Page 25 of Rogue Familiar

~8~

Selly didn’t know exactly how long it took her to transport Jadren off the immense field of rock and bone, and over to where Vale waited. No way was she risking Vale getting a hoof stuck in those treacherous rocks, possibly breaking a leg. It took hours, at least, as the sun was definitely declining by the time she half-dragged, half-carried Jadren off the rocks. She was spattered with his blood, shaking with exhaustion, and drenched with sweat and despair.

Jadren hadn’t regained any kind of lucidity again, instead mumbling about not leaving the crows behind and calling out for Mr. Machete. Selly had noted that he’d been stripped of weapons and all of his belongings, before being flung off the cliff to dispose of what they’d obviously assumed was his dead body. They’d kept the horse Gabriel had given Jadren, too, so it could have been a robbery, a random attack, and not one targeted against the scion of El-Adrel or the wizard minion of House Phel.

It seemed they wouldn’t have so carelessly discarded Jadren had they known who he was. Jadren, of course, was unable to tell her anything. It made her nervous, the not knowing. Especially the part of the not-knowing when whoever it was might return.

Bless the stalwart Vale, he didn’t shy at having the bloody, gore-covered and occasionally thrashing and shouting Jadren draped over the saddle. Selly didn’t much like hanging Jadren there like so much broken-spined baggage—and it couldn’t possibly be comfortable for him to be lying on his wounds, head down like that—but she also didn’t have much choice. There was no part of him that wasn’t damaged and she wanted away from that ominous cliff and whoever had done this to him. Jadren would eventually heal, but not if his attackers decided on a more thorough approach to destroying him.

So, she led Vale away at the most direct angle she could manage, with no real destination in mind beyond “as far away as possible,” walking beside the gelding with a hand on Jadren’s shoulder in case he should start sliding off, which meant they weren’t going fast at all. Somewhere in the back of her weary brain she considered that she should figure out a destination. But what would it be? All along, bringing Jadren back to House Phel had been her plan, but she could hardly walk him there at this painful pace on Vale’s back.

Though… why not? It wasn’t as if Jadren was a normal person who needed healing as soon as possible or he’d die. If that death trap of rock and bone hadn’t killed him, not to mention dehydration and being (partially) eaten by crows, then possibly nothing could, especially if he continued to stubbornly refuse her magic. The major drawback was that several days of slow travel in his condition would be agonizing. Even though she knew he’d already suffered excessive torment, she couldn’t bring herself to inflict still more on him.

If Jadren continued to refuse to take her magic, the only other option would be finding a magical healer. A Refoel wizard wouldn’t need Jadren’s assistance or even consciousness to heal him. And it seemed to her that House Refoel should be in the area somewhere. Once again, she kicked herself for not knowing the Convocation territories. The next chance she got, she planned to memorize the map. If she knew the marshes well enough to navigate them in the dark and gloom, then she could learn the lines on a Convocation map.

Combing through her memory, she recalled that Asa had come from House Refoel to Meresin and that it hadn’t been far. He and Laryn had given a ride to Sage and Quinn Byssan—and someone had said that was because House Byssan was on Refoel lands. She was fairly sure the others had referred to House Refoel as being an exception from the usual rule of Convocation politics and brutal high-house ways. The healers held themselves to a different ethical standard.

Selly was pretty sure they would help Jadren—and her by extension—no matter who they were.

Short of going all the way to House Phel, she couldn’t think of another place that would offer a similar kind of sanctuary. Or, if not actual sanctuary, at least not a headlong plunge from the cooking pot into the woodfire. Maybe Refoel would even send a Ratsiel courier to House Phel. There would perhaps be some sort of bargaining required, an exchange of payment for services rendered. Nic naturally handled that sort of negotiating for the house—and Selly should probably learn how to do that, too—but she had no idea what all was involved or how anyone knew what counted as fair. If she did it wrong, she could end up costing the house a fortune, which they already couldn’t afford.

Maybe going to House Refoel wasn’t such a great idea and she should just commit to dragging an unconscious Jadren all the way back to Meresin. Now she was just dithering, which would get them nowhere. It occurred to her that maybe she was too tired to think clearly.

Vale had no particular advice when she asked him for his opinion, bobbing his head agreeably to both options. Well, and they wouldn’t get there that night, even if she could figure out in exactly what direction Refoel lay. She needed to make camp and tend to Jadren, get his bones aligned as best she could. Maybe deal with his boots and feet, though nausea welled in her at that prospect.

She just needed a decent spot. Running water—it would be really good to wash some of the gore off of them—some shelter to hide behind, maybe a campfire, if only for the spiritual comfort, since the nights had been warm in this region.

Spotting a goat track leading up a wooded hill a short time later, she turned Vale onto it, hoping for a bit of high ground with some decent screening. The slope made her excruciatingly aware of the ache in her leg muscles, which seemed to radiate out into her entire bruised body. Nothing compared to what Jadren is suffering, she reminded herself.

“Trouble,” Jadren whispered.

She almost didn’t hear him, thinking the hoarse sound was a scuttle of gravel or the rustle of wind through the scrub pines—except that the bond tweaked at her in the same moment, a twinge of alarm that wasn’t her own. She froze, Vale instantly taking the cue from her.

Someone was following them. Several someones, by the feel of the magic that now brushed across her senses with a ping of an unfamiliar flavor. Another aspect of her vast ignorance, that she recognized so few kinds of magic. Nic had gone through the Convocation Magic Potential scorecard with her, meticulously reviewing the columns that showed the various major categories of magic and then the rows that reflected the subcategories within that group, along with the numbers at their intersection that showed the degree of potential. But that hadn’t given Selly any idea how most of those magics felt. She’d probably recognize the magic types of the wizards she’d worked with during those few days of training with Nic, but that was only a few varieties. Most of the wizards beholden to House Phel had been too busy with their legitimate tasks.

This magic felt… odd. It sort of reminded her of the flavor of Han, though this had more of an uncomfortable edge. That could be because Han was a friend and one of the gentlest people she’d ever met, in contrast to his sharp warrior skills with weapons. Or it could be because Han was a familiar and these were—

“Wizards,” Jadren hissed, not so much struggling under her hand as twitching spastically. Still, even him being able to move that much was a good sign. “Hide, you idiot,” he growled.

Oh, yes—he was definitely feeling better.

“Where?” she asked quietly near his ear.

He grunted in disgust. “I can’t see anything but horse. You’re the wild swamp creature, expert at fleeing and hiding. Figure it out. Fast,” he added. “Or we’re fucked.”

These must be the wizards that had tried to kill Jadren then. Or some other enemy known to him. She touched his skin, annoyed that he flinched away from her. “If you use my magic, can you fight them off?”

He huffed a sardonic laugh. “If I open to your sweet, sweet magic, my sweet…” He trailed off. “No. Not opening that door. You wanted to be the rescuing hero. Step up to the challenge.”

Considering he was the one who had gotten himself practically dismembered, she nearly snarled a retort—but she decided to take the high road. Besides, she could explain the many and varied flaws in his thinking later, after they’d escaped.

Jadren found it nearly impossible to think, which was a serious drawback in a scenario where some cleverness would come in exceptionally handy. Unfortunately, every time he managed to pull two thoughts together, pain would explode them apart again. Even with Vale’s extraordinarily smooth gait—Jadren had assembled enough brain power to recognize Gabriel’s steed and recall his name, though not sufficient to figure out why Seliah had him—the least jostling made him hurt all over.

And crave Seliah’s magic.

It took far too much of his self-control not to suck down every bit of that deliciously thirst-quenching, moon-bright magic practically oozing out of her. If I open to your sweet, sweet magic, my sweet… Had he really said that? He grunted in disgust at himself and no small amount of bone-separating pain as Seliah got Vale moving again, finally. Not like her to be paralyzed by indecision—except when she was losing her shit. Could be the stress was too much for her. She had to be exhausted, after all those countless hours of extracting him. Another reason not to take her magic, besides the fact that he’d probably kill her doing it, given his wretched condition. Just as he’d always feared. So wrong that he’d gone through all of this just to be right back at the monstrous outcome he’d fled to begin with.

Those Hanneil wizard-guards were getting closer. It was the same lot, so far as he could tell through his fractured senses. How and why that crew had tracked them, he had no idea. They weren’t moving fast enough, that was certain, the Hanneil psychic magic thickening as the wizards closed on them. Curse it, that magic was actively questing, ferreting out the trail of their thoughts. Figures.

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