Allta parried another arrow, then grabbed at his belt and threw in a motion too quick to follow. Pellin watched the knife spin end over end. The hilt struck with a muted thump and the knife dropped harmlessly to the stone.
But the throw had given Mark enough time to close the distance and an instant later another body came into view, a woman. Even at this distance, Pellin could see her colorless eyes.
Arrows came from a single direction now. Between parries, Allta threw whatever he could at the attacker. Mark had disappeared behind a row of crates. Elieve lay still on the pier, an arrow jutting from her side.
Moments later the last dwimor was down, cut from behind.
Pellin made to rise, but Allta prevented him. “There may be more.”
Mark huddled over the form of Elieve. “Get a healer. Somebody get a healer!” But the pier continued to empty as people ran from the blood and bodies.
Pellin rolled out from beneath Allta’s presence and stood. Onen joined him a moment later, pressing against his arm where the arrow jutted out. “Captain,” Pellin said, “we need your youngest sailors with us.”
Onen bawled a pair of names in a voice that made Pellin wince, and a moment later two men, both under a score, stood beside them. As he ran toward Mark and Elieve, with Allta hovering over him, Pellin explained what he needed.
The two men surveyed the area, searching as Pellin knelt. Mark looked at him, his gaze demanding and frantic. “She’s so pale.”
The arrow had not gone through, and blood pulsed weakly from the wound. Elieve’s eyes fluttered. “Give me a moment,” Pellin said. He retreated into his sanctuary, searching for every set of memories that belonged to a healer, especially those who’d served in war.
“Allta, pick her up.”
“Eldest, I can’t protect you with my arms full.”
“I’ll protect him,” Mark said. “Please. She jumped in front of me.”
Pellin turned. “Captain Onen, do you have medical supplies on board?”
“Aye,” he said, “but no healer.”
“That’s alright, Captain,” Pellin said. “Let’s get her back on board the ship. Have your men keep watch. No one boards but us. No one. She’s going to be fine, Mark. I promise.”
An hour later, Pellin exited the cabin to find Allta standing guard just outside. “The girl?” he asked.
“The arrow took her in the side, but missed anything vital. Come, we need to see the captain. I’m a fool.”
“How so, Eldest?”
“When Igesia and I freed Elieve of her vault, we put the evil of the Darkwater on guard. It knew where we were, but more importantly, where we would be.”
“Cynestol,” Allta said.
“Cesla had all the time he needed to get his dwimor into place.” He stopped at the captain’s quarters and knocked.
“Come.”
Pellin followed Allta into the room to find Onen at his desk, his left arm in a sling. “How are you set for provisions, Captain?” he asked.
“We’re running lean, Master Pellin.” Suspicion laced his voice. “We have less than a week of food and water remaining. The crossing was quick or we’d be even lower. As soon as we victual the ship, I’ll be putting as many passengers aboard as I can hold. Have you heard what the other captains are charging for passage? It’s insane.”
“I have. Do you have enough food and water to get us to Haefan?”
The captain nodded. “Moorclaire? That’s hardly more than a fishing village. As much as I’ll hate having a bunch of passengers, Master Pellin, the profit on this could—”
Pellin reached into his purse and pulled two gold pieces. The captain’s response, though silent, spoke volumes. “We’re your cargo, Captain, your only cargo.”
Onen stood. “I’ve only seen gold twice in my life. May I hold them?”
Pellin placed the coins in his palm. “They’re yours if we leave now.”
“I’m no stranger to trouble,” Onen said, “but it usually does me the favor of showing itself. Who were they?”
“Enemies who know how to stay hidden,” Pellin said. “I should have known they would be here. If I’d ordered you to continue northeast to Haefan to begin with, they wouldn’t have found us.”
Onen nodded, staring at the gold in his palm in disbelief. “And who are you?”
“A passenger. I’d like to leave, Captain,” Pellin said. “Now.”
Onen pocketed the gold and moved past them, bellowing orders to his crew.
“This may serve us, Eldest,” Allta said. “It’s a shorter ride to Treflow from Haefan than Cynestol.”
He nodded. “Tell the captain we need all the speed he can wrest from his ship and pray Rymark can hold Treflow until we arrive.”
Chapter 63
The sun might have been a few degrees past noon when I saw Bolt stir, jerking to wakefulness.
“I’ve got you,” Gael said.
Pain put years on his face, but his gaze seemed lucid enough. “Water.”
Rory lifted a skin to him, and he drank, emptying it before he handed it back. “More.” He skewered Rory and Gael with a look that promised retribution. “I fully expected him”—he pointed at me—“to spout some piffle about not leaving anyone behind, but it’s your job to stand against that kind of fool-headed mush.”
“Save the speech,” I told him. “We had to cauterize the wound.”
He scowled at me. I couldn’t tell whether the sour expression came from his pain or because he was irritated with me for saving him, but I would have put money on the latter. “Really?” he asked with his eyes wide. “I think I might have picked up on that from the smell of burnt meat coming from the vicinity of my leg.”
“Is the pain bad?” Gael asked.
Bolt rolled his shoulders, twisting in Gael’s hold. “It’s not the kind of thing I’d volunteer for, but it’s swimming upstream against whatever you gave me.”
“Paverin sap,” she said.
“Is there any left?” he asked. When she nodded, he held out a hand. “Let’s have it.”
We stopped the horses, and Bolt hopped down and landed on his good leg without letting the other touch the ground. While Gael retrieved the medicine, he probed the bandages around
