Dark Moon Defender

  It was instinct to attempt to piece together where he was and what had happened, all the while lying so still no one in the vicinity would realize he was awake. Softness below him— he was in a bed. Shapes arranged like doors and windows against the denser materials of walls—he was in a good-sized room. No shackles on his wrists. He was among friends.

  So he was a guest in someone’s house, and he must have come to rest here after the battle to end all battles, because he certainly recognized the feel of a sword wound and, holy Mother, there were dozens on his chest and arms.

  And just like that, he remembered. The fight in the forest. The Lestra’s men. Taking a blade through the ribs just as he lunged to cut the other man’s throat. He had fallen to the ground knowing his wounds were most likely fatal, bitterly cursing himself for having failed Ellynor, who would come down this track in five days and find him missing —

  That he still lived could only be attributable to magic. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember anything that had happened since that fight in the forest. He had the sense that a good deal of time had passed—days, he hoped, instead of weeks—but he had only the most confused impressions of movement, voices, touch. A hand on his shoulder, a hand over his heart. That much he remembered. Whose hand? Ellynor’s? How long had she tended him? Was she still here? Where was he?

  Still not moving his head, he sent his gaze around the room. This wasn’t his rented place in the boardinghouse, that much he was sure of. And he didn’t think it was the interior of the convent, which Tayse had described as far more stark and severe. Had someone found his fallen body on the road and brought him back to safety? Was he in Neft?

  Was somebody caring for him?

  There was a chair next to the bed. He narrowed his gaze and strained to see. Yes, someone was sitting in the chair. A woman. It was impossible to see her clearly in the darkness, but he could make out a long tumble of hair, a silky sheen where her pale skirts were gathered around her knees.

  “Ellynor?” he whispered, not daring to believe. He struggled to sit up—damn, that was painful—and succeeded in pushing himself onto his elbows. “Ellynor?”

  The woman stirred and straightened, then leaned forward in her chair. He could tell before she spoke that she wasn’t Ellynor, and a great blow of disappointment landed in his stomach.

  “You’re awake!” the woman exclaimed, and most of his disappointment evaporated.

  “Kirra? What are you doing here?”

  She bounced out of the chair and perched beside him on the bed, running her cool hands lightly over his face and shoulders. “Long story. Give me a minute. How do you feel? How’s your breathing?”

  “Hurt all over. Weak. Breathing’s fine, though. Why? Did I get a sword through my lung?”

  “Nicked the edge of it, from what I can tell. Though, really, you had so many wounds I haven’t had time to catalog them all.”

  “What happened to me?”

  She reached over to light a candle on the bedside table, then folded her hands in her lap and looked down at him. The single flame ran a loving glow down her golden hair, painted a saintly expression on her beautiful face. “What do you remember?”

  “Fight against some convent guards in the woods. I think I killed them all, but some of them were pretty good. From what I remember of the last couple of blows, I could have died.”

  “Should have died,” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone live when they had wounds like yours.”

  He was silent a moment, for that was a strange thing, to be told you had knocked on the door of death. “How did you find me in time?” he said. “I had no idea you were anywhere near Neft.”

  She was smiling now. So much for the pious expression; this look was pure Kirra. “But I wasn’t,” she said in a dulcet voice. “I’m not the one who saved your life.”

  He felt an emotion knock through him—hope or apprehension or something he couldn’t identify. “Who did? What happened?”

  “We’re still piecing it together. And it’s not entirely credible. But apparently the young woman you’ve grown so fond of—”

  “Ellynor?” he said sharply. “She’s mixed up in this?”

  Kirra nodded. “Oh, yes. Apparently she found you on the trail, surrounded by corpses, and as close to death yourself as makes no difference. And she—I don’t know what she did—she put a spell on you or something, and then came racing into town to find the man who lives here. Faeber? Is that his name?”

  That made sense. So he was in Faeber’s house. “I’d told her she could trust him if she ever needed help.”

  “So he got a wagon and drove out to pick you up, and they carried you back here. Where everyone expected you to expire at any minute. But you didn’t die. Not from blood loss. Not from infection. Not from anything.”

  She waited, watching him expectantly. “Why didn’t I die?” he asked, since she was obviously waiting for the question.

  “I have no idea. Marney—Faeber’s wife—says Ellynor wouldn’t leave your side. Lay beside you on this bed for five days, her hand always touching you. Like she was feeding you with her own strength. I don’t know how else to explain it. When I got here, Ellynor herself was practically a wraith. Like she’d given up every ounce of energy in her body. Given it to you.”

  He felt a sudden surge of fear that made him fight to sit up again. This time he succeeded. “Where is she? Is she all right? I didn’t—I wouldn’t—if something happens to her because of me—”

  “Well, I think it was a pretty near run thing,” Kirra admitted. “I think, as close to death as you had been at first, that’s how close she was by the end. It was like she traded everything with you. Gave you her health while she took on your weakness. I can’t imagine how she did that. I want to learn, though.”

  Who cared about mystics’ tricks? “But is she all right?” he said impatiently. “Where is she? Can I see her?”

  She leaned close enough to push him in the chest, and he collapsed back on the pillows. “She’s sleeping. Senneth’s with her. And you know Senneth can keep anybody alive.”

  That news made a small bright ball of happiness inside him. “Senneth’s here?”

  “Oh, we’re all here. Tayse, Cammon, Donnal—all of us.”

  “Really? Why? For me? How’d you know I was hurt?” She watched him a moment, grinning. “I’m just going to let you figure that out on your own.”

  It wasn’t hard. “Cammon.”

  “Cammon, indeed. Clutches a hand to his heart, shrieks ‘Justin!’ and falls to the ground most dramatically. Got our attention, I assure you. We were a couple days outside of Ghosenhall, but we altered course and came flying down here so fast I feel like I must have left a hand or a foot behind on the road. At least a couple of pairs of shoes.”

  “When did you get here?”

  “This afternoon.”

  “So it’s been about five full days since I’ve been hurt. And I’ve done nothing but lie here this whole time?”

  “Lie there and heal,” she corrected.

  “I need to get up.” He lifted a hand and made a fist. No strength in his fingers. How long would it take before he’d be able to heft a sword? “I’m so weak.”

  “You will be for a while, I’d think,” she agreed. “I can help you along a little, but your body will have to do some of the work itself.”

  He pushed the covers back. He was wearing some kind of long nightshirt, certainly not his own. Faeber’s, maybe. Beneath it, his legs looked spindly and wasted. Bright Mother of the burning skies, his whole body flexed with pain when he swung his legs to the side of the bed and paused there, gathering his strength.

  Kirra was watching closely. “You might want to wait till Tayse is around. He can help you up.”

  “Don’t need Tayse’s help to walk across the room,” he said with a grunt.

  “Well, if you fall over, I can’t lift you.”

  “Guessing Donnal’s right outside the room,” he said. “But I’m not goi
ng to fall over.”

  She shrugged and stopped arguing; Kirra was never much of one for urging caution. She did come to her feet, though, ready to help him if she could. Justin braced his heels on the floor and then heaved himself up, feeling the shrieking protest of every half-healed wound. But he stood steady, once he got over the initial dizziness. As soon as he had readjusted to the sense of his own weight, he took a few careful steps, hands outstretched to grab at furniture if he needed to. But he felt stronger with each step, more sure of himself. He crossed to the wall and rested a moment before beginning the short journey back.

  Just as he reached the bedpost, the door pushed open a few inches and a large black dog nosed in. “He’s up,” Kirra said to the dog, who came all the way into the room and flowed into the shape of Donnal. The mystic was smiling through his beard.

  “Thought I heard voices,” Donnal said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Lucky.”

  Donnal nodded. “That seems to be the general opinion.”

  “And sore as hell.” He paced slowly back toward the wall. It did not escape his attention that Donnal remained by the door, Kirra by the bed, both of them close enough to catch him if he fell.

  “So tell us about these people whose house we’re in,” Kirra said. “They’ve been exceedingly gracious, but I can’t think they’re delighted to have so much company all at once, and so many of them at death’s door.”

  Justin grinned as he shuffled back toward her. “He’s magistrate of the town. Runs the civil guard, settles disputes. He made a point of getting to know me—I think he probably makes a point of getting to know any drifters who start to hang around.”

  “Did you tell him who you were?” Donnal asked.

  He shook his head. “No. But I know he thought I was here for some purpose. And we had a couple of guarded conversations about the Daughters of the Pale Mother that led me to believe he didn’t agree with the Lestra’s persecution of mystics.”

  Kirra laughed. “Gods, let’s hope not! With four of them in the house.” She glanced at Donnal. “Five, I suppose. Including Ellynor.”

  “I had the feeling I could trust him, but—” He shrugged. “I suppose you don’t ever know for certain till you put your trust to the test.”

  “Cammon likes him,” Donnal said, grinning. “So Tayse told him the truth.”

  “About all of you being mystics?”

  “I think he figured that out on his own,” Kirra said dryly. “About the two of you being Riders.”

  Justin had paused with a hand on the bedpost. He was panting a little, but he was far from done with this simple exercise. By the stillness outside, he guessed it had to be an hour or two past midnight. An odd time for either rehabilitation or conversation, but Kirra and Donnal were both perfectly at ease. The shiftlings never seemed to adhere to ordinary rules for behavior.

  “And how did Faeber take the news?” he wanted to know.

  “Said, ‘That explains a lot,’ ” Donnal replied. “I think he was referring to the five men dead on the road. That seems to be the thing that has impressed him the most. He kept saying, ‘I didn’t see how that could be possible.’ ”

  “They came at us without a warning,” Justin said. Once again, he was headed toward Donnal. “Didn’t give us a chance to talk or argue. Jenkins—the man with me—didn’t even have a weapon on him. They just slaughtered him. So I didn’t hold back. I went for the killing blows. I knew they would cut me down if they got the chance.” He touched the wall and glanced over at Donnal. “Any news in town about the dead soldiers? Anyone come looking?”

  “Tayse got the story from Faeber, but I haven’t heard all the details,” Donnal said. “Apparently, convent guards did come to the city asking questions, but either there wasn’t a house-to-house search or nobody thought to check Faeber’s place. There was some talk that the reason your body hadn’t been found was that it had been dragged off into the forest and eaten. Apparently predators had gotten a start on the others. And you got lucky again. Rained the day after your fight—a lot of tracks left on the forest trail, but none on the main road into Neft. No one could follow the wagon to this house, even if they suspected a wagon had come for you.”

  Justin grunted. “More magic from Ellynor’s goddess, maybe.”

  “Who would that goddess be, do you know?” Kirra asked.

  “The Dark Watcher. So she says.”

  He saw Kirra exchange a troubled glance with Donnal, but he didn’t know how to read it. All she said was, “So how does she feel about the Pale Mother?”

  He hadn’t tried to make the trek back toward the bed yet; he just stood against the wall, resting. “She seems fond of the Silver Lady. I don’t pretend to understand it. That’s the goddess who seems to incite so much hatred, and Ellynor is not good at hate.”

  “Well, we’ll have to ask her more when she’s awake,” Kirra said.

  Justin nodded, took a breath, and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Kirra asked, alarmed. She was instantly beside him. Donnal had moved over just enough to block Justin’s exit.

  “I want to see her.”

  “I told you, she’s sleeping. She’s with Senneth. You can see her in the morning.”

  “I want to see her now. I just want to—I just want to be sure.” He turned to give Kirra a look of open entreaty. There wasn’t much light in the room, but enough for her to see the expression on his face. “You’d do it. You wouldn’t let anyone keep you out of the room.”

  “Justin, you can hardly stay on your feet!” she exclaimed, but Donnal stepped aside. Justin gave him a nod of thanks and opened the door. The hallway was dark, and he didn’t know this house, but he could see a stairway to his right and doors lined up down the hall to his left.

  “The room next to yours,” Donnal said, following him out and standing just a pace behind.

  Justin ran one hand along the rough surface of the wall to help him keep his balance, but made it without trouble to the designated door. A soft knock, just to alert anyone who might be awake, and then he pushed the door open and went in.

  A bed—a chair—a single candle—dark shadows of smaller furniture against the walls. Whoever was in the chair quickly stood up as Justin entered, but the shape under the covers on the bed did not move.

  Ellynor. Ellynor lying there, her dark patterned hair spread out over the white pillows, her delicate face pale even by insufficient light. Her eyelids closed. Her hands lax on the quilt. Not appearing to move at all.

  He had taken three steps toward the bed before he realized it was Senneth who had risen from the chair and intercepted him in the middle of the room. “Justin!” she whispered. “What are you doing up?”

  She caught him by both arms and held him in place. He felt the heat from her hands burn through the thin cotton of his nightshirt. She was about as tall as he was and, at the moment, stronger; he could not push past her.

  “I wanted to see her,” he replied. He craned his neck to see past Senneth’s shoulder. The blankets rose and fell in a slight but rhythmic pattern.

  A strangled laugh from Senneth, and then she shook him, hard enough to make his head wobble. “I’m so glad you’re awake and coherent, but, Justin, you need to lie back down. I’ ll take care of Ellynor. She’ll be fine. You can visit her in the morning.”

  “Has she woken up yet? Said anything?” Kirra asked from behind him, and he realized she had followed him into the room.

  “Twice. Just long enough to eat something and ask after Justin.” She smiled at him, and he could see, beneath her concern, a genuine delight that he was recovered enough to be up and strolling around. “I told her he was growing stronger with every passing hour. It calmed her enough to let her go back to sleep.”