Blades of the Old Empire (31 page)

Ellah sat in the tent by Kara’s side when she heard the shouting outside. She looked at her patient, just as still and cold as she was two days ago when Raishan had told her to keep her warm. She doubted this vigil with coal pans that made the entire tent hotter than a baker’s kitchen was doing anything good. Yet, she promised herself she wouldn’t leave Kara’s side until Raishan, or Mai, came back and told her what to do.

By now she didn’t believe that would ever happen. But if there was one thing in her life she knew how to do well, it was being stubborn. She took all her meals by Kara’s side and dozed off only when Dagmara and her little daughter Chaille were in the tent and could raise the alarm if there was any change in Kara’s condition.

She wasn’t planning to go outside and check on the source of the noise. It was probably something unimportant, like the Cha’ori returning from a hunt, or the Forest Woman walking through the camp in her horrible spider dress. She nestled further away from the coal pan, pulling up the sleeves of her dress to cool off. She knew that when the sun reached its zenith, the air in the tent would be steaming. She hoped this was what Raishan wanted her to do.

The shouting and noise outside was insistent. It didn’t dissipate like it usually did after a regular disturbance in the camp. It fact, it was getting stronger. It also seemed to be getting closer to Dagmara’s tent.

Ellah was still debating with herself whether she should go to take a peek, when Ohdi, a young Cha’ori girl of about Ellah’s age, ran in and stopped in the doorway, panting.

“Come!” she shouted. “Quick!”

Ellah shrugged and slowly rose to her feet. She didn’t believe whatever was happening out there was important enough to see, but before she could reason with herself, her feet carried her out through the door into the open air. The outside seemed much too cold after the stuffy air in the tent. She stood, shivering, shielding her eyes against the bright sunlight.

Four riders were approaching at a slow walk. As she recognized them, her knees felt weak and her stomach tied into a knot. She grasped a tent pole for support and stood, watching.

Raishan and Egey Bashi sat straight in their saddles, with the satisfied air of men who had done their job. Riding beside Raishan was Kyth, shaken but overall unharmed. At his side. Ellah paused, trying to control her trembling lips.

Mai.

Ellah was so relieved to see him alive that it took her a second look to realize that he wasn’t well. His face was pale and drawn, with dark circles under the eyes, and a deep cut on his left temple. He slumped in the saddle, grasping the reins as if it was costing him effort even to sit upright. As he dismounted, he swayed and steadied himself against the horse’s side.

Ellah rushed toward them.

“Thank Shal Addim!” she breathed out. “How did you–”

The urgency in Mai’s gaze stopped her.

“How’s Kara?” he asked.

Ellah hesitated. “Her wound’s healed. And, we’re keeping her warm. But I’m not sure that she–” She stopped. She
couldn’t
say it. Not with Kyth looking at her, his eyes filled with such hope it made her heart waver.

“Where is she?” Mai asked.

Ellah gave him a strange look. This was for Kyth’s benefit, she decided. There was no way Mai, or anyone else, could bring Kara back after three days in this near-death state.

“Follow me.” She turned and led the way, with everyone close on her heels.

They stepped into Dagmara’s tent.

“That’s
warm
,” Mai said after a moment, wiping his forehead.

“Like hellfire,” Raishan agreed.

“Um, that’s what you wanted me to do, wasn’t it?” Ellah asked just a touch defensively.

“Yes, but,” Raishan glanced around with a quick frown, “she’ll need fresh air when she wakes up. Why don’t we take her outside?”

He pushed past Ellah, carefully picked up Kara and carried her out into the open.

They made their way to the outskirts of the camp, where Raishan found a flat grassy patch behind a large kiuri bush, whose wide leaves provided good shelter from the wind. Mai took off his cloak and threw it on the ground, and Raishan carefully placed Kara on top. A group of Cha’ori youngsters gathered at a safe distance, stretching their heads and chattering among themselves in their guttural tongue.

Mai knelt beside Kara and slid one hand behind her back, supporting the upper part of her body to keep it off the ground. He used the other hand to measure up a distance about a palm down from her throat, resting two fingers against the spot. Then he flicked his hand in a precise blow that made her entire body shudder with its force.

Kara gasped and opened her eyes, grabbing Mai’s wrist with dizzying speed. Her body shook from head to toe and she fell back against his hold, grasping him until her knuckles went white. Her grip must have hurt, but Mai kept very still, supporting her in his arms like a precious fragile vase. His eyes lit up with concern as he watched her gasp, struggling to steady herself against him.

After a while her breathing calmed. She pulled herself upright in his embrace. Her eyes widened as she recognized him. She made a move to draw away, but there was nowhere to go.

“Aghat Mai?”

“Try to relax,” he said. “You need a little bit more time.”

Her face slowly lost its dazed expression as she looked in turn at his arm around her waist and at her hand clutching his wrist. Carefully, as if she was touching a dangerous weapon, she released the hold. He dropped his hands away.

She raised her eyebrows, looking into his face. “But you–”

He smiled. “It’s a long story. Just take it easy for now.” He threw a quick glance at Kyth and nodded. Then he got to his feet and stepped away.

Following the unspoken signal, Kyth crept forward and sat on the ground next to Kara, his eyes filled with such happiness that Ellah’s eyes misted with tears. Watching him felt like an intrusion. She turned away to the group of men standing at her side.

“That was amazing, Aghat Mai,” Egey Bashi said. “To be honest, I never believed that could actually work.”

Mai opened his mouth to respond, but Raishan’s short glance silenced him. “You need rest, Aghat,” he said. “And your wound needs a fresh bandage. We must find a good spot to treat it.”

Mai hesitated as if he was going to object, but obviously changed his mind. He merely nodded, then turned and made his unsteady way to the other side of the camp.

A grip of worry seized Ellah’s heart as she hurried to catch up, falling in pace with Raishan and Egey Bashi. She was aware no one had asked her to tag along, but she simply couldn’t stay away. Besides, she still had Odara Sul’s elixir. Maybe, just maybe, she could actually help?

They found a secluded spot behind a large boulder at the edge of the camp. Mai winced as Raishan helped him out of his shirt and peeled off the bandage, revealing an oozing gash across his chest, filled with pus and gore. It looked much worse than Ellah had imagined.

“I still have some of Odara Sul’s elixir,” she said. “Would it help?”

Egey Bashi shook his head. “Let me first take a look at the wound.”

His frown deepened as he took his time to feel around the wound. Mai endured it with outward calmness, but his face became so pale it was nearly transparent. Knowing him well, Ellah was aware of how much pain he felt. She clenched her fingers, forcing herself not to look away.

“I have to clean the wound if we want to try the elixir on it,” Egey Bashi finally said. “I’d have to cut away all the infected flesh. I’m not sure in your condition, after everything you’d been through, you can take this kind of pain, Aghat Mai.”

“I’m fine,” Mai said through clenched teeth. “Just get on with it, Magister.”

Egey Bashi dug around in his pack, taking out a set of small blades and tweezers, the mere sight of which made Ellah’s stomach twist into knots. He started a small fire and carefully heated them one by one, laying them out on the flat edge of the boulder so that their thin curved edges wouldn’t touch the stone. Then he sat back on his heels, looking at Mai with doubt.

“I still don’t think–” he began.

“I’ve been through worse,” Mai said.

“Not in your condition, Aghat.”

Mai glanced at the tools, then at the oozing wound on his chest. “From what I know about wounds, this one has very little chance to heal on its own. Not for a long time.”

Egey Bashi also looked at his tools. “True. Yet, with everything you’ve just been through, Aghat Mai…” He hesitated.

“Just do it, Magister.”

“I can knock him unconscious,” Raishan offered.

Mai shot him a warning glance, his muscle tensing. “Don’t bet on it, Aghat.”

“But you are in no shape to–”

“I’m in better shape than last time you tried, Aghat Raishan.”

Egey Bashi raised his hands. “Please stop, both of you. I don’t think any of us here care for the excitement of seeing you two fight. It was quite enough the first time around.”

Ellah followed Raishan’s glance to his bruised wrist, but the question froze on her lips as she saw three figures appear from the direction of the Mirewalkers’ tents and make their way toward them. There was no mistaking the tall, stately woman walking in front, clad in a long narrow dress that from this distance seemed to be made of exquisite dark velvet, its soft folds shimmering in the sun.

Ayalla.

Alder and Garnald strode in her wake, both wrapped in long cloaks in the style common to the Mirewalkers. It didn’t escape Ellah how familiar Alder looked in these surroundings, as if finding a place where he belonged. His glance thrown at Ellah was full of happiness and embarrassment that made her wonder. But any questions would have to wait for later.

Ayalla looked cheerful and carefree, like a young village maid. Ellah didn’t like the Forest Woman, but even she noticed a special air of radiance that made her seem even more flawless than she already was.

The trio approached them and stopped. Ayalla peered at Egey Bashi, then moved her eyes to Mai.

“You are hurt,” she said. “I can help.”

“I don’t think–” Egey Bashi began.

Ayalla’s glance stopped him. She slowly reached forward and covered Egey Bashi’s scarred face with her palm. Her face acquired an absentminded expression. The spiders of her dress became more active, running around to expose random glimpses of the skin underneath. The air around her crackled as she held still for several long moments. Then she removed her hand and turned to Mai, who was watching her in guarded silence.

“Your wound’s new,” she said. “Who hurt you?”

“Does it matter?”

She smiled. “You’re not like the others. You don’t respect me as much as they do.”

“I respect you,” Mai said. “I just don’t see how you could possibly help.”

Her smile widened. “You really don’t, do you?”

Mai kept his silence.

“You’re one of the killers from the North, are you?” she asked.

“You could call me that, yes.”

She stepped forward and knelt by his side. His eyes darted to the crawling spiders of her dress, his muscles knotting under the bare skin of his chest and torso.

“The Guardians won’t harm you,” she said. “Just hold still.”

“But–”

Ayalla reached over and put her palm across the wound. Mai shuddered and bit his lip, color draining out of his face. Spiders streamed forward along Ayalla’s arm and covered his chest with a velvety mass that hid the wound from view.

Ellah shivered, looked at Egey Bashi, and gasped.

The ugly, deforming scar across the Magister’s face was gone. In its place was a thin line, defining the place where the scar had been, but no longer disfiguring his features. For the first time Ellah could see what he really looked like underneath the injury. His strong face was carved with bold strokes, irregular but very expressive. He must have been quite handsome in his youth. He was still handsome, in a rugged sort of way.

“What happened to you, Magister?” she whispered.

He was about to speak, but at that moment Ayalla straightened out and broke the contact. The crackling force around her subsided. The spiders rushed along her arm to resume their places on her bare shoulders.

Mai shivered and drew back with a short gasp. They all stared at his chest.

The wound was completely gone. There was no trace of the ugly, infected flesh torn beyond recognition that had been there only moments ago. All that was left in its place was a white star-shaped scar, no more than an inch in width. It was barely visible on his pale skin, as if the wound that left it healed ages ago.

Ayalla ran her eyes around the group. She rested her eyes on Mai and gave him a small nod of acknowledgment. Then she looked at Egey Bashi with the expression of an artist surveying a finished painting.

“Anyone else need healing?” she asked.

Egey Bashi’s fingers traced the remainder of his scar. “I don’t think so,” he managed.

Ayalla nodded. Her eyes met Alder’s. She paused for a moment, then turned and walked away toward the Mirewalkers’ camp.

“I’ll be damned,” Raishan said. “Of all the miraculous cures I’ve seen–”

“No miracle at all,” Garnald said, throwing a strange glance at Alder. “Ayalla’s in a good mood, that’s all. Just be thankful you two happened to be in her path.” He turned and strode away in Ayalla’s wake.

Alder stayed behind, his blush deepening as he met Ellah’s gaze. “I think… um… I’ll go check on Kyth.”

He hurriedly turned away and Ellah had a distinct impression he was trying to avoid any possibility of being questioned about this further. She watched his retreating back, then looked at Mai, who sat still with a dumbfounded expression.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

He hesitated. “Fine. I think.”

They all looked at the distant figure of Ayalla, who had reached the Mirewalkers’ tents and disappeared into a small grove of snakewoods growing in their center.

Egey Bashi ran his fingers along the thin line, barely visible on his restored face. “Good mood, eh?”

“You’d wonder,” Raishan agreed.

“It must have been one hell of a good mood,” the Keeper said. “This scar came from the Holy Wars. It’s hundreds of years old.”

Ellah’s mouth fell open at this confession. She knew by the steady green color in her mind that he was telling the truth. But it didn’t make sense. He looked no older than forty, a man full of vigor, whose age could be guessed mostly by the scarce touch of gray in his thick dark hair. He couldn’t
possibly
be old enough to have fought in the Holy Wars.