Uprising

by H. M. Clarke

  The weapon smashed into her side and she cried out. She could hear someone breathing hard. Her eyes cleared, and she saw the cudgel descending and tried to pull herself out of the way, and it struck her across the knee. A huge man loomed over her. Her right side and her arm hurt so much she was sick. She got her feet up and kicked, slamming her bad side against the floor, but her foot struck the man with the cudgel in the groin and knocked him back across the corridor.

  She could not move, she felt pinned to the floor, and slowly, very slowly the man with the club was getting to his feet and raising the cudgel in his hands. Ryn caught her breath. She still held her dagger in her hand, and she flexed her fingers around it, while the man with the club straightened up and lunged, his weapon raised like an extension of his long body.

  Another figure emerged from the darkness and from behind, swung their sword, two handed and cut the man almost in half at the waist. The big man’s body bounced off the wall and Ashe hit him again, so that blood sprayed across the floor and across Ryn. She tasted it wet on her lips. She struggled to sit up and could not; it hurt unbearably just to breathe. The taste and smell of blood made her sick. Then Ashe was bracing her up. The corridor whirled around him as she stared, shot through with vivid color.

  “I can’t-my arm.” Her tongue felt like leather.

  Ashe stared at her, his face stern and unreadable. Without warning, he lifted her up in his arms and carried her through the corridor and the whirling lights.

  Ryn thought of the ride back to the farmhouse and swallowed a thickness in her throat. Her right arm was numb as if with cold. Ashe laid her down on the floor of the sleeping rooms, with her feet in a patch of sunlight coming through a broken window, and went away.

  Ryn shut her eyes, and the floor seemed to lurch and spin around her. She opened them again. She was still clutching her dagger, and she put it down and felt along her right forearm. It was already swollen, stretching her sleeve taunt.

  Ashe came back in with an armload of brush and Ryn’s cloak that she had in her saddlebags, dropped the brush on the floor, and then spread the cloak over the brush.

  “There’s no one else,” he said. “I was afraid maybe there were others. Let me help you.” He lifted Ryn onto the makeshift bed.

  “Aren’t you glad I’m so small?” Ryn said trying to make light of the situation. Ashe mumbled something she didn’t hear. “What?”

  “I’ll get some water.”

  Ryn nodded. She could still smell blood. Her left hand lay half under her, and she drew it free and felt along her right arm; the least pressure hurt all the way to her shoulder.

  “Is it broken?”

  “I think so.”

  Ashe had bought the water skin from his horse full of cool water. Suddenly Ryn’s mouth was parched; Ashe helped her hold the skin, and she drank. Ashe watched her, his face lined with strain, and Ryn smiled. “Dagan is going to kill me,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “He’s mad at me, I can feel it.”

  Ashe’s face tightened, and after a moment he said. “Let’s get rid of this sleeve before it cuts your circulation.”

  Drawing his dagger, Ashe slid the tip under the cuff of Ryn’s shirt. “Can you ride?”

  “Oh, probably. Certainly.” This should not cripple me, she thought, this should be nothing to me-a broken arm? Get me to a mage healer and I’ll be as right as rain. “I wish Donal was here.”

  “So do I.”

  She heard the cloth tearing; the blade of the dagger touched her forearm, and she gasped at the pain.

  “It’s broken,” Ashe said. “We’ll have to bind it up, somehow.”

  Ryn pushed herself up so that she could tear off the rest of the cut away sleeve. Her right arm was swollen, immense, and black, the skin stretched taunt and shiny over it.

  “I’ll be back soon,” Ashe said. “Will you be alright?”

  “Yes,” Ryn said. Ashe’s fussy concern embarrassed her. She watched the tall warrior stride out the door and sank back against the wall, listening to her own breath hiss between her teeth.

  The pain spurted like blood from her arm. Her mouth tasted bitter. In the back of her mind was Dagan. She could feel him through the Link. He was not happy with her. His anger and fury burned through her thoughts like a forest fire, and behind it all was… fear? She felt suddenly weak, with her eyes fixed on the wall, she saw the edges of her vision turn dirty brown and it darken, until she could see only a tiny patch of wall–like looking through a hollow reed. She strained against the darkness, and it gave way, the light came back, and she shook her head.

  Footsteps sounded on the floorboards, quick and coming nearer, and then Ashe came through the door and kneeled beside her. He had cut a bundle of sticks and bought some rope from the horses. Putting them down, he pulled off his cloak.

  “How do you feel?”

  “I’ll be all right,” Ryn said.

  Ashe folded his cloak, with the sticks wrapped inside it to stiffen it, and laid it down neatly on the ground. His face looked strained. He was worried and trying not to show it.

  “Ryn, you know what I now have to do,” he said.

  Ryn nodded. “I know, doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  A smile tugged at Ashe’s lips as he picked up a solid piece of stick. “Bite down on this, it will help.”

  “I trust you, Ashe. If only Donal was here, then you wouldn’t have to do this.”

  “I wish he was here too. I don’t want to hurt you, but-”

  “It’s okay, Ashe. I understand. We don’t know when we will get to a healer. If you don’t do this now, it might not heal properly.”

  Ashe hacked a piece of rope into thirds. Ryn placed the stick in her mouth and bit down on it. She knew what was coming and thought that it could not be worse than the pain she was currently in. Ashe then took hold of Ryn’s arm at the wrist and the elbow, and before she could react, he pulled them strongly apart, and then twisted. Ryn whined. She could feel the edges of the bone rubbing together; she could not catch her breath. Ashe laid her arm down on the folded cloak and tied the cloth and sticks into a bundle around it with sections of the rope.

  The pain faded to a dull throb. Clammy with sweat, Ryn watched him bind it tighter with their belts. The splints held her arm stiff from elbow to wrist.

  “Good.”

  Ashe was making a sling from Ryn’s ruined sleeve. “What about your ribs?”

  “Never mind them, the ribs and my knee don’t worry be as much as my arm.” She put her good hand flat on the floor and pushed herself up, and with Ashe beside her went out of the door and back into the corridor.

  The dead man lay in a heap against the wall, his cudgel broken under him. Ryn shivered and cradled her arm in its sling against her chest. She leaned against the cold stone wall, nauseated.

  They went out into the clearing. The sun was just rising to noon. A cold wind rustled the leaves up against the building walls. Ashe led over Ryn’s horse and held it and helped Ryn into the stirrups. She mounted, stepping up into the cool air. She felt strange, as if she were dreaming, detached.

  Ashe rode alongside her. Ryn thought, He is waiting for me to fall off, so he can catch me. Black specks swam across her vision. She was cold, but she was sweating. She knew what this was, this sickness, and she strained against it, holding it away until they reached safety. Ryn had seen it before on a stable hand that had been kicked in the thigh by a hoof while out in the grass meadows grazing the horses.

  The road darkened ahead of her. The sun was setting. This early? But when she looked, the sun still hung in the sky, over the trees on the horizon.

  Ashe was talking, but Ryn could barely hear the words. A vast humming filled her ears. The light seemed to be fading away, as if it were deep twilight. She clung to her saddle with her good hand, staring straight ahead. At the end of the road was sleep and relief; all she had to do was keep going.

  CHAPTER Ten

  “Ryn….please, stay awake. Please…”

&
nbsp; Ashe knelt over and ran his fingers along Ryn’s cheeks; they were cold and clammy to the touch, yet she shivered and sweated while coming in and out of consciousness. Her pallor looked gray and her arm had turned black with bruises right up to her shoulder. The bruising and swelling on her side had been slowly growing, she was bleeding from… somewhere… but he had no idea what to do. Fire roared in the hearth. Ashe had just finished adding another log. Ryn was laid out on a bedroll by the fire and was covered in both her and Ashe’s blankets. The ride back to the farmhouse had been fraught and Ashe had to carry her cradled in his arms across his saddle the last mile. She had been growing steadily worse and Ashe was at a complete loss for what to do. She needed a mage healer. And the closest one is in Kaldor. Someone will need to travel to get one. But he couldn’t leave her alone. Not in the condition she was in.

  “I have to go to Kaldor, but I can’t leave you. The only choice I have is Peck, and he is not big enough to keep you awake and here. Ryn, I need you here, with me. Please say something.”

  Ryn moved her head on the pillow. Strands of her dark hair clung to her face and her gray eyes stared at something just beyond his shoulder. Her lips opened and Ashe bend close to hear what she had to say.

  “Send Donal.”

  Her words were barely a whisper. Ashe’s face crumpled in confusion. “Donal’s not here.”

  Ryn’s eyes suddenly focused back on him and in that instant he knew that she was aware of him. “Peck, send Peck.”

  “Oh.” Ashe mentally slapped himself. Peck can get Donal here.

  “I’ll be right back. Just stay awake for me, okay?”

  Ryn gave him a weak nod and Ashe rose to his feet and rushed to the door, flung it open and wildly looked around searching for the mass of black feathers that was Ryn’s constant companion. His eyes crossed their horses, still tied to the hitching post, and felt a twinge of guilt at not tending to them once Ryn had been settled. “Peck!”

  The name was barely out of his mouth before something sleek and black zoomed down from a tree to land on a section of porch railing that was still standing.

  “Peck,” Ashe said, rushing to the bird.

  The Nabolean crow side stepped along the railing, keeping a beady dark eye on the still open door to the farmhouse.

  “She’s not doing well, Peck. She’s asked if you can fly to Kaldor and get Donal. His magic will cure her.”

  Peck cocked his head to look back at Ashe.

  “I don’t have any paper to write a message. Can you get him to come?”

  The bird cawed and nodded his beak up and down. He then turned around on the railing, opened his wings and leapt up into the afternoon sky.

  “I hope that was a yes,” Ashe muttered as he turned and stalked back inside.

  Ryn had turned her face back toward the fire and after being out in the afternoon light the inside of the house felt dark and closed in.

  “Ryn, I talked to Peck. He flew off, so I hope that he is going to get help,” he said as he sunk down onto the floor beside her. She gave him no reply. Her eyes were closed. “Ryn?” Ashe’s heart nearly stilled in alarm. “Ryn?” he leant forward and tapped gently at her cheeks, trying to get a response. Her eyelids fluttered and then suddenly snapped open.

  “Dagan!”

  Ashe sat a moment in shock at the name. “He’s not here, Ryn,” he softly said. “He’s not here. I am.” It was the Pairing bond. That had to be why.

  The room fell into silence. Then, on the edge of his hearing, Ashe heard the distant thunder of hooves. He turned to look back at the door, a frown on his face. This farmhouse was out of the way and none of the others were due back for two days. And Peck had only left not that long ago to get Donal. Ashe placed a hand gently on Ryn’s shoulder before he got back to his feet and collected his sword from where it hung on the back of an old ladder-back chair. He drew it from the scabbard, the harsh sound of the steel ringing through the room. Tossing the empty scabbard to one side of the door, Ashe stepped out onto the rickety front porch.

  He did not have long to wait.

  The sound came closer and Ashe could now discern that it was only one horse thundering down the road toward the house. He stood on the porch, wishing that he had a range weapon of some kind. A longbow maybe…

  Ashe firmed his grip on the worn leather of the sword hilt and wished again that he had opted to have a repeating crossbow as a secondary weapon like Banar did.

  A black shape emerged from the trees on the overgrown track. Ashe could hear the wheezing snort from the black horse from where he stood on the porch, and as the rider grew closer, plumes of white lather could be seen on the animal’s chest and withers. The horse had been galloped hard. Ashe lowered his sword and raised a hand in welcome and he felt both a feeling of relief and resignation flow down into his gut.

  “Dagan! It’s Ryn, she’s injured inside,” he shouted out as the mage rode into the farmyard.

  The black stallion skidded to a halt as Dagan pulled hard on the reins and in one fluid movement he was down off the saddle and throwing the reins to Ashe who automatically caught them.

  “What happened?” The mage asked as he stepped up onto the porch, his runestaff still strapped tight to his back. Ashe looked at the man’s face and was met by a golden eyed gaze that burned like fire. His face looked as hard as stone and he reminded Ashe of a volcano about to erupt. He took a step back.

  “We were investigating an abandoned Inn we found not far from here. She was attacked by someone there,” Ashe replied.

  “You were supposed to look after her!” The words were rough and angry, and Ashe shied away from them, not wanting them to feed his own guilt.

  “There was no magic, and there was nothing sharp. It was a thug with a club and I dealt with it. She would have… if I hadn’t found her when I did.”

  Dagan’s demeanor didn’t change, but the feeling that Dagan would turn him to smoldering ash receded.

  The Magister turned and stalked inside. Ashe secured Dagan’s horse to the porch rail and followed him in. He found the mage already beside Ryn by the fire, this staff now on the floor by their side. At the sound of Ashe’s boots on the floorboards, Dagan angled his head to look back at him.

  “She’s gone into shock. My magic will ease some of her injuries, but I am not a healer.” The mage turned his attention back to Ryn and laid a hand gently on her stomach and with the other hand, gripped the black wooden staff beside him. “I need you to look to my horse, make sure he is settled, and then to go out to the Kaldor road and ride it until you meet the others. They won’t be able to find the trail into here in the dark.”

  “Will she be all right?” Ashe did not care that his voice cracked as he spoke.

  “Just find Donal. He is the only one among us with Healing strong enough to help her.”

  Ashe gulped and quickly fled the room.

  CHAPTER Eleven

  Dreams and reality meshed for Ryn, creating a fevered realm of fear and confusion. Nightmares of shadow warriors, darkness, and those dreadful confined corridors mingled in her head. Sometimes she saw a tiny room with wattle and daub walls and open roof beams on the thatch ceiling. Perhaps those were her waking moments.

  During them, she felt alone and afraid. In one of her dreams, Ashe appeared, accompanied by Dagan. They spoke together and Ashe left. Dagan looked mad, and she wondered what Ashe had done to anger him.

  Ryn struggled to retain consciousness, afraid every slip into blackness would be permanent, but it swallowed her again.

  ◆◆◆

  As soon as the door closed behind Ashe, Dagan let his façade drop from his face. He sucked back a gasp of pain and tried to focus on what had to be done. Ryn’s eyes fluttered, and she jerked her chin, and then Dagan found himself staring into slate-gray eyes.

  “Dagan?” His name cracked as the words tried to escape her dried throat and mouth. She smiled, and he cupped a cheek with one hand and found it clammy and cold to the touch. He cautiously smiled
back at her.

  “I’m going to help you. I’m going to take away your pain, and then Donal will be here soon to fix up everything else.”

  “Am I dying?” The words cracked again as they passed her lips and Dagan’s heart nearly broke when he heard them. “No love, I’m not going to let you.” He looked down the length of her body. Her arm had been splinted, and the skin showed a sickening purple all the way to her shoulder. “You’ve gone into shock. I’m going to check you for injuries. I think you’ve ruptured something and you’re bleeding internally.”

  “… Ribs.”

  Dagan’s eyes widened as he remembered the searing pain in his side at the eating house. He gently peeled back the blankets and pulled up her shirt. Underneath the linen was another dark, livid bruise that spread like an angry spill down Kathryn’s side and across her stomach. The flesh was bloated and puffy and was tight and firm to the touch. This must be the cause.

  Dagan placed one bare hand gently but firmly against her side and raised his staff with the other. Ryn murmured at the touch and he felt her muscles twinge in pain. The thought of causing her hurt wounded his heart, but it had to be done if he had any chance to save her.