by Jim Butcher
Isana shuddered and tried to shield herself from the sudden terror and panic in the Marat, but she did not release him from Rill’s grip. The Marat heaved in breaths like a fish out of water, but Isana knew it would do him no good. The fury had stopped the blood in his veins, stopped the beating of his heart.
It was over in a minute. Isana found herself staring at a dozen frightened, wide-eyed children over the corpses of the Marat warriors she had killed.
Frederic appeared in the doorway, panting, a moment later. The young holder had discarded his shield, and instead carried a slender and half-dressed girl wearing a slave’s collar and a dancer’s silks. The girl’s leg had been bloodied, and she leaned on Frederic, her face buried against his shoulder, weeping.
“Mistress Isana,” Frederic gasped. “You’re all right?”
“For now,” Isana said. She moved to Frederic’s side and helped him draw the girl over to the little barricade. “Frederic, you must stay here and protect the children. Hold this building. All right?”
He looked up at her, his face concerned. “But what about you?”
“I’ll manage,” Isana said. For a moment, the terror and pain and panic of those around her seemed to rise up in a wave that threatened to drown her. The corpses of the Marat lay on the floor, twisted and stiffening, their expressions agonized. She heard herself letting out a low, unsteady laugh. “I’ll manage. I have to get to him.”
Frederic swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”
She fought to take a deep breath, to control the emotions coursing through her. “Hold the door, Frederic. Keep them safe.” Then she walked out the door of the barracks as quickly as she could and started toward the far courtyard again.
The battle, it seemed, was winding down. Corpses and the wounded lay everywhere. She watched as a Herdbane Marat came pelting around a corner, only to be ridden down by a pair of Marat on horses, spears run through his back as he fled. A blood-maddened direwolf threw itself at one of the horses, fangs ripping at one of its hind legs, bringing the beast to ground, while its rider leapt from its back and spun, spear in hand, to face the wolf.
Isana pressed on, past the command building, where a grim, grizzled legionare shouted to her to get inside. She ignored him and pressed on into the easternmost courtyard.
Here, the fighting had been worst, and the carnage was greatest. Not only had the dead been laid out here earlier in the day, but now hundreds more bodies lay on the ground, mostly Marat, though here and there the red and gold of a Rivan legionare’s tunic stood out from among the pale barbarian bodies. She could have walked to the far side of the courtyard without setting a foot on its stones.
She began to pick her way across the courtyard, twice dodging aside as Marat fled past her, heading for the broken gates, eyes wild and panicked. She stayed out of their way and let them pass. Once, several Marat riding horses thundered through the corpses, hooves crushing indiscriminately, riding out the gate. Here and there, the wounded stirred, dragged themselves along, or waited quietly to die. The place was thick with the smell of blood, with the septic stink of ruptured bellies, and Isana’s head was swimming by the time she reached the broken section of wall, where she had last seen Tavi.
She had to crawl over a mound of rubble to reach the far side, steeling herself for what she was afraid she would see: her brother, dead on the stones. Fade, hanging at the end of a rope, strangled, or his neck broken. Tavi above, bled to death.
Instead, she found Bernard laying quietly against the base of the wall. His mail shirt had been unbelted and rolled away from where the mercenary’s sword had pierced him, and the skin there was pink and smooth — newly crafted whole. She stumbled across the stones to her brother’s side, reaching for his throat. She found his pulse, slow and steady and strong.
Tears blurred her eyes, even as she heard movement and looked up, to see Fade rising from his seat not far away. His throat was raw and abraded, his sleeve stained with blood, but the cut upon it had been crafted closed, pink skin clean and almost glowing.
“Fade,” Isana breathed. “How?”
The slave turned his face up toward the battlements. “Tavi,” he said, voice thick with tension. “They’re with him up there.”
Gravel pattered down around her, making Isana look up. Odiana stood upon the wall, staring down, her expression detached, dark eyes somehow empty, hollow. She moved one bare foot, kicking at a coil of knotted rope beside her, and it unwound, falling down to bump against the wall beside Isana’s head.
“Come up,” Odiana said.
“What have you done with him?” Isana demanded.
“You know I can’t hear you,” the water witch replied. “Come up.” She vanished from the edge of the battlements.
Isana looked at Fade and reached for the rope. The slave stepped closer, his expression serious, and put his hands on her waist, lifting her as she began to climb.
Isana reached the top of the wall to find Odiana standing over the unmoving forms of Tavi and Amara. Both were pale, still, but breathing steadily. Isana went to Tavi’s side at once, reaching down to touch his face, to brush an errant curl back from his eyes. She felt herself sob in relief, felt some easing in the terror and the fear of the past several days that demanded tears to fill the void. She didn’t bother to craft them away.
“Happily reunited,” Odiana murmured. “There.” The woman turned to walk toward the rope, evidently in preparation to climb back down it.
“Why?” Isana asked, her voice choked. She looked up at the water witch. “You saved them. Why?”
Odiana tilted her head to one side, eyes focused on Isana’s mouth. “Why? Why, indeed.” She shook her head. “You could have killed me at Kordholt. Or simply left me behind. You did neither. You could have given me to the Cursor girl. You did not. It deserved a reply. This is mine.”
“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 Steadholder. 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?”
“He’s all right,” Isana whispered. “He’s going to be all right.”
Fade put a hand on Isana’s shoulder, silently. “He is brave. Like his father.”
Isana glanced up at Fade and smiled, wearily. “The battle? Is it over?”
Fade nodded, looking down over the courtyard, the gates. “It is over.”
“Then help me,” Isana said. “We need to get them into a bed so that we can see to them.”
“What then?” Fade asked.
“Then . . .” Isana closed her eyes. “Then we go home.”
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.”
“Where are we?”
“In a warehouse in Garrison. My love is running an errand, and then we’ll go.”
“The dagger?”
“In your hand. You wouldn’t let it go.”
Fidelias lifted his hand and saw the dagger there. “Where are the men?”
“Already gone.”
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 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 Herdbanes 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.”
Kord shivered, and his eyelids fluttered open. After a moment, he shivered and focused on them. Fear touched his features.
Odiana leaned down, smiling, and kissed his forehead.
Aldrick rested the tip of his sword lightly against Kord’s cheek. “Take off the collar,” he said. “Now.”
Kord licked his lips and whispered, “Why should I?”
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.
“We should go,” Fidelias said.
Odiana murmured, “One thing more, Master. I have a gift for you before I leave.”
“Wait,” Kord stammered. “I did what you said. I took the collar off.”
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?”
He shook his head. “But it’s a pretty morning at least. Time to go, love.”
Odiana watched his mouth, then thrust out her lower lip, but stepped to Aldrick’s side and rested her hand on his arm.
Fidelias grimaced, glancing down at the scalp-draped Steadholder. Then he turned to walk away.
Kord clutched at his ankle. “Wait. Please. Don’t leave me here. Don’t leave me here for those animals.”
Fidelias paused long enough to grind his heel down on the man’s fingers and then walked away, wearily pulling up the woodcrafting 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 Bernardholt 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.”
Tavi let out a glad cry and threw himself across the space of beds at his uncle, hugging him tightly.
Bernard laughed. “Careful, careful. I’m delicate.” His arms folded around Tavi and hugged him back. “Good to see you, boy.”
Amara, dressed in a blouse and skirts of rich brown, smiled at him. “Hello, Tavi.”
He flashed the Cursor a smile and looked back at Bernard. “But how?” Tavi asked. “How did you live?”
“Odiana,” Bernard said. “That water witch that attacked you in the river. Your aunt saved her from being killed by Kord. She was hiding among the corpses at the base of the wall. She saved me. Fade, too.”
Tavi shook his head. “I don’t care who did it, as long as you’re all right.”
Bernard laughed again. “What I am,” he said, “is hungry. You?”
Tavi’s stomach grew queasy. “Not yet, Uncle.”
Amara turned to a pitcher nearby and poured water into a cup for Tavi, handing it to him. “Drink up. Once you get liquid back in you, you’ll be hungry, right enough.”
Tavi nodded his thanks to her and drank. His hand, the one that had been broken, felt a little weak, and he switched the cup to the other. “You’re all right, too?”
She smiled, a wan expression. “Alive. Some scars. I’ll be all right.”
“I’m sorry,” Tavi said. “I lost the dagger.”
Amara shook her head. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Tavi. You stood against two men who have killed more people between them than anyone I know of. It was very brave. You shouldn’t feel ashamed for not getting the dagger.”
“But without it, Aquitaine gets away with it. You can’t prove he’s guilty, right?”
Amara frowned. “I’d be careful what I said, if I were you, Tavi. If someone overhears you, you may face prosecution yourself for slander.”
“But it’s the truth!”
She half-smiled. “Not without the dagger. Without that, it’s just a suspicion.”
Tavi frowned. “That’s stupid.”
Amara laughed, a sudden, bright sound. “Yes,” she agreed. “But look at it thi
s way. You saved the Valley and who knows how many steadholts beyond it. You’re a hero.”
Tavi blinked. “Uh. I am?”
Amara nodded, her expression grave. “I filed my report yesterday. The First Lord himself is coming out tomorrow to present several people with rewards for their courage.”
Tavi shook his head. “I’m not very courageous. I don’t feel like a hero.”
Amara’s eyes sparkled. “Perhaps you will, later.”
Isana walked briskly into the room, wearing fresh clothing and a crisp apron. “Tavi,” she said, her tone brisk. “Get back into bed this instant.”
Tavi leapt for the covers.
Isana frowned at Bernard. “And you. Bernard, you know I told you to make the boy stay in bed.”
He grinned, sheepishly. “Oh, right.”
Isana stepped over to her brother and touched his temples.“Hmph. Well you’re not going to cause chaos in here any longer. Get your lazy bones out of bed and go eat.”
Bernard grinned and leaned forward, giving Isana a kiss on the forehead. “Whatever the watercrafter orders.”
“Bah. Amara, are you still feeling well? No fever, no nausea?”
Amara shook her head, smiling, and turned her back tactfully when Bernard rose to pull on his trousers and a loose tunic, moving stiffly. “I’m fine, Mistress Isana. You did a wonderful job.”
“Good. Now get out. The boy needs to rest.”
Bernard smiled and ruffled Tavi’s hair. Then he stepped up beside Amara and took her hand. The Cursor blinked and looked down at his hand, then back up at his face. She smiled, and her cheeks flushed with color.
“Oh go on,” Isana said, and slapped Bernard’s shoulder. He grinned, and the two walked out of the room. They weren’t walking very quickly, Tavi noticed. And they walked very close together.
Isana turned to Tavi and put her fingers on his temples, then smiled at him. “How are you feeling?”
“Thirsty, ma’am.”
She smiled and refilled his cup. “I was so worried. Tavi, I’m so proud of what you have done. Everyone in the Valley thinks you’re quite the young hero.”