Legacy of the Sword (46 page)

“I slew only three,” Donal retorted.

“Ah,” said Evan, nodding as he slipped by. “That does somewhat diminish your accomplishment.”

Donal departed the gate and followed them to the dock. “Which boat?” he asked.

“The closest!” Evan answered.

They ran—

—and Strahan’s black hawk exploded out of darkness.

Donal was hurled to his knees as the tremendous weight drove into back and shoulders. Talons closed. Leather tore open; so did flesh and muscle.

He arched, straining upward in an effort to catch the hawk in his hands. Pain vibrated through his body until he thought he would scream with it. But his fingers could not touch the bird.

Evan thrust with his knife. But Sakti drove upward, avoiding the blade with a snap of her powerful wings. She shrieked, wheeled, stooped. Talons slashed past Evan’s desperate defense and drove again into Donal’s back. She hurled him onto his face.

Donal was half-blind with pain. He tasted blood in his mouth from having bitten his tongue. His face pressed into sand and seashell; he dug handfuls of fine-grained sand.
“Su’fali!”
he cried. Sand and shell crept into his mouth as Sakti’s weight ground his face into the beach. “By the gods,
su’fali—gainsay this demon-bird—”

“No warbow!” Finn raged.
“Had I my bow—!”

“Do something!” Evan shouted, diving at the hawk. “Lodhi!—how can we stop this thing—?”

Finn set Lorn down upon the beach. Hastily he sought stones. Those few he found he caught up in his hands, and searched for the hawk. She spiraled over their heads, drifting in apparent idleness; her cries were malevolence given tongue.

One by one, Finn hurled the stones at the hawk. His aim was good, but Sakti was too swift. Strahan’s borrowed demon began to play with them all.

Donal pressed himself upward, biting his lip to keep back his cry of pain. His back and shoulders were afire, but he thrust himself to his knees. “She—seeks to delay us—for Strahan—” he said breathlessly. “We must ignore her—go on—get away from here—”

“How?” Evan demanded. “That
thing
is more than hawk!”

“Demon—” Donal gasped. “Strahan summoned her from the god of the netherworld—”

Sakti wheeled. Stooped. But her target was Evan now.

His breath exploded from his chest as the hawk drove into his ribs, talons closed, knocking him to the ground. But this time Finn was prepared. He waited as she rose, preparing to stoop again, and as her wings snapped closed he drew his knife and hurled it into the air.

The blade glinted in the moonlight. It sliced upward toward the hawk. Sakti, screeching, turned aside. But one foot shot out and talons grasped, closing on the hilt. Wings snapped shut. She stooped. Now she drove at Finn.

He dropped to the ground, rolling as the hawk came at him. One lone talon slashed across his shoulder, tearing fur-lined leather. But she released the knife, and as she hurled herself upward to stoop again, Finn thrust himself to his feet and caught the hilt as it fell.

Sakti soared, wings extended against the stars. Finn waited. And when she snapped her wings shut he hurled the knife again.

Taj darted out of the darkness directly at the hawk. Sakti’s size dwarfed the falcon, but Taj did not give in. He flew straight at her and turned her from her course into the path of the oncoming knife.

The blade struck home in Sakti’s chest. She screamed; screaming, she fell. But her talons were still extended.

Donal, head tipped back to stare upward into the sky, cried out as the talons sank into the side of his neck. Sakti’s weight threw him over onto his back; the talons dug deeper still.

He clawed at his neck, seeking escape. Sakti quivered and was still, but even death did not loosen the clutching talons. It was Evan who at last pried them free and clamped a hand over the wound in Donal’s neck.

“Lodhi!
—how he bleeds!”

“—to death, do we not stanch it.” Finn pressed Evan’s hand more tightly against the wound. “You must keep it shut—I will take Lorn…Ellasian, get him
up
from there! We must take him into the forest.”

Donal was half-senseless. He felt Evan urging him to his feet, but his limbs would not obey him. He thought it would be easier and far less painful did he simply remain lying on the beach with the cool sand under his twitching body.

“Up—get you
up
—” Evan panted.
“Lodhi
, Donal—do you wish to bleed to death?”

Evan’s hand was clamped to Donal’s neck. The pressure hurt. Donal’s own hand rose up to peel the Ellasian’s fingers away, but Evan withstood his feeble attempt.

“Finn—can you not compel him? Can you not use a little of your magic?”

“Not here; not I. Too many Ihlini present.
Donal
might have the ability—” his voice broke off a moment “—
carry
him, if you have to!”

Evan dragged him from the ground. Donal stumbled, staggered, nearly fell again. His neck was bound up in pain. “Gods—” he said hoarsely, “—
gods—”

“Bring him,” Finn said harshly, and carried Lorn from the beach into the forest.

*   *   *

—pain—

He stumbled. Evan held him up. He staggered. Evan kept him from falling. He nearly vomited. Evan merely held on more tightly and gave him what words he could of encouragement. But most of them were in Ellasian.

—pain—

His left shoulder was wet with warm blood. It soaked through his leathers and dampened the fur lining, until he could feel it running down his arm in rivulets. It dripped from his fingers to the forest floor, splattering onto his boots.

—so much pain…pain and blood—

He staggered. But Evan held him up and mumbled Ellasian encouragement.

“Here!” The call came from Finn, hidden by trees and shadow. “Hurry, Ellasian—”

Evan hurried. Donal could not. But at last they broke from the trees into a clearing and saw the tumbled ruin.

Finn came out of the crooked doorway, lacking Lorn, and helped Evan carry Donal. “Bring him inside. It is cold, damp—offering little enough shelter—but perhaps Strahan will forget this place exists.”

“What
is
it?” Evan asked.

Donal, half-dragged, peered through slitted eyes. He saw huddled green-gray stones taller than Carillon, set in a haphazard circle. Slotted darkness lay between them; they had
lost their uniformity, the perfection of their edges. They gaped apart, like a man missing most of his teeth.

“This place was once used as a place of worship by the Firstborn,” Finn said grimly, half-carrying his nephew. “There are a few remaining in corners of Homana….I do not doubt this is the first, the oldest. Perhaps it will be our protection against the boy. Here—let us settle him here, against the wall.”

Donal moaned as they put him down on the cold, damp ground. The stone was hard and cruel against his torn back.

“Lay a fire,” Finn told Evan.

“With what, my
will?”
Evan demanded. “I have no flint.”

Finn dug into his belt-pouch. “Here. Use your knife and your wits. This calls for cautery.”

Evan caught the flint as Finn tossed it. “Can you not use your healing powers?”

“I am one man. I have not the strength to seal so deep a wound. And you are not your
rujholli
with his magic harp.”

Evan turned and went out. He brought back chips of wood and broken branches and piled them carefully. Sparks flew from the flint as he used his knife upon it, but none caught in the kindling.

“Princeling.” The twisted title, from Finn, was an insult. “Too gently raised in Rhodri’s hall.”

Evan said nothing, but Donal could see the grim line of his mouth. Finn, kneeling next to his nephew with one hand shutting off the blood, watched impatiently as Evan worked the flint.

“Su’fali
—” Donal’s voice was little more than a broken whisper. “Is this how you treated Carillon?”

Finn stared down at him. His yellow eyes were black in the dimness of the chapel. Starlight shone in through the broken beamwork, but not enough to illuminate the place. “When he was deserving of it,” he said at last. Donal saw the crooked smile. “That was most of the time.”

The kindling caught at last and began to smolder. Carefully Evan coaxed it into a flame, fed it more wood, then set the knife blade in the fire.

“Patience, Donal,” Finn said softly.
“Shansu, shansu
—I will not let the boy prevail.”

Blood still coursed from beneath Finn’s pressing hand.

Donal felt weakness and lethargy seep into his flesh and spirit. Could he sleep, the pain would go away—

“Donal!” Finn said sharply. “Do you forget your
lir
? He needs your aid. When the wound is closed, we will heal him. But I need you for that—do not give in now!”

Donal reached instinctively for Lorn, but his own pain and Lorn’s weakness threw up a barrier in the link. He could sense the wolf’s presence—or was it Storr’s?—but nothing more. Taj as well was denied to him.

Evan sighed and rubbed an arm across his eyes. The knife blade glowed crimson at the tip; heat slowly spread up the steel. When it had reached the hilt, Evan took off his fur-lined velvet doublet and folded it into a wrap to protect his hand as he held the knife. He took it out of the fire and carried it back to Finn.

Donal, transfixed by the glowing blade that danced against the darkness, opened his mouth to tell them no.

Finn nodded. “I will take my hand away. You must sear it quickly; I may not be able to hold him.”

“Aye,” Evan said roughly. “I am sorry, Donal—”

Finn released the wound. Blood welled up afresh, spilling down Donal’s chest. But Finn caught his shoulders and pressed his back against the wall.
“Now—”

Blood hissed as the blade came down. Fluids popped; flesh was seared together. Donal’s body spasmed and arched like a man in the clutches of death. Finn held him, spoke to him, but Donal heard nothing. He was eaten alive with pain.

“Enough,” Finn said. He shut his fingers in the leather of Donal’s winter shirt. “Rouse yourself! Lorn has need of you.”

Donal’s hand clawed at the cauterized wound, then spasmed away as the pain renewed itself. “Gods—have you
slain
me?”

“Rouse yourself,” Finn repeated. “Do you deny your
lir
?”

Sense crept back. With Finn’s aid, Donal got up onto his knees. At Lorn’s side he shut his eyes and waited for weakness to pass, then set his hands against the dry, staring coat. “Help me,
su’fali.
…I have not the strength to do it alone.”

“Nor I.” Finn’s tone was uncommonly gentle. “Let yourself go, Donal. Give yourself over to the earth.”

Donal’s head bowed down. The puckered seam in his neck blazed up as if newly cauterized. Donal shut his eyes.

Give myself over…give myself over to the earth. But—what am I to do if the earth does not wish to give me up when the healing has been completed?

But he could not wait for an answer he knew would not come. Instead, he sank his awareness into the warmth of the earth and sought Finn’s presence in the darkness. He found it. They linked at once, then sought the healing magic.

A spring, bubbling up from underground. It flowed. It encapsulated their spirits, examined them, understood their need, and went onward to the wolf. It flowed, bathing him in its strength, until the wounds were healed and the bright burning of his spirit was renewed. And then it flowed away.

“Done,” Donal mumbled. “See how he sleeps?”

“Done,” Finn agreed.
“Shansu
, Donal…it is your turn now.”

Donal opened his mouth to answer. Nothing issued from his mouth, not even a final sigh. He felt himself slump sideways and struggled to halt his fall, knowing the landing would hurt his wounds, but his body did not obey.

He felt Finn catch him, and then he sank down into a sleep as deep as any he had known.

D
onal roused to pain. It burned in neck and shoulders, down his back. He felt as if someone had flayed him alive and left the bones to molder in the ruins.

He lay perfectly still, still wrapped around the warmth of Lorn’s furred body. He felt the regular lifting of Lorn’s side; heard the subtle thumping of his heart. He lay relieved, with weary exultation: he was free of Strahan, and the wolf would recover fully.

Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position. He grunted against his will; torn flesh and muscles protested. An exploratory hand told him someone had bandaged the talon wounds in his back and shoulders. Finn, most likely—and with Evan’s velvet doublet. He felt terribly weak, battered.

He scowled, trying to clear his vision. He saw gray-green stones surrounding them in a tumbled circle. Some stones stood upright, sentinels in the dawn; others tilted against neighbors; a few lay on the ground. Broken beamwork littered the center of the chapel; a ruined altar stood farthest from the fire Evan had built.

Finn squatted by the makeshift cairn. “Well?”

Donal turned his head carefully. The flesh pulled; he touched a puckered seam half a man’s hand in length in the hollow where neck and shoulder met. “You have butchered me,
su’fali.”