Chapter 7
Bastion woke as the sky began to lighten.
Selfishly, he put off rising.
He and Ulla had slid to the ground and situated themselves against the boulder, using it as a windbreak.
At some point, Ulla had sunken against him until her face pressed to his chest, a fistful of his shirt in her hand.
Bastion rested his chin over the curve of her horns, one arm wrapped around her shoulders to hold the cloak closed.
They nestled in a cocoon of warmth, his heart a little unsteady.
He’d been so conscious of her during the night that he slept poorly.
But he didn’t care.
In his waking moments, he’d stared up at the stars, anxiety warring with a wish for dawn to never come. To waive his duty in favor of staying right here. To truly take leave instead of just telling Endre so. Perhaps this is what he’d been looking for.
Ulla stirred, and Bastion realized he’d tightened his arm around her. She nuzzled her face against him. His blood heated. Then, she stretched, and cool air crept under the cloak before she stilled.
The sky grew brighter, a peachy blush coloring the clouds. A breath of wind whipped over the boulder, tugging at him, as if to remind him there were still miles to travel.
He looked down, reluctant to wake Ulla, and found her watching him.
Bastion let himself drown in her sea-green gaze, forgetting everything. For once, there was nothing guarded in her expression. Had he done that? Or had she yet to cross the threshold between sleep and true wakefulness?
He reached up slowly, expecting her to pull away. She didn’t.
His fingers traced the line of her face, trailing down to the corner of her mouth. She sighed, closed her eyes, and tipped her head back. A sudden wave of heat consumed him. Bastion brushed his thumb over her bottom lip and leaned in.
An alarmed whinny, high and shrill, stopped him.
Bastion scowled up at Finn, who stood a few yards away, grass hanging out of his mouth. Ulla’s eyes popped open. A flicker of disappointment rippled over her face.
A bird called in the distance.
Awooo, awooo, awooo.
The Thatian whinnied again, nostrils flaring and ribs heaving. He inched forwards, looking at Bastion like he had two heads.
Bastion turned back to Ulla. A tense knot of the cloak covered half her face, and though her glare looked fierce, Bastion detected some returning fear.
Finn tossed his head and shifted side to side.
The Thatian had ruined the moment, and Bastion remembered the urgency of their errand. Cypress Shoals was counting on them.
Reluctantly, Bastion released Ulla, and cool air flooded into the pockets of sleep-scented space between them. She stood and strode away. Bastion stomped over to their gear, cutting Finn an accusatory glare.
The Thatian reached around and lifted his upper lip as Bastion settled the blanket and saddle onto his back.
“You’re an ass,” Bastion grumbled. He cinched the girth, pulled the stray grass out of Finn’s mouth, and bridled him.
Ulla returned, haloed in morning light. She gathered their things and stuffed them into the saddlebags. Bastion dragged his eyes away, resisting the urge to do something embarrassing. He threw the reins over Finn’s head, then ducked behind the tree to relieve himself.
Awooo, awooo, awooo.
As he finished, a warm breeze caressed his neck, scraping a finger of worry down his back. Uneasiness, tight and sharp like a broken blade lodged between his ribs, washed over him.
He tapped Ulla’s shoulder and said, “Something’s wrong. We should go.”
She read his lips, eyes narrowed. She made a motion with both hands like snapping back a fishing line. Bastion nodded.
There was no time for breakfast. They had to hurry.
While Ulla refilled their waterskins in the stream, Bastion buckled his sword belt around his waist and secured the saddlebags behind the cantle.
He bent to undo the hobbles around Finn’s ankles, struggling to get them undone as the gelding stamped his back feet and bobbed his head impatiently.
Finally, he got the hobbles off and shoved them in the saddlebags. Finn bellowed a high, shrill whinny.
It almost covered the sound of weapons being drawn.
Bastion turned and froze.
Eight men scuttled around the boulder like crabs on a body. Two rushed Ulla, pinning her with blades to her throat.
Pirates.
Fear should have been something Bastion was well acquainted with pushing aside.
He’d defended rural towns against bandits, hunted down rabid predators, and participated in rescue and recovery, finding himself in some truly harrowing situations.
But he’d never been as terrified as he was right now, in this moment, seeing Ulla at the end of someone’s sword.
His blood ran cold.
Bastion reached for his sword, his hand fumbling like a new recruit.
“Ah, ah, ah!” A man crouched on top of the boulder, leering at Bastion. The two detaining Ulla stepped closer to her. “You wouldn’t want someone’s hand to slip, would you?”
His smile suggested he was a man who enjoyed violence.
A length of tattered red fabric around his head kept his dark hair out of cruel, glittering eyes.
Several gold earrings glinted in the morning light, the bright, polished color at odds with his sun-bleached clothes and tanned, weathered skin.
The others had a similar look to them, each sporting more gold than men of this ilk should reasonably have.
“Take his weapon,” the man said.
Bastion lifted his hands, the rapid thump thump of his heart fueling his anger at being caught unaware.
One pointed a sword at him while the other withdrew Bastion’s blade from its scabbard and backed away.
Bastion glanced at Finn. If he hadn’t been so doe-eyed over Ulla, he would have recognized the gelding’s warning.
“Buck,” said the one who took Bastion’s sword. “That’s a Thatian. They’re worth a fortune!”
A few of the men’s eyes brightened as they saw the stripes on his haunches. Others, though, shifted uneasily.
“Set it loose, Buck,” one of them whispered. “We don’t want to invite Kinra’s wrath.”
Bastion swallowed the stone in his throat as Buck’s attention swept over Finn. A slow, knife-sharp smile spread across his face, and Bastion discerned that this was not a stupid man.
“By Visara and all her chaos,” he said, leveling Bastion with his gaze. “What are you doing with such a beast?”
Bastion didn’t answer.
Buck jumped off the boulder, landing in a crouch. He rose to his full height, casually unfolding with a menace that tightened Bastion’s airways. His men didn’t move, but something about their collective inhale told Bastion that even they feared him.
Buck put a hand out. The man holding Bastion’s sword passed it to him. Instead of swinging it or admiring the blade, he lifted the hilt to examine the pommel. Buck was so close to it, Bastion could see his breath condensing on the metal.
Then, Buck let his hand drop to his side, stepping closer. He leaned forwards just enough that Bastion had to tip his head back to meet Buck’s eye.
“Who are you?” Buck whispered.
They stared at each other, Bastion silent and brimming with anger, and Buck, calm and confident. All Bastion needed was the right opening, but he would never see it if he let his emotions dictate his actions. He fought to slow his racing heart and temper the lurking panic in his stomach.
“All right,” Buck said. His smile split wider as he backed away. He jerked his chin.
Someone backhanded Bastion, then forced him to his knees. A moment later, his arms were twisted behind his back. Finn whinnied and tossed his head as someone else attempted to lead him away. Others surrounded Ulla cautiously.
“Watch her horns!”
“Don’t let her touch your skin!”
The men holding her at sword point stepped back, giving others room to move in and subdue her. She lashed out, catching a man across the face with her claws. Bastion lost sight of her, and someone screamed.
Finn reared and struck out with his front feet with a ferocious cry. The man trying to handle him fell to the ground, his eyes and mouth wide with terror. He rolled away before Finn could sink his hooves into his gut.
In the chaos, Bastion wrenched one arm free, turned, and punched his captor in the throat.
The man staggered, and Bastion elbowed him across the face.
Before he went down, Bastion pulled the knife in his belt and spun around.
Rage fueled him as he yelled, lunged forwards, and slashed.
Blood spilled onto the ground, splashing Bastion’s boots.
The pirates scattered as Finn bounded forwards with all the viciousness of a stallion protecting his herd.
They skirted him, closing in on Bastion.
One of the men got too close to the Thatian, and Finn shouldered him, sending him flying.
With more room now, the gelding spun and kicked.
Both back hooves connected squarely with another pirate.
He dropped like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
The others drew back, and Finn bolted. Bastion gawked as the horse disappeared across the bluffs, along with their only chance of escape.
Two men tackled him. They wrestled the blade from his grip and gut-punched him. He struggled, desperate for a line of sight on Ulla, but a knife pressed to his throat kept him on his knees.
All around, men groaned as they got to their feet or brushed debris from their clothing. Bruises and blood abounded. Buck looked on with his arms folded and a scowl on his face.
“Boss, Knuckles is dead,” said one of the pirates. He knelt beside the man Finn had kicked. His shirt was open, revealing two perfect hoof-shaped bruises and…
An Acari pendant.
It lay smashed into his sternum. Blood oozed up around it, framing a design distinct from the one hidden in Bastion’s saddlebags but still displaying the intricate cutwork and precious gemstones indicative of the desert folk.
Bastion’s gaze narrowed, then slid to Ulla, now bound and restrained. A larger pirate stood behind her, a meaty fist wrapped around one of her horns. He bent her head back. She had a dark, feral look in her eyes, like she was aching to gut someone with her bare hands.
“If he won’t talk,” Buck mused, “maybe she will.”
He stalked over to Ulla, slow and predatory. Bastion tried to rise and got backhanded again, his lip splitting against his teeth. Buck drew out a pair of gloves and put them on, his expression eager.
Ulla struggled, but she couldn’t do much with her head pulled back and her balance off kilter. Buck seized her jaw in one large hand. The man behind her released her horn, took her bound wrists, and pulled them up so she had to pitch forwards.
“Why,” Buck purred, “are you traveling with a battle-trained Thatian, hmm?”
She refused to look at him.
“Answer me,” Buck whispered.
Ulla kept her eyes locked on Bastion. Renewed anger and terror ricocheted through him. Now that the crew had turned their attention to her, true panic lanced him.
“Answer me!” Buck roared.
She didn’t flinch.
He released her and reached for his knife. The panic now flooded Bastion fully, threatening to choke him. Again, he struggled, surging forwards. Buck licked the blade of the knife, a sadistic light in his eyes.
“She can’t hear you!” Bastion shouted. “She’s deaf!”
Buck paused. The crew looked at each other.
“What are you doing with a deaf Yvri?”
“She’s a healer!” Bastion exclaimed. “She hired me to escort her.”
“Shit job you’re doing,” someone said. A series of chuckles rippled through the men.
Buck slapped the flat of his knife against his palm as he considered Bastion.
“How have you been communicating?”
“What does it matter?”
Buck was in his face, pressing his knife to Bastion’s throat before he finished.
“It matters,” he hissed through his teeth, lips peeled back, “because I say it matters.”
They glared at each other, eye to eye. Bastion frantically cataloged all his options, trying to come up with his next move.
Perhaps he took too long to answer. Or perhaps Buck saw the iron in Bastion’s spine. Whatever the case, he suddenly withdrew to Ulla’s side, taking all Bastion’s air with him, and he lifted his knife.
“NO!” Bastion cried.
Like lightning, Buck sliced it across Ulla’s cheek with surgical precision. She winced as a thin line of blood rose along the edge. Buck grasped her chin again and leaned in, licking the cut, slow and languid, watching Bastion from the corner of slitted eyes.
Ulla struck like a viper. She seized his lower lip between her teeth, fangs tearing through tender flesh.
Buck roared. The man behind Ulla grabbed her horns, yanking her head back.
Flesh came away with her, and blood dripped down her chin.
She grinned, vivid red pooling between her pearly teeth, vertical pupils so narrow they nearly vanished.
She spat a chunk of Buck out. The wad of flesh hit his chest with a wet splat! and fell to the ground.
He back-handed her.
Bastion’s vision went red. He struggled to the point that he was sure he’d dislocate his shoulder. He yelled a string of curses until someone hit him across the face with the hilt of a blade.
“Let’s kill ‘em, Buck,” someone said.
“Yeah, shuck ‘em right now!”
“No!” Buck snarled. A sneer distorted his face as he touched his mangled lip, blood soaking his gloves. He looked between Ulla and Bastion, his barely contained rage tempered by cold calculation.
“No,” he said again, so calm and quiet it sent a shiver down Bastion’s back. He crouched in front of Bastion, sheathing his knife with a snap. “I’m going to make her suffer. And I’m going to make you watch.”
Bastion surged forwards with enough force that another one of the crew had to help hold him back.
“Touch her again,” Bastion growled, “and I’ll spill your guts and let the crabs eat you alive.”
More blood dribbled down Buck’s chin as he smiled. “You can try, but you’ll fail, Bastion of the Royal Guard.”