Arrow's Fall by Mercedes Lackey Page B

bastards we’ve heard of, but it’s by far and away the worst. It’s obvious to me that there is no way we can expect you folk to handle brigands as organized as these are. Lord Marshal, and good sir, if you’ll come with me we’ll mobilize a company of the Guard.” She looked inquiringly at the rest of the Council.
    Lady Cathan spoke for all of them. “Whatever is needed, Highness. You and the Lord Marshal are the best judge of what that is. We’ll stand surely for it.”
    Talia nodded, with all the other Councillors. What Selenay had told the man was true; for the past few months there had been tales of bandits growing organized in Gyrefalcon’s Marches. Sporadic raids had occurred before this—but never had the brigands dared to put an entire town to the sword! It was obviously more than local militia could handle; the entire Council was agreed on that.
    Talia slipped away then, knowing with certainty that Selenay did not need her at the moment, and that another most definitely did. The tug at her was unmistakable. She opened the door to the Council chamber just enough to slip through—and once she was out into the cool, dark hallway, broke into a run.
    She ran out through the old Palace and passed the double doors of Herald’s Collegium—then down the echoing main hall, heading for the side door and for Healer’s. She felt the pull of a soul in agony as clearly as if she were being called by voice. She all but collided with Devan, who was on his way to look for her.
    “I might have known you’d know,” he said gratefully, hitching up his green robes so that he could run with her. “Talia, she’s fighting us, and we can’t get past her shielding to do even the simplest painblocks. She blames herself for Christa, and all she wants to do now is die. Rynee can’t do anything with her.”
    “That’s what I thought; Lord and Lady, the guilt is so thick I can almost see it. Well, let’s see if I can get through to her.”
    They had accomplished a certain amount of Healing at the site of the battle, while Destria was still unconscious; enough to enable moving her safely. She still was a most unpretty sight, lying on a special pad in one of the rooms reserved for burn patients. The room itself was bare stone; scrubbed spotless twice a day when unoccupied, and not so much as a speck of dust was ever allowed to settle there. The one window was sealed tight so that nothing could blow in. Everything that was brought in was removed as soon as it was no longer needed, and scalded.
    It was a tribute to the onsite Healers that Destria was still among the living. The last person Talia had seen with burns like hers had been Vostel, who had taken the full fury of an angry firebird on his fragile flesh. Where her burns had been relatively light—though the skin was red, puffed, and blistering—she was unbandaged. But her arms and hands were wrapped in special poultices of herbs and the thinnest and most fragile of tanned rabbit and calfskin, and Talia knew that beneath those bandages the skin was gone, and the flesh left raw. They had laid her on a pallet of lambskin, tanned with the wool on; the fibers would cushion her burned skin and prevent too much pressure from being exerted on it. Talia knelt at the head of the pallet and rested both her hands on Destria’s forehead. Destria’s face and head were the only portions of her that were relatively untouched. As Talia reached into the whirlwind of pain, delirium, and guilt with her Gift, she knew that this was likely to be the hardest such fight she’d ever faced.
    * * * *
    Guilt, black and full of despair, surrounded Talia from all directions. Pain, physical and mental, lanced through the guilt like red lightning. Talia knew her first priority was to find out why the guilt existed in the first place, and where it was coming from—
    That was easy enough; she simply lowered her shielding a fraction more, and let herself be drawn in where the negative emotions were