Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(84)

“No battle here to fight,” he said softly.

“No battle here to fight,” she repeated, as if the words held power.

They entered the tent. Achilles took two steps toward the bed and then the wet, awful sound of breath gurgling through blood hit both of them and he stopped as if he’d walked into an invisible wall.

Jacky glanced up. Her eyes went quickly from Achilles to Kat. “Did you bring it?”

“Odysseus is getting a reed,” Kat assured her. “He should be here any second.”

“I need it yesterday,” Jacky said.

“It’s a sword wound. He—they’ve been in battle,” Achilles said as he lurched forward to the side of the bed, inadvertently kicking a section of the discarded bloody armor. He glanced down. Kat saw the question cross his face, and then his eyes widened in recognition. “He was wearing my armor.”

To Kat Achilles’ voice sounded dead, but it somehow reached Patroklos. He opened his eyes and his gaze went immediately to Achilles.

“By the gods, what have you done?” Achilles said, reaching for his cousin’s hand.

Patroklos couldn’t speak. All he could do was struggle to breathe. His bloody lips formed the words Forgive me, and then his eyes rolled to show their whites before they fluttered closed.

“He wore my armor and led them into battle,” Achilles said in his dead voice as he watched the unconscious Patroklos try to breathe.

“We thought he was you, my lord,” Diomedes said from a shadowy corner of the tent.

Kat saw his eyes flash up at the warrior, and Diomedes moved his shoulders restlessly. “Everyone thought he was you. Even Hector thought he was battling you until he knocked off his helmet. Then he stopped and—”

“Hector!”

Kat had never heard anything like the coldness in Achilles’ voice. It chilled her through to her soul.

“Yes, my lord. It was Hector,” Diomedes said.

“So Hector has killed him,” Achilles said in the same, emotionless tone.

“Not yet he hasn’t,” Jacky snapped. “Don’t say that kind of crap. He might be able to hear you.” She didn’t spare a glance for Achilles, but looked at Kat instead. “I need the reed. Now. If Odysseus has it you have to go get him.”

Kat nodded and started back toward the tent flap, almost as reluctant to leave Achilles as she was freaked out by what would happen if she didn’t get Odysseus and the reed.

“Go. Find him,” said Achilles’ strange, cold voice. “Get what she needs.”

Kat had just turned when Odysseus entered the tent. Breathing hard he rushed to Jacky and handed her several long, hollow reeds of slightly differing, strawlike sizes.

“Will these do?”

“They’ll have to,” Jacky said.

And Patroklos stopped breathing.

“Patroklos! Cousin!” Achilles shouted, and began shaking his shoulder, much as Kat had done to awaken him moments before.

“Enough!” Jacky commanded. “Odysseus, get Achilles out of here.”

“I will not—” Achilles began to roar.

Kat moved to his side and touched his arm. “You’re not helping him like this.”

Achilles looked wildly down at her.

Kat kept her voice calm. “There is no battle here, Achilles.” She glanced quickly at Odysseus. “Take him out of here.”

Odysseus nodded, approaching Achilles carefully. “My friend, you must—”

“I need this room cleared, now!” Jacky’s no-nonsense voice broke in. “Everyone out except the princess.”

Kat saw that Achilles was set to argue, and she stepped between him and the bed. “There’s no time for this, and no way we’d be able to deal with the berserker in here. If there’s a chance of her saving him, you need to get out of here and keep yourself under control.”

Kat held her breath as she watched Achilles’ jaw tighten and his turquoise eyes darken in anger, but he gave a stiff nod and, followed by Odysseus and Diomedes, left the tent.

Kat turned back to the bed in time to catch a wad of clean linens Jacky had tossed at her.

“Climb up on the bed beside him. Try to keep the blood wiped up and out of my way,” Jacky said as she hastily inspected the reeds Odysseus had given her. Choosing one, she bent over Patroklos, a small sharp knife closing on his throat.

Kat clenched her teeth against rush after rush of nausea while she assisted Jacky in the tracheotomy. It seemed to take days, but logic told Kat that only minutes had passed when Patroklos’s chest began to rise and fall gently again. Kat drew a deep, relieved breath—then she looked at Jacky who was still pale and grim lipped.

“He’s breathing now. Isn’t he going to be okay?”

“It’s temporary. His neck’s sustained a lot of damage. This is a Band-Aid on a dam. It’s not going to last.”

“What do we have to do?”

“Get him to a hospital. With real doctors, and real medicine, and real surgery.” Jacky wiped her wet brow with her sleeve. Kat noticed her hands were shaking. “He’s gonna die, Kat. There’s nothin’ I can do to stop it. Not here—not now.” She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth to try to stifle a sob.

“No. No, hell, no. He is not going to die, not because of some meddling, goddess-be-damned scheme.” Kat opened the heart locket that dangled from the chain around her neck and shouted into it, “Venus! It’s an emergency. I need you now!” Kat held her breath, praying silently, Please, oh please show up.