Cursor's Fury (Codex Alera #3)(223)

Araris and Alia helped Isana to the cave. It took them far longer than Araris would have liked, but Isana could barely keep her feet. At last, though, they reached the cave, one of several such sites Septimus's scouts had prepared in the event that elements of the Legion might need a refuge from one of the violent local furystorms, or from the harsh winter squalls that came howling down out of the Sea of Ice.

Its entrance hidden by thick brush, the cave bent around a little S-shaped tunnel that would trap any light from giving away its location. Then it opened up into a small chamber, perhaps twice the size of the standard legionares tent. A small fire pit lay ready, complete with fuel. A quiet little stream had been diverted to run through the back corner of the cave, murmuring down the rock wall to a small, shallow pool before continuing on its way beneath the stone.

Alia helped Isana to the ground beside the fire, and Araris lit it with a routine effort of minor furycraft. He spoke the furylamps to life as well, and they burned with a low, scarlet flame. "No bedrolls, I'm afraid," he said. He stripped out of his scarlet cloak and rolled it into a pillow, which he slipped beneath Isana's head.

The younger Isana's eyes were glazed with pain. Her back contorted with another contraction, and she clenched her teeth over an agonized scream.

Time went by as it does in dreams, infinitely slowly while passing in dizzying haste. Isana remembered little of that night herself, beyond the steady, endless cycles of pain and terror. She had no clear idea of how long she lay in that cave all those years ago, but except for a brief trip outside to obscure signs of their passing, Araris had watched over her for every moment of every hour. Alia sat with her, bathing her brow with a damp kerchief and giving her water between bouts of pain.

"Sir Knight," Alia said finally. "Something is wrong."

Araris ground his teeth and looked at her. "What is it?"

The true Isana drew in a sharp breath. She had no memory of the words. Her last memory of her sister was of seeing her through a haze of tears as Alia used the wet cloth to wipe tears and sweat from Isana's eyes.

"The baby," Alia said. The girl bit her lip. "I think it's turned wrong."

Araris stared helplessly at Isana. "What can we do?"

"She needs assistance. A midwife or a trained healer."

Araris shook his head. "There's not a steadholt in the whole of the Calderon Valley-not until the new Steadholders arrive next year."

"The Legion healers, then?"

Araris stared steadily at her. Then he said, "If any of them lived, they would have been here already."

Alia blinked at him in surprise, and her brow furrowed in confusion. "My lord?"

"Nothing but death would have kept my lord from your sister's side," Araris said quietly. "And if he died, it means that the Marat forces were overwhelming, and the Legion died with him."

Alia just stared at him, and her lower lip began to tremble. "B-but..."

"For now, the Marat control the valley," Araris said quietly. "Reinforcements from Riva and Alera Imperia will arrive, probably before the day is out. But for now, it would be suicide to leave this place. We have to stay until we're sure it's safe."

Another contraction hit the young Isana, and she gasped through it, biting down on a twisted length of leather cut from the singulare's belt, even though she was too weakened by the hours of labor to manage a very loud scream. Alia bit her lip, and Araris's eyes were haunted as he watched, unable to help.

"Then..." Alia straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. It was a heartrending gesture for Isana to see now, a child's obvious effort to put steel into her own spine-and almost as obviously failing. "We're on our own then. "