Cursor's Fury (Codex Alera #3)(222)

She followed the images of the dream, a silent and invisible witness to them, but the awareness of things she could not possibly know flowed through her thoughts. She was impressed that her younger self had maintained such a pace, and certain that it was not enough to have outpaced any barbarian trackers. Already, they had circled two enemy positions-a shock to Isana, who had known nothing of it at the time-and on one of his heartbeat-long forays out of sight of Isana and her sister, Araris had silently slain a Marat lying in ambush, never making mention of it.

Isana saw her younger self abruptly lose her balance and fall, crying out and clasping at her swollen belly. "Crows," the younger Isana swore, breathless. "Bloody crows. I think the baby is coming."

Alia was at her side immediately, helping her up, and the younger woman traded an uncertain look with Araris.

Araris pressed forward. "Are you sure?"

Isana watched as another spasm wrenched her younger self, and she spewed a stream of profanity worthy of a veteran centurion. It took her a moment to catch her breath, then she gasped, "Reasonably so, yes."

Araris nodded once and looked around him. "Then we must go to ground. There's a cave not far from here." He looked around him for a moment, clearly evaluating his choices.

The dream froze in place.

"This was my first mistake," said a voice from beside Isana. Fade stood there, ragged, scarred, dressed in rags, a figure utterly beaten down by hardship and time.

"Fade?" Isana asked quietly.

He shook his head, his eyes bitter. "I never should have left you there."

The dream resumed. Araris vanished into the night. He moved like a shadow through the woods, casting about for perhaps three or four minutes, until he found the dark outline of the cave's entrance. Then he spun and ran back toward Alia and Isana.

As he approached, he suddenly became aware of another Marat hunter, not ten feet from the two young women, unseen in the shadows. He moved at once, his hand darting to his belt, to the knife there, but it seemed to Isana to happen very slowly. The Marat arose from his hiding place, bow in hand, an obsidian-tipped arrow already upon the string. Isana realized, through Fade's recollection of the scene, that the Marat had seen Alia's golden hair, an incongruous bit of lighter shadow. He had aimed at her because he could more easily see her.

Fade threw the knife.

The Marat released the arrow.

Fade's knife buried itself to the hilt in the Marat's eye. The hunter pitched over, dead before his body struck the ground.

But the arrow hed released struck Alia with a simple, heavy thump. The girl let out an explosive breath and fell to her hands and knees.

"Crows," Fade snarled, and closed the distance to them. He stood there for a moment, torn.

"I'm all right," Alia said. Her voice shook, but she rose, blood staining her dress, several inches below one arm. "Just a cut." She picked up a shard of a shattered wooden shaft, black crow feathers marking the Marat missile. "The arrow broke. It must have been flawed."

"Let me see," Araris said, and peered at the wound. He cursed himself for not knowing more of the healing arts, but there was not a great deal of blood, not enough to threaten the girl with unconsciousness.

"Araris?" Isana asked, her voice tight with pain.

"She was lucky," he said shortly. "But we must get out of sight now, my lady."

"I'm not your lady," Isana responded, by reflex.

"She's hopeless," Alia sighed, her voice carrying a tone of forced good cheer. "Come on, then. Let's get out of sight."