He looked at her, uncertain.
She pressed him. “Bernard. Steadholder Bernard. Your duty is to your people. And the only way to protect them is to warn Garrison, to rouse the Legions. You can help me do that.”
“I don’t know,” Bernard said. “Gram’s a stubborn old goat. I can’t tell him I’ve seen the Marat in the Valley. I don’t remember it. His watercrafter will tell him that.”
“But you can tell him what you have seen,” Amara said.
“You can tell him that you support me. If I have your support, he’ll have to take my credentials as a Cursor seriously. He has the authority to bring Legion strength to Garrison, to protect the Valley.”
Bernard swallowed. “But Tavi. He doesn’t have anyone else to look after him. And my sister. I’m not sure she came through last night all right.”
“Are either of them going to be all right if the Marat exterminate everyone in the Calderon Valley?”
Bernard looked away, back to the crows that still streamed overhead. He growled, “You think someone’s watching the air?”
“There’s a full century of Knights stationed at Garrison,” Amara said. “With a pair of infantry cohorts to cover them, they could stand off a dozen hordes. I think whoever has arranged this has a plan to assault them and destroy them before the Marat come.”
“The mercenaries,” Bernard said.
“Yes.”
“Then there might be more people trying to stop us from reaching Garrison. Professional killers.”
Amara nodded, silent, watching his face.
Bernard closed his eyes. “Tavi.” He was quiet for a moment before he opened them. “Isana. I’ll be leaving them alone in this mess.”
She said, quietly, “I know. What I’m asking you is terrible.”
“No,” he said. “No. It’s duty. I’ll help you.”
She squeezed his arm. “Thank you.”
He looked at her and said, “Don’t thank me. I’m not doing it for you.” But he covered her hand with his and squeezed quietly.
She swallowed and said, “Bernard. Last night. What you said. You were right. I’m afraid.”
“So am I,” he said. He released her hand and turned to go into the cave. “Let’s get dressed, get moving. We’ve got a long way to go.”
CHAPTER 24
Isana heard a woman’s voice say, “Wake up. Wake up.” Someone slapped her face, sudden and sharp. Isana let out a surprised sound and lifted her arms in an effort to protect her face. That same voice continued, just as before, “Wake up. Wake up,” and slapped her at measured intervals until Isana curled away from the blows, rolling to get her hands and knees beneath her, and to lift her head.
Isana felt hot. Sweltering. Her skin had soaked with sweat, and her clothes clung to her, likewise damp. Light was in her eyes, and it took her a moment to realize that she was on a dirt floor, that there was fire all around her, fire in a circle perhaps twenty feet across, a ring of coals and tinder that smoldered and smoked. Her throat and lungs burned with thirst, with the smoke, and she coughed until she almost retched.
She covered her mouth with her shaking hand, tried to filter out some of the smoke and dust in the air as she breathed. Someone helped her sit up, hands brisk, strong.
“Thank you,” she rasped. Isana looked up to see the woman she’d seen in the Rillwater, strangling Tavi. She was beautiful, dark of hair and eye, curved as sweetly as any man could desire. Her hair hung in damp, sweaty curls, though, and her face had been smudged with soot. The skin, in rows that reached across her eyes, was bright pink, shiny and new. A small smile curved her full mouth.
Isana hissed out a breath in surprise, backing away from the woman, looking around her, at the fires, a low ceiling, smooth, round stone walls not far beyond the ring of coals. There was a door leading out, and Isana tried to stand and move toward it, only to find that her legs would not obey her properly. She stumbled and fell heavily onto her side, near enough to the coals that her skin heated painfully. She pushed herself back from the fire.
The woman helped, dragging Isana back with a cool efficiency.
“Nasty, nasty,” the woman said. “You must be careful, or you’ll burn.” She sat back from Isana, tilting her head to one side and studying her. “My name is Odiana,” she said then. “And you and I are prisoners together.”
“Prisoners,” Isana whispered. Her voice came out in a croak, and she had to cough painfully. “Prisoners where? What’s wrong with my legs?”
“Kordholt, I think they called it,” Odiana said. “You’re experiencing crafting sickness. When Kord found you by the banks of the flood, your head was broken. They made me mend it.”
“You?” Isana asked. “But you were trying to hurt Tavi.”
“The pretty boy?” Odiana asked. “I wasn’t hurting him. I was killing him. There’s a difference.” She sniffed and said, “It wasn’t anything personal.”
“Tavi,” Isana said, coughing again. “Is Tavi all right?”
“How should I know?” Odiana said, her tone faintly impatient. “You tore my eyes out, woman. The next thing I saw was that ugly brute.”
“Then you’re not —” Isana shook her head. “Kord took you prisoner?”
She nodded, once. “He found me after the flood. I had just put my eyes back together.” Odiana smiled. “I’ve never managed my nails like that before. You’ll have to show me how it’s done.”
Isana stared at the woman for a moment, then said, “We have to get out of here.”
“Yes,” Odiana agreed, looking at the door. “But that seems unlikely for the moment. He’s a slaver, isn’t he, this Kord?”
“He is.”
The dark haired woman’s eyes glinted. “I thought as much.”
The thirst in her throat abruptly became too much for Isana to ignore, and she murmured, “Rill, I need water.”
Odiana let out an impatient sigh. “No,” she said. “Don’t be an idiot. He’s ringed us in fire. Dried us out. Your fury cannot hear you, and even if it could, you’d not be able to dampen a washcloth.”
Isana shivered, and for the first time since she’d found Rill, she felt no quivering response to her call, no reassuring presence of the water fury. Isana swallowed, eyes shifting around the interior of the building. Meat hung from hooks on some of the walls, and smoke lingered in the air. A smokehouse then, at Kord’s steadholt.
She was a prisoner at Kord’s steadholt.
The thought chilled her, sent a quiver creeping along her scalp, to the roots of her hair.
Odiana watched her in silence and then nodded, slowly. “He doesn’t intend for us to ever leave this place, you know. I felt that in him before he brought us here.”
“I’m thirsty,” Isana said. “Hot enough to kill us in here. I have to get a drink.”
“They left us two tiny cups of water,” Odiana said, nodding to the far side of the circle.
Isana looked until she saw the pair of wooden cups and pulled herself to them. The first she picked up was light, empty. She dropped it to one side, her throat on fire, and tried the second.
It was empty as well.