The Healer's Legacy (23 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Archers manned the walls as foot soldiers filed out of the hold to take up positions behind the barriers. Kira had told Milos that Toril would wait until nearly midmorning to assemble his men. He enjoyed the anticipation before the battle, the air of tension that it brought. And he believed that waiting put his enemies on edge.

Tem Hold’s riders stood at the ready inside the narrow back gate that faced the forest to the south. Kira stood atop the north wall beside Milos, gazing out over the plain. Vaith perched on her shoulder, his tail wrapped behind her neck. Kelmir sat on his haunches beside them, carefully cleaning his face. Milos had finally given in. When the time came, they would ride out together with the mounted troops.

A shout carried across the yard, relayed by the men on the wall. Toril’s men were on the march. Kira stroked the little wyvern’s head.
Vaith, it’s time. I need to see from above. But stay near. And safe
. Vaith flicked his tail and stepped off her shoulder. He winged his way overhead, circling the hold, his eyes sighting clearly on the wall of riders that galloped toward Tem Hold.

Through Vaith’s keen sight Kira watched the soldiers spread out across the horizon like a growing swarm of stinging insects. They stopped just out of bowshot, their horses stamping and throwing their heads about excitedly. Even their mounts seemed impatient for battle.

A lone rider separated himself from the troops. He raised his hand to indicate that he wished to speak, and rode forward at a slow pace. He stopped his horse before the barriers and called out. “Lord Holder, a word.”

Milos called down to the man. “I am Holder Tem. To whom do I speak?”

“I am Lord Toril’s messenger. He bids you to come to his camp and confer with him.”

Milos looked over his shoulder toward Kira. Toril did not negotiate, not when his men heavily outnumbered their enemies. She shook her head. Milos turned his attention back to the man. “I have nothing to say to a man who condones the kidnapping of children and the mistreatment of women.”

As he spoke, Vaith continued to circle high above the hold, and Kira tried to count the numbers of opposing men. Their ranks were spread wide, but shallow and she estimated their numbers to be less than half what Jolon and the hold scouts had stated. What did it mean? Hope and fear struggled within her. Had Jolon succeeded in tainting the army’s food after all? Or was Toril merely baiting them?

“This will not end well for you,” the man shouted. “Why not make a bargain and save your people and your lands? Lord Toril may yet be generous and merciful.”

“I have not heard those attributes assigned to the warlord before. Nor do I wish to be beholden to your master. Tell him we are prepared to face him and his army on the field.”

“A single woman is not worth all of this,” the messenger’s voice rose in frustration.

“Does your master know your thoughts?” Milos retorted.

The man shifted uneasily in his saddle. “Have you looked to your own, Lord Holder? There are those of your household that do not agree with you!”

The messenger turned his horse and rode back through the assembled ranks and Kira did not have time to wonder about the meaning of his words. With a thundering of hooves, the mounted troops at each end of the line broke away from the main body and circled around the hold toward the southern wall. Kira stiffened.

The battle had begun.

Kira followed Milos down the ladder to where Trad and Zharik stood waiting. She heard the thud of arrows striking the outer walls and the cries of men wounded or dying. Voices called out atop the walls and the hold’s archers let fly their bolts in a whizzing flurry.

Milos leaped onto his horse’s back. Vaith circled above the hold. “What do you see?” he asked Kira.

“Less than half of Toril’s warriors are on the field. No foot soldiers, but nearly five hundred horsemen. More than two to each of us. I could not see the rest of them.”

“We need to find out where they are.”

“I can send Vaith, but won’t we need him to watch the southern grounds?”

“Send him. I think we’ll know when our trap is sprung.” Milos gripped his reins and turned to face the riders.

Vaith, I need to see the camp. But stay high and out of danger. I don’t want you harmed!

Vaith headed north in a bright flash of sunlight reflecting off glittering scales.

The hold’s riders waited restlessly. The thunder of hooves grew louder as Toril’s troops closed in, encircling the hold. The staccato galloping grew faster and louder as the soldiers headed toward the weakest point on the hold’s defenses, the southern barriers.

The ground shuddered and horses screamed in terror. “Now,” Milos yelled. “Stay close to the wall till you pass the yellow flags.” The narrow gate was thrown open. They made a mad dash out of the portal. Kira rode beside Milos with Kelmir on her flank.

Between the barriers and the forest, a wide chasm had opened in the earth, the bottom lined with wooden spikes. The air filled with yelling and confusion. Toril’s men had been drawn into the trap.

Seeking to take advantage of the apparent weakness in the barriers, they had ridden directly across the path of the Uldast gnomes’ tunneling. Men and horses writhed in agony or lay twisted and broken in the pit.

The first wave dropped hard onto the spikes. Unable to pull up, the men who rode behind had tumbled over their comrades. Dozens of gnomes came pouring out of the woods bearing axes and staves. They swarmed among the remaining mounted soldiers, tripping horses and pulling men from their saddles. Amidst the chaos and disorder, the hold’s riders attacked.

Kira held her shield and sword at the ready, as skirmishes erupted around them. A snarling man charged at her. His horse’s eyes went white with pain and fear as Kelmir raked his claws down the animal’s shoulder. The horse screamed, skittering sideways. The man’s blade swung wide and Kira ducked. Her sword sank into something soft as the man twisted aside. Kelmir leaped and the man was ripped screaming from the saddle.

Milos traded blows with a beefy soldier wearing heavy chain mail. The holder aimed a lunge at the man’s chest. His sword glanced off the soldier’s mail and Milos lost his balance. He teetered in the saddle and the man raised his sword with a gleeful smirk. But before the soldier could strike, an arrow plunged into his neck, and he fell from the saddle.

The way before them was open and Kira followed Milos past the flags that marked the edge of the gnomes’ trap and away from the walls. She tried to keep alert, seeking to stay cognizant of two places, as her mind flitted to where Vaith soared over Toril’s encampment. Far below, men lay thrashing on the ground, clutching at their bellies. The Demon’s Claw gripped them tight.

Vaith tilted on the wind and circled. At the southern edge of the camp, a group of riders sat watching the battle. In their midst a bronze helm gleamed in the sunlight, a bright red plume jutting from the top. Toril.

The din of battle faded away and, for a moment, Kira heard only the sound of fists hitting flesh. Her jaw tightened and she clenched her teeth as a thousand hurts came welling back. Toril.

Beside Toril’s horse a dark-haired woman in a tattered dress struggled between two men. The messenger’s words floated back to Kira. “There are those of your household that do not agree with you.”

An arrow whizzed past her ear and Kira was wrenched back, fully alert to the fighting around her once more. A bloody hand gripped her leg and tried to pull her from the saddle. A single downward slash severed the man’s hand from his arm. He howled in pain and slammed his body against Trad. Kira clutched tight as her horse leaped to the side. She leaned forward and squeezed her knees in hard. Trad whirled about and kicked. Hooves struck flesh and bone and the man went down. 

Dried blood stuck to Kira’s hands and neck. Bodies littered the ground, men and gnomes and horses. Still, the fighting continued. Kira needed to tell Milos what she had seen.  “Milos!”

“Here!” he called from behind her. She turned in time to see the holder pull his sword from a soldier’s chest and the man topple from his mount. The horse dashed away from its rider’s ruined body.

“Milos.” Kira rode up next to him. His face was covered in sweat and blood. His shield arm hung limp at his side. “Are you hurt?”

“My shield was shattered by a heavy blow,” he said. “But the bones appear unbroken.” He raised his arm and grimaced. There were ugly splinters sticking out of the back of his bloodied hand.

“Vaith has spotted Toril. The rest of his men are still in the encampment. They seem to be ill. Jolon must have managed to slip the Demon’s Claw into the food stores before Toril butchered him.”

“Good.” Milos gave her a hard smile. “At least he did not die in vain.”

“There’s something else.” Kira hesitated.

“Kira, this is a battle. I cannot fight it blind. I need to know everything you saw.”

“I think Mayet is with him.”

His face paled beneath the spattered blood and he tensed. “How could she—Are you certain?”

“I was distracted by the fighting, but I saw her.”

A blaring horn resounded from Toril’s encampment. The remaining soldiers whirled their horses around pulled back from the fighting.

“They’re retreating,” Kira said.

“It will give us time to regroup.”

“We have to move quickly. We evened our odds with the gnomes’ trap, but if Toril decides to wait until the rest of his men are recovered from the Demon’s Claw . . .”

“We will meet him before that comes to pass.” Milos called out orders and men and gnomes began to search the field for the wounded and carry them into the hold.

* * *

The bright afternoon turned chill as the late winter wind turned eastward. The hold’s remaining horsemen, archers, and footmen assembled in the yard, men and gnomes together. Kira spied Tratine among them. His face was drawn, his cheeks bright red from the bitter wind, but he sat tall and erect in his saddle, his bow at the ready and a full quiver of arrows on his back.

She wanted to ask Milos to make Tratine stay behind, to remain in the hold where he might be safe, but she knew full well that on this day Tratine was no longer a child. With his mother in danger, this was also his fight. She knew as well, that all the hold’s able-bodied fighters were preparing to meet the remainder of Toril’s army. And if they failed, those who stayed behind would be left to face the Warlord’s terrible cruelty. She shivered at the thought.

“Hunter! Kira!” Milvari ran toward her. Her hair had come partly undone from her braids and wisped about her worried face and her skirts were stained with blood.

“What is it, Milvari? How goes the healing?”

“We are doing what we can,” Milvari replied breathlessly. Her young face was tight with fear. “Master Jarrett is a great help, as is Brilissa. But we need more hands. I sent Alyn to ask if mother would come and help, but she wasn’t in her rooms—”

Milvari’s words confirmed what Kira already knew to be true. It was Mayet she had seen with Toril. Pangs of loss from her own mother’s death tore at Kira afresh. How much should she say? “Milvari, your uncle and I will find your mother. For now, we need your skills in tending the wounded. You’re responsible for them, now.”

Milvari’s cheeks were white and her eyes glittered with unshed tears.

Kira turned away from the girl as the gates swung open and Tem Hold’s small force surged forward. Some of the hold’s men wore armor that had been stripped from the bodies of Toril’s dead warriors. Blood still caked the leather and steel, dulling the polished surfaces.

Kelmir padded beside Kira. His fur was sprinkled with blood and he shone black-red in the sunlight. Vaith perched on Trad’s pommel, resting. Kira had called him back when the retreat had sounded, but now she needed his eyes again.
One more flight, my little princeling
, she coaxed. He tilted his head to one side and eyed her with his yellow orbs, then launched into the wind.

The man who rode on the other side of Kelmir flashed Kira a smile. “He’ll be safer in the air,” he said, reassuringly. Kira smiled back at him. He believed Vaith to be no more than an unusual pet. There was no point in telling him otherwise.

They halted just beyond the reach of the enemy archers. Milos galloped down the line and she rode to meet him. He had a new shield strapped to his arm, the edge of it resting solidly against his thigh. Kira worried whether or not he would be able heft the heavy circle of wood and iron well enough to protect himself from a quick blade.

Milos followed her gaze. “I will manage,” he told her. “Now, let us not give our foe another moment to prepare.”

* * *

Arrows flew on both sides. Metal tips thunked deep into wooden shields and sliced through leather armor. Archers aimed high over the heads of their own horsemen, their missiles arcing in the air far above the ground before plummeting down among their enemies.