back with his foot, the man still clutching his balls. The Legionnaire gave a snort of disgust.
Behind him, Eraeth lowered his blade. But he stiffened again as someone else pushed through the Alvritshai at his back.
Aeren. Unharmed.
Colin sagged in relief.
“What has happened here?” Aeren said, his Andovan precise, with only a hint of an accent.
The commander glared at Colin, then turned with a thin smile. “It appears that one of Portstown’s good citizens has kept the attackers from escaping.”
“How fortunate,” Aeren said. Colin thought the Alvritshai lord would add something else-he could see the intent in the narrowing of the lord’s eyes-but instead Aeren asked, “What do you intend to do with them?”
“Kill them,” Eraeth said, his voice flat, his eyes on the two men lying on the ground.
Aeren raised a hand in warning.
The commander’s smile vanished. “That’s not how things are done here in Portstown. In any of the Provinces. We aren’t barbaric. They will be arrested and tried before a judge.”
The Alvritshai bristled, Eraeth drawing a sharp breath to respond, but Aeren’s glance kept him silent.
“Very well,” Aeren said. “I leave them to your… judges.” His gaze shifted to Colin, took in his staff, his robe, glanced off his face And snapped back again. His brows narrowed, and he frowned.
Colin stepped forward, managed a weak, “Aeren-”
Then his stomach seized. Not with hunger but with the full force of the Lifeblood.
Colin cried out, a sound of denial and pain, both arms clutching his sides as he sank to his knees. He clenched his teeth, fought against the searing heat, against the sudden taste of blood in his mouth, against the narrowing vision, tried to keep himself upright and conscious…
But the pain overwhelmed him, so much worse than when he’d left the forest weeks before. He felt the cobbles scrape against his cheek as he collapsed, heard the shuffle of feet as he was surrounded, heard a babble of voices, both Alvritshai and Andovan, as the pain increased. He groaned, felt hands against his face, his chest, as they rolled him onto his back, heard the commander bark, “What’s happening?” from a distance. “Is he sick? Is it contagious?”
“Seizure,” Eraeth answered, his voice still flat, without a fleck of emotion, but he stood closer than the commander. Practically on top of him.
More voices, an argument, but Colin couldn’t follow it. A wave of heat and pain shoved the world away. Then:
“We’ll take him to the infirmary,” the commander said, grudgingly.
“No!” Aeren this time, not Eraeth. “We’ll take him with us.”
“Like hell you will,” the commander spat. “He’s a citizen of the Provinces!”
“He’s helped to subdue the men who threatened to take my life,” Aeren said, his voice taking on an edge. “I will not harm him. The honor of my House demands that I see to his welfare.”
Colin didn’t hear the commander’s response, only the sudden rise in volume as they argued. The taste of blood filled his mouth, its scent swelling and smothering his senses. He struggled against it, fought the expanding film of yellow over his vision, the sudden muted ringing in his ears that blocked out all sound Then the heat became too great, and everything went black.
13
The ship rolled beneath him, and Colin clutched the wooden support, the press of the other refugees from Trent close around him. The sour-sick stench of vomit filled the dark hold, and he tried not to gag as he breathed through his mouth. Not ten paces away, he heard someone heaving up his minimal breakfast, and he blocked out the sound, closing his eyes and tucking his head down between his shoulders, cowering against the support. Someone nearby wept, and a baby cried-had cried non-stop for the last two days, sick with colic-its mother shushing it.
Overhead, on deck, the sound of running boots thudded into the hold as the ship lurched to port. Everyone cried out as they were thrown to the side.
Then a hand fell on Colin’s shoulder. He looked up, even though it was too dark to see any faces, and felt his mother’s breath against his neck as she spoke. “It’ll be all right, Colin. It’s just a storm. It’ll be over soon enough.”
She pulled him close, hugged his body tight to hers, nestling him under her arm. He didn’t let go of the wooden support, not completely, but he did bury his head against her chest. He could smell her sweat, the reek of the potatoes she’d been peeling for the cook for the captain’s dinner, the collected grime from unwashed clothes; he could smell her.
He wanted to stay here, in her arms, in her warmth.
The ship lurched again, and suddenly there was another hand, on his other arm.
“Colin,” a girl whispered, tugging at him, trying to gain his attention.
He pulled away, clutched tighter to his mother. She smiled down at him-he could feel it-tousled his hair And the girl tugged harder. “Colin! Colin, listen to me!”
Colin growled and turned his head to snarl, “What?”
It was Karen.
A cold, cold hand sank deep into his gut.
Karen shouldn’t be here. Karen shouldn’t be on this ship. He hadn’t even known her yet.
With a look of pity and patience, Karen said, “You can’t stay here, Colin.”
Confused but with a growing awareness that this couldn’t be happening, that Karen was dead, that his mother was dead, he whispered, “Why not?”
“You have to wake up. There are things you need to do.”
“But… but,” he stammered, aware now that he could taste blood in his mouth, warm and metallic. The visceral sensations of the ship were receding-the smell of vomit, the warmth of his mother’s body, the splinters biting into his hands.
Karen receded as well.
“What do I need to do?” he shouted into the burgeoning darkness, but the words were mumbled, the blood thick on his tongue.
He woke with a jolt and spat blood to one side of the bed he lay in, moaning as a tendril of the spit drooled down from his mouth. He wiped it away, his body aching, his head pounding, then lay back on the bed again.
He smelled leaves and earth and snow.
After a moment, he realized that the rolling sensation of the ship from the dream had not ended.
His eyes flew open and he turned onto his side And found three Alvritshai watching him from the opposite end of the narrow room. Aeren, Eraeth, and a guardsman Colin didn’t know. They stood just inside the narrow doorway. Colin could see a ship’s corridor outside, and with a quick glance he determined that the room they held him in contained five more bunks, two above him and three across an aisle. Lanterns burned, swinging at the motion of the ship, and he could hear the thud of numerous feet around him.
Eraeth said something in Alvritshai. Colin caught a few words he recognized, but not enough to translate it. He’d learned more dwarren than Alvritshai in his time in the forest.
“Speak Andovan, Protector,” Aeren said, and when Eraeth sneered, he added, “as a courtesy to our guest.”
Eraeth’s sneer vanished, his eyes going flat. “I told you he would wake soon.”
Aeren nodded. His eyes didn’t leave Colin’s face. “Yes. You were correct to summon me.”
Eraeth snorted. “I do not know why you wanted to bring him with us. He’s nothing more than a commoner, and he stinks.”
“I brought him because he stopped those who attacked us, those who killed one of the Phalanx and nearly killed Lord Barak. He stopped them even when it was obvious the Legion’s commander would have allowed them to escape. I brought him because he appeared sick, and the honor of Rhyssal House demanded it, but also
