Death's Mistress

CHAPTER 25

The fires in Renda Bay burned until morning, and afterward smoke continued to curl into the gray sky, staining the dawn. Houses and boat sheds still smoldered, some charred all the way to blackened mismatched skeletons. A group of fishermen had salvaged six boats from the ruined docks, while throughout the town numb-looking people assessed the damage, talking in subdued voices.

Nicci reflected on the previous day’s easy activity, the relaxed conversations among neighbors, the quaint town activities, the small but busy market square—a way of life now struck down by swords, fire, and blood from the raid.

Seemingly in a stupor, Bannon sat recovering on a splintered wooden bench next to an overturned gutting trough. Silver fish scales spangled the wood of the trough like miniature coins in the morning light. He gripped Sturdy’s leather-wrapped hilt with both hands, as if drawing on its strength. His shirt was torn and stained with soot and blood.

As she stepped up to him, Nicci noted at least five deep cuts on his arms, across his back, on his shoulder. The young cabbage farmer looked engrossed in thought, refighting his battles. He had aged greatly.

Though Nicci was exhausted from expending so much magic during the battle and treating the grievously wounded afterward, she found enough strength to heal Bannon’s cuts and wounds. He didn’t even seem aware of them.

Nathan came up to them with haunted eyes, his long white hair and his borrowed shirt matted with clumps of gore. Dried blood caked his hands.

When Bannon looked up at his mentor, his face showed little recognition. The wizard said in a soft voice, “You fought like an unbelievable warrior last night, as if someone worked a rampaging spell on you—but I know that was no spell.”

The young man’s face was drawn and pale. “Slavers were attacking the village. I had to fight. What else could I do?”

“You did well enough,” Nicci acknowledged. “You fought even harder than you did against the selka.”

“These were slavers,” he said, as if that were explanation enough. With an obvious effort, Bannon struggled to compose himself and even managed a false, horrid-looking smile. “It’s what I was supposed to do. I hated the thought of all of these people being hurt … and enslaved. They … they had a very nice life here in Renda Bay, and I didn’t want it ruined.”

Nicci glanced at Nathan, who wore a skeptical frown. Neither of them believed Bannon’s explanation. Nicci said, “That is an acceptable answer, but it’s not the complete one. Tell me the truth.”

His expression filled with alarm. “I—I can’t. It’s a secret.”

She knew it was time to be stern, to push him in a way that would make him respond. His wounds were far deeper than the obvious ones, and they might become either tough scars or dangerously unstable fractures. Her assessment of him had changed in the past week, and she suspected there was more than the naive, careless country boy. She needed to find out.

Grasping Bannon’s shirt, she pulled him to his feet and pressed her face close to his so she could capture his attention with her searing blue eyes. “I don’t want your secrets for the sake of titillation, Bannon Farmer. I ask because I need to know the answer. You travel as my companion, and therefore your actions might affect my own mission. Are you unreliable? Are you a hazard to me and what I must accomplish for Lord Rahl?” She softened her voice. “Or are you just a brave, but reckless fighter?”

Swaying, Bannon looked at the sorceress and then at Nathan with a beseeching expression. He tore his gaze away to stare out at the burned wreck of the nearest Norukai vessel, which was half sunk in the calm bay. Nicci suddenly remembered how oddly the young man had also behaved when they camped near the much older hulk of a wrecked serpent ship.

“You’ve seen those ships before,” she whispered. “You know about the Norukai.”

Finally, he said, “It’s because of Ian … my friend Ian. The slavers…” He sucked in a long, deep breath. His hazel eyes were bloodshot from the fires and smoke, as well as his own convulsive weeping. His eyes held much deeper secrets, a clear and colorful childhood memory being stripped away to reveal the raw bones of truth.

Hauling out his words like a man surrendering precious keepsakes to a moneylender, Bannon told his tale. “Ian and I were boyhood friends on Chiriya Island. We would run down to the shore or race each other across the windswept grasses. One time, we walked all the way around the island—it took us a full day. That was our whole world.

“As boys, we pulled weeds in the fields and helped harvest the cabbage heads, but we also had time to ourselves. Ian and I had a special cove on the far side of the island, where we would explore the tide pools. Most of the time we just played. We were best friends, both the same age, thirteen summers old that year … the last year.”

His voice grew raspy and hard. “One morning, Ian and I got up early because we knew it was a low tide. We went to our special cove, climbing down the sandstone cliffs, finding footholds like only boys can. We had empty sacks stuffed in our belts because we knew we would bring home a good haul of shellfish and crabs for the dinner pot. Mostly we enjoyed the peace of each other’s company, instead of being back in our own homes … which weren’t very peaceful.” His voice turned sour.

Nicci said, “You always described your island home as idyllic and perfect, but dull.”

He turned his bleak, empty eyes toward her. “Nothing is perfect, Sorceress. Shouldn’t you be telling me that?” He shook his head and stared out at the still-smoldering Norukai ship.

“That day Ian and I were preoccupied with the tide pools, watching hermit crabs scuttle among the sea anemones, the little fish that had been trapped there until the next high tide. We didn’t see the slavers’ boat coming around the point. The six Norukai spotted us, rowed in, then splashed onto shore. Before Ian and I knew it, we were surrounded.

“They were burly, muscular men with shaved heads and those awful scarred and sewed mouths. They had nets, and ropes, and clubs. They were hunters … and we were just prey.” He blinked. “I remembered when hunting parties from my village would march across the grassy pastures in the headlands with nets, banging pots to chase down goats and round them up for the winter slaughter. The Norukai were just like that. They came after me and Ian.

“We both screamed and ran. Ian was ahead of me. I made it to the base of the cliffs and started to climb before the first two slavers caught up to me. I was just out of their reach, but my foot slipped, and I fell. The men grabbed me, swung me around, and dropped me to the rocky beach. It knocked the wind out of me, and I couldn’t make a sound. But Ian was yelling from halfway up the beach. He had almost gotten away.” Bannon sniffled. “He could have gotten away.

“I fought back, but there were two of them, and the Norukai were strong. They tried to pull my arms together so they could lash my wrists. Another slaver grabbed my feet. I couldn’t get away, couldn’t even scream. Even when I caught my breath, my voice was hoarse. I thrashed and kicked.

“Just when they were wrapping a rope around my wrists, I heard an even louder shout. Ian had turned and come back, yelling at the slavers. They threw a net at him, but it missed. He just shrugged them off and came running toward me. In the struggle he snatched up one of the Norukai cudgels and bounded across the rocky beach, leaping over tide pools. He came to save me.

“Ian swung the club. I heard a skull crack—it was one of the men trying to tie me. Blood gushed from his eye and nose. Grunting, the other man grabbed at Ian, but my friend smashed him in the teeth, turning his lips to pulp. Ian yelled for me to run, and I tore my wrist away, sprang to my feet, and raced toward the sandstone cliff. I ran as I never had before. Tugging the ropes from my wrists, I made it there and began scrambling up, climbing for my very life.

“Ian shouted again, but I didn’t turn back. I couldn’t! I found the first foothold and pulled myself higher. My fingers were bloody, my nails torn.” Bannon was breathing hard as he told his story. Perspiration sparkled on his forehead. “I pulled myself up, found a foothold, climbed, and then turned back to see the slavers closing in on my friend. Two of them threw a net again. The men he had clubbed now pounded him with their fists. They crowded around him and he couldn’t get away. He screamed.”

Bannon’s voice hitched with a sob. “Ian had come back to save me. He risked his life to stop those men from tying me up. He made it so I could get away! But when they captured him, I froze. I could only watch as they wrapped the net around Ian and beat him again, kicking him over and over. When he cried out in pain, they laughed. I could see blood running from a gash in his face—and I didn’t do a thing. They bound his wrists and ankles with rope—and I just watched.

“It should have been me under that net. He had helped me—and I just watched!”

Bannon released his grip and let Sturdy fall with a clatter to the ground. He pressed his palms against his eyes, as if to hide. “I was halfway up the cliff when the slavers came for me again, and I panicked. When I reached the higher ground, I looked back down at the beach. The Norukai were dragging my friend toward the longboat. He still struggled, but I knew he was lost. Lost! I caught a last glimpse of Ian’s face, full of despair. He knew he would never get away … and he knew I wasn’t coming back to rescue him. Even at that great distance, his eyes met mine. I had abandoned him.

“I wanted to shout that I was sorry. I wanted to promise that I would come for him, but I had no voice. I was out of breath.” He turned away. “It would have been a lie anyway.

“Ian stared at me with a look of shock and confusion, as if he couldn’t believe I would betray him. I saw hatred behind those eyes just before the slavers threw him into the longboat.

“And I just ran.” Bannon shook his head, sniffling. “I left my friend behind. I didn’t help him. He came back to save me, and I … I just saved myself. I ran away.” His voice hitched and he sobbed again. “Sweet Sea Mother, he fought to save me, and I abandoned him.”

The young man looked down at the blood on his shirt, at the cuts on his arms. He touched a deep wound on his neck and winced in surprise, but he clearly didn’t remember how he had gotten it. The tears in his eyes had not washed away the stinging, painful memory.

“That’s why I fought so hard against the slavers here in Renda Bay, why I hate them so much. I was a coward when the Norukai took Ian. I didn’t fight then, but I have a sword now, and I will fight to my last breath.” He snatched up Sturdy from where it had fallen on the ground and inspected it, satisfied that the edge still looked sharp. “I can’t rescue Ian. I’ll never see him again … but I can kill slavers whenever I see them.”