That got him a look from Bolin, but he let it go. For now. "It's still a good two days or more for them to make Broadhead. And that's pushing it on one horse."
"Berk's got more sense than to run his horse to death," Sully said. "He'll go to ground if he has to."
Something unsaid hung in the air until Bolin caught Sully's eye. The Lieutenant shrugged. "He's not making any effort to hide his trail. Not the bit I saw."
"And they rode double," Garek said, pondering the significance. "Tells me one of them can't sit a horse themselves."
Bolin had come to the same conclusion. "How many horses were left behind?"
"Half a dozen?" Sully looked to Salek for confirmation. "Maybe more if they can manage to catch them."
"Get a fresh mount," Bolin said to those two. "We'll make for the Southrun."
***
Berk snapped his head up as he felt Ciara's weight fall forward. He swore, the muscles pulling across his wounded shoulder when he reached out to keep her in the saddle. Black dots scattered across his vision. He waited for them to fade before he glanced up at the sky to get his bearings. The sun had already started to slide into the west. Berk had no idea how much ground they'd covered or how far from the Southrun they were, but it didn't much matter. He couldn't go on without rest, and their horse needed water at the least.
They were still in the forest, but the trees here had started to thin, giving way to low shrubs and wide expanses of open field. He swung the horse's nose around to the north and pushed the beast forward at a more purposeful walk.
Berk didn't have as much familiarity with this part of the empire as he did with the lands to the west and north. A few tiny villages and one or two inns dotted the Southrun between Broadhead and Crossings, and there had to be holdings scattered across the countryside. Any one of those would suffice. At this point Berk would settle for a pig shack and a well. Not that he wanted to lead the marauders to anyone's doorstep. Goddess knew a blind man could follow the trail he'd left. Damn, he should have been more careful. Even with Ciara's tending, he couldn't seem to think straight, and having her nestled in his lap didn't help matters.
The horse stumbled, and they both lurched forward. Ciara woke with a start, clutching at the front of the saddle to save herself. A good thing, because Berk could have done nothing to help her this time. He barely kept himself upright. Water and shelter or not, he had to stop.
Ciara swiveled to look at him, and pursed her lips. "You look terrible."
Berk cocked a brow. "I realize I need a bath and a shave, but terrible is a little harsh I think." He sounded drained, the attempt at humor failing utterly.
Ciara reached around to lift a hand to his cheek, and he flinched back without meaning to. Her frown deepened. "Berk, what happened back there--"
"Water," he said a bit too abruptly, unable to meet her gaze. "We need to find water for the horse."
"Do you have any idea where we are?"
"No. But we can't be too far from the Southrun. I don't know for sure." He sucked in a breath and tried to clear his head. The marauders would be after them by now. Had to be. And they'd have an easy time following their trail. Some protection he offered. He and Ciara would be back in their hands before dark. Well, Ciara would. Goddess willing, he'd die trying to prevent it. The thought of being taken again sent a wave of terror through him he couldn't face.
"Berk?"
He snapped his attention back to Ciara. "I'm sorry."
"You don't have anything to be sorry for."
He wanted to explain, but his head swam, and his vision danced in and out.
"That's it." Ciara swung her leg over the horse's neck and dropped to the ground.
"What are you--"
She laid a hand on his knee, the innocent touch sending shockwaves through his system. "You're exhausted. The horse is exhausted. You need to get a little rest. Then we can look for water."
"It's too open here."
"I'll set wards. No one will be able to sneak up on us."
Berk shook his head and immediately realized the stupidity of doing so as everything in his vision tilted. He managed to flip his leg over the horse's rump and turn what would have been a fall into a clumsy dismount. Ciara steadied him when his knees buckled. He hung there between her and the horse, his right arm flung over the saddle, fingers digging into the leather for dear life, silently wishing Ciara would take a step back. Or at least take her arms from around his waist.
"I'm all right."
"Yes, I can see that."
"Please," he whispered, eyes squeezed shut and forehead resting against the saddle flap. "Just give me a moment."
"You need to lie down."
He nodded.
The sudden tensing of her muscles sheared through his foggy senses a heartbeat before her strained whisper in his ear, "We have company."
Berk lifted his head and slid his gaze over the back of their horse. Two men dressed in rough wool and leather and carrying enough weapons for a small army, rode toward them on the same type of shaggy mount currently supporting him. They reined in at a safe distance, suspicion on their faces. One of them, the beefier of the two, hailed Berk. Ciara gasped, and Berk guessed she recognized the marauder tongue.
"Stay behind me," he said, his voice low. Blocked by the horse and Berk, the men may not have even spotted Ciara yet. He raised his right hand in a wave and slipped into their language. "Well met, brothers."
Ciara's grip on his waist tightened. The two men exchanged glances. He looked the part of a marauder, he intended to play it for all it was worth.
"Who do you ride with? Brother." The beefy one asked.
"No one now." Berk twisted his head and spat. "You?"
If he could convince them he'd just severed ties with an unworthy chieftain they would either let him ride on, or invite him to ride with them. They'd come from the north, so a guess said they weren't with Lenai's tribe.
The skinnier of the two nudged his horse, sidestepping to see around Berk. "What're you hiding back there?"
The beefy one shifted in the other direction and craned his neck. "Whose woman?"
Berk tensed. "Mine."
"Bought, won, or stole?"
His mind raced. The wrong answer would open the door to a challenge. "Bought."
Beefy grinned, a gap toothed expression without mirth. "I'll give you twice what you paid." He grabbed his crotch. "Ain't had a proper dip in a while."
"I just got her. Maybe in another moon I'll tire of her, hey?" Berk thanked the Goddess Ciara didn't understand what they were saying.
Beefy pushed his horse closer, and Berk let his hand drop casually to his waist. "Where you headed?"
Berk shrugged. "Wherever the wind blows."
"You don't look so good. You sick?"
Skinny had worked himself around to the backside of Berk's horse making it impossible to keep the two of them in sight without constantly turning his head. He focused on Beefy. "Bitch got hold of a knife and tried to stab me in the heart." He spat again. Talking about Ciara like that, even to save her life, left a sour taste in his mouth.
Ciara's hands were still on his waist. He could feel her shifting, probably trying to keep an eye on Skinny. He glanced over his shoulder, making it appear a casual thing.
"Get on the horse," he said to Ciara.
"What'd you say to her?" Skinny asked.
"You're making me nervous back there, brother," Berk said, ignoring his question. "We've got no cause to be at odds have we?"
"Mebbe. Mebbe not."
Metal slid against leather as Beefy drew his sword. Berk whipped around, grabbed Ciara by the waist and hoisted her toward the saddle. She scrambled madly to mount as he drew his sword. He kept his back against the horse even as it shifted, which put Skinny once again out of his line of sight.
Beefy leaned forward in the saddle and pointed his falchion at Berk. "I think you belong to someone, dog. I don't much care for strays so I'm just gonna gut you here, take your hor
se, and share your woman with my friend until we've had our fill. Then I might just sell her to the slavers. Bet she cleans up nice enough to fetch a decent price."
Berk took a deep breath. He couldn't win this, but he could buy Ciara time to get away. "Ride," he told her, through clenched teeth.
"No."
"Damn the gods, Ciara, just do it."
Beefy chuckled. When he spoke again it was in thickly accented Imperial tongue. "She won't get far. You got cock, I'll give you that. But there's no way you can take us both. On foot and wounded? I just don't think you're that good."
"I guess we'll find out."
Ciara cried out in surprise, and her horse shifted suddenly, shoving Berk out into the open. He heard Skinny cackling, but couldn't spare a look because Beefy had already started toward him. Berk waited until the last moment, then spun in front of the oncoming rider, and ducked under the horse's head. Letting the momentum carry him around to the offside, Berk brought his sword around and caught the marauder across the left calf. The rapid movement sent Berk's head spinning, and he staggered to keep his balance as Beefy bellowed in pain and hauled his horse around.
"I'm gonna take my time gutting you now."
The horse sprang forward, and Berk tried to get to the rider's left a second time, but the big marauder wouldn't be fooled twice. He jerked his mount to the side, and Berk went sprawling, the horse's shoulder catching his. He scrambled on all fours in the grass, trying to get distance and his feet at the same time. He heard the marauder dismount and pivoted on one knee, bringing his sword around as he did. The tip bounced off leather as Beefy managed to hop back just in time, bearing his weight on his good leg. It gave Berk the opening needed to get to his feet. Beefy's sword arced downward, and Berk caught it with the flat of his, shoving back on the marauder with as much force as he could muster. Beefy staggered back and Berk, already over-balanced, tumbled to his knees. A savage kick to the guts blackened his vision and sent him sprawling.
"Gonna skin you alive, dog. Then have your woman while you can still watch."
He kicked again before Berk could get to his feet. Ciara's hoarse scream was the last thing he heard.
***
Ciara jerked her elbow back as the marauder attempted to drag her onto his horse by grabbing her around the waist. Her limbs flailed and he lost his grip, and then Ciara lost hers as well. She slid between the shifting mounts, landing on her stomach between them, the wind whooshing from her lungs. A hoof danced perilously close to her skull, and she threw her arms over her head for protection. Before she could regain her breath, he had her, dragging her back to her feet by her hair.
That's when Ciara saw the other marauder send Berk sprawling with a kick. Andrakaos rumbled.
I can stop him.
Ciara shuddered. The marauder by Berk laughed and said something in their coarse language, then spit on Berk and threw another kick before he could get up.
He will die.
"Stop it!" Ciara screamed.
But he didn't listen, and the man behind her only laughed and twisted his fist so that her scalp stretched painfully across her skull and her eyes watered. An image swam unbidden behind her eyes: A man with a scar across his face, leering at her, holding her down. Her fingers curled into her palms so hard her short nails dug into her flesh.
"Please, stop. Let him go."
The man turned away from Berk. "I will, princess, in little, bitty pieces."
Tears warmed her cheeks.
I can save him. Andrakaos's voice rippled through her. Nialyne's wards had weakened the further from the Greensward they traveled. A word from you will shatter them.
Ciara squeezed her eyes shut and pursed her lips. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry? There's naught to be sorry for, princess. You stand to make me a nice bit o' coin."
Her eyes snapped open. Berk dangled from the big man's grasp like a rag doll as the marauder dragged him toward the horses.
Anger and fear melted, flowed into one cold, nameless emotion. Ciara's nostrils flared as she took a deep breath. The sharp scent of blood came to her on the breeze. Berk's. The marauder's. It mingled with the sun-warmed musk of the horses and leather. She sniffed. No fear. Not yet. That would come though. At the last moment, when they realized their mistake, the terror would rip through them too late to save their miserable hides.
Ciara tipped her head, and a cold smile pulled her lips upwards. She whispered a word that came to her on the winds of buried memory, dredged up out of her subconscious and the battle in the old woman's chamber. Warmth and strength flowed through her as Andrakaos rose from beneath the wards.
"I said stop." Though her lips moved to make the words, the voice that reached her ears didn't sound like hers. It reverberated with command and malice.
Kill them.
"No." She began to shake. She wouldn't kill. Not again. She would show them mercy. Give them a chance to save themselves. "Just walk away."
The big man looked at her, an incredulous expression playing across his dirty face.
"I can't control him," Ciara said. "He'll kill you."
He dropped Berk to the ground, and spread his arms wide, making a show of looking around. "He? I see no one but this worthless cur."
"Stop!"
The man froze. His leg shook, the muscles taut as he fought to finish the kick. The man behind her stiffened. His hands fell from her, and he stepped away. He said something to his companion and that one growled a reply. Ciara looked over her shoulder.
"Get on your horses and leave." Her voice wavered. Andrakaos wanted their blood. She couldn't hold him back much longer. "Please, just go and leave us alone, and you won't be harmed."
The big marauder's eyes widened. "Glazhunt," he said, his voice hard. "Release me so I can slit your throat."
She heard a slithering hiss, a weapon being drawn behind her. She didn't turn. Her eyes flicked to where Berk's discarded sword lay in the grass. Her heart clenched and her mouth went dry. Her arm lifted, her fingers moving of their own accord.
A thought and a gesture.
Ciara watched with detached curiosity as Berk's sword rose from the ground.
"No." She meant it to be an order, but it sounded more like a plea.
The sword halted, rotating slowly above the grass, the sun glinting off the blade like silver sparks of flame.
"Go. Now. Please, just get on your horses and go."
"I can't go, glazhunt. I can't move."
Ciara lowered her arm. Berk's sword dropped to the ground. The man planted his foot, and in a move too fast to track he spun toward her, his hand coming from behind his back. Silver flashed toward her heart.
Andrakaos roared.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"I admit to being amazed by you, chieftain." Donovan strolled through the center of the marauder camp. He paused beside an iron cage and studied its gruesome remains. He had thought the marauders would be more useful. But, then again, when one dealt with creatures of such dubious lineage disappointments were sure to occur. "I had heard much of the resourcefulness of your kind, and yet you failed to keep a simple girl prisoner for the space of even one day."
"A simple girl, was it?" Lenai planted her fists on her hips. The fingers of her left hand stroked her knife's worn grip. "In what way was she simple, Black Prince? Not simple minded. No dullard, that one. Simply a healer as she claimed?" She snorted. "My mage--"
"--is an idiot." Donovan slid his gaze to the man standing beside Lenai. "He could not find a trickle of hedge magic in an open field."
Lenai thrust out an arm to keep the mage in place. "Then find your simple girl and hold her yourself."
Donovan pivoted, his gaze leveling on the chieftain. The bulk of her band wisely kept to the work of breaking camp. The others averted their gazes and backed away. Not her, and not her mage. Those two stood and faced him without flinching, feet planted, chins raised, defiance smoldering in their eyes. The Emperor would do well to watch this one if she survived. She ha
d not held her position all these years through being soft or lenient. They had resolve, he would give them that, and perhaps they could still prove useful to him after all.
"I will do precisely that," Donovan said. "Unfortunately, your incompetence has now complicated the issue. I expect you to remedy that situation."
"Oh?"
"You will delay the escort."
Lenai laughed. "Delay them yourself, Black Prince. I've lost enough doing your bidding, and have gained nothing."
"Not even my favor, and that is something you should want to curry. Without it, you and your tribe will cease to exist."
The chieftain did not laugh this time. She looked past Donovan to the four guards in shimmering black plate armor standing on alert several steps behind him. "You're a tactical mastermind if you can pull that off with a hand full of plated buffoons."
The mage's hand flashed up too late to stop two of his comrades from crumpling to the ground as nothing more than piles of ash. His eyes widened, and he said something quick and low to Lenai.
"I can wipe your tribe from this land without any of my buffoons drawing a weapon. Their purpose is entirely...decorative. Your purpose is to delay the Imperial escort."
Lenai snarled. "They're half way to Broadhead by now with nearly all my horses."
"You have some?"
"A handful."
"That should suffice. You are not staging an attack, chieftain, merely creating a diversion."
"Against a manned Imperial garrison?"
Donovan smiled. "Yes."
"You're mad."
"Quite possibly. But to insure your success this time, I will give you a gift: four more horses, and a Dominion priestess."
The mage's jaw opened, but the sound that reached Donovan's ears came from behind him. Teeva pushed her way forward, her seething anger rolling before her like a tidal wave. He raised a hand before she could vent her fury.
"The priestess is a loan. You will take as many as you have horses for and ride for Broadhead at once."
He turned on his heel and walked away, the four guards dissolving into thin air as he left. The priestess followed him to the edge of the camp.
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