Paladin's Strength Page 12

  She tilted an ironic eyebrow at him. “No, you were all set to die for me, weren’t you? I should be more grateful, but this hurts like a stone bitch.”

  “Yes, Domina.” He pried her fingers away from her arm and held the cloth against it. She gnawed on her lower lip while he tried to determine the extent of the wound.

  Perhaps the bear’s hide had protected her, because it was, if not particularly shallow, at least not deep enough to risk the arm. The edges were ragged and it bled through the first layer of cloth even as he bound it, but he kept wrapping. Her skin was soft but the muscle underneath was rock solid, the kind that could swing a sledgehammer without even noticing.

  “There,” he said finally, tucking the ends of the wrapping.

  She sat back, testing the motion. His eyes went to her chest involuntarily and Saint’s balls, she had magnificent breasts and they were right there and he was going to have to do vigil standing on his head, he’d stabbed a nun who was also a bear and now he was ogling her while she was bleeding, gods above, was there no end to his personal depravity?

  “I’m so sorry,” he said again. He couldn’t stop apologizing. If he apologized to the end of time, it probably wouldn’t be enough. How dare he even think such things? What was wrong with him? “Domina, I am a worm.”

  “Well, I’m a bear, but you probably guessed that already.”

  He gaped at her. She snorted. “Anything left of my robes?”

  Istvhan picked them up and shook them out. The looseness had saved them, but the sleeves were destroyed. He yanked the remaining one off and slid the now-sleeveless robe over her shoulders. Trying to get her injured arm through the ragged hole meant that for a moment her body was pressed against his side and Istvhan told himself very firmly that he had stabbed her in the arm and he was a profound degenerate for thinking of anything else at this moment or possibly ever again and she was very soft with a core of iron under it and then, thank all the living gods and dead saints, Brindle appeared next to him. “A bear-lady is hurt bad?”

  “Not bad,” she said. “Nothing vital.”

  “Then a bear-lady should get off the road.” The gnole looked very hard at Istvhan. “A gnole thinks a human should go talk to other humans. Before other humans get strange, yeah?”

  Istvhan jumped as if he’d been stung. “Yes. Of course.” Saint’s blood. A shapechanger. Were the others going to become violent? “Brindle…”

  “Go, go. A gnole has traveled with a human who lived in a damn sword. Bear-lady is nothing.”

  “Yes, but…”

  The gnole peeled back his lip to show a single canine tooth. It occurred to Istvhan, somewhat belatedly, that perhaps Clara would prefer not to have her attacker standing right in front of her. He jumped back, hands raised. “Yes. Yes, of course. A moment.”

  “So,” said Galen, as Istvhan retrieved his sword and walked back to them. He looked as poleaxed as Istvhan felt. “So that’s why they wanted the nuns.”

  “What?” Istvhan blinked at his second-in-command. “Why they…oh shit.” He wiped the sword blade on his sleeve and slammed it back in the sheath. “Oh blistering shit. It’s not just her. It’s the whole convent. Those raiders weren’t kidnapping nuns, they were kidnapping shapechangers.”

  “Iron cages,” said Galen, looking over his shoulder. Brindle had gotten an arm under Clara’s good side and was helping her to her feet. “They rounded the lot of them up like animals.”

  “She’s not an animal,” said Istvhan. “I mean…she talks.”

  “So did those rabbits,” said one of the mercenaries sourly. He did not look pleased.

  For reasons he couldn’t even begin to articulate, he bristled. “Shut up, Andrel. She saved our asses just now.”

  “Which wouldn’t have been in danger if she hadn’t been with us,” the man said. He folded his arms and glared up at Istvhan. “Those men weren’t here after money.”

  It was more words out of the mercenary than Istvhan had heard since the trip started. Possibly the man had been saving them up. “Andrel, enough.”

  “Sure, you’d say that,” said the mercenary, staring up at Istvhan. “How long has that beast been sucking your—”

  Andrel was on the ground and Istvhan’s knuckles hurt. He gazed thoughtfully at his knuckles, then down at the man. “We do not talk that way about nuns,” he said calmly. “Do we?”

  Andrel started to get up. Galen shot Istvhan one quick look—Is this wise?—and then placed his boot on Andrel’s chest. “I’m willing to forget you said that about a nun,” he said. “I suggest, however, that you remember exactly why you are on this trip, and who is in charge of it.”

  The mercenary put his hand to his face and muttered something.

  Galen put a little weight on the boot and said, “I didn’t quite catch that.”

  “I…apologize,” grated Andrel. “I spoke rashly.”

  “Good,” said Galen, letting him up.

  Istvhan rubbed his forehead, feeling the sting in his hand. “All right,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here before they get their horses sorted.” He looked over at the other two mercenaries. “Davian, flank the wagon. Colt, you’re in the back. I’ll take point again. Galen, opposite flank. Brant, if you would be so good as to keep an eye on the wounded? And Andrel, you bring up the rear.” He kept his eyes on Colt and Davian, wondering if he was about to have a mutiny on his hands.

  Colt saluted. Colt never saluted. “Sir.” He walked behind Andrel until he passed the wagon. Istvhan felt a stab of gratitude.

  He waited by the mules until Brindle returned. The gnole gave him a hard look and flicked his ears sharply, which Istvhan knew meant something, but he had no idea what.

  “Andrel…” Galen began, coming up beside him.

  Istvhan sighed and rubbed a thumb over his bruised knuckles. “That was ill-done of me,” he said. “All it taught him is that I’m bigger than he is, not that he’s wrong.”

  “Mmm. What do you think?”

  “About Andrel?”

  “About her.” Galen jerked his chin toward the distant figure of Clara.

  “I don’t know what I think. This is not a situation that I have ever had to think about. They did not cover shapechanging nuns in basic training. I have no thoughts whatsoever.”

  “Well, you’d better cook up a few quick. You’re the boss.”

  He raised his hands, let them drop. “How about I put you in charge and you tell me what you think?”

  “Not a chance. I’m crazy, remember?”

  “So am I.”

  “Yes, but you hide it well. Anyway, she likes you better.”

  Istvhan cleared his throat. “You know that she and I…ah…we haven’t done anything. I’ve treated her as a sister-in-arms.” A sister-in-arms who I kissed. Which was a mistake. Absolutely a mistake. A mistake for which I was attempting to atone. Until she kissed me.

  As if he hadn’t relived that kiss a hundred times a day. As if he hadn’t spent the last two nights lying awake, knowing that she was right there, only a few feet away. Wondering what would happen if he dragged his blankets next to hers, imagining her body under his, until he was rock hard and aching and not able to do a damn thing about it because, again, she was only a few feet away.

  I should definitely atone for something.

  Stabbing her was probably not the best form of atonement.

  “I know,” said Galen.

  Istvhan raised an eyebrow. Too late it occurred to him that his statement might have been taken as horror or disgust, but Galen’s eyes were level.

  “You don’t look at her like a woman you’re bedding,” said Galen. “I’ve known you for—gods, a decade at least? You get this kind of warm, lazy look. But you look at her like she’s a problem and you haven’t figured out the solution yet.”

  Istvhan grunted. “Well, I’ve certainly figured out that the problem was a lot more complicated than I thought.”

  “You’re telling me. How the hell did they capt
ure a convent full of werebears?”

  Istvhan grunted again, looking over at Clara, who stood by the mules’ heads. She had pulled her robe and his cloak around her shoulders, but her chin was lifted and her back was straight. If her shoulder pained her, she gave no sign.

  Perhaps Istvhan had lived too long, but the very confidence of her pose screamed vulnerability to him. She is frightened. She was not frightened when she sat in front of a stranger’s tent with a sword, but she is frightened now. When she is truly calm, she slouches and makes jokes. He could not shake the feeling that it was all his fault. He wanted to fall to her knees and beg her forgiveness for having attacked her. He wanted to apologize for Andrel. He wanted to apologize for the human men who had hunted her and her sisters.

  “We should push on,” said Galen. “Find a defensible spot.”

  That was a command decision and Istvhan should have been the one to make it, but he appreciated Galen’s tact. “Yes.” He nodded to Brindle. “Are the mules calm?”

  “A mule is a mule,” said the gnole. Brindle jerked his muzzle toward Clara. “A mule was just startled.”

  “Weren’t we all,” muttered Galen.

  Istvhan walked ahead, meeting Clara. She eyed him warily.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not planning on stabbing you again.”

  “Don’t think I’m not grateful.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know.”

  They looked at each other. Then they very carefully did not look at each other.

  “So their leader looks pretty dead,” said Istvhan, who was at the point where a corpse was a welcome break in the tension.

  “He does, yes.”

  “Shall we search the body?”

  “That seems wise.”

  They walked to the fallen rider, not quite together. Their bodies didn’t seem to know how far apart to stand. Istvhan’s nerves screamed that Clara was upset and in pain and needed comfort and his guilt screamed that the only reason she needed comfort was because some idiot with more steel than sense had stabbed her. His cock offered that she still had really impressive breasts and was summarily shouted down by the other body parts.

  Istvhan knelt down. The only thing of interest was the leader’s belt pouch, which had a few coins. He glanced up at Clara. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know whether to offer you the money or not. Would that be insulting?”

  “Probably, but as I’m currently penniless, I’ll take it.” He handed it over.

  “Do humans know where a mule is going?” called Brindle. “Because a gnole would like to know too.”

  “They’ll be back,” said Clara. “Probably not with horses, though. Istvhan—”

  He swallowed hard. He could hear anguish in her voice where he had never heard it before, and guilt gnawed at his gut. But he was a paladin, or had been, and that meant facing things head on. He got to his feet and met her eyes.

  She squared her shoulders. “I want you to know that I couldn’t have saved your men.”

  He blinked at her. “What?”

  “Haller and the others. If I’d turned into a bear.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If I’d gone to the beast during the fight, I’d just have spooked the mules, and your men would have possibly tried to attack me. Close quarters aren’t great for that. So I didn’t change. But if I thought I could have, I would have saved them. Even if it meant...”

  The speech was disjointed, but Istvhan followed well enough. “I never thought you could have. And Haller was on the other side of the wagon from you, anyway.”

  She stared at the ground. It occurred to Istvhan that possibly she was feeling as awkward about the whole situation as he was.

  He hauled the dead man out of the road. Another one for the vultures. At this point, he was surprised they didn’t just camp out on top of the wagon. He gestured to Brindle to walk the mules forward and rejoined Clara in the middle of the road. “We need a defensible position. Again.”

  “Indeed.”

  Fifteen

  It was a little easier once they were moving. If Istvhan was scanning the road for attackers, he wasn’t looking at her. If he wasn’t looking at her, she didn’t have to look in his eyes and see horror and fear and all the other things that normal people carried in their eyes when someone changed into a bear in front of them.

  Brindle had been the easiest. The gnole had looked up at her, very serious, and said “Don’t worry. A mule was only startled, bear-lady. A mule is fine now.” Clara longed for a world where the emotional state of the mules was the most important consideration. It seemed like it would be kinder. (She had a sneaking suspicion that Brindle was doing his best to reassure her that a certain gnole had also only been startled and was fine now, and was touched despite herself.)

  He had also dressed her wound. “A gnole would lick it, but some humans strange about that,” he said. “Not because of bear-lady. Because of some humans.” Which was also touching in its way, although Clara was secretly just as glad to have the cut cleaned with water and not gnole spit.

  “If they can’t use horses, they’ll be slower,” said Istvhan, dragging her attention back. “That’s something.”

  Clara nodded. “And they won’t use arrows. They won’t risk hitting me. Too valuable.” Her lips twisted bitterly. “They’ll come with nets.”

  “The nuns of Saint Ursa,” said Istvhan.

  It wasn’t a question but she answered it like one anyway. “All of us. Yes. It’s why we join. We don’t have a lot of choice.”

  He looked at her and Clara braced herself for disgust. He had not recoiled from touching her, which gave her a shred of hope. Probably he is too busy thanking the good star of his birth that he did not bed a monster that night at the inn.

  She looked away. She did not want to see it. There was a reason everyone went to the convent in the end. It wasn’t just that your parents dragged you, horrified and at their wits’ end, although that was some of it. It was simply that it was easier to be among other women who understood. Who never looked at you with horror or disgust or simply the knowledge of otherness in their eyes.

  “Ha!” said Galen, with sudden explosive force. She jerked her head around, startled, and registered Istvhan doing the same.

  The red-haired man was grinning for the first time since the bandit attack. Grinning and looking at her the same way that he had before, the same mixture of glee and sardonic amusement. “Ha! I see now!” He leveled a finger at her. “That’s how you find the truffles without pigs!”

  Clara blinked.

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  “Galen…” Istvhan began.

  “It’s true,” said Clara. “One of us wakes the beast and sniffs them out.” As a bear, the smell of truffles underground was abundantly obvious, like a cloud of earthy smoke hovering over the forest floor. She found herself beginning to smile despite herself. “It’s easier than keeping a pig. Pigs are the worst.”

  The silence that followed was not quite as fraught as it had been. Istvhan cleared his throat. “So you are born like…?” He made a slight gesture with one hand, meaningless enough but Clara didn’t need an explanation.

  “Yes. We aren’t bitten by bears or anything. If I bite you, nothing will happen.”

  “I saw the size of those teeth, Domina,” said Istvhan. “I wouldn’t call that nothing.”

  “Well, no.” She coughed. “But nothing unusual.” They were all speaking with a sort of desperate lightness. If we can just get over this bit, if we can pretend this is all normal, we can figure out where to go from here.

  Having been here once or twice before, Clara was no stranger to this sort of conversation. She was simply a little surprised that Galen had been the one to get them there.

  He surprised her again a moment later. “Relax, Sister,” he said. “I go screaming berserk at the drop of a hat. You turn into a bear. Honestly, I’m a little relieved that I’m not the strangest one in the room anymore.�
��

  “You’re always the strangest one in the room,” said Istvhan, “no matter what anyone else can turn into.”

  “Pfff.” Galen grinned up at Clara. “So how did they catch you?”

  “Fire,” said Clara. “The fire makes the beast crazy. They don’t understand it. One of the first lessons that gets drilled into us is to never let the bear out when there is fire.” She swallowed at the memory of flames licking the altarcloth. “When we’re frightened, the instinct is to go to the beast. But if you do that during a fire, you die and sometimes you take a lot of people with you. So we are trained not to do that, over and over. And once we had escaped…” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “They had crossbows and reinforced cages. They knew what they were doing, and what manner of beasts they were capturing. The food and water they gave us was drugged, but we had no choice. You do not let the beast get hungry.” She shuddered at the memory of the iron cages on wheels, rattling over the road, bouncing and sliding sideways whenever the wheels jumped the ruts. All the sisters sitting inside, groggy and half-stunned, trying desperately to keep the beasts down.

  None of them wanted to be the one who broke. As soon as one went to the beast, it would go badly for all of them. There was a great deal of human intelligence inside the bear, at least at first, but drugged and trapped, the animal would overpower that intelligence quickly. Then the bear would lash out and everyone’s control would break and the cage would be too small and full of blood and rage and dying.

  “Let me die,” Clara had whispered to her captors. “Let me die outside. Kill me if you must. Don’t let me kill the others.”

  They had been reluctant, but her sickness offended their sensibilities. She had soiled herself when she could no longer drag herself to the hole in the wagon floor. They pulled her from the cell and threw her into the ditch. She lay unmoving while one prodded her with a spear.

  “Dead already?” asked one.

  “Close enough,” said the second one, and spat. Clara heard the wagon rattling away, the sound of voices fading into the distance. Then she had lost consciousness.