Dragonsbane (Book 3) (17 page)

“Mages,” Kyleigh said. “What you smelled on them was their magic.”

Gwen nodded slowly. “
Mages
. Yes, I’ve heard stories about them. I suppose I just expected them to be more … difficult to kill. So few people ever make it into our lands that I was certain the mages were a sign from Fate,” she went on. “I thought it meant the winter would be harsh, or the wynns planned an attack. But it was worse than I feared: it meant the Man of Wolves was coming.

“He marched in a few days behind the mages. When we told him to leave our lands, he refused. So my warriors and I stormed from our castle to drive him away. His army carried strange weapons — swords the color of storm clouds, wooden birds with beaks that pierced our skin like ice. They wore shells of stone over their heads and chests.” She thrust a hand at the broken axe. “Our weapons shattered against them. His army was everywhere. They kept moving to our sides instead of meeting us at the front. Soon, everywhere we turned there were enemies at our backs.

“It was by our strength alone that we managed to escape. I gathered what was left of my warriors and closed the gates behind us. We were beaten, and the Man of Wolves knew it. He smiled at us as his army stripped our dead of their sacred weapons.” Gwen’s fists pounded into her knees. “He stole them!”

Kyleigh groaned inwardly. Titus had done worse than steal the weapons: he’d melted them down and turned them into collars. But she didn’t have the heart to tell Gwen.

“Long weeks of silence passed. The Man of Wolves waited near the bottom of the summit. His army camped among the trees. Day after day, Fate’s die landed in their favor. My pet fled the castle,” Gwen added sullenly. “Animals can always sense a coming storm, and so I knew this was yet another sign of our misfortune.”

“He’s back now — perhaps that means our fortunes will change,” Griffith called hopefully.

Gwen smiled at him. “I hope so, Griff.” But by the time she turned back to Kyleigh, she was glaring once more. “When the snow’s fury had passed, the Man of Wolves attacked us again. I knew better than to charge him a second time — we would use our castle. His soldiers beat against our gates, but my warriors shored them with their strength. We were prepared to hold them off till summer, if we had to … then we heard the screams.”

Gwen’s eyes went dark and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Monsters had appeared inside our castle. They were horrible things — beasts and men twisted into one. Somehow, they’d gotten behind us. They tore the defenseless apart with their teeth and claws. Our craftsmen, our children … I’ve never seen such cruelty, not even among the wynns. I begged for their lives, offered my surrender, but the Man of Wolves ignored me. He watched from afar, smiling as his creatures devoured my people.

“I had no choice but to abandon the gates. We ran to save the helpless, and the Man of Wolves smashed through. His army crushed our backs, his monsters waited with open jaws. My warriors managed to hold their ground long enough for us to escape through a hidden path. We fled down the mountains with those twisted creatures howling after our trail. A few days ago, we finally lost them. Last night, we arrived at the ruins of this village. And just when I hoped we’d reached the end of our misfortunes,” her brows dropped to a glare, “
you
turn up.”

Kyleigh didn’t reply. Gwen’s story raked a raw line across her heart. She hadn’t always gotten along with the wildmen, but they were honorable humans. They cared for their people. They certainly hadn’t deserved what Titus had done to them.

“I’ve told you what happened to us.” Gwen took her under the chin. “Now you’re going to tell me what you know of the Man of Wolves.”

“His name is Titus,” Kyleigh said. “He’s one of the King’s rulers.”

Gwen pushed her away. “You’re lying, pest. The King was the one who charged our ancestors with the task of cleansing the mountains. Why would he attack us?”

There was no way to explain it. How could she possibly tell Gwen that the Kingdom had forgotten about the wildmen? That their task had fallen into legend?
That everything she’d built her life around was only a story to the rest of the realm?

She couldn’t. It would’ve been far too cruel.

“The King didn’t order this. Titus is trying to take the mountains for himself.”

“Traitor,” Griffith hissed.

He crept from the now-roaring hearth and sat cross-legged beside Gwen, careful not to bump his broken arm. A blue marble rolled between the fingers of his good hand. It was a trinket he always carried with him. If it was out, Kyleigh knew he was concentrating.

“We’re going to stomp him, aren’t we?” When Gwen didn’t reply, he nudged her gently. “Sister?”

She took her gaze off the wall long enough to ruffle his stripe of hair. “Sure we are, Griff. And the pest is going to help us. Tell me everything you know about Titus,” she said, turning back to Kyleigh. “How do I fight his army of monsters? How do I break his ice swords? Tell me, and I might let you live.”

The wildmen had made their homes at the summit
for centuries on end. Their only enemies were impervious to every normal sort of weapon — and would’ve made short work of armor. The dragonsbane the wildmen carried was passed down from parent to child. Any knowledge of how to forge from the earth had likely slipped through the cracks between generations long ago.

Kyleigh’s walk among the humans had been a mere blink of time compared to the long years she’d spent living as a shapechanger. Trying to teach the wildmen what she knew was going to be no small task.

“Titus’s swords aren’t made of ice — they’re made of
steel
.”

“
Steel
.” Gwen’s lips formed the word tentatively, as if she learned a foreign tongue.

The marble danced faster between Griffith’s fingers. “Where do we find steel?”

“I can teach your craftsmen to make it,” Kyleigh offered.

Gwen narrowed her eyes. “In exchange for your life? No. If I’m going to spare you, then I’ll be requiring more. You’ll teach us how to make the stone shells as well.”

“Armor,” Kyleigh corrected her. Blazes, this was going to be more difficult than she’d thought. “I’ll teach you everything I know about steel and armor.”

Gwen nodded. “Good. Now that we’ve got all that settled … there’s the matter of this so-called
Wright
. I don’t know where you heard of Setheran, but his name’s no good among the wildmen. My father’s told me stories of that troublemaker,” she added with a glare. “
He’s
the reason the wynns still haunt the mountain’s top. If it weren’t for his meddling, we would’ve cast them into the seas years ago.”

This was the first Kyleigh had heard of it — of any of it. Setheran had never mentioned anything about the wildmen, let alone the wynns. She didn’t know what he could’ve possibly done to anger them. But she knew one thing for certain:

“I had absolutely nothing to do with that letter.”

Chapter 16

Coming Home

It was with no small amount of dread that Kael took his first steps into Tinnark.

The charred houses watched him through hollow eyes. He caught himself waiting to hear the noises of the villagers. He listened for the familiar song of their work. But the path was quiet.

Painted, fur-clad wildmen gathered in clumps among the ruins. Some had limbs bound in slings, others nursed festering wounds or had bandages wrapped clumsily about their heads. A few watched him from the depths of small wooden litters. All looked as if they’d been half-chewed and spat back out.

The weight of the wildmen’s stares slowed Kael’s pace considerably. His anger faded back as he met their darkened eyes and saw the exhaustion on their painted faces. These weren’t the fearsome warriors Amos had told him about: they were gaunt and sickly-thin. He couldn’t believe they’d once battled monsters.

“Where’s Kyleigh?”

One of the wildmen turned and pointed to a house that was a little less ruined than the others. It was slightly charred, but still intact. The warped door swung open before he could take more than a few steps towards it.

Griffith came out first. His golden sword was drawn and gripped in his good hand. “Stay back,” he warned.

Kael froze. It wasn’t the sword that stopped him: it was the look on Griffith’s face. The skin behind his paint was deathly pale. Beads of sweat popped up across his brow.

Kael’s healing instincts took over. “You’re feverish. That arm has probably gotten infected. You ought to let me look at it.”

Griffith said nothing. If anything, his hand twisted tighter about his sword. Then his eyes traveled down to the ragged tear in Kael’s trousers — to the hole Gwen’s arrow had left behind — and his mouth fell wide open.

“It’s true,” he gasped.

“What’s true?” Gwen appeared in the doorway behind him, dragging Kyleigh against her chest. The skin beneath her paint went scarlet when she followed the line of Griffith’s finger to Kael’s leg. “Take one step closer, and I’ll kill her,” she snarled, planting the golden axe against Kyleigh’s middle.

Kael wasn’t fooled. “No, you won’t. Kyleigh’s planned this whole thing out.”

“I’ll slice her in two,” Gwen warned.

Kael ignored her. “I can’t believe you,” he said to Kyleigh. “I really can’t. This is exactly what you did with the pirates. After all we’ve been through, you still think you have to trick me into going along —”

“I swear I’ll kill her —”

“Do it, then!” Kael snapped. “Quit threatening and take a swing.”

He thought that would be the end of it. He thought Gwen would give up her act and start being reasonable. But instead, her bluish-black lips twisted into a smile. “All right —”

“Stop!” Kyleigh squirmed away from the axe. Her fingernails went white where they dug into Gwen’s arm. “Please, this isn’t a trick — she
will
kill me.”

He didn’t understand. He had no idea what was going on between these two. Sure, Gwen had clubbed Kyleigh over the head with her axe — but then again, Kyleigh had broken Gwen’s nose. The fact that neither had killed the other could’ve only meant one thing:

“I thought you were friends.”

Gwen snarled in Kyleigh’s ear. “How many times have I got to tell you, pest? We aren’t friends — friends don’t try to bite each other’s arms off.”

“Oh, please. That was barely a nibble.”

“It ruined my winter! I had to sit inside all season while the other warriors — you know something? I’m tired of explaining it to you.”

She raised the axe, and Kael ripped an arrow from his quiver. “Stop it! Look, I haven’t got a clue what this is. But if you hurt her, if you split one hair on her head —”

“You’ll kill me?”

“I’ll destroy you,” he growled, when Gwen brought the axe close to Kyleigh’s throat. “You’ll be nothing more than a bloody smear on my boot heel. There’ll be so little left that not even the maggots will bother with you.”

“Is that so?” The axe’s blade touched Kyleigh’s neck.

Kael locked his arrow onto Gwen’s eye. “I’m warning you. There won’t be enough mercy to save you if you hurt her — not in this life or the next.”

Her skin burned scarlet as she snarled: “I’ll take my —”

“Stop!” Griffith threw his sword upon the ground and held up a hand. “They’re only playing. Please — don’t shoot my sister.”

“Then tell your sister to get her axe away from my friend,” Kael growled.

At his nod, Gwen shoved Kyleigh forward. She raised a brow as he lowered his arrow. “Would you have really shot at me?”

“I’ve shot at you once already. It wouldn’t take much to convince me to do it again.”

For some reason, this made Gwen smile rather widely.

“Are you hurt?” Kael said as he pulled Kyleigh towards him. “Is your skull —?”

“It’s fine,” she muttered, knocking his hand away. Then she waved to Gwen. “Come on, let’s get started.”

“Wait a moment — get started on what, exactly?” He grabbed her arm before she could turn away. “I’m not letting you anywhere near that madwoman —”

“
Wild
woman,” Gwen cut in.

Kael honestly didn’t see a difference.

“The pest has committed crimes against our people,” Griffith said, waving at the wildmen.

Kael groaned. “What did you do to them?”

“Nothing they didn’t deserve.”

“You led the wynns against us!” Gwen said.

Kyleigh shrugged. “It seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

Griffith quickly stepped between them. “Once the pest repays her debts, all will be forgiven. But until then, she’ll stay here with us as our prisoner.”

“Like Death, she will,” Kael growled. “Come on, Kyleigh. Let’s find Baird and —”

“And what?” She raised her brows. “Where are we off to, exactly? What’s the plan?”

He didn’t know. He couldn’t go down the mountains, and he couldn’t go up. Once again, he found himself trapped in their middle. And Kyleigh seemed to know it.

“From where I’m standing, it looks as if you’ve got two choices,” she said, crossing her arms. “You can either float around the mountains for the rest of your life, moaning through the trees like a lost spirit, or you could do something useful. I’m choosing the latter.”

“No, you aren’t choosing anything. You’ve gotten yourself into trouble, and now I’m stuck here while you pay off your debts. How long is that going to take, by the way?”

“It’ll take as long as it takes.”

She grinned over her shoulder at him as she walked down the hill. Gwen followed her with a smirk, leaving Kael alone with the wildmen.

They clung to their wounds and stared through the weary film on their eyes, waiting. Kael sighed heavily — sighed, because then he wouldn’t have to feel the strange ache in his heart.

He took Griffith by his good arm and led him up the hill. “Come on. Let’s get those wounds patched up.”

*******

The hospital sat by itself at the top of the slope. Its elongated walls looked like witches’ teeth: blackened and chipped, sticking up at odd angles. The roof was completely gone. Kael didn’t want to go any closer, but his legs seemed to have a mind of their own. They dragged him until he stood inside the ruins.

Mangled remains of cots littered the floor. Many had been overturned or broken. The only things left inside the tonic cabinet were a few broken bottles of ointment. Heat from the fire must’ve devoured the rest.

Planks creaked under Kael’s weight as he made his way to Amos’s office. A knot rose in his throat when he saw the warped desk and the ashen frame of Kyleigh’s cot. But what hurt him the worst was something he’d never thought he would miss.

Amos’s healing tomes lay scattered across the floor — empty covers with their titles burned away. Charred nubs of pages still clung stubbornly to their spines. How many times had he wandered in late at night to find Amos bent over one of those books …?

“Well?”

Griffith was standing behind him, waiting patiently — along with a whole company of wildmen. Kael had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he’d actually forgotten about them.

“Right. I’ll tend to the most serious wounds first,” he said, thinking back to the days when the hospital had been full. “Head wounds, broken bones, mangled limbs and the like. Then I’ll take care of anybody with a scratch or scrape. Oh,” he fixed the wildmen with what he hoped was a severe look, “and if you think you’ve got something lodged where it shouldn’t be, let me know first thing. There’s nothing worse than sealing somebody up only to find out that you’ve got to spilt them open again. Understood?”

When he received an acceptable number of nods, Kael got them all lined up — and tried not to think about how much he’d just sounded like Amos.

His first patient was an old man with a gash that looked as if a sword had come down on the top of his head. Kael had to spend several minutes draining the curdled blood and infection from the wound before he could start the sealing.

“Another day like this and you would’ve been dead,” Kael muttered as he rubbed his thumb along the white scar on the old man’s scalp, smoothing it away. “You should’ve taken care of it sooner. I’m shocked that it didn’t kill you.”

“What choice did I have?” the old man grumbled back. He checked Kael’s work gingerly with the tips of his fingers, mouth parted slightly.

“Well, you could’ve gone to one of the other healers.”

“Other healers? How many healers do you think we have?” The old man leaned to glare at Griffith. “If I’d known he was rattled, I wouldn’t have let him split me open!”

Griffith shook his head, smiling. “He isn’t rattled. He’s just daft.”

Kael wasn’t sure that
daft
was much of an improvement over
rattled
, but it seemed to put the old man at ease. The moment he’d wandered away, Griffith explained:

“There hasn’t been a healer born among the wildmen for years. It doesn’t happen often, and they don’t stay for long.”

“Because they’re weaker than the others?” Kael guessed.

Griffith raised his brows. “Weaker? No, there’s no weakness among whisperers — only balance. We need each other. The healers don’t stay because it’s too rough on them, I think. They get all weepy around wounds.” He shrugged. “At least that’s what my father used to say.”

Kael wasn’t sure if his father had gotten it right. As far as he could remember, wounds had never made Amos weepy. If anything, he’d only gotten grumpier around them. But he saw no point in trying to explain this to Griffith.

The line of wildmen seemed endless. Kael covered himself in such a fog of concentration that after a while, he didn’t see their faces anymore. He would slip out for a moment as they approached, like a sea creature breaking above the waves. Once he’d found where they were wounded, he would duck back under and lose himself to the depths.

Not long ago, the healing would’ve exhausted him. There would’ve been no chance of him patching up an entire village without getting some sort of whisperer’s headache. But after his time in the plains, this sort of work seemed … simple. He was certain nothing could’ve ever exhausted his mind quite as much as the endless days he’d spent dragging lines across the Fields. Sealing skin together was an easy thing, by comparison. And though the wildmen kept coming, he found he always had a little more to give.

Though he grew paler by the minute, Griffith refused to be healed until all of the other wildmen had been taken care of. “To be Thane is to put the needs of my people first. I may not be Thane yet, but one day I will be. This is good practice,” he said with a smile.

Kael thought it was ridiculous for Griffith to have to suffer any longer than necessary. But at the same time, a small part of him understood. “All right. Just tell me if you start to feel faint,” he grumbled.

The last clump of wildmen was mostly just flesh wounds. Several of them had punctures on their arms and chests — the marks of Titus’s hounds. They went deep, sometimes scraping the surface of bone. It was remarkable that so many of the wildmen had survived their wounds.

At last, the final patient left the hospital, and it was Griffith’s turn. He stood stiffly, his wounded arm turned out of Kael’s reach. “If you’re a healer, why do you have so many scars? I’ve seen you wiping them away all day,” he added.

Kael thought about it for a moment. “I suppose I don’t erase them because they remind me of things I don’t want to forget.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Stories.”

He pointed to the scar that split Kael’s eyebrow. “What’s the story behind that one?”

Griffith was dragging his feet. Kael had seen that same wide-eyed look on the faces of Amos’s patients before. And he wasn’t going to waste time answering pointless questions. At his order, Griffith reluctantly untied the sling around his neck.

Rags covered his arm from elbow to wrist. They seemed to be made out of the same rough material as the wildmen’s garb. “Didn’t you have any proper bandages?” He frowned when Griffith shook his head. “Well, these skins are too thick to use for binding. They won’t let your wound breathe. Next time use a little moss if you don’t have anything better.”