02 #2
I have Hope. She poked the familiar. Hope sat up. His eyes were wide open, his head scanning the streets.
“Wing,” she told him.
Hope lifted a wing and placed it across only one of her eyes. He didn’t even smack her with it, which meant he knew it was
serious. She had seen the bodies of the Barrani only when she landed. If a spell of concealment had been cast, it was large
enough to cover the whole of the building and the streets surrounding it. The magic that had been invoked seemed to be a barrier
of some kind—a way of keeping the immediate battle from being noticed by anyone not involved in it.
The rest of the smoking building looked normal from the wing-eye view. Has my cheek stopped bleeding?
Severn nodded. The mark is still there.
Would it vanish if he were dead?
I don’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say yes.
There had been whole years when she wished Nightshade dead. Years in the streets of his poorly ruled, neglected fief. Years.
Sometimes, though, she didn’t think about him at all. She was an orphan, protected by another orphan; there was no reason
she’d ever cross even his shadow.
There are worse fieflords.
There are way better fieflords, Kaylin shot back. Severn had never resented Nightshade—person or fief—as much as she had.
Although she had Hope, she let Severn move a yard or two in front; Hope was scanning the streets, as was she. The windows
of buildings across from this one seemed closed; she caught no glimpse of assassins there.
The door that Severn approached had been blown off one of its hinges and listed in the blackened frame. Given the state of the walls, the door should have been destroyed.
Severn stationed himself on the hinge side of the doorframe.
Have you found him? Ynpharion’s voice was sharper. Too sharp.
Kind of busy right now. Kaylin matched his tone.
Silence. Anger. Something else in the mix. Worry? Fear?
She cursed him in Leontine, which had less of an effect when the words weren’t verbalized, although he did hear them through
the namebond.
Ready? Severn asked. At Kaylin’s nod, he lashed out with his left foot and kicked the door. Whatever had preserved the hinge was
gone; the door flew in.
Lightning flew out.
Kaylin took a risk. “Nightshade?”
The lightning wasn’t followed by any other attack. “Lord Kaylin?” Not Nightshade’s voice.
“Andellen? Is that you?”
“I have my lord with me; he is injured. He is unconscious.”
“The rest of the attackers?”
“Very dead. There were only two who made it through the door.”
Kaylin immediately swung round and rolled through the doorframe, coming up on her feet prepared to throw herself forward if
necessary. Severn was less than a step behind.
Hope, however, leaped off her shoulder before he could become part of her somersault. He squawked very, very loudly, in august
displeasure.
Nothing attacked. Kaylin saw another door—this one was open. Through it, she could see Andellen. He was bleeding but appeared
to have all of his limbs; he’d taken a quarrel wound on his right shoulder.
His thigh was slashed, his hands slick with blood; she couldn’t tell how much of it was his own. She moved toward him quickly, while Hope flapped around her head, squawking.
Andellen stepped aside before she could touch him. As he did, she could see Nightshade. His hand had a white-knuckled death
grip on Meliannos, but that hand was still attached to the rest of him. She could see no visible wound, but he was unconscious.
Unconscious. He couldn’t do what Andellen had just done. He couldn’t avoid her touch. She hesitated.
Do not do it, Ynpharion snapped.
Why not? I already hold his name.
Ynpharion knew this but was outraged at her casual statement. You know very well why not. Are you a fool? The secrets of the powerful are not yours to know unless they are offered. Lord
Nightshade is among the very powerful.
He might die if we don’t move him.
Silence. It was a longer silence, and there was heat in it, fear, even disagreement. Ynpharion was arguing with someone. Kaylin
could guess who.
She wants me to save him.
She has not yet decided!
No—you haven’t decided. She wants me to save him.
She acknowledges the danger to you; it is the only reason she feels conflicted. She points out that you bear the mark of the
Erenne. She says you understand the danger.
She did. Immortals didn’t want to be healed. Ynpharion hadn’t wanted to be healed. She’d forced herself into his life because
she’d wanted to heal him. She’d taken his name. If she’d had any way of scrubbing that knowledge from her brain, she’d’ve
done it in an instant.
She looked at Nightshade, kneeling by his side to gauge his level of injury. His limbs had not fallen in a way that implied
they were broken—but back injuries weren’t always obvious either. If she wasn’t careful—if they weren’t careful—moving him
could finish him off.
There was no wound that implied loss of blood would kill him. He was pale, but Barrani were often pale. They didn’t tan or burn the way normal people did, unless they wanted to.
She looked up at Andellen. “Do you know what caused this?”
Andellen was silent for a long beat.
“It’s not Shadow?” This was asked with more force.
“It is not Shadow as I understand it. I would guess poison, if I were pressed; I would not like my lord’s life to depend on
that ill-formed guess.”
“What did you see?”
“Nothing. I heard him grunt. I heard him fall. At that point, the attackers who managed to follow us into the house were still
alive. They did not remain so for long.”
Long enough.
She frowned, sheathing the one long knife she carried. She closed the eye that wasn’t behind Hope’s translucent wing, and
focused. Through Hope’s wing, Nightshade’s pallor was subtly different. She looked for exposed skin, for any sign of a needle,
a dart, but could find nothing.
Andellen’s injuries were far more obvious.
“Is it safe to take his hand from the sword?”
“I would not, were I you. Meliannos is a weapon meant for fighting many things; not all are, or can be, easily seen. It is possible that his grip on the sword
has preserved him.”
They were as far away from Castle Nightshade as they could be while remaining within the fief’s boundaries. Taking him to
his Tower when he was in this shape would be deadly if any of the attacking Barrani remained. Andellen could—and would—fight,
as would Severn, but the Barrani wouldn’t need a small war band to finish them all off. Andellen’s skills could be trusted,
but he’d be saddled with two humans as comrades.
“How many of Nightshade’s Barrani servants can be trusted?”
She could feel Ynpharion’s deep annoyance at the question. Fine. “Did any of the Barrani take a blood oath of service?”
Andellen failed to reply. She looked up at him and revised her opinion about his ability to fight. Neither he nor the lord to whom he’d devoted his life were going to be much help should they be required to fight their way to the Tower where Nightshade would be safest.
“Is there such a thing as magical poison?” she asked instead. Ynpharion?
It would not be called poison, Ynpharion replied. Wait a moment, if that’s possible for you.
If it was magic, Kaylin’s healing might be hampered. If the magic had done damage, she might be able to alleviate that—but
she was no longer certain.
She called his name. Calarnenne.
He didn’t answer.
She called it again, with more force, with true intent. When she did, she almost felt his familiar, lurking presence—but there
were no words, no deliberate response.
Hesitating, she continued to study his pallor. “Hope, do you see what I see?”
Hope squawked; it was the affirmative squawk, but it felt slightly hesitant.
Severn?
“No.”
But you could see the attackers from the air.
I could see past the barrier. I’m almost certain that barrier wasn’t erected by Nightshade. Would you recognize his magic?
Kaylin shook her head. I never saw him cast a magic powerful enough to leave a sigil. Either that or the magic he used didn’t require one. I’m not
sure how the Towers function in that regard. She’d never considered it before.
She hesitated and then reached out to touch Nightshade’s pale cheek with her left hand.
His skin was hot.
The cheek that carried the Erenne mark burned at the contact; she hadn’t expected that.
She didn’t even need Severn to tell her that her cheek was bleeding again.
Closing both eyes, she started to examine his physical body the only way she knew how.
She built the bridge of power she had always crossed to heal.
She touched nothing.
She felt nothing. Only the fevered heat beneath her palm made clear she hadn’t lost the necessary physical contact. That made
things simpler.
“He’s feverish. I don’t know enough about Barrani physiology to know how much of a fever Barrani can safely maintain, or for
how long.” She couldn’t read him at all. She couldn’t tell if there were internal injuries she couldn’t see.
“We won’t make it back to the Tower. We have a Dragon waiting in the street at the edge of the border. If he had permission
to fly—and land—we could ask him to take us to the Tower. But the Tower will be a problem. I can’t wake Nightshade. I can’t
get his permission, if Tiamaris would even ask it.”
“I highly doubt a Dragon is capable of the subtlety required to pass beneath the Tower’s notice.” Andellen’s voice was stiff.
Tiamaris was standing at the very edge of Nightshade, and Nightshade had a death-grip on Meliannos, one of The Three, weapons considered dragonkillers by the Barrani.
Kaylin grimaced. “Fine. We need Nightshade not to be here. I don’t know how much time we’ll have. I don’t know if there are
spies who are waiting until they feel enough time has passed that they can approach. Help me carry him.”
“What do you intend?”