The Guardian Prince, page 8
Sabine watched her mount, noticing without really seeing as steam wisped from the horse’s body and the frothy sweat dried in her coat. It stung that Tayte had not believed her, but she would have reacted the same way if the situation had been reversed. Still, she hated the distance that had come between them.
Her musings were interrupted by the arrival of Gaoth. As the bird swooped in and landed on Koen’s outstretched arm, Sabine glanced around for Bree. Her heart fell a little when she didn’t see the dog, but she consoled herself with the reminder that Bree always found her.
As soon as the horses were able, Koen sent Gaoth to scout the Rüddan’s proximity. Sabine and the others continued their flight. Galloping as often as possible, they rode until it was clear the horses had nothing left and stopped once they reached another cluster of the tall, skinny trees.
Sabine chaffed at the delay. Judging by the drawn expressions on every face crowded around her, the others felt this frustration as keenly as she did.
Nearby, Tayte conferred with Aodhan. They spoke Aethelian, so Sabine did not know what they said, but as they talked, they occasionally glanced at her. Sabine bristled but tried to pretend she didn’t notice. They could be discussing any number of things—she didn’t have to assume any of it had anything negative to do with her.
Once again Gaoth swooped into the group, and once again Bree was not with him. Watching Koen communicate with the bird, Sabine tried to ignore a rising sense of concern.
A few moments later Gaoth fluttered from Koen’s forearm to the ground where Sabine sat. He examined her with his blue eye, then his green one while she leaned with her back against a tree. He squawked once, startling Sabine, then hopped up to her. Rubbing his head against her knee, he made a deep rumbling sound in the back of his throat.
“It is the equivalent of a cat’s purr,” Koen said as he approached. “It means he likes you. Also, he wants you to know your dog is safe.”
Sabine eyed the Dryht dubiously. “The sound told you that?”
Koen chuckled. “No, but the pictures he’s sending to my thoughts did.”
Purring once more, Gaoth bowed his head. When he didn’t move, Sabine took that as an invitation to pet him and scratched his neck with her fingertips.
“According to the bird,” Sabine overheard Koen report to Aodhan, “Naois and the Rüddan are no closer to us than before.”
Sabine smiled wryly, knowing the Dryht had used her language so she could understand.
“Thanks to Diera’s vision then,” Aodhan replied, also in the Human tongue.
Quirking her eyebrows, Sabine wondered if Aodhan intended for her to overhear him. Still scratching the raven’s neck, she stole a glance at the Aethel and found him watching her. Something fluttered in her stomach. Had Tayte told him about her attempt to deliver the same warning?
Aodhan shifted his attention to the sky, apparently assessing the amount of daylight that remained, then asked Gaelan how soon the horses would be ready to move.
“If we leave any sooner than third watch,” Gaelan countered, “they'll be lame by sunset.”
“Fourth watch it is then,” Aodhan commanded.
Kyar rose instantly, assuming sentry without a word while the others settled in to wait.
Apparently satisfied with her ministrations, Gaoth skipped away from Sabine, ruffled his feathers, then launched into the air. Circling overhead, he cawed once before veering off to north.
“He says he’s going to retrieve your dog,” Koen reported, settling against the tree beside her.
Sabine thanked him with a nod. As they sat there, a prickling heaviness settled upon her shoulders, the sensation like a tingling mantle.
“I knew they were coming,” she said at last, soft enough that her voice would not carry to the others. “The Rüddan. I saw them in a vision from an Ayrhim. I told Tayte just before the princess woke up, but he didn’t believe me.”
Sabine glanced at Koen to find him studying her, his expression neutral. When he remained silent, she continued, “What I can’t figure out, though, is why the Ayrhim would warn me if no one was going to believe it. Why not just tell Diera and be done with it?”
The Dryht returned his attention to the others scattered around them. He did not reply for a long time—so long that when he finally spoke, it startled Sabine. “Perhaps Torian used Diera’s experience as confirmation of your own.”
Sabine pinched her eyebrows together. “But I never doubted. I saw riders on the horizon, and I responded as though they were real.”
“Maybe the confirmation is not for you, but for the others.” Koen peeked sideways at her.
Shifting position, Sabine placed her feet flat on the ground so that her knees were bent up and rested a forearm on each knee. “I told Tayte an Ayrhim showed me the vision. I saw him speaking with Aodhan, so I’m guessing he passed that information on to the prince.”
Koen nodded. “Perhaps the confirmation is for them then. So they know to trust your visits from the Ayrhim in the future.”
Sabine huffed. “But what if it’s not? What if there’s another reason?”
“Then Torian will fulfill it.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t. But it is in his nature, and I trust he will not contradict himself.”
“You trust?” It was all Sabine could do not to splutter. What good would trusting do? She had trusted Kenrick when he said he wanted to marry her, only to find that her trust had been horribly misplaced. What was the point of trusting if you only found out you were wrong?
She wanted to ask this question of Koen but couldn’t think of a way to phrase it without sounding peevish. Since the Dryht made no effort to carry the conversation further, she leaned her head against the tree and settled in to wait for the fourth watch.
She dozed off quickly but jerked awake as her head slipped to the side, the seemingly constant headache pulsing. Resettling herself, she fell asleep again, only to repeat the process. By the time the sunlight deepened in tone to the golden yellow of afternoon, she had done this so often that her neck and shoulders ached. Rather than perpetuate the cycle, she hoisted herself to her feet and tried to stretch out the kinks.
The silence of the plains disturbed her. Compared to the constant melody of the woods—the never-ending backdrop of bird song, the buzz and chitter of insects, and the rustle of animals of all sizes moving through the undergrowth—she found the hush of this open expanse unnerving. It felt too much as if all of creation held its breath, hiding from unwanted attention.
Sabine shook her head to dispel the sensation. Around her, the others began to stir as well. A short while later, she and her companions were on horseback once more.
The terrain shifted subtly as they rode. Large slabs of stone surfaced occasionally then with greater frequency amid the grass, reminding Sabine of turtle backs skimming the surface of a pond. A sharp, icy wind gusted powerfully over the flat landscape, chilling any heat offered by the sun. In Khapor, the snow would be mounting as winter storms that built over the ocean blew across the island. Here, however, the only evidence of winter was found in the hues of brown and gold that tinted the grass and in the dark, musty scent of drying foliage. Even the cold was not as severe. Sabine still shivered whenever the sharp edge of a gust traced the neckline of her cloak, but the thick red material enveloping her kept most of the cold at bay.
One good thing about the rocks was the heat they radiated. As the group crossed a particularly rocky patch of ground, Sabine closed her eyes, willing every exposed patch of skin to absorb as much of the warmth as possible. She swayed with the motion of her horse, savoring this momentary respite until her mount lurched sharply to the left. Jarred out of her reverie, she snapped her eyes open while the horse regained her footing, once again stepping gingerly across a surface made slippery by a loose layer of sand. Sabine had just swallowed her heart back into its rightful place in her chest when Diera's horse whinnied with surprise and collapsed to his knee on one foreleg.
Diera pitched over the horse's head onto the ground.
Chapter Seven
"My Lady!” Amala gasped as Kyar simultaneously yelled the princess's name.
Sabine jerked her horse to a stop and leapt from the saddle, rushing to kneel at Diera's side. The princess was already pushing herself up, which was good as it likely meant nothing was broken.
Sabine reached her hand out to help Diera stand just as Kyar dropped out of his saddle beside them.
“I’m fine,” Diera gasped as Sabine helped her upright.
“Good.” Kyar's voice sounded reassured, but his eyes betrayed his doubt. He studied Diera intently for a moment, as if scanning her to verify her statement, then asked, “What about the horse?”
“Lame,” Gaelan called from where he squatted beside the animal, inspecting its leg while Tayte held it still. “Can you do anything for it?”
Kyar knelt beside Gaelan. Placing both hands lightly on the horse, he ran them slowly up and down, from hoof to knee and back. The expression on his face was both distant and intent.
Sabine's jealousy bloomed into fullness as she watched. Why couldn't she heal like that? She should be able to if she could just figure out how to tap into the magic Auda and Koen both claimed she possessed. What was holding her back?
After a few more strokes, Kyar stood up. “The leg is healed, but it needs rest. The horse can walk, since we can't stop, but she can't go any faster, and she certainly can't carry a rider.”
Tayte and Aodhan exchanged glances, and Gaelan sighed.
“How far behind us are they?” Aodhan asked the Dryht.
“After this, roughly five watches.”
Sabine looked at Aodhan, studying him as he weighed their options.
“We could put the animal down,” Amala suggested.
Even though it was a reasonable option, Sabine's conscience rebelled. She would rather abandon the horse and let it take its chances on the plains, but even that thought repulsed her.
“Aye, we could,” Tayte agreed, but his expression suggested he found the idea unpleasant, as well. “But it wouldn't solve the problem. Diera will still have to double-up with someone else. Even if she changes animals regularly, the added weight will cause the horses to tire more quickly. We will lose our advantage even faster. Especially once we hit the sand.”
The sand? Sabine wondered, then remembered their destination: Rhosynard, the flower of the desert.
“It’s best we make our stand here,” Gaelan agreed.
Anxiety fluttered in Sabine's stomach. Grass stretched as far as the eye could see on every side, speckled more frequently with large rocks in the direction they were heading. There appeared to be no sort of cover available anywhere.
Aodhan nodded slowly. “As you say. There is a firlan not to far from here. We can assist the princess’s horse and still make it in time to establish some measure of defense.”
Aodhan’s mention of assisting Diera’s horse rather than killing or abandoning it pleased Sabine. Perhaps His Highness wasn’t as cold as he appeared. Sabine smiled at the thought just as Aodhan glanced in her direction, then flushed when she imagined he might think she was smiling at him. To discredit any such ideas, she focused solely on her horse as she remounted and followed the others.
One-third of a watch later, Sabine learned that firlan was the Aethel word for the spattering of trees loosely clustered together that was not quite dense enough to call a copse. This particular one was scattered through with several of the large, flat rocks that had been cropping up more and more often, accompanied by less grass and more sand. The terrain was tricky for the mounts but manageable on foot.
They picketed the horses a short distance from the firlan, the reins of each animal tied securely but easily undone if the need arose. No one spoke about the question of Diera's mount.
The Aethel conversed openly that night, speaking in Sabine’s language as they discussed strategies for the upcoming battle. Sabine knew nothing of warfare, so much of the conversation exceeded her understanding anyway, but she followed along as best as she could while ignoring the headache still lodged behind her ear.
The next morning was spent establishing what defenses there were. Bows were strung, arrows examined, and swords sharpened. All that remained was to wait.
Sabine hated the waiting worst of all. It allowed too much time to think, too much time to reflect on how useless she was since she had no experience with a weapon of any kind. Too much time to worry about all the different things that could happen in a battle involving weapons as well as magic.
Another gust of cold wind swirled through the firlan. Sabine shivered and pulled her cloak tightly around her, then rubbed the bone behind her right ear where the headache was growing stronger. She needed to be busy, to let work keep the speculations and fears at bay. She may not know how to fight, but she did know how to heal. All she needed was a few supplies.
Resolved in spite of the reception she knew she was likely to receive, Sabine crossed through the trees to where Tayte, Kyar, and Aodhan sat, engaged in a conversation that stopped the instant she drew near.
She had expected that, but it still irked her.
“I can't fight,” she began without preamble, “but I won't be idle, either. I may not be able to heal like Kyar, but most wounds don't require magical treatment, and Kyar will be busy.”
The three Aethel regarded her, each face as unreadable as the others. Something about Aodhan's expression though—a minor glint in his eyes that she probably imagined—suggested approval, so Sabine pressed on.
“Kyar,” she said, addressing the stoic Aethel directly for the first time since leaving Denu-Glean, “if you can loan your supplies to me and explain the items I'm not familiar with, then perhaps I can be more than a dead weight.”
At first, no one spoke. Sabine balked momentarily, unsure, then dismissed the misgiving. If these foolish, stiff-necked sons of Nymhon. . .
Sabine inhaled, checking her temper. Old prejudices would do no good here. Kyar might deny her, but perhaps Aodhan would overrule him. Sabine inhaled again, ready to try another approach, but Kyar nodded and spoke before she could.
“Well said,” he commended, “but there will be no time. If we pause in this battle even long enough to tend a wound, then we will die. The only chance for dressing injuries will be when the battle is over.”
“Even so,” Sabine started, rubbing behind her ear where the headache was now a dull throb. When Tayte pinched his eyebrows together, she dropped her hand. “There must be something I can do.”
Kyar regarded her silently for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. Follow me.”
More surprised than she had imagined she would be, Sabine released her breath and trailed after the Aethel out of the firlan and back to the horses.
Kyar's supply seemed endless. Bandages and salves, unguents, and powders appeared out of pouches and packs, each wrapped tightly in waterproof skins and stowed snugly in the Aethel’s saddle bags. Sabine inspected them all, gauging their potential uses and stashing the ones she deemed most likely to be needed in a satchel Kyar loaned to her, which she wore slung from one shoulder and across her chest to rest on the opposite hip.
Kyar watched silently, speaking only to answer her questions. He seemed to study her as she worked, but it didn't bother her. For the first time since she had been imprisoned in the Tower of Khapor, she was doing what she loved, fully immersed in the vocation she had devoted her life to.
“Torian's call on you is strong,” Kyar said suddenly.
Sabine almost dropped the salve she was sniffing to identify, fumbling it from hand to hand before finally grasping it tightly. “What do you mean?"
“The anointing of Torian emanates from you as it does all those who follow him, but it is stronger on you than many. I wonder that you have not manifested it yet.”
“Manifested?” Sabine echoed. Her hand trembled slightly as she placed the salve among her other borrowed supplies.
“Perhaps I do not speak your language masterfully,” Kyar said, the tone of his voice hinting that he knew his meaning was quite clear. “Torian's power sleeps within you, wanting only to be awoken. All that remains is for you to believe it is so.”
Sabine had no time to ponder Kyar's statement, for her headache flared. Pain arched across the right side of her skull. Gasping, she doubled over, her head in her hands as, a short way off in the distance, Gaelan called an alarm.
Naois had arrived.
Kyar sprinted back to the copse. Sabine assumed he had not noticed her reaction to the triggering of the litri that apparently still bound her, but a few moments later Tayte and Koen were by her side. Each one grabbed her by an arm and steered her to the middle of the firlan.
“Sabine,” Tayte queried in an undertone, “she has activated the litri?”
Sabine nodded. “It's sharp, but not debilitating. So far, I can still breathe. I can still function.”
To prove her words, she pulled her arms from the two men who supported her and squinted into the light. Her head throbbed from the bone behind her ear to the hollow below her eye, making it hard to think, but everywhere else she felt fine. “How far away are they?”
“They've just become visible on the horizon,” Koen said. Then to Tayte, “I thought your healer broke the litri?”
“We thought so, too,” Tayte lied smoothly. “Apparently, it's stronger than we gauged.”
Koen scowled, clearly aware he was not being told the whole truth, but he did not press the issue. “Let me see what I can do.”
Sabine shook her head. “No. You're needed with the others. I'll manage.”
“Until Naois gets closer,” Tayte countered.
Sabine wanted to argue, but Tayte could be right. If the litri was still active, even at a muted level, who knew what Naois could achieve with proximity?
“Go stand with the others,” Koen ordered Tayte. “I'll do what I can here and join you soon.”
Tayte stared at Koen for a moment, then nodded and left.
“You might want to sit down,” Koen recommended, the presence of his consciousness already brushing against Sabine's thoughts.
