He looked up at her, his face concerned. “But what about you?”
“I’ll manage,” Isana said. For a moment, the terror and pain and panic of those around her seemed to rise up in a wave that threatened to drown her. The corpses of the Marat lay on the floor, twisted and stiffening, their expressions agonized. She heard herself letting out a low, unsteady laugh. “I’ll manage. I have to get to him.”
Frederic swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”
She fought to take a deep breath, to control the emotions coursing through her. “Hold the door, Frederic. Keep them safe.” Then she walked out the door of the barracks as quickly as she could and started toward the far courtyard again.
The battle, it seemed, was winding down. Corpses and the wounded lay everywhere. She watched as a Herdbane Marat came pelting around a corner, only to be ridden down by a pair of Marat on horses, spears run through his back as he fled. A blood-maddened direwolf threw itself at one of the horses, fangs ripping at one of its hind legs, bringing the beast to ground, while its rider leapt from its back and spun, spear in hand, to face the wolf.
Isana pressed on, past the command building, where a grim, grizzled legionare shouted to her to get inside. She ignored him and pressed on into the easternmost courtyard.
Here, the fighting had been worst, and the carnage was greatest. Not only had the dead been laid out here earlier in the day, but now hundreds more bodies lay on the ground, mostly Marat, though here and there the red and gold of a Rivan legionare’s tunic stood out from among the pale barbarian bodies. She could have walked to the far side of the courtyard without setting a foot on its stones.
She began to pick her way across the courtyard, twice dodging aside as Marat fled past her, heading for the broken gates, eyes wild and panicked. She stayed out of their way and let them pass. Once, several Marat riding horses thundered through the corpses, hooves crushing indiscriminately, riding out the gate. Here and there, the wounded stirred, dragged themselves along, or waited quietly to die. The place was thick with the smell of blood, with the septic stink of ruptured bellies, and Isana’s head was swimming by the time she reached the broken section of wall, where she had last seen Tavi.
She had to crawl over a mound of rubble to reach the far side, steeling herself for what she was afraid she would see: her brother, dead on the stones. Fade, hanging at the end of a rope, strangled, or his neck broken. Tavi above, bled to death.
Instead, she found Bernard laying quietly against the base of the wall. His mail shirt had been unbelted and rolled away from where the mercenary’s sword had pierced him, and the skin there was pink and smooth — newly crafted whole. She stumbled across the stones to her brother’s side, reaching for his throat. She found his pulse, slow and steady and strong.
Tears blurred her eyes, even as she heard movement and looked up, to see Fade rising from his seat not far away. His throat was raw and abraded, his sleeve stained with blood, but the cut upon it had been crafted closed, pink skin clean and almost glowing.
“Fade,” Isana breathed. “How?”
The slave turned his face up toward the battlements. “Tavi,” he said, voice thick with tension. “They’re with him up there.”
Gravel pattered down around her, making Isana look up. Odiana stood upon the wall, staring down, her expression detached, dark eyes somehow empty, hollow. She moved one bare foot, kicking at a coil of knotted rope beside her, and it unwound, falling down to bump against the wall beside Isana’s head.
“Come up,” Odiana said.
“What have you done with him?” Isana demanded.
“You know I can’t hear you,” the water witch replied. “Come up.” She vanished from the edge of the battlements.
Isana looked at Fade and reached for the rope. The slave stepped closer, his expression serious, and put his hands on her waist, lifting her as she began to climb.
Isana reached the top of the wall to find Odiana standing over the unmoving forms of Tavi and Amara. Both were pale, still, but breathing steadily. Isana went to Tavi’s side at once, reaching down to touch his face, to brush an errant curl back from his eyes. She felt herself sob in relief, felt some easing in the terror and the fear of the past several days that demanded tears to fill the void. She didn’t bother to craft them away.
“Happily reunited,” Odiana murmured. “There.” The woman turned to walk toward the rope, evidently in preparation to climb back down it.
“Why?” Isana asked, her voice choked. She looked up at the water witch. “You saved them. Why?”
Odiana tilted her head to one side, eyes focused on Isana’s mouth. “Why? Why, indeed.” She shook her head. “You could have killed me at Kordholt. Or simply left me behind. You did neither. You could have given me to the Cursor girl. You did not. It deserved a reply. This is mine.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Saving your life would have been a small grace, I think. Saving the lives of your blood is another matter. You love the boy as a son. You love him so much it hurts my eyes. The Steadholder. Even the slave. They are important to you. So I give you their lives. Our scale is balanced. Do not expect it again.”
Isana nodded. “What about the girl?”
Odiana sighed. “I was hoping she would die, out of general principles, but she’ll live. I neither helped nor hurt her. Take that as you would.”
“Thank you.”
The water witch shrugged and murmured with something like genuine warmth in her tone, “I hope that I never see you again, Isana.”
And with that, she descended the rope, and once at the bottom walked briskly across the courtyard, deeper into Garrison, eyes wary.
Isana turned her back on the departing mercenary and knelt down to touch Tavi’s forehead, to send Rill gently into the boy, to assure her of his health. She sensed that he was in pain and that he would need a more thorough crafting to put him to right, but that the water witch had ensured that he would live to be treated.
There was a scraping of leather on stone behind her, and Fade hauled himself up the rope, glowering at it reproachfully after. “Tavi?”
“He’s all right,” Isana whispered. “He’s going to be all right.”
Fade put a hand on Isana’s shoulder, silently. “He is brave. Like his father.”
Isana glanced up at Fade and smiled, wearily. “The battle? Is it over?”
Fade nodded, looking down over the courtyard, the gates. “It is over.”
“Then help me,” Isana said. “We need to get them into a bed so that we can see to them.”
“What then?” Fade asked.
“Then . . .” Isana closed her eyes. “Then we go home.”
CHAPTER 45
Fidelias woke in somewhere dark, cool. He ached everywhere. He opened his eyes.
“Good,” Odiana purred. “You’re awake.” She leaned over him to rest fingertips lightly on his temples. The cool, pale metal of a discipline collar gleamed at her throat. “No more bleeding.”