Page 90 of Nightbane
He looked down at the pile of ashes that had once been his weapon. They mixed with the snow, then blew away in a flurry. The warriors at his sides spoke to each other in low voices. Their eyes were wide. They looked stunned.
“A Wildling who is also Nightshade,” the man in front of her said, his tone completely different than before ... almost reverent. He seemed to turn the words around in his mind before he reached for another weapon—a sword this time—and held it high in the air.
Isla might have been afraid that he would try to behead her, but she knew the positioning of his sword. She raised her own, and the swords clanked together loudly—a warrior’s handshake.
“Singrid,” he said, sheathing his weapon.
Isla shot a look at Enya, who shrugged.
“You ... you will fight with us?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. We will fight withyou.”
Isla should have celebrated, or left while she was ahead, but she didn’t understand. “You ... you tried to kill me. Just moments ago.”
Did her being Wildling and Nightshade really mean that much?
“Apologies,” he said, looking like he truly meant it. “I should have known. You survived an arrow to the heart ... we have stories about people like you. Those who stand on the line between life and death.”
Isla shifted in the snow. If only he knew that she had seen her own demise.
She wasn’t about to tell him that. Instead, she said, “How many of you are there?”
Their numbers didn’t seem significant the last time she had encountered them, but she hadn’t seen their base or full population.
“Hundreds,” he said, and hope swelled. “Most cannot fight, however.”
Hope withered. “Why?”
“They have a sickness,” he said. “The last few decades, it has spread. Incapacitated most of us.”
A sickness? Isla almost asked why they hadn’t seen a healer, but she stopped herself. No Moonling would ever treat part of the Vinderland. They were known for their viciousness and appetite for human flesh.
“What if we could heal them?” Isla asked.
She felt Enya staring at her.
Singrid took a step forward. “You have a healer?”
“Yes,” she said, avoiding Enya’s look. “If they could recover in time ... could they fight?”
Singrid nodded. “We are all trained.”
Good. “I’ll be back, then,” she said. She raised her sword and clashed it with a weapon from every one of the Vinderland in front of her.
She had a legion, she thought. If she could just find a way to heal them.
“Please tell me you can help,” Isla said to Calder. The Moonling frowned as she told him about the sickness. “You ... youarea healer, right?”
He gave a weak smile.
“The worst,” Zed said. “He’s theworsthealer.”
Enya shot him a look. She turned to Calder. “We know you’re not the best ... but you’re who we have. And Isla here might have exaggerated your skill set.”
She had a thought. “Oro’s a healer, isn’t he?” He had healed her injuries before, during the Centennial.
Enya moved her hand back and forth in front of her. “He can heal physical wounds, but only straightforward ones. As far as I’m aware, he’s never tried sicknesses.” She looked at Calder again. “You have, though, Cal. Right?”
