Death of a Darklord (11 page)

There was something in his voice that made Elaine stare. Disapproval. He disapproved of her. There was a wariness in his eyes, something close to … fear. That one look pierced Elaine’s heart like a dagger. She turned away, burying her face in Gersalius’s shoulder. She hid the tears against the wizard’s cloak, wanting Jonathan not to see.

“If she can ride,” Tereza said, “we must go and help the others.”

Elaine felt Jonathan rise and walk away. She raised her head slowly.

Gersalius touched cold, bare fingers to her face, gathering the tears. “He does not mean to hurt you.”

“I know.” She sniffed, wiping at her face with her gloved hands. Gersalius helped her to her feet. She couldn’t remember getting off her horse, let alone falling to the snow.

“I’ve never had a vision that lasted so long,” she said.

“It was not just a vision.”

“We must help the others,” Tereza said. “Mount up.”

“Do you feel well enough to ride?” the wizard asked.

“Yes, I feel fine. I don’t feel tired or cold, or bad at all. Why?”

“You are learning to control your magic.”

Tereza led Elaine’s horse over to them. “I’ll hold its head while you mount.”

The horse’s eyes rolled to white. It did not look happy.

“There is no time to be squeamish, Elaine. The others have ridden ahead. They may be hurt, needing our help.”

Elaine nodded. She grabbed the saddle horn. The horse danced away, only its head stationary by Tereza. Gersalius lifted her from behind, and the momentum carried her onto the horse. She settled into the saddle with the horse fidgeting under her.

Tereza released its head and kicked her way forward, leaving Elaine struggling with the reins. She knew Blaine was safe. One thing her visions always told her was if something truly awful were happening to those she loved. Like her parents’ death. Nothing final would happen without warning, though the warning was often useless. But it gave Elaine a certain confidence that disaster would not strike unawares.

Jonathan followed Tereza. Only Gersalius waited. She let the horse have its head. It gave a bound that made her shriek, then rushed forward. It ran full out, stretching its muscled body to
entire length. It leapt over a fallen tree. She swallowed the scream that rose in her throat. She passed Tereza’s mount and realized the horse was running away with her. The harder she pulled on the reins, the faster the blasted thing ran.

Her hood fell backward. Her hair streamed in the icy wind. The trees rushed by at blurring speed. Hands clutched at the saddle, clawing for a hold, for anything to hold to.

Over the whistling wind, she heard sounds of fighting—a snarling, snapping, yelling chaos. The horse was running straight for it.

The horse ran full-out toward a stream, a wide, swift-running stream with crumbling, snowy banks. Elaine watched in horror as the horse bunched up beneath her and leapt. It sailed over the stream, and Elaine was airborne as it dropped away and scrambled for the farther bank.

She slammed into a tree and fell, crumbling at its base. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make her body work. She was helpless and dying. The stupid horse had killed her at last.

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tried to face the sound but couldn’t move. She struggled just to breathe. If it was some great beast come to eat her, she could do nothing to save herself. The thought made her angry. She took another painful breath and fought to sit, leaning against the tree that had nearly broken her back.

Blaine stood knee-deep in snow, sword out, shield gripped close to his side. Two wolves circled him. He struggled in the deep snow to keep them both in sight, but they seemed to know that and turned opposite each other. Neither Blaine nor the beasts had seen Elaine.

She sat on the cold ground and watched her brother. What could she do to help him? She was no fighter. She did not even have the fighting knife that the woman with gold eyes had had in her vision. She had a small dagger for cutting food, stripping wood for a fire, but not fighting.

One wolf leapt at Blaine. He slashed it, and it yelped, falling back; fresh blood seeped onto the snow. The other wolf lunged onto Blaine’s back before he could turn, bringing him down under its weight. Fanged jaws opened wide to crush his skull.

Elaine screamed, “Nooo!”

The wolf whirled, still pinning Blaine with its weight but not biting. It turned amber eyes to her.

She struggled to her feet. The wounded wolf stalked toward her, stiff-legged. The other wolf turned back to Blaine, lips drawing back from fangs. Blaine managed to get one shoulder up. The wolf bit down. Blaine screamed.

Elaine looked around for something, anything, to use as a weapon. She pulled a tree limb from the snow. The wounded wolf crouched, haunches tense, ready to spring. There was another scream from Blaine, but Elaine had no time to spare for him. The wounded wolf hurtled toward her. She held the tree limb out before her like a sword.

The wolf hit the branch, and though Elaine managed to hold on to it, the weight shoved her back into the snow, the snarling wolf atop her. The wolf was caught on the stick like a tent on a pole. It struggled, claws flaying, scratching at her face and arms. Elaine screamed.

A sword slashed out and down. The wolf’s head tumbled away, and blood sprayed out into the snow, over Elaine’s face. She threw an arm up to protect her face. The tree limb collapsed; the wolf dropped atop her. Blood pumped out on her, down her neck, soaking into her clothing.

She screamed. Blood poured into her mouth and eyes. The wolf slid to one side. Hands lifted her to a sitting position. She struggled, screaming, throwing her head from side to side, scraping at her face.

“Elaine, Elaine.” Blaine’s voice.

She blinked up at him. Her eyelashes were sticky with blood. He cradled her against his cloak. Blood smeared along the white fur.

“I thought the horse might have killed you,” Tereza said. She stood over them, cleaning her blade on a bit of cloth. “I didn’t know you’d be fighting wolves.”

Elaine swallowed, tried to think of something to say and coming up with nothing. Blaine was alive. She was alive. The wolf was dead. There was nothing to say, except, “Where’re Konrad and Thordin?”

“Here I am.” Thordin stepped out of the trees. He held a rawhide string in one hand, a necklace of fresh wolf ears threaded on it. They made a trail of crimson drops on the snow like bread crumbs.

“Where’s Konrad?” Jonathan asked.

“The beast that led the lesser wolves took off through the trees almost as soon as we arrived.” He frowned. “I’ve never seen a huge creature like that turn tail without a fight. Konrad chased it with me, yelling for it to come back. But our first task was to protect the travelers, not go glory chasing.”

Elaine’s stomach clenched tight and cold. “Konrad is out there alone with that beast. We must help him.”

“Now, child, either Konrad is fine and will come dragging his tail home, or …” Thordin shrugged.

“Or what?” she asked, but she knew. Thordin’s matter-of-factness was too callous for words. “You have to help him.”

“Oh, aye, child, but first I heard you screaming. Konrad’s better at taking care of himself than you are. And this brother of yours.” He nudged Blaine with his foot, smiling.

How could they all be smiling when Konrad might be dying or dead? Elaine knew her visions would show her Blaine’s safety, or lack thereof, but she wasn’t sure of Konrad’s. He could die without her knowing. The thought made her throat ache with unshed tears.

“He’s all right, Elaine.” Blaine helped her to her feet. He winced as he took her weight. She pushed back his heavy cloak. His left shoulder bore tooth marks. Blood trickled down his arm.

“Does it hurt?”

He gave a crooked smile. “It would have to be the same arm the tree tore.”

“Can you move it, boy?” Thordin asked. He proceeded to manipulate Blaine’s arm, making sure it had a full range of motion. The arm did, but Blaine was tight-lipped and sweating when it was done.

“He’s hurt; can’t you see that?” Elaine said.

“Yes, but he’s not too hurt to fight.”

A horse pushed through the underbrush. Konrad was on it. He seemed uninjured. His eyes widened. He leapt off the horse and ran to Elaine. “Sit down, for gods’ sake. You’re wounded.” He pushed her back into the bloody snow, medicine pack already open. His strong, sure fingers searched her face, neck. Fingertips kneading her scalp searching for the cut. She’d never felt his hands on her body so strongly. She didn’t know whether to say something, or not.

It was Blaine who said, “It’s not her blood.”

Konrad didn’t even look up. His healer’s hands still searched for the wound he was sure was there.

Blaine touched his shoulder. “She’s not hurt.” Then it was Blaine’s turn to frown at her. “You aren’t hurt?”

Elaine looked at Konrad’s serious face, so close, but finally said, “I don’t think so.”

Konrad blinked as if just now paying attention. “You aren’t hurt?” He sounded like he didn’t believe it.

Elaine wished she were hurt. Some small wound that would
bleed a great deal and look more serious than it was. She started to say no, then realized she was. There were lines of dull, burning ache on her cheek, arms, ribs. She raised a hand to her cheek, rubbing at the wolf’s blood. She gave a soft hiss.

Konrad turned her head to one side. “Scratches.” He glanced down at the headless wolf. “This?”

“Yes.”

His fingers held her chin firmly, but not hard enough to hurt. He poured water on a rag and rubbed the wound, trying to clean it. The rag’s cold water was still warmer than the surrounding air. It stung.

“What happened to the beastie you were chasing?” Thordin asked.

“I lost it in the trees.” He never took his eyes from Elaine, from his work. His concentration was pure; fighting, healing, whatever, he was totally absorbed in it, as he had been in his love for his wife, as he was consumed in grieving for her.

Elaine realized with an almost physical jolt that the very trait she loved most about Konrad was the one that made him oblivious to her. His grief would live forever, as his love would have.

She stared into his green eyes, and he did not truly see her. He might never truly see her. That one thought hurt more than any wound.

Konrad lifted her arm. The claws had scratched through the cloth here and there. It was hard to tell if the wounds bled, for she was covered in wolf blood.

“Were you lying under the thing when it was beheaded?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He made an exasperated sound low in his throat. “Who killed the wolf?” He looked up for the first time. “Blaine?”

“It wasn’t me. I was too busy killing my wolf. In fact, after you see to Elaine, I’ve got a bite in my shoulder.”

“Is anyone else hurt?” He bent back to Elaine. He’d unlaced her sleeve and was pushing the cloth back to reveal the white undersleeve. He traced the scratches. The cloth had protected her arms for the most part—no deep wounds.

“I’m living a charmed life of late,” Thordin said. “Two encounters with evil and not a scratch.”

“I slew the wolf,” Tereza said.

Konrad rubbed salve into all the scratches he could find. “Why did you have to behead the blasted thing on top of her?”

“It was about to kill her,” Tereza said. Her voice was warm with the first stirrings of anger. “If you hadn’t gone off chasing boggles, you might have been here to help.”

Konrad’s shoulders hunched as if she’d struck him. Elaine stared at him. What was happening? What was he thinking to make that one remark hurt so much? His hands were smoothing salve on her cheek, touching her, the thought was enough. His mind opened to her like a door swinging wide.

He’d chased the great beast as though it had slain his wife, though Elaine didn’t understand why. Beatrice hadn’t been killed by wolves of any kind. He felt guilty for leaving them all, for failing them, as he’d failed his wife. Why failed?

His green eyes looked at her at last. They searched her face, seeing her, truly seeing her, as she had always wanted him to. But it was pity, not love. His thoughts filled his eyes like water and spilled into Elaine. She’d swallowed the wolf’s blood. It was no natural wolf, and one way to become a werewolf was
to drink the blood of one.

Elaine stared at him, mouth slowly opening in horror. Her eyes widened. “No, it wasn’t.”

The sudden tenderness on Konrad’s face was too much. His pity was overwhelming. Why couldn’t it have been love? The salty tears stung the cuts on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Blaine asked.

“Did you swallow the blood, Elaine?” Jonathan asked.

She stared up at him with panicked eyes. “Yes.” Her voice sounded strangled.

“No,” Tereza said. “It was just a wolf.”

“That size, in the company of a man-wolf,” Jonathan said. He shook his head.

“No,” she said again, voice strong and sure. “It was just a dire wolf, unnatural perhaps, but not a werewolf.”