by Jo Spurrier
He cut again, deeper this time, and repeated the procedure, continuing to carve a v-shaped wound that laid bare muscle and bone. Then, as he peeled back the raw flesh to expose the bone, Sierra had to look away. She’d lost count of the subjects she’d seen butchered to fuel Kell’s rituals, but back then she’d been free to lose herself in the storm of power drained from the dying body, letting the golden song of power overwhelm her and make her forget what had brought it about. She’d never tried to force herself to stay present and aware when it was someone she loved bleeding under the knives.
‘Sirri, help me,’ Rasten commanded, and she turned back. When she saw what he wanted her to do, she felt the blood drain from her face.
‘Rasten —’
‘Close your eyes if you have to, but hold it, tight. The blood makes it slippery. Keep taking deep breaths, Sirri. You know how to do that, we’ve been through it often enough.’
Once she put her hands where he wanted them, gripping as tightly as she could against the sticky, slippery blood, Rasten picked up the saw.
She couldn’t stop the tears streaming down her face. Every rasping stroke sent a spear of fire and power streaking through her and there was nothing she could do but endure it, just as she had so many times before, until Kell finally pushed her too far and she opened a volcano beneath his feet.
It took an age. She wasn’t strong enough to hold the arm steady against Rasten’s stroke, and he had to use one hand to help her while he cut with the other. When at last the blade cleared the second bone, Rasten cast the severed limb aside with a curse, and fumbled for the tongs to pinch off another spurting vessel. When Sierra saw the arm and hand lying on the blanket, she almost did faint — the world grew dark around the edges of her vision and the rushing sound of her blood was loud within her skull.
‘Sirri, stay with me,’ Rasten said. She felt warm liquid wash over her hands as he sluiced water over the wound, washing away shards of flesh and bone. She gulped a deep breath, tasting blood, and remembered a day back in the depths of winter when she had gingerly run her hands along that ruined arm, the same flesh and bone that lay discarded and dying on foreign sands.
‘Sirri,’ Rasten said again.
‘I’m here,’ she said. ‘I’m alright.’
‘Just a little longer,’ he said.
‘We’re almost done.’
He filed the ragged edges of bone smooth, and after washing away the debris once again, he sprinkled the raw flesh and bone with a vivid green powder. He had Sierra clamp the raw faces of the wound together as he sewed it closed.
Once it was done, Rasten washed away the blood once more, and then applied another liberal dusting of the green powder. It had a distinct metallic scent.
‘What is that?’ Sierra said.
‘Verdigris.’
What remained of Isidro’s forearm was a tapered stump extending barely a hand’s-breadth below his elbow. Sierra steadied his arm while Rasten wrapped it tightly. ‘After a week or so the blood vessels will have closed over and we can pull out the threads.’
As Sierra watched his broad, strong hands, she found her gaze drifting to the severed limb. She forced herself to look away.
Once the bandage was tied off, Rasten removed the tourniquet. Sierra bit her lip as a fresh flush of blood seeped through the cloth. ‘They always bleed a bit,’ Rasten told her. He’d spread a piece of cloth beneath his work, and now as he took it away to pick up the severed limb it revealed a wide stain of red across the sand. Sierra just stared at it dumbly. Even with the tourniquet, he’d lost so much blood … and after the battle with Kell he didn’t have much to spare. Rasten scraped some fresh sand across to bury the stain.
‘Sirri!’ Rasten grabbed her by the arm and shook her. ‘Fetch the blankets, cover him up. We have to keep him warm.’
She roused herself, and scrambled to reach the blankets, wincing to feel the chill of his skin as she spread them over him. ‘Should we pack hot rocks around him, like someone with hypothermia?’
‘Worth a try,’ Rasten said.
The dry streambed was full of round, smooth stones. Sierra collected a dozen or so and heated them one at a time with a fine thread of power. She packed the warm stones around his torso and tucked the blankets close around him.
By the time she was done, Rasten had cleared away the bloody water and implements. Sierra felt him come towards her, but she didn’t look up from Isidro’s face. ‘Rasten, his lips are blue.’
‘He’s lost a lot of blood. Too much, really, for someone his size, but there was nothing else we could do. He would have died if we hadn’t acted.’
‘What happens if he loses too much?’ Sierra glanced up at him at last. The sun stood high in the sky, above his left shoulder. When had that happened? She shook her head, trying to focus on the matter at hand. ‘Will he just die?’
‘Maybe. Sometimes they live, but it leaves their wits addled. Sometimes they start out that way, but in time their mind is restored. Isidro’s tough, Sirri, but he’ll need to eat well and rest a great deal to regain his strength. I thought we could make a broth with the rest of the dried meat …’
‘If you think it will help, do it,’ Sierra said.
‘See if you can get more supplies from the soldiers. Or another horse, maybe, we could use it for meat.’ Rasten looked down, his brow creased with a frown. ‘Sirri, what … what do you want me to do with the arm? What would he want? It’s best to burn it, I think. If we bury it, some beast will only come along dig it up …’
Sierra scrubbed the back of her wrist across her forehead, damp and prickling with sweat and grime. ‘Yes, burn it. But wait ’til nightfall, if soldiers see the smoke …’
‘Fair point,’ Rasten said.
Thinking about the dead, severed limb made Sierra’s belly twist within her, and she looked away, swallowing hard. ‘Rasten, keep a close watch. If Cam and Delphine are pinned down only half a day away, there’s likely more soldiers around.’
Rasten nodded. ‘Once you’re gone, I’ll climb up to the bluff to look around,’ he said. ‘But you should eat something first.’
Her stomach twisted at the thought. ‘Oh, by all the Gods, no. Just give me a water-skin, if we have enough clean water.’
Rasten nodded. ‘I’ve filled it already.’
He fetched it while Sierra pulled her boots on, and then handed it to her along with a few scraps of dried meat wrapped in a rag. She tucked it into her sash without comment. No doubt hunger would overcome her revulsion soon enough.
He helped her saddle one of the horses, and then held it by the bridle as she mounted. ‘Be careful,’ he said.
‘I’m not the one in need of caution,’ Sierra said. ‘If they’ve done Cam any harm …’ She glanced at the sun once more. It felt like days had passed since Delphine made contact. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be … take care of him, Rasten. You have to keep him alive.’
‘I’ll look after him,’ Rasten said. ‘I owe him that much.’ He laid his hand on hers, a gentle touch. A few months ago such a thing would have been unthinkable. ‘Go,’ Rasten said. ‘We’ll be here when you return.’
Chapter 4
‘Can’t you feel it? That odd little hum? It fades away when you try to concentrate on it, but turn away and it’s back. Don’t tell me you can’t feel it!’
‘You’re clutching at straws, Trelian. There’s nothing here.’
‘I’m serious. It’s like when a mouse dies in the roof and the smell spreads through the house — you can tell it’s there, but it’s never strong enough to track it to the source.’
‘A mouse? What rot are you talking? Listen, I’m a mage of the fifth rank, and you’re only a third. Shut your wretched trap! There’s nothing here!’
‘Then cursed well ride back to Major Korias and tell him we lost those two in a wretched hill that’s been surrounded since sunrise. Go on.’
The other mage snarled in frustration. ‘Fine then. Go and find them, you street-born cur. It’s
all you’re good for.’
Footsteps came towards them again, and Cam reached for the hilt of his knife.
It was the higher-ranked mage. He’d stalked past their hiding place a dozen times. Head bowed and glaring at the dusty path beneath his feet, the mage tramped past again. Cam started to relax, but after a handful of paces took him out of sight, Cam heard the man halt.
He turned to Delphine. He couldn’t see her eyes beneath the brim of her straw hat, but her hands hovered over the three bulges in her sash.
With slow steps, the man came back, his head high this time, his eyes wide and alert. He was of fair stock, like Cam, and the summer sun had baked his skin to a deep tan, even on his closely shaven scalp.
The man stopped a few paces away from them and gazed steadily into their little niche. He raised his face, and sniffed.
They’d been trapped for hours with the sun beating down on them. Cam’s shirt was drenched with sweat, and they hadn’t bathed in days.
The man sniffed again, wrinkling his nose. He took a step towards them.
Cam slowly, silently, drew his knife.
It was possible for an ordinary man to kill a mage. A century ago his ancestors had wiped out the mages in Ricalan. It took surprise and a hefty dose of luck, but it could be done.
The mage crept closer. Delphine shrank back against the stone, plastering herself to it. Cam shifted his grip on the knife, holding it between thumb and forefinger just below the hilt. He nudged Delphine, and saw her gulp and hastily nod. If his strike went wide, it would be up to her to follow up the attack. He would have only one chance.
Cam threw the knife. It flipped over once in the air, turning hilt-over-blade, and then hit the mage’s throat with a meaty thunk.
The shock of it made the man stumble. He tried to cry out, a strangled sound, but most of his breath escaped through the bubbling wound in his neck.
Cam darted forward, grabbing the mage by neck and shoulder and dragged him into their tiny shelter. The fellow tried to fight, but his hands were weak and clumsy as Cam brushed them aside. Power flared around them, a bright sputter of light, but it died away like drifting sparks on wet grass.
Delphine bit back on a yelp as Cam shoved the dying man to the ground at her feet, and held him there until he stopped struggling before pulling the knife free. Had anyone heard the strangled cries? He couldn’t tell if the other mage had moved away, but they couldn’t stay here. If the dead man’s blood didn’t give them away, the stink that came when the corpse voided itself surely would. Crouching low, Cam crept out of the shelter of the enchantment’s shield.
From somewhere amid the rocks, someone shouted an echoing cry. Heart pounding in his chest, Cam heard the cry pass along, until someone just above him picked up the call. ‘Rider! Rider from the east!’
Cam retreated as men thundered along the path above their niche and Delphine caught his shoulder. ‘Look! That horse down there. Is that her?’
She’d climbed onto a rock to see. Shading his eyes with a bloody hand, he could just make out a grey horse and rider with long, dark hair, both coated with yellow dust.
‘Maybe,’ Cam said, ‘or maybe they’re trying to flush us out. Either way, we need to move.’
Crouching low, and keeping Delphine hard against his back, Cam crept out of the niche and led her along the path away from the direction the men had run.
‘Halt!’ a deep voice boomed out below, too distant to be directed at them. Cam kept moving, doubled-over, until they reached another outcrop, this one angled so as to shield them from the sun. It felt deliciously cool in that patch of shade.
This vantage point gave them a clear view of the men spreading out in a scattered line ahead of the approaching figure who had reined the sweating horse to a trot. As Cam watched, the figure lifted one hand from the reins, and a thick bolt of blue light arced from the fingers down to the ground.
‘Now look,’ the figure said, and at the sound of her voice, Cam sighed with relief. ‘I honestly don’t care whether I kill you or not. I just want my friends.’
As she spoke, the men at the ends of the line moved to enclose her. Sierra didn’t appear to notice.
‘I’m giving you one chance,’ Sierra called. ‘Get out of my way.’
While her weary horse pawed at the gravel, one of the men raised a crossbow trained on her back.
They were too far away to see him pull the trigger — all Cam saw was the blue glow that sprang up, flickering with lightning, while the bolt flashed to ash and flame.
Sierra turned her head. She dropped the reins, and with a gesture, loosed a wave of jagged blue light that spread out around her like ripples in a pond. It washed over the men and they fell, collapsing like an undercut bank with barely a cry.
The horse danced beneath her, but Sierra’s seat never shifted as she gathered up the reins again. By the Black Sun, Cam said to himself in a disjointed thought. She’s come a long way in handling a horse since last winter.
He shook himself, and turned to Delphine. ‘Can you shield us? I’d wager the men above have bows.’
‘Of course,’ Delphine said. Her eyes grew distant for a moment, and he saw a faint shimmer as the shield sprang up around them.
‘Is that other mage likely to give us trouble?’
‘A third rank Battle-Mage?’ she said with a snort. ‘None at all. They must have called out the novices if they’re fielding a third rank against her.’ Cam only realised she had deactivated the camouflage when there came a cry from the rocks above. An arrow streaked down, sending Cam shying away instinctively, but it simply bounced off in a flash of light.
‘Let’s go and meet her,’ Delphine said. She took a step, and swayed. ‘And I hope by the Good Goddess herself that she has some water.’
When they reached the bottom of the path Sierra had halted at the foot of the track and was frowning up into the rocks. At the sight of them she swung a leg over the horse’s neck to slip down. ‘Cam! Fires Below, it’s been so long!’
She flung her arms around his neck and as Cam returned the embrace he couldn’t help but notice the knotted tangles of her hair and the feeling of her ribs and spine pressing against his arms. ‘Sirri, by all the Gods … what happened? Is Kell dead? Is Issey with you? What about Rasten, is he still plaguing you?’
She pulled back, scraping sweaty hair away from her face. There was a splatter of dried blood across her brow. ‘Kell’s dead. We killed him in the ruins near the water-hole. Rasten’s still with us and Isidro … he …’
‘Oh, dear Gods, please tell me he’s alive,’ Delphine said.
Sierra cut her a glance through narrowed eyes. ‘He is. But the fight with Kell … he was hurt, badly … but Rasten thinks he’ll live.’
Cam tried to speak, but his voice cracked and died in his throat. You left him with Rasten? What in the Fires Below were you thinking? But he couldn’t say that, he knew perfectly well why she’d done it. Their call for help gave her little choice. ‘How bad is he?’ he croaked out at last.
Sierra handed him a water-skin hanging across her shoulder. ‘We had to take the arm off.’
‘Oh, Gods,’ Delphine said. ‘Is he alright? If he was so weak, the shock —’
‘Look, I don’t know, alright,’ Sierra snapped. ‘I had to hurry here to find you. Rasten’s looking after him. He’ll tell me if he takes a turn for the worse.’
Cam felt his eyes track to the spray of dried blood on her forehead. It must be Isidro’s.
‘Do you really trust Rasten to watch over him?’ Delphine said.
‘Rasten hasn’t been Kell’s puppet since the Greenstone Fort fell.’ She tossed her head, and then her gaze tracked to the rocks above them. ‘We ought to get back,’ she said, ‘but there are more men up there, aren’t there?’
‘Yes,’ Cam said, taking a deep swig from the skin and passing it to Delphine. ‘Lots.’
She heaved a sigh. ‘I suppose I ought to kill them. They’ll only follow us otherwise, but by the Fires
Below, I just don’t care. Where are your horses?’
‘We had to abandon them when we took shelter,’ Cam said.
‘Will any beasts do? It’s too far to reach the others on foot.’
‘To be honest, I doubt ours could go much further, but they had all our gear.’
‘And your supplies?’ Sierra said.
‘What was left of them,’ Cam replied, thinking of her stark ribs and the knobs of her spine.
‘Alright,’ Sierra said, and turned back to her weary horse, standing still with its head hanging down. ‘Delphine, come here,’ she said. ‘I’ll give you some power to keep you both shielded while I look for the horses. In the meantime, pick over this lot and see if they have anything we can use.’ She nodded to the dead men laid out in a circle. ‘I’ll try to be quick.’
After Sierra left, Rasten spent time by Isidro’s side, studying the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the blue tint of his lips. Every so often he dug fingers into the hollow of Isidro’s jaw to feel his pulse and checked on the bandages wrapped over his stump. The seep of blood had spread, but not far. Rasten breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. If he had slipped up in tying off the blood vessels, Isidro wouldn’t have the strength to survive him opening the wound up again. He was warmer, too, Rasten noted before he pulled the blankets up.
He felt … strange. He’d done this many times, watching over a weak and wounded subject and doing all he could to keep the wretch alive. There had been many times he’d fretted over a pallid, shivering figure bundled beneath thick furs, but his anxiety was rooted in what Kell would do to him if he let a prisoner die.
It was behind him now. Kell was gone. Rasten held the words in his mind like a mantra. Kell was dead. He’d seen his skull shattered by the axe, his brains spread to paste. Kell was gone, but there was one more way Rasten could spit upon his memory: he’d do whatever he could to make sure Isidro lived, freed from the lingering pain of his shattered arm.