Gail Martin - The Sworn

Jonmarc pushed back a strand of long, brown hair and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He’d risen from smuggler to Lord of Dark Haven when he’d helped Tris Drayke win back the Margolan throne. When he’d gone to war against an uprising of renegade vayash moru to avert a bloodbath, Jonmarc had become the protector of the mortals, vyrkin, and undead within his lands. He tugged at the collar of his shirt against the summer heat that made the air sticky, even in Dark Haven’s northern climate.

His fingers brushed the long scar that ran from his left ear down beneath his collarbone, and the two pink puncture marks at the base of his throat. The scar was old, a “souvenir” of a long-ago battle with magicked beasts. The punctures were new, evidence that he had survived the rogue vayash moru ’s attempts to kill him. Around his neck, two faint scars were a permanent reminder of the years he’d been a prisoner of the Nargi, forced to fight for his life in their betting games. There were more scars beneath the shirt, and they were proof, if anyone still doubted, that he deserved his reputation as the most fearsome warrior in the Winter Kingdoms.

“Between the Durim and the Ghost Carriage, I don’t know how many more refugees Dark Haven can hold,” Jonmarc said as he walked next to Gabriel into Dark Haven’s massive entry hall. The lower floors had been repurposed as a hospital for as many of the vyrkin and vayash moru as possible. Upper floors where daylight might intrude had rooms for the worst injured of the mortal refugees. Carina presided over it all, directing the cadre of mortal and vayash moru helpers, as well as the handful of mages who came to lend their magic to the effort.

“Have you heard more from Kolin? Does he expect to have another Carriage run soon?”

“Last I heard, he said to expect him in about a month,” Jonmarc replied. “Said he’d be going back into southern Dhasson, near the Nargi border, for a dozen or so vyrkin and vayash moru they smuggled out of Nargi. Depending on how often he has to hide out from the patrols, that should mean a new load soon.”

“We can take them at Wolvenskorn, if there’s no more room here,” Gabriel offered.

Jonmarc gave him a sideways glance. “You’re helping fund it, aren’t you? The Ghost Carriage? You and Riqua.”

Gabriel smiled, making his long eyeteeth plain. “Of course. Riqua and I have been among the hunted too many times ourselves to stand by when we could be of help. We’re fortunate to have a brave network of mortals and a few vayash moru who refuse to leave the others behind. I know too well what it’s like, hiding in cellars and caves, waiting to be betrayed and burned. So we help others ‘disappear’ and take them to safety.”

“That’s why they call it the Ghost Carriage.” Jonmarc grimaced. “I just hope Kolin doesn’t push his luck too far. Nargi border patrols are nothing to fool around with. I’ve gotten in and out of Nargi myself a few times, if you recall.”

“Usually in about the same shape as the ones you brought in tonight, as I remember.”

“True enough.”

“Another long night.”

Carina looked up at Carroway and nodded. “Seem to be a lot of them lately.” She laid a hand on her swollen belly and Carroway gave her a look of concern. “I’m all right. Honestly. Just tired.”

“Do I need to tell you what I think?”

Carina smiled and patted Carroway’s arm. “I can guess. But there’s work to do.”

“You know, when Tris sent me to Dark Haven, I don’t think he expected you to put me to work!”

“Think of it as part of your healing. It gets you out of bed and moving around, plus it keeps you from feeling sorry for yourself.”

Carroway grinned as he got to his feet. He stretched out his hand to her and winced as she pulled herself up. After six months, he wasn’t good as new, but his left hand had regained nearly enough strength and mobility for him to begin trying to play the lute again. A knife had impaled his hand as he struggled with the assassin who had tried to kill Kiara. That injury left him worse than crippled. For Margolan’s Master Bard, it was a devastating blow. He sighed.

“Maybe I should just go back and focus on arranging music and events,” Carroway said. “Macaria’s been trying to tell me that it’s not the end of the world if I can’t play.”

Carina shook her head. “You’ve made progress. You’re getting flexibility back in your fingers. And the hand pains you less than it did before. Don’t give up. Laisren and Jonmarc both think that you’ll be fine with a little more time. And both of them have been banged up badly enough to know.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m good, free help,” Carroway joked.

Carina gave him a tired smile. “Well, there is that, too. I don’t know what I’d have done these last few months without you and Macaria-and Cam before he went home to Brunnfen.”

“Think he’ll have any problem crossing Margolan? I heard they closed the border, with the plague and all.” Carroway gave a tired grin. “Which also means you can’t get rid of Macaria and me now, even if you wanted to.”

Carina shook her head. “As I heard it, you can leave Principality to go to Margolan, but you can’t enter Principality from Margolan. And no, I don’t think Cam will have problems getting to Isencroft. As for Brunnfen, well, we haven’t been home in twelve years. Now that Father and Alvior are dead, it’s nice to be welcomed back, but it takes more than a letter to make it home again.”

“You’re worried.”

She shrugged. “Of course. I’d have gone with him if I could.” Her hand fell to her belly, and she looked out across the windowless room at the badly wounded vyrkin and vayash moru Jonmarc and Laisren had brought in from tonight’s attack.

Carroway laid a hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him. “Cam will be fine. You’ll see. And as for this mess,” he said with a look at the crowds of injured refugees that huddled in the room, “we’ll figure something out.” He grinned. “After all, they’ve heard the stories about how you and Royster and Taru fixed the Flow of magic when no one had been able to in over fifty years. And if that didn’t make you a legend in and of itself, then when word got out that you could take away the pain from vayash moru and ghosts, and that you were willing to use your talents on vyrkin, well,” he said with a chuckle as Carina blushed, “you can’t blame them for hoping that if they reached the protection of Dark Haven and its brigand lord, the legendary healer Lady Carina Vahanian could take care of them.”

Carina sighed and gave him a black look. “And whose fault is it that the stories have grown with the telling, hmm?”

Carroway grinned. “Once a bard, always a bard, even with a busted hand.”

The servants arrived with the supplies Carina had requested, and she signaled for Carroway to help. At the far end of the room, Macaria began to play a calming song on her flute, and after a few moments, Carina could see her patients begin to relax despite their pain. Macaria was an excellent musician, and her music had a bit of magic that could sway the moods of listeners.

Carina maneuvered to kneel next to her first patient, one of the most severely injured vayash moru. He had been gutted, slit from ribs to waist, and his organs protruded from the wound. Other gashes were evidence that his captors had not been satisfied to cripple him, inflicting a dozen more deep cuts to increase his pain. Sakwi knelt next to her. “The magic in the cages didn’t just keep them prisoner; it also hampered their natural self-healing. All the Durim had to do was injure them too badly to fight when they captured them during daylight, and the cages kept them from healing enough to break free or fight back.”