Part 21 (2/2)

Pounding his chest, she tried to get through to him. ”Stop it, Blaine.”

Snarling, he batted her away, turning back toward the sword.

She grabbed his arm, but he shook her off.

Thwarted by his strength, she reached for her father's voice, a battle leader using the voice of command. ”Sir Blaine, attend me!”

He staggered back a step, his gaze snapping toward her.

She seized the chance. Laying a hand against the stubble of his cheek, she held his gaze, appealing to the man instead of the battle-crazed warrior. ”I can't lose you.”

He swayed on his feet, his gaze uncertain.

Kath persisted, her voice a hushed command. ”By the Octagon, do not risk our victory.”

He came back to her then, the anger in his eyes dampened to a sullen bitterness. ”I need my sword.” The battle madness left him in a rush, his shoulders slumping forward, a defeated, hangdog look souring his face.

A hard stare drilled into her back. Whirling, she locked eyes with the raven-faced healer. So, they were being watched, judged by standards she didn't understand, all the more reason to get Blaine away.

Kath gripped his arm, drawing him away from the tattooed stares. ”Come.” Blaine kept pace, his face sullen, but at least he did not argue. Four guards followed, Bear and Boar and the two that shadowed Blaine. Irritated by the nagging shadows, Kath tried to ignore them. Retracing her steps, she followed the chalk horses, leading Blaine back to the privacy of their sleeping chamber.

Ducking low, she entered the small side cave; thankful the guards remained outside, stationed at the only entrance. Their sleeping chamber was L-shaped, more horses cantering across the low vaulted ceiling. A large glow crystal sat on a central boulder, casting a soft white light. Bedrolls lay spread across the floor, the rear of the chamber reserved for the chamber pot. Danya sat on her bedroll, hugging the wolf, her face buried in his thick black ruff, but at least the wolf-girl had stopped her m.u.f.fled crying. Bryx chuffed a greeting but the girl did not stir.

Blaine sprawled on his bedroll, his voice sullen. ”Prisoners returned to their cage.”

Kath did not like his tone, especially after the incident in the gallery. ”They've given us the freedom to explore the caves, a chance to change our fate.”

He shook his head. ”We're still prisoners.”

Kath's anger snapped. ”That's the trick,” she glared down at him, ”turning captors into allies.”

He glowered, looking away.

”You were supposed to befriend them, explore the caves and try to win their trust, not start a fight and get yourself killed.” She stubbed her boot hard against the sole of his foot. ”What were you going to do? Fight him with your bare hands?”

He sprang to his feet, a coil of anger. ”Allies shouldn't demand payment for help.”

”Exactly.”

”What?” He stared at her, confusion muting his anger.

”We need these people for allies.” She drilled him with her stare. ”They live in the very shadow of the Mordant. They know his ways. They know the Dark Citadel.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. ”And they have the crystal dagger.”

Blaine glowered. ”I tried to keep it from them...but they took it with the rest of our weapons.”

She willed him to understand. ”Win their trust and we'll regain our weapons.”

”I want my sword back.”

”To get it, you must first understand them.”

His gaze burned into her.

”Trade stories with their warriors. Find out how they fight the enemy, discover how they make decisions, how they divide the spoils of war. Learn about them and find a way to regain your sword without raising their ire.”

Blaine scowled. ”Just that simple.”

”There's nothing simple about it.” She had to make him understand. ”It's up to us to find the common ground, to forge an alliance. We're being watched. Every move we make is being judged. Don't you see that?”

”What I see is my sword in another's hands.” His voice dropped to a growl. ”A knight is nothing without his sword.”

Her anger boiled over. ”No! A knight is honor.” She jabbed the maroon octagon emblazoned on his surcoat. ”You are honor, never forget that.” She glared up at him. ”And you are sworn to me. I'll not have you risk your life needlessly.”

He stared at her, wide-eyed, caught in an ambush of words.

”But you still want your sword.”

”Yes.” His mouth hardened to a stubborn slash.

”Then go and talk to them. Time is running out.” She waved him toward the exit. ”See what you can learn...but don't pick a fight.”

He grabbed his maroon cloak, twirled it around his shoulders and then left, ducking through the exit without looking back.

Weary from arguing, she threw herself on her bedroll. Her frustration gradually subsided and she found herself running her hand through the bedroll's thick fleece. Sheep seemed to be the main staple of the painted people. The evidence was everywhere, from sheepskin bedrolls, jerkins, and cloaks, to haunches of lamb for supper, and chunks of mutton in the midday stew. The painted people depended on sheep. It was the one obvious truth about their captors...while so much else remained a riddle.

Closing her eyes, Kath sank back into the fleece, weary of so many problems. Reaching beneath her jerkin, she gripped the silver warrior's ring and thought about Duncan, praying for Valin to keep him safe. She missed him so much, she ached.

A wet rasp licked her face.

Startled, Kath sat up.

Green eyes stared at back her, a soft whine.

”What do you want, Bryx?” Sometimes the wolf seemed half human.

He chuffed and whined and slunk back to Danya, his tail between his legs. Settling next to the brown-haired girl, he stared back at Kath, reproach in his gaze.

Kath sighed, another problem. She'd tried talking with Danya, tried pulling the wolf-girl out of her grief, but words seemed to have little effect. The brown-haired girl remained listless, eating little and saying less, clutching the wolf as she rocked back and forth, locked within her own remorse. Still, the wolf was right, Kath could not give up.

Her bedroll was too far away. She moved it closer, sitting across from Danya with the wolf lying between them. Reaching out, she stroked the thick, dark fur. The wolf rumbled in pleasure, rolling onto his side.

”Danya, talk with me.” Kath kept her voice soft, cajoling, inviting a response. ”You grieve too much.” She shook her head, recalling the horrors of the battlefield. ”You saved us all. If not for you, we'd all be dead, or worse, prisoners of the Mordant.”

But the brown-haired girl made no reply. She sat hugging the wolf, her face buried in the black fur.

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