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the ease of long practice. “I shall scout our visitors. Do not leave. I shall bring them here if it is safe. If not—”
    “They come here for help. Don’t interfere. ’Tis what I do.”
    His face was a cold mask. “I can allow no harm to you.”
    That’s all I need. One kiss did not give him the right to order her about. She wasn’t one of those weak-willed village women. She was not. She’d fought too hard for her independence from such male dominance. “Just go.”
    He was gone in the next breath with the white mare alongside. Part of her soul left with him—she felt a strange pull at her heart. Frowning, Dara rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She’d a bad feeling about the newcomers. Injuries from violence were a poisonous vapor on her spirit. The weight of all that need pulled her down. There’d been no recovery time. She must rest, soon.
    She glanced outside. Bright and sunny, warm for harvest time. Not the type of day some ominous portent showed. She sense-cast again to the south. Loren’s glowing light of Other snuffed out at her touch like a candle at bedtime. When she tried again, there was no Loren, no mare, no gap in the world. Just the expected—woods, birds, insects, small animals. Hide from a magic search? What a handy ability for a warrior.
    The newcomers had no such ability. One, male, hurt but coping. The other, female, broken and bloody. She willed them to hurry. The female’s blood darkened, slowed. Much longer, there’d be no cause to come at all. The irony was not lost on Dara. A full-scale battle sent everything into hiding. A single dying human female troubled the morning sun-dappled autumn woods not at all.
    They appeared within the hour. Hani`ena bore a big rawboned man with a ruined face and a bloody wreck of an old woman cradled in his arms. Loren stood watch with a drawn sword at the mare’s shoulder, but sheathed the blade as Hani`ena halted and her new rider handed the woman off to the elven warrior.
    “Lady healer,” the stranger gasped. “I come from Safehold. What’s left of it.” No sign of pain showed in his carriage as he slid to the ground, but ’twas a miracle he’d carried his burden so far. Hani`ena stood like a rock while he found his balance.
    Dara blanched. He’d been blinded; judging by the ravaged skin, either by hot metal or coals. How had he managed to make it through the woods so far, wounded himself and bearing another? She searched his face as she helped him into the hut and one of the chairs at the table. His name escaped her. “Who—”
    “Auger Xavier, Moira’s seer.” He fell into the chair.
    A seer. Well, that explained it. He’d compensated for his stolen vision with sight.
    She glanced at the woman as Loren swept past her and laid the old woman on the bed. “Mag.” The last time she’d seen Moira’s old nurse and chief lady’s maid, Dara had given her a jar of blended hotroot oil and beeswax for her painful twisted joints. The old woman’s breath gurgled in her chest, and blood frothed at the corners of her pinched mouth. Marks of torture were unmistakable: open burns, the crunch of broken bones. That Mag breathed at all bespoke the old woman’s tenacity. Dara fought nausea as she sent her healing self into Mag’s broken body. That someone could do this to a harmless old woman…
    The damage was irreversible. Dara returned to the here-and-now, lunging out of the hut door in time to vomit. When she returned, Loren was giving Xavier a cup of water. Loren’s eyes met her gaze with concern. She shook her head and poured some water for herself. Tears stung. “I’m sorry, Xavier, there’s naught I can do.” She cursed the quaver in her voice, the trembling in her hands. Later, she’d mourn. Now was the time to be strong.
    “I couldn’t leave her to those bastards.” Xavier shuddered. “I wanted her to die among friends and be sent off with the Lady Goddess’ blessings.”
    Loren’s eyebrows rose. “I had no idea so