Cold Steel (Spiritwalker 3)

On the Cena Road, men with lanterns were pulling corpses off the road to allow traffic through. Bee tied her shawl over her mouth and nose. “Doesn’t the stench trouble you, Cat?”

“I don’t have the leisure to be troubled.” I hopped off the wagon and hailed an older man with an avuncular face. “What happened here, Uncle?”

“The Tarrant lord Marius and his troop made their last stand, is what happened. Too bad, for he fought well.”

“Is the lord dead?”

“How should I know, lass? I heard he was chopped to pieces, and I heard he was wounded and carried off by the Iberians. This is no place for lasses on a night when men are drunk with blood and victory.”

“I’m looking for my husband.”

He sighed. “May the Three Mothers aid you in your search, then. Good fortune.”

As he trudged away, I called after the wagon. “Rory! Bee! Bring the lantern. We’ll know a cold mage is close if the flame dies.”

“I can’t smell anyone in this nasty stench,” muttered Rory as he handed the lantern to Bee. “But maybe I can find him by his clothes.”

“Blessed Tanit! How many dead there are!” Yet Bee gamely brandished the wrought-iron candle lantern over corpses laid in neat ranks like firewood. “Wouldn’t it be easier to go to the manor house and find the cacica?”

A hundred paces away, soldiers were searching through a roadside ditch. “Ah! Curse it! The cursed sword bit me!”

“Here, stand aside, you prickless worm. Let me—Ah! Curse it! It burns!”

With drawn sword I ran to their lamps. “What have you there? Let me see.”

“Oo! What pretty girl assaults us…?”

I bared my teeth at their insolent grimaces. Something in my demeanor made the men retreat. The sword lay grimed by dirt, but I knew it as Vai’s cold steel instantly. I snatched it up with my right hand. Such a black tide of wild anger swept me that for a moment I went blind.

Rory shouldered up beside us. “Cat, best we move out of here before there is trouble.”

“I’ll cause trouble,” I said, taking a step toward the men that made them hurry away.

Bee and Rory pulled me back and led me along the drive to Red Mount. Wounded men lay on the gravel of the two courtyards, packed like fish in a barrel. The awful stink blended with their cries and groans. Surgeons and healers worked by lamplight, assisted by soldiers and by elderly women bringing water for the injured. Mostly men just lay there, awaiting some distant hour when an exhausted doctor would finally take a quick glance at them.

“Cat, what about the cacica?” Bee repeated. “I tried to say this before, but you don’t listen. If you can talk to her in a mirror, perhaps she can see the well of Andevai’s power and lead you to him.”

Blessed Tanit! Why hadn’t I thought of that?

I swayed, leaning on Bee. “Rory, go and fetch our things. We’ll meet by the well. Bee, you look through the sheds. I’m going to see if I can find Lord Marius. I give this sword into your hand, Bee, into your hand only, until we find Vai again.”

Holding her breath she touched the hilt with a finger. When it did not spark or sting, she slipped it out of my hand. “Cold steel! Does this mean I need only draw blood to kill?”

“No. Only if you are a cold mage. But no weapon will shatter this one.”

She tested its balance, then both she and Rory hurried off.

With shadows drawn tight around me, I crept into the stone house to see if I could find Lord Marius. He was still alive, lying on a couch in a sitting room with eight wounded officers. To my surprise Marshal Aualos was seated in a chair beside the couch, joking with Lord Marius as they shared a bottle of whiskey. Lord Marius’s color was sallow, and his eyes glazed with pain, but he could still laugh as the Iberian officer told a lewd story about a man who had mistaken his wife for a sheep. Lord Marius’s left arm had been mangled into a pulp.

Doctor Asante and her attendants entered. She spared only a glance for Marius’s arm before she examined the other wounded officers. “Your arm will have to come off, Lord Marius. Marshal, please leave. I prefer to do my work without an audience.” As the marshal and his aides left, she examined each man. “This one is dead. Take him out. Those two I cannot help and this one…”

Lord Marius had not the strength to heave himself up on his good arm but he watched her with a keen gaze. “Doctor, is there nothing you can do for my aide, young Butu? He’s not sixteen. My cousin’s son.”

“My apologies, Lord Marius, but his belly has been opened. I have no way to heal such an injury. However, with some luck and a little cooperation, you may recover.”

“But never fight again.”

“Men battle with their minds far more than with swords. Do you mean to retreat to your country estate and never again involve yourself in politics?”