The voices of the others in the camp were too muted to hear clearly. There was also the soft crackle of the campfire, its light flickering against the tent’s canvas, except when Leesil’s pacing blocked the light, time and again. Sitting there, looking at her own arms, Magiere couldn’t bear to have anyone see her, even in the dark, for while her body had nearly healed already, she knew theirs had not.
She’d taken as many wounds as any of them, probably more. Though Wynn had shared out the last of Chane’s healing potion among the others, there hadn’t been much to go around. Some would need much more time before the physical marks of what they’d been through finally faded.
Magiere continued looking at her arms.
Closed cuts barely showed at all. There were only hints of yellowing in her pale skin where there had once been bruises from blunt force. Even those would vanish in another day—two at the most.
Not so for any of the others. Not for what she’d put them through. And she didn’t even remember what Osha had done.
Magiere pulled down on the jerkin’s collar, one that wasn’t hers and had been scavenged from somewhere after her own clothing had been cut off her. She lowered her eyes to see the wound—or now scar—from Osha’s arrow.
She kept staring, for she’d never seen any scar on her own flesh.
When she’d first awoken two nights ago, she hadn’t even known what had happened. She’d simply looked upward into Leesil’s panicked, wide, amber eyes, not even sure whom she saw. Hanging over her, he’d suddenly twisted away and shouted—or screamed.
“Chap! She’s awake!”
The following moments were still vague in memory.
Something had nearly shredded the tent in trying to get in. A huge furred form nearly knocked Leesil aside in its rush. Large unblinking crystal blue eyes, sparked by some nearby light, gazed down at her over a long and narrow muzzle. And that face dropped too close, too fast, in snuffling at her.
Magiere remembered sucking a breath in sudden panic.
She knew she was awake only when she’d felt something as if inside her thoughts. It was still, silent, and as watchful at those blue eyes staring at her.
Chap almost collapsed atop her as his eyes closed.
She heard his sigh and, even though she’d finally recognized him and Leesil, this wasn’t the end of it. Someone else was trying to get into the tent.
“Please wait. Let me.”
That rasp of words sounded familiar.
Leesil straightened up, then turned away where he knelt, and she’d realized he was gripping her right arm. He didn’t let go even as he reached out somewhere beyond her sight. Chap shifted away a little to her other side as someone else crawled into view down near her covered legs. Leesil guided that one’s small hand to contact with her right shin beneath the blanket.
“Easy,” Leesil said to the newcomer. “You’re right at her feet.”
The visitor, smaller than he was, pushed back a draping hood.
Magiere looked upon and even recognized Wynn.
She’d wanted to say something but couldn’t. It took every effort just to breathe and keep her eyes open a little longer.
Even back on the first night, it had seemed strange—frightening—that Wynn didn’t look at her or Chap or Leesil. The last thing Magiere remembered of that night, when she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer, was Leesil calling out ...
“Magiere ... ? Magiere!”
Two more nights and days had passed, and she’d wakened sporadically.
There were times, as she heard bit by bit some of what had happened, that she’d wanted them to stop. She didn’t want to hear any more. All of that came after Chap told her that Leesil and the others had succeeded.
—This time ... the Enemy ... will ... never ... come back—
Leesil or Chap, and sometimes Wynn, were always there whenever she awoke a little longer each time. Fragments of memory returned that she’d rather have forgotten but couldn’t. They ran backward from a final instant of agony.
She’d nearly turned on Chap—and he on her—and she might’ve killed him.
She’d snapped the neck of another majay-hì a moment before he’d rammed her.
How many of the living had she killed among the undead that had driven her—the dhampir—into something worse than what it hunted?
The afternoon of the second day, with her one arm in a sling, she decided to try stepping out of the tent, no matter how much Leesil tried to stop her. She didn’t see the girl until too late.
Wayfarer nearly knocked her over when the girl slammed into and wrapped her small arms around her. At least Leesil had been right behind to hold her up.
Others around the camp rose, and that was when she saw their state. There were some greetings and good wishes, some questions and answers, but none of that really mattered as she kept looking all ways. Of course, Chane wasn’t there, likely hidden from the sun in one of the other tents, but someone else was missing.
Osha was gone.
Leesil wouldn’t let her go off and look. Instead, he forced her back into the tent and eventually shooed out Wayfarer, halting the girl’s fussing. After that, all Magiere could do was collapse, and it was dark out when she awoke again.
Now she sat up and remained there after rubbing the crystal left by the bedroll. The wound in her shoulder no longer pained her. For any of the others, it would have taken a moon or more for a wound like that to heal over and leave a scar.
She listened to the muted voices outside while Leesil kept pacing, likely caught between looking in on her and not wanting to disturb her rest. Or maybe he was just keeping the others from doing so. Finally, she couldn’t tolerate sitting there any longer, though she left the sling in place.
After taking a deep, shuddering breath, she crawled to the tent’s flap. She was only halfway out when Leesil stepped in, pulled the flap back, and grabbed her arm. She let him help her up rather than let the others see she was better off than they were.
Again, Osha was nowhere to be seen.
Some fussing ensued when she approached those around the campfire.
Wayfarer wouldn’t leave her alone, though she didn’t mind. She was too relieved to see the girl was unharmed. And then there was Wynn—blind—with Chane hovering at the small sage’s side.
During the time that she’d been recovering, Brot’an’s and Ghassan’s bodies had been rendered to ash. Leesil and Ore-Locks hadn’t cared much about Ghassan’s receiving proper rites, but for some strange reason, Chap had insisted. Chuillyon promised to attend to returning their remains to their respective peoples, somehow.
As Magiere now sat by the fire, Leesil began recounting everything that had happened in the mountain. He was just finishing when they heard horses’ hooves approaching. Magiere tensed, but Leesil shook his head as he stood. Four Shé’ith riders came upslope out of the dark.
The leader dismounted outside the ring of tents and stepped toward them. He was unusually tall with several wounds on his face and arms. Chuillyon rose, hurried around the campfire, and met him halfway.
“Althahk, I thank you again for your assistance. The Enemy is gone this time ... for good and always.”
The tall one studied the strangely mixed group around the fire and perhaps fixed on Magiere the longest. It took effort for her not to glance away from his severe amber eyes, but he looked away instead of to the others.
“No one is to speak of what happened here—not ever to anyone,” he commanded. “We will not risk others coming to see ... and search.”
Such arrogance might’ve once put Magiere on edge, causing her to verbally take him apart, but not now, not after what she’d done.
Chuillyon nodded politely. “We are all sworn to silence.”
Althahk looked about. “Where is Osha? Does he come with the Shé’ith?”