Maria Snyder - Touch of Power

A tingle spread up my arm. I debated breaking his hold, but Kerrick moved through the forest with confidence. Once the moon set, the trail disappeared. Kerrick slowed our pace, but otherwise he continued on as if he could see in the dark, leaving me stumbling in his wake.

By the time the sun rose, I had lost all sense of direction, I was frozen and exhausted. Trusting this stranger seemed like a good idea in the middle of the night, but in the light of day, I questioned my judgment. What would stop Kerrick from turning me in for the bounty after I healed his friend? Nothing. His promise not to hurt me hadn’t included his accomplices. Still, for now, my head remained attached to my shoulders. A positive thing. I decided to stay alert and stick to my own survival instincts—taking it one problem at a time.

As daylight lit the red, yellow and orange colors of the forest, Kerrick increased his pace. I dug in my heels and tried to extricate my hand from his, but he wouldn’t let go.

Stopping to glance at me in annoyance, he asked, “What’s the matter?”

“I need to rest. Healers are not indestructible. If I’m too weak, I won’t be able to cure your friend.”

While he considered, I studied him. The color of his eyes matched the forest—russet with flecks of gold, orange and maroon. Blond streaks shot through his light brown hair. Most of his shoulder-length locks had escaped a leather tie. He was five inches taller than my own five-foot-eight-inch height. And I guessed he was five to ten years older than me.

“It’s too dangerous to be out in the open. We’re not far from the rendezvous point,” he said.

“How long?”

“Another hour. Maybe two. If you’d like, I can carry you.”

“No. I’ll be fine.”

He quirked a smile at my quick reply, causing his sharp features to soften just a bit. Some women might think him pleasing to the eye in a rugged way. Four thick scars—two on each side of his neck appeared to be bite marks from some beast.

As he pulled me along, I wondered what animal had had its teeth around Kerrick’s throat. The ufa were reported to be thriving and breeding like rabbits. Feeding off the plague victims’ dead bodies, the large carnivore possessed the strength and pointed canines to rip open a man’s throat. Packs of them lived in the southern foothills of the Nine Mountains.

After another hour of hiking, I lost all feeling in my feet. I stumbled. Kerrick grabbed my arm, preventing me from falling.

“Another two miles,” he said.

“Just … give me … a minute,” I puffed while he didn’t have the decency to even appear winded. “Aren’t you tired?”

“No.” He gazed at the surrounding forest. “In the past two years, I’ve walked thousands of miles, searching for a healer.”

“No horses?”

“No. They’re too big to hide.” Seeing my confusion, he added, “We didn’t want anyone to know about our mission. Healers are skittish.”

“Most prey are.”

“True.”

“How many healers did you find in those two years?” I asked.

He met my gaze. “One.”

My heart twisted. “But you heard of others. Right?”

“Yes. Pattric of Tobory, Drina of Zainsk, Fredek of Vyg and Tara of Pomyt.”

Tara had been my mentor. I had lost track of her whereabouts during the awful plague years. “And?” I dreaded the answer.

“Executed before we could reach them.”

Even though I’d braced for it, the news slammed into me. I sank to the ground and covered my face with my hands. My little delusion that the healers had been holed up together burst. They hadn’t deserved their fate. Grief rolled through me, jamming at the base of my throat.

When the waves settled, I asked, “Anyone else?”

“Just you.”

“How did you find me?”

“Later. We need to keep moving. It’s not far.” He pulled me to my feet.

In a daze, I followed him. My hands and feet were numb. It was a shame I couldn’t say the same for my heart. There hadn’t been many healers before the plague—about a hundred. When my family had learned that Tara agreed to take me in as her student, we’d all been excited. My tattooing ceremony had been the best moment of my life.

Kerrick’s voice jerked me from my memories.

“In here,” he said, gesturing to a narrow opening between two oversize boulders.

I glanced around. The stones were part of a larger rock fall, resting at the base of a steep cliff.

Kerrick grabbed my wrist, tugging me along as he squeezed through the gap. Probably afraid he’d lose me. I guess I couldn’t blame him. If I had been searching so long, I’d be extra-protective, as well.

We entered a dark cave. The wet smell of limestone mixed with the acrid odor of bat droppings. Lovely. Kerrick paused to let our eyes adjust. After a few minutes, I noticed a yellow glow coming from our left. He turned in that direction and soon we arrived at a small chamber.

A campfire burned in the center of a ring of stones. The two leg-holders from last night’s rescue sat beside it. They scrambled to their feet with wide smiles when they noticed us.

“Loren, why didn’t you post a guard?” Kerrick asked the man on our right.

The men exchanged a glance.

“I did,” Loren said.

Kerrick flung me at him. “Watch her. Quain, you’re with me.” He pulled his sword and left with Quain right behind him.

In the tense silence, Loren studied me. “I’m watching. Are you going to do any tricks?”

I searched his expression, gauging if he was serious or not. “I can juggle.”

Interest flared in his blue eyes. “How many balls?”

“Five.”

“Impressive. Anything else?”

“Six scarves, but it can’t be windy. And three daggers.”

“Ohh. That would be something to see. Too bad Kerrick would never allow it.”

“Why not?”

“You might cut yourself.”

“So? I’m a healer.”

“Exactly. You’re the last one. From now on, our sole purpose is to protect you.”

The last one. Loren’s words sliced through me. Hard enough to be a healer, but to be the sole survivor increased the pressure and the fear. At least these men appeared to be safeguarding me. After all, they had rescued me from certain death. Loren’s pleasant expression seemed genuine. He was older than Kerrick. Maybe thirty-five. His black hair had been cut so short, the strands stood straight up.

“What happens after I heal your friend?” I asked.

“You’ll be a hero,” he said.

“Everyone hates healers, so why would healing your friend make me a hero?” I asked Loren.

“We don’t hate you. And when he’s better, he’s going to—”

Loud voices interrupted him. Kerrick and Quain returned with the young man who had pulled me from the jail between them. The boy’s long brown hair hung in his eyes, but it didn’t cover his chagrined expression.

“What happened?” Loren asked.

“He fell asleep,” Kerrick said. “Why would you assign him first shift?”

“He offered.”

“He’s sixteen, Loren. He’s been awake all night.”

“And so have we.”

“Yet you were still awake when I arrived. Why’s that?” Kerrick’s flat tone was scarier than if he’d been shouting.

“We couldn’t sleep. We were concerned about you and the healer,” Loren said.

“So was I,” the young man said.

“Yet you were fast asleep,” Kerrick said. “You’re growing, Flea. Don’t volunteer for the first shift until you’re twenty. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Kerrick glanced around the chamber. “Has Belen arrived?”

“No,” Quain answered. He swept a hand over his bald head as if he could smooth away the lines of worry etched into his brow. He had no visible weapons, yet Kerrick had taken him as backup. Perhaps the thick muscles barreled around his chest, shoulders and upper arms were all the weapons he needed. I guessed he was close to my age.