From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [127]
She caught sight of Jax’s thick braids two heads above everyone else. He fought near the Temple Dâthos, which was nowhere near the castle’s entrance.
“Come,” Averella linked arms with Gren. “You and I will run for those red doors. These men are so caught up in their battles they will not bother two women. Master Fox, stay close behind. Hopefully no one will see you. Once we are inside, we must climb to the roof before we can enter the watchtower.”
But Averella had barely made five steps before a soft cry stole her attention. A set of watery blue eyes watched her from under a wagon. She crouched beside it, and when her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw a small girl looking back. Rivers of tears streaked the girl’s dirty cheeks.
“Are you hurt, small one?” Averella asked.
“Paw.” The girl glanced behind her.
A man lay on the cobblestone, clutching his arm, eyelids fluttering. He was wounded! Averella waved the girl aside and crawled under.
“My lady, what are you doing?” Gren’s voice followed Averella into the darkness of the wagon’s underbelly.
What was she doing? She blinked at the blood oozing between the man’s fingers. She could not explain how, but she could help this man. More of Vrell Sparrow working her way back? She had just opened her satchel when Gren crawled under the wagon and knelt beside her. “I have to help him. He is cut.” Averella motioned to the blood that had seeped into the mortar cracks in the cobblestones. “To the bone, I suspect.”
She bandaged the man’s arm as quickly as she could, in awe of her own ability and speed. When she finished, she cupped the child’s cheek. “Stay here until the fighting ends. Then be sure he drinks plenty of water. Change the bandage once a day with clean linen.”
“I will.” The girl closed her eyes and bowed. “Thank you, Iamos.”
Gren giggled. Averella rolled her eyes, wanting to correct the child. Iamos was the pagan goddess of healing. Averella did not believe in such things, but it did seem as though Arman had risen up inside her and performed a miracle, restoring this part of her memory.
An explosion of rock distracted her thoughts. Averella peeked out from under the wagon to see part of the northeastern parapet crumble. Huge chunks of rock crashed on the cobblestone.
“Come, my lady.” Noam extended a hand and helped Averella to her feet. He darted around two fallen men who lay head to toe and ran toward the keep. But Averella stopped at the men. The first man lay at her feet, his black cape draped over his face. Beside him, a red cape twisted around the torso of the second man.
Averella knelt at the side of the man in black.
“Please, my lady.” Noam ran back. “We do not have time to help the wounded. And that man is clearly dead.”
“You didn’t bother to help the enemy before,” Gren said.
Still Averella unlatched his black breastplate and lifted the top half off. Despite Noam’s pronouncement, the man’s chest moved. She found the wound in his chest, far too deep for her to be of any use.
The man beside him in the red cape groaned. Averella looked him over and found him without a thumb. Blood glubbed from the laceration onto the cobblestone like a bottle of wine tipped on its side.
Averella ran around to his side and pressed her palm over the other man’s wound, holding his hand in both of hers. “Some linen, quickly, and some water.”
Noam and Gren scrambled to obey.
“Noam, when I release him, pour water over the wound. Gren, be ready with the linen.”
Averella removed her hand. Noam poured the water. Averella wiped her palm off on the man’s cloak, then took the end of the strip of linen Gren held out. “Stop, Noam.”
Noam pulled the jug away. Averella quickly wrapped the man’s hand until it resembled a snowball. She set it atop his chest, thumb side up, and used another piece of linen to tie it there and keep it higher than the rest of his body.
An arrow struck the cobblestone a breath from Gren’s knees and skittered over the man’s body.
“Gren, here, put this on.” Noam held out the front of the black knight’s breastplate.