Dark Lady's Chosen (26 page)

“My family’s lived for generations in a small farming community,” Gwill said. “Several of us who were
vayash moru
remained to help work the land. We’ve kept to ourselves and never bothered the neighboring farms. We feed from our own goats and mind our business. But yesterday, the raiders came before sunset, while I and the others were at rest. They came to burn our day crypts, and when our families tried to defend us, the raiders killed them.”

Gwill’s grief was clear in his face, denied tears by the Dark Gift.

Carina looked at the woman’s arm. She guessed the deep slice had been made by a scythe or a harvesting knife. Farmers’ weapons, but no less lethal than a sword or war axe.

“They hoped to lure us out into the daylight, and when we heard the screams of our families, we came.” Gwill shook his head. “There were only a few of us left. The rest went to fight for Lord Vahanian and Lord Gabriel. But we were afraid to leave the farms unguarded.

We never meant to be their undoing.”

“How did you get away?” Carina had finished binding up the woman’s arm, and she spooned a little of a bright green elixir into the woman’s mouth.

“They set a trap for us. As soon as we came out of our day crypts, the raiders set our village ablaze and waited for us with torches and flaming arrows. My brother and I are both
vayash
moru
. He tried to hold back the raiders while I took the others into the caves for safety. As we reached the forest, I heard him scream. I saw him catch fire, as we ran into the forest.”

“How many did you take to the caves?”

From Gwill’s tortured expression, she knew that he believed his efforts to be a failure. “Six.

But there had been thirty of us.”

“What happened to your back?”

He grimaced. “Even the raiders don’t dare pursue us by night. Down in the caves, there were a few others of our kind, also trying to help their families escape. And some of the
vyrkin
women with their pups. We moved through the caves to travel as safely as we could, knowing that one entrance comes up in the forest not far from the gates of Dark Haven.” He gave a bitter laugh. “‘Not far’ depends on whether you can outrun the rising sun. There were raiders posted in the forest’s edge, watching for us to seek sanctuary. They began to fire on us as we ran across the field toward the gates. The guards of Dark Haven tried to protect us, but even they couldn’t hold back the sun.” A flash of pain crossed his face. “We nearly made it before the first light. I’m lucky that the full rays didn’t strike me, or I’d be cindered.

I’m young in the Dark Gift. As it is, the early dawn burns.”

Carina looked to Lisette. “What can I do to help him?”

Lisette shook her head. “He’ll heal—in time. We heal more slowly when we’re younger.”

“Is there something that will ease the pain?”

“We don’t heal the way mortals do. Herbs and poultices don’t work the same.” Lisette paused. “I’ve seen Laisren come back badly wounded, and he’s never let me doctor him.

But he’s older in the Dark Gift.”

Carina made a mental note to see what Royster knew of
vayash moru
medicine. “I’ll see what I can find,” she said to Gwill. “And I’ll make sure Taru checks on your granddaughter.”

Carina looked out across the room. Women and small children huddled together. An elderly man held an equally elderly woman in his arms, and Carina could see that they were both bleeding.
Malesh doesn’t need the vayash moru to do his killing for him. All he had to do
was set us on each other.

Midday, Lisette finally got Carina to stop and rest. They went into Dark Haven’s pantry, one of the few rooms not overrun with refugees. Lisette gave Carina another glass of the noxious milk and blood mixture and watched as Carina choked it down. Carina was grateful for a few moments to sit down.

“You’re deep in thought, m’lady.”

Carina nodded. “Just thinking about Gwill.” She looked at Lisette. “The
vayash moru
can survive injuries that would kill a mortal. I knew you healed quickly, but I didn’t realize that there was still pain.”

Lisette looked away. “Aye.”

“Is it different from what you felt as a mortal?”

Lisette did not meet her eyes. “No. All that differs is that we endure it. And that very little can be done about it, since neither potions nor whiskey blunt it.”

Carina remembered the charred skin on Gabriel’s back the night Tris won back the throne from Jared, and the way Gabriel had taken the brunt of the glass shards that exploded across the room when the Orb shattered. He’d fetched her to heal Tris, never giving a hint that his own injuries were agonizing. Lisette seemed to guess her thoughts.

“It’s a matter of opinion whether ours is a gift or a curse,” Lisette said. “The pain lessens as you grow more accustomed to bearing it.”

Carina thought of the scars that covered Jonmarc’s body.
Wounds heal, but not memory,
she thought. She’d hoped to change that by becoming a mind healer, but now, time was rapidly running out. “We’re only halfway through the room,” she said, drawing a deep breath and rising. “And Neirin says there are more rooms full of refugees. Let’s go.”

Two of the mortal servants came to offer them the opportunity to rest for a few candlemarks, but Carina declined. Neirin came to lead Carina into another of the inner rooms. Carina looked around with a combination of wonder and horror. The room’s occupants appeared to be all
vyrkin
. Some were too badly injured to change back to human form without assistance, with blood matting their fur. Others appeared fully human, with only the violet eyes to give them away. As Neirin had warned her, most were females with suckling pups, or with children too young to fight.

“I need more herbs, and some hot water for potions.
Vyrkin
are more like mortals—most of my poultices should work,” Carina told Neirin. “And bandages. I need whatever Taru isn’t going to use.”

“Understood, m’lady.”

Carina knelt next to a woman who had two small children in her lap. From what little Carina had learned about the
vyrkin
from Yestin and Eiria, she guessed the children were just barely old enough to shapeshift, but not old enough to hunt for themselves. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Carina asked the woman.

“Not since yesterday.” The young mother’s face was drawn. “There were five sets of mothers and pups hiding in the caves. Our mates left us there for safety when they went to Wolvenskorn, to answer Lord Gabriel’s call. We had been taking turns hunting so that someone was always left to watch the pups—children. But yesterday, Cadi didn’t return. Nia went to look for her, and she didn’t come back, either.” The woman swallowed hard. “A few candlemarks later, I ventured out. I was one of the best trackers of our group. Almost from the time I left the cave, I could smell blood.
Vyrkin
blood.” She glanced down at her two small children. “Do you speak Margolense?” she asked abruptly.

Carina nodded.

The woman switched into Margolense from Common. “I found their bodies in the woods, m’lady. They had been butchered like animals, slaughtered and skinned and their heads taken for trophies. I know it was them. I could tell by their scent.” She began to shake with grief. “Nia was my sister. Cadi was my brother’s wife. We birthed our pups together. I swear, m’lady, neither we nor our mates ever harmed a mortal.” Carina took her in her arms and held her as the woman began to sob. Her children pulled at her sleeves, too young to understand but aware that something was wrong. “I also recognized the scent of her hunters,” the woman sobbed. “They were neighbors of ours. We lived beside them in peace for years. Never once did we steal any of their chickens or sheep. Never.” She pulled back from Carina and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

“We didn’t know where else to come for shelter,” she said raggedly, fighting for control. “My mate is cousin to Yestin. Yestin had told us of his trust in Lord Vahanian. We heard that Lord Vahanian went with Lord Gabriel to stop Uri’s brood from killing mortals. But I swear to you, m’lady, no
vyrkin
ever helped Uri or Malesh. So why do the mortals kill us?”

Carina’s heart ached as she reached out to comfort the little girl who clung fiercely to the woman’s arm. “It’s not all of the mortals,” she said quietly. “Please believe me. Just like it’s only a few of the
vayash moru
who’ve followed Malesh.” Her words sounded hollow.
Wars
have started over less, between enemies equally mortal. First Jared burned the vayash
moru. Now this. How much can anyone take, before they strike back?

Carina met the woman’s eyes. “I give you my word as Lady of the Manor. So long as the walls of Dark Haven stand, you and your children will be safe here.” She managed a tired smile as she looked down at the two children. “Let me talk with the kitchen. We need to see about some meat and milk for all of you.”

Carina stood and stumbled. Elen, one of the servants, caught her, and Carina managed to steady herself. She could feel her knees buckle and Elen helped her out of the room and into a

chair. Before Carina could stop her, Elen ran to bring Taru.

“You’ve pushed yourself too far, Carina,” Taru chided gently.

“But there are so many of them. They’re hungry and they’re hurt and I can’t even heal them the way I used to.” Carina’s voice showed her exhaustion and frustration.

“I’ve already spoken to Neirin about special food for the
vyrkin
,” Taru said. “And thanks to the healing you and Lisette did before you were injured, there are several of the servants who are handy with the basics of cleaning and binding up injuries. But there’s no one who can step into the Flow except you.”

Reluctantly, Carina nodded. “Point taken.” She looked up at Taru. “I’m running out of time. I know it. I want what’s left to count.” She thought she saw tears start in Taru’s eyes.

“Rest assured, Carina. What you’re doing counts. For all of us.”

Tris Drayke rose from a restless night. He could see by the light against his campaign tent that the sun was already up, and guessed that once again, Coalan had let him sleep. With a groan, he sat up on his cot. Although he’d slept fully clothed, he shivered as the heavy blankets fell away. Southern Margolan was bitterly cold this time of year.

“You’re up!” Coalan said cheerily. Tris had no idea how the young man managed to dredge up his seemingly endless enthusiasm, but it was one of the few things that made the war bearable. Coalan set a cup of steaming hot
kerif
on the table, adding the second, and possibly only, other item on the list of bearable things. Tris drank the hot, dark liquid, feeling it burn down his throat.

“Where’s Ban?”

Coalan chuckled. “Are you asking as his friend or as the king?”

Tris looked at him warily. “Why?”

“Because he’s out trying to see if we can round up enough sheep for a mutton stew for Candles Night tomorrow evening, to raise the men’s spirits. Now his friend Tris might like the sound of that, since he was always partial to mutton as I recall. But King Martris ordered Uncle Ban to take it easy. So who’s asking?’

Tris had to smile despite himself. “His friend, Tris. Although of late, that person comes around so seldom I don’t recognize him anymore.” Coalan was one of the few family friends to survive Jared’s reign, and Tris treasured that friendship. Coalan, Carroway, Harrtuck, Soterius and Zachar were some of the very few who knew him from before the coup and still treated him as “Tris” instead of “King Martris,” at least in private. They were a link to memories of a time that was gone forever, and loved ones who would never return. And while Tris knew he did not have the luxury of dwelling in the past, those friendships at least gave him a way to keep the memories from fading.

“Good. Because he’d probably thrash me if I got him in trouble with the king.” Coalan smiled broadly. “Breakfast will be here in just a moment. It’s gruel again, but it’s hot gruel.”

“I spent the Birth Month in Principality last year, telling myself that Margolan’s winters were so much milder,” Tris said, holding the cup of
kerif
between his hands for warmth. “I can’t believe I’m just as cold!”

Coalan nodded, and Tris knew the young man was wearing every piece of clothing he owned as well as a few he’d scrounged. “That’s the Lady’s truth, all right. Maybe it won’t be much longer before we can all be home in our own beds.”

Tris knew that Coalan had overheard enough of the battle planning to realize how unlikely that was, and to realize that many of the soldiers milling about in the camp beyond the tent would take their final rest here, on the wide open Margolan plains, before the battle was over. “I hope so,” he said, pushing aside his own gloomy turn of thought.

Outside, the cook’s bell rang and Coalan sprang to his feet. “That’s the signal. I’ll be right back with that gruel.”

When he left, Tris set his
kerif
aside and walked to where a light covering of ash dusted the tent’s packed dirt floor near an iron brazier. He squatted down and began to draw in the ash, trying to recall what he had seen in his dream. He traced a long, wide blade that ended in an ornate hilt. But what set this knife apart from others he had seen was the markings on the steel of its blade. In the dream, he had clearly seen a pattern of lines, as if the steel had been folded over on itself countless times, making a swirling design.

“Problem with the fire?” It was Ban Soterius, who stopped at the tent’s doorway to brush off the snow that clung to his cloak.

Tris straightened hurriedly. “Just adding some coals.” He managed a smile. “Coalan told me you were up early.”

“Damn. That boy can’t keep a secret.” Soterius shrugged. “Since it looks as if we’ll be going to battle tomorrow, I just thought keeping Candles Night might cheer up the troops. Not to mention that a little bit more meat, if the cook can manage it, wouldn’t hurt. We’ve been feeding them mostly beans, roots and potatoes for weeks now.”

“Excuse me.” Coalan stepped around Soterius. He had the serious look he adopted when anyone else was present. “There’s a messenger with a packet from Shekerishet.” At Tris’s nod, Coalan motioned for the messenger to enter. The young man bowed low, and then opened his bag for a large pouch sealed with the seneschal’s mark.