Well of the Damned (23 page)

A
powerful force hit Cirang from the left side. The ground fell away
and raced beneath her. Her body slammed into a tree and fell to the
ground. Pain shot up her spine like the scream that burst from her
lungs. To even think of moving was excruciating, but she had to get a
weapon. With elbows and knees, she crawled on her belly to where the
knife lay in the grass and grabbed it. Summoning every bit of her
will, she clenched her teeth against the pain and pushed herself to
her feet.

Brawna,
too, had tumbled across the ground and lay covered in dirt a few feet
away. Kinshield was on his knees, wobbling with one hand raised, palm
towards her. Cirang quickly assessed her options. If he was able to
fight her using magic, even with two whiffs of the serragan powder
coursing through his veins, it was best she get the hell out of
there. Brawna’s sword was closest, and Vandra’s knapsack
lay a dozen feet away. She couldn’t leave it behind — the
journal was inside. She limped as quickly as she could, hoping she
was moving too fast for his jerking eyes to keep pace, scooped up the
knapsack, and went for the sword. Another gust of magic wind hit her
as she reached for it, but it was poorly aimed and only spun her off
balance to fall to her knees. Pain flared again in her shoulder and
hip. To hell with the sword. His next attack might not miss.

She hobbled for the nearest horse.
Though they snorted and blew nervously at her approach, they didn’t
try to bolt. She’d never had trouble with horses before, but
these were downright skittish around her, and they were supposed to
be warhorses, calm and obedient. She cut the reins of all but one, a
brown gelding, and they quickly scattered. She untied the gelding —
Vandra’s horse — and mounted.

She
rode hard to the east, towards the dim pink glow rising over the
mountains in the distance. towards freedom and a chance for whatever
power and riches the Well of the Enlightened had to offer.

Chapter 26

“Vandra,”
Gavin called out, unable to pronounce her name more clearly than
Fah-a.

“Cirang’s
getting away,” Brawna cried, sounding as if her mouth was
stuffed with stale bread.

Gavin
knew he could catch up to Cirang later. Right now he had to find
Vandra. “Vandra,” he yelled. Her lack of response meant
either she was dead or close to it. He hoped it was because she
didn’t recognize
Fah-a
as her name, but the chance of
that was slight. Cirang had been intent on slaying Brawna. If Vandra
was still alive, even barely, he could save her, but with the world
spinning this way, she could be standing in front of him and he
wouldn’t see her. He shut his eyes and tried finding her with
his hidden eye, but without the gems in his sword to aid him, he felt
weak and ineffective. With Daia’s help, maybe he would do
better. “Daia, help me.”

“Is
she dead?” Daia asked. At least, that was what Gavin thought
she said.

Answering
the question was too much effort, and so Gavin said nothing. He used
his hidden eye to find Daia by the brilliant orange tendril that
snaked outward from the center of her otherwise clear blue haze. When
he took hold of it, wrapping a thread of his own haze around it, his
mystical strength renewed.

If
only his magic could heal this affliction. It wasn’t like an
injury — more like getting drunk, and he’d already tested
his ability to get undrunk using healing magic. Several times, every
one unsuccessful.

With
great effort and concentration, he lifted his hidden eye’s
vantage point and searched, turning in a slow circle to find Vandra.
A dim haze wavered to the west. She was alive. Gavin crawled as best
he could in that direction, swaying on his hands and knees. He had to
stop every few feet to regain his balance. “Hold on, Vandra,”
he said. “I’m coming.”

From
the dark forest ahead, he heard a muffled wheeze and tried to crawl
faster, though he often went off-course or stumbled onto his side
from swaying too much and had to veer back. The sound was closer now,
and he made out the dim form of her prone body. His hand touched her
foot, and he patted her leg as he felt his way to her shoulders. The
injury was a bright red pulse on her haze. “Hold on. I got
you.” He put his big, heavy hands on her — one on her
belly below the wound, the other on her upper chest — and let
the magical force begin to flow through him. His hands warmed
quickly, growing so hot, he gritted his teeth to force himself not to
pull back in reflex. When the pain became almost unbearable,
everything in his consciousness turned white like a fog and the pain
vanished. A fluttering sensation resonated within him, starting in
his gut and moving up his torso through his arms. Her haze grew
denser, and the red spot dimmed as its throbbing slowed. At last,
when his hands cooled to a gentle warmth, he collapsed to the ground,
panting, and looked up at the night sky through the trees.

“Gavin?”
Daia called. “Where are you?”

“Over
here,” Gavin said, though it came out sounding like
oar ear.
“Found her.”

“What?”

If
ever Gavin wished for the ability to communicate the way the Elyle of
the mid-realm did with their complements, through thought, it was
now. “Hell,” he muttered. “Wait... there.”
Beside him, Vandra stirred. He pushed himself up, resting on one arm,
and put a hand on her arm to comfort her. “You’ll be
awright.”

She
felt her belly, now scarred but healed. “Thank you.” As
she struggled to sit up, she said, “I’m so dizzy.”
Her voice was raw and raspy.

“We
all are. Rest. It will pass.” He pulled her cloak over her and
then cast another canopy spell to keep them dry.

He
didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he awoke, he was
covered with a cloak, though underneath it he was wet. The rain
canopy had vanished at some point, perhaps when he’d fallen
asleep, since he hadn’t stored the spell in a gem. Vandra was
sitting nearby repairing the cut bridle reins. Beside him was a patch
of darkened earth where her blood had spilled. The sun had risen,
though with the dark clouds overhead, it was difficult to tell how
high it was in the sky. Sounds of conversation came from the camp
site.

“Glad
to see you’ve recovered a bit,” she said. “I don’t
know how to thank you for what you did.”

“Don’t
mention it.” In years past, he’d have explained that
saving people was how he made his living, hinting that payment as
valour-gild would have been sufficient thanks. For some reason, that
embarrassed him now. People should help each other because it was the
decent thing to do, not because there was money to be made. Now that
he was king, it was his responsibility to keep people safe, even
those charged with guarding his life. “Let’s see your
wound. Does anything hurt?”

She lifted the bottom of the mail
and her tunic. “No, it doesn’t hurt.” The injury
was healed, but an ugly scar remained, bumpy and jagged. It looked
more like the scar from an animal attack than a stab wound.

“Sorry
about the scar,” he said. “I’m no surgeon.”

“No,
you’re my king who saved my life. I don’t know how I
could ever repay the debt except by renewing my pledge to serve you
for all my remaining days, though—” Vandra hung her head.
“It’s my fault Cirang escaped. I’ll understand if
you no longer want my service.”

Gavin
thought it was ironic that Daia had objected to Brawna coming along
because of her rawness, but the elder, more experienced fighter had
been the one to let her guard down. It wasn’t a mistake she was
likely to make again. “O’course I still want your
service. We’ll find her. Don’t worry. We’re lucky
no one was killed. How did she get the serragan powder?”

“I
don’t know, my liege. She never got close enough to the shelves
to get it from there. The little wooden box was empty when I found
it, else I wouldn’t’ve let her have it.”

Gavin
nodded. It was a moot point, he supposed. What was done couldn’t
be changed now. The dizziness had faded enough that he thought he
could stand, though he did stumble at first, and his steps were
unsteady. Vandra took his arm as if he was a feeble old man, and he
pulled away. “I’m fine.”

“Good,”
Daia said. She was sitting with Brawna beside the fire warming some
bread. “You’re awake. Are you all right to ride?”

“Once
I find my—”

She
picked up Aldras Gar and smiled.

“—sword.”
When Gavin took Aldras Gar from her, the relief of having it back in
his hand made his shoulders relax. It wasn’t alive, but his
bond with it was just as strong as the one with his horse. He slipped
his arm through the strap and positioned the scabbard on his back. He
went to Brawna. “Hold out your hands. Let me see.”

Though
the bleeding had stopped, the cuts on her hands from Cirang’s
knife were raw, red wounds that could break open at any moment. He
grasped her wrists and focused through the gems in Aldras Gar, noting
to himself how much easier it was to heal with their aid.

Once
her cuts had sealed closed with new, pink flesh, he said, “I
see you haven’t found the shackle key yet.”

“It’ll
be difficult to ride like this,” Daia said, “but we can
manage until we get to the Lucky Inn and find a smith to make one or
cut the cuffs off.”

“Damn
that bloody bitch to hell and back,” Vandra muttered. “She’d
better not let anything happen to Argo or, Yrys help me, I’ll
pound her to death with my fists.”

“Awright,
Vandra. Calm yourself. We’ll get him back for you. Let’s
get moving. Every minute we waste is a dozen yards Cirang gets
farther away.” Golam, with his bridle removed, had begun to
wander during his relentless pursuit of food. He was going to get his
foolish self lost. “Golam,” Gavin called. “Come
this way, mule.”

Gavin
started towards his horse, intending to lead him back to the
campsite, and on the way, he scanned the ground. Finding the key in
the grass and weeds would take hours of scouting around, one square
foot at a time. He wondered whether he could pull it to him using his
magic even if he didn’t see it. One shackle key looked like the
next. With the memory of its shape in his mind, he pulled with his
will. Nothing happened. Nothing substantial, though he did sense
something... twitch. Was it a movement in the weeds? He tried again,
this time turning in a slow circle, pulling the key with his
thoughts. The grass behind him whispered, and then something hit him
in the shoulder blade hard enough to sting. It fell to the ground
with a light thump. He turned around to find the key lying at his
feet. “Heh. Look what I found.” He picked it up and
showed it to his companions. “It was almost under your noses.”

“You
found it over there?” Brawna asked. “We were looking in
the wrong place.”

“You cheated,” Daia
said. “I can feel when you use my gift to cast magic.”

Gavin
chuckled as he tossed it to her. He hadn’t consciously tapped
into her conduit gift, but thinking back on it, he had drawn strength
from her to pull the key. It felt more natural to do so than even
using his own gems did.

They
packed their belongings and mounted. “Vandra’s lost a lot
of blood,” Daia said, “and she’ll be weak until she
recovers. Maybe Brawna and Vandra should ride back to Tern.”

“If
Cirang’s going to the wellspring,” Vandra said, “you’ll
need me to guide you.”

“You
know where it is?”

“I
saw the map in the journal, and I remember it exactly.”

Gavin
chuckled and squeezed her shoulder. “We’re lucky to have
you with us.”

“She
could draw it for us,” Daia suggested.

Vandra
pleaded with her eyes. “I’ll regain my strength with a
couple good meals, my liege. I prefer to come with you.”

“Then
she comes.” Gavin looked to the east. That was the direction
the freshest set of hoof prints went. Cirang would surely turn north
or south at the crossroad rather than continuing east towards Tern.
With Vandra’s memory, they could predict where she was heading.
With Daia’s help, he could find her haze. “To the Lucky
Inn. If we ride hard, we can make it by dark.”

Chapter 27