The hunter stiffened. She appeared confused. Her eyes followed Uncle Milos’ movements, but she remained completely still. “I have always fulfilled my bargains,” she said quietly.
“Truly? Then why does a bounty hunter hold my nephew in exchange for your return?”
Milvari gasped and her uncle fixed his eyes on her. “Wait outside,” he commanded.
“But—”
“Now!”
“Yes, Uncle.” Milvari slid shaky hands across the wood of the door and clutched the handle.
His bellowed words chased after her. “And do not listen at the door!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Tratine held by a bounty hunter? Kira’s mind raced as the information settled. The boy must be terrified. The people of this hold had been kind to her and she had brought this evil upon them. Kira was filled with alarm for the boy’s safety. She must find a way to free him, but at what cost?
Her chest constricted with fresh fear. Too soon. It was too soon! Winter still held the seaports closed. There would be no escape by ship. There was nowhere left for her to run. Whether Toril’s men, or a bounty hunter, it didn’t matter. They had caught up with her.
“I await your answer.” Milos Tem crossed his arms and stared at her.
“Are you certain it is a bounty hunter who holds Tratine?”
“I know that my nephew is missing and that a messenger came to his mother demanding an exchange,” he said hotly. “Tell me why.”
“I am sorry,” Kira said. Fear and guilt struck her as hard as any fist ever had. The blood pounded through her in waves, making it difficult to speak. “I didn’t expect them to find me so soon. I have put your people in danger. Forgive me.”
“Them? Who is it you are running from?”
Kira sat on the rumpled bed. Her throat constricted. “Warlord Toril.”
“You’re indentured to the Warlord?”
“Indentured?” Kira was taken by surprise. “No,” she said. “I have no contracts except the bargain I made with you.”
“Then why does he hunt you?”
“Because I was his . . . his mated woman.” The words hissed out of her.
The holder started.
Kira searched his face. “I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid. If I go back . . .” The shame overwhelmed her. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, to admit to this man what had been done to her at another’s hands. “I was not content there.”
The holder’s jaw fell open and he snapped it shut. “My nephew’s life is threatened because you were discontented?” he said through his teeth.
Kira stared out the window at the slate colored sky. Her insides matched the black clouds that held back the sun. It was inevitable. She would return to her imprisonment with Toril. The holder would have no choice but to exchange her for Tratine.
As much as she feared the wrath of Toril, she would have it no other way. Tratine did not deserve to be punished for her choices, her actions, her mistakes.
A single shaft of light pierced the clouds and she thought about her time with her companions, thought about Milvari and the others at the hold. It almost made her smile. Though tinged with fear and watchfulness, these past few moons of freedom had held an ease and joy she had almost forgotten could exist.
The ray of light disappeared as suddenly as it had come.
There was only one course open to her. “I am sorry,” she said, rising and picking up the new leather jerkin. “I will see that Tratine is returned to you unharmed.” She stuck her arms through the garment, grimaced, then tied the laces.
The holder watched in silence as she strapped on her belt and pulled on her worn boots. “What do you plan to do?” he asked.
Kira picked up her knife and stuck it in her boot. She pulled her leather pouch from the cupboard, reached inside and took out her mother’s medallion. She squeezed it in her fist as her eyes met his. “I am going to put things aright.”
“No.” He stood before the door and planted his feet. “This is my hold. And Tratine is my responsibility. It is I who will put things aright.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
They rode in silence through softly falling snow. Large glistening flakes caught in the horses’ manes and tails. Milos rode ahead, gripping Trad’s lead. Kira sat up straight, her hands laced to the pommel with thick leather cords.
She scanned the tree line ahead, her eyes searching the tall grasses that still lingered into the winter season. How many men would be with the bounty hunter?
She was restless and uneasy. This sort of ploy was not like Toril. There was no show of power in an exchange of this kind. Toril would more likely bring his war band to bear on Tem Hold in a display of strength, crashing down on the quiet farmers and cot holders if they refused his demands. If this were truly the work of a bounty hunter, Toril and his men might still be some distance off. There might still be a chance to deflect his anger from Tem Hold and its people.
Kelmir had prowled ahead, out of sight, and now his thoughts broke into hers. He had found the men’s encampment. Through him, Kira counted five horses tied near the campsite. It was possible that others on horseback lurked nearby, but without Vaith to scout from overhead, it was difficult to know more. Kel, see if you can find any of the men. They may be hiding in the trees.
Milos slowed the horses and swept the scene with furtive glances. Shaped in a half-circle, the copse lay just ahead, bordering an open meadow filled with dried stalks and mounds of snow. Kira recognized the place. Not far off lay the meadow where she and Milvari had discovered the demon’s claw barely a fortnight ago. She focused her attention on the trees, searching for men hidden in the shadows.
A burly man stepped out from behind one of the nearer trees. “That’s far enough,” he called. “Halt the horses and drop your weapons.”
“Not before I see that my nephew is unharmed,” Milos called back.
“You’re in no position to call for terms.” The man spat and wiped at his mouth with his sleeve.
A thin man stepped out into the meadow. “Now, Lemm, is that any way to treat a landed holder?” His words carried across the open field. His dark tunic glittered with silver embroidery and his black cape stood out against the snow-covered ground. “Good day, Lord Holder. I am Lagos Surrat.” He gave Milos a curt bow, but Kira felt his gaze linger unpleasantly on her.
“I did not come to exchange pleasantries with you,” Milos growled.
“True, true,” the man said. “But as my friend has informed you, you are here on our terms.” His malicious smile showed long crooked teeth.
Kira followed the conversation while staying connected to Kelmir, which made it difficult for her to sense clearly what he saw, but she somehow managed to remain aware of both his senses and the goings-on around her.
Milos stiffened and gestured to where Kira sat behind him. “I have brought the woman. Where is my nephew?”
“Ah, yes, do let us get on with our business.” Lagos waved his arm. A short distance away, a thin blond man stepped out of the trees. He held a large knife in one hand and gripped Tratine’s upper arm with the other.
The boy’s wrists were tied together in front of him and dirt smeared his face. Kira’s throat tightened at the sight of him. Tratine had never been friendly, but he was only a boy. He did not deserve to be treated this way.
Kelmir crept past a large gnarled tree and crouched. Before him, a man stood beside a tree facing the meadow. He had an arrow nocked in the bow he held, the string pulled taut, ready for release. Good job, Kel. Keep an eye on him. Four men accounted for. The fifth horse would be Tratine’s. Kira once more wondered if there were others, and how many.
“As you can see, the boy is fine. For the moment,” Lagos said. “Now, put down your weapon and we will conclude our business here.”
Milos slowly drew his broadsword and dropped it onto the frozen ground with a loud clang. Then he held open his cloak to show he had no other weapons.
“Good,�
� the bounty hunter said. He nodded to the burly man, who walked out to the center of the field. “Now,” said Lagos, “you will bring the woman to the center of the meadow while Jolon walks the boy out. You will hand the horse’s lead to Lemm and Jolon will release the boy to you. Then you can be on your way.”
Milos nodded and glanced back at Kira. She blinked once and they started forward. Across the field, the blond man, Jolon, walked toward them, pulling Tratine with him. As they came closer, Kira recognized the man. He had been among her escort the day she escaped. She had thought he’d been uncomfortable because of her bruised and broken appearance. She had apparently been wrong. He was just another mercenary soldier. Worse now, a kidnapper of children. She gritted her teeth in anger.
They reached the center of the field. Lemm leered at her, spat on the ground, and reached out to take Trad’s reins from Milos. Kira kept her eyes on the big man as, with a surreptitious movement, she slid her hands out of the loose ropes.
Now, Kel!
A snarl erupted from the trees followed by a horrible scream. The men instinctively turned toward the blood-curdling sound. Milos leaped from the saddle. He pulled a short blade from the sheath hidden at his back and lunged at Jolon. Jolon shoved Tratine aside and dodged the thrust.
Lemm grabbed for Trad’s reins. Kira aimed a kick at his bulky head. Her booted foot connected low, catching him in his pudgy throat. He stumbled back from her and Kelmir was on him before he could recover. She turned to see Jolon dodge Milos’ blade, let the knife fall from his hand, and retreat from the holder.
“What are you waiting for? Kill them!” Lagos shrieked.
From the edge of the field an arrow sliced through the air, speeding toward the holder’s unprotected back. Kira watched in stunned silence as Jolon ducked beneath Milos’ next stroke and shoved the holder aside. The arrow sunk into the blond man’s chest with a sucking sound and he dropped to his knees.
Kira leaped from the saddle as another arrow arced across the open space. Narrowly missing Milos, the shaft grazed Zharik’s neck. The horse screamed and reared.
Kelmir shot across the meadow like a streak of night. The next arrow flew wide. Noise erupted from the trees as the archer fled from the big cat. Kelmir pounced and the man shrieked out his last breath.
Lagos ran toward the encampment and Kira sprang onto Trad’s back to give chase. Before she could catch up with him an arrow struck the bounty hunter between the shoulders. He toppled forward and lay still. Milos had retrieved the archer’s bow.
Kira dropped out of the saddle, leaned down, and rolled the bounty hunter over. His eyes glittered with malice as his arm flew up. The dagger in his hand carved through her soft leather jerkin, slicing into her shoulder. She threw herself back and away from him and pulled the knife from her boot. She leaned in and held the knife up under his chin. Her hand shook and she hesitated. As a healer she had sworn to save lives, not take them. As she wavered, the dagger fell from his hands. His nose twitched, blood bubbled out of his mouth with a gurgle, and the light faded from his eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The man, Jolon, swayed on his knees. The arrow in his chest moved up and down with his breathing.
The rest of the men were dead. When they’d set out from the hold, Kira had known that their desperate plan would likely end in killing. She shook her head. These men were cruel, willing to harm a child for personal gain. They deserved to die. But Lemm’s vacant face hovered before her. She had never killed anyone before.
Milos untied Tratine. The boy’s wrists were red and chafed and his pale hands shook from the cold. Milos rubbed his fingers to warm them.
Kira walked over to where Jolon knelt in the snow. She peered at the man’s wound. The arrow had hit high, away from his organs. It looked painful, but there was little blood.
Milos dropped the piece of rope he was holding. “You’re hurt.”
Dark crimson stained her sleeve as blood ran from her wound and dripped from her fingers. Dark red dots that froze in the pale snow. She flexed her arm. “The cut is long, but not deep.”
Gripping her sleeve, she tore it the rest of the way from the shirt. She wrapped the fabric over her shoulder and around her arm, holding it tight to stop the bleeding. Milos helped her tie the linen in place.
She faced Jolon. “I know you. You’re one of Toril’s men. Why are you here?”
The warrior looked up. His young eyes pleaded with her. “Forgive me,” he panted. “I had hoped to find some way to warn you.”
Kira frowned. She had seen Jolon push Milos aside and take the arrow intended for the holder, but perhaps he had merely chosen to change sides when the fight turned against the bounty hunter and his men. “Why should I believe you?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t. I would not. But you should know that the warlord and his army, what remains of it, is no more than a fortnight off.”
“What do you mean, what remains of it?” Kira repeated.
“Many have deserted. There were those who already questioned his actions. But his obsession with you has driven them and others away.” Jolon panted with the exertion of talking. Blood oozed from where shaft of the arrow rose out of his shoulder. “Only those most loyal, or most cruel, remain with him. But though they are few, they are hardened men and remain a formidable force.”
Kira sneered at him. “I don’t believe you. Toril would never let his army fall apart like that.”
Jolon grunted. “There have been . . . attempts to . . . dissuade the deserters,” he said. “But still they find the means to leave. And he no longer sends men out after them. For the past fortnight, his thoughts have been turned toward you. He blames you for his every trouble. ”
“Why are you telling us this?” Milos asked.
The young man winced as he turned toward the holder. “Because, from that first day, I have been tormented by what he did to her.” Jolon’s face contorted in pain and he sat back on his heels with a groan.
Milos gave Kira a sharp look. “What does he mean?”
Kira was silent. She couldn’t tell him about Toril. Not now. Not because she was ashamed, but because she couldn’t let him stop her from turning herself over to Toril. She had let Milos Tem talk her into the risky rescue plan to save Tratine, but unlike Lagos and his men, the warlord’s men were not a small band of opportunists. They were battle-hardened warriors. There was only one way left to save Tem Hold and its people. “It is nothing.”
Milos looked from Jolon to Kira. His eyes narrowed. He looked as if he would speak, but he said nothing.
She turned away. “If what he says is true, there is still time for me to stop Toril. If I go to him now, he will have no reason to attack Tem Hold.”
Jolon tried to rise. His face twisted in pain, and his eyes filled with tears. “No! You can’t go back. No one should be treated that way. Above all, not you. Please. I know you can’t know what is in my heart. I wanted to tell you. That’s why I volunteered to escort you.” He shuddered.
Kira gave Jolon a compassionate look. Was he saying that he cared for her? Could it be true? Or was it an attempt to play on her emotions? She could find no words for the young man. Too many times she had been told one thing and shown another by a man she thought she could trust.
She directed her attention to Milos. Only one thing could save Tem Hold and its people. “I must go to Toril. There is no other way.”
Milos gently placed a hand on her uninjured arm. “Yes, there is.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Milvari held the blade of the knife in the fire as Kira had directed her. She had never before seen anyone shot by an arrow. There was so much blood. She glanced back at the wounded man, amazed that he still lived.
Jolon sat on the bed. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and pain wracked his young face. Master Jarret stood on one side of him, Uncle Milos on the other. Blood from the wound trickled down the young man’s bare chest.
Kira looked into Jolon’s brown eyes a
nd raised the cup to his lips once more. “It will be painful, even with this,” she told him as he swallowed the last of the pain-numbing draught Milvari had prepared.
Jolon’s eyes held fear, but he nodded in understanding.
“Lie down,” Kira instructed him.
The men helped him lean back, gripping his arms to hold him steady.
“Bite down on this.” Kira put a leather-wrapped stick in the young man’s mouth. “Milvari, bring me the knife.”
The knife made a hissing sound as the hunter doused the blade in a bowl of cool clear water. Milvari winced, but forced herself to watch. With a steady hand, Kira cut into the bloody flesh at the edge of the arrow’s shaft. Jolon groaned though the leather, jerking back against the bed, but other men held him tight. It took all their combined strength, but they kept his upper body still.
Kira used two small wedges of wine soaked wood to hold the wound open. Jolon’s eyes squeezed shut and he moaned as bit by bit she drew the arrow out. She held the arrow up and examined the tip. “It’s intact,” she said, handing the bloody quarrel to Milvari. “If it had not been, we would have had to search the wound for the pieces.”
Milvari shuddered and realized there were tears in her eyes. Her uncle glanced at her, concern on his face. She wiped her eyes and inspected the arrow. How strange that such a small bit of iron could cause such pain and damage. She had wanted to help, had demanded to be allowed to stay. She was learning more than she had anticipated.
Kira removed the wedges from the open wound, then poured a small amount of wine directly into it. Jolon yelped and lay still.
Master Jarrett put his hand near the young man’s face. “He’s unconscious.”
“It is for the best,” Kira said, wiping away the blood and wine. “Milvari, bring me the needle and silk thread.”
Milvari watched closely as the hunter sewed the wound shut with quick, deft movements. “Your arm is bleeding again,” she said as Kira tied off the final stitch. “Won’t you let me tend to it?”
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