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  Sanctus solis, what strength was in this man? she wondered. What tolerance for pain, that he could be the least bit conscious in his condition without screaming?

  “I’m here,” she said softly, taking his heavy steel hand. “You’re not alone. Ilios sent me.”

  He was shaking as his agonized gaze took in the light-gray sackcloth of her simple pilgrim’s gown and the pewter necklace of her order—a choker of delicate, coiled chain mail links, with a Celtic rose knot at her throat and a small sun pendant dangling down from it to her chest.

  He stared gratefully at it, visibly comforted by the familiar holy symbols, and let her take his hand. “Sister,” he forced out.

  It was difficult to find her voice. “You’ve done well, my brother.” Gently, she removed his right gauntlet and took his hand between her own, skin to skin. The healing was so much more powerful that way.

  She knew in that moment that she would do anything to save his life.

  The price was high, but how could she deny him? Sir Thaydor hadn’t stopped to count the cost when he had thrown himself between the people and their enemies. Nor would she. “I know you’re in massive pain right now, but I am going to help you.”

  He tried to shake his head. “No. Let me die.”

  “Thaydor,” she chided softly. “We need you.”

  “Please,” he rasped, staring at her in confusion, obviously concussed. “I can see Elysium… The portal’s open. Can’t you see it? Let me go.”

  “No. Stay with me.” She ached for his suffering and placed her hand against his cheek. “Thaydor, listen to me. You’ve taken a bit of a knock to the head—”

  He laughed, barely audible, at that.

  “But I am going to fix it,” she insisted, falling quite irrevocably in love with him from that very moment, she suspected.

  For, honestly, how could the man laugh at a time like this, with his skull cleaved open and his brain peeking out?

  Divine madman. Holy warrior. Crusader.

  She shook her head at him with a chiding smile, then took the canteen out of her satchel and poured a small drip of water into his mouth. He welcomed it with parted lips. She wetted a bandage from her bag next and tenderly wiped the blood out of his eyes.

  “There, now. Be as brave as you always are for just a little longer. In a moment, the pain will be gone and you’ll sleep for a couple of days. I will take you to safety and attend you till you wake. No harm will befall you in my care, you have my word. Now, close your eyes, son of Light.”

  He either obeyed or simply passed out again. Probably the latter.

  There was no time to lose. What she knew about using the Kiss of Life spell—what she would have to go through to take his wounds from him—frightened her, but she ignored her misgivings. Who could be more worthy of the gift than he?

  Besides, this was obviously the whole point of why Ilios had led her to settle out here in the middle of nowhere in the first place, much to the vexation of her fashionable mother. Lately, Wrynne had started wondering herself what she was doing here, living like a hermit on some mountaintop.

  Well, now she knew. Knew beyond all doubt.

  Ilios had put her in place two years ago, lining up everything just right, making sure there’d be someone on hand who’d obey him when the time came to save his paladin.

  She swallowed hard. This was a great honor…and a huge responsibility. With a sense of destiny sending chills down her spine, Wrynne vowed she would not fail.

  But she couldn’t do it alone. She’d need a little help from the only assistants on hand: the fairies.

  This was not a terribly encouraging prospect. They were not known as the most dependable of folk. Of course, she knew she could rely on Silvertwig. She just hoped the other little tricksters would cooperate, because once she worked the Kiss of Life spell, she would be incapacitated for twelve to twenty-four hours.

  Fortunately, the Aladdin stretcher made patients heavier than Thaydor light enough that even a child could maneuver it, simply using the golden hand-loops to guide it as it floated over the ground.

  She glanced up at the cloud of small, winged onlookers. “Everybody, could I please have your attention? I need a favor. Sundew, Treegriddle, Plumbeam. You too, Mooncurl. Everybody listen. If you’ll do what I ask, I’ll make you a whole mound of saffron cakes tomorrow.”

  This got their full attention. They started cheering, zooming closer in excitement.

  “Saffron cakes!”

  “With honey?”

  “Of course with honey,” she said. “As much as you want.”

  “Hooray for saffron cakes!”

  “I’m hungry!” Plumbeam whined.

  “We want them now!” Treegriddle demanded.

  “No, first you have to help me,” Wrynne said.

  “What do you want us to do?” the little lemon-yellow one, Sundew, asked.

  “This man is badly hurt. He needs my strongest magic, a very potent spell. It will heal him, but he’ll be out cold and so will I. This is where you come in. I’m putting Silvertwig in charge. Everyone has to listen to her.”

  “Aw!”

  The others didn’t like that, but Silvertwig preened and flew up higher, hands on her waist as she grinned at her cousins.

  “As you can see, we got the knight on the stretcher. Once I do the spell, you’ll all have to work together to float him up the path to my sanctuary. I know you know the way. Be careful with him,” Wrynne said. “Don’t get him caught on anything. And don’t drop him. He’s important. Like a prince. When you get him up the mountain, put him in my bed. All right?”

  They nodded and hovered around, wings whirring.

  “Now, here’s the important part,” she continued. “After you’ve done all that, don’t forget to come back for me. I’m going to be unconscious, too. And it’s…not safe.”

  With an anxious gulp, she glanced around meaningfully at the dead and dying Urmugoths. Some of them still moved every now and then. Still groaned. Still watched her with murderous intent.

  She turned back to the fairies with a twinge of desperation. “Please don’t leave me here. Bring the Aladdin stretcher with you when you come back to get me. Shove me onto it and carry me home, just like you did with him. Promise you won’t leave me here…with them.”

  Silvertwig patted her reassuringly on the shoulder. “I won’t forget you, Wrynnay.”

  “Thanks. Then I might as well get started.” She looked at Sir Thaydor and asked in nervous humor, “You ready?”

  He was still unconscious, lingering at death’s door.

  Elysium, indeed. No doubt he’d earned a palace there in the celestial realm, an eternity of peace with no more enemies trying to kill him. Maybe it was wrong to drag him back into this life…

  But the world needed such men so badly, especially in these dark times.

  She went over the spell in her mind. She had an excellent memory, but she double-checked it in the book, considering she had never expected to use the Kiss of Life and would only have one shot to get it right.

  Satisfied that she was ready, she cupped the paladin’s cheek while the fairies looked on. He wasn’t awake any longer, but she talked to him anyway. “I’ll see you on the other side of all this, Thaydor.”

  I hope.

  “I’ll have to take the arrow out first before we begin,” she went on. “It’s probably going to hurt. I am sorry. Don’t worry, though, it will all be over soon.”

  Provided this works.

  Then she grasped the shaft of the arrow, nervously flicking her fingers around it. He groaned as she pulled it out of his flesh.

  “I’m so sorry!” she whispered, while the blood began to pour afresh out of his side. Normally, she’d have a pile of bandages on hand and herbs to slow the bleeding, but this case was anything but normal.

  The sacred incantations were already on her lips as she quickly borrowed Thaydor’s knife, raised her left forearm, and cut herself. She clenched her fist, wincing, and felt
the hot blood run between her fingers. She concentrated harder on the prayers, speaking the short lines over and over again, becoming them.

  “Vincit tenebris lux, amor vincit mortem…”

  Eyes closed, she began to sway slightly, the power of the Light intensifying as it took hold of her, tingling in her veins. When she unclenched her hand again and opened her eyes, still repeating the incantation, even she was amazed to see how the blood pooling in her palm glistened. The great red droplets glowed with ruby sparkles as the magic activated. She reached out her hand and let the light-spangled blood from her slashed forearm drip into Thaydor’s open head wound.

  Her blood mingled with his, an offering freely given. Now there was only one momentous step left, and after the tales she had heard, she was scared to do it, but she blocked out the fear, whispering the words over and over endlessly.

  “Vincit tenebris lux, amor vincit mortem…”

  Light conquers darkness, love conquers death…

  Heart pounding, she lowered her lips to his and kissed him.

  For a moment, she lingered with her mouth pressed softly to his, her warm breath mingling with his pained, shallow panting. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and willed all her healing power, her very life force, into him.

  In the shattering blast of Light between them, the transfer took place. Radiance flashed out of all the places where he had been broken and torn while a wave of crimson pain washed through her. Wrynne gasped, sitting up with a small cry.

  Nothing could have prepared her for the next few seconds as agony unfurled and then wrapped around her like a cloak.

  She threw her head back, a scream tearing from her lips as the physical pain of Thaydor’s wounds bloomed like evil flowers through her body, though she did not suffer the actual damage.

  Even so, it was far worse than she could have imagined. First came the sensation of fire scorching up her left arm. Next, the arrow plunged into her side. She gasped at how real it seemed; she could almost feel the tip deep inside her innards. She tasted blood.

  Third, a bone-cracking bash to the side of her leg knocked her to the ground. She felt his moment of panic, the loss of control as the enemies closed in—then blinding pain crashing down on top of her head.

  Last, like the double knock of doom at the door, a sickening thud, thud to her torso that folded her over in agony, robbed her of breath.

  The world started going black. Dark as the grave.

  Obsidian terror swallowed her up.

  Whether the fairies kept their word, whether the Kiss of Life spell had even worked, Wrynne did not know.

  She simply passed out.

  Chapter 2

  Sanctuary

  Wake up! Wake up, Daughter. Danger approaches…

  Wrynne paid the subtle inner warning no mind. Hours had passed, and she twitched fitfully on her pillow, absorbed in a strange dream.

  The black-clad man knew no mercy, stealthy as the wind. Onyx eyes burned above the black scarf swathed across the lower half of his face as he slipped into the gate tower, climbed the winding stairs without a sound, and killed the sentries on duty, cutting the throats of some and coolly shooting others with arrows from the large bow he’d worn slung across his back.

  Hurry! He’s coming.

  But she couldn’t look away as the assassin, moving briskly and methodically, threw the sentries’ bodies over the massive outer wall of the kingdom. The clatter of their landing got the attention of a band of twenty Urmugoths who’d made camp on the moors a few hundred yards out from the North Gates.

  The assassin lit a final arrow off a torch on the wall, and with a taunting glitter of satisfaction in those jet-black eyes, he fired it up into the sky.

  Wrynne watched it fly on a great burning arc through the night—and land at the Urmugoths’ feet. The brutes looked up with belligerent grunts, snorts, and guttural curses. A few jumped to their feet.

  Oh, no, please don’t, she begged the ruthless killer with a whimper in her sleep. Don’t do it.

  Her protests were futile.

  Flipping the bow behind him again, he marched over and seized hold of the great wooden windlass that worked the gates. Putting his back into it, the broad-shouldered stranger carried out a task that usually took three men to accomplish. He opened the gates of the kingdom and then got out of there.

  Meanwhile, the Urmugoth band drew closer to investigate their open invitation into Veraidel.

  Before melting back into the forest shadows, the assassin paused at the tree line to make sure his mission was complete. He tugged the mask down, and she glimpsed his face, beautiful but sinister, saw the grim curve of his half-smile as he watched the Urmugoths come storming in. Then he vanished into the night.

  Wake up, NOW!

  Wrynne sat up with a loud gasp, her heart pounding.

  For a second, she blinked against the morning sun, not sure where she was, let alone why she had the sudden premonition of danger.

  The day was sweet and cool. The birds filled the air around her woodland bower with their carefree piping, and although she felt as though she had been run over by an Urmugoth stampede, she realized, thank Ilios, she’d made it home safe.

  With a groan, she fell onto her back again, still half-asleep, but the motion as she did so brought an unexpected clank of metal beside her.

  Thaydor!

  As the memory of last night’s ordeal came flooding back in a rush, she flicked her eyes open only to find two wee fairies peering down at her, hovering like hummingbirds mere inches from her face.

  “Awake!” one called to the others.

  “Finally!”

  The rest came zipping over, crowding so close about that she could hear the soft buzz of their wingbeats.

  “Saffron cakes?” they pleaded.

  “With honey!”

  “Miss Wrynnay, you promised! Get up! We’re hungry.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” she mumbled, wanting to be left alone, but there was much to do. “Thanks for getting me home,” she added begrudgingly. “Now, if you don’t mind, it’s early—”

  “Please, please, we’ve been waiting ever so patiently! Saffron cakes, now!”

  “With honey! You promised!”

  “Right, right, I know. Very well. But first let me check on my patient.”

  She looked over at Sir Thaydor. Apparently, they had lain side by side all night on her bed, unmoving, she fully dressed, he still clad in his armor.

  Like the sepulchral figures of a knight and his lady carved in stone atop their tombs, united in death forever, she thought with a snort.

  The question was, was he dead or had the Kiss of Life spell actually worked?

  She was almost afraid to look. She bit her lip and pushed up gingerly onto her elbow, trying not to shake the bed at all. The fairies retreated a bit.

  “Thaydor?” she murmured.

  He was still out cold, but his color looked decent. She put her hand in front of his nose and smiled in delight when she felt the air moving in and out of his nostrils.

  A tiny hand tugged a length of her hair. “Saffron cakes! Now, Wrynnay!”

  “Ow! Shh! In a minute. Say, I have an idea. Why don’t you go pick some wild berries and bring them back. I’ll cook them into the saffron cakes for you. It’ll be even more delicious that way.”

  With small gasps and an exchange of startled glances, they seemed intrigued by this suggestion.

  “Strawberries?”

  “Blueberries?”

  “Mulberries?”

  “Elderberries?”

  “Stinkberries?”

  “There’s no such thing as stinkberries,” Silvertwig said, rolling her eyes.

  “Any kind you want,” Wrynne said impatiently. “Go now and see what you can find.”

  They zoomed off in all directions on this splendid treasure hunt, except for Silvertwig, who just grinned at her.

  “I owe you one,” Wrynne whispered to her familiar.

  Silvertwig curtsi
ed in midair, then twirled up into the rafters of Wrynne’s airy, pavilion-like dwelling and crouched down to watch the proceedings from above.

  Wrynne stretched with a wince, sore all over from the mere empathic echo of sharing the paladin’s experience of being so savagely attacked. He might be used to that sort of thing, but her whole body felt as though she had spent the night on the torturer’s rack.

  Things could have been much, much worse, however. She was just relieved that the fairies had kept up their end of the bargain and got her home safely. As she shuffled around barefoot to Thaydor’s side of the bed, she wryly noted that the Aladdin stretcher had got away from her helpers after they had dumped her off on her bed.

  It was hovering up by the vaulted ceiling of her bower, and she wondered with a sigh how she was going to get it down from there.

  Then she approached Thaydor—a little apprehensively, in truth. She couldn’t believe the champion of the kingdom was passed out in her bed.

  Gingerly, she inspected his head wound. Blood still caked his tawny, sun-streaked hair, but to her amazement, the frightful gash was closed. His skull fracture was now no more than a small cut as his body mended itself with shocking speed, thanks to the potent magic she had dispensed to him.

  Stroking his brow lightly with her knuckle, she was so happy to see his improvement she could’ve kissed him again.

  Instead, she closed her eyes and thanked their god from the bottom of her heart for saving him.

  It was then that Wrynne remembered her dream and the premonition of danger that had woken her with such urgency.

  Furrowing her brow, she left Thaydor’s side and went outside, to the edge of her retreat. In a shaft of sunlight, she closed her eyes for a moment and found the weary center of peace within herself. Then she conjured a sanctuary spell, channeling the Light out through her raised hands.

  A mirrorlike wall of invisibility encircled her dwelling, hiding her little, round, vine-covered pavilion behind a cover of deep forest. The magical concealment spread out to envelop the sunny glade where her apothecary garden thrived, as well as the mossy stone steps that led down to the secluded pool at the bottom of the waterfall.