Page 30 of Blood Fist

DIVINE INTERVENTION MADE ME DO IT

The smell of old blood and sour wounds permeated the small room. It was cloying, clawing its way down his throat until he could taste it. Fighting the urge to gag, to run from the tent and breathe in the fresh air, he stood tall.

Ridan spent so much of his life picturing the moments preceding this. When he would raise his sword in defense of his people, when he would shoulder the burdens of his clan and come through victorious. It haunted him in his sleep. Fingers twitching as his muscles continued to train even as his mind begged for rest.

But this he had never prepared for. Which, in hindsight, was foolish. There wasn’t a seasoned warrior alive who didn’t bear scars. Who didn’t have stories where they thought the final blow was coming for them?

Battles were glorious. This was just…

Ridan supposed death wasn’t always worth writing songs about.

Dried blood tugged on his skin. He’d been tasting copper for hours now, and he had no idea if the woundwas still bleeding, or if clots had caught between his teeth. Was it blood loss that made him so dizzy or the sight before him? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Arms crossed to hide their trembling, he watched as Iylah and Sehleh did their best to treat his mother’s wounds. She was conscious now, teeth digging into a strap of leather as the healer worked to clean and stitch her wounds. She was deathly pale, scars a sharp contrast to the pallid flesh that looked to be no more alive than the bodies rotting on the field.

Sehleh had been out with the rest of the non-combative clan members. They’d holed up in a valley just beyond the clan, ready to flee if the battle didn’t go their way. She’d only just returned, holding back tears as she helped the exhausted healer keep their chief alive.

Ridan knew healing enough to know that his mother would not come out of this whole—if she survived at all. Her breathing was quick, blonde lashes heavy with dirt and blood, fluttering as she tried to remain conscious.

After he killed Bargrave, Osmond managed to get their chief off the field. How, Ridan didn’t know. He couldn’t see anything but the opponent in front of him, eyes tracking blades like he’d trained for his whole life.

It hadn’t been enough. There was no amount of practice that could prepare him for the feel of his sword sinking into a man’s chest. Even a man like Bargrave. He knew his sword was sharp. His father kept it pristine, but to see it—the blood, the crunch of bone breaking, the sucking sound of blood seeping into failing lungs…

Nausea coiled in his belly, and he bit back a retch.

“If you’re going to be sick, do it outside, boy,” Iylah snapped, never taking her eyes off her work.

“I’m not,” he denied through gritted teeth.

Sehleh looked up at him, her eyes dark. “Ridan, maybe you should step out. You don’t need to see?—”

“Let him stay,” Restrina choked out from around the leather between her teeth. “Heneedsto see.”

She wasn’t looking at him, staring steadfastly at the ceiling of their tent. They’d put her on the table, flaps closed, to try and keep the curious out. He knew there would be a crowd gathered outside. The worry was palpable. Even as they cleared the battlefield of the dead and tended to the wounded, they had one eye on the closed tent flaps.

Iylah finished her last stitch, sitting back with a sigh. Grey hair stuck to her sweaty skin. She was covered in blood and gore. Muttering under her breath, she left to get a healing poultice.

Restrina spit the gag out and took a shaky breath. Without lifting her arm, she twitched her fingers towards her son. “Ridan, come here.”

He obeyed without hesitation, stepping up closer to her head so she could see him. Her eyes bore into his. He knew those eyes. They were capable of so much. He remembered them filled with tears when she finally allowed herself to break down over the loss of her mate. Remembered them crinkled in laughter when he finally managed to tackle her, pinning her to the ground after a lifetime of losing. Eyes so sharp, he was convinced his mother could see through mountains.

“What were you thinking?” her voice was low, hoarse.

“I—”

“You were told,ordered,to stay off that battlefield.”

He dropped his head, ready for his scolding. He’d had so many. But this felt different. All those other times, he deserved it. They were for things he knew he shouldn’t do—skipping his classes or putting a frog in Jonen’s boots.

“I was,” he admitted, meeting his mother’s stare. “And I’m not sorry I did it.”

“You could have been killed!”

“So could you! So could Osmond! Or Henroen! You didn’t keep them from the field,” he shouted, ignoring the way Sehleh flinched.

“Because they are seasoned warriors. They were best suited for the position I put them in. You,” she lifted her hand, grabbing Ridan’s in a vice grip. “You are too young, Ridan. You don’t have the experience to be out there.”

“Obviously I do!” he didn’t yank his hand free, enjoying the strength he felt in his mother’s fingers. “I killed Bargrave with father’s sword!”