Page 33 of Death's Mistress (Sister of Darkness: The Nicci Chronicles 1)

But in a malicious twist, the healing magic fought back, recoiled, and did exactly the opposite of what he wanted. Instead of sealing the bleeding wound, the magic ricocheted and rebounded, becoming a monster that destroyed rather than repaired.

Magic flowed out of Nathan as he pressed down with his hands to stop the blood. The vengeful backlash erupted—ripping the spear wound into a huge gash, splintering the man’s ribs, and turning him inside out. His heart and lungs spilled out in a horrific explosion of blood and tissue. The man didn’t even have time to scream, but lay back arching his neck, then collapsed.

Nathan stared in revulsion and disbelief down at his blood-drenched hands. He had felt the magic. He had tried to heal the poor victim … but instead of just dying peacefully, the man had been split open like an overripe fruit. Nathan had done that! The victim would have died anyway, but not like this!

Nathan staggered back, opening and closing his mouth, but he had no words. He thought he had lost his magic, but this was worse than merely being impotent. The gift had turned against him. If his ability did come back to him, what if he couldn’t control it?

He stared in dismay at the appalling, mangled corpse, sure that a crowd would gather to accuse him of a terrible crime. He wondered if even on her worst days as Death’s Mistress, Nicci had done such an awful thing.

When he looked up, he met Bannon’s glassy gaze. The young man seemed so filled with horror at the events of the night that this new instance had very little effect on him.

Bile rose in the wizard’s throat, and he turned away, his shoulders slumped. He didn’t want Nicci to see this either, though perhaps she could help him understand what had happened. How could his gift have turned so violently against him? For now, even if he sensed magic returning to him, he didn’t dare use it. He might cause an even worse disaster.

Another astonishing realization came to him. What if he had decided to hurl a ball of wizard’s fire at one of the Norukai ships during the battle, and it recoiled on him instead? If the furious white-hot flames had struck back, they could have wiped out half the town of Renda Bay.

Nathan groaned deep in his throat and lurched away from the people who were busy bandaging and tending the injured, splinting broken bones, propping up wounded heads on rolled cloths. He felt ashamed and afraid.

He was dangerous.

Instead, he picked up a bucket and joined the firefighting crews to help extinguish the last blazes that still spread through the town. In that, at least, he could cause little damage.

CHAPTER 25

The fires in Renda Bay burned until morning, and afterward smoke continued to curl into the gray sky, staining the dawn. Houses and boat sheds still smoldered, some charred all the way to blackened mismatched skeletons. A group of fishermen had salvaged six boats from the ruined docks, while throughout the town numb-looking people assessed the damage, talking in subdued voices.

Nicci reflected on the previous day’s easy activity, the relaxed conversations among neighbors, the quaint town activities, the small but busy market square—a way of life now struck down by swords, fire, and blood from the raid.

Seemingly in a stupor, Bannon sat recovering on a splintered wooden bench next to an overturned gutting trough. Silver fish scales spangled the wood of the trough like miniature coins in the morning light. He gripped Sturdy’s leather-wrapped hilt with both hands, as if drawing on its strength. His shirt was torn and stained with soot and blood.

As she stepped up to him, Nicci noted at least five deep cuts on his arms, across his back, on his shoulder. The young cabbage farmer looked engrossed in thought, refighting his battles. He had aged greatly.

Though Nicci was exhausted from expending so much magic during the battle and treating the grievously wounded afterward, she found enough strength to heal Bannon’s cuts and wounds. He didn’t even seem aware of them.

Nathan came up to them with haunted eyes, his long white hair and his borrowed shirt matted with clumps of gore. Dried blood caked his hands.

When Bannon looked up at his mentor, his face showed little recognition. The wizard said in a soft voice, “You fought like an unbelievable warrior last night, as if someone worked a rampaging spell on you—but I know that was no spell.”

The young man’s face was drawn and pale. “Slavers were attacking the village. I had to fight. What else could I do?”

“You did well enough,” Nicci acknowledged. “You fought even harder than you did against the selka.”

“These were slavers,” he said, as if that were explanation enough. With an obvious effort, Bannon struggled to compose himself and even managed a false, horrid-looking smile. “It’s what I was supposed to do. I hated the thought of all of these people being hurt … and enslaved. They … they had a very nice life here in Renda Bay, and I didn’t want it ruined.”

Nicci glanced at Nathan, who wore a skeptical frown. Neither of them believed Bannon’s explanation. Nicci said, “That is an acceptable answer, but it’s not the complete one. Tell me the truth.”

His expression filled with alarm. “I—I can’t. It’s a secret.”

She knew it was time to be stern, to push him in a way that would make him respond. His wounds were far deeper than the obvious ones, and they might become either tough scars or dangerously unstable fractures. Her assessment of him had changed in the past week, and she suspected there was more than the naive, careless country boy. She needed to find out.

Grasping Bannon’s shirt, she pulled him to his feet and pressed her face close to his so she could capture his attention with her searing blue eyes. “I don’t want your secrets for the sake of titillation, Bannon Farmer. I ask because I need to know the answer. You travel as my companion, and therefore your actions might affect my own mission. Are you unreliable? Are you a hazard to me and what I must accomplish for Lord Rahl?” She softened her voice. “Or are you just a brave, but reckless fighter?”

Swaying, Bannon looked at the sorceress and then at Nathan with a beseeching expression. He tore his gaze away to stare out at the burned wreck of the nearest Norukai vessel, which was half sunk in the calm bay. Nicci suddenly remembered how oddly the young man had also behaved when they camped near the much older hulk of a wrecked serpent ship.

“You’ve seen those ships before,” she whispered. “You know about the Norukai.”

Finally, he said, “It’s because of Ian … my friend Ian. The slavers…” He sucked in a long, deep breath. His hazel eyes were bloodshot from the fires and smoke, as well as his own convulsive weeping. His eyes held much deeper secrets, a clear and colorful childhood memory being stripped away to reveal the raw bones of truth.

Hauling out his words like a man surrendering precious keepsakes to a moneylender, Bannon told his tale. “Ian and I were boyhood friends on Chiriya Island. We would run down to the shore or race each other across the windswept grasses. One time, we walked all the way around the island—it took us a full day. That was our whole world.

“As boys, we pulled weeds in the fields and helped harvest the cabbage heads, but we also had time to ourselves. Ian and I had a special cove on the far side of the island, where we would explore the tide pools. Most of the time we just played. We were best friends, both the same age, thirteen summers old that year … the last year.”

His voice grew raspy and hard. “One morning, Ian and I got up early because we knew it was a low tide. We went to our special cove, climbing down the sandstone cliffs, finding footholds like only boys can. We had empty sacks stuffed in our belts because we knew we would bring home a good haul of shellfish and crabs for the dinner pot. Mostly we enjoyed the peace of each other’s company, instead of being back in our own homes … which weren’t very peaceful.” His voice turned sour.

Nicci said, “You always described your island home as idyllic and perfect, but dull.”

He turned his bleak, empty eyes toward her. “Nothing is perfect, Sorceress. Shouldn’t you be telling me that?” He shook his head and

stared out at the still-smoldering Norukai ship.

“That day Ian and I were preoccupied with the tide pools, watching hermit crabs scuttle among the sea anemones, the little fish that had been trapped there until the next high tide. We didn’t see the slavers’ boat coming around the point. The six Norukai spotted us, rowed in, then splashed onto shore. Before Ian and I knew it, we were surrounded.

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