Accidental Sorceress (Hardstorm Saga Book 2)

by Dana Marton

  I listened with great interest. Never had I heard such a thing. My own healing power was late to come to me but had strengthened over the years. Among my people, the older a healer was, the more skilled.

  Graho continued. “A rival kingdom grew envious that we should have such guests among us, helping Landria prosper.”

  I guessed the rest. “So, using the chaos of the preparations for the coming war, they kidnapped the children. Was that when they were injured?”

  Graho pressed his lips together, his expression most grim. “Their injuries were no accidents. The priests who held them believe that only the gods can be perfect. If humans tried to be so, the gods would mete out grave punishment. Among their people, if there is one of great beauty who also has great talent, one who might be too close to perfection, such a person is sacrificed to the gods. And with these children, who were fair of face and with such powers…”

  My heart broke as I understood now what had happened. “The priests had to make the children imperfect.”

  “As you say.” A hard look settled on his face. He cleared his throat again. “I found them, but I did not reach them before the high priest’s knife.”

  I sat silent as horrific images washed over me. Why do the spirits allow such darkness in the world?

  The prince said, “On the way back, we reached as far as Kaharta Reh on Dahru, but by then, Dahru’s Gate had closed and we could travel no farther. We sailed to Rabeen, where pirates were rumored to provision for their longer journeys.”

  He gave a pained smile. “We had to travel in disguise, or they would have seized the children to sell them for their powers. So would have any common bandit. We could not safely reveal our identities until we were inside the walls of Uramit, among allies.”

  He would make a good ruler one day, I thought. He cared about his people. He could have sent a captain of his to the rescue; he could have remained protected behind his fortress walls. He hadn’t.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “That you are a good prince.”

  He smiled. “From what I hear, you are a good sorceress.”

  I winced at the title. I wished nothing more than to be free of it.

  “You are not comfortable with that word,” he observed.

  “No.”

  “Because you are not comfortable with your power.”

  “I have no great power,” I protested. “And the only sorceress I know of is the dark sorceress Noona from the Kadar legends.” And what disapproving whispers I had heard of my great-grandmother.

  “You could be princess instead.” Graho turned most serious. “Unless your heart is set on going back to Karamur and becoming the new High Lord’s concubine.” He leaned forward. “In Landria, a man chooses but one woman. For life. Agree to become my princess, and when this battle is over, I shall lead the Landrian navy myself to the shores of Dahru to save your people. Just promise that you will return to Landria with me when the war is over.”

  “That is a most honorable offer,” I stammered. Then swallowed, my hand flying to my chest. “But my heart…” My heart was dead. I did not want to sound as stark as that. “It is asleep.”

  But he would not waver. “Then let me awaken it.”

  I did not think he could, even as kind a man as he was. I pressed my lips together, desperately trying to think of an answer that would not offend him.

  “I have distressed you,” he said. “Talk of love scares you more than talk of a siege, doesn’t it?” His mouth curved into an amused smile. “Let us then discuss your army.”

  We talked long into the night. We should have rested instead, for the Kerghi did not wait until dawn. The sky was still black when they attacked.

  I did not watch the battle from the top of the tower, nor did I lock myself into my quarters with Orz and Marga for protection. I walked the city walls, looking for injured soldiers to heal.

  I found patients aplenty, but all in all, I did not think the siege was going badly. Until the wall next to me exploded, and a falling soldier knocked me off my feet.

  I stared up, my spine fairly rattled. “What was that?”

  “They brought siege machines, my lady,” Tomron called as he came running.

  “Can we hold against them?” I asked as Orz assisted me in standing.

  “Not for long,” Tomron told me with a grim expression. “Eventually, the wall will be breached. We are badly outnumbered. Once the Kerghi are inside, my lady, we cannot stand against them.”

  “How long?”

  “Three days at the most.”

  But in that, he greatly overestimated Uramit’s walls. They were breached by that evening.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  (The Siege)

  The siege machines made all the difference. I watched in the twilight as the first tower crumbled. I ran to help the men buried under the rubble.

  I was half-buried myself when strong hands seized me and pulled me back. Graho and Orz.

  “What are you doing here?” Graho dragged me rapidly through a throng of soldiers, away from the wall.

  Instead of growling at him, Orz was now helping him.

  Dust and blood covered the prince’s hands and his handsome face. He’d obviously been fighting among the soldiers. “You must stay in your quarters.”

  “I must help.” I tried to dig my feet in. I couldn’t. He was much stronger.

  “You must live,” he snapped at me, harsher than I had ever seen him.

  I glanced around for Marga, but she was off. The bloodlust of battle was on her. The savagery of Bloodstorm sang in her veins.

  I looked at Orz for support, but instead, he moved rapidly in front of us to part the sea of soldiers so Graho could drag me faster.

  Between the two, they had me in my quarters in no time.

  Then Graho hesitated. “I wish to stay to protect you should the worst happen, but they need me on the wall.”

  “Then go to the wall,” I snapped. I wished nothing but to be on the wall myself where I was needed.

  He was talking to Orz already. “Guard her.”

  And of all times, Orz picked this one to agree with him instead of ignoring him or doing his glaring-without-looking trick.

  As soon as Graho left, Orz positioned himself inside my door. In his black robe, he looked as unmovable as a granite boulder.

  I moved toward him. “You know I must go and help.”

  He made no sound, moved not a smidgen, just barred my way.

  I stepped closer, a small thing against those strong arms and wide shoulders. The death cries of men in the distance twisted my heart.

  “This is what I was called to do,” I said, standing but a hairsbreadth from him.

  I put a hand on his chest, palm flat against his robe. I meant to gently push him aside, but I could have more easily moved a mountain. Unlike Graho and the soldiers, Orz did not wear a breastplate. The heat of his body warmed my palm.

  He stopped breathing.

  Then he put his tortured, scarred hand over mine and held it in place.

  My heart constricted. I could barely whisper the words, “This is my destiny.”

  His jaw worked. I held my breath. But all he said was, “Orz.”

  And all I said was, “Please.”

  He released me then and stepped aside. I opened the door and ran.

  Of course, he was right behind me, always at my side from the moment I had found him half-dead in that ditch. At my side, rushing into battle to defend me, without armor.

  The thought of losing Orz to an enemy sword stole my breath for a moment. I grabbed for his arm. “Be careful. Please.”

  He had become important to me. A friend, for certain, and in some ways becoming as if my family, and in others… I could not think of that. My heart would belong to Batumar. Always.

  And yet even in that, Orz and I matched. At times, I felt as hollow inside as he was. Maybe that was why we got along.

  Prince Graho had offered me his heart, but
I had no heart to offer back to him. Orz and I were both broken, just in slightly different ways. If we survived the war and I returned to my mother’s beach, set myself up as a healer… I was certain Orz and Marga would come with me. And with that thought, for the first time in a long time, the future did not fill me with dread.

  But it did fill me with guilt the next moment. I wanted to love no other than Batumar, not even a little. Giving even my dust heart felt wrong, a betrayal he did not deserve.

  Then we reached the fighting men, and I could have no other thought but healing.

  Marga must have caught a whiff of my scent on the wind, because she came to me, bounding over dead bodies. I asked her for help, and she gave it, using her great strength to drag the wounded out of the way.

  Orz too helped where he could but spent most of his effort on keeping the enemy far away from me. He cut down one Kerghi after the other—fierce blows, each lethal. His movements weren’t smooth—his tortured body could not give him that—but he had great strength.

  I had so much to do, so much bleeding to stanch, so many broken bones to set, I barely noted when the fighting shifted. Suddenly we were surrounded.

  The enemy had broken the outer wall in yet another place, and so many of them poured in, our men were pulling back behind the inner walls of the city.

  I charged as many as I could with dragging the wounded with them, and I did the same, staggering under the weight. Marga helped. Orz fought with one arm while holding up a wounded city soldier with the other.

  We made it inside the inner wall’s gate at the last possible moment. The wooden gate, as thick as my arm was long, was pushed closed behind us, then barred, giant beams dropped into place.

  I glanced up at the stars as I collapsed with the man I held. The night was half-over.

  I looked back, and I could see our men behind me on the safe side. There were more injured than hale. But at last, the spirits showed us mercy, for the Kerghi attacked no further. They took the remainder of the night to loot and burn the ground they had gained, then rest for the next day’s attack.

  I healed what wounds I could with the help of the city’s herb women, then returned to my quarters after dawn, only when Orz picked me up and carried me, snarling at my commands to let me stay.

  No sooner were we inside than Graho came, exhausted but unharmed. Orz withdrew stiffly to the balcony. The prince strode straight to me and drew me into his arms. I was too tired to resist.

  He did not take me to task for leaving my quarters, as I expected. Instead, he said, “There is a secret passage from the palace to the back end of the harbor.” He drew back, still holding on to my hands. “A boat is waiting for you there. I want you to go to the Landrian royal castle.”

  I shook my head.

  “The enemy is focused on the siege,” he said more forcefully. “They have already burned the ships. They are no longer watching the harbor.”

  I looked up into his face, which was lined with frustration. “Why don’t you go? You are the crown prince. Your life matters a great deal to a great many.”

  “I will not be the craven prince of the ballads,” he scoffed.

  “You must take the children.”

  His expression darkened. “The children and I must stay.”

  “To what possible purpose?” I cried, and when he would not answer, I asked, “Will your father send the navy?”

  His jaw tightened. “He would have seen the smoke from the outer city burning. If he sent ships, they would already be here.”

  “He does not know that you are in Uramit. If you send word with the boat—”

  “Too late.” From around his neck, he pulled a gold chain that had been hidden by his doublet, on it a royal seal. Before I could protest, he looped the chain over my head. “This will allow you admittance to the Forbidden Islands. You will be treated as my princess.”

  Whether or not he survives the battle. I understood his unspoken words as clearly as the spoken.

  “The Landrian navy will not let the islands be taken,” he said with confidence.

  I offered a small smile. “I cannot be the craven sorceress of the ballads.”

  “You never wanted to be a sorceress,” he argued with urgency in his voice. “Be a wise princess.”

  “I must be who I am. I must protect what was given in my care.”

  “A ragtag, mismatched army of peasants and soldiers?” His voice filled with frustration. “These are not Karamur’s walls.”

  “And yet these are my people.” Sadness washed over me as I said the words, for I feared they would all perish before long. “I must stay with them. I must stay with the Gate. If we can only hold the temple square…”

  “We cannot.”

  I nodded, my heart twisting.

  “Will you not go?” he beseeched me again. “There is nothing here but darkness. Save your light. Take it where it can make a difference.”

  I smiled. “A Guardian once told me that it is the darkest room that most needs a candle.”

  Graho dipped his head so suddenly, before I knew what he was doing, he had already brushed his lips against mine and was pulling back, letting my hands go at last.

  He gave a quick bow. “I shall fight twice as hard, then, my lady. I pledge my life to your service.”

  He was gone before I could scold him to do no such thing.

  Even as I looked after him, all the day’s and night’s exhaustion hit me at once, and I swayed on my feet. Orz was there with a hand under my elbow to hold me up. He did not speak, but disapproval rolled off him in waves. I could not tell whether he disapproved of the prince or my refusal to escape.

  He steered me toward the tub in the alcove, which the servants were quietly filling. He seemed ready to bathe me himself, but at the servant woman’s outraged shrieks, he let the women tend to me. Then, once I was clean and in my night shift, he used unmistakable gestures to order everyone out and carried me to the bed.

  I fell into a dreamless sleep, dead to the world around me.

  In what seemed like a blink of an eye, I awoke and knew some time had passed, as the sun was higher in the sky. I could hear the enemy outside the walls.

  Marga was gone. She was probably fighting alongside the men. I had long since accepted that she had battle tiger blood. That she was untrained in war seemed to slow her little. When she was not with me, she could most often be found defending the Selorm soldiers.

  For a moment, I caught a glimpse of Orz, sleeping sitting up at the foot of my bed, his sword on his lap. But as soon as I shifted, he was awake and on his feet. He checked the door, then strode to the balcony with his uneven gait.

  I wrapped the covers around me and hurried over. The sky was gray, a storm coming from the mainland.

  The part of the city that lay between the inner and outer walls was a charred wasteland. But at least the enemy was attacking without their siege machines. The outer walls, most of which still stood, were taller than the inner walls, so hitting the inner walls from the distance was near impossible, since they couldn’t see what they were aiming at. They were just as likely to hit their own troops as ours.

  Yet the enemy force was overwhelming.

  We would be overtaken. I could already see the tops of ladders brought to scale the inner walls.

  For now, our soldiers shoved them back, but they could not keep up with them all, not for long. Sooner or later, the first of the enemy would be in the city proper.

  As I turned to go and pull my clothes over the simple shift I had slept in, I caught something outside from the corner of my eye and gasped.

  Many more ladders tried to attach to the wall in the south section. Near the temple.

  “The Gate!” I called to Orz, then dressed faster than I ever had and practically jumped into my boots that waited at the foot of the bed.

  Orz had to remove the heavy table he had pushed in front of the door for protection. Then he swept some food from it into my old food sack and ran after me.


  I rushed toward the Gate, running through the winding rows of the spice market. “Marga!”

  I needed all the help I could summon.

  She found me as I reached the temple square, loped by my side as I ran for the Gate, the giant stone circle.

  “Guardian!”

  I had meant to come to see him before this, but I never seemed to have a free moment.

  He stood in the middle, leaning on his carved staff, his brown robe hanging on his bent frame, thinning gray hair streaming to his shoulders. He did not turn. Maybe he was working his gift—some spell, a protection. Hope tingled through me. I slowed and quieted.

  But even as I circled him, I knew something was desperately wrong. And then I could see the blood on his robes. I stepped closer, fully facing him now.

  He looked as ancient as our Guardian of the Cave. His eyes were glassy. The blood had run from his nose, a great deal. Only his staff, one end pressed into the ground, the other against his chest, held him up.

  “Guardian?” I whispered this time, stepping even closer.

  He seemed to be in some kind of trance. I was not certain if I should interrupt him.

  Shouts sounded from the temple behind him, clamoring and banging on the doors. Something stopped me from going up the temple steps.

  I sensed darkness behind the temple gate, coiled and waiting. A moment ago, I had been sweating from our desperate run, but now I suddenly shivered.

  And slowly, the Guardian revived, looking at me. “You feel it,” he said in a gravelly voice. “You met Kratos before.”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded.

  “The old god has come back,” he said, full of disapproval. Then he drew breath, the first time I saw his chest rising since I had found him. “No matter,” he said. “His priests are sealed in. I am most accomplished in sealing gates. No dark priest will emerge from there, nor any dark spirit.”

  But the slimy whisper filtered through the temple door and called to me. Have you come for power, Sorceress?