First Of Her Kind (Book 1) (10 page)

A voice yelled at her over the ringing in her ears; ordered her to find her feet and move. Ciara would have been more than happy to oblige, but at the moment, breathing required all her attention. She shifted to relieve the sharp pain hampering her efforts at the simple task. Other sounds filtered through to her. A horse screamed a challenge, followed swiftly by a startled curse and a sickening thud, then the clash of steel on steel. Another loud whinny, this time full of rage and indignation, and Ciara felt, rather than heard, Bolin's soft command to Sandeen to be still. Stark silence followed, punctuated only by the jingle of harness and shuffling of feet.

A face hovered into Ciara's view; clean shaven, jet black hair, and eyes like starless nights.

"Lady." Donovan extended a gloved hand and pulled Ciara, willing or no, to her feet. "Are you injured?"

Ciara shook her head. Her pride, perhaps, and her backside. "I don't think so." She brushed leaves and dirt from her clothes, and reached up to pick twigs out of the tangle of her hair.

Past Donovan she caught a glimpse of Sandeen; a shimmer of magic held him in place. Bolin stood apart from him, ringed by five armed brigands. A sixth crouched off to one side, blood seeping between the fingers he held pressed to his side. The tip of Bolin's sword glittered wetly. Another man sprawled an arm’s length from Sandeen's hooves, his skull a mangled wreck. Ciara put a hand to her mouth, and looked away.

The men Bolin faced were armed with short swords and wore leather jerkins over plain, dark shirts. Their dirty faces and stringy hair reminded Ciara of the two men on the road, but their eyes had a glazed, dull look as though they were half asleep. Or spell bound.

Ciara started forward but Donovan laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. "You must have known we would meet again. It is unfortunate the General has decided it must be on these terms."

"What do you want from us?" Ciara asked.

"Only that which is rightfully mine."

"We don’t have anything of yours."

The corners of Donovan’s mouth lifted in an expression that, on anyone else, would have been a smile. "No? I believe you do."

He turned and signaled his men. The circle tightened around Bolin, and the dance began. It couldn't be called anything else. Bolin moved with far too much grace and fluidity to call it fighting. Even the Imperial swordsmen sparring at the summer tournament in Guldarech couldn't compare to what Ciara watched now. With never a pause or even the slightest hesitation, Bolin parried and thrust with deadly accuracy. His sword twisted and crossed in a ceaseless spin of sharpened steel, tireless and unwavering, each move leading smoothly into the next.

He didn’t let them rush him.

Didn’t let them dictate his moves.

Bolin set the pace and rhythm of the fight, as though he knew without looking exactly when and where to swing his sword. As though he had spent hours upon hours practicing the exact placement of his feet, the precise arc his blade would follow. Around him, under his sword, the brigands were little more than stumbling, awkward creatures.

Stumbling, awkward creatures that still outnumbered him five to one, and there were others waiting among the trees to take the place of any that fell.

"Amazing, is he not?" Donovan breathed the words into her ear.

Ciara leaned away from him. "If you want him dead why don't you just kill him and be done with it."

Donovan feigned innocence. "You misunderstand my intentions. The General is of little use to me dead. Besides which, he is not an easy man to kill. I have tried before. No, I have other plans for the General. I merely need him," he paused, for effect or to find the right word, "incapacitated."

From the current head count of those on the ground, versus the one man central to it all, Bolin didn't give the impression of someone about to be incapacitated easily or soon. But each time a brigand fell, Donovan motioned another in to take his place. And each time Sandeen raged against the shimmer that kept him from joining the fight.

No shimmer held Ciara, only Donovan's hand on her shoulder. But that seemed to be enough to keep her rooted in place. She sucked in a sharp breath as Bolin faltered just a step, and one of the blades sliced toward his stomach. He stepped back and twisted, transferring his sword to his left hand as he brought his arm around. The head of the nearest man left his body in a spray of blood, thudding to the ground as the rest of him crumpled. Ciara gagged and turned her face, unable to watch.

She could stop this, just as she'd stopped the men on the road. She could help Bolin and put an end to it.

Her hair moved against her neck with Donovan's words. "That would be most unwise."

She suppressed a shiver and tried to pull away from him, but his grip remained firm. "I thought you wanted to help me."

"And so I do."

She glared at him. "How is this helping me?"

"I cannot help you with the General thwarting my every move. He is unconvinced I am a friend."

"And this is how you try convincing him?"

Ciara risked a glance back at the battle. Two more of Donovan’s men had joined the circle around Bolin. They pushed their advantage as he missed a step, and though he recovered in time, his thrust went wide.

"Stop it. Please," Ciara said. "We don’t have anything of yours, I swear."

"It will be over soon."

Bolin slipped on the blood-soaked ground. Sandeen struck out at the shimmer with his front hooves, again and again, his coat lathered. An ill-aimed swing sent Bolin spinning out of the center of the fray. Without turning, he flipped his sword so the blade pointed back, and caught the man charging up behind him in the gut. Another came at him from the side and Bolin wrenched his weapon free, bringing it back around in a gore-streaming arc. His attacker ducked under the swing, his short knife flicked out like an adder’s tongue and Ciara heard Bolin’s sharp hiss of breath as it found a mark.

As if that were some sort of signal, Donovan's horde backed away, widening the circle. Their weapons remained at the ready but they no longer pressed the attack.

Ciara looked a question at Donovan, and wished she hadn't. A light glimmered in his
midnight eyes.

Bolin's lip curled as his gaze swept past the men that surrounded him, and fixed on Donovan. The tip of his sword dipped toward the ground. He jerked it back up, and blinked like an owl against the light.

"What have you done?" Ciara reached up to pry Donovan's fingers from her shoulder.

"Only what I needed."

Bolin staggered forward a step. His mouth worked as he tried to form words, sweat glistened on his forehead. He took another step before his eyes glazed over, and he dropped to his knees. He struggled to get back up, lost his balance and toppled over. Only then did Donovan release his hold on Ciara.

"He’s not dead," Donovan said, and managed to make it sound boring. "Can you control that horse of his?"

Ciara sprinted toward Bolin but two of the men stepped in front of her. She shoved them recklessly out of her way and dropped to her knees beside Bolin, rolling him carefully onto his back. Most of the blood covering him belonged to others. In fact, a long, thin cut across his forearm, just above the leather bracer proved to be the only wound Ciara could find. It did nothing to explain the ashy pallor of his skin, or the ragged cadence of his breathing.

"What was on the blade?" she demanded over her shoulder to Donovan.

He sighed. "The morning grows old and I would prefer to be within my walls before dark. Can you control his horse, or do I have my men kill the beast?"

Ciara's eyes landed on Bolin's sword as she turned. She reached for it without thinking and clambered to her feet. Donovan's men shuffled back as she swung the weapon in a wild circle, holding it with both hands.

"And what do you intend to do with that?" Donovan asked. "Accomplish what he could not?"

"I have something Bolin doesn't," Ciara said.

Donovan's eyes widened, and he laughed. "That you do. And you enjoyed embracing it, did you not? The thrill as it coursed through your veins; as you watched those men die by your hand. You want that feeling again."

Ciara shook her head. "No." She darted a nervous look at Donovan's men, but though their swords were at the ready, they hadn't moved. "I want you and your men to leave."

An eager light flickered in the depths of Donovan's eyes. "And if I refuse?"

Ciara flexed her fingers around the sword’s hilt. Her palms were slick with sweat, and the muscles in her arms quivered. Sandeen still pranced in place within the confines of the shimmer, swinging his head in rhythm to his feet as though dancing.

"Why are you doing this?" Ciara asked.

"That will be made clear, in time. Something he is running out of by the way." Donovan nodded in Bolin's direction. "The longer you delay, the closer he moves to death."

"I'm a healer."

"The only suitable use for the Goddess's magic," Donovan replied, and wrinkled his nose, his face contorting as though he smelled something offensive. "It will do you as much good in your present circumstance as that weapon."

His gaze slid to Ciara's right, and she followed it to find the man closest to her moving in. She swung toward him and her heel caught on Bolin's leg when she tried to back away, leaving her no place to go. Her vision clouded. When it cleared again the man had stopped, right along with Ciara's heart.

A jagged scar twitched across the left side of his face when he grinned. "Hello, mouse."

Ciara's mouth went dry. The sword fell out of her hands, and she scrambled to keep her feet as she tripped over Bolin. Someone caught her arms from behind and pinned them to her sides but she didn't fight it. Raw terror held her frozen. The wilding twisted in her gut, eager for blood. Ciara couldn't. Not again. Not ever again.

But it had been so simple. She had only to think and the wilding would act. Together they were invincible.

"No!" Ciara screamed, and twisted free of the man holding her.

Donovan replaced Scar-face in her vision, his expression a mask of irritation. His fingers dug into her flesh as he grabbed her by the elbow and propelled her toward Sandeen. "Enough of this. See to the horse before I kill it."

Ciara grit her teeth. Sandeen quivered, head to tail, ears flicking ceaselessly, nostrils flared. Without the shimmer to hold him, few would now be standing. When Ciara touched on his rage it formed a tight knot in her skull.

"I'll try," she said, and her voice shook.

"Do more than try. Calm him. Now. The longer you delay the less likelihood the General will survive."

Ciara gave Bolin one last look to ensure he still breathed. The shimmer that held Sandeen crackled and hissed as she drew close. She put a hand up to it and her skin tingled as the magic rippled over her fingers and crawled up her arm. She jerked away but Donovan caught her eye, and gave a purposeful nod of his head. He watched her like a hawk watching its dinner. Ciara rubbed her palms on her thighs, took a deep breath, and stepped into the shimmer.

She gasped as sharp, tiny prickles streamed through her from the inside out. Her earth magic shuddered so violently Ciara lost her balance and lurched forward into Sandeen's heaving, lathered chest. He pushed against her, and Ciara skipped out of his way to prevent her toes from getting smashed under his hooves. His eyes showed white, and he snaked his head out and snapped air.

"Shh, shh, pretty one." Ciara hoped Findley hadn’t lied when he said she had a gift with animals. Sandeen’s anger and outrage pounded against the inside of her skull, the intensity of the barrage making her wince. It felt like the wilding, and that terrified her. Sandeen, like this, terrified her.

Ciara swallowed -- hard -- and fought to calm her own nerves.

"Steady, now." She kept her voice low, and drew the words out. His broad, muscled chest, quivered under her hand as she stroked it. "Steady, pretty one."

She cooed to him, and whispered whatever came to mind, wished him peace and calmness. All the while she fought to feel those things herself. She kept her eyes averted, and drew on her earth magic, sending the quiet streams of it down her arms and out her palms. It flowed through her fingertips as she ran her hands over the explosive mass of muscle and sinew. Sandeen snorted, and tossed his head. He heard her now, and began to quiet, though the mobile ears did not stop flicking. Ciara didn't fail to notice that, as the battle lust left him, the shimmer weakened of its own accord.

"Get him on his horse," Donovan ordered behind her, as the last of the shimmer faded like morning mist.

She didn’t turn when Donovan’s men carried out his instructions. She held Sandeen steady as they slung Bolin over the saddle like a sack.

"Reclaim your mount," Donovan said to her. "I should not need to tell you that running would be a foolhardy decision."

He gathered Sandeen’s reins from her, and the stallion balked.

"Relay to him it would be best for his rider if he cooperated."

"Relay it yourself."

Donovan's thin brows rose. "That was beneath you."

Ciara felt her cheeks flush and looked away, the admonishment stinging far more than cared to admit.