and enemy alike, lay as they’d fallen, their arms and legs tangled in uncomfortable positions that they made no effort to change. “No,” she repeated softly. “No.”
Kakzim hadn’t died in House Escrissar all that time ago, and he’d held a knife against her skin. Ruari had been an arm’s length away when she loosed her protection’s power. He couldn’t have died.
Couldn’t have.
Yet he didn’t move.
“Too late now,” Zvain said grimly. “They’re coming again.”
But the Codesh butchers weren’t coming. The noise and movement came from the yellow-robed templars charging through the crowd with pikes lowered and shields up. Without Kakzim to command them, the butchers weren’t interested in a brawl. They fell back, retreating into the circle of Mahtra’s power, but dispersing before they got close. Elsewhere, the brawlers quickly faded into the throng of bystanders.
A few voices still cursed Mahtra from the safety of the crowd. They called her freak and evil. Someone called her a dragon. They all wanted her dead, and when the templars broke through the crowd and got their first look at the circle she’d made with her protection, Mahtra feared they might heed her accusers. They stared at her, weapons ready, faces hidden by their shields. Mahtra stared back, fear and anger brewing beneath her skin. She didn’t know what to do next and neither did they.
Zvain released her hand. “Wind and fire, what took you so long? We were starting to get worried.”
The templar phalanx heaved a visible sigh. Spears went up, shields came down, and the elf named Giola strode out of the formation.
“What happened?” she demanded with a quavering voice. “We took up arms as soon as the mob moved. We were at the gate when we heard the noise—it was like Tyr-storm thunder.”
“Mahtra didn’t think you’d get here in time. She took matters into her own hands.”
“A spell? You’re no defiler. Do you wear the veil?”
Defiler? Veil? These words meant nothing to Mahtra, only that she was under close scrutiny and there was no one to speak for her, except a human boy who spoke fast enough for both of them.
“No way! Mahtra’s no wizard, no priest, neither. Where she comes from, they do this all the time. No swords or spears or spellcraft, just boom, boom, boom. Thunder and lightning all the time!”
Zvain sounded so sincere that Mahtra almost believed him herself. The elf seemed equally uncertain for a moment then, shaking her head, Giola picked her way through the bodies.
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter, does it? What about the rest of them. Lord Pavek, Towd—?”
“D-Dead,” Zvain muttered, losing all his brash confidence in a single word.
His tears started to flow, and Mahtra reached out to him, but he scampered away. Mahtra’s arm fell to her side, heavier than it had ever been, even in the grip of the makers’ protection. She would have sobbed herself, if her eyes had been made that way. Instead, she stood silent and outcast as Giola knelt and pressed her fingers against the necks of Pavek and the dwarf.
“Their hearts are still beating,” the elf proclaimed.
Zvain sniffed up his tears. “They’re alive?” he asked incredulously. “She didn’t kill them?” He skidded to his knees beside Pavek. “Wake up!” He started shaking Pavek’s arm.
Giola got to her feet without making the same determination for Ruari. She rejoined the templars, and they split into two groups. One group stood with their backs to the little stone building, keeping watch over the Codeshites, who seemed to have gone back to their work as if the brawl had never erupted. The other group stripped off their yellow robes. They tied their robes together and shoved spears the length of the sleeves to make two stretchers, one for Pavek, a second for the dwarf.
When they were traveling from Quraite, Ruari had told her that his mother’s folk wouldn’t lift a finger to save his life. Mahtra hadn’t believed him—her own makers weren’t that cruel. Now she saw the truth and was ashamed of her doubts. She was emboldened by them, too, seizing Giola’s arm and meeting the elf’s disdainful stare when it focused on her mask.
Mahtra told Giola, “You must carry Ruari to safety,” then gave silent thanks to Lord Hamanu, whose magic had given her a voice anyone could understand.
“She means it,” Zvain added. He was kneeling beside Ruari now that the templars had lifted Pavek. “Remember: boom, boom, boom!”
A shiver ran down Mahtra’s spine, down her arm as well, which made Giola’s eyes widen. The elf tried