Emergence (Book 2) (21 page)

Ciara swiveled to look at him, and pursed her lips. "You look terrible."

Berk cocked a brow. "I realize I need a bath and a shave, but terrible is a little harsh I think." He sounded drained, the attempt at humor failing utterly.

Ciara reached around to lift a hand to his cheek, and he flinched back without meaning to. Her frown deepened. "Berk, what happened back there--"

"Water," he said a bit too abruptly, unable to meet her gaze. "We need to find water for the horse."

"Do you have any idea where we are?"

"No. But we can't be too far from the Southrun. I don't know for sure." He sucked in a breath and tried to clear his head. The marauders would be after them by now. Had to be. And they'd have an easy time following their trail. Some protection he offered. He and Ciara would be back in their hands before dark. Well, Ciara would. Goddess willing, he'd die trying to prevent it. The thought of being taken again sent a wave of terror through him he couldn't face.

"Berk?"

He snapped his attention back to Ciara. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for."

He wanted to explain, but his head swam, and his vision danced in and out.

"That's it." Ciara swung her leg over the horse's neck and dropped to the ground.

"What are you--"

She laid a hand on his knee, the innocent touch sending shockwaves through his system. "You're exhausted. The horse is exhausted. You need to get a little rest. Then we can look for water."

"It's too open here."

"I'll set wards. No one will be able to sneak up on us."

Berk shook his head and immediately realized the stupidity of doing so as everything in his vision tilted. He managed to flip his leg over the horse's rump and turn what would have been a fall into a clumsy dismount. Ciara steadied him when his knees buckled. He hung there between her and the horse, his right arm flung over the saddle, fingers digging into the leather for dear life, silently wishing Ciara would take a step back. Or at least take her arms from around his waist.

"I'm all right."

"Yes, I can see that."

"Please," he whispered, eyes squeezed shut and forehead resting against the saddle flap. "Just give me a moment."

"You need to lie down."

He nodded.

The sudden tensing of her muscles sheared through his foggy senses a heartbeat before her strained whisper in his ear, "We have company."

Berk lifted his head and slid his gaze over the back of their horse. Two men dressed in rough wool and leather and carrying enough weapons for a small army, rode toward them on the same type of shaggy mount currently supporting him. They reined in at a safe distance, suspicion on their faces. One of them, the beefier of the two, hailed Berk. Ciara gasped, and Berk guessed she recognized the marauder tongue.

"Stay behind me," he said, his voice low. Blocked by the horse and Berk, the men may not have even spotted Ciara yet. He raised his right hand in a wave and slipped into their language. "Well met, brothers."

Ciara's grip on his waist tightened. The two men exchanged glances. He looked the part of a marauder, he intended to play it for all it was worth.

"Who do you ride with? Brother." The beefy one asked.

"No one now." Berk twisted his head and spat. "You?"

If he could convince them he'd just severed ties with an unworthy chieftain they would either let him ride on, or invite him to ride with them. They'd come from the north, so a guess said they weren't with Lenai's tribe.

The skinnier of the two nudged his horse, sidestepping to see around Berk. "What're you hiding back there?"

The beefy one shifted in the other direction and craned his neck. "Whose woman?"

Berk tensed. "Mine."

"Bought, won, or stole?"

His mind raced. The wrong answer would open the door to a challenge. "Bought."

Beefy grinned, a gap toothed expression without mirth. "I'll give you twice what you paid." He grabbed his crotch. "Ain't had a proper dip in a while."

"I just got her. Maybe in another moon I'll tire of her, hey?" Berk thanked the Goddess Ciara didn't understand what they were saying.

Beefy pushed his horse closer, and Berk let his hand drop casually to his waist. "Where you headed?"

Berk shrugged. "Wherever the wind blows."

"You don't look so good. You sick?"

Skinny had worked himself around to the backside of Berk's horse making it impossible to keep the two of them in sight without constantly turning his head. He focused on Beefy. "Bitch got hold of a knife and tried to stab me in the heart." He spat again. Talking about Ciara like that, even to save her life, left a sour taste in his mouth.

Ciara's hands were still on his waist. He could feel her shifting, probably trying to keep an eye on Skinny. He glanced over his shoulder, making it appear a casual thing.

"Get on the horse," he said to Ciara.

"What'd you say to her?" Skinny asked.

"You're making me nervous back there, brother," Berk said, ignoring his question. "We've got no cause to be at odds have we?"

"Mebbe. Mebbe not."

Metal slid against leather as Beefy drew his sword. Berk whipped around, grabbed Ciara by the waist and hoisted her toward the saddle. She scrambled madly to mount as he drew his sword. He kept his back against the horse even as it shifted
, which put Skinny once again out of his line of sight.

Beefy leaned forward in the saddle and pointed his falchion at Berk. "I think you belong to someone, dog. I don't much care for strays so I'm just gonna gut you here, take your horse, and share your woman with my friend until we've had our fill. Then I might just sell her to the slavers. Bet she cleans up nice enough to fetch a decent price."

Berk took a deep breath. He couldn't win this, but he could buy Ciara time to get away. "Ride," he told her, through clenched teeth.

"No."

"Damn the gods, Ciara, just do it."

Beefy chuckled. When he spoke again it was in thickly accented
Imperial tongue. "She won't get far. You got cock, I'll give you that. But there's no way you can take us both. On foot and wounded? I just don't think you're that good."

"I guess we'll find out."

Ciara cried out in surprise, and her horse shifted suddenly, shoving Berk out into the open. He heard Skinny cackling, but couldn't spare a look because Beefy had already started toward him. Berk waited until the last moment, then spun in front of the oncoming rider, and ducked under the horse's head. Letting the momentum carry him around to the offside, Berk brought his sword around and caught the marauder across the left calf. The rapid movement sent Berk's head spinning, and he staggered to keep his balance as Beefy bellowed in pain and hauled his horse around.

"I'm gonna take my time gutting you now."

The horse sprang forward, and Berk tried to get to the rider's left a second time, but the big marauder wouldn't be fooled twice. He jerked his mount to the side, and Berk went sprawling, the horse's shoulder catching his. He scrambled on all fours in the grass, trying to get distance and his feet at the same time. He heard the marauder dismount and pivoted on one knee, bringing his sword around as he did. The tip bounced off leather as Beefy managed to hop back just in time, bearing his weight on his good leg. It gave Berk the opening needed to get to his feet. Beefy's sword arced downward, and Berk caught it with the flat of his, shoving back on the marauder with as much force as he could muster. Beefy staggered back and Berk, already over-balanced, tumbled to his knees. A savage kick to the guts blackened his vision and sent him sprawling.

"Gonna skin you alive, dog. Then have your woman while you can still watch."

He kicked again before Berk could get to his feet. Ciara's hoarse scream was the last thing he heard.

***

Ciara jerked her elbow back as the marauder attempted to drag her onto his horse by grabbing her around the waist. Her limbs flailed and he lost his grip, and then Ciara lost hers as well. She slid between the shifting mounts, landing on her stomach between them, the wind whooshing from her lungs. A hoof danced perilously close to her skull, and she threw her arms over her head for protection. Before she could regain her breath, he had her, dragging her back to her feet by her hair.

That's when Ciara saw the other marauder send Berk sprawling with a kick. Andrakaos rumbled.

I can stop him.

Ciara shuddered. The marauder by Berk laughed and said something in their coarse language, then spit on Berk and threw another kick before he could get up.

He will die.

"Stop it!" Ciara screamed.

But he didn't listen, and the man behind her only laughed and twisted his fist so that her scalp stretched painfully across her skull and her eyes watered. An image swam unbidden behind her eyes: A man with a scar across his face, leering at her, holding her down. Her fingers curled into her palms so hard her short nails dug into her flesh.

"Please, stop. Let him go."

The man turned away from Berk. "I will, princess, in little, bitty pieces."

Tears warmed her cheeks.

I can save him.
Andrakaos's voice rippled through her. Nialyne's wards had weakened the further from the Greensward they traveled.
A word from you will shatter them.

Ciara squeezed her eyes shut and pursed her lips. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? There's naught to be sorry for, princess. You stand to make me a nice bit o' coin."

Her eyes snapped open. Berk dangled from the big man's grasp like a rag doll as the marauder dragged him toward the horses.

Anger and fear melted, flowed into one cold, nameless emotion. Ciara's nostrils flared as she took a deep breath. The sharp scent of blood came to her on the breeze. Berk's. The marauder's. It mingled with the sun-warmed musk of the horses and leather. She sniffed. No fear. Not yet. That would come though. At the last moment, when they realized their mistake, the terror would rip through them too late to save their miserable hides.

Ciara tipped her head
, and a cold smile pulled her lips upwards. She whispered a word that came to her on the winds of buried memory, dredged up out of her subconscious and the battle in the old woman's chamber. Warmth and strength flowed through her as Andrakaos rose from beneath the wards.

"I said stop." Though her lips moved to make the words, the voice that reached her ears didn't sound like hers. It reverberated with command and malice.

Kill them.

"No." She began to shake. She wouldn't kill. Not again. She would show them mercy. Give them a chance to save themselves. "Just walk away."

The big man looked at her, an incredulous expression playing across his dirty face.

"I can't control him," Ciara said. "He'll kill you."

He dropped Berk to the ground, and spread his arms wide, making a show of looking around. "He? I see no one but this worthless cur."

"Stop!"

The man froze. His leg shook, the muscles taut as he fought to finish the kick. The man behind her stiffened. His hands fell from her, and he stepped away. He said something to his companion and that one growled a reply. Ciara looked over her shoulder.

"Get on your horses and leave." Her voice wavered. Andrakaos wanted their blood. She couldn't hold him back much longer. "Please, just go and leave us alone, and you won't be harmed."

The big marauder's eyes widened. "
Glazhunt
," he said, his voice hard. "Release me so I can slit your throat."

She heard a slithering hiss, a weapon being drawn behind her. She didn't turn. Her eyes flicked to where Berk's discarded sword lay in the grass. Her heart clenched and her mouth went dry. Her arm lifted, her fingers moving of their own accord.

A thought and a gesture.

Ciara watched with detached curiosity as Berk's sword rose from the ground.

"No." She meant it to be an order, but it sounded more like a plea.

The sword halted, rotating slowly above the grass, the sun glinting off the blade like silver sparks of flame.

"Go. Now. Please, just get on your horses and go."

"I can't go,
glazhunt
. I can't move."

Ciara lowered her arm. Berk's sword dropped to the ground. The man planted his foot, and in a move too fast to track he spun toward her, his hand coming from behind his back. Silver flashed toward her heart.

Andrakaos roared.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"I admit to being amazed by you, chieftain." Donovan strolled through the center of the marauder camp. He paused beside an iron cage and studied its gruesome remains. He had thought the marauders would be more useful. But, then again, when one dealt with creatures of such dubious lineage disappointments were sure to occur. "I had heard much of the resourcefulness of your kind, and yet you failed to keep a simple girl prisoner for the space of even one day."

"A simple girl, was it?" Lenai planted her fists on her hips. The fingers of her left hand stroked her knife's worn grip. "In what way was she simple, Black Prince? Not simple minded. No dullard, that one. Simply a healer as she claimed?" She snorted. "My mage--"

"--is an idiot." Donovan slid his gaze to the man standing beside Lenai. "He could not find a trickle of hedge magic in an open field."

Lenai thrust out an arm to keep the mage in place. "Then find your simple girl and hold her yourself."

Donovan pivoted, his gaze leveling on the chieftain. The bulk of her band wisely kept to the work of breaking camp. The others averted their gazes and backed away. Not her, and not her mage. Those two stood and faced him without flinching, feet planted, chins raised, defiance smoldering in their eyes. The Emperor would do well to watch this one if she survived. She had not held her position all these years through being soft or lenient. They had resolve, he would give them that, and perhaps they could still prove useful to him after all.

"I will do precisely that," Donovan said. "Unfortunately, your incompetence has now complicated the issue. I expect you to remedy that situation."

"Oh?"

"You will delay the escort."

Lenai laughed. "Delay them yourself, Black Prince. I've lost enough doing your bidding, and have gained nothing."

"Not even my favor, and that is something you should want to curry. Without it, you and your tribe will cease to exist."

The chieftain did not laugh this time. She looked past Donovan to the four guards in shimmering black plate armor standing on alert several steps behind him. "You're a tactical mastermind if you can pull that off with a hand full of plated buffoons."

The mage's hand flashed up too late to stop two of his comrades from crumpling to the ground as nothing more than piles of ash. His eyes widened, and he said something quick and low to Lenai.

"I can wipe your tribe from this land without any of my buffoons drawing a weapon. Their purpose is entirely...decorative. Your purpose is to delay the Imperial escort."

Lenai snarled. "They're half way to Broadhead by now with nearly all my horses."

"You have some?"

"A handful."

"That should suffice. You are not staging an attack, chieftain, merely creating a diversion."

"Against a manned
Imperial garrison?"

Donovan smiled. "Yes."

"You're mad."

"Quite possibly. But to insure your success this time, I will give you a gift: four more horses
, and a Dominion priestess."

The mage's jaw opened, but the sound that reached Donovan's ears came from behind him. Teeva pushed her way forward, her seething anger rolling before her like a tidal wave. He raised a hand before she could vent her fury.

"The priestess is a loan. You will take as many as you have horses for and ride for Broadhead at once."

He turned on his heel and walked away, the four guards dissolving into thin air as he left. The priestess followed him to the edge of the camp.

"So, I am to be discarded like fodder?"

"Even fodder has its uses." Donovan swung into the saddle. "I thought you would enjoy a bit of freedom. A chance to unleash your beloved beasts?"

"With the likes of them?" She tossed her head backwards to indicate the marauders.

"You have an
inflated view of your station, Priestess. You are as far above them as a snail is a slug. Secure the girl. Bring her to me before I reach Nisair, and you will find I look upon you with much more affection than I currently do."

His horse leapt forward with a touch. He put at least two leagues behind him before slowing his mount and giving in to the tremors that started in his hands
and crept inexorably through the rest of his extremities. They preceded a sharp pain that radiated throughout his body like a thousand burning brands. Though he maintained his hold on the crone's power, it still tortured him with ruthless regularity. Using it, as he had in the marauder's camp, only exacerbated the problem.

Never had he thought the aftereffects of the battle to linger beyond the hag's death. If anything, they should have gotten weaker over time. It did not help that his own power still did not feel completely whole.

The knot forming in the back of his skull tightened like a fist around his brain, and Donovan cried out in agony His vision blackened and he slid from the saddle, not even attempting to break his fall. He sprawled on his back in the lush grass, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead and tracing cool fingers down the side of his face. Never had it been quite this bad. The intensity of the pain made him regret leaving the priestess behind. Although he hated to admit she had any great worth, he could not deny her ability to relieve the agony the crone's power brought him.

He waited until his vision cleared before taking the risk and propping himself up on his elbows. Encouraged by the lack of discomfort that caused, Donovan shoved himself to his feet and staggered like a drunkard to where his horse grazed. He pulled a flask from one of the saddlebags and downed half the contents in a swallow that bit like the harshest cold before spreading soothing heat throughout his limbs. He shivered, re-corked the flask, and
hauled himself back into the saddle. By nightfall the attack had become no more than memory, and put Donovan leagues closer to Nisair.

***

Bolin leaned against a tree, head back against the rough bark, knee bent, the sole of his boot flat against the trunk. He closed his eyes. They'd put a great many leagues behind them, stopping only long enough to swap mounts. The Southrun couldn't be too much further, but already the sun rested on the horizon. Bolin wouldn't have called this stop if not for the fact that he knew Sully hurt. Though the Lieutenant would never admit it, Bolin could read it in the tightness in his mouth and the stiff way he rode. Nialyne didn't have healer training, but she wrapped the Lieutenant's ribs, and brewed him something to ease the pain. He wouldn't let her do any more than that.

For Bolin the rest meant he could
feel
for Ciara without being concerned about staying on his horse's back or keeping a rear guard.

"You need food." Nialyne's quiet voice snapped him out of his reverie, or woke him from sleeping on his feet. Either way, he hadn't even heard her coming. "You look exhausted."

He glanced at the plate she offered, overfilled with bread, cheese, and dried meat that did nothing but send his stomach churning. "Still think coming along was a wise idea?"

She ignored the question. "We're going to get her back, Bolin."

"I just wish I could just get a sense of where she is." He shook his head, staring off into the distance. His hand drifted to the slim chain around his neck, but the pendant laid cold and heavy against his breast. "I can feel her, always. I know she's alive. I just can't locate her. I don't know why. It's like a ship trying to find its way in the fog. If Donovan--"

"He won't."

"I'm a fool, Alyne."

"Yes, you are. But we still love you for it."

"I could call it," Bolin said, not meaning to give voice to a thought he hadn't even wanted to acknowledge.

Nialyne's expression clouded. "I don't believe that would be wise."

"What do you know about her power?"

Nialyne studied him, her piercing gaze missing little. "I know its name and origin. I think this power should have been allowed to keep sleeping. Donovan woke it, thinking to hold it himself. When he failed, he found a way to entrap it. Why he chose Ciara's mother only he knows. Perhaps he thought a child born of that union would be more likely to survive than one with no magic at all. Thank the Goddess he didn't find Ciara as a child, before the power began to waken."

She looked off into the distance.

"You know more than you've let on," Bolin said. "That's why you insisted on coming to Nisair, isn't it?"

"The longer my wards are in contact with it, the more I learn. I will need to share what I know with the Emperor."

"Will
Ciara die if it is taken from her?"

"At one point, no. But now?" Nialyne sighed. "I cannot say for certain. If it was taken, and she did survive, she would not be the same. At some point she will need to fully claim it. As much as it longs for freedom, its nature demands it be controlled. It is like a young child and needs to know structure and boundaries. It will test those. Always. I
think if it feels Ciara is too weak, it will search out someone who is not."

Once more those piercing eyes locked on him and held him fast. Nialyne had always been able to read him easier than any.

"Please, don't." Bolin scrubbed a hand across his face.

A tepid breeze whispered past them carrying the sounds of harness jingling, horses tugging up grass, and men moving about. Nothing unusual. Nothing that should suddenly cause his pulse to quicken or the nape of his neck to tingle. Except...

A hand twisted in her hair, yanking her head back. Berk lay on the ground unmoving.
I can kill them.
Fear. Anger. A raging torrent of emotion. She would make them leave. A dagger glinted silver as it sliced through the air. A roar like thunder ripped from a raw throat
.

Bolin lurched forward, and Nialyne caught him by the elbow. He hissed in a breath through clenched teeth. "Goddess's blood."

"What is it?"

He swiveled, like a dog questing for an elusive scent. They were close. So close. There! He sprinted toward Sandeen, leaving Nialyne to trail behind. Garek intercepted him before he could swing into the saddle.

"I've got them," Bolin said.

"Where?"

"Southeast. Not far."

"Then we all go."

"There's no time." Bolin pulled out of his grip and mounted, but Garek grabbed Sandeen by the bit. Bolin leaned forward. "Stop me, and someone is going to die."

Garek looked about to argue then swung away and started snapping orders to break camp and mount up. Bolin didn't wait. He followed the tug of Ciara's power like a guide rope, driving Sandeen at a breakneck pace.

Ciara's power hit him like the pounding surf as he rounded a dense copse, and Sandeen rocked back on his haunches, swiping at the air with his front hooves. Bolin took in the scene with one quick glance. One man lay sprawled on his back, a sword jutting from his chest. Another man lay near the tree line. Ciara sat in the tall grass beside Berk, cradling his head in her lap. An immense, shadow encircled her as though she nestled between the legs of a huge beast. The illusion became even more disturbing when the massive head lifted and focused its attention on Bolin.

Bolin dismounted and approached Ciara cautiously, as though she were a wounded lion. She looked up when he drew close, and her eyes stopped him. They were dark. Hard, cold, and dancing with flickers of red. Anger flashed in them, and Bolin braced himself, but it faded instantly.

"Oh, it's you," she said, her voice flat. "I thought
they
came back."

She looked down at Berk, and carefully brushed the damp hair off his forehead. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling with a slight hitch. Blood stained the front of his tunic. Bolin edged closer
, and though Ciara didn't look up the shadow of power around her darkened.

"I wouldn't come any closer if I were you. He's very angry, and I'm not sure I can control him just now."

Bolin ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth, and concentrated on calming the surge of emotion Ciara's condition pushed through him. "You're safe now, Ciara. You and Berk both. Tell him he can go."