In Thy Name

Chapter 17 - Scars

Sareb reached the mountaintop first. His legs almost gave way under him as he got off Djusra; he was shaking all over. In his mind, the centarchos charging at him with sword raised merged with the stamping, clattering soldiers bearing down on his seven-year-old self and Teshem, and with the blade swung at him just days ago at the Shadow Pool. His heart still pounded and his breath came fast and shallow.

 And he couldn't stop thinking of the gout of flame he'd spewed, the smell of burning flesh. It made him sick, and his stomach heaved, though it was too empty to send anything up.

To distract himself, he scanned the sky for the Tainian siblings, but they didn't appear, and a new unease began to creep into his stomach. He was just thinking he ought to go looking for them—again—when they flitted into view. Stormwind was flying with difficulty due to her injury, and her brother was keeping pace with her. Sareb jumped up and waved, although doubtless they'd already seen him.

They landed by him, on the rock outcropping where he'd been sitting, and changed form immediately.

"Shit," Stormwind spat as soon as she had a mouth, feathers still receding into her body. "There goes any hope of discretion—urgh." The last word turned into a not-quite-stifled groan, and she hunched over and clutched her side.

"You're hurt!" Sareb said, surging toward her. Then he noticed the blood streaming down Frostarrow's leg. "You're both hurt!"

"We noticed," Stormwind said drily. "Mage—" She spoke in gasps, as though it hurt to breathe. "How long does it take—to ride from Castle Caran to Dalaïda?"

"What?...Six days," Sareb said. He pulled off his gloves. "Let me heal you." An order, not a request.

Stormwind sank onto the rock, legs curled underneath her, and Frostarrow crouched by her, a hand on her shoulder. "So we have two days—to figure out where we're going—and get moving, to stay ahead of them."

Sareb froze as he realized who she was talking about.

Stormwind turned toward him. "Your fireball and dragonhawk weren't exactly subtle, mage."

Sareb didn't say anything, still trying to parse the danger. The Consul would reach Dalaïda, hear of their escapade...and then?

"The soldiers will have picked up our clothes, too," Frostarrow said.

"I know," Stormwind said.

So it wasn't going to end here. They would have to keep running—flying—with the Consul in pursuit.

And Teshem?

Teshem, too, if he wasn't...

"We ought to be—safe enough here—for the night." Stormwind still sounded like she was having trouble breathing. "Tomorrow—back to our supplies—"

"Let me heal you," Sareb repeated, more of a plea this time. At least it was something he could do, something he could get under control.

Stormwind's head whipped toward him, like she was going to bite his off for interrupting her. But after a moment, she said, "Fine. But maybe we should get under cover of the trees first—instead of standing around on an exposed ledge—seeing as we're fugitives and all."

"Right." Sareb found that a grin was trying to worm its way onto his face in spite of the situation.

Stormwind and Frostarrow turned to walk into the forest, and as the moment of crisis abated, Sareb became aware of their nakedness. He blushed hotly and averted his eyes, thrusting Frostarrow's cloak and sword belt at the tall Gladiar. In the desert everyone was covered from head to toe almost all the time—among the Masunyi, even married couples didn't often see one another's flesh.