Well of the Damned

Chapter 25





It was the mirknight, when only the owls and deer stirred. Cirang sat on the cold ground with her back against the wet bark of a tree, listening to the steady breathing and soft snoring of her captors. Her arse was numb from all the riding and sitting, but with her mind focused on executing her plan, the discomfort was easily ignored. At least she was dry beneath Kinshield’s magical canopy that fortunately stayed up even while he slept.

She chanced opening one eye. Vandra was sitting a few feet away with her back against a tree, eyes closed and mouth hanging open. The little trollop had dozed when she should have been watching her prisoner. That meant her mind would be fuzzy and her guard low.

Cirang would have to use the powder on each of them speedily so no one would have time to call out an alarm. Serragan powder’s dizzying effect made judging relative location and distance of objects next to impossible, and so she wouldn’t have to fight anyone who was affected. It numbed actions, thoughts and speech and worked quickly once inhaled. Who to assail first? Kinshield slept several feet away from Daia, with Brawna to her right. Cirang didn’t truly know whether Brawna was a skilled fighter. She expected not. The trull was young and had only achieved a green sash at the Sisterhood before it was disbanded. The rest of them were equally dangerous, and Kinshield had magic healing abilities. If he could heal himself of the powder’s effects, he’d be able to draw his sword against her. It would be best to incapacitate him first, then Daia. That way, she could dispose of Brawna.

With her plan firmly in mind, it was time to begin. “Vandra,” she whispered. “Hey. Psst.”

Vandra lifted her chin and blinked a few times. “What do you want?”

“I have to shit.”

“Wait until morning.” Vandra lowered her head and closed her eyes.

“I can’t,” Cirang said as quietly as she could. “The meat I ate is tearing up my insides. If I don’t go soon, I’ll make a terrible mess in my clothes.”

Vandra sighed and got up. “All right, but if you wake King Gavin, I’ll thrash you.”

“I won’t,” Cirang whispered. Not yet.

Though Vandra untied the rope binding her to the tree, she held its other end like a leash, with Cirang on the dog’s end. Cirang’s hip and back ached and stiffness had set in, which made standing up slow and painful. Vandra took her by the arm and pulled her the rest of the way to her feet. “Get to it.”

Cirang shuffled into the woods, emphasizing the limp to make Vandra think she was lamer than she really was. She found a spot to lower her trousers and squat. Vandra waited a few feet away, her eyes averted. Her modesty was laughable and would be her undoing.

From the top of her boot, Cirang withdrew the pouch of serragan powder, tapped a pinch into her palm and closed her fist around it. “Vandra, lend me your arm to help me stand,” she said. “My back hurts so much.”

The unsuspecting wench actually did it, so naive she was. As soon as Cirang had her trousers laced, she opened her hand and blew. Before Vandra could cry out for help, Cirang yanked the rope out of her hands and wrapped it around her head and into her open mouth to silence her.

Vandra darted out splayed hands, trying to find something steady to grasp and found Cirang.

Cirang hooked one foot behind Vandra’s leg, gave her a push and guided her fall quietly to the forest floor, then dragged her several paces farther from the camp. Taking Vandra’s knife from its sheath, she knelt with one knee on the other woman’s neck. Vandra made some muffled choking sounds. The chain mail and the tunic beneath had risen up, revealing Vandra’s torso, rippled with muscle. Cirang plunged the blade into Vandra’s gut and held it there until her squirming stopped, then wiped the blood from the blade with Vandra’s shirt tail and turned, still squatting low, to assess the camp. All was quiet. One down, three left.

The thought occurred to her to run now, shackles and all, but with four horses and a mule and the rain, the others would catch up to her fairly quickly if they had the most basic of tracking skills. No, she needed to get a horse and the journal first. The map to the wellspring was in that book. Besides, Vandra’s sword was still beside the tree where she’d been dozing, and Cirang didn’t want to flee without a sword. She cut the rope from around her waist, sheathed the knife and strapped the sheath to her own calf.

As lightly as she could, she circled around the sleeping battlers to approach from behind. They were conveniently lying in a neat line so she could incapacitate them one by one with a minimum of noise or movement. Brawna was nearest, but the gems in Kinshield’s sword were glowing brilliantly. She was afraid it would awaken him, and so she went to him first.

Cirang took a large pinch of the serragan powder and let it fall into the ’ranter’s face. With a quick step to the side, she did the same to Daia. She was just about to take another pinch of it when Brawna opened her eyes. Cirang blew the powder forcefully into her face.

To her left, Kinshield opened his eyes. She had to hurry.

Brawna tried to sit up, but struggled to get her elbow beneath her. “Whoa. I’m tho dithy. Oh, no. Thiran!” She reached for her sword but had difficulty pulling it from the scabbard. Cirang kicked it out of her reach.

“Thop,” Daia cried, swatting at Cirang. “Gavin, wook out.”

Kinshield reached for his sword. Before his fumbling hand could grab it, Cirang trapped it on the ground with her foot. She blew another large pinch of powder into his face. He was so big, the second dose was needed to fully subdue him. He immediately shut his eyes and mouth and turned his face away.

She bent to pick up the glowing sword. Without its gems, his magic was less effective, making her more difficult to follow with his gaze. The hilt heated up so quickly, it nearly burst into flame in her hand. She dropped it, hissing from the pain. Smoke rose from the blistering skin on her palm. “Damn your heathen magic.” She kicked the sword away from Kinshield and kept pushing it with her boot until it was hidden in the grass and weeds, while she held her hand out, palm up, in the rain to let the water cool her burnt palm.

“Thirang, thop o die,” he commanded.

Now the others were scrambling around, trying to draw weapons or crawl on their knees. Daia swung a sword at her and missed, and swung again. Cirang laughed, easily deflecting Daia’s lame attempts to fight her. “If only you could see yourselves. You look ridiculous.” Ignoring the pain in her hand, she picked up Vandra’s knapsack and rifled through it, found the shackle key, and freed her hands. First, she disarmed everyone and tossed their weapons into the weeds. “If you’re not careful, you’ll put an eye out before you die.” For amusement, she shackled Daia’s right wrist to Brawna’s left, and then threw the key into the dark brush as hard as she could. “Good luck finding it.”

Kinshield’s language grew coarser, though it was honestly difficult to make out what he was saying under the effects of the powder.

“Save your breath, Kinshield,” she said, pulling their cloaks off them and tossing them behind her. Beneath the king’s was Sevae’s journal, which she tucked into Vandra’s knapsack, along with the remaining serragan powder. “No one can understand you anyway.” She drew her knife, bent down and picked Brawna’s head up by her hair, intending to slit her throat. “I wanted to kill you first, but Vandra drew that straw.”

“No!” Brawna screamed. She struggled and slapped at Cirang, but her efforts only served to wound her with several cuts.

A powerful force hit Cirang from the left side. The ground fell away and raced beneath her. Her body slammed into a tree and fell to the ground. Pain shot up her spine like the scream that burst from her lungs. To even think of moving was excruciating, but she had to get a weapon. With elbows and knees, she crawled on her belly to where the knife lay in the grass and grabbed it. Summoning every bit of her will, she clenched her teeth against the pain and pushed herself to her feet.

Brawna, too, had tumbled across the ground and lay covered in dirt a few feet away. Kinshield was on his knees, wobbling with one hand raised, palm towards her. Cirang quickly assessed her options. If he was able to fight her using magic, even with two whiffs of the serragan powder coursing through his veins, it was best she get the hell out of there. Brawna’s sword was closest, and Vandra’s knapsack lay a dozen feet away. She couldn’t leave it behind — the journal was inside. She limped as quickly as she could, hoping she was moving too fast for his jerking eyes to keep pace, scooped up the knapsack, and went for the sword. Another gust of magic wind hit her as she reached for it, but it was poorly aimed and only spun her off balance to fall to her knees. Pain flared again in her shoulder and hip. To hell with the sword. His next attack might not miss.

She hobbled for the nearest horse. Though they snorted and blew nervously at her approach, they didn’t try to bolt. She’d never had trouble with horses before, but these were downright skittish around her, and they were supposed to be warhorses, calm and obedient. She cut the reins of all but one, a brown gelding, and they quickly scattered. She untied the gelding — Vandra’s horse — and mounted.

She rode hard to the east, towards the dim pink glow rising over the mountains in the distance. towards freedom and a chance for whatever power and riches the Well of the Enlightened had to offer.