Emergence (Book 2) (18 page)

***

Berk shivered in the draft that moved through the tent and across his bare torso. He twisted his wrists against the bindings holding his arms stretched high above his head, trying to work some feeling into his numb hands. His shoulders ached, and his calves burned from the strain of being forced to stand on the balls of his feet. They had stripped him down to his trousers and tied him to the center post. He hadn't made it easy for them. Foolish, because that just made it harder on him, but seeing Ciara manhandled and carted off in that fashion sent him into a rage. And the burnt body in the cage--Goddess's light, he didn't want to die like that.

"Mmm, mm, mmm." Linea stood in the opening of the tent, running her eyes over him. "You are a tasty morsel. Shame you've thrown your life away on licking the Emperor's balls."

She let the flap close behind her as she strolled in to stand in front of him.

"Let Ciara go."

She pressed a hand to her breast. "That's so noble. I realize you feel obligated to plead for her life instead of your own, but I need a healer. Plus, I'll be paid well for her. Although, I may just keep her. If she's any good she'll be treated better than most. If not? Well, the boys are already bidding for her." A wicked grin twisted her mouth. "They're already bidding for you as well. The last whelp didn't make for very good sport. Scrawny, young thing. Barely off his mum's tit from the looks of it. Cried and bawled like a little girl. Even pissed himself."

Berk curled his lip. "What did he ever do to you that he deserved to die like that?"

"Put on the blue. Same as you." Her eyes drifted from his face, and her bottom lip jutted out. "Aw, they've gone and damaged you already. Does that hurt?"

She
smashed her fist against the deep bruise across his stomach. Berk would have cried out if the blow hadn't taken his breath with it. He squeezed his eyes shut, and choked out a strangled gasp.

"That's for the bloody lip," she said, mouth close to his ear, her teeth nipping his lobe. "Some of the boys wanted to get to you right away. They're wagering you'll last a while. You've got a fighter's look, and plenty of cock. Got a couple lined up who want to fight you before we get to the really fun games. But you're mine first."

She trailed her fingertips across his skin as she moved away, and Berk shuddered in revulsion. His gear had been piled to the side, and Linea hunkered down to rifle through it. The remains of his tabard she tossed at the fire pit with a scowl.

"I'll say one thing, you
Imperial pig balls know your weapons." She stood, hefting Berk's sword and he clenched his jaw. "Now this…this is nice. Definitely not Imperial issue." The blade whistled as she swung it, firelight glinting off the polished steel. Berk sucked in a reflexive breath when she whirled and placed the tip of the blade against his chest. "Looks to be northern forged. A family heirloom? Daddy's sword, perhaps? I'll make you a promise. Once we're done with you, I'll kill you with it. That will make it truly special, don't you think? Maybe I'll even send it home with your head. A gift to the Emperor for all your fine service."

"Rot in hell."

Linea scowled and clicked her tongue. "I thought you guard types had better manners."

A
startled cry escaped him when she flicked the sword downward as she turned away, leaving a shallow cut half way to his stomach. Linea winked over her shoulder.

"Get used to it," she said. She sheathed the sword and placed it on a trunk beside her sleeping palette. "We're just getting started."

She reached around to her side and unfastened the buckles for her leather breastplate and slipped it off. Her boots went next, then her belt and weapons. Berk averted his eyes when she tugged her tunic over her head, leaving her naked.

"Not shy, are you, dog?"

She came to stand in front of him again, his boot knife in her hand. Berk could barely find enough spit to wet his lips. His pulse quickened, and he prayed to the Goddess for strength. He didn't fear death itself, but the thought of dying with dishonor, of being trussed up like an animal without the chance to defend himself, or begging for mercy at the hands of a marauder--those thoughts filled him with dread.

He stared straight ahead. Images of his family--his mother's easy smile, his little brother's giggle, hunting in the Reaches with his father--those would be his strength.

His muscles contracted as Linea drew the flat of the blade through the blood trickling from the sword cut. She held it up in front of his eyes.

"Look
, just as red as mine, yet you piss-ants think you're so much better than everyone else. You shit the same, smell the same, even die the same." She broke off and went to squat beside the fire pit. "Have you ever been to Slaver's Run? I'll wager not. Too far beneath upstanding, Imperial prigs like you. The oddities at that market are well worth the trip. I swear, there's nothing you can't buy or barter for there. I could make a bit of coin on you. Plenty of ladies, and men, too, all looking for a pretty body to do things to. Then there's the arena--bet you'd fight like a lion, wouldn't you? Anyhow, there's this alchemist down on the Sixth Wharf who comes up with the most amazing concoctions not to be found anywhere else this side of the waves."

The light from the brazier danced across the supple curves of her body. A multitude of scars showed white against the tan as she worked at something. When she stood and turned she held a shallow bowl in her palm, stirring the contents with the tip of his knife. A blend of copper and spoiled meat assailed Berk's nostrils as she came closer, and he wrinkled his nose, lifting his head to try and distance himself from the smell.

"I paid a lot for this particular blend." Linea scooped some onto the blade and held it directly under his nose. His stomach churned at the stench. "I haven't been able to try it out until now. Care to guess what it does?"

"Cause vomiting?"

She laughed. "Good to see you've managed to keep your sense of humor. You're going to need it. This lovely blend is called
Ilth Gyre Drinuum
. Do you know what that means?"

"Something about ills and pleasures?"

Her brows rose. "Very good. A scholar as well as the sniveling pet of a whore's son." She rolled the knife blade in the bowl, the contents of it sticking to the blood along its surface. "That's a very literal translation, though. The alchemist likes to call it Demons of Delights. Pain and pleasure are two ends of the same horse, don't you think? Hard to have one without the other. And both at the same time?" Her nostrils flared as she rolled her head back, closed her eyes and inhaled. "Exquisite."

When she dropped her head to look at him again, Berk's blood ran cold. Her eyes had a hard, hungry look to them, and the upturn of her lips showed no softness. He twisted his hands in a desperate attempt to free them. Blood from the bindings trailed down his arms.

Linea cocked her head. "Here come the demons." And she drove the blade into his shoulder.

***

Ciara literally bounced off a guard attempting to run out of the tent where she'd been taken to tend Linea's brother. She picked herself off the ground, and thrust both hands against the man's unyielding chest as Berk's second scream ripped through the camp.

"Get out of my way!"

He grinned. "Linea just getting started." His fingers wrapped painfully around Ciara's upper arm, and he shoved her back toward the pile of furs where her patient tossed in the grips of fever. "Heal Zahn or it goes worse for both."

"I won't. Not until I know Berk is safe. I'll let her brother die, I swear it."

The grin never left the guard's broad, grubby face. "Imperial dog dies, I win bet. Zahn dies, I get healer. All good for me."

Ciara clenched her hands at her sides. "I'll make sure you get neither, then."

The next scream sounded weaker. Ciara pressed her lips together and did her best to shut it out. She prayed to whoever would listen to take Berk quickly to the Halls if they were so inclined. And if not, to give him strength to endure. She blinked back tears and turned her attention to Linea's brother. He had no wounds that she could find, only a raging fever that had apparently come on him out of nowhere, if her guard could be believed. It had laid him flat out three days past.

Even the youngest healer could call a fever. But when Ciara tried, her head and stomach launched an immediate and powerful revolt thanks to the remnants of whatever they'd drugged her with. She chewed at her bottom lip. Passing into the veil took clear focus, at least for her. But the camp had grown eerily quiet after Berk's last pained scream had been cut short. He didn't deserve this. He had only been trying to protect her. Ciara took a deep breath. The smell of burning peat permeated the small tent: dung, the sour scent of unwashed male, and...Ciara wrinkled her nose. She looked around her at the assortment of drinking bowls, lifting one to sniff the milky contents.

"Have you been giving him this?" she asked, holding the bowl toward the guard.

He shrugged. "Linea mix."

"Is this--" Ciara took another sniff. "It smells like bluewort and thistle milk. You can't mix those. You're lucky you didn't kill him."

"Not much."

"No more of this." Ciara dumped the contents out. "Water or sweet wine only."

"You stay 'til fever breaks," the guard said when Ciara stood and headed toward him.

"It will break if you do as I say," she said.

"You healer. You stay."

"I want to see Berk."

The guard spit at her feet. "You bed that dog?"

"He's not a dog, and that's none of your business."

He took a menacing step forward. "Right, worse than dog. Something dog leaves behind. First time we bed, you forget all about
revisse
."

"I will never bed you."

The grin returned, and he leaned back, arms across his chest. "Never till tomorrow."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Bolin paced beside the long dead fire pit. Marauders were experts at moving their camps swiftly, and this one had likely been deserted well before the raiding party had come for them. The rain had kept up steadily all night, doing a thorough job of washing away any tracks. Even Sully couldn't find anything. Still, the Lieutenant insisted on going out again, once he had the morning light, and now they waited.

"We'll get them back," Nialyne said.

Garek looked over at them, thought better of whatever he had been about to say and walked away. He went to where Duff and Salek stood with the horses and talked quietly to them for a moment before going to lean against a tree and stare off in the direction Sully had gone.

"We need to pray Berk's dead," Bolin said. Nialyne gave him a hard, shocked look. "Marauders are skilled at inflicting pain and prolonging death. It's not something a man wants to live through."

"And what of Ciara?"

Bolin's jaw ticked. "They'll bid for her. One of the warriors will claim her as a concubine--or try."

"Is Donovan behind this?"

"He has to be. But how he convinced marauders to do his bidding is something I can't fathom."

Garek shifted off the tree drawing Bolin's attention. His hand dropped to his weapon until he recognized the lone figure jogging toward them as Sully.

"I found something,"
the Lieutenant said as he joined them, sounding winded. He put a hand to his side and took a couple short breaths, his face drawn. Nialyne had wrapped his ribs after the fight on the road, but he'd get no relief until he could spend some time immobile. "It's not much, and it's about a league northwest of here. They tried to sour the tracks, but there's enough I think we can find them."

"Good man," Garek said. He swung around to signal Duff to bring the horses.

Bolin put a hand on Sully's arm as he passed. "You need rest first?"

The L
ieutenant shook his head. "We're already too far behind."

"You won't do them any favors falling on your face."

"I'll let you know if that's about to happen," Sully said. He started toward the horses then stopped and stood for a moment with his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He turned back, his gaze sliding away before locking resolutely with Bolin's. "I've known him since he was fourteen. He's like a brother to me. If we can't get him out of there, I'll be the one to end it for him."

***

It took only four strides for Ciara to pace the confines of the small tent. Linea's brother had regained consciousness, his fever abating by early evening, and Ciara had been moved to new quarters. She still had the same leering guard who watched her every move with his small, pig-like eyes and a grin on his face. The grin faded when the tent flap pushed inward, and Linea strode in looking like a well satisfied cat. Two men followed, with Berk hanging unconscious between them, naked, with blood covering his chest and an ugly bruise across his stomach. They dropped him on the floor and left. When Ciara would have gone to him, her personal guard intercepted her. She twisted as his fingers closed painfully around her elbow.

"Let go of me," she demanded through clenched teeth.

Linea said something in their language. Whatever he said in return made her laugh. "Seems Orn figures he'll win the bidding for you tomorrow and doesn't want his woman getting fleas."

"I'm
not
his woman."

"Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous tonight because of what you've done for my brother." Linea shouldered Orn out of the way. He gave her a dark scowl at her next words, then turned and stormed from the tent, spitting on Berk on his way. "I'm going to give you two lovers one last night together. Tomorrow, I'll decide what to do with you. You may get yourself a new husband if I decide to keep you."

Ciara dropped down beside Berk, hardly listening to Linea. He groaned when she eased him onto his back. The blood came from a shallow cut across his chest and what appeared to be a knife wound in his left shoulder. Neither of which explained the ashy pallor of his skin or the unfocused, feverish sheen to his eyes when he blinked them open.

"What did you give him?" she asked Linea.

"More pleasure than he's likely had his entire life," she said. "More pain as well. I suggest you take advantage of him before the Ilth Gyre Drinuum totally wears off. Orn may outsize him, but I've bedded both now, and your soldier boy knows how to please."

Ciara lurched to her feet and put herself toe to toe with Linea, fists clenched at her sides. "What did you do to him?"

The chieftain raised a brow. "To? Or with?" She licked her lips. "It's really a shame he's chosen the blue of the Imperial cesspit, otherwise I'd be tempted to stud this boy. As it is, I may keep him one more day. He's got a gentle touch. Not like the rest of these louts around here."

Ciara's stomach knotted.

Linea turned away but paused with the tent flap partway open. "In case you get any foolish ideas, there are guards everywhere. And it looks like Orn will be manhandling himself on your stoop all night. Good sleep, healer."

Ciara grit her teeth. Linea could put as many guards around them as she pleased,
Ciara had come up with a plan to get them free of the marauders. First, though, she needed Berk to be lucid. She hunkered down next to him. He jerked upright when she brushed her fingers against his cheek.

"It's alright, Berk," she said. "It's just me. I need to get you to the bed. Can you get up?"

"Don't touch me," he said, his voice hard and full of fury. He backed away, and anger blazed through the dullness in his eyes. Then he blinked, his brow furrowing as he looked around the small tent. The anger left, replaced by remorse and embarrassment when he finally focused on Ciara. "I'm sorry. I thought…Where is she?"

He spit the last word out, twisting it from his mouth like something he wanted to crush
under his foot.

"She's not here." Ciara went to his side, approaching him as she would a skittish colt, and slid an arm around his waist. She wedged her shoulder in his armpit and grunted as she hefted him to his feet. "Let's get you to the bed so I can see what I can do about those wounds."

"My clothes." He sounded mortified to realize he was naked. He staggered away from her and collapsed on the pile of furs, hastily covering himself. "Goddess's blood."

"I'm a healer, Berk. You're not the first naked man I've seen."

He didn't appear to find any comfort in that.

Ciara fetched a basin of water. She had no other supplies so ripped a piece of cloth from the bottom of her tunic, wishing she had something cleaner. Berk settled himself more comfortably into the bedding, and Ciara knelt beside him. She began to gently wash the wounds, the lean muscles across his chest and stomach contracting as she did so. He didn't take his eyes off her face the whole while she worked.

She opened her awareness, letting her earth magic flow from her fingers to get a better idea of his injuries so she felt the wave of pain sweep through him an instant before Berk's body went rigid. He arched upwards off the furs, and clenched his jaw with such force Ciara heard his teeth grind together. His face twisted in agony. A gasp escaped him as he hung, poised on the edge of a scream, body quivering, for what seemed an eternity before blowing out a breath and collapsing. His chest heaved, his pulse pounding in his neck. He blinked sweat from his eyes.

"It's...actually...getting better," he whispered, the faintest ghost of dimples appearing in his cheeks as he forced a wry smile. "Used to...make me...scream."

"I heard," Ciara said. She pursed her lips. "Do you know what she gave you?"

***

On the heels of the pain had always come the desire. Insatiable, until the next wave crashed into him. Berk could feel it starting to grow, and he reached for Ciara, panic welling in him. "Tie me up."

"What?" Ciara's brow furrowed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"You have to." But already the pain began to ebb. Warmth spread through his limbs. That odd blend of euphoria and desire that only parts of his brain could fight. That, too, was an improvement. In the beginning, the alchemist's blend had been too potent to fight at all. The pain of the knife wound had been nothing compared to the agony of that mix hitting his bloodstream. He'd screamed until his throat became too raw to make a sound, pushing him to the very edge, yet he never begged her to end it. He'd pleaded with the Goddess, silently, over and over until the pain slid away, as it did now, to be replaced by desire.

And Ciara sat too close. She leaned over him slightly, one hand resting
warmly on his chest. Even with her hair a matted mess of mud and twigs, and scratches on her face, she was still beautiful. But he'd thought so since the first time he saw her gathering herbs. Her eyes were so deep and clear, like pools he could drown in.

A groan rose from his chest. "Tie me up." Part plea. Part order.

Too late. The wave burst.

Ciara gasped as Berk grabbed her and flipped her onto her back. He straddled her, and held her there with
her wrists pinned on either side of her head, only her clothes and a tangle of blanket between them. Her eyes were wide, confusion in those hazel depths, along with a twinge of fear, and a glimmer of…what? Horror?

"Berk, don't," she said.

He wet his lips. He didn't want her like this. Not scared and hurt, hating him, despising his touch. But he couldn't stop himself. His mouth claimed hers, his tongue forcing her lips apart. She tasted as sweet as he'd imagined. He moaned, and deepened the kiss. She tensed beneath him but didn't struggle. Why didn't she fight him? Why didn't she try to stop him? Goddess's light, she'd better stop him because he certainly couldn't stop himself.

He moved his mouth down the side of her neck. "I'm sorry." He breathed the words into her ear and felt a tremor run through her. He'd rather it be from longing, but only part of him cared.

Pain trickled seductively along with the pleasure, and he shuddered. The sensations had been more intense early on when the drug had been stronger. But all the while he'd been with Linea he'd been holding Ciara's image in his head because bedding the marauder chieftain sickened him. He inhaled as he slid his tongue along the line of Ciara's neck to where her pulse hammered in the hollow at the base of her throat. She tasted salty, and this close the scent of spice and green grass in the sun overrode the stench of sweat and wet horse. Oh, love of the Goddess, he wanted her. She wouldn't hate him. He'd be as gentle as a kitten, and patient--

He cried out, twisting up and back, the air ripping from his lungs as though wrenched out by a giant hand.

She stabbed me,
he thought.
Good for her.

But she couldn't have because he still held her wrists captive, his
fingers digging into her flesh.

Another sharp stab.

Unholy mothers.
He fell to the side, curling in on himself, gasping. If he had a knife he'd drive it through his own heart just to stop the torrent of needle sharp sensations that pierced every part of his body, driving through sinew and bone alike.

Then Ciara
had him again. Her hands cradled his face, cool and soothing. She should run, not be peering at him with concern distorting the soft curves of her features.

He tried to push her away. "Go." The word came out strangled. "I...I can't...
I don't wa...want to hurt you."

"Shh. It's not your fault." Her fingers smoothed the hair out of his eyes, massaged his temples. "Now just be quiet and let me do this."

"Do...? What? No. No...just...just go. Please, Ciara. You have to go. Leave me."

"Quiet."

A new sensation began to wrap around him like a soothing blanket of warmth that numbed both the pain and the desire. He stared into Ciara's eyes, watching as they became unfocused, turning inward, drawing him with them. He must have lost consciousness then and slipped into a dream, because he found himself standing beside her in the midst of soft, grey world.