From beyond the cliffs, in the space where the horse had disappeared, the sound of beating wings filled the air, a hundred times greater than a flock of gulls, rising over the edge and making the horses shudder and scream.
“Get back!” Kjell shouted, knowing a battle near the drop would favor the Volgar, not the King’s Guard. They raced back toward the hard-packed path that cut the savannah, back across the distance they’d just traveled, chasing and being chased, exchanging one horror for another. But the Volgar didn’t swoop and drop.
They were thin, their skins papery and yellow, their wings shredded like a spider’s web. These weren’t the Volgar who grew large and fat in the valley of Kilmorda. These were Volgar who were becoming extinct. Their eyes glittered desperately, and their beaks snapped and clicked, beating at the air high above the soldiers, frantic for blood but too weak to take it. They circled like vultures, looking for an opportunity—a smaller victim, an exhausted horse, a space between soldiers.
“Dismount and draw together!” Kjell roared. The horses were accustomed to battle, to the shriek of the winged beasts, to carrying a warrior while he wielded a sword, but Kjell couldn’t fight with Sasha in front of him. He slid from the saddle, dragging her with him, his arm around her waist, not even waiting for Lucian to come to a complete stop.
The horses shuddered but didn’t bolt, and the soldiers clustered quickly, drawing the horses down, creating a formation with their backs facing inward and their lances bristling outward. The soldiers on the outer edges knelt, the next row crouched, the inner rows stood, and the soldiers in the center held their lances at near vertical, protecting the formation from directly overhead, making a sphere of sharp edges around both man and beast with Sasha pushed to the center and told to crouch and cover her head.
They watched the birdmen swarm and circle, waiting for an opening.
Kjell saw it before it began, the horror of bloodlust, of hunger and desperation. The Volgar had no sense of self-preservation. Or maybe they had lost all instinct in their desire to eat. They started falling from the sky, several birdmen sacrificed themselves upon the upraised spears. The impact impaled them but also dislodged the lances, creating an opening for the beasts behind them and breaking the formation. One birdman hit the ground and immediately lost a wing on Kjell’s sword. Another bird plunged, then another, their wings folded to increase their speed.
“Scatter!” Kjell roared, commanding his men to change the formation. His men immediately widened the circle and released the horses, slapping their rumps to make them run, creating chaos and distraction.
“Brace!” Kjell ordered, and his men dropped to their knees, still back to back, their lances butted against the ground. Kjell remained standing, giving himself greater mobility, awaiting the next bird’s arrival, his sword black with blood, his stance wide. One birdman drew up mid-dive, distracted by the galloping horses, and the Volgar in his wake catapulted past him. The Guard let them fall, expanding their circle and contracting it, keeping Sasha in the center, protecting her even as the birds pounced.
One minute Kjell was brandishing his sword, separating a birdman’s body from his head, the next he was on his back, looking at the sky. Sasha pressed him into the grass, her eyes pupilless in her face, her skin leached of color, her hair tumbling around them.
Then she was lifted straight up off the ground, dangling over him from the talons of a birdman, her eyes still strangely blank, her arms reaching for him as she was propelled upward.
The birdman stuttered mid-flight, as if the weight of the woman proved too much for him in his weakened state. The other Volgar began lifting off, eager to share the birdman’s catch and escape the weapons that had already decimated more than half of their flock.
“Sasha!” Kjell was on his feet hurling his lance before he could think about missing, before he could even consider the blood that was growing in an ever-widening stain on her pale dress.
The point of his spear sank into the birdman’s throat, reverberating with the force of impact, and Sasha swung her arms and tossed her head, kicking to free herself. The birdman sank, choking on the green-black blood that poured from his mouth, but he refused to release his prize. The other Volgar swarmed around him, talons extended, hearts visibly pounding in their emaciated chests, eager to take her from him. Another lance pierced the captor’s left wing—Jerick’s aim was true—and the mortally wounded birdman, hovering about ten feet above the earth, released Sasha too late to save himself. Sasha didn’t stay down, but shot to her feet, racing toward Kjell, arms pumping, hair streaming, and Kjell brought down two birdmen before he could push her back to the ground with a furious order to “stay the hell down!” His men closed around her again, swords out, faces lifted toward the sky, waiting for the next rush.
There wasn’t one.
Three birdmen lived to fly away, their shredded wings and bony bodies disappearing beyond the cliffs from whence they came.
“God damn you, woman!” Kjell moaned, sinking to his knees beside Sasha. She pushed herself up gingerly, her face tight with pain, one armed wrapped around her middle, her hand pressed to her side, trying to cover the blood that soaked her dress.
“You aren’t wearing your breastplate,” she said softly, her eyes forgiving him even as she scolded. “You didn’t protect your heart, so I had to.”
“The horses are scattered, Captain. But we need to walk. We can’t stay here. The Volgar carcasses will draw other predators,” Gibbous urged. The Jandarian savannah was known for its lions, and though the men had not seen any sign of the packs since crossing from Enoch, they didn’t want to attract their attention. Volgar bled the wrong color and they stank like hyenas, but somehow Kjell thought the lions might not care.
But Sasha’s blood was red, and she was bleeding a great deal. Kjell scooped her into his arms, and his men fell in behind him, loping across the dry grass to the cluster of trees where Kjell had kissed Sasha an eternity before.
“I have to heal her, or the lions will follow her scent, no matter how far we go,” he barked, calling a halt to their progress. He didn’t think about how much blood Sasha had already lost or that his shirt was soaked through where he held her tightly against him. “Stop just beyond the trees. Half of you stay with me, the others fan out. We need to find the horses,” Kjell ordered. He shot out orders—a blade to cut away the back of her dress, a flask to make her drink—and then demanded his men give him enough space and privacy to make her well.
Long grooves scored her back, so deep he could see the white of bone beneath the bubbling blood. He pressed his palms to the wounds and willed them closed. Her blood warmed his hands and stained his fingers, but the wounds did not mend. He turned her on her side, pressing a hand between her breasts and finding her heartbeat. She watched him with calm acceptance and faith-filled eyes, but her face was so pale he couldn’t see the gold in her skin.
“Sasha—sing with me,” he pled, the first waves of doubt making him desperate. Her song was all around him, crystal clear, a chiming he now recognized, a peal of bells that had healed injuries far more grievous than the ones he now struggled to close. Yet he couldn’t close them.
“Come with me and I will try to love you,” she whispered, smiling gently, her eyes growing heavy.
“That’s right,” he nodded. He closed his eyes, letting the pealing pulse beneath his skin, but the gashes down her back mocked him, becoming garish grins that laughed at his failure.
He buried his face in her neck and wrapped her in his arms, magnifying the clangor of her healing song until he shook with it. His head was a gong, his heart the beat that kept it ringing. And ringing. And ringing.
“Kjell,” someone said.
“Captain,” he heard again, and the knell in his skull became an echo. His muscles were locked and he couldn’t open his eyes.
He could feel Jerick above him and sensed that time had passed while he rang the alarm. The sky was dark, and small pit fires ringed the encampment, keeping the creatures at bay. Kjell concentrated on loosening his fingers one at a time, peeling them from Sasha’s skin, releasing her so he could roll away. He fell to his back with a groan, the blood rushing back into his limbs, his body coming awake.
“We need you. There’s something wrong with Peter. He’s throwing up blood,” Jerick said.
“Sasha?” Kjell moaned.
“She sleeps, Captain. You’ve healed her wounds. She’s fine.” Jerick sounded confused, irritated even.
“I need to see them.”
“Who, Captain?”
“Her wounds. I need to see her back,” he hissed, gritting his teeth against the pins and needles in his arms, the burning in his back, and the stabbing in his calves and feet. Jerick turned the sleeping Sasha toward him, coaxing her onto her belly and moving the tattered edges of her dress away from her injuries.
Even in the orange glow of the firelight, Kjell could see that the gashes were closed, but thick, purple lines extended from Sasha’s shoulder blades to her waist. There was no infection, and the pain had seemingly gone. But the marks remained.
He struggled to his knees and Jerick was there, slinging one of his arms over his shoulder to help him stand.
“Are you ill, Captain?” Jerick asked, realization making his voice rise in panic. Kjell could heal his men, but none of his men could heal him.
“Stop talking, Jerick.”
He didn’t allow himself to think at all, to wonder if his Gift was waning. He stumbled through the rows of sleeping soldiers, Jerick supporting him like a drunk being led to the next round of debauchery.
When they reached the ailing soldier, Kjell fell to his knees beside him.
“Get me something to drink, Lieutenant,” Kjell ordered. His throat was so dry he couldn’t swallow and, as usual, he didn’t need an audience. Jerick hesitated but turned to leave.
“We need you, Captain,” he said softly. “Don’t give what you don’t have.”
“What I don’t have is something to drink,” he muttered, and Jerick sighed and left to do his bidding. Kjell flexed his hands and laid them on Peter’s chest. The young man’s song was low and mellow, and Kjell strummed it carefully like a loose lute string.
“There you are, Peter,” he urged. “Make it easy on your Captain, will you? I’m a little spent.”
He thought of the first time he’d seen the boy, light on his feet and impossibly quick with a sword. He’d grown into a powerful man and a trusted soldier of Jeru. The fondness in Kjell’s heart became instant warmth in his hands.
Peter moaned softly, and his breathing began to ease. Kjell tightened the metaphorical string, the tone becoming more strident, and marveled at the impossible ease of the task.
Peter was sitting up asking for water before Jerick even returned.
When Kjell, hydrated and somewhat revived, eased back down beside Sasha, she stirred and opened her eyes.
“Sleep. All is well,” he soothed, covering her with a blanket and moving his rolled cloak beneath her head.
She sat up gingerly, as if she weren’t sure of her body, and he worried again at his difficulty in healing her.
“Sleep, Sasha.”
“You are covered in blood,” she murmured.
“Yes. But it isn’t mine.”
“I will wash you,” she insisted. He clearly hadn’t healed her need to coddle him.
“No. You will sleep.”
“But I am healed. You healed me again.” Her voice was almost a wail, and it made him smile, in spite of himself.
“Your dress is in tatters. If you rise it will fall off.”
She frowned. “It was my favorite one.”
“I will buy you a new one,” he reassured her. “Please . . . I need you to sleep.” She laid back down reluctantly, but she didn’t sleep.
“I have seen the Volgar before. They were in Kilmorda,” she said.
“Yes. You remember?”
“I don’t know if it’s a memory . . . or a story someone told me. They don’t look the same.”
“They are dying.”
“I feel no sadness for their suffering,” she admitted as though she thought she should.
“Compassion is wasted on the compassionless. There are some things not meant for this world. A man has the right to survive. And Volgar and man cannot exist together. I don’t want to eat him. He wants to eat me. Do you see the dilemma? There are some beasts that should not exist.” He thought about his father, about the animal he’d become, the monsters he’d made, and the creatures he’d harmed. The only sorrow Kjell felt was that he hadn’t been the one to stop him.
“I should tell you a tale,” Sasha mused, refusing to quiet down. “Something about a mighty Healer who is lucky to exist, considering he refuses to protect himself.” He heard teasing but sensed pique. It made him smile again.
“If you will rest I will tell you a story,” he offered.
“You will tell me one?”
“Yes. I will tell you one. Now hush,” he said.
She smacked her lips closed and widened her eyes, indicating she was ready.
“When I was a child, there was a hound that used to sleep in the king’s stables. He was ugly. Someone had burned his fur off in huge patches. He was missing an eye, and he always limped. But he was sweet and docile. He didn’t snap or bite. He didn’t act as if he’d been abused.
“No one knew where he came from, but the servants didn’t run him off because he had a calming effect on the king’s horses, particularly one stallion—a gift from a lord—that would not be tamed. The horse was violent but his blood lines were impeccable, and King Zoltev wanted to get at least a couple of foals out of him. The hound would sleep at the stallion’s feet. The horse would stomp and whinny and thrash for a few minutes, but the dog would not be cowed, and the horse would settle, covering the mares without hurting them.
“No one bothered to give the dog a name. No one showed him any affection. They called him dog. But he was allowed to stay. He never barked, and he was always glad to see me, so when no one was around, I would pet him and call him by the name I’d given him.”
When he didn’t offer the name, Sasha looked up at him expectantly.
“Tell me what you called him,” she demanded.
“Maximus of Jeru.”
He’d never told a single soul about Maximus of Jeru. He expected her to laugh and felt his own lips twitch at the memory. But Sasha looked at him steadily, absorbing his words as if they revealed something terribly important.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because he deserved a noble name. He had a noble heart.”
She nodded once, accepting that.
“His limp improved, and his coat began to grow lush and shiny around his scars. Maybe I healed him, though I didn’t know it then. I thought my affection was healing him. He started following me around wherever I went.”
“What happened to Maximus?” There was trepidation in her voice, and Kjell answered immediately, not allowing himself to feel pain over old wounds.
“King Zoltev, in a fit of anger, killed him. Kicked him until he was dead and threw his body into the moat. But the king paid for his anger when his stallion went berserk and killed his prized mare.”
“Is that what Gibbous meant . . . when he referred to me as the stable dog? He was talking about Maximus?”
“Gibbous called you a dog?” His voice was flat, but he was instantly seething. He would sentence Gibbous to a dozen lashes.
“He meant no harm. He said he liked dogs more than people, so I should be flattered. Gibbous is not especially . . . tactful.”
No. He wasn’t, but he had always been a good soldier, and Kjell’s temperature cooled slightly. He would still have words with the imbecile.
“So tell me . . . how am I like Maximus?” she pressed, not seeming to care that she’d been insulted. Kjell was not eager to further the comparison, but he knew instantly what Gibbous meant.
“You follow me around because I healed you. You don’t get angry when you should. You are kind to those who are cruel. You have a noble heart.”
“And a noble name,” she added without inflection.
He laughed and she laughed too, softly.
“Your name is growing on me,” he admitted. She sighed, a happy sound that made him pull her closer, letting his body more fully shelter her.
“Sasha?”
“Yes?” she answered, her voice drowsy.
“You must never do that again.”
“Do what, Captain?”
“Try to protect me.”
She was silent, considering, and he waited to see if she would argue or acquiesce.
“I saw you die. I saw talons pierce your heart. And I could not let that happen,” she whispered.
She said no more, but he felt her distress at the memory and wished he’d waited until morning to chastise her. Eventually, her breathing eased and her muscles loosened, and he closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep, tucked beside her on the Jandarian plain.
The rains began to fall just after dawn, waking them and soaking their clothes. It wasn’t cold—the rain or the air—and they stood out under the sodden sky and let the torrents wash them, cleaning their skin and rinsing their clothes. The horses had been gathered while they slept, and Kjell even retrieved his soap, using the opportunity to get as clean as modesty would allow. He shrugged off his shirt and soaped his chest, reveling in the natural shower and the woman who held her tattered dress around her shoulders and let the rain comb her hair. Laden and dripping, it reached the tops of her thighs, covering the scars on her back and sparing him the pangs of doubt that rose in him when he thought about them.
His men acted like children, scampering in the downpour with bare feet and wrestling in the long grass, and when the rain ceased as suddenly as it had begun, they built a makeshift tent to allow Sasha the privacy to peel off her ruined dress and don a new one. Traveling with a group of men in a landscape that afforded minimal natural cover was its own hardship, but they’d all managed, and she’d never complained. Kjell and his men did their best to get dry themselves, eating a breakfast of dried meat and hard bread, while they waited for the sun to dry the prairie so they could continue on their way.
Isak, the fire starter, approached him when he was checking Lucian’s hooves for rocks and thorns, the memory of the bolting mare still fresh in his mind.
“Captain, can I have a word?”
“Speak,” Kjell agreed, running his hands down Lucian’s legs, over his sides, and inspecting his teeth. The stallion let him, accustomed to his master’s attentions, but the fire starter waited for him to finish, as if he needed his captain’s eyes. Kjell released Lucian’s head and met the younger man’s gaze. A thin line of sweat broke out on Isak’s lip, and he cleared his throat once before proceeding.
“Captain, last night I drew second watch. I was weary, but I’d had no spirits.” His eyes shot to Kjell’s. “I know the rules. I saw . . . a woman. She . . . she was unclothed. At first I thought it was Mistress Sasha. And I looked away. I thought . . . I thought maybe . . . she . . . you . . .” he rubbed his hands over his face. Kjell waited, unable to tell where the story was leading and unwilling to steer it, even if it meant steering it away from himself.
“I looked again, Captain. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. But it wasn’t Sasha. The woman’s hair was dark and she was . . . fuller . . . than Mistress Sasha.” His hands created the outline of a voluptuous body, and he blushed furiously before scrubbing his hands over his face again. “My apologies, Captain. I have no opinions on whether Mistress Sasha is . . . full . . . or . . . flat.” He winced and Kjell ground his teeth. Damn Jerick.
“Focus, Isak.”
“There are no tribes here on the plain, are there Captain? Could she have been a tribal woman? She was there, naked, standing just beyond that fire.” He pointed to the fire pit nearest the tree beneath which Kjell and Sasha had slept. Kjell’s blood ran cold.
“Then she was gone. She just disappeared into thin air. I searched the area, walking the perimeter over and over. I almost stepped on a snake—a big, spitting adder that scared me half to death. I looked for prints this morning, but the rain has washed everything away.”
“What happened to the snake?” Kjell asked, eyes narrowed on the young man.
“I left it alone, Captain. That snake took off through the grass, away from the camp. I let it go.”
Kjell nodded, his lips pursed and his eyes grim.
“Do you believe me, Captain?”
“Yes, Isak. I do.” He believed him, and the possibilities made his mind reel. He turned away from the man, his eyes finding Sasha, the melon color of her fresh dress giving her the appearance of an exotic flower. She’d worked her hair into a fat braid that hung over her shoulder like a red boa constrictor. The comparison made his heart catch.
“We’re leaving,” he shouted to his men. “Mount up. And keep your eyes out for snakes.”