Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [225]
Even with a spear in one hand and a torch in the other, Cauvin was no match for six men obeying their master’s orders. Before he knew it, his weapons were gone, there was steel pressed into his throat, more hands than he could count pinning his arms behind his back.
His captors dragged Cauvin to the floating bridge, which was nowhere near wide enough, nor sturdy enough for the lot of them. Cauvin had nothing to lose by writhing in captivity, trying to trip his captors into the stream. He kept his balance long enough to break free and draw the Ilbarsi knife, then he grabbed Leorin and held her—spine against his chest—with the Ilbarsi knife at her throat.
From start to finish, it had been a blind, desperate move, and its success gained Cauvin nothing. There were still six men coming after him, and Leorin was not a willing hostage. She clawed at Cauvin’s forearm and stomped on his foot. If the Hand hadn’t beaten her earlier, she would have gotten loose.
“I’ll give you everything the Torch has given me—” Cauvin shouted to the Whip, who was, at that moment, crossing the stream.
A spearman feinted; Cauvin used Leorin as a shield. She bit down hard on his arm.
“Or what?” the Whip asked patiently. “Cauvin, Cauvin—no cleverer now than you were ten years ago. You have nothing to bargain with. The Mother has decided: She hungers for you, Cauvin. She hungers now.”
The Whip gestured toward the altar. Cauvin dared a glance. Women were lighting the ranks of candles. The Bloody Mother’s carved-rock eyes had begun to glow.
“I’ll kill her. I’ll kill Leorin—Honey.” He tightened his grip while she kicked his knees and elbowed his gut.
“You can’t; you love her.” The Whip walked between the spearmen. He came within easy reach of Leorin and the Ilbarsi knife. “Even if you didn’t, even if you could—we all go to the Mother sooner or later. Don’t we?” He caressed Leorin’s chin. “You made a mistake, and you tried to correct it. Sacrifice will complete your redemption, Honey.”
Leorin reacted to that by holding tight to Cauvin’s arm and ramming both heels into the Whip’s groin. The stunned man folded his arms over his injury and struggled to stay on up his feet. Leorin’s heels caught him a second time on the chin.
Before he could take advantage of his wife’s swift vengeance— Before the Hand could react to their master’s collapse—a steeltipped arrow erupted outward between the Whip’s eyes. Dead on his feet, the bald Hand dropped like stone into the stream. Rushing water swirled away the blood trickling from the wound.
Leorin screamed and went limp in Cauvin’s arms as panic spread among the Hand. A spearman tried to pull the Whip’s body out of the water. As he did a gout of fire sizzled out of nowhere and struck him in the chest. The flames engulfed the man with unnatural speed and continued to burn even when he flung himself into the water. Another gout from another quarter of the cave struck a second spearman, while a third hit one of the unarmed Hand on the altar side of the stream and a fourth enveloped one of the candle-lighting women.
All natural flames winked out. The only light came from the Bloody Mother’s glowing eyes and the four living, wailing torches. Cauvin heard footfalls stumbling over themselves. He relaxed his grip on Leorin; returned the Ilbarsi knife to its sheath.
“We’re saved,” Cauvin said to Leorin. “We can get away.” He offered his hand to his wife.
She grasped it left-handed and let him pull her upright. “It could have been perfect, but you destroyed it. You ruin everything! Even as a boy, you ruined everything. You killed your own mother with your blundering, but you’ll never kill me!”
Leorin slashed across Cauvin’s body with a right hand that had suddenly sprouted steel. He dodged, taking the steel along his forearm before knocking Leorin to the ground, but failed to shake free and she slashed again.
“Damn you!” she sobbed, the light of burning men aglow on her face. “Damn you! Take him, Sweet Mother! Take him now!”
Cauvin didn’t wait to see if the Bloody Mother would