No True Way by Mercedes Lackey Page B

had her scent now. She knew beyond all doubt, the demon was sent for her and would not stop until she was dead. Even as she continued to scramble away, throwing whatever came to hand, Sorcha pummeled it, cutting with her hooves.
    :Run, Milla. Run. Get to the Palace. Tell them everything.:
Sorcha’s demand was so commanding that Milla could only obey. Her Companion stopped the demon from following, renewing her attack on the creature, even as its claws sliced her open, her hindquarters more red than white now.
    *   *   *
    Milla ran as hard and as fast as she could, leaving a faint trail of blood behind her. She sprinted through the woods, ignoring her wounded side. She had to get back to the trade road. That was her only hope. Sorcha would meet her there. Eventually. Milla refused to think about her Companion losing the fight with demon.
    But, even as she denied the thought she would not think, she felt Sorcha reach out to her with love and regret.
:I’m sorry Chosen, this is the only way. It’s . . . too strong.:
With that, there was tremendous noise behind her that made her stumble against a tree. She clung to its trunk, the bark digging in, as the forest grew silent around her.
    The silence was also in her mind. Where once Orun had once been . . . and then Sorcha . . . that comfortingpresence of another, there was nothing. Nothing at all. Milla was completely alone for the first time in her life. Tears streamed down her face. She made no sound except to gasp for air. For a long time, Milla stayed like that, not moving or seeing.
    Then she ran.
    The only thing that kept her moving through the pain and the grief was her unspoken promise to Sorcha to live long enough to tell the people at the Palace what she knew. It was her last duty in this unforgiving world. Then she would join her brother and Companion in death. For now, she would keep moving until she could move no more.
    Hours later, she was back on the trade route, walking and holding her injured side. She didn’t look where she was going. Just put one foot in front of the other in time to the beating of her heart and the throbbing of her wound. Milla didn’t realize when her steps faltered, then stopped. She swayed for a moment, already unconscious as she crumpled to the ground.
    *   *   *
    â€œBy the Gods, girl! What happened?”
    The voice was far away, above Milla. Then she was scooped up in strong arms and moved to someplace inside. Vaguely aware that she was lying on something more comfortable than the ground, she opened her eyes.
    Above her, a concerned face with dark eyes hovered. The man had long black hair, a short dark beard, and a small nose. Above him was the canvas roof of a wagon. “Girl?”
    Milla didn’t respond. She just looked around. The wagon appeared to belong to a minstrel who played a lute but also did some tinker’s work. There were smalltools and pots hanging up and a lute case in one corner. The wagon was big enough to have a small stool and workbench in the back. She guessed she was lying on his pallet.
    A sudden flare of pain brought her attention back to the stranger. He had peeled back her bloodsoaked, partly dried shirt to reveal the two long gashes in her side. He sat back on his heels with a whistle. “What happened, girl?”
    Without waiting for an answer, he turned and rummaged in a bag, pulling out needle and thread. Looked at her again, put them back, and pulled out strip of white cloth. “I’m not much of a healer. Maybe I can get you to one so’s you don’t scar too bad.” He began bandaging her with gentle hands.
    The pain was welcome. It meant she was still alive enough to complete her duty. “. . . Milla.”
    â€œHmm?”
    â€œMy name is Milla.”
    â€œGarth.” His fingers worked quickly to bind her. “Where you headed?”
    â€œThe Palace. Haven.”
    One shaggy