on the ground along the right side of the cave for warmth and cushioning. I returned for quilts to drape around my sister and me, then tugged her down beside me on the makeshift beds, offering her some of the food. London moved to speak to Davan.

“I'll take the first turn on guard,” he offered. “You should eat and sleep, as well.”

Passing me, London grabbed a handful of jerky and disappeared through the sheltered cave opening. Davan stopped to offer us some water, then prepared a bed for himself on the other side of the cave near the stacked firewood, granting us some semblance of privacy. I lay down next to my sister to fall into an exhausted slumber.

I awoke to the sound of voices and sat up, hoping that Steldor and Galen had arrived. Cannan would be on his way back to Hytanica by now—he could even be there already. My stomach tightened as I recalled what the captain had said to his son about his own probable death and an example being made of my parents. My father and I had never fully repaired our relationship, and neither of my parents had been told that Miranna was alive. Maybe it was too late now for either of those things to happen.

I looked around in the dim torchlight through still-tired eyes to see it was only London, who had come to switch watch with Davan. As he made a bed for himself toward the cave opening, I forced myself to think rationally. We had left ahead of the others, after all; their different route might take them longer; and we had ridden horses a good part of the way. I suppressed my pessimistic thoughts and lay down again, for London was already dozing peacefully, a sure sign that there was nothing about which to worry. It did not take long for sleep to again seduce me.

 

Morning broke, bright sunlight spiking down through the shafts in the cave's arched ceiling, illuminating narrow areas of the interior while leaving the rest in shadow. Despite how stiff and sore I was, I felt refreshed and curious about my surroundings. My sister was still sleeping, and neither London nor Davan were in the cave, so I began to poke around.

It would take some doing to make the cave comfortable for living, but the necessary supplies were here—in addition to the firewood, animal furs and foodstuffs I had noticed the night before, there were medical supplies, including bandages, needles, cotton thread and sinew for stitching; some nondescript clothing, including breeches, shirts, a couple of skirts and cloaks; and barrels of wine and ale. I was pleased to see that the cave had a fire pit, almost a natural fireplace, at the rear that vented through the ceiling, hoping the small blaze that had been kindled was an indication that a hot breakfast would be prepared.

I gazed at my still-sleeping sister, who seemed unlikely to awaken anytime soon, then hurried outside and through the pine trees, onto the ledge overlooking the steep hill we had climbed the previous day.

I spotted Davan and London at once, the former on horseback, the latter giving him instructions. Davan glanced up at my approach, and London swiveled to check his back, frowning when he saw me.

“Has there been news?” I asked, shivering in the cold morning air, knowing one of our guards would not be riding off unless there was a problem.

“Steldor and Galen have not come,” London told me outright. “They may just have had slower going, but twelve hours is long enough to wait. Davan is going to backtrack, see if he can spot them.”

“Do you think something's happened to them?”

My mind was racing, remembering the dangers we had narrowly avoided on our journey. But surely Steldor and Galen were just as proficient as London and Davan, and they would have been given an extra advantage while Cannan had been with them. The captain had intended to see them out of harm's way before heading back.

“They're capable men,” London said with certainty, reading my mind. “They may turn up of their own accord.” Then his voice lost some of its optimism. “But they're not invincible.”

“I'll see what I can find out,” Davan promised.

London slapped the horse on the haunches, and the animal set foot on the precarious decline, then the deputy captain and I reentered our hideaway.

Miranna awoke shortly after we came back inside, but she did not rise; instead, she sat upon the animal furs, her knees drawn to her chest. After a little while, London showed me where we could wash and prepare for the day, and I helped my sister to do so.

I was correct about the fire representing a warm breakfast, but not the scrambled eggs to which I was accustomed. Instead, London showed me how to make gruel from the oats we had in plenty. All it took was to add water and cook the mixture over the heat; using milk would have been better, but we would be seeing none of that for a while. London also showed me how to tend the fire, wanting to keep it low to minimize smoke during the day when it might be detectable. I understood from his manner that I would be in charge of the kitchen, as it was one of the few ways in which I could be of help.

We spent the day in the cave, barely speaking. I took some time to move supplies away from the back right corner so that I would be able to lay out Miranna's bedding in the cozier space, thinking it would make her feel more secure, then moved the hides, furs and quilts upon which we had slept into place.

Miranna did, indeed, seem to feel comfortable in the corner, for she dozed on and off all afternoon upon her bed. London kept watch, occasionally checking on us, but never
venturing far from the ledge. I saw him glance a couple of times toward his hunting bow, for we had no meat stores, but he could not leave us on our own. Instead, we feasted on gruel, soldier's tack and dried fruit.

I wanted very much for Miranna to talk to me about her experiences in Cokyri, but she was almost unresponsive to any topic I tested. Narian had told me she'd been living in the High Priestess's temple, and it was from there that London had taken her, but despite this civilized treatment, she was nothing like herself. Of course, the kidnapping alone would have traumatized her, regardless of her other experiences. Her continued silence made me dread what had happened between the time she had first arrived in Cokyri and the time Narian had struck his bargain with the Overlord to protect her. How had she been treated then? Unless she spoke with me, I would never know what she had been through and was at a loss as to how to help her. While I would love her no matter what, I doubted my naïve and exuberant sister would ever truly reappear, and that thought filled me with infinite sadness.

When night fell, I was too anxious to sleep, while Miranna seemed to want to do little else. London, too, was uneasy. My former bodyguard paced, occasionally stoking the fire to keep the cold at bay. When he needed a break from pacing, he would cross his arms tensely upon his chest and lean against one of the walls. It had been too long. London had suspected something might be wrong after twelve hours—at over twenty-four, it was a certainty. Steldor and Galen were in trouble.

Lying wide-awake next to my sister, I wanted to pummel London with pointless questions. Were they dead? Had they been captured by the Cokyrians? Would Davan find any trace of them? I held my tongue, knowing London would
neither be receptive to my queries nor be able to give me answers.

I closed my eyes to try to join my sister in oblivion, but the sleep that came to me was restless, and I woke almost every hour. My dreams were haunted by images of death and injury: London horribly wounded, Cokyrian soldiers with gaping throats, a blood-spattered Cannan. And woven among them all was the face of the husband I had never loved.

DAWN BROKE AND SUNLIGHT DABBLED ITS WAY into our cave, and I realized that London was gone, probably on lookout once more. I stretched to relieve the stiffness in my back, then scrambled from my bed at the sound of voices, my twinges forgotten. I hurried toward our sliver of an entrance.

“The enemy descended on us as we were concealing the entrance to the tunnel. We managed to flee, but we were tracked for miles by the blood trail, until Davan found us and diverted the Cokyrians with a false one. I think he was successful—at any rate, no one overtook us.”

I pushed past the sheltering tree branches and stumbled into blinding daylight, knowing it was the captain who had spoken.

As my eyes adjusted, I saw Galen, ragged and worn-out, hanging on to the reins of a dark bay gelding. Behind him, London and Cannan stood on either side of the animal, untying someone's legs from the stirrups, and even before I saw his face, I knew it was Steldor. No longer restrained, he
slumped toward his father, who caught him under the arms from behind while London crossed to take his feet.

“Galen, get rid of that horse,” Cannan commanded, and when the shaken-looking Sergeant at Arms complied, I saw the dark, crusty stain on the animal's withers, trailing down its right shoulder and foreleg to the ground.

London and Cannan came toward me, carrying Steldor, who was barely conscious, and I pulled aside some of the branches so they could more easily pass. They carried him into our refuge, to the far end where the light was best, and I followed. As they were about to lay him down, I grabbed a couple of animal hides to place underneath him, then glanced over at Miranna, thankful to see she was still asleep.

“We tried to stop the bleeding,” the captain said, kneeling on one side of Steldor, London kneeling on the other. They pulled open the two cloaks Steldor was wearing, one of which belonged to him, the other to his father. “But we had to keep moving. I don't know how much he's lost.”

London unsheathed a dagger and cut through what remained of Steldor's now crimson shirt to expose the blood-soaked bandaging the captain and Galen had tied around his midriff. The injury was on his right side, but that hadn't stopped the rich red from spreading across his torso, onto his breeches, and into the thick cloaks. Then I remembered the blood that had flowed onto the horse and couldn't believe he was still alive.

I stood a few feet behind London as he sliced through the bandages with one quick motion. Although I averted my eyes, I could tell from the tensing of London's body that it was bad.

“We had no choice but to pack it, to try to check the bleeding. We couldn't stop long enough to clean or stitch it,”
Cannan said almost angrily, capturing my attention. “They were too close behind.”

I understood from his words that in order to apply pressure to the wound, he and Galen had stuffed it with wads of cloth. Without comment, London began to extract the packing. Steldor inhaled but did not cry out, and I was unsure if I should offer comfort or leave him be. The two men leaning over him blocked my view of the injury, but the agony on Steldor's face and his labored breathing told me that London was determined to remove every last strand.

“The blade hit his lower ribs, then must have slid down and under,” the Elite Guard muttered. “The stab wound is deep. And the edge of the knife was serrated, otherwise it wouldn't have torn like this when it was withdrawn.” His examination finished, London gazed steadily at the captain. “We have to stop this bleeding.”

Cannan stood and looked around, his eyes coming to rest on the embers of the fire.

“We could cauterize with a heated blade.”

London shook his head. “We'd have trouble laying it flat against the bleeders, and there'd be too much danger of puncture. But I know what will work.”

His tone gave me pause, as though he himself did not like what had come into his mind. He got to his feet and gave the just-returned Galen orders.

“Get everything we have for treating injuries. We'll need alcohol—lots of it—bandages and goods for stitching, water and more alcohol.”

Galen nodded, his eyes darting around the cave in confusion. I beckoned to him to follow as I walked toward our supplies, and London went to rinse his bloodied hands.

“Get him drinking,” London said, tossing a wine flask to Cannan.

The captain sat on his heels and touched Steldor's shoulder, looking down into his son's tormented face.

“I have to prop you up so you can swallow.”

Steldor nodded, wincing as Cannan slid his hands beneath his arms and pulled him carefully upward to lean against his father's chest. The captain helped his fading son to drink while Galen and I gathered the supplies, setting them near Steldor on the gravelly floor.

“We'll wait twenty minutes for that wine to take effect,” London said as he joined us. “Plus I'll need the time to experiment. This will have to be done very precisely.”

He went across the cave to where he had stored his pack, and returned with the pouch that we all knew contained exploding powder. He did not come where Steldor could see him but cleared a space on the floor in front of the fire pit several feet behind the captain. He opened the pouch and scooped a small amount of gray powder with his fingers, cautiously placing it on a flat rock in front of him. When he caught me staring, he offered a brief explanation.

“This is all I have left, but it's more than enough to cauterize that wound. I only have to figure out the amount to use. I need enough to sear the wound, but not enough to blow him apart.”

Cannan twisted round at his words. Filled with sudden understanding, he tipped the flask of wine a touch more so that it flooded Steldor's mouth.

I was no longer focused on my husband, too entranced by what London was doing. Galen, who had finished organizing the medical supplies, stood and walked over for a better view, then paled as he, too, realized what the deputy captain had in mind.

London took a small piece of glowing wood from the fire and touched it to the sprinkling of powder on the rock.
The powder popped and sizzled, consuming itself almost immediately, so the next time, he used more of the highly volatile substance, and so on and so forth until he was fairly certain the amount would serve its purpose without causing much additional damage. Then he went to Steldor's side.

“I'll need you to hold him,” he said to the captain, who eased away from his son, laying him down once more.

“Alcohol,” London said to Galen, stretching out a hand. “I need to disinfect this before I begin.”

The sergeant handed over another flask, and the Elite Guard poured clear liquid into the gash, causing Steldor to stiffen and moan in pain. I remembered small cuts and scrapes I'd acquired as a child that had been cleaned in this manner, and I shuddered, knowing how much even a skinned knee could sting with alcohol applied.

London picked up a cloth, dipped it into the bucket of water Galen had brought and wiped away blood, dried and fresh, so he would be better able to see what he was doing. When he had finished, he handed the reddened rag back to Galen and picked up his pouch.

“I'm going to do this carefully,” London assured Steldor at the quickening of the young King's breathing. “And I won't light it yet. I'm just going to place it.”

Steldor grimaced as London packed the powder into his slashed abdomen. At last he stood and walked to the fire, retrieving a splinter of wood with a smoldering end. He again knelt beside the injured man, then nodded to Cannan and Galen.

“Hold him.”

My earlier reservations about whether I should try to comfort Steldor left me, and I sank down next to him, lifting his head to place it in my lap. With Cannan on Steldor's left and Galen at his feet, I ran my hands through my hus
band's hair. The captain removed his own leather belt, folding it to place between his son's teeth, then leaned over to pin Steldor's upper arms to the floor, while Galen likewise held his legs.

“Get it over with,” Steldor growled. With this encouragement, the Elite Guard touched the glowing stick to the powder, which flared brightly with a whiplike crack before dissipating into smoke and sizzle.

There was nothing Steldor could have done to keep himself from crying out. As the revolting smell of burning flesh reached my nostrils, my husband fought his father and Galen insanely, his screams so intense that I thought it plausible Cokyrians somewhere might hear him and find us. In a way, it was fortunate that Steldor had lost so much blood—if he had not been weakened, it would have taken more than two men to pin him down.

Cannan looked to be in almost as much agony as his son, and I felt tears dampening my hands where they touched the sides of Steldor's face. Then the King's cries died out, and he slipped into welcome unconsciousness.

Neither the captain nor the sergeant moved, even though Steldor had gone limp, until the powder had burned out. London waited for many minutes after the fire had run its course, examining the wound for signs of continued bleeding. When there were none, he again demanded the alcohol to disinfect the now-cauterized gash.

I still had not closely examined Steldor's wound, too afraid of how I would react. London seemed to sense this.

“Alera, he's not aware of us anymore. Miranna is more in need of you right now than is he.”

After an uncertain glance at Cannan, who gave a small nod, I relented, laying Steldor's head on his bed of animal skins. As I did so, my eyes fell on the wolf's head talisman
that he always wore. It lay slightly off-center on his chest, spattered with blood. Knowing how much it meant to him, I felt a sudden desire to keep it safe.

“May I have this?” I said to Cannan, fingering the chain.

“He is your husband, so it is yours to take.”

I nodded, then removed the talisman. With one last look at Steldor's handsome face, I rose to my feet and went to clean it before hanging it around my neck.

Miranna had awakened while we were ministering to Steldor, and sat with her hands over her ears, despite the cessation of screaming. I went to her and tended to her as well as I could, for she still had no interest in talking, while London stitched the wound closed. Galen rose to retrieve a clean shirt and bedding, while the other two men cleansed Steldor of blood and filth to the best of their ability, trying to make him more comfortable. When they had bandaged his midriff again, they gingerly lifted the still-unconscious King, moving him onto fresh animal skins to the left side of the fire pit and covering him with a quilt.

As London, Cannan and Galen washed and changed out of their blood-and grime-covered clothing, I made some gruel. They gathered round to receive a bowl filled with the unappetizing mixture, wolfing it down where they stood without a word. To my surprise, Galen swayed on his feet, and I wondered if my cooking skills were so poor that I had made him ill.

“Get some sleep, Sergeant,” Cannan ordered, catching the young man's arm to steady him, making it clear that the malady from which he suffered was fatigue.

Galen nodded, then forced himself to stay awake long enough to lay out quilts and animal skins along the left cave wall, near where Davan had once bedded down, but ten feet
from Steldor. He was literally asleep before he had lain fully down, and I knew he would be out for a very long time.

Peace having descended, London motioned to Cannan to accompany him toward the entrance. I glanced at my sister, who had returned to sit on her bed with a bowl of gruel, and then followed them. The men were aware of my approach, but neither attempted to send me away. London leaned back against the wall of the cave, crossing his arms over his chest, as he asked the question that had been burning inside of me.

“What happened?”

“We had barely covered the tunnel's entrance when the Cokyrians attacked. They outnumbered us three to one, but Steldor and Galen fought with the strength of twenty. When the last Cokyrian had been slain, Galen caught three of their horses so we could escape before the enemy launched a pursuit. It was then we discovered that Steldor had been grievously wounded.”

Cannan looked away for a moment, shaking his head in amazement.

“I don't know how the boy continued to fight after sustaining that injury, but none of us would have survived had he not done so. I packed and wrapped the wound, then we rode on, intending to stop and tend to it when we had put some distance between us and the enemy. But our trail was picked up almost immediately.”

I stared in stupefaction at the captain, who so matter-of-factly spoke about their ordeal as though it had been a training exercise rather than a life-or-death situation. Inside, his emotions had to be in turmoil, yet none of it showed in his manner. What was manifest, however, was that Steldor had pulled them through. I prayed that London and Cannan could do the same for him.

“Galen and I took turns doubling back to try to throw
off the Cokyrians, but they are well-trained trackers. They came after us unrelentingly, gaining a little more every hour. We dared not come directly here as a result and were about to split up when Davan found us. We took a gamble and gave him two of our horses, as the Cokyrians were tracking three; he cut open his own arm and stayed behind to confuse the blood trail and lead the enemy astray.” The captain paused for a long moment before finishing. “As Davan has not joined us, I worry he worked his plan a little too well. He may have saved our lives only to forfeit his own.”

A weighty silence fell at the conclusion of the tale, for the losses we had suffered, might still suffer, were agonizing. Cannan looked back at his son for a moment, then returned his attention to London.

“And how did you make your return to Hytanica?” he asked in his inimitable fashion.

“Narian released me—he made it possible for me to escape. I was being detained in the Temple of the High Priestess, for she seemed to think the way to secure my cooperation was through kindness. At least, she knew from prior experience that torture would not work. She must have kept my presence concealed from the Overlord, or he would certainly have killed me. He and I did not part on the best of terms seventeen years ago.”