Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(30)

Chapter Ten


Hanstau breathed easier once they gave Reness a tunic and trous to wear.

He may be a widower, may be the father of three grown children, but he wasn’t dead, after all. Sharing a tent with a naked woman was all well and good when she was his patient. Quite another thing when she was plotting their escape.

Her wound was healing well, although she feigned a limp when she walked. She wasn’t very good at it, in Hanstau’s opinion. But every chance she got, Reness worked to regain the strength she had lost while confined.

She was moving about now, quiet on the grass in her bare feet, making little noise as she eased through a series of slow stretches. The tent flap was closed, their guards outside by a fire eating their nooning. Hanstau had tucked himself closer to the back of the tent to give her room, sitting cross-legged against the wall.

He’d thought to keep his eyes tightly shut, to recite prayers to the Sun God, or perhaps a few stanzas of the Epic of Xyson that he had memorized as a child.

But his control was not perfect. His treacherous eyes would not stay closed. He could only hope for forgiveness for the occasional glance, but the mental image was almost worse, brought on by the sounds of the soft movements of cloth over skin and her breathing.

Her back was turned to him, and she was lunging at an unseen enemy, her trous—

Hanstau swallowed hard, and closed his eyes firmly. His late wife had been dear to him. Their marriage had been arranged, as was proper, and they’d been well suited to one another. They’d been comfortable with their duty and taking pleasure with one another, and they’d shared pride in their children. He’d mourned her death.

A whisper of cloth on skin, and his eyes flickered open to see Reness pivot into a slow, steady lunge at an unseen opponent.

She stole his breath away.

Enough. Hanstau closed his eyes tight, settled back into his seat, and reminded himself sternly that while it was perfectly normal to be attracted to a healthy, muscular, lovely woman, it was not proper.

It didn’t help that the tent was warm and the air was still thick with Reness’s unique scent. Hanstau could let himself breathe deep, drift off, dream of—

He jerked his head up, stiffened his back, and rejected that thought. Time to think on other things. The Epic of Xyson was dull enough to kill any thoughts of—

A flash of light flickered at his closed eyelids.

Hanstau opened his eyes a crack to see gold sparkles gathering by his bare toes. He frowned at them. That was another bone of contention. Walking in grass toughened the feet of those of the Plains. His feet were far more tender, and pale. They’d taken his boots as yet another way of keeping him captive. As a result, his guards, even Reness, had commented on his pale feet and long toes.

If they gave him back his boots, maybe they wouldn’t have to see them.

The power also seemed fascinated. The sparkles jumped around his feet, and he could almost feel their giggles.

‘Practice as a child does,’ Reness had urged him. ‘Try, fail, try again.’

‘Wild Winds warned against that,’ he’d told her. ‘He said he would teach me.’

‘That is no longer an option,’ she’d pointed out.

Hanstau frowned at his toes, wiggling them the tiniest bit. The sparkles scattered, then danced around them, growing brighter.

He’d seen Snowfall use her powers just the one time, when she had somehow shielded them from the wyverns threatening them. He’d been focused more on his patient at the time, trying to carry the woman to safety with Snowfall’s help. But he seemed to remember that she had pulled the glow within as they’d moved, drawing power into herself. After, Snowfall had been tired, she’d said something to Simus about…

“I had to carry, and concentrate, and move,” Snowfall shook her head. “Not as easy as I thought.”

Concentrate… Hanstau thought about that. Snowfall had been talking about her thoughts, but maybe the sparkles could be brought together. Like boiling willow bark down to a thick paste for fever’s foe. Absorbing it through your skin to aid the whole body.

He wiggled his toes again, and the sparkles clung like gold dust in the dim light. Like putting on joint cream to help stiff fingers and toes. He’d often wondered what caused the stiffness to be so bad in some, and not as bad in others. But the joint cream, applied thickly and then covered well with wool socks warmed by the fire, was a remedy that eased the pain of those that suffered.

Hanstau stifled a yawn, and continued to stare at the glow as it grew and then diminished, wrapping in and around and through…

He could see his toes. No. See through his toes. He could see the bones, the muscles, the blood rushing through healthy flesh, see the joints in all their complexity. So many bones. He flexed his foot, and then his ankle, watched the interplay of healthy flesh under the skin, watched bone and muscle work together. Entranced, he stared in wonder at—

“Antas wants the male,” came a gruff voice from outside.

Hanstau started, disoriented. The vision was gone, and he was left blinking in the light as the tent flap was thrown open. Had it been a dream? He felt odd, tired, drained and yet… elated.

Reness had calmly moved, swift and silent to sit on her pallet. She gave him a puzzled glance as one of the guards stepped within their tent.

“Come,” the warrior gestured. He dropped boots and a hooded cloak at Hanstau’s feet. “Antas summons you.”