Noble Falling (14 page)

“Get her out of here!”

With Ori only focused on deflecting thrust aimed at him, Kahira’s direction went unheard.

“Ori!” Kahira kicked a Dakmoran soldier away. “Get her out of here, now!”

This time, Kahira left no room for the guard to ignore her again. Grabbing the back of Ori’s clothes, she threw him in my direction. Finally understanding and realizing he only had a few moments, Ori sheathed his sword and climbed into his saddle. When he called for me to ride off, I refused to move. I would not leave Kahira there to die at the hands of these men, not when she was here because of me. Not when she had already saved my life before.

Kahira glanced over her shoulder before another sword was lifted in order to strike her down. She was avoiding the blades of three men by the time her shout registered in my conscious.

“Go!”

I ignored her command, as well as Ori’s pleas for me to kick my heels into my horse and flee. Enza latched herself to the arm of a Dakmoran, giving Kahira the opening she needed to make the kill. Immediately, another soldier was there to step in, knocking Kahira to the ground as his fist connected with her jaw.

“Kahira!”

Hearing my shout, one of the Dakmorans turned his focus to Ori and me. As the man started toward us, his blade glinting in the dim light, Ori tore the reins of my horse from my hands. Overriding my protests, Ori pulled my horse after him as he sent his own mount racing down the path.

I shouted to Ori, but he ignored me, urging our horses to go faster. I was not sure how much time had passed before Ori finally halted his horse, forcing mine to stop as well.

“Ori!” The guard ignored my pleas. “We have to go back!”

He only answered me after listening for any hints of pursuit. When he felt confident that the Dakmorans had chosen to let us go, Ori turned to me, his brow creased.

“Those men wanted Kahira, not us. Your life is too valuable to throw away for some criminal’s!”

“No!” I knew my shouts would make it easy for any pursuer to find us, and yet my anger suppressed the voice of logic urging me to remain silent, “We can’t just let her die!”

“Aleana, think about this!” Ori’s voice slowly lost its tone of frustration as he spoke. “We can’t risk your life. You have more important things to worry about than the fate of a woman who has already lived longer than she had any right to.”

Knowing my glare said more than I could ever put into words, I grabbed my horse’s reins from Ori, quickly turning my horse around to ride toward the fight before he could stop me. I heard Ori call my name shortly before I heard the beats of his horse’s hooves sloshing in the muddy ground behind me.

Racing as fast as my horse would carry me, it wasn’t long before I reached the section of road I had so recently been forced to flee from. I reined my horse in, and Ori stopped beside me as we looked at the carnage before us. Seven men lay bloody in the mud, their horses scattered off into the woods. And yet, Kahira was nowhere to be seen. An unimaginable sinking feeling hit my stomach as I saw one of Kahira’s daggers carelessly thrown in one of the many puddles. My hand drifted to the knife at my waist, sliding it free as I tried to find any sign of Kahira. It wasn’t long before we heard a bark ring out farther down the road. I immediately kicked my heels against the flanks of my horse, trying not to think about what I might find.

A few paces around a bend exposed Taewin, standing near a massive oak tree. Sheathing my knife, I hurriedly dismounted, cringing at the sudden flare of pain in my side. Forgetting it, I rushed toward the figure propped against the tree’s trunk. Ignoring the mud, I dropped to my knees in front of her. Blood covered her clothes and her head was slumped to the side, clearly displaying the swelling that had already started on the side of her face.

“Kahira!”

To my relief, her eyelids fluttered open and she smiled weakly. “I thought I told you to run.”

Ori appeared over my shoulder. “And we did.”

“Why did you come back?” Kahira struggled to look at me.

Shaking my head, I felt the blush spreading across my cheeks.

“Are you all right?” Before I even finished my own question, I saw Kahira’s shredded vambrace and the cut on her forearm, her blood still flowing slowly.

Like she had done so many times before, she ignored the question.

“One of them got away. I tried to stop him with my bow, but… you need to get out of here. We don’t know if he recognized you.”

“No, you’re coming with us. Can you ride?” My tone held no room for argument.

“Of course I can. I just have to—” Kahira struggled to her feet, a wave of dizziness almost sending her crashing back to the ground. “I need to bury those men.”

Frustration was clear in Ori’s voice. “Forget about them. We need to get out of here.”

Kahira was still struggling to focus her vision. I reached out, hoping to offer some sort of support.

“Kahira.” My heart began to beat faster at the weight of her hand pressed on my shoulder. “If burying these soldiers is truly that important, the man that got away will see them taken care of.”

The woman looked confused for a moment, and I began to question just how hard the blow to her head had been.

“You’re right, we—”

“We need to move.” Ori had thrown himself into his saddle, obviously upset that I had forced him to come back.

It was not long before she seemed to regain some semblance of control over her limbs and pulled herself toward Taewin. Kahira barely stopped herself from falling off the other side of her horse. When she grabbed for her horse’s saddle, I saw the pain from her wound register on her face. As though she had also understood her owner’s expression, Enza whimpered. Finally atop Taewin, Kahira nodded to Ori and me, a vain attempt to convince us that she was not hurt. Before I climbed into my own saddle, I tore a piece of cloth from the clothes of a Dakmoran and handed it to Kahira to wrap her wound. As the three of us gently spurred our horses forward, I caught Kahira’s mournful gaze as she looked down at the fallen Dakmorans. Once again, I listened as she formed unfamiliar words that were barely audible.

After a while, an obviously exhausted Kahira rode up beside me. The bandage on her arm already showed signs of blood seeping through. A stray tendril of black hair was plastered to her cheek, for she made no effort to keep the still steady rain from hitting her face. I looked at the dots above her eye, and sensing she was under my scrutiny, she shifted her attention to me. I didn’t turn away, letting her burning eyes—struggling to remain open—focus on me as well as they could.

I saw sadness in her gaze, and I would have reached out to her, I would have touched her if I could have mustered the courage to close the space between us. I wanted so badly to comfort her, and my lip pulled between my teeth at the realization. It took me a minute, and my heart was beating faster than I thought was possible, but I finally gathered the strength to ask, “Kahira, what happened to you in Dakmor?”

“I
WAS
born close to Dakmor’s eastern border.” Kahira’s undamaged arm was draped over Enza’s body, her hand busy running through the dog’s fur. “My family was poor, and most of our relatives were taken by illness or starvation. My mother had fallen ill one winter and never recovered, finally relinquishing her hold on life four months later. We struggled to survive day after day, but my father did all he could to advance the social status of our name—a name I will not bear again as long as I live.”

Earlier, Kahira had promised an explanation for the Dakmorans’ reaction to her. Ori had tried to force a reason from her as we rode on, hoping to avoid any other unfortunate encounters, but the last of Kahira’s energy was being used to keep herself in Taewin’s saddle. However, as soon as we had stopped to make camp and Kahira was able to properly dress her wounds and let her body relax, Ori renewed his efforts. Seeing the exhausted look on Kahira’s swollen face, I felt a twinge of guilt for not stopping Ori’s demands. Thankfully, my conscience eased as Kahira spoke, unwilling to admit even to herself that she needed rest. Now that she was talking to us, albeit hesitantly, I felt anxiety rushing through my body at the thought of sating my curiosity of this woman’s past, and I silently begged nothing would interrupt Kahira’s story.

Still paying no attention to anything but her dog, Kahira continued.

“When I was young, my father managed to get my sister a position working for the lady of the local manor house. She was a diligent employee and managed to gain favor within the house, enough so that when my father sought a position for me, my sister was able to open negotiations. Deciding they had no use for me as a personal servant, they still took me into the household, but essentially threw me in the kitchens. I knew better than to complain, however, for the alternative was quite possibly starvation.”

Kahira drew in a large breath of air, a flicker of pain crossing her expression. “Then, one day, one of the Lord’s messengers fell from his horse as he left the manor, injuring himself badly. Since the message still needed to be delivered, I volunteered to take it. Seeing he had few options, Lord Moray agreed. From then on, I was one of the household’s official messengers, a jump in station I had never expected.

“I eventually became one of Moray’s trusted servants, giving me more access to the castle. The ease with which I moved around, going unnoticed most of the time, gave me incredible freedom and an easier life than I could have ever hoped for. However, that gift is what eventually led to my downfall.”

She remained quiet for several seconds. Whether it was exhaustion or painful memories that forced her eyes closed, I did not know. I said nothing, fearing any sound that slipped from my mouth would shatter my chance at learning her past. Urging her to continue was a risk I was not willing to take.

Finally, and with obvious difficulty, she spoke again. “For the longest time, I met no trouble in my service. There was never a complaint directed at me from my lord, and the other servants left me alone once I made it clear I could fight. Then, one day after I had been there for so long that I barely remembered what life was like without answering to a master, everything fell apart. I was arrested one morning when I was saddling a horse in order to deliver a message to a nearby merchant’s estate.

“Without being told anything, I was thrown in the dungeon and my face was tattooed. I was tortured: whipped, beaten, starved, and anything else you’d like to imagine. My entire life crumbled, and I suffered every torment without even knowing why. Eventually, the pain was so great that my mind ceased to function. It was as if my body were no longer my own.

“I had heard stories of soldiers experiencing things so horrible that they were unable to remember what they had seen or what torment they had suffered. I didn’t understand how that was possible until it happened to me, until my own memory blocked out fragments of what my body was put through. Now, I am only reminded of the actual torture when I catch a glimpse of the scars riddling my body. The branding, however….” Her hand started to drift toward the mark, but she caught herself. “Reserved for those who commit heinous crimes directly against the noble family, it was a punishment I will never be able to forget, no matter how I might try. In branding me, Lord Moray made me a vanjiv—the greatest punishment that can be given to a Dakmoran.”

A stillness settled over the woman beside me. Ori spoke, unwilling to wait for Kahira to continue at her own pace.

“What was your crime? What did you do to suddenly force your lord to punish you if you claim your years of service were so loyal?”

“I was charged with murder.” To my surprise, Kahira laughed slightly, a haunted chuckle that bounced from tree to tree, surrounding and consuming everything. “And yes, it is because of me that someone died. Who it was is of no concern to you.”

“You killed a member of your lord’s family? Then why weren’t you executed?” Ori’s blunt question was met by a huff from Kahira.

“Lord Moray decided to delay my execution, locking me in the stocks to provide a spectacle for his subjects. The people of the city tormented me in whatever ways they could for several days. One night, when I was almost ready to beg for death, another servant came to me. She had been a valued friend in the castle, and she managed to steal the key to the stocks. Thankfully, she was at least able to provide proper clothing for my escape, even though she could gather no food or other supplies.

“Broken, starving, and with a sickening anger flowing through me, I made my way north as soon as I was outside the castle walls. It was the only direction I could go; the marks I received guaranteed I would be turned into Dakmoran authorities should I seek aid from a citizen. There were fewer people in the north—too many feared the clans who would occasionally venture down from the mountains—which meant there were fewer chances I would be turned in. Eventually, my body was unable to keep moving and I collapsed.”

The pieces were falling into place.

“That’s when the hunter found you.”