The Elder Blood Chronicles Book 4 The Blessed Curse (9 page)

“I promise you both an extra-long grooming
tomorrow,” Zoelyn said, her voice barely loud enough to carry to
the horses. Her mare looked over at her at the sound of her voice,
but seemed more intent on chewing on the grass in her mouth than
concern about grooming. With a swish of her long black tail, the
horse returned to eating and Zoelyn smiled.

She shrugged out of her sodden coat as she
moved back toward the saddles and carefully hung it across one of
the lower limbs. The branch swayed under the weight of the garment
and she lingered, her hands up and ready to catch it in case the
limb gave. After a long moment she nodded faintly and dropped down
to sit on the edge of the saddle blankets. Glancing up, she watched
the camp for another long moment before peeling off the wet gloves.
The skin of her fingers was already pruning from the wet leather
and she knew if the gloves didn’t dry before Dominic needed her
help, she was in for blisters and misery for several days.

Leaning back against the saddle, Zoelyn
lifted her hand to her face and carefully prodded at the sore spot
where the rock had hit just above her cheekbone. It was swollen and
likely bruised, but didn’t seem to be too bad. Still it would look
as though she had been in a tavern brawl for a few days at least.
There was nothing to be done for it, though, even if Dominic had
extra energy to spare on her, Healing magics didn’t work on her at
all. Her body seemed ravenous for magic as much as it was for life.
Every spell or item of magic she touched drained into her with no
effect other than the change in her hair.

She twisted a lock of hair around her finger
at that thought and gazed down at the gold and green coloring.
Typically, when her curse hadn’t drained anything, her hair was
white, almost crystalline in appearance, as were her eyes. It
changed, however, whenever she absorbed anything. The green was for
the plants that had withered and the gold represented the life she
had stolen from the innocent creatures that had been unfortunate
enough to be near her.

Sighing heavily, she let her hair fall back
to her shoulder once more and leaned back farther to stare up at
the twilight sky that was visible through the limbs of the massive
oak. Not much chance of her coat or gloves drying quickly with the
sun already setting. The logical thing to do would be to take them
back into camp and set them beside one of the camp fires.

That would be associating with others,
though, and she had the practice of being anti-social down to a
fine art. From what she had seen in other people in her time with
Dominic, blisters were less painful than trying to explain to
strangers why she was like she was. It was hard to explain
something you didn’t understand, and no one ever believed her when
she simply said
I don’t know
. Closing her eyes, she allowed
herself to rest for the time being. It had been a long ride, and as
much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was tired. Once the camp
had quieted and most were sleeping, she would return to help
Dominic. She knew without a doubt he would work all night, and for
now he had the other girls to fetch and carry for him.

* * *

“There was a young man looking for you
earlier,” Dominic informed her quietly as she pushed her way into
the tent.

“Did you tell him who I was?” Zoelyn asked
softly as she studied the occupants of the tent. There were perhaps
twenty wounded stretched out on pallets near the walls, and aside
from a large blond man in leather armor sitting silently by one of
the pallets with his eyes closed everyone was sleeping.

Dominic shook his head, never looking up from
the wound he was carefully stitching. “I didn’t even glance up at
him when he was asking around. Too busy healing to bother,” he
explained, though a small smile creased his face. “Shouldn’t be
surprised, though, a pretty girl like you should have young men
asking after them,” he teased gently.

Zoelyn smiled at his effort to make her feel
better and handed him another bandage before he could open his
mouth to ask. He accepted it with a wider smile and gave her a
wink. “I’d prefer it if young men didn’t know I existed,” she
whispered back, her gaze flicking to the blond man once more, and
wondered if he was asleep after all. She had never seen anyone
sleep while sitting up, but he wasn’t moving.

“Wasting your time and energy,” a voice
called from somewhere beyond the tent. “They are all going to die
anyway!” the voice continued. Dominic sighed heavily and glanced in
that direction before shaking his head in disgust. “I wish someone
would silence him,” he mumbled.

“You may have won the battle, but we have won
the war!” The voice broke the silence again, this time nearly
yelling.

“They have the prisoners this close to the
wounded?” Zoelyn asked in disbelief.

“They are keeping them in the center of camp
actually. It’s just the tents for the wounded are ringing the
center of camp so we are basically right next to them,” Dominic
explained wearily. “I have been listening to that man for most of
the day. Every time the guards silence him he starts again with the
next shift of watch. I have almost got the changing of guards
worked out in my mind just from when he rants,” Dominic
explained.

“We killed the bitch! None of you have a
prayer of standing together now! You have lost!” The voice called
once more and the blond man rose instantly with the words.

Zoelyn watched him pace silently to the tent
flap and looked back at Dominic in shock. “I thought he was
sleeping,” she admitted quietly, and stepped back as Dominic rose
quickly as well to follow the man. Confused but curious, she
followed along and emerged from the tent in time to see the blond
haired stranger grab one of the prisoners by the throat and slam
him against the pole that held them all chained in place. Drawing
back his other hand swiftly he punched the prisoner in the face,
smashing the smaller man’s head back against the pole from the
force of his blow. “Lord Delvayon, please,” one of the guards
hissed as he tried to pull the bigger man off the prisoner.

“I have listened to this asshole most of the
day and ignored him, right up to the point when he bragged about
her dying,” the Lord snarled in return as he shrugged the guard
off.

“Lord Delvayon, considering your actions in
the battle, you are lucky that we are tolerating your presence
here. Please do not press your luck with abuse of the prisoners. We
are counting on them being alive to draw a truce with Rivana,” The
newest voice cut through the air with the bite of command and
Zoelyn drew farther back into the shadows as the tall, dark haired
man entered the firelight of the torches surrounding the
prisoners.

“Don’t you dare treat him like that for what
he did!” Another man snarled, and Zoelyn looked over quickly to see
a silver haired man rising from the ground just beyond the edge of
camp. He moved swiftly toward the dark haired man, his hand
dropping to the hilt of his sword as he walked. “If not for Neph,
there would be a hell of a lot more names on that pillar!” the
silver haired man said in a voice that was rising in fury as he
pointed behind him to a large stone statue of a woman that Zoelyn
hadn’t even noticed in the growing excitement.

“What is that?” Zoelyn whispered to Dominic
who was standing rigid beside her.

“A monument for the High Lady Jala Merrodin.
She died in the battle. The names of all who died here on her
behalf are carved on the pillar beneath her,” Dominic explained
quickly, his eyes still locked on the three men as if he expected
violence to erupt at any moment.

“Get your hand off your sword, Val,” Lord
Delvayon muttered sourly and started to loosen his grip on the
prisoner.

The Rivasan laughed hoarsely and spat blood
onto the ground by the Lord’s boots and grinned at them all through
split lips. “See that, Delvay, you aren’t allowed to touch me and I
get to watch it all fall apart. The bitch hasn’t even been dead a
full day and already you are at each other’s throats. Your pathetic
alliance won’t last two weeks.”

Without any warning the Lord’s hand tightened
once more on the prisoner’s throat and his fist slammed into the
man’s face until the prisoner was limp in his grasp.

The dark haired man started to move forward
to stop him, but the one the lord had called Val stepped to block
his way. Zoelyn looked quickly between the three and then to the
guards who stood back with looks of near panic on their faces. A
wail of pain rose from the prisoner as the large Delvay pried his
battered jaws open and shoved his hand into the man’s mouth. There
was a gargling noise and then the lord pulled his hand back
swiftly. At first Zoelyn thought the prisoner had managed to bite
the Delvay, until she saw the lump of pink flesh the lord was
grasping in his hand. Blood streamed down from the prisoner’s mouth
as weak gargling rose from his throat. The Delvay had ripped the
man’s tongue completely out of his mouth. Bile rose in her throat
and she turned away quickly as Dominic moved forward.

“Lord Delvayon, I have more than enough work
to do without you creating more. Release that man at once,” Dominic
commanded in a voice that actually sounded as if he had
authority.

Blinking stupidly, Zoelyn gaped at her
Guardian in utter shock. The Delvay lord had just ripped a man’s
tongue fully out of his mouth and Dominic was actually being stupid
enough to get in the middle of it.

The Delvay lord regarded him stonily for a
few moments, then tossed the tongue to the ground and grabbed the
prisoner once more, one large hand on each side of the man’s head.
With a quick jerk, he snapped the man’s neck and released the body
to fall limply to the ground. “No extra work now,” the Delvay
announced coldly.

“That was murder!” Dominic bellowed, taking
another step closer, his hand raised in accusation.

“That was justified!” Lord Delvayon shot back
with equal venom. “Who in the bloody hell are you, anyway?” he
demanded.

“He is my personal healer,” a softer voice
answered and Zoelyn felt relief wash through her body as she
recognized the sound of Troyelle Hai’dia’s voice. She hadn’t seen
the General of Arovan often, but every time she had been in his
presence he had been calm and rational. The current situation could
certainly use someone calm and rational. “Valor, get your hand off
of your sword. Lord Faydwer, I have this matter from here. I thank
you for your attempts at stemming the violence.” Looking around at
the growing crowd, Troyelle motioned to his guards that were
stationed around the prisoners. “Clear the area and see that
everyone returns to their rest,” he ordered softly, his gaze
returning once more to the Delvay lord and the dead prisoner. “I
will grant you, Neph, that man was an annoying bastard, but don’t
you think that was a bit excessive?”

“I think the bastard should have shut his
mouth the first time he was told to,” Neph countered.

Troyelle frowned and looked from Neph back to
Valor. “I told you to get your hand off of your sword,” he
sighed.

“Tell me you are letting Neph return to his
rest without further harassment and I’ll be more than happy to,
father,” Valor replied in a voice that was shaky at best.

“Val, I don’t need you to fight my battles
for me,” Neph snapped.

“Excuse me.” A gentle nudge at her back spun
Zoelyn around quickly to face the newest speaker. She wasn’t used
to being caught off guard or being touched and the man had managed
both. He smiled faintly at her and limped past to stand near
Dominic. Zoelyn recognized him as one of the wounded that had been
resting in the tent behind her, and from the looks of his bandaged
side and limp he hadn’t been magically healed yet. She knew she
should try to urge him back to his pallet, but she truly didn’t
want to go anywhere near the drama unfolding in front of her.

“Madren get your scrawny ass back in that
tent,” Neph snarled as the man approached, but the wounded man
simply shook his head.

“Valor, I was thinking about it all and I
don’t think Jala can hear us here. This is Arovan, not Merrodin. I
think you will have to be in Merrodin before she can answer you,”
Madren began slowly his voice as kind as the expression on his
face.

Valor faltered slightly at the abrupt change
of topic and his hand slipped from his sword hilt as he stared at
the newcomer with an almost fanatic expression.

“Please don’t encourage my son’s delusions,”
Troyelle began in a voice that held more grief than Zoelyn had ever
heard before. “I’ve lost two children to the war. Please don’t
hasten the loss of my last to madness,” he added in a softer voice,
with a look of pleading toward Madren.

“General Troyelle, I sympathize with your
loss. I truly do, but Valor is not mad. Valor is grieving and
heartsick as are we all. The best place for him to heal is
Merrodin. The best place for me to heal is Goswin and I will be
taking Lord Neph and his people with me.” Madren glanced toward the
towering Delvay lord and then back to Troyelle. “I heard everything
the Rivasan said and it made me want to kill him too. Then I heard
what was going on out here and realized the bastard was right.
Emotions are too high right now and everyone is ready to lash out.
If we don’t break this camp up, our alliance is damned, and as weak
as we are individually right now, we will lose another fight
against them. The only way to stand together later is to stand
alone for now.”

“Well said for a scrawny little bitch,” Neph
agreed with a nod and looked to Troyelle with a raised eyebrow.
“That is, unless you wish to continue our conversation about what
kind of magic I used to save your country.” The words rang with
challenge and Zoelyn could see the General tense.