Chronicles Of The Warlands - Warlord Part 29

Caught by Greatheart's movement, all I could do was cling to his back. Keir had already turned, drawing

his swords and running to aid Keekai and the others.

Greatheart's muscles bunched under me, preparing to run. "No, Greatheart-" I tugged on his mane."No, don't-"Greatheart leaped away, with several of the other horses who'd heard the command.A horse neighed in rage. In my confusion, I looked over my shoulder, hair and tears in my eyes, to see Keir's black horse, riderless and rearing, pawing the air, trumpeting its anger. I blinked, tossing my head

to try to clear my eyes. For one long heartbeat, I looked back.

The warriors were a mob now, a confusion of bodies and blades. Centered on one tall, dark-haired figure, fighting with two swords.

I looked just in time to see Keir die.

The first blade dug into his neck.

I screamed then, an echo to the black's.

A sword plunged into his chest then, buried to the hilt. Keir dropped, his swords falling from his hands.

I screamed again.

It had only taken a heartbeat. Greatheart had taken no more than a stride. Now he tore the ground with

his hooves, plunging through tents and people, obeying Keir's last command.

Crying, I looked forward as he ran, and tugged on his mane, but he ignored me.

I turned back, to see warriors running from the tent, mounting their horses, pointing at me. I cried out

again, in fear and anguish, and turned back to bury my face in Greatheart's mane.Weeping, I clung to his back, pressed low. Stay on, stay on, stay on. The words repeated over and over in my head, like a chant for the dead.

We cleared the tents, and still Greatheart ran, the other horses surrounding us, taking us deep within the herd. I could see other horses from the corner of my streaming eyes, running alongside, but I paid no attention. Still, Greatheart didn't slow.

The pain in my chest left me gasping for air. My eyes and nose were streaming, my hair was in my face. I didn't care. I gripped Greatheart tighter with my legs, and twisted my fingers in his mane. The sun had gone down, the stars were coming out, and still Greatheart ran.

Stay on, stay on, stay on.

A flicker drew my eye to my left. I glimpsed a rider, and fear coursed through me. They'd caught me. I turned to look, straining to see if it were friend or foe. The man seemed to glow in the light, as if he were Stardust or moonbeams. I sucked in a breath.

It was Epor.

There was no mistaking his bearded face, grim in the moonlight as he rode, warclub on his back. His hair, his armor, his skin all glowed in the light, washed in silver.

I jerked my head forward. No, no it couldn't be. I was- Isdra was two horses ahead of me, her long braid glowing silver. She looked over her shoulder, her face intent and serious. She wasn't looking at me, but over my shoulder, as if watching for my enemies. She turned back then facing the front and urging her horse to go faster.

"We of the Plains believe that our dead travel with us, ride along beside us, unseen and unknown, but knowing and seeing."

Marcus's voice rang in my head. "Until the longest night. On that night, we mourn our dead, who are released to journey to the stars."

I looked down at my hands, s.h.i.+vering, wanting to throw up. But curiosity forced me to glance to my right, to see if- Gils was there.

Ah, G.o.ddess, no. That had to mean that... I twisted as far as I could without risking my seat.

I caught a glimpse of Keir, three horses back, guarding the rear. Dark hair as he watched behind us, his two sword hilts jutting up behind his shoulders.

Pain flooded my heart. I cried out then, howling my grief and anguish to the sky. But the sky and the dead made no answer, and Greatheart never stopped. The sound tore from my chest, pouring out of me, but there was no comfort, no pity in the stars.

So I buried my face in Greatheart's mane, and let my sobs overwhelm me. The horse could take me where he willed. What did it matter?

Stay on, stay on, stay on.

I came back to myself when I realized that Greatheart had finally come to a halt. His head hung down as

he drew in air and his sides were lathered.

I felt heavy, unable to do more than breathe. It took long moments before I understood what had happened, and longer still for me to lift my head and look around.

Nothing. Nothing around us but the plains and horses.

I turned my head to scan the area. It all had that eerie glow of silver, from the moon high above. I could

hear water flowing nearby. A stream, perhaps. But for miles in all directions, all I could see was horses and gra.s.s.

A sob escaped my throat. It was all I had strength for.

Greatheart took a few steps, and lowered his head. I could hear him drinking, great gulps of water. Part

of me worried that he'd make himself sick. But he was thirsty, and I was too weary to care.

Down. I needed to get down.

I looked at my hands, wrapped tight in the horsehair. I had to think to get them to loosen their grip.

They'd cramped so tight in the rough hair that I sobbed as they slowly let go. I slid from Greatheart's back to fall in a heap at his feet.

Keir was dead. My beloved . . .

I curled into a ball and wept, until the blackness of despair and exhaustion claimed me.

I awoke, warm and safe, wrapped in blankets that smelled of Keir. I sighed, and smiled and reached out.

"Muwapp?"

I jerked up and awake, my heart pounding in terror.

An animal stared back at me, sitting by my feet, its long fur hanging down to cover my toes. It gave me a mild look, and started chewing its cud.

"Muwaaaapppp."

They were all around me, six of them, my blanket of the night. I s.h.i.+vered a bit in the cold morning air, and

realized that they had kept me warm. I sat still, breathing hard, letting my heart slow, recovering from the shock. The one closest burped, and I was awash in gra.s.s-sweet breath. I laughed in spite of myself. They looked like large s.h.a.ggy goats, except they had longer necks and large, floppy ears.

I reached out and scratched one between the ears, and it burped again and almost seemed to purr.

"Muwapp. Muwapp." The one at my feet got up, and shook itself like a dog.

The others rose as well, cranky and objecting, but obeying anyway. They moved to the stream to drink. The last one looked at me like I was some sort of very odd creature, and then followed the others. It left a tuft of wool behind, caught on the matted gra.s.ses. I plucked it, and held it to my nose. It had that spicy scent of Keir's. I twirled it in my fingers, and smiled when I realized that Keir smelled like a goat.

Keir was dead.

It felt like I'd been struck in the chest, right between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I covered my heart with my hands, and bent over, moaning as the pain and memories washed over me, over and over. As the memories spilled out and re-played before my eyes.

Just when we'd sworn ourselves to each other. Just when we'd learned to trust and have faith . . .

My chest was so tight, I could barely breathe. I rocked back and forth, sobbing until exhaustion silenced my tears.

Something nudged me. I looked up to see Greatheart standing over me. He lowered his head, and sniffed my neck.

"Oh, Greatheart." I reached up, and hugged him. He waited patiently as I clung to him, trying to get my tears under control.

When I could, I let go and tried to struggle to my feet. As I s.h.i.+fted to stand, I realized that my satchel was still on my hip, the strap between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I eased the strap over my head and just sat for a moment, trying to get my bearings.

I was a mess. My tunic was stained and wrinkled. My head was pounding something fierce, and my stomach was empty and growling. My hands hurt, and I opened them to see they were swollen, hot and raw. There were sharp cuts where Greatheart's mane had sliced into my palms.

The goats were gathered at the bank of the stream, drinking and eating and chattering like old women on laundry day. Greatheart took a step and scattered them, so that he could drink, noisily sucking in water. The goats scolded with their odd sounds, but splashed through the water to the other side of the stream. I got to my feet and staggered over to kneel by the water, upstream of Greatheart.

I thrust my hands in first. The touch of the water made me hiss as it cooled my heated skin. I cleaned them as best I could, then cupped them and drank the cool sweet water. Only then did I splash my face, drying it on the sleeves of my tunic.

That done, I got to my feet, to look around in the light of day.

Gra.s.s and horses. No people. No tents. No enemies.

No ghosts.

I was just as grateful for the last.

I didn't want to think, didn't want to feel. My hands still hurt, so I decided to think about that for now. I walked back to my satchel, sat next to it and opened it wide. There was a salve that would help, somewhere in the mess.

The first thing I pulled out was bloodmoss. Carefully, I used a bit to close the cuts. They were still raw, still swollen, but some of the pain was gone.

The next item was my vanilla soap, dried and wrapped in cloth. I held my breath, not wanting to inhale the scent. Not now. I couldn't think about that now. I set it in the gra.s.s, as far away as possible.

I rummaged further, surprised to see nothing broken, even the jar with the ehat musk. I wasn't really sure what all was in the satchel. Gils had made it from an old saddlebag and a wide leather strap. He'd told me that he was putting in pockets for 'useful things'. I could see him seated on the floor of my stilltent, looking up at- I wiped my nose on my tunic, and tried to force myself to think about other things. But the images flooded into my head.

Gils convulsed, limbs jerking in spasms, his head thrown back, gasping for air.

Yers staggered, almost dropping the lad in horror. But Isdra stepped closer to Yers, taking more of Gils's weight. They both managed to hold steady as Gils stopped thras.h.i.+ng as quickly as he had started.

My head came up, my eyes popped open. I looked out over the gra.s.ses, but I didn't see them. Instead, I went over that horrible moment again and again, with the eye of a healer. A cold, unemotional eye.

Gils convulsed, limbs jerking in spasms, his head thrown back, gasping for air.

The patient had convulsions.

I moved then, my hand on his forehead. Gils was warm, but not extraordinarily so. "Gils?" I called his name, but there was no reaction, no indication that he was aware. I placed my fingers at his neck, feeling a slow, weak pulse.