She did not have to go far to find Nick. He had just started up the steps to the porch when she skidded to a stop in front of him.
“What's the rush?” he asked.
“There's a battle not far from here,” she answered. “Cal says they need our help.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. Moving around her, he hung the wild turkey in his hand on the hook in the porch ceiling, then tied it with a piece of rope. His movements seemed too slow, too calculated, and she knew his answer as soon as he faced her again.
“The villagers are losing,” she said. “We have to help them.”
He slid a quiver of arrows from his back and rested it against the door. “Two people aren't going to make a difference in a losing battle. We'll only add to the casualty count.”
“You don't know that,” she insisted, crossing her arms in front of her. “We have stronger powers than most people. We have better training.”
“We don't have active powers,” he reminded her, setting his bow next to his quiver. “And you have no battle experience. The people already fighting are probably more qualified than you.”
She pressed her lips together and glared at him. “How am I supposed to get battle experience if you won't let me fight? I'm ready.”
“You aren't or you wouldn't be so excited to go. You'd want to avoid it.”
She blew out a hot breath and trailed her eyes north. “They're my people. If they're fighting, I should be, too.”
“You do the most good to them here,” he told her.
“Living as a coward?” she countered, turning from him. “I'm tired of hiding, Nick.”
“Meg, you don't—”
“Understand,” she finished a sentence all too familiar to her. She wheeled on him. Her eyes shot fire. Her tone blasted him with heat. “I don't understand what I'm getting into. I don't understand what it's like. I never will. Not if I don't go. Not if I don't help.”
Nick sighed. “You are helping. By staying here and finishing your training. By staying alive so you can rule.”
“Rule what? Every battle Garon takes more land, more lives. Every day he steals what matters, and he destroys the people I care about.” She closed her eyes, squeezing them tight over tears that wanted to fall. “I can't let him keep doing this, not when I might have a chance to stop it.”
Nick said nothing. He put his arms around her and drew her close. The comfort he offered nearly unleashed her tears, but she fought to hold them back. She pulled away from his embrace enough to look at him, for him to see her face and gauge the sincerity in it. “We agreed we would do these things together. I don't want to break that promise. I don't want to fight alone, but I will if I must.”
“Where's the battle?”
“Three miles from here, to the north. Nick, I'm ready. You have to trust me. I need to do this.”
He nodded and let her go. “I'll get my sword,” he said, then reclaimed his bow and quiver and brought them inside. When he returned, he had his sword strapped to his back. “I have a few rules you'll need to follow if we're going to do this. If you can't agree to them, we won't go. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He pinned her with a withering look she had never seen from him before. The command in his eyes surprised her. It was effortless, practiced, and she realized that from this moment, she would no longer be his wife. She would no longer be his trainee. She would be a soldier, and he would not allow her the grace for disobedience she had received in the past.
“Our plan is to survey the battle,” he told her. “Nothing more. If I don't like what we see, we return to the cabin.”
She frowned at his decree, but he silenced her urge to protest with a single, steely gaze. “If it looks like we have a chance of survival, we fight under two conditions. One, you don't leave my side. You use my power to block yours and under no condition will you attempt to read anyone's emotions without my permission.”
He paused. She nodded in confirmation. “And two?”
“You do exactly as I tell you, when I tell you to do it. No objections, no arguments, no questions. Every second counts, Meg. You break this rule and you end up dead. This isn't training. It's not a game. It's real.”
“I never thought differently,” she protested. “I understand the risk involved—”
“It's real,” he repeated. The hardness in his eyes dissolved. He brought a hand to her shoulder and gripped it. “And losing you would be too real for me.”
She swallowed the lump forming in her throat, and finally understood the true risk. It did not belong to her. It belonged to him. She had no doubt he would get through the battle. Even if Abbott had not foreseen Nick at his public coronation, his skill as a fighter, his experience, and his intelligence increased his chances of survival. He did not have the same assurance with her. Added to that, the fear of her death had been tangible for both of them since the Dreamer had predicted she would not be around for the same coronation.
She pressed into his arms, and turned her face against his neck. “Every word,” she promised. “I'll follow your every word. I'm not leaving you today.”
“You'd better not,” he whispered, and held her for a moment longer before letting her go. “We should leave. We'll run as far as we can, then slow down to maintain quiet. There's no reason to call attention to our presence.”
With those words, steel returned to him. He charged into the forest and she followed his lead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THEY RAN with the speed of those accustomed to the woods. Fleet-footed and nimble, they flew over rocks and roots, past dips, and over hills without hesitation. They remained as silent as they could while listening for every sound they could capture. Woodland animals fled, rustling the underbrush as they scurried deeper into the forest. Birds launched into the sky overhead, the flutter of their wings accompanying their warning trills to their own kind. Each noise heightened Meaghan's senses and tensed her muscles, but nothing slowed them until they heard the first evidence of human activity. The whistling started first, followed by the boom of a magical bomb. It echoed from their left, and Nick deviated in that direction.
When the sounds of yelling and the clash of metal on metal joined the bombs, they stopped. Nick cocked his head to the side, listening, and then gestured for Meaghan to move in a different direction. Soon the trees gave way to the edge of a field. Nick threw out his arm to block her, preventing her from leaving the protection of the trees.
They remained in the shadows as they studied the battle before them. Several hundred people and Mardróch fought using swords and bows, knives and powers to slay their opponents. As Meaghan had witnessed before in the battle at the ravine, the powers displayed were vast. Mardróch felled men and women with lightning, turning them to ash. Telepaths tossed arrows out of the air with sweeps of their hands. A man levitated out of reach of a sword. A Firestarter fought a woman who doused his efforts with waterfalls formed from a stream. And here, too, someone had the ability to change people into stone. The man dashed across the field, tagging his enemies in a seemingly childish game. But his power held no innocence, and neither did the grin stretched across his face. Meaghan could not forget it. Nor could she forget the patch of stark white hair twisted through his long, black locks. It commanded her attention as he touched a woman with a red ribbon on her wrist, solidifying her into solid granite. Sun glinted off the woman's sparkling stone eyes, and Meaghan looked away before the grotesqueness of it turned her stomach.
Further down the field, some of the fighters disappeared, only to reappear a few minutes later, and then disappear again.
“What's happening there?” she asked Nick, pointing at them.
“They're stepping into the protected boundary for the village,” he responded. He took her hand in his. “You are welcome here.”
A village appeared. This one stood as big as the Guardian village had been. And like that village in the end, many of the houses burned or had already collapsed to the grou
nd. More people fought Mardróch in the streets and alleys between the buildings.
“Someone must have invited them in,” Nick said.
Meaghan nodded, feeling sick at the thought of the betrayal, and then allowed her eyes to trail to the ground, to the bodies she had not wanted to see before. Almost as many people lay dead or dying as she had seen fighting on the field.
“Can we help?” she asked.
“There aren't many Mardróch,” Nick assessed, scanning the field again. “Maybe a dozen or so, which means the majority of Garon's soldiers look like our allies. I've been to this village once before, but I don't know the villagers well enough to recognize who to kill and who to save.”
“And I know none of them,” she realized and frowned. “Still, there must be something we can—”
“Turn slowly,” a voice commanded from behind them. “And don't try to use your powers or it will be the last thing you do. I'm armed.”
Meaghan held up her hands and followed the instructions she had been given. Nick turned toward the voice as well, but instead of raising his hands, he moved so that his hand rest against Meaghan's side, positioned to grab one of her knives.
The man studied them both with a calm face accustomed to battle and to enemies. His black hair hung at the nape of his neck in a tight ponytail. His dark green eyes glinted with hatred, but held no fear. Two days of stubble dotted his jawline, hinting at his endurance in battle. And his hands held the reason why he had survived so long. A blue orb crackled between his fingers. He lifted the orb, the gesture a clear threat. “Tell me who you are and why you're here. And keep in mind, I'm not a patient man for lies.”
“We're here to help,” Nick told him.
“No one comes to help. Not without an army of their own. Not when there are Mardróch around.”
“We do,” Meaghan said. “We weren't far from here and—”
“Enough!” the man barked. He spread his hands and the ball of electricity expanded. So did the hatred in his eyes. His focus moved from Nick to her. “Tell me who the traitor is,” he hissed. “Tell me so I can kill him after I finish you.”
“We aren't with Garon,” Meaghan tried again. “We came—”
“Artair,” Nick interrupted. “That's your name, isn't it? It's been a few years, so I'm having difficulty remembering, but you're Malcon's son, aren't you?”
The man's attention snapped back to Nick, and with a flick of his wrist, the orb covered half the distance between them. “Garon's trained you well. How long has our spy been feeding you information?”
“He hasn't,” Nick responded. “I've met you. Try to remember. You don't want to kill your allies. You have too few of them right now.”
Artair's eyes narrowed into slits. “I'm sure we haven't met.”
“We have,” Nick insisted. “Your father had a broken leg. My mother healed him. She brought her apprentice, Sal, with her so your village would have a Healer.”
“You're Nick,” Artair said, recognition dawning over his face. The orb quivered and then floated back into his hands. “Sal is dead. So is my father.”
“I'm sorry. We didn't know about the battle until today.”
“What would it matter if you had?” Artair asked. “You're only two people. You don't have an active power, do you?” Nick shook his head. “You?” he asked Meaghan.
“No,” she said. “Not really. I can make plants grow. I can sense emotions. That's all.”
“Emotions,” he scoffed, and the orb disappeared with a soft pop. “Go home. There's no reason for you to die with the rest of us.” He turned from them, took a step, and then stopped. A second later, his head came back around. He stared at Meaghan. “Emotions,” he said again, and this time his voice held wonder. He faced her. “My father was the Head Guardian of this village, which I guess makes me the Head Guardian now. I've been trying to keep the villagers fighting. Sal made potions, but we ran out of them. Garon's soldiers still have a steady supply. And, of course, the Mardróch don't sleep.” His eyes trailed to Nick. “Can you do what your mother does?”
“I can't heal anyone,” Nick told him. “I don't have my mother's powers, but I know how to make potions for energy, and ones to keep everyone awake. Do you have the right herbs?”
“I have Sal's kit,” Artair said. “If you can make the potions, our people can keep fighting. Exhaustion has made them weak, but we have greater numbers. And if we can use her power to dispose of the Mardróch, we actually stand a chance of winning.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “Her power?”
“The empath power,” Artair clarified. “The rumor's true isn't it? Please tell me it is.”
“What rumor?” Meaghan asked.
“The one that you,” he hesitated, then licked his lips. “The one that the person with the empath power can't be frozen. That the Queen can't be,” he stopped. His eyes grew wide as he realized what he had said. It had taken him too long to put the information together and she realized what it meant. She approached him, and placed a hand on his forearm.
“Where's Sal's kit?” she asked.
“That way,” he gestured behind him. “I needed to keep it safe, so I hid it in a tree.”
“Show us,” Nick told him. They followed him into the forest. Nick retrieved the kit from the tree Artair indicated and set it on the ground, crouching over it as he began to work. Meaghan brought Artair to a tree stump. It did not take much coaxing to convince him to sit down.
“How long have you been awake?” she asked.
“Three days. Three,” he repeated. He pressed his hands to his eyes, and then dragged them down his face. “Please forgive me, my Queen. I'm not thinking well. I never should have recommended you fight.” His eyes drew up to hers and then his face paled. “I threatened you. I didn't—”
“You did what you needed to do,” she interrupted and brought a hand to his shoulder. “Please call me Meaghan.”
“Whatever you wish, Queen Meaghan.”
“No, just Meaghan.” She smiled. “Your plan is good. I came to fight and I think if I'm most suited to battle Mardróch, that's what I should be doing.”
“His plan is good, except for one thing,” Nick corrected her. He portioned herbs from separate vials into a small, ceramic container. After adding liquid from a glass jar, he capped the container. “I can't mix potions and stay by your side at the same time, which means you won't be able to fight.”
She pressed her lips together in frustration, but remembered her promise to him and nodded. “How long will it take you to make enough potions for everyone?”
“A few hours at least.”
“The Mardróch could kill dozens by then,” she said and turned her attention back to Artair. “Do you think it's possible to lure them to me? Do you have people who'd be able to do that without getting close enough to be frozen?”
“I could do it,” Artair said. “And we have two other people with active powers who could possibly help.”
Nick delivered the container to Artair to drink, then addressed Meaghan. “Do you have a plan?”
“If you agree to it. Your power works for me from a distance. If I stand on the edge of the field, I can fight Mardróch while you mix potions in the woods.”
“It didn't work that well from a distance in my village,” he reminded her. “I know you were overwhelmed there, but this is your first battle. You might be here, too.”
“I'm stronger than I was then,” she reminded him. “As is my focus.”
Nick shook his head. “I'm sorry, but I can't let you fight without someone at your side. His plan can wait until I'm done. And if you help me, the task will go faster.”
“I can fight with her,” Artair offered. His voice sounded stronger and Nick and Meaghan turned to look at him. He stood. His eyes shone brighter than they had before, and color had returned to his cheeks. “I may not be her personal Guardian like you are, but I am a Guardian. I can protect her well enough so that she could get the job done.”
“I'm sure you have the ability,” Nick said. “But she's my charge. I'd feel more comfortable if she stayed with me.”
“I understand,” Artair responded. “I'd probably feel the same way in your position, but several hours could cost us the battle. The people who receive your potions might survive. The others won't. They need something to galvanize them.”
“They need to be reminded the Mardróch aren't invincible, that Garon's army can be defeated,” Nick said. “It would revive their hope. I've seen it work before.”
“It could change the course of the battle.”
Nick inhaled a long breath, then nodded, and turned to Meaghan. “What will you do if you lose focus on my power?”
“I'll retreat,” she promised.
“All right.” He picked up the medical kit from the ground. “Let's get to this.”
§
NICK SET up the kit on the edge of the forest as Meaghan had asked. Before she began fighting, he insisted they establish every piece of their plan in advance. Artair found the two people with active powers he thought might help and brought them back. He introduced the first as Millice. Milli, by her nickname. She stood no taller than five feet, and her blonde hair hung down her back in an elaborate braid for half that length. She greeted Meaghan with gray eyes still filled with hope, even below the exhaustion hazing them. Artair explained that she had the ability to shake the ground in any direction she chose. She had developed her power to the point where she could focus it on a specific area, knocking whoever stood in the area to their knees, while those surrounding her target remained standing. The second person Artair introduced looked more like a beanpole than a man. He grinned at her from below a shock of bright white hair.
“Call me Iza,” he told Meaghan after accepting a potion from Nick. “My power draws people toward me, essentially lassoing them. My wife hated it, but I always enjoyed getting kisses when I felt like it. Of course, I can't say I ever thought I'd be dragging a Mardróch toward me.”
“It's a first for everyone,” Artair told him. “But Adara has a special power. The Mardróch can't freeze her, which means she can get close enough to kill them. At least, she can kill them more easily than we can.”
Aerenden: The Gildonae Alliance (Ærenden Book 2) Page 17