The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [220]
And then, in the span of a heartbeat, the sound was gone.
She felt someone at her shoulder. It was the younger of the two remaining streltsi, holding a cherkesska for her to wear over her naked form. She took it gladly. Even had she a bonded spirit, she was in no state to summon even a meager amount of warmth.
She waved to the sotnik. “We must go to the keep. Quickly.”
The sotnik paused only to retrieve a musket and to load it with ammunition retrieved from the dead. His two streltsi did likewise, and then they were off, moving as quickly as they could toward the keep.
Off to the northwest, four large ships of the Grand Duchy had moved in and were holding position. Nearly a dozen skiffs were launched, each bearing a score of soldiers, but before they could move more than a dozen yards, they were blown back by a fierce wind.
Rehada shaded her eyes and stared southward. This was the Aramahn’s doing. They would not allow the Landed to approach the keep—not while things were still tenuous.
Dozens upon dozens of Aramahn skiffs were now heading toward their position. Without speaking, Rehada and Ashan and the soldiers picked up their pace—they were all eager to reach the keep’s interior before the Aramahn could do anything to prevent it.
Inside, the fallen lay everywhere. Grigory’s men stood just inside the gates. The Maharraht were atop the wall and at the base of it. Some were clearly dead, but many were alive—lying down, eyes closed, breathing shallowly.
“Check them,” Ashan said to the sotnik.
The sotnik pointed for his men to check the Maharraht upon the wall. As they moved to obey, Rehada saw the sotnik pause and level a severe expression on Nasim. He seemed angry, this man, but in the end Rehada wrote it off as curiosity over the boy who had been at the center of this raging storm.
She gave it little thought as she moved toward the spire, where Nasim lay. Nasim watched her approach, but he said nothing. She might have thought he was still in the state he’d always seemed to be in, but she knew better. His expression of pain—a nearly constant companion—had been replaced with a look of serenity. It looked strange upon him, though she was glad that he had somehow—even if it lasted only for a short time—found peace.
Ashan looked down upon Nasim, and then to Soroush and Bersuq, who lay next to one another. Ashan seemed confused as he studied them, perhaps wondering what had come to pass within these walls.
“Rehada?”
She turned.
And her breath caught.
For long moments, she could only stare. Nikandr was standing in a doorway leading into the keep proper.
“How?” she asked.
He did not answer. He merely strode forward and took her into a deep embrace. It was warm, and tender, and though she felt many eyes upon them, she did nothing to stop it.
Finally she pulled away, though it was with great reluctance. She walked with him back toward the spire and kneeled to get a closer look at Nasim. She brushed a stray lock of hair away from his eyes. “Are you here with us?”
Nasim studied her intently with his bright brown eyes. “Atiana lies upon the beach.” He turned to look at Nikandr. “There is time yet to save her.”
Nikandr smiled and nodded. “We will, Nasim.”
And then Rehada heard a click.
She spun toward the gates and found the sotnik sighting along the length of his musket. For a split second she thought he was aiming at her.
But then she understood.
She began moving, already knowing it would be too late. He had all the time in the world.
She fell across Nasim as the gun roared. She felt something bite the small of her back. It burned bright white and she spasmed while holding tight to Nasim.
“Neh!” Nasim shouted as Nikandr screamed in rage.
Another musket was fired. Was it right above her? She could no longer tell.
Her thigh felt warm. It had been so cold for so long she didn’t realize how badly it would tingle. She felt it along her shin as well, and then the