The Elder Blood Chronicles Bk 1 In Shades of Grey (51 page)

“There is nothing I can do Jala. Neither my
sister nor myself are healers of this caliber, and he is too far
gone to transport magically. He is burnt inside as well as out and
shouldn’t be alive now,” Victory said quietly, his voice thick with
emotion.

“Can we bring a healer to him?” Jala asked,
tears welling up in her eyes. She took a deep breath and forced
herself to remain focused. She couldn’t break down now. Finn needed
her. He wouldn’t even be hurt if he hadn’t saved her. She felt
pressure on her hand and looked down to see his good hand pressed
against hers.

“Couldn’t before more Rivasan’s arrive. Leave
here,” Finn mumbled, his words broken by the ruined right side of
his mouth. His voice was weak and the words hard to decipher, but
Jala understood them well enough. He expected her to leave him
here.

“He is right, we need to go,” Victory said,
his gaze quickly dropping from her face.

“Then go, I will not leave him here dying by
himself,” Jala hissed back, her throat tight.

The pale one still watches, should I leave
him be,
Marrow asked and she glanced over her shoulder at the
Soul Reaver. He sat motionless, simply watching them with no
expression on his face.

“Can you heal?” she called to him in
desperation. He had not made any move against them in the fight so
it was possible he might be persuaded to help.

The Soul Reaver rode closer and looked down
at her. “I cannot, Milady, my apologies. The Sovaesh fought well. I
will wait with him and prevent the Rivasan’s from defiling his
soul. I must collect it though, as I was paid, but you should go
before more of them arrive. They will exact their vengeance on you
if you remain.”

Heal him yourself,
Marrow urged.

“I don’t know how,” she whispered to the
Bendazzi who now sat beside her regarding the Soul Reaver
warily.

He will die if you don’t try and he will
die if you move him. Even if you don’t do it correctly and he dies
anyway, at least you have tried
, Marrow pointed out.

Jala gave a slight nod. The Bendazzi’s
appraisal of the situation was accurate. Taking a deep breath she
mentally calculated her magical reserves trying to estimate if she
had enough left. With grim determination, she pushed aside the
calculation and wrapped Finn’s hand in her own. Anthae’s words rang
in her mind as she settled herself more comfortably.
Let no one
tell you what you are capable of. Search your heart and find that
answer yourself.
She leaned forward and pressed her other hand
gently on the unhurt side of Finn’s chest. Closing her eyes she
focused her magic and listened as her heart told her she could do
this.

“What are you doing?” Victory demanded. She
felt his hand brush against hers trying to stop her. “Untrained
healing is dangerous for the healer as well as the patient, Jala.
You must stop.”

“To doubt is to fail,” she whispered to
herself and pushed Victory’s words away. “If he tries to move me
again, Marrow, remove his hand,” she said in a slightly louder
voice, just enough to reach Victory’s ears.

Marrow gave a low growl, and she pushed
herself further into the magic, trusting her Familiar to keep her
from being interrupted. The magic coursed through her and into Finn
and she had to bite her lip against the pain that washed over her
as she shared his pain. It said much for the man that he wasn’t
writhing and screaming in agony. He apparently planned to die with
dignity. She ground her teeth at the thought and pushed the healing
on. That was a plan she would disrupt happily. Finding the proper
concentration through the mingled pain was difficult at first, but
the knowledge that if she didn’t he would die, kept her focused.
Finn Sovaesh would not die. She would not allow it. With gentle
pushes on his body, she wove the magic through burnt flesh and felt
it reweave under her touch. She started deep where the damage
didn’t show and worked steadily on organs that had ceased all
function. There was so much damage, and her reserves were already
low. She pushed back the doubt once more and continued. Her
breathing grew shallow, and everything except Finn’s wounds faded
from her mind. It was the deepest into the magic she had ever gone.
Sovann had spoken of the trances before, but she had never been
able to achieve one. Spots began to form behind her eyes and
something warm ran down her face, from her nose she thought.

Draw from something other than yourself,
Jala. You are pulling too much from inside,
Marrow urged.

I can’t channel, I’m a sorcerer,
she
objected, speaking back to his mind, too deep in the trance to
bother with spoken words.

You are not a healer, either, and yet you
are healing. Find something to draw from before you die with him,
Jala
, the Bendazzi insisted, his voice gnawing at her mind,
refusing to be ignored.

Jala let her eyes flicker open and searched
for something as the Bendazzi urged her. Still heavy in the trance
and past the point of logical thought, her gaze lingered on Finn’s
swords. She had seen the Barllen absorb magic just days ago.
Silently she outstretched a hand toward the swords and pulled. The
first magic to brush against it was absorbed, but she tried again,
her resolve firmer. With a low, almost feral growl that sounded
more like Marrow than herself, she pulled and the magic answered in
a rush. With renewed energy, she continued the weaving on Finn’s
ravaged body, allowing her eyes to sink closed once more. Her work
became a steady rhythm. Simply locate the damage and mend the
damage, and then, do it over again. Until she no longer spared it
though, becoming more machine than thinking creature.

“Enough, Jala, it’s enough,” she heard a
voice say in her ear. Arms were around her and they seemed so warm,
almost feverish. The voice was familiar but she couldn’t place who
was speaking to her. There was still more damage to repair. She
ignored the voice and continued the weaving, Finn wouldn’t die; she
wouldn’t let him.

The arms wrapped tighter around her, gentle
and warm. “Jala, enough, I’m all right. Enough. Please. You are
bleeding, please stop,” the voice pleaded, and Jala stirred from
her trance a bit.

“Finn?” she asked, with eyes still closed and
her voice sounding distant to her ears.

“Yes, Jala, it’s me. Please stop now, please.
Just relax, it’s OK now,
Vezradesh
,” he repeated, his voice
holding more urgency.

The last word broke through to her, and she
smiled. Finn was the only one that had ever called her
Vezradesh
. Wisp had told her what the word meant, but she
still didn’t know which meaning Finn was using, heart, love, or
eternity. Her eyes still closed, she leaned forward into his arms,
and her face brushed against the burnt remains of his shirt, as she
rested fully against his chest. “So tired, going to rest now if you
are okay, Finn,” she whispered into his chest, her body relaxing
against him.

“That’s right, Jala, rest. It’s okay, I’ll
get us both back home,” she heard him whisper and felt him gently
kiss the top of her head as she drifted into dreamless sleep.

Shade’s knuckles were white on the controls
as he sat the spell hawk down roughly. He turned a glare to Temare,
and then looked past him to where Madren and Leah sat pale faced
and silent. “Stay on the ship. I’m going to speak with my
father.”

“You were ordered to return to Sanctuary,”
Temare snapped. Shade eyed his former Sword Master with contempt
and matched his glare.

“You serve House Morcaillo, Temare, and I am
heir to this house. You forget your place,” he snarled, pushing
past the man. He had never before spoken to Temare in anything but
tones of respect. He no longer cared for protocol, though, and had
been pushed too far. He had to keep a constant effort to keep
images of Jala’s torments from forming in his mind; torments she
wouldn’t be enduring if he had stood his ground. “Get out of my god
damned way before I move you,” Shade growled as the Sword Master
once again stepped into his path.

“Your father will send for you when he wishes
to speak with you. You are to return to Sanctuary. He has other
matters that he must see to before he deals with you,” Temare
replied, unmoving.

“My father will speak with me now,” Shade
returned, with enough force that the man stepped back a fraction.
Rage fueling his strength, he shoved past the man and opened the
door to the Spell Hawk and stepped out into the balmy night air.
Lights glowed in the house beyond. He started to head that way,
ignoring Temare’s demands for him to stop until the aging Sword
Master’s complaints stopped abruptly in mid command. Spinning back
in confusion, Shade saw Temare’s form lying sprawled on the ground
face down in the dirt. A figure stood above him cloaked darkly and
dressed in blue and silver. Blue eyes met his own and Shade’s anger
fell away as he recognized his uncle. The man was taller than Myth
by no more than a few inches and as lean as a wolf.

“Silent and follow, Shade,” his uncle
commanded and strode off toward the house, staying deep in the
shadows as he moved. Shade followed, confused but curious.

“What is going on, Uncle Kiernan?” he asked
in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Be silent and pick a smaller form boy, once
suitable for skulking,” Kiernan replied, his own form already
shifting down to the small serpent form he favored. Shade regarded
the tiny snake for a scarce breath and shifted his own form to
match his uncles. Never before had any member of his family used
the Changeling talent so openly before, and he felt his skin
prickling at the open display. He had been schooled since he was a
small boy that to use the talent openly was to invite death. His
uncle moved silently through the grass, and Shade followed
wordlessly as he was led under his family home and into the floors
beneath. Absently, he wondered how many times his uncle had used
this method for spying and dismissed the thought as no concern of
his. He had never done a thing worth spying on. He had always
behaved as expected, always. And because of that, Jala was most
likely being raped or already dead and Amelia Faydwer was now
hostage in Rivasan lands. The thoughts died at once as voices rose
from the room above him. His father’s voice and what he thought was
Lord Avanti. His uncle settled himself, no longer moving, and
remained frozen as he listened to the conversation above.

“It will be gone within the year and Arovan
with it,” his father was saying, and Shade wished he had caught the
first part of that sentence. As far as he knew, his father never
had any interest in the Arovan lands. They were far to the north
and not even on the same continent as his own. For the most part,
Lord Arovan remained apart from the intrigues of Sanctuary. The
only time the lands were ever mentioned was in reference to Lord
Hai’dia, Arovan’s General, or one of his family. Shade settled
himself silently and focused all attention on the words above as
his uncle was doing. Apparently Kiernan thought this was important
for him to hear.

“So you say, but what proof do you have of
this,” Avanti spoke, his voice smooth and cultured. There was no
mistaking who it was, now that he heard it more clearly. Lord
Avanti was a longtime associate of his father, and he had sat
through many dinners with the man.

“Open a scry and look for yourself. Gaelyn
lies in ruins and Glis sits defenseless,” his father replied.

“And you don’t think the Fionaveir will
intercede?”

“They have already tried, and several of them
are dead because of it,” his father’s voice held more than the
usual arrogance. He sounded positively smug. “They have no way of
linking it back to me, or you, if you choose to help.”

“A very tempting offer and one I am most
interested in. That is not, of course, why I am here, and you know
it. It does go far in soothing my other concerns though. It is good
to know that Morcaillo is still the friend I thought it was. I
confess your son was raising doubts.”

“My son regrettably has made some very poor
choices recently. I had thought him more than what he has shown to
be.” Despite his choice of words, if Myth truly felt regret it
didn’t show in his tone.

“I have been told that Rivasa is tending to
the problem with the peasant girl. What do you intend to do about
your son?”

“I’m afraid House Morcaillo will have to
suffer casualties as well in this effort, and sadly I think my son
might not survive to see our victory,” Myth replied with an
exaggerated sigh.

A muffled laugh came from above, and Shade
was unsure if it was Avanti or his father laughing as they
discussed his impending demise. “Do you have any idea what Rivasa
intends to do with the girl? As I understand it, Finn will die. If
they make a slave of her, though, I might find an interest, she has
shown remarkable talent from what I hear,” Avanti spoke casually,
apparently satisfied that Myth had the difficulties with his son
well in hand.

Shade sought his mind frantically for what he
had done that was bad enough his father would kill him for it. His
gaze flicked to his uncle as Kiernan began to move back toward the
starlit night. Shade glanced up and would have frowned had the
expression been one available to snakes. Silently, he followed
after his uncle, fighting down the curiosity of what might be
discussed in his absence.

They were well away from the house heading
back toward the Spell Hawk before Kiernan once again shifted back
to his human form. He stood patiently, brushing his dark red hair
back from his face as he waited for Shade to finish his own
transformation.

“As you have heard, your life is forfeit,
Shade, and you must not confront your father. It would be best that
you go now and not look back,” Kiernan spoke quietly, his eyes
flicking around the grounds as if he expected to be discovered at
any moment.