They took a short break at mid-day, then pushed on. With the Goddess's continued good will, they would reach Broadhead by nightfall.
Starting its life as a tiny fishing village along the Millinain, Broadhead had grown into a thriving city once the Southrun became established as a main route between Nisair and Crossings. The addition of stone walls and establishment of a permanent Imperial garrison became a necessity during the marauder uprisings. If need pressed, the garrison could house one hundred cavalry and another hundred or so foot soldiers. These days Bolin thought it unlikely to find more than a single company stationed there.
He certainly didn't expect to find the city gates closed and guarded when they arrived just after dusk. He slid a look Garek's way as they approached. "Who's in command here?"
Garek made a face. "Been a while since I've been on this side of the empire. Last harvest it was Major Dunleavy, but I heard he retired. I've no idea who was assigned to fill his spot."
One of the three gate guards detached himself from his comrades and strode forward, one hand raised up to signal them to halt, the other resting on his weapon. His two companions hoisted their halberds, and flanked the gate itself.
"Is there a problem, soldier?" Garek asked.
The man's gaze swept over Garek's road worn uniform, flickered toward Bolin, then took in the rest of the band, three others of which were also wearing Imperial colors and none of whom had seen a razor or bath in far too long.
"We weren't expecting any detachments," he said.
"Lad," Garek leaned forward in his saddle, not a lick of his usual good nature showing on his face, and Bolin pitied the man on the receiving end, "I'm going to commend you for doing your duty. But we're dog tired, have a wounded man, and two ladies with us, so unless you want to find yourself serving as gong farmer for the rest of your tour, I'd suggest you open the gates and stand down."
The guard frowned. "If you don't mind waiting, I'll have to check with--"
"Who's in charge here?" Garek barked out the question, and the guard instinctively snapped to attention.
"Captain Rothel, sir."
"And where is the good captain at the moment?"
"I--I don't know, sir."
"Well, why don't you go find him for me? Tell him Commander Garek of the Emperor's personal guard, and General Bolin, Lord High Commander of the Imperial Army, are unexpectedly sitting on his front stoop, road worn, hungry, and in a foul temper." Bolin cringed at Garek's use of his full title. The guard's eyes rounded on him, and his Adam's apple bobbed. The Commander leaned back, and crossed his wrists over the pommel of his saddle. When the guard hesitated, Garek lifted a finger and waggled it at him. "Go on. We'll wait."
"That won't be necessary," a voice called from above them on the wall. "Stand down, Willis. Lord General, Commander, my apologies. Come ahead, please."
Garek grumbled and rolled his eyes at Bolin, then nudged his horse forward as the gates swung inward. He made for the garrison alongside the inner walls, glowering at the guards as they stepped aside to let them pass. Stable boys swarmed around them as soon as they entered the yard, taking the extra mounts first while the riders dismounted. Bolin stripped his bags off Sandeen and slung them over his shoulder just as a fair haired, slender man approached from the direction of the wall. He snapped a crisp salute and followed it up with a bow from the shoulders, his eyes sweeping over the group as he did so.
"Captain Rothel, I take it?" Garek faced the man with fists planted on his hips, his cloak thrown back over his shoulders.
The man nodded. "I apologize again. If I had known you were--"
"Do you see this, Captain Rothel?" Garek jutted his thumb into his own chest and the silver Imperial crest emblazoned on the navy surcoat. An edging of gold and crimson flowed around the crossed swords, denoting his rank.
The captain licked his lips. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry--"
"Do you see the uniforms on my men?"
"Yes, sir."
"Since when do Imperial soldiers not have leave to enter this garrison unchallenged?"
Bolin put a hand on Garek's arm. His temper rarely got the better of him, but when it did it proved impressive to watch. Not to receive. "Captain, we have two injured men who will need tending. We'll also be needing private accommodations for the women."
The captain studied Bolin, probably wondering if he truly was Lord High Commander of the Imperial Army, given he looked more like a hired sword than an officer of any rank. He gave a short nod. "Of course, sir." Rothel waved a soldier over. "See that the wounded are taken to the infirmary, and make sure someone fetches Sergeant Evan. Get some of the maids to see to rooms for the ladies."
"The General will need one as well," Garek growled. "I'll bunk with the men." He reached out a hand and snagged a passing squire by the collar. The boy sagged under the load Garek dropped into his arms. "Stow this for me, will you, lad? Captain, I hope your cook is good and your ale is fresh."
"Yes on both accounts, Commander."
"Excellent." The tension went out of the big man's shoulders, and he grinned. "Duff, I believe you owe me a few tankards."
"If you say so, Commander."
"That I do, lad. That I do."
***
"Do you see how it becomes easier each time?"
Ciara startled and looked around. She stood in the midst of a clearing with tall grass waving, deep shadows beneath the trees, and figures lying all around. They were hard men with dirty faces, blood on their clothing and soaking into the ground in dark puddles, their vacant eyes staring at the sky. Another figure stood opposite her; clean shaven, black hair, eyes like midnight skies. He smiled, but the expression held no warmth.
"Hello, Daughter."
Ciara swallowed a sudden rush of terror. "What do you want?"
Donovan strolled through the carnage, ignoring her question as he ignored the flies that rose up buzzing around the corpses. "You are becoming quite adept at murder."
"I didn't do this."
"No?"
He glanced down, and Ciara looked at her hands. She started to shake. They were covered in blood.
"There will be others."
Donovan gestured to the ground. A figure sprawled face down, wearing the deep blue and silver of the Imperial Guard, blood pooling around him.
"Whether directly, or because of the choices you make, their deaths are on your hands. And all of them will die, Daughter. All of them." He stood behind her now, his voice hissing across her shoulder like the frozen breath of winter.
"No."
"I have so much to offer you."
Ciara shook her head. "You have nothing to offer me."
"Do you think you will be better off in the hands of the Imperial Mages?" He laughed as he circled around to stand in front of her. "They will try to control you, to bend you to their will, use you as a farmer uses a plow horse. If you do not comply, they will kill you."
"And how is that any different than what you intend?"
"I offer you a place at my side. I will allow you to embrace all that you possess, not keep you harnessed." He stepped back, spreading his arms wide. "Or has your taste for blood become insatiable? You reek of it, Daughter: Blood, death, the hunger to kill." His nostrils flared as he raised his chin and sucked in a deep breath. "And you do it so well. So brutally. A mere thought to turn a dagger back on its thrower. A gesture to drive a sword through a man's chest without hesitation. Oh, yes, Daughter, you will soon rival even the General in your ability to dole out death."
"I take no pleasure in it."
"Not yet. But each time it becomes easier. Each time just a bit sweeter. Soon, it will not matter if it is friend or foe you face. Whoever stands in your way will perish."
He flicked a hand, and a scene played out before her. A nightmare within a dream. She stood on a high wall, dark clouds swirling around her. A harsh wind clawed at her skin, and dragged her hair across her face. She yearned to be free, to spread her wings and take flight, but they fough
t her. They called her back to them, tried to bind her, to take her power. Hunger rose in her. Thirst as she had never known. They would all die. All of them. She roared and men fell, their lives ripped from them by her word alone. She laughed and spread her wings, watching from on high as buildings crumbled. The land beneath her ran crimson with blood, and the scent of it filled her nostrils.
***
Ciara screamed and lurched from the bed, colliding with someone. Panic welled in her, and she pounded her fists against his chest. "Leave me alone!"
She twisted against the hands that caught her wrists, fighting to free herself.
"Ciara, stop it."
Hysterical laughter burst from her. There would be no stopping her. There would be nothing but destruction. She couldn't be stopped. Wouldn't be stopped.
"No!" She jerked back. The hands tightened their grip.
"Look at me," the voice demanded in a rich, lilting accent. Hands cupped her face and forced her to focus on clear, moss-colored eyes that pulled her back to the reality of where she stood, and anchored her there.
Ciara sucked in a breath, the stench of death replaced by the comforting smell of soap and water, mingled with the faint odor of leather and sun-warmed horse. Another gasping breath wracked her body. She balled Bolin's tunic in her fingers and dropped her forehead against his chest, trembling.
"Donvan," she whispered.
Bolin wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close, and resting his cheek against her head. "I figured as much."
Even safely cocooned in his embrace she couldn't stop shaking, or rid herself of the bloody images. The sensations of fury and exhilaration still coursed through her, making her pulse race.
"Is she all right?" Nialyne's voice.
Goddess's blood, had she woken the whole city?
"I'm fine," she said, her voice muffled in Bolin's chest. "Just a bad dream."
He snorted. "You're shaking like a leaf in a tempest."
"I'll see if I can find some tea," Nialyne said.
Ciara felt him nod, and heard the soft click as Nialyne closed the door behind her. They stood for a long time without moving. Each time a tremor shook her, Bolin's arms would tighten until it subsided. They grew less strong, and the images they brought with them faded until she could believe it really had been nothing more than a dream. Except that she'd killed someone again, and no matter what she did, she couldn't dismiss that.
"He told me I reek of death," she said.
Bolin's breath caught, and he stiffened. "He will say what he needs to torment you."
"It was easier this time, and...and I wanted to do it."
"You had the right."
"How is that right?" She canted her head back to look at him. "How is wanting to hurt someone ever right?"
"They would have killed Berk," he said. His jaw tightened. "They would have raped you, and after they had their fill they would have likely sold you. Marauders have no regard for life, Ciara. Do you think you could have persuaded them to just let the two of you go?"
"I tried."
"And how far did it get you?"
Ciara glanced away. "How do you ever get used to it."
"You don't."
"It doesn't seem to bother you."
Bolin jerked as though she'd slapped him across the face. "Is that truly what you think? Or has Donovan also convinced you the taking of life means nothing to me?"
"You want to kill him."
"Aye. Because the alternative means you will never be safe," he said, his voice getting hard and cold. "And because he threatens the empire which I am sworn to protect. But if you think doing so will give me pleasure, or is something I take lightly, then you hold me in very little regard."
He started to pull away from her, and Ciara slipped her arms around his waist. "Don't. Please. I'm sorry."
His hands rested on her upper arms. He kept his gaze averted and nodded toward the bed. "You need rest."
She braced against him. "Please, Bolin." She sounded pathetic, but she had no desire to leave his embrace. In the circle of his arms, the visit from Donovan became a distant memory. Her surging emotions stilled, taking the blood-lust with it, and Andrakaos curled back into his chamber. She dropped her forehead against his chest again. "I don't think that of you. I don't. I just don't know how to do this. I'm horrified by what I did. How easy it was."
"It wasn't easy, or it wouldn't be ripping you apart." His arms wrapped around her again, and Ciara nestled her cheek against the hollow of his shoulder and closed her eyes. Bolin exhaled, the tension leaving his body with it. "I would take this pain from you if I could."
Her hands moved of their own accord, traveling up his back. The muscles across his shoulders tightened. When Ciara turned her head, and her breath trailed across his neck, she felt his pulse quicken beneath her cheek.
She tilted her face up and glanced at him from under her lashes. "You make me feel safe."
"I didn't do such a good job of keeping you safe from the marauders," he said. "I thought I'd lost you."
Ciara gave him a wan smile. "You know I'm not that easy to lose, even when I try to lose myself."
He shifted. "You need sleep."
"I can't," she said. "Every time I close my eyes I see nothing but blood and destruction. All of it my fault."
"Donovan's put those thoughts there, Ciara. They're not your own. He wants to break you so he can come in and scoop up the pieces. But you're stronger than that. Do you honestly think you could ever do harm to someone you love?"
"I tried to kill you twice," she said before she caught herself. And then it just hung there between them with no way to take it back even if she wanted to.
Bolin's brow creased, but he didn't push her away, or take his arms from around her, only stared at her, his eyes shadowed. "How have I ever given you cause?"
"To kill you?"
He gave a short laugh, and shook his head. "No, I'm sure I've given you plenty of reason for that."
"Oh, you mean--" Ciara shrugged and averted her eyes. "Does there need to be a reason other than my heart's voice?"
Only the crackle of coals in the brazier, and her pulse hammering in her ears answered her. Ciara tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth, finally risking a glance up at him. She wondered if she'd somehow offended him again. Or, worse, if she had sounded like a lovesick girl. But when her eyes found his, she saw nothing but tenderness and a small gasp escaped her.
Bolin's hand moved up her spine, beneath the still-damp tangle of her hair. He wrapped his fingers around the nape of her neck sending shivers of delight rippling through her as his thumb caressed a spot behind her ear.
"You are going to undo me," he said so softly she didn't know if she'd heard right.
And then it didn't matter what he'd said because he dipped his head down and brushed his lips against hers, feather light, his whiskers tickling her skin, his breath warm, his mouth tasting of heather wine. Ciara wanted to devour him. To return the kiss with the hungry passion that welled up inside of her. She certainly didn't want the moment to end. But it did; only this time Bolin didn't pull away and proclaim his thousands of reasons why it had been such a bad idea. He just stood there, staring down at her, his brow still furrowed as though he were trying to work through some problem in his head.
"Both of us need rest," he said suddenly. Not the words she wanted to hear. "Nisair isn't so close that trouble can't find us before we reach her gates."
Ciara didn't even try to hide her disappointment. "Stay with me." And by the expression that crossed his face, she realized what he thought and felt her cheeks warm. "No, I mean, just sit with me until I fall asleep."
He said nothing for a long moment. "All right. Though if circumstances were otherwise, I would be sorely tempted to take the other option."
Her mouth opened in shock at the declaration, and Bolin took advantage of the fact to kiss her again, this time teasing his tongue along her bottom lip. Then he did pull abruptly away, and Ciara started t
o object when a quiet knock sounded on the door. A moment later Nialyne entered with a tray and three steaming mugs.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Berk readjusted the sling cradling his left arm and leaned against the parapet on the west wall. He didn’t actually need it. Ciara's healing spell had done wonders for his wounds. But Sergeant Evan didn't seem to put much faith in Ciara's magical healing, and insisted on treating Berk despite his objections.
The first rays of the sun sliced across the waking town behind him. Sounds drifted on the wind; the barking of a dog, a baby crying, the snap of the Imperial banner on the tower above him as the breeze caught it--the city of Broadhead slowly waking up. He only hoped they had slept better than he had.
His gaze drifted down the Southrun, and he shuddered. Not for the first time he thought of his brother Cadyl. It had been nearly three years since they'd seen each other. Cadyl would be fourteen. The same age Berk had been when he entered the Emperor's service. Not much younger than the boy the marauders had caught and tortured. His hand shook as he wiped his face. It didn't matter how he tried, he couldn't get that image from his head. Couldn't erase the imagined screams. The echoes of them had lingered around the marauder camp like a ghost, and the chieftain had taken far too much delight in giving Berk every gory detail.
And then there were the other memories. First and foremost, his behavior towards Ciara. Goddess's blood, how could he have done such a thing?
"Shouldn't you be resting?"
Berk jumped, his hand dropping to his sword as he whipped around. "Dammit, Sul, you shouldn't sneak up on a person like that."
Sully grinned and passed Berk a steaming mug. "There's a little something extra in there, courtesy of the Commander."
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