Outside the warding, Tris was dimly aware of Carroway and Soterius shouting for order. He heard Donelan and Kalcen call for their guards. A solid row of soldiers, his own plus the guards from Isencroft and Eastmark, formed a perimeter, their weapons ready.
The beast lunged for Tris, and Tris ducked, but not quickly enough. He felt the beast's claws rake across his back, sending him sprawling. His wounded ankle buckled underneath him, sending sharp pains up his leg. Jonmarc charged, sword raised, and scored a deep gash on the thing's shoulder, only to be swept aside by its powerful forearm. Tris stretched out his power, hoping to snuff out the life force of the beast, but the stench of blood magic made his senses reel. He could feel no glimmer of soul in the magicked creature.
Tris tore the charm from around his neck. "Take this—I've got a plan."
Jonmarc grabbed the chit before he realized what it was. "Not that same damn talisman!"
"You're safe with it—keep him busy."
"Be quick about it!"
Armed with the talisman, Jonmarc gave a battle cry and threw himself toward the beast, hacking in great two-handed blows that would have felled any.natural creature. His vayash moru training served him well; his quick reflexes kept him a hair's breadth away from the thing's talons. The creature's skin barely registered the blows, but it turned away from Tris, with its baleful yellow eyes fixing on Jonmarc as it advanced a step toward him. Jonmarc dodged and ducked, missing the worst of the creature's blows. Its claws raked down his left arm, shredding his silk shirt and digging against the mail beneath.
"Now!"
Jonmarc leapt out of the way as a wave of fire burst from Tris's outstretched hands. Within the warded dome, the beast shrieked as flames enveloped it. Jonmarc threw up an arm to shield himself, as far back against the warding as he could get. When the flames stopped, the beast lay on the floor, its charred skin in tatters. Carefully, Tris rose to his feet, gasping at the pain in his ankle. Jonmarc lowered his arm and took a cautious step forward.
"Is it dead?"
Before Tris could answer, the thing sprang up, launching itself at his throat, its sharp-toothed mouth wide. Tris stumbled backward as his ankle gave out on him. The beast's claws screeched across the chainmail shirt, digging into the mail and drawing Tris closer to its jaws.
With a cry, Jonmarc dived for the thing's back. Jumping astride it, Jonmarc turned his sword point down, driving it into the beast's back with both hands. The beast roared and twisted, but it did not loose its grasp on Tris, who was close enough to smell the stink of its breath.
"Get clear!" he shouted to Jonmarc, who pulled his sword free and threw himself off the beast's back. Dark ichor ran from the gash. The beast staggered but did not fall.
Tris focused his magic on the depths of the thing's body. He sent a wave of flame, not around the beast but within, flame that began in its belly and burned through its torso. The beast screamed, writhing as the flames consumed it from inside. Tris struggled free of its claws just as the fire streaked from its mouth, flames engulfing its huge, misshapen head, its bulbous eyes wide.
Tris's ankle folded under him. He scrambled to get out of the thing's way as it made one last lunge for him, flames tonguing from its maw, its breath heavy with the stench of charred flesh. The teeth snapped just shy of Tris's throat as Jonmarc brought his sword down on the beast's neck. Weakened by the flames that consumed it, the beast's hide yielded to the sharp blade. As Jonmarc bore down with his full strength, the blade tore through, severing the head from the body. Charred, inside and out, the massive body staggered and fell, oozing a vile black ichor that smelled of rotted meat.
Jonmarc took no chances, stabbing the beast repeatedly until he was sure that it would not move again.
When the creature did not stir, Tris let the wardings fall. Soldiers circled the beast, alert for trouble.
"Get that damned thing out of here," Tris ordered, gritting his teeth against the pain. Cam wrapped the body in a tablecloth, hefting it over his shoulder. Another guard followed, holding the beast's head in a makeshift sack. Together, they hurried out of the room.
Jonmarc helped Tris to a chair and Soterius sprinted to join them. Kiara pushed her way through row of guards, her eyes wide, a borrowed sword ready in her grasp.' Jair joined them, still holding the torch. Esme ran to where Tris was sprawled in his chair. Across the room, Carina knelt next to Harrtuck.
"How badly are you hurt?" Esme asked.
"Nothing except that damned ankle. I don't think I'm bleeding."
As Esme began to remove Tris's boot from his injured leg, Jonmarc went to join Carina. Harrtuck lay in a pool of blood, with four deep slashes that went through his shoulder and upper back. Beneath the bloody gashes, Jonmarc glimpsed the white of bone.
"I can't do this alone," Carina said. "I'm losing him. I need your help." Her hands were covered with Harrtuck's blood; he was pale and his breathing ragged.
"I've always been the patient—I don't know how to help."
"Do you trust me?" Carina met Jonmarc's gaze.
"With my life."
"Drop your guard and let me draw strength from you."
Jonmarc hesitated, completely at a loss. If she can read my thoughts as she draws from me, what will she see? So many things in the past I'm not proud of, so much blood on my hands. If she can see where I've been, what I've done, will it change her mind? He looked at Harrtuck. "Take what you need," he said, closing his eyes. Tris and Gabriel told him he had better natural shielding against magic than most mortals. That had come in handy against mages or vayash moru who had tried to sway his thoughts. Now, he struggled to disarm those defenses. He focused on the familiar warmth of Carina's power, the touch he knew well from so many healings.
He gasped and swayed as she began to draw from him, trying to shut out the buzz of the conversation around him, the shouts of the guards and his own heightened senses that still hummed with the energy of battle. Harrtuck must be worse off than I thought. He remembered how Tris and Cam and Carroway had let Carina draw from them when she had done battle healings in the caravan. Carina had told him how many hours Tris and Sakwi had sustained her when he'd been brought back from the Nargi camp more dead than alive. Feeling the steady drain for the first time, he marveled at their resilience, humbled at the cost it had taken to heal him so many times.
He watched as Carina's touch knit together the sinews and skin of Harrtuck's back "more quickly than the most skilled surgeon, closing the gaping wounds until only scars remained. Joined in thought with Carina, he could feel the warmth of her healing. power as she strengthened Harrtuck's life force, bringing back the flickering thread until its glow was solid. Harrtuck was no longer in danger, although he was sure to feel the pain of bruises for days to come.
Jonmarc was unprepared as Carina turned to him, clasping his hand between her own, slick with blood. Thank you. Her voice sounded in his mind, closer than thought. He felt her presence deeper than words, slipping against him more intimately than skin to skin, as if for an instant, their souls were intertwined. Just as quickly, it was gone, and Carina looked away from his questioning gaze. The sensation left him reeling. By the time he gathered himself to speak, Carina had slipped away, wiping her hands on her ruined ball gown, moving toward where the guards and servants clustered to see if anyone needed her skill.
Harrtuck rolled over and groaned. "Careful there," Jonmarc said, making his tone as light as he could. "You came near as a whisper to seeing the Lady."
"Aye," Harrtuck rasped, grimacing as he eased onto his newly healed back. "I thought I heard Her, singing for me in the distance."
"Thank Carina."
"Tris—is he all right?"