Part 18 (2/2)

”Who are you? Where are we?” Kath staggered under an avalanche of questions. ”Where are my friends? My weapons?” She stared at the blue tattoos, a raven etched on the woman's face, giving her an eldritch look. ”How did you find us?”

She laughed, a light-hearted sound. ”So many questions.” Flicking her dark hair behind her ears, she settled gracefully to the floor and sat cross-legged, holding a stoppered jug in her lap. ”Sit, Kath of Castlegard, and I'll do my best to answer your questions.”

”You know my name?”

Another laugh. ”The tall blond knight, Sir Blaine, is a plague of questions, always pestering the healers for word of you.”

”Then Blaine is safe.” Relief washed through her. ”But what of the others? Is Danya awake? And what about the monk? And Duncan...” A cold fist gripped her heart.

”Will you not sit and join me?”

Kath bridled her questions and sank to the earthen floor, studying the raven-faced woman. Except for the elaborate tattoos, she seemed ordinary enough, clad in a sheepskin jerkin with leather pants tucked into knee-high boots. But it was the dagger sheathed at the woman's belt that caught Kath's attention. Her voice dropped to a steely whisper. ”Am I a prisoner?”

The woman sighed. ”Will you give me a chance to explain?”

Kath nodded, hiding the rock in her fist, unsure if it was needed.

”My name is Thera, a healer, a mother of three, and a follower of the Raven.” She set the clay jug aside. ”And you are lucky to have escaped the poison of the gore hounds.”

”Gore hounds?”

”Aye, for that is their true name. Abominations created by the Mordant, made with the darkest magic.” The healer's voice dropped to a whisper. ”It is said that the souls of men are bound within the hounds, the reason they hunt with unnatural cunning and ferocity.”

Kath reeled backwards, remembering the uncanny attack, stunned by the horror behind the woman's words. ”Valin's sword.” Shuddering, she made the hand sign against evil, dispelling the nightmare. ”But how did you find us?”

”The ravens. Their dark wings blackened the sky, too many to merely be a trap.”

”A trap?”

”We value steel but cannot make it, for the Ghost Hills provide no iron ore. So our men follow the ravens, scavenging the battlefields of the steppes. Such a huge cloud of ravens signaled a rich find of steel, a tempting prize.” Her voice hardened. ”But the soldiers of the Mordant know of our need. Sometimes they butcher a few slaves to draw the ravens, setting a trap for our men.” The healer looked away. ”My husband died in just such a trap.”

”My sorrow for your loss.” Kath considered what she'd learned. ”So if we'd stayed at the battlefield, your men would have found us?”

”The Mordant's men got there first.”

Kath's heart froze.

The healer flashed a triumphant smile. ”But this time it was our men who closed the trap. Numbers always win in the steppes.”

For a heartbeat, the raven's fierceness dominated the woman's features, blue feathers and a sharp beak accenting the wild gleam in her dark eyes. Kath half expected the woman to sprout wings and caw. ”Why does a healer wear the tattoos of a raven?”

”Ravens know death.” She c.o.c.ked her head like a bird. ”Know your enemy in order to defeat him.”

And these people know the Mordant, living in his very shadow. Fierce warriors, they could be the very allies she needed. Kath leaned forward, anxious to learn more, but the healer forestalled her with a question. ”How do you know of my people?”

”I grew up in Castlegard, listening to tales of the north. The knights tell stories that are almost legends, about an elusive people who tattoo their faces with images of animals and dare to ambush the Mordant's forces.”

”So, we are little more than legends to you?” The healer's voice held a bitter edge.

Surprised by the bitterness, Kath sought to repair the damage. ”I met a Painted Warrior once, in the courtyard of Castlegard.” She remembered the morning when a patrol of knights clattered into the castle's inner courtyard, two years and a lifetime ago. ”Tattooed like a mountain lion, he wore a s.h.i.+rt of soft white leather embroidered with small blue flowers.”

The healer gasped, her face turning ghost-pale.

Kath studied the woman, trying to read the emotions swirling beneath the blue tattoos.

The healer fondled a beaded leather bracelet on her left wrist, avoiding Kath's stare. ”The mountain lion is rare among our people.”

”And the blue flowers?”

”Maiden's Tears.” Her voice was distracted, her gaze fixed on the bracelet. ”It is said that Maiden's Tears only bloom on the graves of heroes.”

Kath sat statue-still, watching the healer, trying to avoid pitfalls in a conversation she did not understand.

The healer glanced at Kath, dark eyes framed by raven's feathers. ”What happened to this man of the mountain lions?” Her was voice deceptively calm, a subtle warning.

Kath hesitated, feeling as if she stood on the edge of a cliff...but the woman deserved an answer. ”He died...”

”Stop!” The healer's hand flew to Kath's lips. ”Do not speak of it!” The raven glared fierce from the woman's face. ”The truth of such a death must first be told in the Great Hall, for all to hear and learn and remember.”

Kath nodded, wondering why one man could matter so much.

”Promise that you will not speak of it until the appointed time.”

”If you wish.”

”Swear it.” The words were flung like daggers.

Kath did not understand, but she nodded, her voice solemn. ”I so swear.”

”Good.” The healer raked a hand through her long hair, her face a mixture of grief and worry, her voice cold. ”Come, I will take you to your friends.” She rose to her feet, turning her back on Kath.

Trying to bridge the sudden chasm, Kath gripped the healer's arm. ”I did not mean to offend.”

”No offense was taken.” But her tone remained cold.

”Are my friends well?”

The healer hesitated. ”The girl is awake but heart-sore, eating little and saying less. The old man,” Thera shook her head, ”the poison of the gore hounds is slow to act but terrible in its vengeance. With the loss of an arm,” she shrugged, ”it remains to be seen if the old man will defeat the poison.”

”He must survive.” The words hissed out of Kath.

”We do our best, but his life depends on the G.o.ds.”

Thera turned to go, but Kath had one more question. ”My weapons?”

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