“It’s okay. There wasn’t much to do. We freed the others in the barn. Eldora sent one of her kids to Neupor with a message for Regan and Nevin. She’s organized the rest to keep a watch on Martez and his friends.”
“Martez—how is he? I didn’t mean to cut his hand.”
“Really? If I were you, I’d be regretting I’d only taken off three fingers.”
“He kept going for the helmet. If he’d grabbed the sword he’d have done much better.”
“He should have listened to the legend. The Witch-Lord valued his bow too much, and forgot the shield. Martez likes scaring people. He’s a bully at heart. The helmet was his idea of the perfect weapon.” Deryn tilted her head to the side. “It was pretty amazing you got it off him. I don’t know how you did it. I couldn’t bear to look at him.”
“It’s mind magic. I could see what the helmet was doing and I knew how to block it. It was a fake emotion.”
The words delivered an uncomfortable dig to Deryn’s conscience. She licked her lips. “Um…on that subject, I’m sorry about what I said before, about you reading my emotions. I was being an asshole.”
“I overreacted.”
“No, you didn’t. It was me, or part of me, a really stupid part. I was frightened, and I let it take over.”
“Frightened?”
“Yes. I was scared about having a relationship with you, and how much it’s going to change me.”
“I don’t want you to change.”
“You’ve already done it. The frightened part of me wanted my life to stay the way it’s always been. But that can’t happen, because I’m not the same person anymore.”
“I don’t think people change that easily.”
“It feels like it.” Deryn stopped, trying on different emotions to see how they fitted. “Maybe I’ve been changing for a while, and meeting you has made me notice it. But after we parted I went about twenty steps down the road before I realized that walking away from you was the most stupid thing I’ve ever done in my life, and if you knew what the competition for that title is like…” Deryn gave a wry grimace. “You were going too fast for me to catch up. I was still some way back when you reached Eldora’s farm, but I was just close enough to see the outlaw take you prisoner.”
“Thanks for coming to my rescue.”
“I had to. Though it wasn’t the smartest move on my part.”
“I’m pleased you did.”
“It worked out okay, but I should have gone for help. Bursting in like I did, I hadn’t really thought it through. It wasn’t very clever of me. I was outnumbered and I wasn’t in a good shape for a fight anyway. But I couldn’t leave you.”
Alana bounded up from her chair. “Of course. You’re injured. I’m sorry. I forgot. I shouldn’t have let you just sit there talking.” She grabbed an open basket from her dresser. “Here. I’ve got stuff for your bruises.”
“It’s all right. I’ll be—”
“No. Sit still.” Alana dropped the basket beside Deryn’s chair and knelt. “I’ve got what I need here. Take off your shirt.”
Only the matter-of-fact delivery stopped Deryn sliding to the ground in a molten pool, but her hands could not move. Alana did not wait. Seemingly utterly unaware of the effect she was having, she slipped open the row of buttons on Deryn’s heavy woolen shirt and tugged up the lighter cotton undershirt.
“Ooh. That’s nasty. But I’ve got some salve here, with more wolfsbane. It should be fine.” Alana opened a bottle and poured liquid onto a sheep’s-wool pad.
Deryn gasped at the contact.
“It probably tingles.” Intent on her work, Alana did not look up.
“It’s not that.”
“The bruises won’t—”
“It’s that you’re touching me.”
Alana froze mid-action and looked up to meet Deryn’s eyes. “I’m trying to concentrate on treating your injuries.”
“Don’t.”
“You don’t want me to do this?”
“Don’t concentrate on being a healer. Concentrate on me.” Deryn shifted off her chair and sat on the floor.
Alana’s eyes were dark hollows in the firelight, with only the flickering red flames reflected in their depths. Her lips were parted slightly, maybe in surprise, maybe in desire, maybe in preparation to speak. They were every bit as kissable as the first time Deryn had seen them. This time, there was no reason to hold back. Deryn leaned forward and claimed them.
Deryn liked to think she was good at kissing. She certainly had practiced enough, with more women than she could count. But in the past, kissing had only been a way to arouse passion, one of the required steps along the way, something expected from her as a precursor to sex, and never an end in itself. This was different. The faint sting from her cut lip was lost in the softness and the sweetness. Deryn’s need and desire overrode all other awareness. Alana’s mouth was the only thing that existed. Kissing her was the only thing Deryn wanted to do.
Eventually, Alana broke away. Her breath was ragged. “We should stop.”
“Why?”
“I’m worried I’m going to lose all self-control.”
Deryn smiled. “Really? I’m counting on it.”
“You might have a cracked rib, or a concussion.”
“I think I’d know by now if I had.”
“Even so, you’re injured, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then you’ll have to be very gentle with me.”
Alana rested her forehead on Deryn’s shoulder. “I guess we could take it slow and careful. See how things go.”
“I think you could talk me into that.”
Once they were in bed, Alana’s naked body was soft and welcoming, pressed against hers. They lay facing each other, while their mouths and tongues played a teasing game of tag. The warmth of Alana’s skin soaked into Deryn like sunlight on a summer’s day. She burrowed her hand between them, her thumb seeking the hardness of a nipple. Alana moaned into her mouth when she succeeded.
Deryn’s hand moved on, in slow exploration, stroking the side of Alana’s breast, running over the furrows of her ribs, and cupping the soft mound of her ass. She slid her hand down farther behind Alana’s leg and pulled it up, over her hip. Her fingers traced the line of hard tendons at the back of Alana’s knee. The weight lying on her drew a sting from a bruise, but it did not matter and the position allowed Deryn to slip her own knee up between Alana’s legs, so that her thigh pressed against the wetness there.
Alana’s back arched, forcing her stomach yet harder against Deryn and she gasped, but then she pulled away slightly and stared into Deryn’s face.
“What are you worried about?”
Deryn had not been aware that she was. “You’re reading my emotions again?”
“No. I can see it in your expression.”
“I’m not wor—”
Deryn stopped. Was she? And if so, what about? But there was a niggle—and maybe a tad more than just a niggle. Why? It was not as if she was inexperienced. Far from it. Deryn had no doubts about her ability to satisfy a lover. She knew the spots on a woman’s body, inside and out. She could try each one in turn and discover which worked best for Alana. Deryn’s mobility was impaired. Her bruises might not let her perform as acrobatically as she would have liked, but her hands and tongue were fine, and they were all she needed. She knew she could make Alana come, and more than once, but that was not the issue.
Deryn’s goal was something far more ambitious, far more complex, and far more important. Could she do it?
“I want to make you happy.”
Alana smiled. “You already are.”
Neupor Marshal’s Station, northern Galvonia
Five days later, diciembre 9, morning
The stubs on Martez’s hand had scabbed over and were showing no sign of infection. Shock and the effect of blood loss had passed days before and he was now well enough to put on a display of sneering bravado.
“You know you ain’t seen th
e last of me. You’ve taken these three fingers. Do you want to guess what I’m going to take from you in exchange?”
Alana ignored him as she replaced the bandage on his left hand. She could sense Deryn standing behind her, and knew her lover was watching the outlaw closely, ready for the first sign that action was needed. Not that it was likely. Martez’s words were nothing but empty bluster. The rope around his wrists and the Witch-Lord’s bow in Deryn’s hands ensured that.
Alana turned her attention to the female outlaw. The woman was in a frailer state than her leader. Her skin was pale, yellowish rather than white. A fever had set in, slow to shift. She was now over the worst of it, but still very weak, and she would never regain the use of her right arm. Although for her, never was not going to be a long time. Once the outlaws were delivered to the marshal in Oakan, they would certainly be tried and hanged within days. The woman glared at Alana from under hooded eyes, but said nothing.
The last outlaw was in the best physical condition, having no injury apart from the raw rope burn around his throat. Yet, of the three, he was the one acting the most sorry for himself. He flinched when Alana put her hand on his wrist to judge his pulse rate and temperature, and cowered even farther into the corner.
“Why you bothering with checking him?” Nevin spat the question.
“I like to do a thorough job.” The sergeant really was one of the most unpleasant people Alana had met. She did not envy Deryn, working with him every day. “If you want, I’ll try to find someone to explain the concept to you.”
A faint release of breath came from Deryn, choking her laughter. The mayor did not bother with restraint, and gave a loud chuckle. “Nice one.”
Alana stood and backed out of the tiny cell in the marshal’s station. “They’re all okay to move. They’ll be fine on the journey.”
“About time. Get them on the wagon now. Move it.” Nevin snapped the order almost before the words were out of Alana’s mouth. Most likely to ensure that he was the one to give the command, rather than let Regan get a word in first.
Deryn and Ross transferred the outlaws, one at a time, from the tiny holding cell to the back of the wagon waiting outside. Alana followed Regan into the street and watched the checking of bonds on the outlaws’ wrists and retying of their ankles.
An hour had passed since dawn, and although a faint covering of cloud blocked the sun, the light was bright. Alana looked along the road toward Oakan. The fields around Neupor were white. Snow had come later than normal that year. The first to settle that winter had arrived only two days before, and no more than six inches deep. The route to Oakan was still passable, and with luck, no more snow would fall that day, or tomorrow. The prisoners and escort would reach their destination without trouble from the weather and return safely.
Alana shivered, but not from the cold. A nagging sense of fear was scratching at the edges of her mind. Undoubtedly, it was only her picking up on Martez’s vicious fury. However, Alana would not be happy until Deryn was back, safe, sound, and in her bed, and the sooner the better.
Once the work of loading the prisoners on the wagon was finished, Nevin also came out. He dropped the Witch-Lord’s helmet and shield on the driver’s footboard, but kept the sword in his hand as he clambered onto the seat.
“You can put that bow up here too.” From Nevin’s tone anyone might have thought Deryn had helped herself to the weapon as part of a juvenile prank.
What was wrong with the man, Alana wondered. Was he totally incapable of saying anything in a civil manner?
“Are you sure that’s wise, sir?” The scornful way Deryn delivered the line made it clear she was not intimidated.
“Of course I’m fucking sure. You don’t need it. I’ll keep watch. I’ve got the sword if the prisoners try acting up. Ross can drive this thing. You can ride behind.”
“Supposing they have some friends, lying in wait for us up ahead.”
Nevin’s face fell. “I thought you got them all.”
“We got all that we know about. No saying if there are any more out there.” Deryn nodded at Martez. “We can’t trust any answer we get from him.”
“They won’t…it isn’t…er…”
“What I was thinking, sir, was that I should ride ahead, with the bow, and make sure we don’t head into an ambush.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Regan said.
Nevin’s face shifted through a few emotions before settling in its normal angry contempt. “Right. Well. You keep a fucking sharp watch. I’m sick of hauling your ass out of the fire. I don’t want no fucking trouble on the way.”
Nevin was clearly unnerved at the thought of any personal danger, and was covering with a more vitriolic display of stupidity than normal. The act was unlikely to fool anyone, even Ross. Alana certainly did not need her empathy to see through it—which she was very pleased about. This was one case where she was making full use of her newly gained ability to block people out. She had no wish to get drawn into the cesspit of Nevin’s mind.
Deryn grinned as she turned away. Alana joined her by Tia’s side. Deryn pulled the horse around to form a partial screen while she bent her head and kissed Alana. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Take good care.”
“I always do.”
“Nevin’s an idiot.”
“Is that supposed to be news to me?”
Alana rested her head on Deryn’s shoulder. “You’d be safer without him along.”
“But then he wouldn’t get the chance to hand Martez and the weapons over to Marshal Palemon and claim all the glory and the reward.”
“You’re not going to let him get away with that?”
“No. But it won’t stop him trying.”
“Will the marshal believe him?”
“I doubt it. Even without me there to say my bit, I’m sure Palemon knows Nevin would never put himself in the way of anything resembling work or danger.” Deryn’s grin broadened still more. “I did enjoy scaring him about the ambush.”
“Is one likely?”
“I’d say nonexistent. Martez would have wanted his whole gang along to feed his ego. But even if a couple were off somewhere else, they’d need to find out what happened, and then be willing to sit for days on the trail to Oakan, waiting for us to move him. On top of that, they’d be risking their lives against demon weapons.” Deryn shook her head. “Outlaws don’t stick together that well when things don’t go their way.”
Alana held Deryn tightly, hit by renewed fears. “Be very careful. Promise me that. I’m frightened, and I want you back safe.”
“I promise. It’ll be fine, even with Nevin.”
As if hearing his name, the sergeant shouted. “Hey you, Deryn. Get your fucking ass on your horse. Don’t think we don’t know what you’re doing round there. You can make out with your tart when you get back, not when there’s work to do.”
Alana grimaced. “Do you think you’ll be able to make it all the way to Oakan without killing him?”
“I’ve survived so far. But why do you think I wanted to ride Tia far enough in front so I can’t hear what he says?”
“Smart move.” Alana smiled. “It’s Ross I feel sorry for.”
“He’s good at ignoring things. Most of it goes over his head. Anyway, Nevin will probably get drunk and fall asleep before we’ve gone a few miles.”
Deryn gave Alana one final kiss and hopped into her saddle. With a wave, she urged Tia forward, on the road to Oakan.
Alana stood outside the marshal’s station, watching until rider and wagon vanished into the distance.
*
The road wound its way along the bottom of the narrow valley, climbing ever higher. As it neared the top of the Pendorial Pass the walls closed in. This was the highest point on the road to Oakan, and the first stretch to be blocked each winter. The snow cover was a clear foot deeper than in Neupor. Not enough yet to close the route, but it could not be long before a heavier snowfall made the journey too risky to atte
mpt in anything other than the gravest emergency. The river would be passable for a while longer, until that also froze.
On either side, the valley walls were covered with tall pines dressed in their new cloaks of white, but in places, bare rock lined the side of the route. These stone faces were all just a little too flat and a little too perpendicular to be natural.
Deryn considered one such cutting as she passed, and then the surrounding terrain. What sort of power must the Ancients have commanded that they would routinely knock holes in mountains, to save themselves the effort of going over minor obstructions? The section of hillside that the Ancients had removed would take a score of men months to hack away, using pickaxes. The easing of the route amounted to no more than a rise and drop of fifty feet, surely a negligible savings in the context of crossing the pass.
Deryn glanced over her shoulder, musing on the subject. The wagon with Ross in the driving seat was a short way behind, and showing no sign of trouble keeping up with her pace. Yet this would not have been the case over the original land contours, and the larger the wagon, the more trouble it would have. Maybe the question was, what sort of wagons did the Ancients use, that made steady inclines so advantageous? Did they never go anywhere by foot or horse?
Whatever justification the Ancients had for their monumental landscaping, Deryn was grateful, in that it shortened the journey time to Oakan for the wagon, if only by an hour, and increased the chances that she would be back in Alana’s arms before the threatened heavy snowfall arrived.
The route to Oakan was a little over forty miles. If Nevin had gotten his ass out of bed early, they could have made the journey in a day, although at this time of year it would have meant starting and finishing in darkness. At the thought, Deryn shook her head despairingly. The chances of Nevin ever exerting himself were slightly lower than that of them all sprouting wings and flying to Oakan.
The upshot was that noon had passed and they were less than halfway. They would have to make an overnight stop at Buckie or Chatree, just north of Oakan, and finish the journey the next morning. If they could hand the prisoners over quickly, and turn straight around, maybe they could get back to Neupor before nightfall the day after—or maybe they could fly back.
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