The Castrofax (21 page)

“I am his man for life,” the soldier replied,
a statement he looked as though he stood behind for a while
now.

“Next.”

“The quarrel broke two ribs here,” the
soldier stated and pointed to where a stretcher-bearer stood. He
had a sick look on his face, for every time he inhaled, ribs
shifted under his palm.

“Close your ears if it bothers you,” Aisling
said, put a hand on his side, and quickly jerked back. The two ribs
snapped into place, and the soldier turned away and swallowed. The
wound was not so terrible and had not pierced deeper than his
ribs.

“Someone fetch me water and towels,” she
commanded. “And you, start pacing. I need more kinetic energy,” she
said to a stretcher bearer.

“This one next,” the soldier said and pointed
to the shoulder. “It’s gone through his back.”

“An arrow,” Aisling muttered as she put her
hands on it. “Did Prince Nolen really think he could bring this man
down with modern weaponry and not risk his life?” she snapped.
“Battles are notorious for instant change. By the time this shaft
left its string Gabriel would have moved and the archer would have
missed his target.”

When the wound sealed, Gabriel gave a little
shutter and took a deep breath. Aisling looked tired as she went to
the thigh wound. Balien knew healing was a complex action that
required much stamina, and there was only so much a Class Five
could do. Had Gabriel nerve damage or a lost limb or digit, Aisling
would not be able to fix it, for that was too far above her
skills.

“That was a lucky shot,” she muttered with
her hands on his thigh. “It is not broken all the way through, but
very nearly.” They waited several minutes as she pulled and pushed
her fingers around. The skin knitted itself back together. When the
wound was finally closed, she ran her hands hovering over his body,
stopping in a few places to mend scratches and nicks. A serious
gash opened around his left thumb, a clean cut, but no one had an
explanation for it. In the torchlight Balien saw a long scar
running down the inside of Gabriel’s left wrist, something he had
not seen when he was fostered. Curiously, it had been stitched
together and not mended by a Spirit Mage. Aisling overlooked
it.

A serving girl brought in a bowl of water and
stack of towels. Aisling and the men washed the blood from their
hands. She finally came to Gabriel’s head and held it up in both
hands, turning it to face her. Balien stayed where he was crouched
on the table, watching for Gabriel to show some sign of life.

Aisling pulled back Gabriel’s stringy hair.
She ran a thumb over his lip, stitching the skin back together to
leave no scar. With a wet towel she dabbed the blood away. Her
hands shook, and her face contorted again, but with a deep breath
she smoothed her features. “He is very hot,” she said and put a
cloth over his forehead. “I fear the wound to his hip may have been
infected. If he does not wake in a day, he may not wake at
all.”

Gabriel inhaled deeply again, and one of his
hands flexed an inch, but his eyes did not open. Aisling stroked
his face gently, passing a thumb over his lips. “More water,” she
called. Minutes passed, and a serving girl returned with a jar.
Aisling took up a clean towel and dipped it in the jar, squeezing
it over Gabriel’s lips. She repeated the action until he swallowed;
a good sign.

Aisling held his face in one hand and
instructed the serving girl to trickle the water into his mouth.
The girl’s hands were shaking as she did as told. In only a few
moments, she spilled, tried to correct herself, and spilled twice
the amount.

Gabriel sputtered and coughed and to their
surprise he jerked his right hand up. Aisling’s eyes widened as his
fingers moved, and she grabbed his hand quickly. Balien could not
see, but he was certain Gabriel had been laying a Water pattern.
Gabriel gasped again, and to their relief, opened his eyes.

He seemed fine for a moment, but just as
their fears were allayed, his eyes widened and his lips parted as
the world came back to him. He looked at his hand still clutching
Aisling’s and saw the glinting copper band around his wrist.

“No,” he whispered and pulled his hand from
hers, groping for the neckpiece. “
No
,” he repeated with more
urgency. He clenched his eyes shut, grappling with emotions. His
hands clenched around the neckpiece as his chest shuttered. “Oh
stars.”

“I am so sorry, Gabriel,” Aisling
whispered.

Balien rose up from his crouched position and
gripped Gabriel’s ankle. “You are safe in Kilkiny Palace.”
Gabriel’s glossy eyes opened to meet Balien’s and looked up to
Aisling’s above his face.

“You have been mended,” she told him and
wiped one of his fallen tears. “The Head Mage will be informed of
what Nolen has done, and I will see you have retribution.”
Gabriel’s hands remained tightly clutched around the neckpiece, and
he closed his eyes. “Men, take him to the Queen’s apartments.”

The driver stepped up. “Prince Nolen gave me
strict instructions to take him to the dungeons.”

She looked at them coolly. “Did I stutter?”
They quickly grabbed ahold of the stretcher and lifted it from the
table. Aisling led them up to her rooms as Balien spoke with the
soldier he called Lex of the battle and journey. As Aisling
requested, the third room attached to the anteroom in the Queen’s
apartments had been hastily prepared. It had always been kept ready
in case the Princess was to return.

The large canopied bed turned downward, and a
fire lit in the hearth in the corner. The tall windows that faced
east were drawn with crimson curtains, and the candle sconces on
the dark, wood-paneled walls burned to brighten the space.
Palacekeeper Elian waited in a corner as they came in and shuttered
at the sight of Gabriel.

“Will you be requiring a bath drawn?” she
suggested, eying the dried blood.

Aisling glanced down at Gabriel who looked
past exhaustion. “Not tonight.” The stretcher-bearers lifted
Gabriel onto the bed and quietly filed out, leaving Lex and Balien
inside. “Elian, you will give this Mage anything he asks for.”

“Yes, your Ladyship,” the older woman said
with a bow.

She left, and Aisling rounded to the soldier.
“
Why
did Nolen do this?”

“He gave no reason, and we ask no questions,
m’Lady,” Lex replied with a bow of his head.

“Have you any motive?”

“None I can think of, m’Lady.”

“Seeing as you are now Mage Gabriel’s loyal
soldier, you will see to it that he and I are well informed of
Prince Nolen’s comings and goings.”

“Absolutely,” Lex replied and straightened
his stance.

“I wonder why he saw fit to heal you.”

Lex licked his lips. “I’ve wondered the same,
and I think he needed an ally.”

“Then consider yourself fortunate to have
been his first. You are dismissed, Lieutenant.” Lex gave a bow and
marched out. She stepped up to Gabriel’s bedside and put a hand on
his arm, looking at him with a sad expression. If Gabriel was
awake, he made no effort to acknowledge her. She noticed he was
still dressed in blood-stained clothes, and removed his sturdy
canvas shoes. “He must have made those; I recognize his hand in
them. Did he begin the battle as a human or tiger?”

“I did not see the beginin—a tiger?” Balien
stopped.

“He was a very skilled pattern-layer. Is.
Is
very skilled,” she corrected and unlaced the front of his
trousers. Gabriel must have been asleep, for he made no effort to
stop her.

“Let me do that.”

“He is wearing under-clothes, it is fine,”
she replied. Balien pulled his hands back and gave her a pinched
look. “I have undressed young men in my time,” she said, and he
realized she was joking with him. For a woman who had never been
married, he expected all including her eyes to be virginal.
Slipping his trousers off, she pulled the blankets back over him
and tucked them in around his side.

She put a hand over Gabriel’s forehead. “He
is still burning. I will stay with him tonight. I know you had a
long journey, so get yourself some rest.” He knew a dismissal when
he heard one, so he gave her a small nod and left her with
Gabriel.

Prince Nolen had the army move faster, but
with as many wounded as they bore, it was impossible to cover the
distance he desired. What should have taken two days turned into
four. Nolen would have pushed them harder, but these were his sworn
men, and he did not wish to incur more hatred against him. He heard
them grumbling that he had knowingly slaughtered them, and while
that was partially true, he did not think one man could stand
against a whole army.
‘Men are easily replaced, but Mages are
far rarer.’

Of the Spirit Mages in his army, one perished
and the remaining three had exhausted themselves beyond the
unwritten rules of military law. He knew they could do no more
until they rested, so while the army moved the Mages slept in
carriages. For what had become such a small army, they moved
surprisingly slow, but most of the marching were wounded. Once in
Anatoly City the men could be properly tended by healers and Mages.
He
had
made sure the cut to his lip was healed, but it left
a small scar.

On the afternoon of the fourth day, Anatoly
City finally came into view. A scout who rode ahead returned with
several hundred soldiers of the Queen’s Wing and a dozen healers to
help the weary men. With the new help they moved much faster and
were within the City’s walls in an hour.

Leaving his Air Guard in the soldier
barracks, he did not get far before the little brunet huntress with
the scowl accosted him. He remembered his promise to let her see
her lover for five minutes, but he never said
how.
Of the
men in his hunting party, thirteen had survived, running for cover
when they saw the battle was too much for them. Nolen told the girl
he would allow her the time promised before supper when he would
treat his hunting party to a feast in reward.

He was delighted to find a fire and warm bath
already drawn and a set of handsome clothes laid out for him by the
hearth to warm. He had the servants well trained. After being in
the saddle for weeks, the bath was much needed and deserved. The
fresh air had done his digestion some good, and he found he was not
so cold despite the autumnal breeze.

Once dressed in a long black coat with green
trimmings and brass buttons, along with pressed black trousers and
tall black boots with a little heel to give him that much more of a
height advantage, he made his way to the dungeons. He was mortified
to find that not only was the Mage not there, he was staying in the
Queen’s apartments. If there was one thing he despised, it was his
orders being thwarted.

His rage blinded him so greatly that by the
time he arrived at the Queen’s apartments, he pushed the guards
aside and kicked the doors open without thinking. A guard grabbed
for him and he slung him off shouting, “Unhand me! I am your
Prince!”

He was astonished to see Lady Aisling seated
in the anteroom with the Mage, taking afternoon tea. All the more
ridiculous, his prisoner wore what looked like brand new,
latest-fashion clothing: white shirt laced up to his chest with
tight-fitting brown trousers fitted into well-made black-and-brown
leather boots with buckles up the sides. A fine belt cinched the
ensemble to his slender hips. By the looks of him all his wounds
had been healed, and he’d bathed and rested comfortably. Though his
face was pale and drawn, and there were dark circles under his
eyes.

Aisling spit the tea from her mouth as Nolen
burst in, a most unladylike thing to do, and the Mage stood to his
feet, rage painting his face. Aisling shouted obscenities and
threats at him as his prisoner rounded the tea table and tried to
grab Nolen’s collar. Nolen pushed his hands aside, but the Mage was
quicker than he looked and slammed a palm into his chest, pushing
him back against the door. Nolen swiped his hand away and brought
his fist up, catching the Mage on the chin and forcing him back as
his teeth clicked together.

“Keep your hands off him!” Aisling yelled,
standing. “He still has not recovered from the battle.”

Nolen shoved him in the chest, forcing him
back a stride. “He seems fine to me!”

“I will have your hands,” the Mage
threatened.

“You
dare
speak to
me
this
way?” Nolen hissed. “I have broken many a man and you will be no
different.”

“I dare you to try,” the Mage snapped.

“You will do no such thing.” Aisling
voiced.

Nolen rounded on her. “Do not pretend you
have authority over
me.
”

“Oh, but I do, as Councilwoman and
Advisor.”

Nolen straightened and drew from his pocket
three interlocked rings and held the control piece up to her. “With
Class Ten power, I would like to see you stop me, Lady. I command
the palace now.”

The ornate door to the Queen’s apartments
swung inward, and Miranda stepped out, regal in a dark orange gown
trimmed in pale gold flowers. Her face fell a little when she saw
Nolen. “You have returned,” she smiled thinly. “I thought I heard
voices.” She came to stand closer to him. “I have heard disturbing
reports of your antics,” she put a hand over the Mage’s forearm.
“You have a lot to answer for.”

Nolen knew her farce. “Do not think repeating
Aisling’s words will have any affect over me. Now make yourselves
presentable for court, so you can welcome my hunting party.”

“We will do no such thing,” Aisling
snapped.

Nolen calmly looked at her. “Come with me,
and I vow I will let my Mage keep his limbs
and
digits when
I break him.” Aisling opened her mouth to retort, but the Mage put
a hand on her arm to silence her.
‘Could it be he fears me a
little? He is not as hot-headed as he seems.’