Perhaps that saved her life; the moment she felt a hand grasp her shoulder she grabbed the dagger from under her pillow and threw herself off the bed. The night lamp was out, the little room in darkness.
“Myrhini!” she shouted as hands found her again in the darkness. She struggled, twisting in their unseen grasp, but they held her fast and sudden pain shot through her arms, hands, and right hip.
She heard Myrhini’s outraged shout and the hands released her. She dropped to the ground and crawled toward her sword rack. Torchlight flared suddenly, illuminating Myrhini lashing out at three men, a fourth writhing in pain underfoot. More riders came crowding in, but before they could kill or apprehend the assassins, the invaders brought something to their lips and fell down as if stricken by magic.
Klia sprang to her feet, glaring at the others. “How in Bilairy’s name did they get in here? Where are my guards?”
“Dead, Commander,” one of her rescuers told her. “They’re lying out front with their throats cut. Bastards killed them before they came after you.”
“Why wouldn’t they have killed me, too?” asked Myrhini as she began checking Klia’s wounds. The men had been armed with daggers, and between the darkness and her struggling they had only managed to inflict superficial wounds.
“I-I don’t feel well,” Klia said, pressing a hand over her eyes. Suddenly she felt light-headed and nauseated.
“Hertas, fetch the healer!” Myrhini ordered, righting the overturned cot and helping Klia to lie down.
“I’m all right,” Klia said, looking at the cut on her arm.
“It’s not deep, but it’s bleeding.” Myrhini staunched it with the corner of Klia’s blanket, then turned on the others. “Quit your staring and raise the alarm. If there are any other assassins sneaking around, I want them captured. Alive!”
“Thanks.” Klia winced as Myrhini insisted on looking at the stab wound on her hip.
“Bastard must have been going for your belly.”
Klia looked past Myrhini to the dead men littering her room, which was beginning to spin. They wore Plenimaran uniforms. “Looks like we missed a few. They must have been
carrying poison in case they got caught. I think-” Her tongue felt thick and she tasted something bitter. “I’m poisoned, too.”
“If you are, it’s something different, or you’d be as dead as they are,” the other woman growled. “This wound is deeper and bleeding badly. You’re lucky as Sakor that it wasn’t a few inches to the left, or it would have been in your guts.”
Klia couldn’t help a shudder; gut wounds were some of the worst, and generally ended in a lingering, painful death. But perhaps the poison- It was becoming difficult to form coherent thoughts.
The last thing she heard was Aden the drysian shouting for hot water. Coldness crept over her, but she could feel Myrhini’s hand warm and sure around hers.
Klia came around in daylight, sick, achy, and very surprised to be alive. Myrhini was still beside her cot, watching her intently.
“How long?” Klia tried to ask, but her throat felt swollen and her mouth tasted bitter. Her head was splitting. “Water-”
“Aden left this for you.”
Myrhini held Klia’s head up and helped her sip from a cup. The infusion smelled of herbs and minerals, and tasted mildly sweet. She managed a few sips, then gagged it up again.
“You have to keep it down,” Myrhini told her calmly. “Aden did what he could with magic, but he said you need this to fight any remaining poison. It’s a good thing you bled the way you did, too. Apparently because most of the wounds were shallow, the bleeding washed out the poison, or at least the worst of it. The stab wound to your hip was the worst.”
Klia flexed her leg and grimaced. “He didn’t have to cut anything out or off, did he?”
Myrhini chuckled. “No. Here, have some more.”
“Bilairy’s Balls,” Klia groaned, then doggedly accepted a few more sips. After a few moments of lying absolutely still with her eyes closed, the awful feeling in her stomach began to subside, though her head hurt so bad she was seeing
flashing lights behind her eyes. “How did they get past the guards?”
“And me?” Myrhini sighed. “They killed the guards, then opened the seam at the back of your room with some kind of acid.
“No sound. Who was on guard?”
“Two of Danos’s people: Saura and Melkian. I have Captain Beka and her Urghazi on guard around your tent now. Klia, I’m so sorry-”
Klia waved aside the apology. “Not your fault. The killers knew what they were doing. What do we know about them?”
“Just that they were soldiers, and must have been specially tasked with your assassination once they escaped from the battle yesterday. They wouldn’t have been carrying poison and acid by chance. Who was giving the orders is a mystery. The survivors of the battle must have regrouped and chosen a leader. I doubt there are enough of them to stage a major attack, but I have the perimeter under full guard.”
“Well done. I suppose I’d better get a report off to Phoria. You’ll have to write it for me, though. I can’t see straight yet.”
Myrhini brought Aden’s cup to her lips again. “Drink.”
Klia drank and the pain and nausea retreated a bit more, enough for her to send Myrhini to her clothes chest for the leather bag containing the small painted wands Thero had supplied her with before she’d left Rhiminee in the spring.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” her friend said, and went out to the map room to compose the report.
Klia pressed the wand to her lips, then broke it, releasing the message sphere spell infused into it. A blue point of light hovered over one broken end. “Thero, I must speak with you,” she said softly, then touched the sphere and sent it speeding off to the south. It was the nature of the simple but powerful spell to find the recipient, wherever he or she happened to be.
A tingle of magic woke Thero. A message sphere was floating over his face; there was only one person he’d given
any message sticks to recently. Heart tripping a beat, he touched it and heard Klia’s whispered message.
He threw a robe on over his nightshirt and went to the wardrobe, where he pushed aside the neatly hung robes and took a small marble box from a shelf at the back. It was a solid piece of stone until he spoke the command word and the seam under the lid appeared. Removing it, he took out a fine linen handkerchief spotted with dried blood-her blood. Klia had pricked her finger with a dagger and made the talisman for him in Aurenen, when he was recalled to Skala before she was. Blood magic was frowned upon at best by the Oreska, but it was part of the heritage passed down to him through Nysander. With this he could do a sighting, find Klia anywhere, anytime. It was a privilege he was careful not to abuse. Holding the handkerchief between his palms, he invoked the window spell, opening a portal between them over the long miles that allowed them to see and speak to each other.
Nothing in her brief message had prepared him for the state he found her in. A blanket was pulled up to her chest, but her shirt was off, leaving her in only her breast band, bare arms on top of the blanket. Even in candlelight he could see how pale she was, and the bandages on her hands and arms; defensive wounds. Her padded glove was off, and her maimed hand rested on her chest, a reminder of the poisoned needle that had nearly cost her not only her hand but her life. No scar, though, no matter how severe, could ever make her less beautiful in his eyes.
“By the Light, Klia, what’s happened?” he exclaimed softly.
She managed a wan smile. “Two days of fighting without a scratch, then tonight assassins attacked me in my own bed.”
“But how?”
She waved the question aside with obvious weariness. “I don’t have the energy to talk for long. They were Plenimarans, and came after me with poisoned knives. The drysian and Myrhini saved me.”
“You look ill.”
“I am, but it’s passing.”
“What can I do?”