Traitor's Moon

knees, one hand pressed to her throat, the other reaching out toward him.
    â€œIt’s all right, my lady, I have him,” Alec assured her.
    Klia shook her head, then crumpled slowly to the ground.
    Fear of a new sort shook him. Forgetting Emiel, he ran to her and gathered her in his arms. Half conscious, Klia writhed weakly against him, her breath coming in shallow, labored gasps. Tipping her head back, he found angry red scratches on her throat.
    â€œKlia, can you hear me? Open your eyes!” Alec steadied her head between his hands. Her face was white, her skin clammy. “What’s wrong? What did he do to you?”
    Klia stared blearily up at him and slurred out, “So cold!”
    He rolled her on her belly and pressed hard on her back, hoping to squeeze any water from her lungs. His efforts produced nothing but a dry, hacking wheeze. When he turned her over again, he found her insensible.
    â€œWhat happened?” Beka yelled, racing down the trail with Nyal and a pack of armed Urgazhi on her heels.
    â€œHe attacked her!” Alec spat out. “He was strangling her or drowning her—I don’t know which. She can hardly draw breath! We’ve got to get her back to Sarikali.”
    â€œRiders, keep the others back!” Braknil ordered, taking in the scene. “We’ve got to get to the horses.”
    â€œKeep who back?” Nazien demanded, arriving with several of his men. “What’s happened?”
    He halted in astonishment, looking first at his kinsman, bloodied and trussed with his own head cloth, then at Klia gasping in Alec’s arms. “Emiel í Moranthi, what have you done?”
    â€œNothing, my uncle. By the Bow of Aura I swear it!” Emiel replied, rising awkwardly to his knees. Blood streamed from his smashed nose, and one eye was already swollen shut. “She paused to drink, then fell. I pulled her from the water, but she was choking. I was trying to help her when this”—he shot Alec a stony look—“this
boy
appeared and attacked me.”
    â€œLiar!” Alec tilted Klia’s head back against his shoulder. “I sawhis hands on her throat. Look for yourselves; you can still see the marks. No fall would stop her breath like this.”
    Nazien stepped closer to inspect Klia, only to be blocked by Beka and Braknil. Other Urgazhi flanked them, blades drawn in warning. Outrage warred with concern in the old Haman’s face for an instant, then he sagged visibly. “Please believe me, my friends, I had no hand in this and will see that no one hinders your return to the city. You’ll find your way faster with a guide. Will you trust me to lead you?”
    â€œAfter this?” Beka exclaimed, standing over the princess. Her tone was menacing, but her freckles stood out starkly against the sudden pallor of her face.
    Klia stirred in Alec’s arms. Opening her eyes, she rasped, “Let him.”
    â€œLet the khirnari lead us?” Beka asked in dismay.
    The princess fixed her with a look that brooked no argument.
    â€œMy lady accepts your pledge,” Beka told Nazien grudgingly.
    â€œWe’re losing time! Someone give me a hand here, damn it,” snapped Alec.
    â€œSergeant, see to the horses. Corporal Kallas, you and Arbelus take charge of the prisoner,” Beka ordered. “Mirn, Steb, you help Alec carry Klia back to the clearing. Someone will have to ride double with her.”
    â€œI will,” said Alec. “Just give me an escort who can keep up.”
    Later Alec would recall little of that long, frantic ride except the flash of Nyal’s sen’gai through the trees ahead of him and the feel of Klia’s struggle for breath as he held her.
    Somewhere behind them, Sergeant Braknil followed with the Haman prisoner under guard, but just now he didn’t care if he saw any of them again, so long as he got Klia back to the city before it was too late.
    He tightened his grip around her, trying to keep her upright without impeding her increasingly labored breathing. Her braid had come loose and the wind whipped her hair against his face. Shifting his hold, he pressed her head to his cheek, supporting her as best he could.
    If Klia died, then everything they’d worked for was lost. Skala would fall, her brave fighters swept aside by the black tide of Plenimar’s soldiers and necromancers—Rhíminee, Watermead, the few places he’d learned to call