finger along the lower edge of her shadow bandage. “Is that . . .” I trailed off, too horrified to say more. When you fight the restless dead . . .
Faran grimaced. “One of the risen nicked me with a claw, barely more than a scratch really.”
“The curse?” demanded Siri, her voice sharp and tight.
“That’s what all the blood’s about. I shaved off a rather large chunk of meat, making sure it didn’t go any farther.”
A shadowy phoenix head lifted free of the darkened bandage. “She acted quickly enough,” said Ssithra. “The curse will not take her, but she has lost a great deal of blood and if I let go she will lose more.”
Faran looked embarrassed. “Yeah, I had to cut and run after this.” She touched her arm and winced. “Sorry I couldn’t stay to guard your back. I wanted to, but my swords weren’t affecting the risen the way yours do—I had to cut them apart or behead them—and Ssithra kept yelling at me to get out.”
Not good, but also not wholly unexpected. I had hoped that the enchantments on Parsi’s swords would perform properly for Faran as Devin’s had for me the two times I had been forced to borrow them before recovering my own. But Faran had never been confirmed as a full Blade and the circumstances under which she’d taken possession of them were unprecedented in the history of our order.
Faran pulled a bundle free of her sword rig then and handed it to me. “I did manage to grab your poncho on the way out. You don’t know how relieved I was when your signal arrow passed me back that way.” She nodded over her shoulder.
“It came so far?” I was surprised because I hadn’t specified a duration for the spell, just let it fly, but I’m no great shakes with magic.
“No idea. It passed me a quarter mile or so from the inn and kept right on going. A little gaudy maybe, but good for me, and . . .” She wobbled and suddenly sat down on the roof, putting her head between her knees. “Oh my.”
“Can you do anything for her?” asked Ssithra. “Between the blood she’s lost and my needing to play tourniquet, we haven’t had the resources for any sort of healing magic.”
“Lie down,” Siri told Faran. “Aral, cut that bandage away.”
“Shouldn’t we get in out of the rain first?” I asked.
“After. The longer we wait, the worse it will get.”
I did as ordered, hissing sharply when I got a look at the tight seam of shadow sealing the wound beneath. Faran had carved a strip at least three inches wide and half an inch deep out of her upper arm.
“Nasty,” I said.
“Less wouldn’t have been enough,” replied Ssithra. “I could see the curse moving through her flesh and showed her where to strike.”
Meanwhile, Siri had knelt beside Faran. Now she reached out to touch the injury with both hands and . . . wait a second. I did a double take as I looked for Siri’s missing hand. The limb was still gone from about halfway down her forearm, but, where the flesh used to continue on, a sort of ghost wrist and hand had formed out of whirling smoke.
“Is that . . .” I didn’t even know what I wanted to ask and trailed off.
“I’ve been experimenting with the connection between me and the buried god,” said Siri. “With my sword in old Smokey’s black heart, the link’s even stronger than it was when I put him in his grave the first time. But I have more freedom now. The sword is binding him much tighter than the eye dagger ever did. Now, shut up, I’ve a tricky task to perform.”
I shut up, because that’s how orders work.
“Faran, this is going to hurt, probably a lot. Are you—”
“Do it!” snapped Faran.
“All right.” The smoke defining Siri’s left hand grew darker and thicker, especially around the base of her fingers, like it was coming straight off a flame. The palm there took on a faint orange cast. “Ssithra, I will need you to move in three, two, one. Now.”
The shadow slid away from Faran’s arm and blood welled up behind it. Before it could go farther than that, Siri placed her smoking palm against the wound. There came a sizzle like a freshly forged sword going into the quenching trough. Faran whimpered and then fainted. A moment later, Siri pulled her hand away and promptly tumbled over onto