Blood of the Guardian (29 page)

“Do what you need to do,” Nolan said, his voice just above a whisper.

Tibel’s eyes widened. He sucked in a breath as the family approached.

Mikal started on his speech, gesturing with wide, melodramatic waves of his hand. Nolan had heard it so many times, he tuned it out. A girl, probably only five years old, stared at him, wide-eyed, as she hung on her mother’s skirts.
I have to live … a little longer. Not in front of her.

“See the amazing power of the Mina … ” Mikal gave his cue.

Tibel hesitated, spear raised.

“Get on with it,” Mikal growled.

Tibel reared back, and the young girl squealed. Nolan tensed, never quite getting used to the piercing thrust and the tearing flesh. He tightened his stomach, preparing for the jab, but a sharp pain struck his leg.

Nolan yelled between clenched teeth, pulling on his ropes. It stung, but not as bad as it typically did. Tibel pulled it out cleanly, and Nolan mustered what healing he could and slowly closed the wound.

The boy clapped while the girl hid her face. The father slipped Mikal a coin, slapping him on the back, and they continued on to see the four-armed woman. Nolan’s breath stuttered, and his arms trembled, the rope digging into his wrists. It’d been a small wound this time, but even a small one was too much.

“What in the Darkness was that?” Mikal growled.

“It scared her. The girl didn’t need to see so much blood.” Tibel shifted his feet, his shoulders squared in a challenge.

He’d done it for the girl, he said. But Nolan could see it on his face, feel it in his defiant emotions. He’d aimed true with his Accuracy and hit the best possible place for Nolan to heal.

Two more times he did the same, directing jabs in easy places. Mikal glared, his speech coming out in barks which made the spectators step back. A few times the watchers even retreated, cutting the performance short. Mikal’s eyes swelled with light, the red gleaming in the dimness. As much as Tibel had done for him to prolong the inevitable, Nolan couldn’t keep up much longer, especially since Mikal grabbed the spear. Nolan was out of time.

“Master Nolan,”
a voice said in his head.

He couldn’t reply. He was sorry Rikar would have to see this; he would most likely blame himself for Nolan’s death.

“Master Nolan,”
the voice said again.
“Hang on … we are coming for you.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“HOW IN THE DARKNESS do you open this thing?” Someone snapped their fingers near Nolan’s face. “Stay with me, brother. Don’t die on me now.”

Nolan jerked back to consciousness, remembering the screams as the Rol’dan had broken into the clearing. Swords clashed. Kael appeared before his cage. Kael?

Nolan forced his eyes open, fighting the weakness. He went to rub his eyes, but his hands wouldn’t move; the ropes cut into his wrists.

“Greer! Can you open this nightforsaken thing?” Kael said through the bars.

Greer appeared, glowing with his Guardian brilliance. He touched the bars with just a fingertip, and the metal responded, glowing brightly.

“What’s that?” Kael asked.

“Guardian steel,” Greer said in his deep baritone voice. He pulled his hand away, and the bars dimmed. “Where did the gypsies find this?”

“Can you break it open? Bend the bars?”

“I am sorry, Master Kael. I cannot.”

“He’s bleeding,” a female said.

Slowly, Nolan craned his head around. Kat pressed her face between the bars. She slipped her arm through and grabbed Nolan’s hand. “We’ll get you out of there.”

“It had a key at one time,” Greer said.

“I’ll go check the gypsy,” Kat said.

She slipped her hand from his and disappeared from sight. Only seconds passed, but Nolan’s head lightened. The silhouettes of his friends faded. He closed his eyes—just a bit of rest, that’s all he needed … and Kael smacked him across the face.

Nolan jolted, his cheek stinging with the impact. He was quite awake now.

“That’s better,” Kael said as he yanked his hand out of the bars. “Live through this, and you can get back at me later.”

“Promise?” Nolan asked, his voice sounding as if it had been raked over thorny barbs.

“If you can catch me.”

Kat appeared. “Is this it?”

“Yes,” Greer said. They moved behind Nolan, toward the rear of his cage. “The latch is concealed.”

Metal clanked against metal, and then the door groaned open. Kat came to him, brushing his sweat-soaked hair aside. Her hazel eyes studied his face, and a stripe of blood traced her jaw. “He’s so pale.”

Nolan tried to smile, but even that took too much effort. Abruptly, the binding on his hand came undone—then the other. He fell.

Large hands caught him. Greer lifted him like an infant and carried him from the cage.

“Put him here,” Kat said.

Greer lowered him onto the soft grass, so much nicer than straw. They wedged a cloth or garment under his head.

Kael barked orders to the other Rol’dan. Fetch Water. Get bandages. Nolan grunted as Kat bound his leg. It hurt a lot.

“Why isn’t he healing?” Kat asked. “Can’t he heal? Greer, can you do something?”

“I tried, Mistress Katherine. He didn’t respond.”

“There’s a bottle of spirits over there,” Kat said. “We can disinfect it.”

“The stones,” Nolan whispered.

“We might have to burn it closed.” Kat cursed. “It’s bleeding a lot.”

Nolan grabbed her arm. Her face jerked toward him, surprised.

“The stones,” Nolan said. “Kat … I’ll die without them.”

She blinked. “The stones? Where are they?”

Nolan’s hope deflated. More than likely, the stones, and Jezebelle, were long gone. “Jezebelle had them.”

She nodded and jumped to her feet, striding over the clearing toward a body on the ground. A body with long braids spread around it. Jezebelle was … dead?

Nolan looked at Kael. “You killed her?”

“Technically,
I
did,” Kat said as she returned and tossed the leather pouch to Nolan’s side. She grabbed his hand and shoved it into the bag. Instantly, the stones pulsed against his skin. Nolan leaned his head back and released a long, soft moan. Brim’s light, did it feel good.

“I fought her,” Kael said. “The gypsy attacked like a demon—never saw anything like it. It almost seemed like she had more than one …” His voice drifted. “Crows, Nolan. Did she? I swear she had more than one Shay.”

“She did,” Nolan answered.

“How many?”

“All of them.”

The group around him was stunned to silence.

Finally, Kael cleared his throat. “Well, it explains why she fought so well. It was a hard battle, but I had it under control,” Kael continued, “and Lieutenant Connelly jumped in and took the kill.”

Kat snorted. “Under control? Which part? When you were stumbling backward or when she was sticking you with her daggers?”

Kael’s brows shot up. “Well then, Lieutenant. When we return to Faylinn, I’ll show you my techniques with extra practice sessions.”

A few of the other soldiers chuckled. Kat grinned. Apparently, Kael’s threat didn’t bother her. She leaned close to Nolan’s ear and whispered, “I saved him.”

As much as Nolan disliked Jezebelle, he couldn’t help but feel sad. He’d had some connection to her, if only a little. He’d even started feeling sorry for her. He knew what she’d been going through, knew what it was like not to fit in. In some small way, he even envied her death. But if she could gain all the powers, then perhaps others would continue to appear. Maybe he wasn’t such an oddity after all.

His hand closed around the Strength stone, and his Shay pulsed inside him. This past week of pain, of exhaustion, of fear, melted away, and his eyes closed as he drifted to sleep.

***

Nolan jarred awake. Morning light filtered through the walls of a tent. He lay in a bed, a glorious bed—with a lumpy mattress. He’d never felt anything so wonderful. His muscles still trembled, but the hand of death no longer reached for him as the stones gently pulsed at his side.

Kat sat in a chair next to him, legs stretched out, hands resting in her lap. Her chest rose and fell with her breaths. Her head rested on the chair at an angle that would give her a good kink in the neck.

He studied her—considering he couldn’t do anything else. She had a strong face and a square jaw. A nose not so small, but still attractive. She shifted, adjusting her shoulders before settling again.

Had she stayed with him all night?

Nolan’s eyes traveled down her, examining her. She couldn’t hide her shapely body, even with the boy cut of her uniform. How had he
ever
mistaken her for a boy?

The tent flap opened, and Kat jumped up, her hand on her sword. She relaxed when Kael entered. She nodded. “General.”

He strode in, only glancing at her before approaching Nolan’s bed. “Brother. How are you feeling?”

Nolan grunted.

“Hmm. That good?”

Kat flipped up a corner of Nolan’s blanket. The cool air smacked the skin of his leg. She untied a bandage. “It looks better. The wound sealed.”

“It’s still red,” Kael commented.

They examined him, like they were assessing a map. Nolan pushed up, and they both turned, as if finally seeing him.

“I just need the light,” Nolan said. “It will heal once I stand in the light.”

Kael nodded. “Which is why I’ve come to get you.” He smacked Nolan’s sore leg. “Sit up.”

Nolan shot eye daggers at him as he attempted to rise. His limbs felt like they were filled with steel planks. He swung from the bed, glad to see he still wore the loincloth. Kat had already seen him wake without any clothes.

Kael slid under his arm and pushed, grunting. “For Brim’s sake, Nolan. How much do you weigh?”

“I’ve lost weight. Be glad.”

“Greer thinks he can combine the stones,” Kael said, his voice strained. “He’s working on something now.”

With effort, Kael got Nolan to his feet. It was strange to lean on Kael while towering over him. Kael had always been taller. Stronger. Now Kael’s face reddened, his lips pressed in concentration, as he tried to move Nolan toward the door.

They emerged into the sunlight of late morning, the sun peaking in the sky. Greer stood in the center of the clearing, holding what appeared to be a metal bar, perhaps from one of the cages. Nolan scanned the camp, noticing a group of Gypsies locked in his former prison. His eyes fell on Rikar’s empty cage.

He opened his mouth, about to ask what happened to the Guardian, but he stopped as his eyes fell on Greer. Maybe Rikar had slipped out because of him.

A creaking moan came from the bar in Greer’s hand, and light flared in his eyes. He gripped the rod in one hand and wrapped the length of it around his arm like a bandage. When he’d finished, he pulled a spiral rod free.

Greer held it up, inspecting it. “I think it will work. Where are the stones?”

Kael cursed, still holding Nolan’s weight. “They’re in Nolan’s bed.”

“I’ll get them,” Kat said. She disappeared into the tent and emerged with Nolan’s bag. She held it to Greer, and he took a step back.

“Sorry,” she said. “Just tell me what to do.”

“Place the stones inside of the rod, one on top of another,” Greer instructed as he handed her the spiral rod.

She slid the stones inside; it narrowed enough at the bottom to hold them all in. “Brilliant!”

Greer smiled. “We searched the clearing and found several possibilities in the tree branches for one or two together. But joining them all was impossible here.” He motioned toward the stones. “So I improvised.”

“Great!” Kael said, a sarcastic sneer to his voice. “Now can we hurry this up?” Sweat broke out around his forehead, dripped down his nose, and coated the sides of his face.

Kat moved toward a large elm. She shoved the stones and spiral rod into the back of her tunic, leaving a large lump. Grabbing a low branch, she hoisted up and scampered up the side. Nolan’s brow rose as he watched her. She never paused as she ascended hand over hand. When she reached a thick branch, she straddled it, scooting along the length by lifting with her hands.

When she got into position, she waved before pulling out the stones. The branch bent under her weight, swaying. Nolan’s heartrate increased. As long as she didn’t die immediately, Greer could heal her if she fell.

“Right there would be good,” Greer called.

She nodded and jammed it into a v-shaped portion of the branch. Instantly, a white light shone on the ground.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

HOURS PASSED AS NOLAN STOOD under the light of Brim. It warmed him, filling him, bringing all his senses alive. It was like coming upon his Shay powers for a second time.

During his ordeal, imprisoned behind bars, he’d shut off his powers for self-preservation. Now that he filled, the sounds in the clearing amplified. There were conversations. Small animals ran through the brush. Smells of old campfires, of blood and death, filled his nostrils.