Gail Martin - The Sworn

Sior bowed. “At your service, m’lady. We are in Lord Jonmarc’s debt.”

It was nearly dawn when Carina and Sakwi tended the last of the wounded vyrkin and vayash moru. Carina could see the fatigue in Sakwi’s face. The land mage began to cough hard enough that it racked his thin frame, but he held up a hand to fend off Carina’s help.

“Nothing you can do, m’lady, great as your power has grown. My cough is my burden, I fear,” he said, and shook a powder into his hand that smelled of hot pepper and garlic, which he put under his tongue. His dark, luminous eyes widened for a moment, and his face flushed with sudden heat.

“I wish you’d let me try.”

Sakwi found his voice again and laid a hand on Carina’s shoulder. “Perhaps when things are quieter-if such a time ever comes. These folk need your help more than I do.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not the only one with a sense for how others fare. Time for you to rest, Carina.”

With a sigh, Carina nodded. “Mother and Childe! It’s taking all we have to care for the injured, and we haven’t begun to deal with the refugees yet. Berry just received a letter from her father. The plague’s grown worse in the city. Taru says that once the weather turns cold, it could spread faster with everyone packed inside.” She shook her head. “I feel guilty about resting when there’s so much to do.”

Sakwi smiled and glanced at Carina’s belly. “If you won’t rest for yourself, then rest for the two little ones. You can’t push yourself the way I know you’re used to doing.”

“You’re right.” She was quiet for a moment, looking out over the now mostly silent room. The vayash moru patients had fallen into their deathlike slumber at sunrise, even though the windowless room gave no hint of the dawn outside. The vyrkin, too, were quiet. Able to go abroad by daylight, the vyrkin preferred the night, and many had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion.

Carina met Sakwi’s eyes. “I thought that when we put Tris back on Margolan’s throne things would get back to normal. But it’s never going to be the way it was again, will it?”

Sakwi shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that. I’m afraid we’re doomed to live in ‘interesting times.’ Your friend Royster might love chronicling times like these, but the dull periods of history are much nicer-for the living and the undead.”

“I just hope that when the plague has run its course, there’s still someone around to tell the story.”

You’re sure this is the right road?” Rhistiart fidgeted in his saddle.

Cam glanced over his shoulder. “I’m sure. I used to live in Brunnfen, you know.”

Rhistiart shrugged. “You said yourself that that was a long time ago.”

“It’s not the kind of thing you forget.”

“You’re reasonably sure they aren’t going to try to kill us again, aren’t you?” This time, Cam detected a hint of true nervousness in the voice of his silversmith-turned-squire. He couldn’t really blame Rhistiart. The two had met as prisoners of the Divisionists. Cam had enabled Rhistiart to escape with a message for King Donelan, and then had managed to make his prison explode, warning the king of the traitors’ position and nearly getting himself killed in the bargain.

“Reasonably.” The truth was, Cam wasn’t entirely certain. He and his twin sister, Carina, had been forced from their home twelve years ago by their father, a man who despised magic in any form.

“I thought your brother was one of Leather John’s friends,” Rhistiart added.

“Alvior was.” His eldest brother, Alvior, had supported the Divisionists against King Donelan, then managed to escape, barely eluding the king’s guards. “But it’s Renn who’s been in charge since Alvior sailed off across the sea, and Renn was always partial to Carina and me. He was just little when we were sent away.”

“Think it’s a trick?” Rhistiart fingered the hilt of the sword that hung at his belt, but Cam guessed that in a fight, Rhistiart would do better throwing crockery than trying to score with a blade.

“Maybe. I hope not. We’ll be careful.”

“So if Renn’s letter is true, you’re the new Lord of Brunnfen?”

Cam gave a harsh laugh. “Wait until you see the place before you get too impressed. Brunnfen is one of the oldest manor houses in Isencroft. It’s cold and damp both summer and winter. Brunnfen was built for defense, not as a home, so it’s got precious few windows and it’s dark. Has its share of ghosts, too, and more than a few have bad tempers. I didn’t have the chance to ask Renn, but if Mother died pining away for Carina and me, and Alvior murdered Father, the place might have two new ghosts-just what I need.”

“Do you think Lady Carina will ever come home?”

Cam sighed. Rhistiart was loyal and had proven to be unexpectedly brave, but the former silversmith had a penchant for talking day and night. Cam, who was used to the company of soldiers or to traveling with his twin sister, doubted he’d spoken as much to anyone in the last ten years as he had to Rhistiart, mainly because the man refused to accept silence as an answer. “Her home is in Dark Haven, with Jonmarc. If anything brings her for a visit, it’s Renn. She practically raised him when he was little. They were very close.”

Cam paused, then turned to look at Rhistiart. “So what made you decide to leave Dark Haven? You had a good offer to apprentice with a vayash moru silversmith. I saw his work-each one was a masterpiece. He sells his creations to every palace in the Winter Kingdoms-and to the nobles who can afford him. You could be home in a warm bed and safe.” He grinned. “And don’t try to tell me it’s my winning personality. Carina set me right on that long ago.”

Rhistiart smiled wistfully. “I expect I’ll go back to Dark Haven in a year or two and take him up on the offer. He’s immortal; he’s not going anywhere. But this,” he said with a sweep of his arm to take in the road ahead of them. “This kind of adventure comes once in a lifetime. How could I pass it up?”

Cam grimaced. “If you recall, ‘this kind of adventure’ nearly got the two of us killed a few months ago.” Cam’s injuries from the fight with the Divisionists had almost cost him a leg and had sent him to Carina for healing. Even now, he walked with a limp that would probably never go away, and he would be minus one finger on his left hand forever.

Rhistiart’s eyes got a joking gleam. “Besides, Dark Haven isn’t exactly a great place to meet women. But at the palace…”

Cam chuckled. “I don’t know. I saw some mighty fine vayash moru ladies who seemed to think you were interesting.”

Rhistiart shivered. “No thanks. Nothing against the vayash moru, but I prefer my women warm, and I’d rather take them out for dinner than be the dinner.”

Cam laughed. “Don’t expect a lot of choices at Brunnfen. The moors are a cold place, and it’s thinly settled. Most of the women are hardworking farm girls, although they’ll likely warm your bones.”

Rhistiart drew his cloak more closely around him. He and Cam were an unlikely pair; Cam was medium height and stocky, with a broad chest and thick, strong arms. A cloud of dark, curly hair framed his face and could make him seem as forbidding as storm clouds. Rhistiart was slim and spare, with lank, yellow hair and finely boned hands suited to the work of an artist. He was short enough that they’d had to search for a horse that was a comfortable height for Rhistiart to climb into the saddle unassisted, and had settled on a roan mare that seemed petite compared to Cam’s large warhorse.

“You’re going to wed once you get back to the palace!” Rhistiart protested. He grinned. “Now, I figure if you can snag a girl with your obvious charm and breeding, there might be someone who’d favor me.”