Firebrand
Page 231
The battle for the keep of Ifel Aeon and the Lone Forest had wound down quickly after the loss of Immerez. The River Unit squelched the defenders and rounded up those who survived and held them prisoner in the old slave quarters. Zachary freed the slaves from the chamber of the Aeon Iire, keeping in mind Karigan’s admonishment that no one touch the strange silver metal of the iire itself. To his sorrow, Binning and many others had not made it. Lorilie Dorran had, and she flung her arms around him when she was freed of her chains.
“This does not mean I think there should be kings,” she told him, “but thank you for coming back for us.”
Zachary only wished he had been able to come back sooner. He felt as though he had failed her and the others, but he hugged Lorilie in return.
“Whether or not you think there should be kings,” he said, “I am pleased you are all right.” Most of the surviving slaves had suffered wounds of some kind.
She shuddered. “I think it will be some time before any of us are truly all right. We saw some strange things tonight, demons and . . . I don’t know, a ghost of a knight? Then there was the strange creature of ice that killed Grandmother. And of course there is what we suffered in our captivity, as you well know.”
So, it was the aureas slee, and not the avatar, who had killed Grandmother. He would have to find out what Karigan recalled of it.
The able-bodied among the slaves helped their injured fellows. There was a guard barracks where they could shelter. Destarion and his assistants had been summoned to help with all the wounded.
The corpses of demonkind smoldered away until they left behind only a black mark to show they had existed at all. He ordered the corpse of Grandmother to be displayed for the enemy prisoners so that they would know in truth that their leader was dead. For all his fury, he would have liked her alive for questioning. The head of the serpent had been taken, but he was not so naive as to believe that some other wouldn’t rise to lead Second Empire. Birch came to mind first and foremost.
The bodies of the former slaves would be removed from the chamber of the Aeon Iire, and he ordered the chamber and its passage blocked off. Should the avatar need reentry, he did not think an earthen blockade would be a barrier to her.
He still marveled that it was his Karigan who was the avatar. Could she have ever imagined, when she was a runaway schoolgirl, that one day she would be the chosen one of a god? Before he left, he found a small piece of leather on the chamber floor, her eyepatch, and pocketed it.
Outside, it had stopped raining altogether, and for that he was grateful. He and Donal headed back toward the keep. He was exhausted and sore, his shoulder wound burning. The battle seemed to have laid waste to his fury. His brief moments with Karigan in his arms, her lips upon his, had restored his humanity and equilibrium. Now he was just a tired man wanting nothing more than his bed, but he knew that all the soldiers of the River Unit were just as tired, and if they couldn’t rest yet, neither could he.
When they entered the courtyard, they found soldiers lining up the dead, mostly those of Second Empire who had defended the keep. Inside, a mender tended the wounded under the watchful gaze of guards.
“Varius?” Zachary said in surprise.
Varius gave him a harried glance. “Not now, Dav, unless you are dying.”
Zachary nodded and did not reprimand him for disrespect. He knew that focused look as Varius tended the wounded of both sides.
He spotted Karigan across the great hall, her back to him, head bent into her hand. Enver stood beside her with his arm around her to support her. Zachary thought that if he was weary, then she must be doubly so. Rennard stood with them, and he realized they were looking down at a body. He approached with foreboding, and when he stood beside Karigan, he realized she was crying. When he looked down, he saw why. Stretched out on his back with his hands crossed on his chest, was Lord Aaron Fiori, the Golden Guardian of Selium, and the father of Karigan’s best friend.
“Gods, no,” he murmured.
“One of my men said he charged into the keep looking for someone called Lala,” Rennard told him. “The civilians were all gone. No Lala here.”
Fiori looked as though he slept, his golden hair glinting in the lamplight. Only the stab wound that had found its way beneath the edge of his breastplate indicated he was not just asleep. Beside Zachary, Karigan made a strange motion with her hand toward Fiori and softly whispered, “Sleep well.”
“He will need an honor guard for his return to Selium,” Zachary told Rennard.
“Yes, sire, I will arrange it.” The lieutenant then shrouded the body with a cloak.
Zachary turned to Karigan, placed his hand on her shoulder. “You should get some rest.”
She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, kept her right eye covered. “I should go be with Estral. She’ll need to know.”
“Mist is coming,” Enver said. “She will carry the Galadheon and me back to the campsite.”
Zachary struggled with himself, not wanting her to leave, but knowing it was for the best. This was a dark place, filled with death and dying. Even if she was Westrion’s avatar, she need not be in death’s constant presence. In any case, he was certain she would rest better at the campsite and there Enver could more easily tend her. Her cheeks were hollowed and her expression exhausted. She tried to conceal her pain, but it only told him how much she hurt. He longed to hold her once more, to comfort her. Would onlookers care, or even notice?
Enver glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, I believe Mist has just arrived and awaits us.”
“This does not mean I think there should be kings,” she told him, “but thank you for coming back for us.”
Zachary only wished he had been able to come back sooner. He felt as though he had failed her and the others, but he hugged Lorilie in return.
“Whether or not you think there should be kings,” he said, “I am pleased you are all right.” Most of the surviving slaves had suffered wounds of some kind.
She shuddered. “I think it will be some time before any of us are truly all right. We saw some strange things tonight, demons and . . . I don’t know, a ghost of a knight? Then there was the strange creature of ice that killed Grandmother. And of course there is what we suffered in our captivity, as you well know.”
So, it was the aureas slee, and not the avatar, who had killed Grandmother. He would have to find out what Karigan recalled of it.
The able-bodied among the slaves helped their injured fellows. There was a guard barracks where they could shelter. Destarion and his assistants had been summoned to help with all the wounded.
The corpses of demonkind smoldered away until they left behind only a black mark to show they had existed at all. He ordered the corpse of Grandmother to be displayed for the enemy prisoners so that they would know in truth that their leader was dead. For all his fury, he would have liked her alive for questioning. The head of the serpent had been taken, but he was not so naive as to believe that some other wouldn’t rise to lead Second Empire. Birch came to mind first and foremost.
The bodies of the former slaves would be removed from the chamber of the Aeon Iire, and he ordered the chamber and its passage blocked off. Should the avatar need reentry, he did not think an earthen blockade would be a barrier to her.
He still marveled that it was his Karigan who was the avatar. Could she have ever imagined, when she was a runaway schoolgirl, that one day she would be the chosen one of a god? Before he left, he found a small piece of leather on the chamber floor, her eyepatch, and pocketed it.
Outside, it had stopped raining altogether, and for that he was grateful. He and Donal headed back toward the keep. He was exhausted and sore, his shoulder wound burning. The battle seemed to have laid waste to his fury. His brief moments with Karigan in his arms, her lips upon his, had restored his humanity and equilibrium. Now he was just a tired man wanting nothing more than his bed, but he knew that all the soldiers of the River Unit were just as tired, and if they couldn’t rest yet, neither could he.
When they entered the courtyard, they found soldiers lining up the dead, mostly those of Second Empire who had defended the keep. Inside, a mender tended the wounded under the watchful gaze of guards.
“Varius?” Zachary said in surprise.
Varius gave him a harried glance. “Not now, Dav, unless you are dying.”
Zachary nodded and did not reprimand him for disrespect. He knew that focused look as Varius tended the wounded of both sides.
He spotted Karigan across the great hall, her back to him, head bent into her hand. Enver stood beside her with his arm around her to support her. Zachary thought that if he was weary, then she must be doubly so. Rennard stood with them, and he realized they were looking down at a body. He approached with foreboding, and when he stood beside Karigan, he realized she was crying. When he looked down, he saw why. Stretched out on his back with his hands crossed on his chest, was Lord Aaron Fiori, the Golden Guardian of Selium, and the father of Karigan’s best friend.
“Gods, no,” he murmured.
“One of my men said he charged into the keep looking for someone called Lala,” Rennard told him. “The civilians were all gone. No Lala here.”
Fiori looked as though he slept, his golden hair glinting in the lamplight. Only the stab wound that had found its way beneath the edge of his breastplate indicated he was not just asleep. Beside Zachary, Karigan made a strange motion with her hand toward Fiori and softly whispered, “Sleep well.”
“He will need an honor guard for his return to Selium,” Zachary told Rennard.
“Yes, sire, I will arrange it.” The lieutenant then shrouded the body with a cloak.
Zachary turned to Karigan, placed his hand on her shoulder. “You should get some rest.”
She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, kept her right eye covered. “I should go be with Estral. She’ll need to know.”
“Mist is coming,” Enver said. “She will carry the Galadheon and me back to the campsite.”
Zachary struggled with himself, not wanting her to leave, but knowing it was for the best. This was a dark place, filled with death and dying. Even if she was Westrion’s avatar, she need not be in death’s constant presence. In any case, he was certain she would rest better at the campsite and there Enver could more easily tend her. Her cheeks were hollowed and her expression exhausted. She tried to conceal her pain, but it only told him how much she hurt. He longed to hold her once more, to comfort her. Would onlookers care, or even notice?
Enver glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, I believe Mist has just arrived and awaits us.”
