The horn blew. It was still raining, but the watchman for the Scanrans had
seen the approaching Tortall rescue squadron. There were many, many,
warriors headed their way. The commander took one look at the approaching
army, glared whole heartedly at Keladry, and ordered the evacuation of
their encampment. They would be gone before the Tortallans got here. He
considered slicing her throat, but as he yanked his cutlass from his side
and she slowly lifted dead, tormented eyes, he decided it wouldn't be worth
the time. She was broken beyond repair. That suited his bloodthirstiness
much more. He sneered again, and somewhere in her mind, she noted that he
enjoyed doing it.
Then the Scanrans escaped, and the Tortallans entered the lonely encampment at a gallop, fanning out, prepared for a fight. But when none came, and when Dom, a friend and comrade of Keladry, looked across the ground and at Keladry, his eyes widened. "Great Mithros." He exclaimed. It was still raining, and the hair that she'd grown long over the last year and a half of war was loose and soaked, shielding her eyes from him, dripping water slowly. Her shirt and pants were tattered and ripped at the edges and her arms and ankles were raw and bloody, chafed beyond bounds by the too small shackles. He stared at her and the bloody dead in front of her and dismounted.
Raul turned at his exclamation, as did Neal and Captain Flyndan. Shock and worry rushed through them all, and the whole squadron dismounted. Dom was the first to reach Keladry. As she had gone limp and was hanging forward by the chains on her arms, they all assumed she was dead. Dom gently gripped her chin and turned her face upwards, towards his. Her eyes were open, dripping with water, red with tears; and dead, so dead Dom shuddered. This wasn't Keladry, not the bright, strong woman he knew.
Murmurs ran through the men and women as they all waited on the skirts of the massacre, cringing from the blood and worried for the woman. It took both Raul and Dom to make her stand, Flyndan hacked away the chains that held her and Neal picked the locks on her cuffs. As a tent was raised and as they lay her gently back, all shared worried glances. Buri brushed the men aside, and didn't even hesitate, as the men had, at removing Keladry's tunic, breeches, and shirt. Kel was bare, save for her breast band and loin cloth. Taking a calming breath, Neal forced his fear and tears back and prepared himself. He healed her welts and burns and myriad of bruises that ran large and deep, all the bones that had been broken. He burned away the edges of pneumonia that had sprouted from the rain. But when he was done, he stared at his friend's face. This woman was broken, in heart and soul, and Neal couldn't heal either.
Raul leaned forward, patting her shoulder, soon shaking her until her head lolled from side to side in limp abandon. "Keladry? Kel? Come on Kel, answer me! Kel? Kel!"
She answered to nothing, and as Buri gently tugged at him, he stared down into his former squire's face. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes and trickled down her temples, into her hair. She stared through him. She stared through Buri. She stared through Neal. She stared through Dom. A scene played, over and over, inside her head.
A flash of attacking Scanrans, a joke and chuckle passing among the ranks of her men. The screams of the falling refugees . . . the women, trying to protect their children . . . a baby's cry, Neal's and Yuki's baby, Shorum . . . Roald and Shinko, newlywed and arguing over tactics of battles in the library . . . the scream of a baby, as she was cut down by Scanran executioners . . . the trusting eyes of the refugees . . . Tobe, Peachblossom, Hoshi, Jump, the Sparrows, who she'd lost in the sea of running refugees when the Scanrans had attacked. Daine, the griffin baby . . . the pale hand of a dead child . . . the cold, staring eyes of the dead . . . the small child's scream as she was cut down . . . her eyes . . . her hand . . . the rain.
Then the Scanrans escaped, and the Tortallans entered the lonely encampment at a gallop, fanning out, prepared for a fight. But when none came, and when Dom, a friend and comrade of Keladry, looked across the ground and at Keladry, his eyes widened. "Great Mithros." He exclaimed. It was still raining, and the hair that she'd grown long over the last year and a half of war was loose and soaked, shielding her eyes from him, dripping water slowly. Her shirt and pants were tattered and ripped at the edges and her arms and ankles were raw and bloody, chafed beyond bounds by the too small shackles. He stared at her and the bloody dead in front of her and dismounted.
Raul turned at his exclamation, as did Neal and Captain Flyndan. Shock and worry rushed through them all, and the whole squadron dismounted. Dom was the first to reach Keladry. As she had gone limp and was hanging forward by the chains on her arms, they all assumed she was dead. Dom gently gripped her chin and turned her face upwards, towards his. Her eyes were open, dripping with water, red with tears; and dead, so dead Dom shuddered. This wasn't Keladry, not the bright, strong woman he knew.
Murmurs ran through the men and women as they all waited on the skirts of the massacre, cringing from the blood and worried for the woman. It took both Raul and Dom to make her stand, Flyndan hacked away the chains that held her and Neal picked the locks on her cuffs. As a tent was raised and as they lay her gently back, all shared worried glances. Buri brushed the men aside, and didn't even hesitate, as the men had, at removing Keladry's tunic, breeches, and shirt. Kel was bare, save for her breast band and loin cloth. Taking a calming breath, Neal forced his fear and tears back and prepared himself. He healed her welts and burns and myriad of bruises that ran large and deep, all the bones that had been broken. He burned away the edges of pneumonia that had sprouted from the rain. But when he was done, he stared at his friend's face. This woman was broken, in heart and soul, and Neal couldn't heal either.
Raul leaned forward, patting her shoulder, soon shaking her until her head lolled from side to side in limp abandon. "Keladry? Kel? Come on Kel, answer me! Kel? Kel!"
She answered to nothing, and as Buri gently tugged at him, he stared down into his former squire's face. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes and trickled down her temples, into her hair. She stared through him. She stared through Buri. She stared through Neal. She stared through Dom. A scene played, over and over, inside her head.
A flash of attacking Scanrans, a joke and chuckle passing among the ranks of her men. The screams of the falling refugees . . . the women, trying to protect their children . . . a baby's cry, Neal's and Yuki's baby, Shorum . . . Roald and Shinko, newlywed and arguing over tactics of battles in the library . . . the scream of a baby, as she was cut down by Scanran executioners . . . the trusting eyes of the refugees . . . Tobe, Peachblossom, Hoshi, Jump, the Sparrows, who she'd lost in the sea of running refugees when the Scanrans had attacked. Daine, the griffin baby . . . the pale hand of a dead child . . . the cold, staring eyes of the dead . . . the small child's scream as she was cut down . . . her eyes . . . her hand . . . the rain.