Free her instruments 02 - rose point by m c a hogarth Page B

bodies scattered around the tent. She lifted her head and scanned the camp: no movement there either. Maybe Ra’aila was right and they were chasing Hirianthial down. But if that was so, why had the woman gone into the tent? Why hadn’t she left yet? And why did Reese feel like she was supposed to be here ?
    Keeping low she made her way to the back of the purple tent. She listened and heard nothing, not outside, not inside. Going around the front seemed a recipe for trouble, so she felt around the bottom of the wall. It was too taut to slide under, but Sascha had suggested, a little too casually, that she start carrying a “utility knife,” when what he’d really meant was “a weapon.” She’d brushed off his concerns and then found herself something she could keep in her boot. It sliced her an entrance and she slipped inside... and halted abruptly, her breath stopping in her throat.
    “No, no,” she said. “No...” She dove for the pile of bodies, shoving the woman off first. “You can’t be dead, you’ve lived too long to die, you are not allowed to be dead!” The man on top of him was heavier... and stiffer. She didn’t realize until she’d pushed him off the Eldritch’s back that he was almost certainly dead and then she shuddered. No time for collywobbles—shoving her hair out of her face with her forearm, she bent close. “Hirianthial...! Hirianthial?” No response. She bit her lip, then resolutely set her palm on his naked shoulder.
    He jerked away, eyes opening, and the panic in them—”No, no, it’s me!” she cried, holding out a hand. “Sssh, ssh. I’m here to get you out of here.”
    “Theresa... Captain...” His breathing was disordered, and it made her heart stumble, that moment of confusion where he couldn’t decide whether what he needed was intimacy or distance.
    “It’s all right,” she said, willing him to feel her resolve, to be steadied by her calm. Hopefully this esper business could be useful that way? It seemed damned inconvenient otherwise. “We’re getting out of here, right now. Can you get up?”
    “I... I think,” he said, hoarse. “Rib fractures. Can’t move...”
    “Probably these ropes,” Reese said, finding his hands at his back. She hesitated only a moment at the sight of his injuries, squared her shoulders and started cutting through his bonds. “There. Can you feel them?”
    “No,” he admitted. “They... dosed me several times. One of them...” He trailed off and looked at her, his pupils too small in his wine-colored eyes. “How many dead?”
    “How many... you mean outside?” Reese sat back, glanced at the woman. “I don’t know. They might be unconscious, like her. Speaking of which...” She plucked up the ropes and applied herself to securing the prisoner. She had just finished the feet when Hirianthial said behind her, “Gag. On the ground... at the edge of the rug.”
    “Thanks.” Reese tied it in place, trying not to think too hard about what she was doing. Sascha would have made a joke about this; imagining it helped her finish the job. Then she started hunting through the tent for something to wrap around the Eldritch, who was going into shock, she thought. Keep things brisk. Keep them moving. “If it’s all right with you, I can rub your feet and arms until you can feel them? I can’t carry you and we have got to get out of here.”
    No response. She could hear him breathing, and it was a shaky, strained sound. She let him be and considered the wooden chest. If Irine was here... but she wasn’t. Frowning, Reese leaned forward and fingered the lock, testing its weight.
    It opened. She stared at it for a moment, then bit back an inappropriate laugh and flung the lid up. Clothes mostly too small for the Eldritch, but the robe might work. And there was at least one sash that could be improvised into underwear—that worked in books, so surely it would work in real life? She gathered them into her arms and turned... and dropped