Free The Irda by Linda P. Baker

bite into the thick covering on S’rk’s back. He rolled and came to his feet, eyes clenched with pain.
    R’ksis met their assailants alone, protecting S’rk with her body. She stumbled backward, avoiding a sword thrust, would have fallen but for S’rk. His hands were trembling. She could smell the sharp odor of disr blood.
    “Run, youngest! Run far!” She pushed him, just as the male Ogre swung. The blade, wicked and gleaming, missed her, missed S’rk. Then, incredibly, reversed its direction, slicing back. The edge, as sharp as disr claws, bit into S’rk’s throat. The youngest one gurgled, gazed up at her as he fell.
    Just as she saw the life dim in S’rk’s eyes, she heard G’hes’s death cry, saw him fall, clutching at his chest. Before the Ogres could attack again, she screamed a wordless warning of retreat to those of her pack still standing. Then she blended into the forest, so quickly that the Ogres couldn’t respond.

----

    Topsy turvy, the sky tilted, trees growing sideways.
    Khallayne saw Jyrbian battling a nightmare, a thing with armor plates on its rubbery, four-legged body, with eyes as red as Lunitari. It reared up on its hind legs and stood as an Ogre, met him with hissing and clicking, like a beetle.
    Jyrbian swung with his sword. Blood, as red and thick as any Ogre’s, spurted from the creature’s neck. It choked and crumpled. Another creature, standing near Tenaj, darted a panicked glance about, then melted back into the forest.
    The sky tilted sickeningly again. Khallayne remembered no more.
    She woke with dirt clogging her nostrils and the smell of something rotten mixed with her own blood. The hands that were turning her over were not gentle, and pain throbbed dully in her shoulder, thigh, and arms. Voices, warped and only vaguely recognizable, filtered through to her mind.
    “Careful.”
    “How bad is it?”
    “Don’t touch the slime around the bites! It’s poisonous.”
    ‘Tenaj, Levin, stand guard.”
    “We need to get moving. There may be more.”
    This voice she recognized as Briah’s, and she struggled to sit up. But hands held her down.
    “How bad?” another voice insisted again.
    “Can you heal her?”
    “Yes.” The hands probed the wound on her thigh, sending bursts of pain like glass shards rocketing up her leg. “But there will be a price.”
    She gasped aloud with pain.
    “Do you understand, Khallayne? Do you agree? There is always a price from the gods for a healing.”
    At last, she knew the voice, knew the hands. She opened her eyes and stared into the face of Lyrralt.
    “I can heal you if Hiddukel grants it, but there will be a price. Sooner or later, he will ask something of you and you will have to give it. Do you understand?”
    “Just do it, Lyrralt!” Jyrbian snapped. “Do you think she has any choice?”
    Now Jyrbian’s face, shining with sweat, eyes glazed, exhilarated with battle lust, came into view. “That thing ripped her leg open almost to the bone. If she doesn’t bleed to death, the disr poison will kill her. Get on with it.”
    Khallayne caught the sleeve of Lyrralt’s tunic, remembering the feel of the runes on his skin. To whom would the price have to be paid? “I agree.”
    He laid his hands on her and raised his eyes to the sky, lips moving. He twitched. His fingers tightened, then relaxed.
    The pain surged, worse than anything she’d ever dreamed. As she opened her mouth to scream, she felt her flesh ripple, join, torn edge against torn edge, and begin to knit.

CHAPTER FIVE
Passing of the Gift

    The estate of Lord Igraine, called Khalever, after bis daughter, was different from any Jyrbian had ever seen.
    “What is it? Do you feel it?” he murmured to Khal-layne, who rode behind him, her arms linked around his waist.
    The creature in the forest had killed her horse, and since no one had wanted to turn back, they had been taking turns riding double.
    Khallayne shook her head. “I don’t know.” Peace, quiet, contentment