Bones of the Empire (62 page)

Confused, Estin sat up and started to ask what was going on when he realized what was coming up the hill behind Linn. There were groups of soldiers carrying bloodied werewolves among them. He could see three from where he sat, and from the sounds of it, there were more behind. A fourth was being carried by another of the werewolves, who looked to be on the verge of collapsing himself.

“I said go, Estin!” Linn yelled, grabbing one of the doctors and pointing at Estin. “Get him gone!”

The doctor and two soldiers rushed at Estin, even as he was trying to stand. They were firm but careful as they grabbed his arms and started to drag him out of the area. Then Estin got another glimpse of the people bringing bodies up the hill. Some were definitely werewolves, while others were fallen soldiers. What caught his eye was Arella—still in her wolven form—limping near the back of the group, nursing a brutally burned shoulder that was slowly healing.

“Arella was with Feanne,” Estin mumbled, shoving one of the soldiers off him. When the man tried to grab him again, Estin lashed out without thinking, punching the man in the face. At that point, Linn rolled his eyes and turn away. He had been trying to keep Estin away from finding something out and that made Estin’s stomach lurch even more painfully.

Before the doctor or soldiers could get a fresh grip on him, Estin limped quickly toward Linn and the group of wounded. He ignored Linn’s glare and made his way to Arella, who lowered her face as Estin got near, though she still towered over him.

“Where’s my mate?” he asked, noticing Arella’s quick glance toward some of the soldiers. “Arella? Answer me.”

Then Estin realized what she had been looking at when she avoided his eyes. A pair of dwarven soldiers were carrying Feanne carefully toward the doctors. She shook violently and screamed, coughing up blood in the process, all the while clutching her side.

Running despite the pain in his leg, Estin got to Feanne’s side as they lay her on the ground, taking her hand in his. She was still conscious, staring up at the sky as she choked and trembled, though he could tell she was not seeing him at all. Looking down, he saw much of her ribs were exposed near burned flesh and fur. He could smell a storm on her—lightning. They had attacked her with magic, which he knew she could not heal as easily from. That had likely been the weakness exploited against the werewolves, as well.

“Feanne,” he said, tightening his grip on her hand and kneeling so his muzzle was near her ear. “Feanne, you’re going to be all right. Hang in there.”

A young woman in traditional country healer’s robes knelt on Feanne’s other side and began applying fresh cloth to the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. Even before she covered it, Estin had gotten an idea of how bad the wound was. Bones were broken, and he was willing to bet her lung was punctured. The healer would not be able to do much with the paltry resources they had available in the camp, especially without magic. Within seconds the cloth was soaked through, and blood continued to run down Feanne’s side as she struggled to breathe.

“Get some extra bandages,” Estin told the woman, who hesitated. “Get them!”

The healer got up and went to a nearby cart where what few supplies they had left were stacked. As soon as she looked away, Estin put his hand on Feanne’s brow and whispered, “You’re going to be fine, Feanne. I’ll see to it. You can yell at me later. It’s your turn to save my life…remember that. You’re overdue.”

Closing the sounds around him out of his mind, Estin tugged at the faint murmurs of the disembodied voices in his head. His stomach lurched immediately and all his muscles began to ache, but he did not relent. He pulled at the vestiges of magic until he could taste blood and the first trickle of magic flowed through his fingers into Feanne.

Rough hands grabbed him, shattering his concentration. He flailed and tried to get his fangs into whoever had interrupted him, then froze as he was hoisted completely off the ground by the scruff of his neck. Slowly, Arella turned Estin around so he was looking into her wolflike face, her eyes narrow and deadly.

“She said you would try to be the fool when battles turned deadly,” she warned him, her voice barely recognizable as more than a growl. “I am under orders to stop you from making this kind of mistake.”

“She’ll die if I—”

Arella snarled. “We’ll all die soon enough,” she said firmly, lowering him just enough that his paws could brush the ground. “We will not rush anyone’s death. Turess, take him from me.”

Before Estin could react, Turess wrapped his arms around Estin from the side, pulled him away from Arella, and held him tight. Estin fought briefly, trying to get a grip, but Turess seemed to anticipate his movements, avoiding claws and fangs easily, as though he had fought wildlings before. Finally, Estin gave in and watched.

Arella knelt beside Feanne. “The avatar of the wild god will not die because of a stray spell,” she was saying, settling herself to sit on her paws with her back straight as she studied Feanne, who was no longer shaking. The healer, who had returned to Feanne’s other side, looked particularly worried, and Estin felt his stomach begin to sink. “Any member of a pack is willing to die for their leader. I will take that risk today.”

Arella moved one of her hands over Feanne’s chest and closed her eyes, concentrating. For several long seconds, Estin saw nothing happening and wondered if Arella was just stalling. Then, without warning, he saw Arella’s side tear open violently, causing her to snarl and clench her jaw.

Estin knew exactly what was happening. Fae magic, the kind Feanne used, could not actually heal wounds. It could accelerate their healing as though weeks had passed, but potentially fatal injuries only killed the victim that much faster by using that form of magic. The only use Feanne had ever found for her abilities had been to transfer wounds from herself to Estin the day they had met so she had the strength to get them both out of Altis. Arella was using much the same spell to take Feanne’s wounds onto herself.

Gradually, the burns and torn flesh appeared on Arella’s hide. Feanne breathed more easily and blood stopped spreading on the latest bandage the healer pressed to her side. It was not as quick as Estin remembered, but in only another minute or two, Arella would have all of Feanne’s injuries. She might well be able to survive in her wolven form, given the rate at which werewolves healed.

More screams made Estin wince, but then realized they were not coming from the battlefield. They were coming from the wounded nearby. Turess did not release him, so he had to squirm to look around, trying to find the source of the noise.

Estin saw a faint shimmer near one of the soldiers who had been barely injured. Suddenly, the man lurched and blood sprayed in all directions as his entire ribcage was torn apart. The shimmer over him moved swiftly, and another soldier who was trying to crawl away stiffened, then collapsed in another shower of blood.

“Turess, we’re under attack,” Estin said, trying to free himself again.

Turess only held on that much harder. “I know!” he hissed, pulling Estin a little farther away from Feanne and Arella. The human healer moved to put herself between the shimmer and Arella. “Is Oramain. We need to avoid his attention, not draw it. He will kill us both if he sees us. Stay still and he may overlook us. Neither of us can fight right now.”

The shimmer drifted to the next soldier—the last before it would be facing the human at Arella’s side. The wounded man grabbed his sword, only to have his face explode in a spray of gore. Spinning in place, the ghost drifted toward the healer, who stared at Oramain with utter panic, though she held her ground. Through it all, Arella did not look up, instead concentrating to maintain her spell. Her fur was gradually being coated with blood.

For the briefest moment, Estin thought the ghost might stop or move on, but it seemed to almost smile at the healer, reveling in her resistance. With Arella and Feanne so close, Estin could not risk any more lives by delaying.

He kicked at Turess’s shin, forcing him off balance in an effort to keep his leg away from Estin’s claws. Once he felt Turess shift, he drove his elbow backward into Turess’s stomach. The moment Turess’s grip slipped, Estin twisted as hard as he could without putting all his weight on his injured leg, yanking free.

Wincing every time he put much weight on his left leg, Estin limped toward the doctor, who had closed her eyes as Oramain loomed over her. Estin had to stare at the shape to make out the vaguely human silhouette in the predawn light, but each step he took, he could make out more of the familiar features of the man.

“Oramain,” Estin called. When the ghost moved its hand toward the healer to kill her, Estin shouted again, “Oramain!”

The ghost stopped midswing, and gleaming yellow eyes turned on Estin. A faint hiss cut through all the other noise as the ghost floated toward him, passing all of the other wounded. When it reached Estin, the ghost rose up over him and studied Turess, just behind Estin. Faintly, Estin could hear Turess muttering something that sounded entirely derogatory.

“I have come for specific people,” the ghost said in a chilling whisper, not unlike the voices that came with Estin’s magic. “You are not my target yet, wildling. The leaders of this army must die before I leave. This was my order after aiding you earlier. You should flee.”

Estin checked over his shoulder, finding Arella still working on Feanne. Before long she would be healed enough that she would survive without help. Arella, on the other hand, looked nearly ready to collapse as blood ran freely down her side.

“Let her finish,” Estin told the ghost, dropping to his knees. “Please. Kill me if you need to, but please let Arella save Feanne. She’ll die without a healer. We both know I can’t stop you. Give me this before I die.”

The burning embers that were Oramain’s eyes turned to Feanne, and the raging anger that Estin could practically taste so close to the creature abruptly cooled. The ghost flickered and became somewhat more human-looking, allowing Estin to see the features of the man who had helped him save Feanne from death once before. The whole of Oramain’s tattoos were visible in that moment, as was a thin beard and even a jagged scar at the base of his jaw. He could have been any other human in the camp, if it were not for the way the torchlight continued to pass through him.

“She’s the one…your mate…” whispered Oramain, staring at Feanne. With an offhand gesture, he threw a soldier who had been approaching with a drawn sword across the clearing and into a tree. “You had me help you save her recently. I can feel her heart struggling to beat.”

“Months ago,” Estin replied without looking up. “Without Arella’s help, she will die again, and I can’t save her this time. All I’m asking for is that you wait.”

Oramain’s jaw clenched and he nodded grimly. “My master demanded the deaths of your leaders. He did not say that I had to hurry. He also did not tell me it meant killing Feanne. I have seen your mate through your eyes, and I would not take her from you like this, even by killing another. I have already disobeyed in other ways—what is one more time?”

With a sigh, the ghost faded away, and Estin could feel the chill that accompanied it vanish slowly. It had truly let them live with no clear reason why. More than that, it had disobeyed a direct order from Dorralt.

“He always was good man,” Turess said. “We had saying in my day that the good of a person does not die with them, but lives on so long as there are those who remember it. I still remember the good of this man, before my brother twisted him.”

With a gasp, Arella collapsed.

Estin immediately forgot what Turess had been saying. He ran, despite the pain in his leg, even as Arella hit the ground, clutching her side. Within seconds, Arella shuddered violently and lay still, and Estin could not feel any breath as he held his hand near her muzzle.

“I can save her,” Estin announced to no one in particular, quickly glancing at Feanne to make sure her wounds were closed. She was already moving, putting her hands to her head as she began to wake. Taking that as a good sign, Estin checked for Arella’s pulse, but Turess grabbed his wrists and pulled him away.

“She gave life by choice,” Turess said, tightening his grip when Estin tried to free himself. “Do not belittle decision by throwing your life away, too, when she made choice to spare you. Go to your wife. I will do what I can. Not everyone can or should be saved.”