The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,102
be hostile.
Instead there was much exclaiming at the sight of her, though they didn't approach. One monk stepped toward her, hands out in a sign of peace. “Sha-Anhuset?”
Wary, Anhuset remained where she was. He knew her name. Had Erostis or Klanek made it to the monastery to get help? She didn't have time to question him or exchange introductions and idle conversation.
“Yes,” she said. “And if you're through having a convocation on the beach, the margrave needs our help, and Chamtivos needs to die.”
Her remarks galvanized them all into a rush toward her and the forest. Three monks remained behind while the rest raced with her through the forest toward the protected ledge where Serovek sheltered.
The found him sprawled against a tree, long legs splayed, head drooping so that his chin rested on his chest. One hand lay limply in his lap, the other by his side. Were it not for the bruises mottling his face, he'd be as pale as the moon. Even his lips had lost their color. He looked to Anhuset like a broken doll tossed aside by a bored child.
She hurried to him, skirting Chamtivos's head where it had rolled between her and the Nazim monk who accompanied her. The warlord's death mask was one of bafflement, as if wondering why his gaze looked upon such a skewed perspective. Anhuset crouched beside Serovek and pressed her fingertips against the side of his throat, trying to ignore the panicked thud of her own heart. She scowled, torn between relief and worry. His pulse thumped faintly under her touch but was unsteady. She searched his body, looking for new wounds, for blood. Her relieved sigh must have been loud because he twitched the tiniest bit.
“Anhuset,” he said on a ghost of a breath before falling silent again. His eyelids fluttered but remained closed.
“Were Chamtivos and the margrave enemies before this?” The monk had joined her, his expression puzzled and sympathetic. “We've rescued others from the warlord's clutches. Those taken hostage were never brutalized this way.”
“I don't think the two even met before the attack,” she said, gently tucking a lock of Serovek's hair behind his ear. With Chamtivos dead, they'd never know why he'd visited his malice on Serovek's body, but she could guess. Jealousy and envy made even good people ugly at times. For those like Chamtivos, murderous and petty, with a streak of madness and a thirst for power a league wide, it made them monstrous.
“I'll return with two of my brothers to help carry him to the boats. Or I can stay with him if you wish to go.” The monk gestured to the slope below them. “We could try to carry him ourselves, but it would be a slower trip, and we might injure him even more if we jostle him too much.”
Anhuset held back a wry smile, recalling the grueling climb up the same slope with an unconscious Serovek draped across her shoulders and back. “You go; I'll stay.” The monk, unburdened by fatigue and the exertions of a battle, would be much faster than she any way in rounding up his fellow monks for help. And truth be told, she needed to be here, beside this resilient warrior who'd managed to kill six men, including their leader, by himself while injured and barely able to stand. He defied every assumption she'd ever made about humans, and Anhuset was heartily glad he'd proven her wrong.
She watched the monk, who'd introduced himself as Cuama, sprint back the way they'd come. He paused long enough to snatch Chamtivos's head from the leaf pile where it landed and soon disappeared into the trees. No doubt he'd present the head to the others as proof the warlord was indeed quite dead and no longer a thorn in their side.
She didn't try to wake Serovek. As long as he still breathed and showed no outward signs of distress, she'd let him be while they waited for Cuama to return with help. She used the time to strip the dead of all their weaponry, including the knife she pulled from the archer's body. The only things she left were the pair of arrows still lodged in the back of the man Serovek had obviously used as a shield in a charge toward his enemies. She braced her foot on the corpse, using the leverage to break the arrow shafts in half. By her initial count of the hunters who'd landed on the island, she, Serovek, and the monks had