Daughter of the Flames (6 page)

I didn’t even realize I was moving until I hurdled a pile of spilled oranges and heard the gasp go up from the spectators. Oh God, what am I doing… I must be insane… It was too late to change my mind. I sped up, jumped, and went into a two-footed kick.

My full weight hit the Sedorne directly in his fleshy midsection and we went down together, me scrabbling under my tunic for my knife. I hit the ground, rolled and came up on one knee, the blade ready in my hand. The man was curled into a ball on the ground, vomiting violently. Ha! Deo was right about aiming for the stomach.

I looked up to find the other two Sedorne staring at their fallen friend. Their expressions were not happy. As the pounding from inside the carriage intensified, the fat one turned towards me, reaching for the straight sword that hung at his waist as he jumped down. I scrambled hurriedly to my feet.

There was an almighty crash from the carriage and the barricaded door exploded open, sending the outlaw who had been stood on it flying. A man vaulted out and landed lightly on the paving on front of me.

He was tall even for a Sedorne, probably in his mid twenties, and dressed in a blue linen shirt and breeches tucked into battered leather boots. Long silver-blond hair was pulled back from his forehead, displaying a nasty bruise, presumably gained when the carriage had hit the stall. His eyes – the same golden blue as the peacock feathers I had admired earlier – fixed on me. He took in the fallen Sedorne groaning at my feet, the injured coachman, the dagger in my hand.

Then his eyes widened at something over my shoulder. I ducked just in time and the lethal slice of the sword passed over my head. I twisted and dodged away, my body falling smoothly into the familiar rhythm. The fat outlaw lunged at me again. I waited a split second, until his greasy, unwashed scent filled my nostrils, and then I slid sideways and brought my dagger down into his sword arm.

Blood sprayed up, glittering horribly in the sun as I wrenched the knife free. The outlaw screamed, his sword clattering to the ground as he clutched at his wounded arm. I brought the bony point of my elbow around hard into the back of his neck. He folded with an incongruously gentle sigh, joining his friend at my feet.

I looked round to see the blue-eyed survivor of the carriage wreck engaging the third outlaw. He had a sword and the blue-eyed man held only a long chunk of wood – more debris from the stall – but it was obvious that this was no real fight. Even as I watched, the club connected solidly with the outlaw’s head and he went down.

The blue-eyed man turned away before his opponent even hit the ground, his gaze seeking me out. The chunk of wood dropped from his hand as our eyes met. He stepped forward. I found myself doing the same. There was something about his face – the high cheekbones, the shape of his eyes, the way the sun reflected off the paleness of his hair. Almost as if … as if I recognized him.

Then the outlaw whom I had left vomiting on the ground lurched to his knees. I saw the knife in his hand an instant before he lashed out, slashing the blue-eyed man across the back of the thigh. He cursed foully as his leg gave way and he crashed to the paving stones.

I reached the outlaw a second later and stamped on his knife hand. I cut off his cry of pain with a hard smack to the temple using the hilt of my dagger, followed by a kick to the jaw. I retrieved his knife and flung it into the open door of the carriage, shoving my own dagger back into its sheath.

I turned back to the blue-eyed man, who was trying to rip off the sleeve of his shirt with one hand while clutching the wound on his leg with the other. His face had gone white with pain. Kneeling beside him, I grabbed the stubborn fabric of the sleeve and yanked, shredding the seams.

“Let me see,” I said curtly, prising his hands away from the cut. The wound was long and bleeding profusely, but it seemed superficial. “Can you move your foot? Wiggle your toes,” I instructed, turning my head to watch his foot move. “Good. He didn’t hit anything vital. Stay still.”

I wrapped the long piece of material from his sleeve around the wound twice and pulled tight, relieved when he responded with no more than an audible teeth grinding. I hated it when people screamed. It was one of the reasons I was no good helping Mira in the herb room.

As I went to work knotting the ends of the rough bandage, he spoke to me for the first time. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such a rescue, but you have my thanks.”

The distinctive flattened vowels of the Sedorne accent jolted me. My fingers stilled for a second. When I forced them back into action, they were shaking. Was I insane? This man was Sedorne, and here I was patching him up as if he was a friend or … a Rua. What would Deo say?

Before I could even begin to formulate an answer, a shadow fell over us. I jerked my head up, then relaxed when I recognized the Rua coachman on whose behalf I had first intervened.

“My lord…” he whispered, appalled, as his gaze took in the bruised and bloodied state of the blue-eyed man.

My lord?
This time my hands fell away from the knot of material completely. “Lord?” I echoed softly.

He didn’t hear me. “Are you all right, Abha?” he asked the driver.

“Yes, yes – I am so sorry, my lord!” the Rua babbled.

“Never mind that,” he interrupted hastily. “Do you think you can get up to the fort and bring some help down? I’ll need a litter to get back up there with this leg. And I’ll have to compensate the stallholders and anyone else who might have been injured in this. Get Costin and Sergiv to take names and details.”

“Yes, my lord. I – yes.” The driver hesitated for a moment, then turned and trotted off up the road. As I watched him go I noticed the crowds of people, Rua and Sedorne, who were gathered around the wreckage of the coach, watching with wide eyes.

“I think we may have caused a scene, sister,” the blue-eyed man – no, his name was Sorin, Lord Sorin Mesgao – muttered to me.

Again, I couldn’t think of a reply.

He raised his voice, addressing the crowds. “I’d like to get these outlaws safely trussed up before they come round and start causing more trouble. Would anyone be interested in tying them up for me, and then watching over them, while someone else fetches the gourdin? You’ll be rewarded for your trouble.”

There was a small rush of people, who eagerly grabbed the unconscious outlaws and began securing them with any handy bits of rope or cloth they could find. The outlaws were soon bound hand and foot and surrounded by watchful eyes. A couple of others – both Sedorne, I noticed – went to find the gourdin. Typical that the Sedorne soldiers had managed to be absent when they were actually needed, I thought with some bitterness. They were always around to help in the persecution and murder of innocent Rua.

The man – Lord Sorin – nodded, satisfied. “Excellent. My men should be here soon, and you’ll get your payment then. In the meantime…” He looked at me. “I don’t suppose you could help me up, could you?”

I found my voice enough to reply, “Ah – of course.”

“She speaks,” he said teasingly as I slid my arm round his back and braced myself to take his weight. I blinked at him, momentarily distracted by the heat of his arm as it settled over my shoulder, then realized he was laughing at me. I set my teeth grimly. Insane, I told myself. Completely insane.

He saw my carefully blank expression and smiled wryly. “Never mind.”

He grabbed the side of the carriage and, with my help, pulled himself upright. Both of us were still breathing hard from the effort when he spoke again.

“I’m famished. You?”

I stared at him. “Eh?”

“I can smell something wonderful. I think it’s coming from over there.” He nodded in the direction of the food hut I had been about to enter before all this began. “Help me across, would you?”

“You want to eat? Now?” I asked incredulously. I let him lean on me as he limped towards the blue canopy.

“Why not?”

“Because …
because
– you’re mad,” I finished in a mutter.

“Just hungry.”

He managed the step up onto the decking with a grunt of effort, leaning heavily on me. The cooks, who had been clustered at the front of the hut with their patrons, watching the uproar, rushed back to their steaming cooking plates. The customers eyed us warily as they returned to their cushions.

“We’ll sit here on the deck,” the lord said to the flustered serving girl.

“We?” I questioned, helping him lower himself onto the plump cushion before a low table. He folded his good leg neatly under him and stretched the bandaged one out comfortably.

“You’ll join me, won’t you?” he said as I straightened and stepped away from him. “I need someone to keep me company until my men arrive, and I think you and I have lots to talk about.”

Now that his body was no longer in contact with mine, I found myself reluctantly amused by his arrogance. Lots to talk about, indeed. Egotistical man! Of course, he wasn’t just any man, was he? No doubt he was well accustomed to getting his own way.

And I’d just saved his life…

The fleeting amusement died. What had I done? He was Sedorne, and ruled over stolen lands at the behest of a despot. The Holy Mother only knew what awful things he had done to gain his position of power. The resistance probably wanted him dead anyway. Perhaps I shouldn’t have intervened. Then I felt a surge of guilt. Sedorne or not, he was a living being. No living being deserved to die like that – in the choking smoke and the flames. No living being, not even a Sedorne.

“Please.” The laughter was gone from his voice now, and I saw that he was completely serious. His eyes were almost pleading. “Sit down at least.”

I looked away and sighed. “Very well.”

I kneeled on the cushion across from him. The serving girl hovered over us, wiping her hands nervously down the front of her brown tunic. I tried a reassuring smile, but she winced away rather than meet my eyes. I twitched my hood into place and stared down at my knees.

“Aniseed tea, please,” I mumbled.

“Do you have any river prawns?” the Sedorne – I must remember that – asked. “Are they fresh?”

“Oh yes, my lord,” the girl answered anxiously. “Fresh this morning.”

“How are they prepared?”

“Stir-fried with onion and garlic. There’s cold sesame sauce and butter rice. Or we can do them on spits…”

“No, the fried ones will do. Two bowls of those, please, and aniseed tea for two.”

“Yes, my lord. Right away.”

I heard the girl’s swift footsteps as she scurried away. “I’m not hungry,” I said flatly to my knees.

“Well, you will be when the food arrives; and if not, I can always eat yours. I’m hungry enough.”

A large calloused hand laid itself on my folded ones. I jolted, pulling back instinctively. The hand withdrew. I resisted the urge to wipe my fingers on my breeches.

“What’s wrong?”

What isn’t wrong? What am I doing here? “I shouldn’t be involved in this,” I blurted out.

“I quite agree. But you’ll forgive me if I’m glad you are. I’m almost completely uninjured, thanks to you.”

“It’s my fault your leg was hurt,” I felt bound to point out. “I didn’t check the outlaw for weapons and once he was down I forgot about him, until he attacked you.”

“Your fault?” he asked coolly. “Strange. I rather thought my injury was the fault of the man with the knife. Don’t try to change the subject. I owe you a great debt for this. What would you like as payment?”

“I see!” My confusion and guilt vanished and I looked up angrily. “You want to pay me off! Well, I won’t take anything from you, do you hear? Honour is not measured in gold!”

He looked surprised, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. “I know it isn’t. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, sister. I was only offering because I thought you might have a good cause that needed … or … something,” he finished feebly.

“I’m not a sister,” I corrected sharply. “I’m … I’m—” Abruptly I remembered that I was supposed to be a novice. “I’m a novice. And the House of God can take care of its own, thank you. We don’t need blood money.” The last words slipped out before I could stop them, and I stiffened, waiting for his reaction.

“Ah. I see.” He nodded slowly. “Well, that settles that.”

Silence fell between us. Somewhere behind me I could hear the sweet singing of the wind chimes I had admired earlier. I tilted my head to hear them better. After a moment, I sighed and turned back to find him examining my face with narrowed eyes.

“How did you get that scar?” he asked quietly.

I was surprised – especially after the stares I had been forced to endure this morning – to find that I didn’t resent the blunt question. There was no pity in it. I answered evenly, “In the fire that killed my family.”

“The Great Fire?”

“If you mean the Invasion Fire, then yes, it was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” I met his eyes, expecting them to fall. He looked back steadily and it was me who had to look away.

There was another moment of quiet. Then the serving girl arrived, plates piled on her arms. She laid out two bowls of giant river prawns, two of rice and one of sesame sauce, and returned a few seconds later with the pot of aniseed tea and cups. The smell of the hot food reached my nose and my stomach let out an embarrassing rumble. I was reaching for the nearest bowl and a spoon before I realized what I was doing. I picked up a prawn, pinched off the head – I disliked eating things that looked at me – and took a bite. It was delicious. I hummed with pleasure, and saw the Sedorne cover his mouth to hide a smile. I didn’t care; I was too hungry. The food seemed to soothe the hollow feeling under my breastbone, and I relaxed a little.

“What’s your name?” he asked, spooning up some rice.

I hesitated, then said, “Zahira.” It was close enough.

Before he could ask me anything more awkward, I asked him the question that had been bothering me since I realized what had happened to the coach.

“Why did those outlaws ambush you like that? You’re the lord; even if they’d succeeded, the gourdin would have hunted them down and killed them. It was madness.”

“Ah, well.” He sipped his tea, not bothered by the question. “Those men serve a rather powerful master, and he doesn’t worry about things like that.”