Cold Steel

After an agony of time I sought with my mind along the length of my body and found my right foot. Focusing on the foot, which did not hurt, I opened my eyes. The roof of the tent billowed with odd patterns of light that made my eyes water. I was naked, a blanket tucked modestly around my body and folded under my armpits. My right shoulder had been bandaged. When I shifted, a wave of pain spilled outward from the shoulder, and I whimpered.



“Here you are,” said the gaunt woman, still seated beside me.



Two girls stood behind her with huge dark eyes a-goggle. Their striking resemblance to Vai snapped me into full wakefulness. One girl was a head shorter than her sister and as thin as a reed; she leaned on a crutch. The taller girl was robust.



The woman leaned forward. “Drink this. It will ease the pain.”



Again Lord Marius appeared, a god out of a Greek tale, ready to smite. He snatched away the cup before it could touch my lips. “I want an answer to my question.”



She nodded calmly. “Of course, my lord. But it is hard for the young woman to speak with dry lips.”



I could speak!



“The Legate Amadou Barry is responsible for his own death.” My voice emerged as more of a hoarse croak. “It was his choice to follow us into a dangerous place. He thought he had the right to possess Bee simply because he wanted her. Yet he didn’t respect her enough to trust her when she tried to save him. He was swept out of the spirit world by the tide of a dragon’s dream. I don’t know what happened to him after that.”



“My lord, if you will allow her to take willowbark tea to ease the pain, she will come to her senses.”



“She is not delirious.” White-lipped, Lord Marius glared at me. “The punishment for murdering a Roman legate is death. The punishment for murdering my beloved brother is that I will hound you until you show me his grave and then I will water it with your blood.”



From outside I heard men shouting angrily. Lord Marius turned to look at the tent’s entrance, where two soldiers in the colors of the Tarrant militia stood guard.



“No! They’re saying one of them was shot! I will see my sisters!” The voice was Vai’s.



A second male voice replied in the loud and mocking tone of a highborn man who means to be heard by as many people as possible. “Your sisters, or your daughters? I know how your kind are. Everyone sleeps in the same bed.”



“I’ll kill you,” said Vai in a raw, ugly tone I had heard only in his nightmares. The smack of a fist hitting flesh was followed by the thud of a body hitting dirt.



The other man shrieked, “Get the stinking goat off me!”



A commanding voice I recognized as the mansa’s spoke. “Enough! Tie his arms back if he can’t control his fists.” The grunts and curses of a scuffle faded to silence.



Vai burst into the tent. His arms were trussed up behind his back with rope bound around a stout stick that could be twisted to control him. The brawny soldier who had hold of the stick brought him up short as he saw the girls.



“Bintou! Wasa!”



The bigger girl bolted to him and pressed her face against his shoulder. He kissed her hair, then looked with a frown toward the other girl who, with her too-short crutch, hadn’t tried to move. His glance skipped from the invalid girl to the woman. His lips parted. A jolt of stunned shock rolled through his body. But he recovered quickly. In a cunning move worthy of a sly Barahal, he slammed back into the soldier, jostling the stick. With a wrench, he freed himself and staggered forward to drop to his knees before the woman.



“Mother.” He rested his forehead on her knees. “Forgive me for bringing this trouble on you and the girls.”



“Son.” She laid a hand on his head in a blessing. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but her tone was implacable, even a little aloof. “You will be strong, as I taught you. I am told this woman is your wife and thus my daughter.”



His head and shoulders came up as if yanked. With an intake of breath, he stared into her face to read the truth of the words. Then he turned and saw me.



“Catherine!” He leaped to his feet. “What can you have been thinking? You weren’t to follow me… did they capture…?” I recognized the moment he saw the bandage because of how his entire body shuddered. He was not speechless. He spoke through his magic. A grinding roar of noise rumbled far above as masses of air crashed and cooled. A waterfall of illusions spilled around us like deformed creatures writhing as they were twisted inside out.



“Andevai, this is not the behavior I expect from you.” His mother did not raise her voice, yet her tone cut right through the fury of his emotions.