A/N: A little violence in this chappie. If you don't like blood and gore, it would be better to only skim until the action's over. Sadly, there's only one more chapter to this merry story, but I have every intention of writing a few Daine/Numair oneshots, so keep an eye open!
Chapter 8
The moment that the first hurrok swooped towards the cluster of humans below, Daine let years of experience take over. What did it matter that these people had just been out for her blood? What did it matter that these people had not believed in her abilities as a mage, and that it felt odd to be doing magic in front of them? It was an undefended village, and if she could save innocent lives, she would do so at any cost.
So the instant that she sensed the hurrok move downward, she was in action.
It was as a bird of prey that she sprang into battle. She did her best to ignore the murmurings of shock and fear below her as she raced upwards to meet her opponent. A bolt of black lightening sparkling with bits of silver shot past her and into the flock that had not yet begun its effort. Despite her misgivings, a feeling of security spread through her at the thought that Numair was at her back.
But there was no time to think of this; already she was upon that first hurrok. The changeling agilely evaded the teeth snapping at her and tore at the creature's back with her claws. The thing bellowed in rage, and she took the opportunity to shift into a large wolf. With one swift snap of her jaws the hurrok's spine was broken and it was plummeting to the ground, but already she was flying towards her next target.
The next beast she didn't even bother to leave her avian shape for, instead choosing to use her sharp talons to rip through the delicate membrane of its wings. From such a height, the moment it hit the ground it would be dead.
Daine's magic warned her a moment too late of an immortal coming at her from above. The girl-bird wheeled away, but not in time to save her back from being painfully clipped by the claws on her attacker. She flapped franticly to keep herself up and turned to face the creature that had injured her, only to find it being incinerated by familiar black fire. She cast a grateful glance at Numair before selecting her next target.
A child's scream caught her attention. She turned swiftly towards the sound, locking onto its source almost immediately. A small boy was being lifted heavenward by a hurrok that had broken away from the rest of the group to find its prey. Without another thought the Wildmage sped towards it, fear lacing through her. If she didn't get there in time the child would be dead, killed by a creature only too happy to make him its supper.
A shriek of rage accompanied her attack, causing a crescendo to the hysterics of the captive child that did not know that this ferocious bird was trying to rescue it. Daine fell on the creature fiercely, angered that it would dare attempt to carry of something so innocent and defenseless.
She chose the form of a great cat as she attacked the creature, snarling and scratching and biting for all she was worth. The hurrok, caught off balance by the animal that had landed on its back, bucked and spun in an attempt to throw her off. She clung to it, wrapping her front legs around its neck and digging her claws in. The shriek of pain was earsplitting at such close range but she refused to let go, instead adding her teeth to the effort. In a last desperate attempt to get rid of her, the hurrok twisted and tried to get a grip on her with its fangs—and found it. Now it was Daine's turn to roar in agony, but despite the pain in her shoulder she only bit harder.
The immortal's flight pattern was growing irregular, and the shapeshifter knew that she had to end this now if she was to save the boy. Her left paw she extracted from its tight grip on the horse-like neck and plunged her claws into the throat, cutting as deeply as she could and tearing. Blood sprayed out of the wound, and the creature's talons slackened, releasing the boy into the open air.
Daine once more found the shape of a bird, although the largest one she could think of rather than a smaller, swifter kind she had found at the onset of the battle. She raced after the plummeting child, praying to whatever gods were listening that she could make it in time. With a final gust of speed she caught the boy's shoulders with her bloodied claws. The child shrieked louder, and she sent him a mental apology. She knew that she must be causing him immense pain by grabbing him so roughly where he had already been injured by the hurrok, but she also knew that it was better that than have him hit the ground at such a high speed.
Her own speed slowed, and as she neared the ground she realized exactly how much the fight and her illness had taken out of her. She set the boy gently on a patch of grass that had somehow remained free from snow, then collapsed herself beside him, allowing herself to take human form once more. Her right shoulder was bleeding heavily, and her back had a deep scratch in it as well. Both throbbed in pain, and Daine knew that she was far too exhausted to continue fighting. A quick scan with her magic caused her to realize that this would not be necessary; the only glimmers of unnatural life she could sense were fading quickly.
The young woman allowed her eyes to close briefly, and she gritted her teeth against pain and cold. Despite the bawling child beside her and the way the frosty air burned on her exposed skin, it felt good just to relax for a moment.
Daine came to herself with the pressure of a hand on her shoulder. She started, shocked that she had allowed herself to fall asleep and startled by the dark shape looming over her. As she adjusted to the light, however, she realized that it was only Numair that had discovered her in this vulnerable state, and she relaxed again.
She allowed the mage to help her to sit up, then suddenly found herself enveloped in his gentle embrace.
"Mithros, if something had happened to you with you still thinking I'd been unfaithful to you..." he breathed into her ear, and she found the spark of hope inside her being fanned to life. He held her tighter, and she winced as he put pressure on her hurt shoulder. Numair drew back immediately, holding her at arms length and taking in her injuries with poorly disguised alarm.
"What were you thinking, going into battle in the shape you're in?" he demanded in the familiar way he had of masking worry with anger. "You were hardly able to support your own weight, let alone fight! Have you no intention of recovering whatsoever?"
"You were the one that suggested I use my magic in the first place," Daine pointed out, if somewhat weakly.
Numair sputtered humorously as he searched for a suitable reply, then decided that this did not deserve a response. Instead he busied himself with tearing strips out of his shirt to serve for bandages. As he moved to dress her shoulder, however, she shook her head.
"Treat him first," she instructed, gesturing at the distressed child beside her. His shoulders both had deep scores where first the hurrok, then Daine, had grabbed him. "He needs it more than me."
The man didn't look very happy about this insistence, but acquiesced nonetheless, pausing first to hand her the clothes she had abandoned. As he gently began soothing the child, she awkwardly donned first her loincloth and breast-band, then her breeches. She contemplated her tunic for a moment before deciding that it would do more harm than good, and instead settled into a state of semi-consciousness to wait.
The first villager found them just as Numair was putting the finishing touches on Daine's shoulder. The man let up a shout, and they had just enough time to get to their feet and settle her cloak awkwardly about her shoulders before the people of Snowsdale had reconvened around them.
"My boy! Look what they done to my boy!" One distressed woman exclaimed, rushing forward to lay claim to the child Daine had rescued. The people surrounding them were muttering angrily, warily, and Daine took a step closer to Numair.
"No one did anything to your son, madam," Numair informed the woman. Daine was surprised to hear a murmur of assent amongst the displeasure of the villagers, and she began to wonder if perhaps a chance of acceptance here remained.
"Aye, and we give you thanks for savin' our village, Master Salmalin," said the man that had been leading the mob earlier, a prestigious farmer that Daine had been surprised not to be able to put a name to. She felt Numair stiffen at her being omitted from the thanks, and despite her own indignation laid a restraining hand on his arm. This did not quite have the effect she had hoped it would, however.
"I was not the one to sense the hurroks coming, nor was I the only one to fight them," he pointed out tersely. Daine supposed that she should be grateful that he had not given a more forceful response.
"No point in being modest," piped up a smooth, female voice, and sure enough Mandaly had pushed herself to the front of the crowd. "We all know was you we owe it all to." Not stopping at the edge of the crowd, the woman drew closer to the pair—or more specifically, Numair. Daine felt the hackles of the wolf in her go up, and she suppressed the urge to growl with each step closer to Numair the woman came. Such instincts would not help the current situation in the slightest.
"It most certainly was not," Numair informed Mandaly and the group surrounding them. "You owe your safety to Daine, whether you will admit it or not."
"Well, whoever it was, I just count myself lucky to have found such a big, strong mage," the woman cooed, sidling ever closer to the "big, strong mage." Daine glared at her with growing hostility—why couldn't Numair have chosen someone she could respect? Numair, for his part, straightened to his full, imposing height.
"Just what are you trying to imply?" he demanded harshly, a sharp contrast to the tone that Daine had heard him taking with the same woman a day earlier.
"Well, you're my man, ain't you?" Mandaly asked innocently. That question was the last straw—Daine had had enough of this woman and her brazen attempts at finding a way into Numair's affections. She could not possibly take any more of this, even if Numair had really chosen her over Daine; at the very least he could find a worthy woman to take her place!
"What claim do you have to Numair?" Daine demanded hotly, shaking with cold and rage. "Who are you to say that he belongs to you? You've known him less than a day, and you think that you have the right to call him yours?"
"It's hardly something I expect a bastard like you to understand," Mandaly informed her disdainfully, and she felt anger threatening to overwhelm her. "In any case, Master Salmalin …made a promise to me. I'll think much less of him if he don't see fit to honor it."
"I did no such thing! I have no interest whatsoever in a dalliance, and certainly not with anyone here," exclaimed the man caught in the middle of this tug-o-war. Daine could almost feel the indignance radiating from him, and her heart was pulled in two directions; she was beginning to accept that she might have been mistaken about him, but Mandaly's claims only served to support her initial suspicions.
"Oh really? That's not what you was sayin' last night," Mandaly drawled, coming to lay a hand on Numair's arm only for him to jerk it away. The blonde woman pouted prettily. "Now is that any way to treat the woman you…spent the night with?"
Daine stood stock still, not believing her ears. She had known all along that Numair had been canoodling with Mandaly, but to hear it put so plainly from the lips of this woman when her own lover couldn't even bring himself to say it… Was it too much to hope that Mandaly wasn't telling the truth?
The tear that escaped Daine's eye and crept down her cheek against her will didn't go unnoticed. Over the jeers of the rest of the crowd, her rival in love smirked infuriatingly. "Oh, poor crazy bastard, did you really think a beast had a chance with him?"
Numair took a stiff step forward, and the Wildmage noticed that he was visibly shaking. Was it from cold or anger? "I do not make a habit of insulting ladies in public, madam," he growled, his voice low, "but as you seem not to be able to take a hint I am afraid that I shall have to take drastic steps.
"The first time I met Daine, she saved my life. In the twelve years since then she has done more for Tortall and myself than I can even recount. She is intelligent, beautiful, loyal to a fault, and the most caring person that I have ever met. Next to her you do not even hold a candle, so I suggest that you do not waste more breath than you already have with your petty insinuations."
Daine glanced up at Numair in surprise at this outburst. Could he really have been pretending through that entire speech? Somehow she could not bring herself to believe it, even though her heart warned her that to hope would be to be crushed all over again when she learned the truth.
Mandaly's face had contorted in anger, and she was silent for a moment as she struggled to think of a response appropriate to what she was feeling. Then the Gallan drew herself up haughtily. "Her? You led me on just to forsake me for that whore's spawn? And I suppose now you'll deny you ever had anything to do with me!"
"I will deny it because I never did have anything to do with you other than eat the dinner that your most generous sister provided," he informed her coldly, and Daine began to feel the atmosphere around him take a turn for the worse, just as it had when he had become angry with Bayard. The difference this time, however, was that she shared his level of emotion.
"You hear him!" Mandaly cried, addressing the crowd this time. "He takes a woman's honor, then refuses to have anything to do with her! He's no better than that fatherless whelp he claims to love so much!"
There was some conflict amongst those in the crowd, some backing Mandaly, others too afraid to stand against a mage as powerful as this stranger had proved to be, and yet others denied the woman's credibility. But Daine was through with listening to this woman try to sully the reputation of the man she loved, and she wasn't going to stand by and listen to the endless stream of insults against herself.
"If you don't mind, I have met my da," she put in coolly but forcefully, both the passion of the moment and years of anger clouding her better judgment. She found herself the object of innumerable stares; the mystery of her birth had been one long debated by the residents of Snowsdale.
"And he's every bit as low as this excuse for a man, ain't he?" Mandaly demanded scathingly. "He's a foreign beggar not worth the clothes he wears."
"I wouldn't say that too much, if I were you," Daine advised, and couldn't help feeling just a little fulfilled at being able to identify her paternity to these people that had looked down on her for so long—and more than that, at being able to fight back. "He's a foreigner, sure enough, but I'd guess that even you've heard of him. Most places, he calls himself Weiryn."
There was a stunned silence, during which Mandaly looked shocked, the villagers looked alternately stunned and disbelieving, and Daine began to feel like her old self again. She was sick, injured, and tired beyond belief—but as long as she had Numair back and her revenge against Snowsdale, what did it matter?
"Our…our apologies, Magnificence, at not thankin' ya proper-like," said the spokesman hesitantly. It seemed that, for the moment, the village had chosen to accept the truth, even though it was only a matter of time before they began disbelieving it. Daine sighed, all of the energy having been drained out of her.
"Please, don't call me that," she told him tiredly.
"Perhaps," Numair suggested, placing a tender hand on her uninjured shoulder, "you should get some rest."
Daine nodded, relieved, and the crowd parted swiftly before them. The rest of the trek back to the inn was spent in a dream-like state; she didn't even remember putting her head on the pillow.