Wintertide (21 page)

“I bear no ill.” The confusion in her face was genuine.

“I’m not saying you do. It’s just that I see the makings of a fine warrior within you.” He stepped up beside her. “You’ve a strength not visible to first glance, as they say. A calm under fire. Perhaps your pa knew more than he allowed when he told you to take the traveler’s road.”

“I’ve much yet to learn. I know that.”

“And the family farm wasn’t the place to do that, eh? You’re not a farmer, Camron. Like me, you never could be. You learn quickly, I’d wager, but are always looking for more to learn.”

He let his broad hand come to rest against her shoulder. “Would you consider bearing the black band of the Kemmon-Ro?”

His words stunned Khamsin. Egan offered her the highest honor a tribesman could extend an Inlander; that of bearing the colors of his Kemmon. She never expected the bearded man to respond to her so strongly. He had said he had lost a son at his birthing. Perhaps this is what he sought in the lad he called Camron. And, in spite of the hard shell around her heart, part of her wished she could accept his offer. And that her answer didn’t have to be couched in lies. If only in regard for the sense of loyalty she knew ran deeply in the man.

“Master Egan, I’m truly honored. And undeserving of your kind words. But I can’t, in all honesty, answer you at this time. I have a matter of family to rectify. If I joined Kemmon-Ro without first seeking further for my uncle, it would foster bad feelings. I must give my search for him more time.”

Egan told her he respected her decision. It was the same one he would make given the circumstances. “But when you resolve the question of your uncle, know that my offer still stands.”

Khamsin’s eyes shone brightly in response.

“I was rather hoping, too,” he admitted with a smile, “that as part of the Kemmon, you’d come to know my Elsy better. You’d be a good friend, a good guide for her, I think. And welcome in my own family.”

Khamsin felt the emotions underlying his words. A sense of friendship, no. Kinship. Egan looked upon her as something between a younger brother and, as she suspected, the son he never had a chance to raise.

His innocent kindness overwhelmed her and reminded her too strongly of another man’s kindness. And gentle touch.

And painful absence.

She picked up Nixa and nuzzled her face into the cat’s neck. “And my cat, too?” she asked, peering over pointed gray ears at Egan.

“Of course, the cat! Having your Nixa around, I think, would please Elsy more than anything.”

The flatlands gave way to the foothills but they were low, rolling and richly forested. There was a light cover of snow on the ground. Only under the canopy of the pines did the brown grasses still raise their heads upright. Egan stretched out his hand as he passed beneath a low-hanging pine branch. He grabbed a handful of wet snow, fashioned a ball and chucked it over his shoulder at Khamsin.

She shrieked in delight as it caught her unawares, showering her and the unsuspecting Nixa in a light frosting of white crystals.

The next handful was hers. Her aim was good, but he expected the retaliation and ducked just as the missile whizzed past his head.

“You need practice, Camron,” he teased and rode on ahead of her towards the next clump of low-hanging pines.

She held back, slowing Cinnabar to a canter. She gave Egan time to prepare his ambush. She found she enjoyed the game. There was little levity in her life as of late. Not since Rylan amused her with stories of the Princess of Noviiya. She’d laughed with him until her eyes watered. Now thoughts of Rylan brought water to her eyes for a different reason.

She watched Egan disappear into the shadowed grove ahead and waited for a count of fifty before proceeding, expecting at any moment to be caught in a barrage of cold, wet snowballs.

The expected never came.

The unexpected, however, did. Fav’lhir Tribesman. Six of them, mounted and armed. And one slashed open Egan’s chest and shoulder with his sword.

Khamsin screamed his name. Two of the Fav’lhir jumped down to the ground. Egan staggered between them, blood spattering the snow at his feet. One grabbed the Kemmon Rey by the arm, his blade poised over his heart. But Khamsin already pulled her knife and, in a swift motion, threw it. It found a home in the attacker’s throat. He reeled backwards, gasping and gurgling.

Egan turned immediately and, in spite of his own wounds, wrenched the blade from the lifeless body.

“Camron!” he called, but she couldn’t get to him. The other four horseman crowded around her. They taunted her with their daggers. She reined Cinnabar in circles, holding Nixa tucked against her with one hand.

“Kemmon-Ro have a liking for young boys,” one said and he spat in her direction. Another laughed cruelly. His hands made lewd motions.

Suddenly, the horseman who’d spat at her gasped and fell over his mount, his arms flinging outwards. He tumbled into the snow. A familiar hunting knife protruded from his back.

But the maneuver had cost Egan dearly. He stumbled in the drifts, the Fav’lhir almost of top of him.

“No!” Khamsin reined Cinnabar in with all her might, secured her cloak around Nixa. She whispered an incantation, then gave the horse the command to jump. The horse was airborne immediately, clearing the two riders in front of them. They landed a few paces away from where Egan struggled with the other Fav’lihr rider on the ground.

Cinnabar reared again and chopped at the Fav’lihr’s back with his hooves. Stunned and bleeding, the man rolled into a snow bank. With a quick movement, Egan slit his throat.

Khamsin reached down. Egan leaned against Cinnabar’s flank, grabbed two of his daggers from his boot and thigh straps. He passed them quickly into her hands. She turned and threw again. Two riders fell with the hilts of Kemmon-Ro weapons protruding to their chests. Their horses bolted into the forest.

Two riders were left. Khamsin kept her horse between them and Egan, who lurched weakly at her side. Dark bloodstains covered the front of his tunic.

The Fav’lhir pulled back, obviously confused by the aggression on the part of the young boy. They exchanged hushed words. One reached for an amulet hanging from his neck chain. And a cold, sickening terror crept up Khamsin’s spine.

The thing rose from out of the snow as if it were created from the crystals themselves. A demon with yellow eyes churning, but unlike the demons in the Bell Tower and on the marsh. This demon was twice the others’ size and hairless, almost man-like, pale gray and naked. Its skin was slick and slimy like a snake, but with no scales. Three horns protruded from its bald head. Its snout was like a wolf’s. Long fangs jutted from its mouth. It curled back its lips, hissing. Khamsin could see the flames that roiled within its body.

It was the essence of Hell itself.

Nixa’s low growl rumbled against her leg.

“Camron, run!” The weak voice was Egan’s, behind her. “Go back. Find Druke. Tell him, tell him the Nest has been taken. Get the Kemmon. But go, lad! Save yourself.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

“Don’t be a damn fool. No mortal can fight this thing. It’s a Mogra. It’s got the power of Lucial
and
Melande behind it. Camron!” And she felt him clasp her ankle, his hand shaking.

“No!”

“For love of Tarkir, go!” His voice was hoarse.

He tried to push her away. She reached for him, her eyes still on the demon that slowly advanced in their direction. “You come with me.”

“I won’t make the ride…child.”

She glanced into eyes full of pain and love. His face was pale as his life’s blood dripped onto the snow around his boots. Something greater than fear of the demon welled up inside her.

“No,” she said, softly this time. She let go of Egan’s wrist, then quickly secured Nixa more tightly into her cloak. Squaring her shoulders, she unlatched the sheath and drew out her sword. It pulsed with a blue light, faintly at first, but then stronger as she raised it over her head. She cried out in the ancient tongue of her people.

“
Tal tay Raheira
!” She dug her heels into Cinnabar’s side and charged the thing spawned from the depths of hell.

The blue glow of her sword infused the air around her, encom-passing her like a haze. Khamsin and Cinnabar cast no shadows against the whiteness of the ground as they quickly covered the short distance towards the Mogra. The creature straightened its stance as she approached, sniffing the air. The scent of magic hung heavily in the stillness between the pines.

The Fav’lhir stepped back, reining in their horses; the animals skittish and trembling. Their tails whipped feverishly at something that prickled against their hides. But nothing they could see was there.

Suddenly the demon screamed, a high-pitched, hideous howl. It lashed out with its long arm. Thin streams of fire, blood-red, flowed from the tips of its black claws. Khamsin struck down with her sword, deflecting the flow which sputtered and sizzled as it rained down on the snow. Again, the Mogra threw its hell-fire and again Khamsin slashed out, first right, then left then right again.

Cinnabar shifted from side to side as his mind worked in conjunction with hers. But these were defensive movements. Movements that would soon tire her and the horse, and gain nothing except a little more time for Egan to die. So as the Mogra cast another slash of liquid flames in her direction, she let the blaze roar past her and into a base of the pine. She spurred Cinnabar. The horse reared up, its hooves now equal with the demon’s grotesque face.

It raised its arms, as if to grab Cinnabar’s hooves. Khamsin struck out, lunging forward with her sword. The sword caught the side of the Mogra’s face, ripping its cheek in half, leaving a gaping chasm from its left eye socket to the corner of its mouth. A bubbling putrid froth flowed from where spell-bound metal touched infernal flesh. The demon clawed at its own face, half-blinded.

“
T’cahra fie di raheira
!” she cried. Cinnabar reared again, forcing the demon back towards the Fav’lhir. It growled as it stumbled, its left arm whipping out just as Khamsin brought her sword down against it. She severed the arm just above the wrist. The clawed hand dropped, exploding as it touched the cold snow.

The Mogra’s visible form wavered, pulsing, its slimy body throbbing as it sought to shift its form. The trunk shortened, the arms lengthening, a thin layer of a translucent hide flowed out of its sides. The snout became beak-like with ridges of sharp teeth. Cinnabar snorted warily.

Quickly, Khamsin grasped the cat tucked securely against her legs. She touched the hilt of her sword to Nixa’s gray head, murmuring the words Ciro had taught her. She dropped her to the ground. The small animal grew, doubling then tripling in size until she was the length of the horse and half his height. Nixa roared at the featherless winged creature before her. She was no longer Nixa, but a sleek-furred silver panther surrounding by the pulsing blue glow of Khamsin’s spell.

The Mogra lifted its wings but too late. The panther’s lightning speed brought it on top of the foul creature. Nixa sank her teeth into its neck, ripping at the tough hide. The froth-ringed head lolled to one side. Nixa spat out a large chunk of flesh distastefully then bounded to stand protectively by Egan.

Khamsin kicked Cinnabar’s sides and charged again. Her sword sliced through the center of the demon’s body as easily as if it were made of silk.

The demon’s wings spasmed. A hideous shrieking sound shook the snow from the pines. The ground beneath the Mogra churned, the air around it thick with a suffocating stench. Khamsin abruptly urged Cinnabar back as the demon’s body throbbed. A cold wind rushed past her, then wrapped around the Mogra, spinning its lifeless form.

The Fav’lhir screamed in terror. They gouged their horses with their boot heels in vain as they were sucked into the infernal cyclone. Bodies and beasts spun madly until all was a blur of brown and yellow and red.

Then there was nothing but the whiteness of the untouched landscape before her. And the whisper of light winds through the tops of the pines.

Egan leaned feebly against a cracked and weathered boulder, his breathing labored and ragged. Eyes full of pain and confusion regarded her, unwavering. He slid to the ground, barely conscious.

A delicate coldness prickled Khamsin’s face as she dismounted and ran to kneel by his side. She glanced up at the gray sky between the branches. It was snowing.

With his good arm draped around Cinnabar’s neck and Khamsin’s arms wrapped around his waist, Egan allowed himself to be dragged to the mouth of a small cave in the base of the foothills. Nixa, now just Nixa again, guided them to her find and stayed with the injured man while Khamsin returned to the horse for her satchel. It was snowing harder. Cinnabar wedged himself under an wide overhang near the cave, content to chew on a few sprouts of dry grass growing in between the rocks.

She stripped Egan of his heavy outer-tunic. She pulled the remains of his shirt down around his waist, then examined the deep wound that crossed over his shoulder and chest. Handfuls of snow washed out the debris. She pulled cleansing herbs from her pouches, mixing them with the snow and applied the mixture to the wound as Nixa paced nervously nearby. The Kemmon Rey had lost a lot of blood. His eyes burned bright with fever, his body fighting infection in its own way.

Twice he slipped from consciousness as her hands lay against his shoulder. The healing wasn’t without its share of pain. She took as much of his pain into her own body as she could bear and transmitted to him what strength she could give, knowing she worked against time.

She had to stop the flow of his life’s blood and stave off infection before he lapsed beyond the reach of what medicines she could conjure, given the meager supplies she brought with her. She lacked merris root and tislain and there was no time to search for them. So she used more magic than was prudent. Ciro’s warnings about using her powers so close to Traakhal were no longer valid. She had drawn her sword and battled an ensorcelled demon. The time for caution and timidity was passed.