Furies of Calderon (79 page)

“I don’t understand.”

“Saving your life would have been a small grace, I think. Saving the lives of your blood is another matter. You love the boy as a son. You love him so much it hurts my eyes. The Stead-holder. Even the slave. They are important to you. So I give you their lives. Our scale is balanced. Do not expect it again.”

Isana nodded. “What about the girl?”

Odiana sighed. “I was hoping she would die, out of general principles, but she’ll live. I neither helped nor hurt her. Take that as you would.”

“Thank you.”

The water witch shrugged and murmured with something like genuine warmth in her tone, “I hope that I never see you again, Isana.”

And with that, she descended the rope, and once at the bottom walked briskly across the courtyard, deeper into Garrison, eyes wary.

Isana turned her back on the departing mercenary and knelt down to touch Tavi’s forehead, to send Rill gently into the boy, to assure her of his health. She sensed that he was in pain and that he would need a more thorough crafting to put him to right, but that the water witch had ensured that he would live to be treated.

There was a scraping of leather on stone behind her, and Fade hauled himself up the rope, glowering at it reproachfully after. “Tavi?”

Chapter 45

Fidelias woke in somewhere dark, cool. He ached everywhere. He opened his eyes.

“Good,” Odiana purred. “You’re awake.” She leaned over him to rest fingertips lightly on his temples. The cool, pale metal of a discipline collar gleamed at her throat. “No more bleeding.”

“What happened?” Fidelias asked.

She watched his mouth very closely as he spoke, then answered, “I found my Aldrick, and then I found you. We’re not out yet. We need you to help us.”

The door to the warehouse creaked open, and Aldrick, wearing the tunic of a Rivan
legionare
, entered. “There isn’t much time,” he said, voice tense. He limped to Odiana and tossed down several bloody scraps of flesh attached to sweeping manes of fine white hair. Scalps. “The Marat are sweeping the buildings for any stragglers.”

“There’s one more circle to close,” Odiana said, smiling, and lifted up the scalps. She began to hum to herself and walked over toward a pile of fallen crates and spilled junk in the dimness of the warehouse.

Fidelias rose and wavered on his feet, gasping. He looked down to find himself wearing a Rivan tunic as well.

Aldrick caught him, though the swordsman himself seemed none too steady. “Easy. You were hurt pretty badly. Odiana stabilized you, but you’re going to need some serious attention.”

Fidelias nodded. He tucked Aquitaine’s dagger into his pouch and tied it shut. “All right,” he said. “How do we get out of here?”

“Everything’s still in chaos out there,” Aldrick said. “The Alerans are confused, there are many wounded, and some of the buildings are on fire. The Wolves fled and left the herd-banes to rot. Most of them fought to the death, and they’re still flushing them out of attics and basements.”

Fidelias nodded. “The men?”

“Banged up pretty well. We’re going to be paying off a lot of death benefits. If we can get out of Garrison, we should be able to rendevous with them. Can you stand?”

“Yes.” Fidelias squinted over toward Odiana and limped toward her.

She crouched beside the nearly still form of a huge, grimy holder. Broken crates lay all over him, along with spilled slate shingles. The man was obviously crippled, and he was not conscious.

Odiana was touching his hair with gentle fingers and smiled at Aldrick as he and Fidelias approached. Then she leaned forward and touched the man’s head. “Wake up, Master Kord.”

Aldrick pressed the tip of the sword into Kord’s skin. The man cringed away. “All right. All right.” He reached up and fumbled at the collar. Odiana shivered as it came free, holding it and staring at it.

Odiana leaned down to look into Kord’s eyes and murmured, “Isana is too kind a person to kill you, Kord. She’s too good a person to kill you. And, you poor thing.” She kissed his forehead again. “So am I.”

She took the scalps Aldrick had brought, and draped one of them over Kord’s arm. Then tucked one through his belt and left the third wrapped about his wrist. “These are scalps of the Horse Clan,” Odiana said. “They take scalping very seriously. And they’re emptying the buildings one by one, looking for enemies. They should be here any moment, poor Master. They’re going to tear the heart from your chest and eat it while it still beats. You’ll get to see part of it.” She let out a sigh and turned to Aldrick. “But we won’t?”

Fidelias paused long enough to grind his heel down on the man’s fingers and then walked away, wearily pulling up the wood-crafting that would shelter him, Aldrick, and Odiana from view while they slipped out of the battle-ravaged fortress.

They left the warehouse and saw a half-dozen of the Horse Clan dart inside, weapons in hand. In less than a minute, Kord began to scream. Long, drawn out, agonized, terrified, horrible screams.

Odiana leaned her head against Aldrick’s shoulder and murmured, “You’re right, my lord. It is a lovely morning.”

Chapter 46

Tavi woke up in bed, in a room in Bernard-holt used mostly when there were extra guests at hand. He felt tired, thirsty, but except for a mild ache, he did not hurt. He moved his legs and felt some kind of short breeches on them.

“I don’t know why,” his uncle’s voice rumbled from a bed nearby. “She bent over me and I thought she was going to cut my throat. Then she crafted the wound shut instead. Said she didn’t want me to bleed to death.”

Amara’s voice held a frown. “Did she say anything?”

“Yes. To tell Isana that they were even.”

Tavi sat up and looked around. His uncle sat in the bed beside him, white bandages wrapped around him from where his belly showed at the edge of the sheets to under his arms. He looked pale, and bruises marred his shoulders and half of his face, but he smiled when he saw Tavi. “Well, well. We thought you’d sleep forever.”