The Healer's Legacy (19 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Mayet tried to focus on what the messenger was saying, but the words ran together in a daze of sound. Tratine should be here. Her boy should be by her side, but the man before her claimed he was being held until an exchange could be arranged. A cry escaped her and she covered her face with her hands.

Milos! It was all his fault. If only he had sent that harlot to the bounty hunter, Tratine would be here now. But he had refused. Refused! Mayet had had no option but to send Tratine to tell Lagos of her failure to convince the holder to hand over the woman. There was no one else she could trust. No one else to send.

The man cleared his throat and Mayet looked up.

“Lagos requires an answer,” he said. His beady eyes, sunk deep in a bloated face, darted nervously about the room.

“I am only a holder’s widow. I have no power here.”

“Lagos gave you the opportunity to turn over the woman, as you agreed. Yet, now you say that you have no power.” The man sneered.

“What you are doing goes against the land law. These actions will condemn you,” Mayet blurted.

“Lagos made the effort to abide by your petty local customs, but you have refused to fulfill your side of the bargain.” He spat upon the floor and wiped his bulgy lips on his sleeve.

Mayet cringed. “What does he expect of me?”

“He expects you to arrange a simple trade. He’ll even give you the better value. An heir for a lowly peasant.” He scowled. “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to your precious boy, would you?”

Mayet’s throat constricted and she shuddered. “No.”

The messenger smirked at her, obviously enjoying her fear. The bastard! A writhing anger rose up and she pulled it close, shielding herself from the terror that scrabbled inside. But anger would not serve her now, nor would fear. “Very well,” she said, donning a mask of haughty annoyance. Her mind whirled. She needed a new plan, but nothing came to her. “I will need some time to make the arrangements.”

“You have one day. There is a copse of trees three leagues northwest of here bordering a large meadow. Bring the woman there at dusk tomorrow. If you are late, we’ll leave the boy for you.” He let out a gruff chuckle. “But not all in one place.” He bowed mockingly and left the room.

Mayet sank into a chair, her knees too weak to hold her. Milos would be furious, but he couldn’t possibly refuse her now. Not when the life of Tem Hold’s heir, his own nephew, was at stake.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Breathless, Milvari ran beside her uncle, attempting to keep pace with his long strides. “At least let me prepare her—”

“Just make certain she is awake.” He glared at the heavy wooden door that barred the way into the room.

Milvari’s hand shook as she turned the handle. She slipped inside the room and quickly shut the door behind her.  The bed lay empty. The heavy curtains were pulled back and the hunter stood at the window, staring out at the dull morning where dark clouds lowered in an overcast sky. Wintry light cast the room in muted grays, and in the wrinkled sleeping gown her pale figure was nearly invisible against the soft whiteness outside.

“You should be resting,” Milvari said.

“I have rested enough,” the hunter responded in a hoarse voice. “I need to move and to stretch.”

“My uncle wishes to speak with you.”

The tall woman looked down at herself and held up the folds of white cotton that draped her body. “I cannot see him like this.”

Milvari nodded. “He will not wait. You could get back into bed.”

The hunter hesitated. “No. I need clothes, a fresh shirt.”

“In the wardrobe.” Milvari pointed to a heavy oak cupboard on the far side of the room.  “Please, hurry. His mood is dark. He will not be patient for long.” She spoke quietly, but tried to convey a sense of urgency with her tone.

The hunter threw open the cupboard doors and took out a stack of fresh clothes. “These aren’t mine,” she said, holding up a new shirt, leather jerkin and breeches.

“Your clothes were ruined. Brilissa sent those for you.”

Wincing, the hunter shrugged off the gown and pulled on the fresh shirt and new breeches. Before she had time to slip on the vest, there was a loud pounding the door.

Milvari rushed to open it. Her uncle brushed past her. He stood by the table and stared at the hunter, his fists clenching and unclenching.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

The hunter’s eyes grew wide, then her face went blank. Milvari quietly swung the door shut and stood with her back to it, apparently forgotten. She waited in silence, hoping to learn what angered him so.

The hunter tensed. She seemed poised to flee. “My name is Kira.”

“And who is Ardea?” His voice was gruff.

“Ardea is—was—my mother’s name.”

Kira? Ardea? Why was Uncle Milos asking these questions? Milvari watched the two intently, her uncle glaring at the woman before him, the hunter with her eyes on his face. Milvari held her breath.

“Why did you lie about your name?” he asked finally.

“I was afraid.” Green eyes flashed in the pale light.

He raised his hands in a questioning gesture. “Afraid of what? What about your service frightens you? Fulfilling your contract or keeping your bargain?”

The hunter stiffened. She appeared confused. Her eyes followed Uncle Milos’ movements, but she remained completely still. “I have always fulfilled my bargains,” she said quietly.

“Truly? Then why does a bounty hunter hold my nephew in exchange for your return?”

Milvari gasped and her uncle fixed his eyes on her. “Wait outside,” he commanded.

“But—”

“Now!”

“Yes, Uncle.” Milvari slid shaky hands across the wood of the door and clutched the handle.

His bellowed words chased after her. “And do not listen at the door!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Tratine held by a bounty hunter? Kira’s mind raced as the information settled. The boy must be terrified. The people of this hold had been kind to her and she had brought this evil upon them. Kira was filled with alarm for the boy’s safety. She must find a way to free him, but at what cost?

Her chest constricted with fresh fear. Too soon. It was too soon! Winter still held the seaports closed. There would be no escape by ship. There was nowhere left for her to run. Whether Toril’s men, or a bounty hunter, it didn’t matter. They had caught up with her.

“I await your answer.” Milos Tem crossed his arms and stared at her.

“Are you certain it is a bounty hunter who holds Tratine?”

“I know that my nephew is missing and that a messenger came to his mother demanding an exchange,” he said hotly. “Tell me why.”

“I am sorry,” Kira said. Fear and guilt struck her as hard as any fist ever had. The blood pounded through her in waves, making it difficult to speak.  “I didn’t expect them to find me so soon. I have put your people in danger. Forgive me.”

“Them? Who is it you are running from?”

Kira sat on the rumpled bed. Her throat constricted. “Warlord Toril.”

“You’re indentured to the Warlord?” 

“Indentured?” Kira was taken by surprise. “No,” she said. “I have no contracts except the bargain I made with you.”

“Then why does he hunt you?”

“Because I was his . . . his mated woman.” The words hissed out of her.

The holder started.

Kira searched his face. “I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid. If I go back . . .” The shame overwhelmed her. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, to admit to this man what had been done to her at another’s hands.  “I was not content there.”

The holder’s jaw fell open and he snapped it shut.  “My nephew’s life is threatened because you were discontented?” he said through his teeth.

Kira stared out the window at the slate colored sky. Her insides matched the black clouds that held back the sun. It was inevitable. She would return to her imprisonment with Toril. The holder would have no choice but to exchange her for Tratine.

As much as she feared the wrath of Toril, she would have it no other way. Tratine did not deserve to be punished for her choices, her actions, her mistakes.

A single shaft of light pierced the clouds and she thought about her time with her companions, thought about Milvari and the others at the hold. It almost made her smile. Though tinged with fear and watchfulness, these past few moons of freedom had held an ease and joy she had almost forgotten could exist.

The ray of light disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

There was only one course open to her. “I am sorry,” she said, rising and picking up the new leather jerkin. “I will see that Tratine is returned to you unharmed.” She stuck her arms through the garment, grimaced, then tied the laces.

The holder watched in silence as she strapped on her belt and pulled on her worn boots. “What do you plan to do?” he asked.

Kira picked up her knife and stuck it in her boot. She pulled her leather pouch from the cupboard, reached inside and took out her mother’s medallion. She squeezed it in her fist as her eyes met his. “I am going to put things aright.”

“No.” He stood before the door and planted his feet. “This is my hold. And Tratine is my responsibility. It is I who will put things aright.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

They rode in silence through softly falling snow. Large glistening flakes caught in the horses’ manes and tails. Milos rode ahead, gripping Trad’s lead. Kira sat up straight, her hands laced to the pommel with thick leather cords.

She scanned the tree line ahead, her eyes searching the tall grasses that still lingered into the winter season. How many men would be with the bounty hunter?

She was restless and uneasy. This sort of ploy was not like Toril. There was no show of power in an exchange of this kind. Toril would more likely bring his war band to bear on Tem Hold in a display of strength, crashing down on the quiet farmers and cot holders if they refused his demands. If this were truly the work of a bounty hunter, Toril and his men might still be some distance off. There might still be a chance to deflect his anger from Tem Hold and its people.

Kelmir had prowled ahead, out of sight, and now his thoughts broke into hers. He had found the men’s encampment. Through him, Kira counted five horses tied near the campsite. It was possible that others on horseback lurked nearby, but without Vaith to scout from overhead, it was difficult to know more. Kel, see if you can find any of the men. They may be hiding in the trees.

Milos slowed the horses and swept the scene with furtive glances. Shaped in a half-circle, the copse lay just ahead, bordering an open meadow filled with dried stalks and mounds of snow. Kira recognized the place. Not far off lay the meadow where she and Milvari had discovered the demon’s claw barely a fortnight ago. She focused her attention on the trees, searching for men hidden in the shadows.

A burly man stepped out from behind one of the nearer trees. “That’s far enough,” he called. “Halt the horses and drop your weapons.”

“Not before I see that my nephew is unharmed,” Milos called back.

“You’re in no position to call for terms.” The man spat and wiped at his mouth with his sleeve.

A thin man stepped out into the meadow. “Now, Lemm, is that any way to treat a landed holder?” His words carried across the open field. His dark tunic glittered with silver embroidery and his black cape stood out against the snow-covered ground. “Good day, Lord Holder. I am Lagos Surrat.” He gave Milos a curt bow, but Kira felt his gaze linger unpleasantly on her.

“I did not come to exchange pleasantries with you,” Milos growled.

“True, true,” the man said. “But as my friend has informed you, you are here on our terms.” His malicious smile showed long crooked teeth.

Kira followed the conversation while staying connected to Kelmir, which made it difficult for her to sense clearly what he saw, but she somehow managed to remain aware of both his senses and the goings-on around her.

Milos stiffened and gestured to where Kira sat behind him. “I have brought the woman. Where is my nephew?”

“Ah, yes, do let us get on with our business.” Lagos waved his arm. A short distance away, a thin blond man stepped out of the trees. He held a large knife in one hand and gripped Tratine’s upper arm with the other.

The boy’s wrists were tied together in front of him and dirt smeared his face. Kira’s throat tightened at the sight of him. Tratine had never been friendly, but he was only a boy. He did not deserve to be treated this way.

Kelmir crept past a large gnarled tree and crouched. Before him, a man stood beside a tree facing the meadow. He had an arrow nocked in the bow he held, the string pulled taut, ready for release.
Good job, Kel. Keep an eye on him
. Four men accounted for. The fifth horse would be Tratine’s. Kira once more wondered if there were others, and how many.

“As you can see, the boy is fine. For the moment,” Lagos said. “Now, put down your weapon and we will conclude our business here.”

Milos slowly drew his broadsword and dropped it onto the frozen ground with a loud clang. Then he held open his cloak to show he had no other weapons.

“Good,” the bounty hunter said. He nodded to the burly man, who walked out to the center of the field. “Now,” said Lagos, “you will bring the woman to the center of the meadow while Jolon walks the boy out. You will hand the horse’s lead to Lemm and Jolon will release the boy to you. Then you can be on your way.”

Milos nodded and glanced back at Kira. She blinked once and they started forward. Across the field, the blond man, Jolon, walked toward them, pulling Tratine with him. As they came closer, Kira recognized the man. He had been among her escort the day she escaped. She had thought he’d been uncomfortable because of her bruised and broken appearance. She had apparently been wrong. He was just another mercenary soldier. Worse now, a kidnapper of children. She gritted her teeth in anger.

They reached the center of the field. Lemm leered at her, spat on the ground, and reached out to take Trad’s reins from Milos. Kira kept her eyes on the big man as, with a surreptitious movement, she slid her hands out of the loose ropes.

Now, Kel!

A snarl erupted from the trees followed by a horrible scream. The men instinctively turned toward the blood-curdling sound. Milos leaped from the saddle. He pulled a short blade from the sheath hidden at his back and lunged at Jolon.  Jolon shoved Tratine aside and dodged the thrust.

Lemm grabbed for Trad’s reins. Kira aimed a kick at his bulky head. Her booted foot connected low, catching him in his pudgy throat. He stumbled back from her and Kelmir was on him before he could recover. She turned to see Jolon dodge Milos’ blade, let the knife fall from his hand, and retreat from the holder.

“What are you waiting for? Kill them!” Lagos shrieked.

From the edge of the field an arrow sliced through the air, speeding toward the holder’s unprotected back. Kira watched in stunned silence as Jolon ducked beneath Milos’ next stroke and shoved the holder aside. The arrow sunk into the blond man’s chest with a sucking sound and he dropped to his knees.

Kira leaped from the saddle as another arrow arced across the open space. Narrowly missing Milos, the shaft grazed Zharik’s neck. The horse screamed and reared.

Kelmir shot across the meadow like a streak of night. The next arrow flew wide. Noise erupted from the trees as the archer fled from the big cat. Kelmir pounced and the man shrieked out his last breath.

Lagos ran toward the encampment and Kira sprang onto Trad’s back to give chase. Before she could catch up with him an arrow struck the bounty hunter between the shoulders. He toppled forward and lay still. Milos had retrieved the archer’s bow.

Kira dropped out of the saddle, leaned down, and rolled the bounty hunter over. His eyes glittered with malice as his arm flew up. The dagger in his hand carved through her soft leather jerkin, slicing into her shoulder. She threw herself back and away from him and pulled the knife from her boot. She leaned in and held the knife up under his chin. Her hand shook and she hesitated. As a healer she had sworn to save lives, not take them. As she wavered, the dagger fell from his hands. His nose twitched, blood bubbled out of his mouth with a gurgle, and the light faded from his eyes.