Epic Of Palins 01 - Dagger Star (7 page)

“Best to think so.” Beast snorted, and they both paused and listened. A breeze was picking up, and the leaves about them rustled. Red mounted Beast. “You keep going. I’ll muddle your back trail, and discourage any pursuit.” She looked at the darkening sky. “The darkness will aid us, but it will be a long night.”

“Where are we headed?” Bethral asked.

Red grimaced. “The goatherder’s. Where else?”

THE pounding at his door brought Josiah to his feet before he was even awake. He stood there for a moment, blinking in the faint light from the coals in the fireplace. The door trembled again, as the pounding started back up. With three steps he was there and threw open the door.

Red Gloves stood there, glaring at him.

“You came back,” he blurted.

“Not my choice.” Josiah gave way as Red shoved past him and dumped two saddlebags by the fire. Bethral was next through the door, carrying a man wrapped in a blanket. She pushed past as well, and placed the man on Josiah’s bed.

“I’ll get the rest of the gear.” Red pushed past again. “You see to him.”

“What”—Josiah looked back to Bethral—“what has happened?”

Bethral pulled back the blanket to reveal the man’s body.

“Sweet Sovereign Sun,” Josiah cursed. “Who—”

The frantic bleating of goats interrupted. “Out of my way, you—” Red shouted at the top of her lungs. Josiah pulled the door open to let her in as she struggled with the parcels, and the goats, who were trying to push their way past her. Josiah kept the goats out as she stomped in with saddlebags and two sacks. He shut the door behind her. “Who did this to him?”

“Your countrymen, goatherder, and their slavery,” Red snarled as she dropped her load by the hearth.

“No men of mine,” Josiah snapped at her. He glared at the warrior, but her gaze was on the slave.

As was her anger, he realized.

“It’s a wonder he still breathes.” Bethral knelt, spreading the blanket out over the bed. “We had to ride hard to get here.”

Josiah took a step closer to the bed and sucked in a breath at the sight of the man’s wounds.

“You stole a slave?”

“No.” Bethral’s voice was flint against steel. “I paid the seller his price. But he demanded the slave’s return, for a refund of the price, and I refused.”

Red scowled at him. “We are not thieves.” She went to the door. “I’ll see to the horses. We’ll all sleep here this night, just in case.” She yanked on the door, then turned to Josiah and smirked.

“You might want to put on some trous, goatherder.” She pulled the door shut with a thud.

Startled, Josiah gathered up his trous and dressed hurriedly. “Why all sleep here? There’s not much room—”

“They gave chase,” Bethral said. “We’ve lost them, and covered our trail, but we should stay together, just in case.”

Josiah sighed. “Few will venture into these lands.”

“Still.” Bethral shrugged. “Red will insist that we take no chance.” She glanced back at the man on the bed. “I’ll bathe him, at least. Get some of the filth off him.”

“I’ve not much in the way of medicines,” Josiah said.

Bethral cast a glance at the herbs drying among the rafters, and Josiah caught the look. “Cooking herbs, mostly. I’ve some yarrow and bruise balm.”

Bethral rummaged in one of the sacks that Red had brought in. “There’s bandages here and some jars. I know how to treat battle wounds, but not enough to truly aid him.” She sighed, looking down at the man. “We may have rescued him only to watch him die.”

“We could get some broth in him, perhaps.” Josiah reached for a bucket sitting by the hearth.

“Maybe a gruel. I’ll draw some water.”

RED was watering the horses by the well when Josiah emerged from the hut. She smirked to see that he’d pulled on trous. A fine figure of a man, bare of chest and feet as he walked through the moonlight toward her. Her eyes half-closed, she imagined his body moving under her, filling her

—

She turned back to her task. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, being forced to return here. The horses could rest up, with a good graze, if the goats would let them. She scowled at the little beasts cavorting around them, getting in her way.

Bethral could see to her slave, and maybe she could lure—

“You are the Chosen, you know.”

Red wrinkled her nose. In the rush, she’d forgotten about his madness. Why was it that all the good ones were insane? Cooled her ardor, certain sure.

She stepped back, to give him room. “That’s as may be,” she answered. “All I care is that Bethral be allowed to do what she can for that man.”

Josiah began to pull up a full bucket of water from the well, his muscles rippling in the moonlight. “She fears he will die.”

“She cares over much.” Red responded absently, moving through the goats, shooing them out of her way.

“And you don’t?” came the challenge.

Red grabbed the horses’ halters to lead them to the barn. “We’ll all sleep in your hut this night.”

“Not much room.”

Red shrugged without looking at him. “The floor is all the bed I need.”

“Red!” Bethral’s shout from within had them both running for the croft.

Red was first through the door. “Bethral, what’s wrong?”

Bethral was half-seated on the bed, her arm around the slave’s shoulders, supporting his head, a mug in her other hand. Her face was white as she looked at them. “His tongue’s been cut out.”

“HE’LL die, then.” Red spoke through her clenched jaw, anger and disappointment flowing through her.

Bethral shrugged, her pain reflected in her eyes. Her blonde tresses had spilled out of her bun, and over her shoulders. “He’s so weak and wasted even broth trickled down his throat would not be enough. I fear he is too far gone for our aid.” She sighed and set the mug down on the floor.

“Why didn’t they just kill him and have done?”

Red gritted her teeth against Bethral’s sorrow, a pain she was helpless to remedy. “To make him suffer.” She grated out the words.

“And to prolong the suffering,” Josiah added.

“We should not aid them.” Bethral lowered the man to the bed, and rose. She drew a ragged breath. “He will waste away then. We should grant him mercy, sword-sister.”

“Wait,” Josiah said. “I’ve a friend who might be able to help him.”

Red gave him a sharp look. “I thought you were alone here.”

“I am.” Josiah looked out the open door. “I’ll send for her.”

“How?” Red demanded.

“I’ve a way,” Josiah growled. He looked at Bethral. “If she can’t heal, she can at least offer him the last rites of the Lord and the Lady.”

Red narrowed her eyes as she studied him. She’d no desire to be indebted to a madman, but if he could get help….

Bethral looked down at the man on the bed, pulling the blanket up to cover him. “I’d thought to see him healed,” she said. “But without a tongue, I don’t see how it matters.”

Red tilted her head to the side and considered the prone figure. “How long before your friend arrives?”

“There’s time before dawn. If possible, she will be here within the hour.” Josiah shrugged. “If not, then midafternoon.”

“It would take an hour to dig a grave, anyway,” Red mused.

Josiah sucked in a breath.

Red ignored him, and turned to her sword-sister. “He seems to be resting easier, Bethral. I know you would follow the ways of your mother in this, but wait a bit.”

Bethral gave her a narrow look, and Red puffed out a breath impatiently. “He’s breathed this long, hasn’t he? What’s an hour more?”

JOSIAH stood and watched as Red headed back to where she’d left the horses. Once Bethral had agreed to wait for aid, they’d left her with the slave in the hut. Red would finish her tasks and fetch water. Josiah was going to send for Evie.

Had that been a glimpse of compassion he’d seen in Red as she’d looked at Bethral? For a moment he’d have sworn she’d been grateful for his offer of assistance. Odd to think a hardened mercenary would be so concerned.

Of course, once they’d stepped outside, she’d asked where she could find a spade.

Josiah shook his head, and headed toward the ruins of the old chapel. He’d taken the lantern, since his path wove through the trees where the darkness still clung. If he was lucky, he’d catch Evie before she started to prepare for the Dawn Greeting.

There was soft bleating behind him, and then the goats ran up around him, scampering to keep pace. He reached down to scratch Snowdrops’s ears. She rubbed against his leg, then danced away, her white coat glowing in the soft light of the lantern.

He took the path as quickly as he dared, and entered the ruined shrine. Not much left, except the back wall. It stood with its stylized sun design, a silent witness to the destruction all around.

The goats pressed through with him, their hooves clattering on the rough stone floor. He kept it swept clean, except for the rough pile of stones in the center. He knelt, set down the lantern, and piled the stones in the pattern that meant he needed aid. Evie usually checked on him before the Dawn Greeting. With any luck…

Josiah left the lantern and retreated back up the path until the doorway was just visible in the moonlight. Far enough that it wouldn’t cause Evie a problem, yet close enough that he’d see her when she stepped out.

The goats explored around him, sniffing at the plants. He seated himself on the ground, leaned back against a tree, and looked up at the night sky. It would be no bad thing if Red were indebted to him. Maybe he could get her to understand what that birthmark meant, who she really was.

He’d despaired when he’d found them gone, and cursed himself for a fool. There’d been other ways to convince her, maybe, but he’d fumbled it badly. The empty foaling room had brought his hopes crashing down around him. But they’d returned, thank the Lord of Light and the Lady of Laughter. Bethral’s impulse had brought Red back to him; he’d not lose this chance again.

How bad things must be, outside. What was happening, that slaves were abused so? He’d known that people were being bought and sold—Evie had told him—but this? Josiah frowned, curious.

He’d ask Evie, later. Maybe she was hiding the truth from him.

Dapple bleated, and trotted toward the shrine. The others followed, and Josiah stood, brushing off his pants.

“Josiah?” A soft voice called, and the light of his lantern moved toward the doorway. He smiled as Evie stepped out, reaching to pet the goats. She was dressed in all her finery, with a white robe edged in gold, a heavy cloak with a large hood, and white gloves. The perfect portrait of a Lady High Priestess of the Lord of Light and Lady of Laughter.

“Josiah,” she called again, lifting the lantern. Not that it helped all that much, with her being a head shorter than himself. Josiah stifled a chuckle. Evie was a bit sensitive about her height.

“Here,” he answered, and started to walk toward her.

“What aid do you need, cousin?” Evie asked, worried. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s not for me,” he explained as he swept her into a quick hug. “Can you come?”

“I’ve an hour before services. Who’s injured, then?” Evie started down the path.

Josiah took her hand to aid her, not sure how he was going to explain. “It’s a long story, Evie.”

She looked at him with concern, but said no more. It was only when they drew close to the hut that she spoke. “Is that someone by the barn?”

Josiah nodded, as Red headed toward them. “Yes. I let them bed down in the foaling room.”

Evie stopped dead. “You went into the barn?”

Josiah ignored that. “Red,” he called out, “help is here.”

As Red walked closer, her eyes widened as she took in Evie’s finery. “Where did she come from?” she blurted out.

“This is Lady High Priestess Evelyn, of the Church of the Gods of Palins.” Josiah said. “Evie, this is Red. She’s—”

Red gave him a grim look, and Josiah changed his mind about mentioning the birthmark. “She’s a warrior—”

“She’s not hurt,” Evie said impatiently. “Who is?”

Josiah pushed open the door. The heat of the room washed over them, as did the light of the fire.

Evie ducked in under Josiah’s arm, and made for the bed as Bethral stared at her in shock.

Once again, Evie stopped dead, staring at the man on the bed. “Flame of the Sun,” she breathed out. “Who did this?”

“Slavers,” Bethral responded, recovering her poise.

“This is Bethral,” Josiah said from the doorway.

Evie threw back her hood, revealing her thick white hair pulled back in a perfect braid. She started to pull off her gloves, revealing her small hands and the silver ring that she always wore.

“Josiah, you need to leave.”

He’d expected that. She’d want to get to work as quickly as she could. “Call out if you need anything, Evie.” Josiah stepped past Red, who looked confused, and went back outside.

EVELYN wasted no time. The poor man needed her help. She cast a quick spell, and set a small ball of light hanging above the bed. It bathed the room in daylight, and let her see the man better.

The two women were startled, but Evelyn didn’t have time for their surprise. “What happened to him?” she asked the warrior next to the bed as she removed her heavy white gloves, careful not to catch them on her ring.

“What hasn’t?” the blonde woman answered sadly. “We’re not sure. He hasn’t spoken since we rescued him. We don’t know so much as his name.”

“When was that?” Evie asked. She swept off her cloak, folded it, and put it at the end of the bed.

“Yesterday, midafternoon,” the one named Red answered.

Evie frowned. There was more to this story, that was clear. But she’d work to do and not much time to do it. “Has he moved his bowels? His bladder?”

“No,” the blonde responded. “He opened his eyes once, but I can’t claim he was sensible. He sucked a bit of ale from a cloth, but his tongue has been cut out, Lady.” The woman sighed. “I do not know what else has been done to him.”

“I will.” Evie sat on the edge of the bed, and reached over to touch the man gently on the forehead. She closed her eyes and whispered a soft prayer.

Knowledge flooded through her, and she set her lips tight against it. Her own body ached in sympathy, but that was the price one paid for this spell. She took a breath and probed further, wanting to know all that she could.