“Felix,” Nick warned from beside her. “That wasn't necessary.”
The man's eyes snapped to Nick and he frowned. “She needs to learn proper respect for Guardians,” he said. “It's obvious from your discussion that her disobedience caused Dahlia's death. If she'd had more respect for what you told her to do, Iza's daughter would still be alive.”
“No,” Meaghan protested, but the truth in his words melted her anger and dragged down her shoulders. Nick's arm came around her waist. He stiffened with the anger she had lost, but he did not get the chance to lash out against Felix's accusation. Iza beat him to it.
“Adara didn't do anything wrong,” he said, the fury in his voice erasing the shaking that had weakened him previously. “I saw the whole thing. She had no other choice but to run, and she fought well. Dahlia died because of this battle. She died because of whoever let Garon's soldiers into the village. And if I know anything about my daughter, I know one thing,” he stepped forward, stabbing his finger into the air to punctuate his point. “She gladly gave her life to save this woman and to save Artair. She was a good person who valued others, and I will not let you sully her memory.”
Felix cast his eyes down. “I just thought,” he shook his head. “I don't know what I was thinking.”
“You're tired,” Nick offered. “You've been helping me with these potions the whole time, but you haven't had any yourself. Sit and drink one. Take a break. In the meantime,” he turned to Meaghan. “You want revenge. I get that, and I'm not going to stop you.”
“Good,” she said, and brushed past him. He gripped her arm.
“I'm not going to stop you, but,” he stressed. “I'm also not going to let Dahlia's sacrifice be in vain. You're bleeding. You won't last long if you don't let me tend to your wounds.”
She stared at him, and then dropped her eyes to her arm. The blood had lessened, but still streaked down her sleeve. She had been ignoring the ache so long that she had forgotten about it.
“Oh,” she said. “I didn't realize.”
“Sit down,” Nick told her. “This won't take long. Once Felix is done with his potion, he can find Milli so you can finish what you started. Agreed?”
She nodded, and followed Nick back to Sal's kit, sitting down next to it when he did the same. He removed a familiar green powder from inside and mixed a small portion into a bowl with water. When the poultice had reached the desired consistency, he parted the slice in her sleeve.
“The wound's not bad,” he said. “Not as deep as I expected. It won't need stitches.”
He lifted a small amount of the green poultice with his fingers and spread it over the wound, then covered it with a slip of white gauze. The cut on her forearm received the same treatment.
“How does that feel?” he asked.
“Better, but the poultice isn't as cold as it was in the cabin.”
“Snow activates that part of the medicine,” he said. “It'll still work the same. Once we're able, we'll head to Neiszhe's village and have her heal you. Try not to add to her work, all right?”
“I'll do my best,” she said, and smiled when he pulled her to her feet, but did not let go of her hand. His eyes met hers, the sincerity in them demanding her attention.
“I understand your need for revenge,” he said. “Dahlia saved your life. I would do the same. But don't let that need overtake you. Don't let it blind you.”
She remembered the promise she had made to Cal, to not let her emotions drive her in battle, and nodded. She wanted revenge, but she had to focus. She had to follow her training. She needed to survive.
“I won't. You've taught me better than that.”
“Good,” Nick said, and by the time Felix returned with Milli, Meaghan had calmed enough to honor her promise. Felix also had another person in tow, a young man with a baby face who had Felix's eyes and height, but a lankier frame, and a thick head of curly blonde hair.
“Garon's soldiers are failing,” Felix told Nick. “I'm going back out to fight. My son, Origio, will help you with the potions in my stead. Nearly everyone has had one, but in case this battle stretches longer, I think it'll be wise to keep a stock on hand.”
“I agree,” Nick said. “Thank you for your help, Origio.”
Rather than respond, Origio shoved his hands into his pockets and scowled. Felix shot him a look of censure, and nudged him.
“You're welcome,” Origio grumbled, then addressed his father. “I can keep fighting. I'm not tired.”
“He's fighting?” Meaghan asked in disbelief. “He doesn't look old enough.”
Origio's scowl deepened. “I'm trained to fight. I'm a Guardian.”
“And you're a fine one,” Felix said. “But as such, you'll obey orders. If I hear you abandoned Nick, I'll feed you to the Mardróch myself.”
Origio dropped his arms, the look on his face making it clear his father instilled a healthy fear in him. He nodded, and Felix turned and found his way back to the field. Milli and Meaghan followed close behind.
“I tracked two of the Mardróch to the village before Felix came to get me,” Milli informed Meaghan. “They killed a friend of mine today, so if you don't mind, I'd like to start there.”
“Of course,” Meaghan agreed.
The two women skirted around the edge of the field, making their way toward what remained of the village. Some houses still burned, but most stood as shells or black bones stretching into the backdrop of a late afternoon sky.
Only one enemy spotted them before they reached the village streets. She swung a sword in her hand as she charged. Meaghan lifted a knife from her belt, ready to cast it, but did not get the chance. An orb of electricity knocked the woman to the ground first. Meaghan and Milli spun around.
“Artair,” Milli said with a grin. “I didn't think Nick would let you return to the fight.”
“What he doesn't know won't hurt him,” Artair responded, returning the grin. He formed another orb in his hands and nodded toward the village. “It feels nice to be hunting the Mardróch for once, instead of the other way around. I'd hate to miss it.”
“Then by all means,” Milli said and gestured for him to lead the way. He nodded and took the opportunity she gave him. The mood settled into the seriousness their hunt deserved, and they found their way to the main street of the village, crossing onto it with silence and caution.
Bodies lay strewn in their path. Most of them had red ribbons attached to their wrists. Many of the ones who did not had been burnt beyond recognition. Meaghan caught her breath when she saw the small form of a child, his black hands reaching toward the sky. She could imagine the chaos. She could feel the heat from the fire as it must have raged through the wood-framed houses. She could smell the smoke as it barreled down the streets, suffocating those in its path. She could hear the screams, sense the panic and the agony of death as it came in the form of flame or blade. She felt it as if she had lived it. And how could she not? It had only been a handful of months since she had stood in the center of similar destruction, since she had heard the screams of death as they surrounded her, and experienced every emotional moment of the dying.
She paused, and then closed her eyes to collect her thoughts. The emotions swelled within her, so she tamped them down, ignoring them as best she could to ensure she remained focused when the moment came to fight.
They walked the length of the main road. No one remained within the shadows of the skeletal buildings. Only the souls of the dead resided in the alleys. She could not figure out why the Mardróch would come to a place with no victims, and then they found the pair of monsters Milli had tracked. They rooted through the remains of a burnt out building, tossing support beams like twigs.
“It's here,” one of the creatures growled to the other. “It has to be. He said we had to bring it back.”
“Bah,” came the response. “He must have been mistaken. I don't see why it would be.”
“Mistaken?” the first asked. “You dare question King Garon? He'll
have your tongue for it.”
“Only if you tell him. And if you get the notion, yours will be cut out of your mouth along with mine. You called him an imbecile only last week.”
The first Mardróch chuckled. The gravelly laugh sent chills down Meaghan's spine. “A term of affection, I assure you. You may be right, though. Why would he be here? He's supposed to be with her.”
“Do you think it's true that they're wed? He's more concerned about the boy being a ruler than he is about her.”
“It must be true. Why else would he care? He believes what the Dreamer said. The truth potion brings out even the deepest secrets. Ah, here it is,” he said. He lifted a skull from the fire. A thick film of soot clung to the bone in place of flesh. The Mardróch's fingers cleared white streaks through the black. “Do you think it's him? Garon will know won't he?”
“Most likely,” the other Mardróch said. “And if it isn't him, he'll take our own heads in place of it.”
The first Mardróch tossed the skull aside. “Maybe it's best if we don't bring anything back. Garon doesn't know for certain the Guardian was here.”
“If he didn't, why would he send us? We had a spy here. We know the village wasn't worth attacking otherwise. They had no spell books, no major powers.”
“There's the electrical orb guy.”
“True, but he doesn't matter. He'll be dead soon enough. They'll all be.”
“Including the spy. Garon said he's done with him.”
Laughter erupted from both Mardróch, but the noise soon faded when they turned, spotting the party flanking them. Meaghan had a knife ready in each hand. Artair held a well-formed orb of electricity at his fingertips. And Milli had armed herself with only a grin.
In desperation, the Mardróch tried to pin their attackers with red-eyed stares. The first Mardróch succeeded in freezing Artair. The second tried to catch Milli, but she looked away. He attempted again with Meaghan and she met his gaze.
“Got her,” the Mardróch crowed to his comrade. “Blow up the short one. I'll take care of Mr. Orb.”
Meaghan sent the knife in her right hand flying through the air. It found its mark before the Mardróch realized she had thrown it. His partner's gaze broke from Artair as he turned shocked eyes toward Meaghan.
“You!” he exclaimed, only to have his next words cut off as he joined his friend on the ground, his face disintegrated by the orb that Artair had held in his hand.
Artair grinned. “That was too easy.”
“So says the guy who got himself frozen,” Milli pointed out.
“And what's your body count?” Artair countered. “You might as well have been the one frozen for the amount of good you did.”
Milli crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought I'd let our Queen do the honors first, then I'd take my turn. You didn't give me the chance.”
“Move faster next time.” He chuckled, but turned serious as Meaghan retrieved her knife. She wiped the blade on one of the Mardróch's cloaks and then sheathed it.
“Let's go find the last four,” she said, and began walking. Milli and Artair did not follow.
“Is it Nick?” Artair asked.
Meaghan stopped, turning to face him. “Is what Nick?”
“The person they were talking about. The Mardróch may be borderline dumb, but I'm not. I don't know why they thought he was here. As Nick said, he hasn't visited in years. But they seemed to be pretty confident about the wedding of our ruler. As far as I know, the only person set to rule is you.”
“So?”
“So... is the person you wed Nick?” he prompted. “They said he was a Guardian. By the way you two behaved after you were turned to stone, it seems to be the only logical explanation.”
“We're wasting time,” she told him and continued walking.
“Deflection is as good as confirmation,” he said, quickening his step to catch up to her. Milli kept pace on Meaghan's other side.
“Do me a favor?” Artair continued. “Convince him not to throw me into the dungeon once you reclaim the castle. I've heard of that place and I'd rather not confirm the rumors in person. I didn't realize I was giving the King the slip back there or I might not have done it.”
Meaghan grunted and slid her eyes in his direction. “If you don't stop talking about this, I'll throw you in the Pit myself.”
His face went pale as Milli's laughter echoed around them.
They found another Mardróch not far from the village. His attempts at freezing them proved futile as soon as Milli set the ground trembling. He lost his footing and hit the earth with a resounding thud. Meaghan drew a knife, but Milli beat her to the kill. She slipped a small blade from the waistband of her pants and drove it home before the Mardróch could regain his footing.
The last three monsters proved to be more difficult to manage. They fought with a guard of fifteen of Garon's soldiers, and though Meaghan never would have attacked a crowd so large, the Mardróch left her no choice. They found Meaghan's hunting party first.
Milli shook the ground. Some of the soldiers lost their footing, but others levitated above the effects of her power, lifted into the air by the power of one of their own. She tried again and again with the same result, and then froze when a Mardróch managed to look her in the eye.
Artair had greater success. His orbs took down four men, but soon he also succumbed to the monsters' freezing power, leaving Meaghan alone. She backed away from an advancing Mardróch, retreating until her back pressed against the unyielding bodies of her two frozen friends. Unable to move any longer, she threw the knife in her left hand at the Mardróch's face. Her aim hit its mark, and she grabbed the last knife from her belt, clutching it in her hand.
Two knives remained at her disposal against eleven men and two Mardróch—one woman versus thirteen enemies. She swallowed hard and suddenly wished she knew nothing of math.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MEAGHAN'S HEART drummed. The rhythm of it set a beat for the shifting feet of the soldiers as they waited for their command to attack. She could take out three, maybe four. On her best day, with luck on her side, she might fell five. But the remaining eight would be upon her before she could do more. They would tear her apart, save her head for Garon's prize, and her amulet for Angus.
The amulet.
Terror gripped her with crushing hands. The cold metal of her mother's necklace still hung against her skin. Why had she not thought to leave it in the cabin? No one could have found it there. But here, once her life had been taken, it would be stripped from her neck and used to end the war. The people of Ærenden would become powerless slaves because of her thoughtlessness.
She could not allow that to happen. At least, she would not let it happen without her best fight. She tightened her grip on the hilts of her knives, and prepared to make the first move. Her only hope was to take out as many of the soldiers as she could, then launch at the Mardróch. If she could get them to blow her up, there would be nothing left of the amulet or the Reaper Stone to use.
She set her jaw, and eyed her first target—a small man close to her height and weight. He seemed an easy mark. She took a step forward, and then paused when one of the Mardróch screamed. The noise seemed unnatural, even for the monstrous creature. His high pitch mimicked the whistle of a tea kettle. He clutched his hands to his ears, sank to his knees, and then spewed blood from his eyes and mouth before collapsing face first onto the ground. Artair unfroze, and tossed an orb at the remaining Mardróch, freeing Milli from his spell. She shook the ground. As before, one of the men levitated the soldiers, but then he, too, fell to his knees screaming in pain. He bled and died as fast as the Mardróch.
Milli shook the ground once more. This time she knocked down most of the ten remaining soldiers. She continued moving the earth so the men could not keep their feet under them when they tried to rise. Between Artair's orbs and Meaghan's knives, the men soon found punishment for their attack.
Meaghan tried not to look into their ey
es. She tried not to see their faces, but the battle had taken its toll. She had grown sick with the bodies piling around her, and weary from the weight of her mounting crimes. Kill or be killed, she reminded herself. It did not help, but the face greeting her after she turned from her last victim did. Nick parried the sword of an enemy trying to lunge for her, and then countered with his own move. He had better skill with the sword and soon felled the last man who attacked them. Nick cleaned his blade and sheathed it before coming to her.
“Hold strong,” he said. “This is almost finished.”
Her eyes trailed over the battlefield. Although Garon's army no longer overran the area, bodies littered the grass, contributing a river of red to the ground. In the distance, the fighting continued, the figures in combat turning to dark shadows as night overtook them.
“It doesn't look like it,” she whispered.
“It is,” he promised and then wrapped his arms around her. “I can sense your sorrow,” he said. “It's a lot stronger than you realize.”
And he had come to her as soon as he had felt it. She had not known he could sense that emotion. She buried her head in his chest and held tight. She had to set her sorrow aside to keep fighting. It would be as distracting and detrimental as her anger, but despite her efforts to subdue it, it grew stronger with each life she took.
“What you've had to do today steals a piece of you,” he continued. “It changes you, but in time, you'll come to terms with it.”
She had her doubts. She pulled back so she could look up at him. “Why do we have to kill them?” she asked. “Why can't we take them as hostages? So many are dead. So many lives are wasted already.”
“We can only take them hostage if they surrender,” he answered. “Garon's soldiers don't do that. They'd rather fight until the death. And we'd rather live. There isn't much choice. Don't convince yourself otherwise. That guilt doesn't belong to you.”
She closed her eyes. “Then why do I feel it?”
“Because you're a good person,” he said and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Because you value life. And Meg,” he whispered so her name belonged only to their ears, “your life is worth defending. Remember that always.”
Aerenden: The Gildonae Alliance (Ærenden Book 2) Page 19