North Star Guide Me Home

by Jo Spurrier

  He turned to look at the tent where Nirveli had vanished a few moments before. With a twitch of the door-flaps, she emerged, and Isidro caught a glimpse of a glowing, shimmering shield before the hides fell to cover it again. That had to be Cade.

  As Nirveli emerged, one of the Akharians pulled her towards the knot gathering in the centre of the tiny camp. They were angry, Isidro could see it in their curt, sharp gestures. Accusing her of leading the attackers to them, he guessed.

  Nirveli slapped the hand away, and then produced something from her stained and filthy sleeve.

  Isidro felt as much as saw her shield flicker up, and through its haze, he could just make out the arc of her arm as she hurled something to the ground.

  The blasting-stones burst with a sound like a thunder crack, casting up a great cloud of smoke and sand. A few of the Akharians got shields up in time, and stumbled back, reeling. Others were not so lucky — he saw one man crawling away, dragging tattered legs behind him.

  The flash of the blasting-stones was his signal. Time to act.

  He closed his eyes, reaching for the shields. Nirveli had described the Akharian defences to him. They were built around the stones Sierra had created when she razed the village of Terundel. Dremman’s men had simply left them there, thousands of them, not realising they were worth their weight in gold. Several hundred stones had been strung into a chain and laid around the edge of the camp, fixed with enchantments and charged with power that cast a wall capable of absorbing a strike from a catapult.

  But Isidro had a connection with those stones. Just as Sierra’s power recognised him as a kindred soul, so did the matter of those stones, formed of energy sprung from a familiar well. The power they held had no such ties … the stones themselves were his conduit, his key.

  Isidro reached for the nearest one, wrapping a strand of power around it, and drained its power away.

  The wall pulsed and flickered and then it simply melted, fizzling out like a handful of coals cast into a snowdrift.

  Sierra felt as though she was drowning, lungs struggling desperately for air. She was vaguely aware of people around her, carrying her away from the fire and laying her on a blanket, and a faint, distant voice ordering them to stand back and give her air. But there was no air to be had, none at all, as though her throat had been stopped up with ash.

  Her side still burned and throbbed, but beneath it ran a slow trickle of power, a little thread of warmth wrapping around her spine. A moment later, another pain joined it — a stinging, searing streak along her left forearm, as though someone had dragged a hot iron across her inner arm from elbow to wrist.

  A moment later it came again, and then again, sending new threads of heat to tangle around her spine.

  The iron band around her chest eased, just a little. She still felt too weak and ill to move, but the urgency to breathe receded a little — enough for her panic to ease.

  Rasten? she thought.

  It’s just a flesh wound.

  Cam?

  He’s unharmed. I … I’m sorry, Sirri, I forgot myself. I drew too much.

  She opened her eyes to find Ardamon kneeling over her with real fear in his eyes, though it faded to relief when she stirred. Nearby someone was talking, tripping over the words with nerves and his haste to speak. Ardamon glanced up at him only briefly, keeping his attention fixed on Sierra.

  It was another of the sentries, she realised, but it took her a few moments longer to make sense of his words.

  ‘There’s two more of them, sir, two more Akharians. They went in the main gates of the fort, sir, must be ten minutes ago by the time I found you.’

  With a small sigh, Sierra let her eyes close again. It was taxing her strength to keep them open. Rasten? she said again. It’s not looking good.

  Once the shield wall was down, Isidro’s forces rushed the camp while Nirveli battled the last Akharian mages, until the rest of Isidro’s forces reached her and tore them down.

  The battle was short, but fierce. By the time Isidro skidded down from the top of the dune with Delphine at his side, it was all over.

  The tents were in flames, set alight by the spill and clash of power, but his soldiers were already pulling them down and kicking sand over to smother them.

  Nirveli waved him over, but she turned away long before he reached her and ducked back into the tent.

  Stretching his legs to catch up, Isidro ducked into the tent just as she took down her thick, glowing shield. Beneath it was Rhia’s friend, Kavra. She was chained hand and foot, but cradled in her arms and fussing gently was Cade.

  Kavra looked up at him, shaking with nerves and exhaustion. Isidro crouched at her side to unfasten the chains. Her face was bruised, her wrists, too, under the manacles. ‘Mistress Kavra,’ he said, as he opened the locks one by one and cast them aside. ‘I’m cursed glad to see you alive. Are you hurt? Or the prince?’

  ‘Y-your grace! By the Twin Suns, I’d hoped and prayed you’d find us! The little lad is fine, sir, they never touched him. Me either, for fear it’d make my milk dry up.’

  Isidro smoothed down the lad’s fair, sandy hair while Cade looked up at him with a faint pout. ‘They’re all dead now, and we’ll get you home to Lathayan as soon as we can.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Can you tell me, sir, what of the king? And my Dranyc? Do you have word of him?’

  Dranyc was Kavra’s son, a fine, healthy lad. ‘We beat them off, after you and the prince were spirited away. Dranyc’s well. The Slavers paid him no mind. Queen Mira is looking after him until you return. We’ll get you home to him as soon as we can. Are you fit to walk, or shall I send for a wagon?’

  ‘Oh, I can walk. I’d walk to Earthblood and back again if it meant I could spit on their rotten corpses.’ Still holding Cade tightly, she started to rise, but when Isidro offered his hand, she let him help her to her feet.

  Isidro escorted her from the tent, where the soldiers were crowding around for a glimpse of the prince. When Kavra appeared with the lad in her arms, they burst out cheering. Isidro expected it to startle Cade into tears, but instead it roused the lad from his fussiness and he began to chortle, waving his chubby fists about.

  As the people cheered, Nirveli pushed through to Isidro’s side. She caught his arm, and Isidro ducked his head to hear her over the cheers of the crowd. ‘There’s a problem. The other survivors … they’re not here!’

  ‘Who?’ he said. ‘You mean, the ones who made it out of the palace?’

  ‘Yes! There were five of them by my count, not including me. Two of them made it here, both wounded, but the others … Presarius wouldn’t tell me where they were, but I have my suspicions. What if they went to the fortress, to reclaim the king and collect the mages they left there?’

  Isidro clenched his fist. ‘Could the Akharians there have heard the assault on Lathayan failed?’

  Nirveli grimaced. ‘Well … it went down so quickly, they had no time to get a message away, I hope. The fort did have a signal tower, but in the Wolf’s place I’d have torched the thing. They could even have concocted a message to get them out of the fort, so they could move the king without fear of discovery.’

  ‘Right,’ Isidro said. ‘Then the survivors come along and bring their fellows up to date, and they’ll want to get there before the clan has a chance to hide Cam again — I have to warn Sirri.’

  Isidro ducked back into the tent, closed his eyes and reached for Sierra.

  The first thing he felt was a suffocating tightness in his chest and a searing pain along his left forearm. His head was swimming. Sirri? he said, as his belly seemed to drop to his knees. He could feel her presence, her awareness, but she didn’t speak to him — she couldn’t. She had no strength or will to spare.

  But he had power, a vast supply of it, drawn out of the stones. More than he could easily hold. He reached for her and relaxed his grip on the power.

  She snatched it from him, like a starving beast snapping at a scrap of meat, drawing i
t to her with a strength he couldn’t match. At once, that airless, suffocating sensation began to recede, boiling off like water on hot steel. Oh, Isidro. By the Black Sun …

  What’s wrong? What’s happening?

  Rasten’s found Cam. They’re heading out, but there are Akharians in there, and the clan too. Rasten fought them and it … it took more power than we thought it would.

  I see. I’m done here, we have Cade and the Akharians are dead. I’m all yours. What do you need?

  Power. I need power. I can’t supply Rasten enough to fight and keep myself breathing. I should have gone in with him. Fighting Kell, we could draw from each other, but now … I have to go in, Issey. I’ll be alright if I have people to fight.

  She had her eyes open now, with worried faces crowding around her. Isidro glimpsed Ardamon among them, while another soldier was trying to bandage a livid, blistered mark running the length of his forearm. Ardamon had mentioned a contingency plan if Sierra’s strength faltered, but it seemed it wasn’t enough.

  Wait, Sirri. Hold out a little longer. I’ll talk to Nirveli and see if there’s anything you can use. But first, some of the Akharian survivors from Lathayan are unaccounted for.

  They’re here, some of them, at least.

  Stay on guard, there may be more. Is Rasten still fighting?

  Not right now. He’s wounded, I think.

  Badly?

  No … I’m only receiving a little power from him.

  Alright. I’ll talk to Nirveli. I’ll be back.

  Sierra heaved herself up, and the men glanced at each other nervously. ‘Uh, my lady? I think you should rest.’

  ‘No time for that.’ They meant well, but they didn’t understand. She wasn’t overtaxed, she didn’t need time to recover, not unless they had weeks to spare. Isidro’s power would keep her going for a time, but when it ran out, it’d fail without warning. And if Rasten had to fight again, it would come even sooner. She turned to Ardamon. ‘We need to go in, but which way? Follow Rasten’s path, or head in from the top?’

  He scowled at her. ‘We have a plan, Sierra. Stick with it.’

  ‘It’s not working. I need more power, this isn’t enough. Rasten wasn’t even fighting mages, just regular soldiers. If the Akharians reach him …’

  ‘Have you talked to Isidro?’

  She nodded. ‘He’s thinking, but he doesn’t know the situation as well as we do.’

  ‘Alright then. Better to fight two than three. We go in through the top and smash our way down to Cam. Can you handle that?’

  ‘It’s our best bet.’ She pressed a hand to the aching wound in her ribs. ‘I don’t want to move in until I’ve talked to Issey again, but we should get into a better position.’

  ‘Agreed. Alright then, let’s move.’

  Cam stripped the blood from his sword and slipped the blade back in its sheath. ‘Can you walk?’ he said to Rasten.

  He nodded. His face was pale, sweat beading on his brow from the shock of the wound, but when he pushed away from the wall, he seemed steady enough. ‘Marima, help him. Go down to the last landing. I’ll be right behind you.’

  Marima offered her arm to Rasten, but he waved her ahead of him with one hand pressed to the bleeding wound and the other trailing along the wall for balance.

  Ricca held the only light, but it lingered long enough for Cam to crouch by the nearest corpse to strip off his scaled jerkin and cut away a panel of the quilted shirt beneath. He took the man’s sash as well and followed the others.

  In a chamber off the landing, Rasten leant against the wall, gingerly peeling back his shirt to look at the wound beneath. Marima crouched down in a corner and pulled Ricca close to her, while the little girl toyed with the pearly light she’d made, turning it over and over in her hands.

  Cam went over to her. ‘Ricca,’ he said, ‘could you make one of those lights for me? My friend is hurt, and I need to see so I can help him.’

  It was only once he’d finished speaking that Cam realised what he’d said.

  Ricca turned to him with a bright and sunny smile and held the light out to him. ‘You can have this one. I’ll make another for me and mama.’

  He took it from her fingers. It was as warm as a fresh-laid egg, and prickled against his skin in a dry, tingling way. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  Rasten looked up as he approached. He’d heard what Cam said, there was no doubt, but he said nothing of it.

  ‘How bad is it?’ Cam asked.

  ‘I’ve had worse.’ Rasten peeled back his shirt to reveal a jagged gash across his ribs, longer than the spread of Cam’s fingers. The ragged edges of skin gaped open, and the yellowish bone of his ribs showed through the seeping blood. An inch or so lower and it would have cut into his vitals, but as it was he was lucky it had been a slice and not a stab. ‘Anything broken?’

  ‘Doubt it.’

  ‘Hold your shirt up. What happened, anyway? I thought you didn’t need armour.’

  Rasten scowled. ‘Stupid mistake. I was using too much power and Sierra started to go down. I reined it in when I felt her falter and one of those wretches took his chance to strike.’

  ‘Is she alright?’

  Rasten winced. ‘She is now. She’s giving me an earful. Isidro came to the rescue, he gave her some power. She wants me to tell you that they’ve found your son and taken him back.’

  ‘Oh? Good.’ Ever since Rasten had told him of Cade’s kidnapping, it had never occurred to him that Isidro would fail.

  With the quilted panel pressed against the ugly gash, Cam wrapped the sash around to bind it in place. As he did, he saw the old scars marring Rasten’s skin: fine cuts, pockmarked burns and punctures and, in the centre of his back, a sigil that looked like it had been scored with a brand. He remembered the similar scars he’d seen on Sierra’s skin, and pressed his lips together tight. She’d told him a little of how she’d got them in a dry, dispassionate voice that had made him itch with anger. Seeing the same scars on Rasten’s hide … in the past, he’d refused to pity this man for what he’d suffered, thinking it only fair retribution for the harm he’d done. Now, he’d grudgingly been forced to see him as less of a monster and more as a beast in a cage, so maddened with fear and pain that it will savage anyone who comes near. ‘This is going to need stitching,’ he said. ‘Is Rhia with Ardamon’s crew?’

  ‘No, she went with Isidro. I’m medic for our lot.’

  ‘Well then, we’d best get you out of here in one piece.’ He had Rasten hold the wrapping tight while he retrieved the cuirass and buckled it around his ribs, pulling the straps tight to hold the dressing in place. Then, he slapped Rasten on the shoulder, like he would a horse after pulling the girth tight. ‘There,’ he said, ‘that should keep you going.’

  His hands were bloody by this point. Cam wiped them on his trousers, but the stuff was already drying to sticky smears.

  Once, he’d wanted nothing more than to feel this man’s blood on his hands. Now, as Rasten leant against the wall with his skin pale and damp with sweat, Cam found that his chief hope was to get him — all of them — out of here without further injury. Look, he told himself, you can sort out how you feel about it later. For now, just focus on the matter at hand. ‘We need to keep moving.’

  Rasten drew a heaving breath and straightened, pushing away from the wall, but before he’d taken more than a step, he fell still.

  ‘What is it?’ Cam asked.

  ‘Mages. Heading towards us.’ He broke off then, eyes losing focus.

  ‘Sir?’ Marima said, her voice urgent. Cam glanced across to see her by the door.

  Rasten came back to himself with a shake of his head. ‘There are two more mages up above. Sirri says they went in through the main gates. We’ll have to find a way past them. Sirri and Isidro are trying to come up with a plan —’

  ‘Sir!’ Marima hissed. ‘I think there are more men coming.’

  Cam and Rasten both fell silent. Cam sidled closer to the door. He could hear … som
ething. It could well be men creeping closer, trying to take their quarry by surprise.

  He closed the door, looking around for something to bar it with, but the room was empty. ‘So,’ he said to Rasten. ‘We’ve got mages coming at us from one side, and Wolf men from the other. Can you fight without endangering Sierra?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Rasten wiped a hand across his brow, and glanced at Ricca, who was still playing with her ball of light. Then, with a toss of his head, he seemed to come to some decision. He waved Cam away from the door, and hunkered down on the stones near the threshold. He took hold of the blood-soaked cloth of his shirt and wrung some drops from it. Then, with the thick, clotting blood, he drew a sigil on the flagstones.

  He finished and straightened. His gaze fell on Ricca and he started towards her, holding out his hand, heedless of the blood on it. ‘Little girl,’ he said, ‘come here.’

  Ricca turned to him with a sunny smile.

  Marima started forward at once, snatching for the girl’s shoulders. ‘What do you want with her?’

  Rasten ignored her. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked the girl. ‘Ricca? I need your help.’

  ‘She’s a little girl! What help can she be to someone like you?’ Marima spat.

  ‘Marima,’ Cam said, softly, ‘he won’t harm her, I give you my word.’ He hoped he was telling the truth. Sierra had always sworn that Rasten wouldn’t harm a child.

  The girl glanced to her mother, beginning to pout, but before she made up her mind to act, Rasten caught her by the arms, crouching down so he was on her level. ‘I have power, just like you, you see?’ He lifted one hand from her shoulder and cupped it to create a globe of flame, a seething, ruddy counterpart to her pearly orb.

  Her eyes widened, and when she reached for it, Rasten let her take it. ‘Ricca, there are bad men coming. I can’t fight them all, and I need your help.’

  ‘Is this a game?’ she said, starting to frown. ‘I don’t want to play.’