Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(18)

“That is not a cat,” Cade whispered. “And how did something so small birth those?” He went up on his elbows, but that was too much. His vision grayed out, and he sagged back on the pallet.

“I know, I know,” Gilla said, reaching for a blanket and covering him. “No one else understands it either. Sleep. You are safe, warrior.”

“Cadr,” Cadr closed his eyes. “My name is—”

“Cadr,” Gilla said. “Sleep. We will watch and guard.”

He gave her a nod, not that he had any choice as his tiredness claimed him.

Movement then, and a long warm body stretched out beside him, making a low grumbling sound with every breath. He shifted, fearing—

“No,” Gilla said. “That’s good.”

Cadr yawned, past the point of caring if the creature ate him or not. He stretched and then let the darkness take him, listening as the rumbling faded into his sleep.




“If she not move, arms die. Legs die.” Hanstau stood in the entrance to the tent, determined to make himself understood. He waved his hands and spoke slowly in his broken Plains.

The two guards just looked at him.

Hanstau huffed. Trying to explain the idea of atrophy with simple one syllable words was not the easiest task.

“They will not free me,” Reness said from behind him.

Hanstau looked back at her, grimacing in sympathy. Naked, bound hand and foot with leather ties to wooden stakes pressed into the ground, there was no way for her to move or flex. She had to be uncomfortable as all hell, and yet never once had he heard a complaint over the last few days they’d been housed together.

In many ways, she reminded him of his late wife. Stoic, calm, but Fleure had never had such a biting wit, nor would have borne the lack of clothing well.

Modesty was not an issue with Firelanders, but still. And while Hanstau had tried to ease the binds, tried to keep Reness clean, this had gone too far.

“It’s been days. This is intolerable,” he said, and turned back to the guards. “She must move, and clean, and eat or she will die.”

Reness spoke then, hopefully translating to get the idea through their thick heads.

The guards considered for a moment, then one shrugged and trotted off. The other motioned for Hanstau to go back into the tent.

He huffed, and did so, letting the flap fall.

“I explained,” Reness said. “Although I doubt it will accomplish much.”

“Worth a try,” Hanstau frowned at the naked woman, focusing on her wounded leg. He knelt by her side. “If they will let you walk and bathe, we can see about—”

The tent flap was yanked back, and Antas strode in.

Hanstau stiffened.

The blond warrior seemed to fill the tent with his bulk, armor and weapons all gleaming. There might have been a degree of handsomeness about the man, but it was lost on Hanstau. He’d seen Antas cut down others without mercy; those small eyes held only cruelty and viciousness.

He gave Hanstau a crafty smile. “What does my Warprize ask of me?”

Reness sucked in a breath, but Hanstau was past caring. “That she be permitted to walk and bathe and eat,” he said as simply as he could. “Or she dies.”

Antas lost his smile, and considered Reness with a frown. To Hanstau’s surprise, he gave a harsh nod, then started barking out commands.

The two guards entered, and were on Hanstau before he could raise a hand in defense. They forced him to his knees, his hands bound behind him, a blade at his throat.

Antas studied him. Hanstau snapped his mouth closed and glared back.

Antas smiled again, distinctly gloating. He knelt at Reness’s side. “If no thea,” he said. “Then no need, Warprize.” He paused, staring at Reness. “Understand?”

“Yes,” Reness said, grim of tone and face.

Antas freed her hand, stood, and left the tent.

Reness groaned, using the free hand to remove the rest of her bonds. She moved stiffly, and slowly, but she hadn’t lost any real strength that Hanstau could see. He shifted slightly, and the blade shifted with hm.

“Antas ordered—” Reness started.

“I got the gist of it,” Hanstau said drily. “Go, walk and stretch. Bathe, if they will let you, and keep the wound clean.”

“I will not linger,” Reness said as she stood, took a few tentative, limping steps, and then left through the tent flap.

The guards, and the blade, remained at Hanstau’s throat.

Hanstau grimaced, careful not to move. This didn’t seem the most practical way to keep him compliant, but given Antas’s savageness, it was probably wise on the part of the guards. He resigned himself to a wait, however long.

He could recite prayers to the Sun God, or perhaps that section of the Book of Xyson that listed—

The tent flap opened, and Hail Storm walked in.

A chill lanced up Hanstau’s spine. He flinched, and regretted it. He was a Master Healer after all; nothing should faze him. But there was something wrong with this man, something in the depths of his eyes…

Hanstau wasn’t alone. His guards felt it, too; they stiffened as the warrior-priest approached and towered over Hanstau.

But Hanstau wasn’t going to take that, he glowered at the man, meeting those dark eyes with his own glare.

Hail Storm knelt, held out the stump of his arm, and unwrapped the bandage.