“HIGHNESS!”
Maeve turned sharply toward the voice that called to her, growling as she pushed past the centaur. Women held their children close while the men reached reflexively for makeshift weapons. “What!”
A small group struggled toward her clearly carrying someone between them. When they stopped, she saw that it was, in fact, two people, both severely injured though one was far worse than the other. The first was still mostly conscious. His short, coiled hair was matted with dirt, soot, and blood, dark-colored skin as ashen as a used fire log. The other individual was dark of hair, and far worse off than the first man. If he was alive, he would not be so for long without Healing – something they were grossly short on out in the wilds of Tierra Vida. His face she was familiar with, handsome and deathly pale - the Baron Gabriel Karov of Kormaine. “Bring them here!”
She led the ragged group of people carrying the two injured men to a tent set aside for the ill or infirm. There were far too many of them for Maeve’s liking. Space was made for the newcomers, their clothes removed so that wounds could be cleaned. Maeve followed, wincing when she saw the state the Baron was in. The man was better known for his thief-taking and philandering ways than his leadership skills, but he was also a skilled warrior and tactician. Too much blood stained his clothes or oozed from open wounds. Some of those wounds, Maeve noticed, had black veins stretching out from the raw opening, poisoning the blood stream; demon wounds.
“Dammit,” she hissed. “Halora!”
The woman was not a great Healer, but she had enough of the gift for it to be of benefit to them. The Baron needed her attention first, the dark-skinned man second. None of his wounds looked severe enough to cause major harm.
“What happened?” Maeve demanded as she stepped aside to allow Halora and those with more experience in treating wounds to deal with the wounded.
“We don’t know, highness,” Saphir said, one of her most trusted soldiers. His chest rose and fell with exertion. “They stumbled out of the temple. The dark one had a stone, but I don’t recognize the symbol.”
He shook his head, at a loss for how to explain things further before handing Maeve the stone. Eila and Rielle peeked from around the growing crowd. Neither were gifted like their brother, neither able to help but too curious for their own good. Navid, she noticed, watched with concern.
Maeve ignored them, focusing on the stone. It was black, worn smooth but with sharp edges. She saw blood crusted to it, filling the indented rune at the center. She frowned, looking to the dark-skinned man. She turned his hand over, his palm cut in the same shape as the stone. She had never seen a Port Stone that used blood magic.
“What is this?” she demanded as she stomped through the gathering crowd to Navid. “And do not lie to me, guardian, lives depend on it. Is it one of his?”
The centaur sighed, taking the stone from Maeve’s palm to study it. Her brother, in addition to being a Powerful caster, was also a rather skilled alchemist. He absorbed knowledge like a sponge absorbed water, easily manipulating science and natural talent into one seamless piece. She envied him that talent, envied a lot of things she would never openly admit to, especially now. It would have been like him to give something like the stone she held to her nephew. He peered, eyes narrowing. He smirked and shook his head.
“Navid,” Maeve growled, patience gone.
“It’s a Blood Stone, highness. The caster makes the stone of blood. When activated, it will take you to that person - or their nearest relative if that person is no longer alive.”
“So, this is his,” Maeve countered but the centaur stubbornly shook his head. Eila grabbed the stone from Navid’s hand, looking it over before showing it to her sister.
“No, highness - Gannon could not make Blood Stones. These are Eila’s handiwork.”
Maeve blinked, looking at Eila. The girl was only sixteen and had, thus far, not shown any inclination for magical talent - alchemical or otherwise. Women weren’t even allowed to learn alchemy, let alone practice it.
“Gannon,” Maeve sighed. He never agreed with the gender roles among the tirsai, preferring the more equal roles of the duende.
“Aeron needs help,” Eila said, looking at the stone then at the centaur. “Navid - this one is mine; I made one for each of us after Uncle left. I thought I lost it.”
“Apparently not,” the centaur said. “How many more of these do you have?”
“Enough,” Eila said, already palming the stone and walking away with Rielle on her heels as a physical shadow.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” Maeve hissed. She took hold of each of the girls’ arms, only to be met with the most hateful glares she’d ever seen on her nieces faces.
“Highness, if you’ll excuse me, I have a charge in need of assistance,” Navid said, as the girls’ arms slipped away from Maeve’s grasp.
Chapter Seventeen
Sleep was becoming a luxury none of the Kormandi could afford. They ran into a pack of hell hounds after leaving the small home in Kazan, losing Vasily in the process. Demyan took the loss to heart, mourning his vassal as if he’d caused the man’s death with his own hands. They were desperate, wounded, exhausted. Aeron felt his head loll to his chest, snapping up once before finally giving over to exhausted sleep. His dreams were usually varied, but most of them revolved around his sisters or parents of late.
It was no different now, as he stood on a black- sanded beach looking out at a horizon too bright for his eyes. He heard the
