“Good. Then we leave in the morning,” Esselles said.
*
Renamir sat in his room at the inn, waiting for Esselles-demon to come into range of Tyris Ostar. He probed the link about every quarter hour. Finally, a few hours past midnight, the demon answered.
I’ve been letting them do most of the talking, he said. They commented on how quiet I’ve been, but I don’t think they suspect.
Good, Renamir said. But your toughest test is coming soon. There are four soldiers back at the barracks, Andor, Randol, Flin, and Walket, who know you extremely well. We are going to have to minimize your contact with them.
Names are still somewhat meaningless to me, the demon answered. Send me their images.
Sorry, Renamir apologized. I forget demons don’t use names.
Why bother when you communicate in images? the demon responded.
True. This is Andor…Randol…Flin…Walket. I will collect more memories to help you out, but we will have to come up with a plan to keep you separated.
I must go now, the demon interrupted. The girl awakens.
Okay, reconnect when you are alone again. In the meantime, I will gather memories and devise a plan to keep you away from the four.
Renamir shut down the link to the demon and opened the one to Esselles. Through it he began probing Esselles’ memories of his friends. He did so for over half-an-hour. Near the end, he caught a flash of a corollary memory. He probed for it. It was Belgar’s broken and crumpled form, lying at the bottom of the scree.
Renamir snapped the connection violently. He cursed and swore about the cabin. A sailor came down to see what the commotion was. He apologized and regained his calm.
“It serves him right,” he said out loud once the sailor left the room.
*
“Shit!” Esselles said, his head snapping up. “He’s probing my mind.”
“What?” Kyr asked, groggily.
“Renamir,” Esselles answered. “I’ve been having all kinds of memories flooding my mind lately. And just now I was dreaming heavily. Then I was snapped awake by a strange sensation in my mind. The dreams just ended. Cut off. And I felt another presence in my mind. An angry one. I think he just found out Belgar is dead.”
“Good. Maybe it’ll foil their plans.”
“I just wish I knew what their plans were,” Esselles said.
“So, do you know what our plans are?” Kyr asked.
Esselles outlined them for him.
*
The plan worked well. When Esselles-demon returned to the barracks in the middle of the night, he promised to tell all the following day. He tried to put his friends’ questions off until after training, but they insisted on hearing something during breakfast. So Esselles-demon told them about the uruk attack on the way home, knowing he would not have to rely on borrowed memories.
Esselles-demon had difficulties in training, especially with the sword. When questioned, he claimed fatigue and that he had reinjured his shoulder in the battle with the uruks. The fatigue only heightened his friends’ curiosity.
When training ended for the day, he suggested they go to the Silver Crescent Tavern so he could tell his friends in the guard at the same time. They left that evening and went to the tavern.
“Where’re your friends?” Walket asked as they walked into the tavern.
Esselles-demon scanned the room. “I don’t see them. They must be running late.”
“You can tell they’re your friends,” Walked joked.
Esselles-demon simply smiled at him. “There’s an open table,” he said, pointing to the rear corner. They sat around the table and called to the barmaid for a round of beers.
“So,” Randol began. “Tell us all about it. And don’t leave anything out. We’ll miss tomorrow’s practice if we have to.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for my friends?” Esselles-demon asked.
“No, sir,” Andor said. “If they miss anything, it is their fault for being late.”
“You guys are ruthless,” Esselles-demon said.
“Wait until we start asking our questions,” Walket said.
Esselles-demon started relating to them the memories Renamir had sent. He kept talking quickly so his friends would not have time for questions. After about ten minutes in, he mentally contacted Renamir across the bar.
Renamir nodded to a gentleman sitting next to him. The man walked to the back of the bar and tripped over a chair. He plunged headlong into Esselles-demon, driving him against the table.
Esselles-demon mentally opened a wound in his side as he fell to the ground.
“Oh, my gods, I’m sorry,” the man apologized as he picked himself up from the floor. “Here, let me help you up. I’m so sorry.”
He helped Esselles-demon stand up. Esselles-demon grabbed his jaw and shook it.
“Are you okay?” the man asked.
“I smashed my shoulder and jaw against the table on the way down,” Esselles-demon said.
“And you’re bleeding!” the man exclaimed.
Esselles-demon lifted his tunic to reveal a bloody puncture wound. “I must have reopened it. That happened yesterday fighting uruks.”
“I can’t believe I did this,” the man said. “I’m a healer. Please. Come to my shop. I insist on taking care of this.”
“I can get it taken care of back at the barracks,” the demon said, playing the part of Esselles.
“No. I insist. I’m the one who tore your wound open with my clumsiness. Please, let me repay you by taking care of this. My shop is just down the street.”
“Do you guys mind?” Esselles-demon asked.
“Not as long as we get to hear the rest of the tale,” Randol said.
“You will,” Esselles-demon promised.
“My name is Armaset. Here, let me help you. Lean on my shoulder.”
“I can manage,” Esselles-demon said.
“What about your friends?” Flin asked.
“They’re just getting off duty,” Esselles-demon said. “They’ll probably still be in their uniforms. Could you wait a short while for them?”
Flin and Andor said they’d wait. Walket and Randol insisted on coming with him.
They walked to the small healer shop down the street. Armaset put a key in the lock and opened the door. “Help him inside,” he said to Walket and Randol. “He can lie on that table.”
They helped Esselles-demon onto the table.
Armaset gathered some herbs, a bowl of water, and a cloth and brought them over to the table. “Now let’s take a look at this,” he said, lifting the tunic.
“This is more serious than I thought,” Armaset said. “You must have just perforated the muscle when the wound first happened, but now it is torn wide open. You’re going to be out of action for a day.”
“Another day of training?!” Walket exclaimed. “First, he gets to join the class more than a month after it starts. Then he gets to take four days off for hunting.”
“Three days,” Esselles-demon interrupted, drawing on a prior memory.
Walket gave him a sideways glance and continued. “Then he gets a day off to recuperate. And a few days after he returns, he gets to take time off to work the conclave.”
“Some of us have all the luck,” Esselles-demon said.
“Okay, gentlemen. I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’m going to start applying the herbs. They’ll put him to sleep and accelerate the healing.”
“We’ll tell Landir where you are,” Walket said as he and Randol left the shop.
*
They waited until false dawn gave them enough light to see. Esselles, who had slept near the weakened corner, removed the ring from his chains. When he was done, Kyr got into a crouch. He sprang at the side of the cage, throwing his full weight into the corner. The bars flew out with a crash.
The guards jumped up, grabbing their crossbows. Kyr grabbed the ball and chain and swung it around his head. He unleashed it just as the guards fired. It hit
the uruk square in the chest, bowling him backwards. One bolt went awry, but the other buried itself in Kyr’s shoulder.
Esselles rushed out of the cage, followed closely by the others. He rushed the other guard, swinging his arm chains as he did so. The uruk frantically tried to reload his crossbow, but Esselles’ chains smashed into his skull before he could finish.
Kyr retrieved the ball and chain. Harrel picked up one of the fallen crossbows and cocked it. Esselles turned toward the tent. An uruk raised a crossbow to fire, but Esselles’ chains ripped it out of his hands before he could pull the trigger.
Jorgan hurried the remaining captives out of the cage and toward the woods as the remaining three uruks came out of the tent. Harrel hit one in the arm with a crossbow bolt, Kyr hit another in the head with the swinging lead ball, and Esselles took out the third with his flying chains. Esselles then went around and finished off those who had been wounded.
“One’s missing,” Esselles said after counting the fallen bodies.
They heard a scream from the woods.
“Shit!” Kyr and Esselles said in unison.
“Harrel,” Esselles called out. “Reload that crossbow. We may need it.”
Kyr and Esselles sprinted into the woods. Kyr began to slow down, the crossbow bolt beginning to take its toll. Esselles arrived to see the last uruk cut down the vacant eyed man. The woman was already lying in a pool of blood. The uruk moved towards the retreating form of Tarra.
Esselles let out a yell and charged. The uruk turned to face him, a wicked grin on his face. Esselles never reached him. His leg chains tripped him up and he fell to the ground. The uruk moved in for the kill, swinging his sword high. Esselles rolled and the sword hit him in the thigh, most of the impact being absorbed by the ground. Esselles grabbed the sword, but the uruk was able to pull it free, cutting Esselles’ hand in the process.
A lead ball whistled over Esselles’ head and struck the uruk in the thigh. He fell backward, dropping his sword. Esselles rolled over on top of the sword. As the uruk came to wrestle it from him, Esselles drove the point up and forward. The uruk was unable to dodge it and was impaled on the sword. The uruk had a shocked look on its face as the blade protruded from its lower back. Esselles moved out of the way and let him fall to the ground.
Harrel arrived with his crossbow.
“Come on,” Esselles said. “Let’s get out of here.
“I’m getting weak,” Kyr said, slumping against a tree.
“No,” Sylia said, running to his side. “Don’t you die on me.”
“Okay,” Esselles said, limping as he stood up. “We’re both in pretty bad shape. Harrel. Give me that crossbow. You can go get another. I want you to take everyone to the farm and then come back for us with a wagon. I’ll stay here and guard Kyr in case there’s any more out there.”
“I’m not leaving,” Sylia said.
“That’s fine,” Esselles said, realizing it was probably futile to argue.
“I’ll bring back the village healer,” Harrel said as he handed Esselles the crossbow.
Esselles sat down next to Kyr, the crossbow in his lap. “I think that would be a good idea,” he said with a smile. “Now get going. We’ll be okay.”
“Shouldn’t we get this bolt out?” Sylia asked.
“No!” Esselles said, with a little more vehemence than he intended. “Leave it. If you pull it out, he’ll bleed more. He’s already lost a lot of blood. Just keep pressure around the wound, and don’t move the bolt.”
Esselles examined his own wounds. He tore a strip off his tunic and tied a tourniquet about his leg. The wound looked deep but it didn’t appear to have hit an artery. He then tied a strip around the cuts in his hand.
Chapter Sixteen
“Harrel,” Tarra called in a hushed voice. “Come look at this.”
“What is it?” Harrel asked in a whisper, entering the room. Lying in front of her was Esselles. Kyr was stretched out on the other bed, Sylia asleep at his side. The healer had applied poultices to their wounds and given them herbs to make him sleep. “Look at this,” she repeated, waiting for her brother to come closer. “Do you see anything strange about his chest?”
Harrel looked closely. Esselles’ chest rose and fell at a slow, rhythmic rate. It had a few scrapes and bruises and some recent scars, but nothing out of the ordinary. “Nothing I can see,” he said, wondering what his sister was up to.
“Rub your hand across it,” she said.
“What?” Harrel asked.
She turned and looked up at him. “Rub your hand across it. Down the chest bone.”
“What’s this all about?” Harrel asked.
“Trust me,” she said.
Harrel sighed, but acquiesced to his sister’s wishes. He placed his hand on the top of Esselles’ chest bone and ran his hand down his chest. He was quite surprised when his hand dragged across something metal. “What…the…?” he stammered.
“Watch,” Tarra said. Very gingerly, she placed her fingers on his collarbones and traced them toward his throat. At some point she stopped and pushed down with her fingers. Suddenly, there was a thin, silver chain on her fingertips. She drew her hands down his chest and lifted more of the chain. At the end she lifted a small, teardrop shaped pendent made of silver, black opal, and two small rubies. The rubies flared in the sunlight.
“Holy Mother of Earth!” Harrel exclaimed. “What is it?”
“A necklace of some sort.” A hint of a smile touched her lips. “Obviously. Some kind of magical device, I guess. The uruks must not have seen it either because they left it on him. Watch.” She released the chain and it fell back to his chest, fading away as it did so.
“Amazing,” Harrel said. “How’d you find it?”
“I, um.” Tarra blushed. “I saw a glint on his chest and tried to find where it came from,” she said, her face bright scarlet.
Her brother smiled. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said.
Their fascination with Esselles’ pendent was broken by a moan from the other bed. Kyr’s eyes fluttered open.
“Don’t try to move,” Tarra said, looking into his eyes. “You’ve been bound to the bed to keep you from further injury. The healer said you had punctured a lung. She did what she could for the puncture, reinflated your lung, and gave you her best medicines, but she said you will need plenty of rest and plenty of water.”
Kyr nodded his head slightly.
“Here’s some water,” Harrel said. He handed it to Tarra to give to the big man.
She had a little trouble getting the water into his mouth, but he managed to turn his head to the side enough for her to pour it in. He took two drinks and then nodded her away.
“How’s Esselles?” Kyr asked, in a harsh, raspy voice.
“Sleeping beside you,” Tarra said. “His leg wound was pretty deep. The healer gave him some of the same medicines. He too will need plenty of rest and plenty of water.”
Kyr’s voice woke up Sylia, who was lying next to him. She smiled and a tear ran down her eyes. She rolled over, brushed his hair back, and kissed his face. She continued to stroke his forehead as more tears streaked down her cheeks.
Harrel put a hand on Tarra’s shoulder and nodded toward the door.
*
“He must have contracted the disease from the uruk’s blade. Not an uncommon thing,” Armaset explained to Landir. “As I am sure you know,” he added quickly. “I can have him back and ready for action tomorrow.”
“Has the infection caused any debilitation?” Landir asked, leaning forward on his desk.
“Nothing long term. He’s been under considerable distress yesterday and today. It is fortunate I reinjured him,” Armaset said with an embarrassed grin. “If this had gone on undetected for another day or two, we may not have been able to pull him through.”
“We had noticed his swordsmanship was poor that day, but his instructors had all assumed it was the after effects of the trip.”
“I am am
azed he was able to train at all that day. His heart must have been racing like a buck during rutting,” Armaset said. “Well, I must be going. Errands to run.”
“Thank you, very much, for your treatment. It is above and beyond what was called for,” Landir said, rising to show Armaset out.
“Always glad to help protect those who protect us,” Armaset said, following the captain out of the room.
“Show our friend out,” Landir said to a Legionnaire standing duty outside his office.
As Armaset was lead to the main hallway out of the Legion compound, two young cadets intercepted him.
“How is he?” Walket asked.
“He’s recovering,” Armaset said, recognizing the two as Esselles’ friends. “As I was explaining to your captain, the infection had him in pretty rough shape, but he is responding well to the herbs and spells. He’s looking much better today and should be able to return tomorrow.”
“Figures,” Randol mumbled.
“Excuse me?” Armaset asked.
“Nothing,” Randol said. “Send him our regards.”
As Armaset left the compounds, Randol turned to Walket. “It figures he gets to return just two days before his leave starts for the conclave.”
“Why is it the Fates only smile on some of us?” Walket asked.
*
“He hasn’t come around,” Tarra explained to the healer. “And I’ve noticed he’s been sweating more profusely.”
The village healer bent over Esselles’ prone form and smelled his breath. She ran her hands over his forehead, neck, and chest, before straightening back up. “Young girl,” she said to Tarra, “run out and begin heating a pot of water. I will need it near boiling.”
“What’s wrong?” Tarra asked.
“Infection,” the healer answered. “Now do as you’re told.”
Tarra, indignity playing on her face, turned and left the room.
The healer sat her tired body on a stool next to the bed. Out of the folds of her long gray cloak, she pulled a small metal ewer. She reached her other hand into a pocket and slipped a silver thimble onto her index finger, a sharp silver spike extending from the end of the thimble.
She rubbed Esselles’ forearm, then pressed the spike into one of his blood vessels. She gathered the blood in the ewer.
Demonified (Hawkblood Chronicles Book 1) Page 17