The little bit of wooded ground they’d camped beside the night before was gone, and they were settled in a rocky flat area with the bright sun beating on them from a clear blue sky. How much time had passed? Not much. Maybe a couple of hours. They couldn’t have traveled that far from their camp. With Eno and Vale tracking them, it couldn’t possibly take that long for them to be discovered.
Another of his captors approached, dragging Drayce by the arms. His friend was dumped in a heap on Caelan’s right and the bag was ripped off, leaving Drayce sputtering and blinking. Other than a darkening bruise on his jaw, his companion looked okay.
“Drayce,” Caelan breathed in relief. He wanted to reach for him but his hands were still tied behind his back, the rough rope cutting into his wrists.
“Cael!” Drayce gasped. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He scooted on his knees, trying to turn his body toward Caelan.
“I’m fine. Rayne? Where’s Rayne?”
As if summoned, Rayne’s long, limp body was dropped on the opposite side of the fire. Caelan’s heart stopped when they ripped the black cloth bag from his head to reveal a wide swath of blood that stretched from his skull and ran down his temple and jaw. He didn’t stir despite his rough treatment.
“Rayne! Rayne!” Caelan screamed, lunging up to his knees. Beside him, Drayce joined in his shouts, but one of their captors stomped over, smacking them and shoving them onto their asses. A man with a weathered face and grizzled beard shouted at them, but he couldn’t understand a word of it. The idiots had taken out the one person who could act as their translator. The best Calean could do for now was mutely glare at him until the bastard finally threw up his hands and stormed off.
Caelan pulled at the ropes binding his wrists, gritting his teeth against the pain shooting down his fingers as he continued to rub his flesh raw. His skin was growing sticky, probably from blood sliding to pool in his palms.
“Why did they grab us?” Caelan snarled. Or better yet, how had they even discovered them? They’d set up camp in the shade of some large trees, hidden from the view of most unless someone happened right up on the camp. The odds of anyone randomly stumbling upon them should have been pretty damn impossible.
“I think they might be Vale’s drug smugglers,” Drayce said softly.
Caelan’s head whipped around and he stared wide-eyed at his best friend. “What? Why would you think that?”
Drayce jerked his chin toward a wagon partially covered by a black tarp. There were a few rough wooden crates in the back. The same fractured crystal symbol they’d seen on the church tent was burned into the wood. They had supplies of some sort for the church of the Dead God, but this didn’t feel like an official caravan. There was no reason for a caravan of the church to attack a trio of campers and kidnap them, unless they were actual smugglers and had another purpose in mind.
“Well, this isn’t going to do Vale any good until she and Eno find us,” Caelan complained. “Fuck! How did they find us? They struck so fast and out of nowhere.”
“We need Rayne to translate what they’re saying,” Drayce grumbled. “Have you seen him move yet?”
“Just breathing, and even that seems too shallow.”
Caelan watched him on the other side of the campfire, willing Rayne’s eyelids to flicker and open. Nothing was going to happen to Rayne. He was going to be just fine. He and his advisor had been through thick and thin over the years, had walked through political disasters relatively unscathed. He was not losing the man who’d become an older brother to him. There was no fucking way he was going to be king without Rayne at his side to guide him.
“Can you heal him from here?” Drayce inquired.
Caelan shifted up to his knees so that he could see more of Rayne’s prone form. Unlike him and Drayce, Rayne’s hands were tied in front of him. His clothes were stained dark with blood from the two men he’d managed to kill before they were overwhelmed. Dried blood matted his hair, and his face was too damn pale.
Tapping into the power he received from Tula, Goddess of Life, he tried to use it to assess Rayne’s injuries, but he couldn’t get it to reach the unconscious man. He tried to just mentally touch his body, to heal him from a distance, but it wouldn’t work.
Caelan swore under his breath. The longer Rayne remained unconscious, the more volatile Caelan’s temper grew. Was Rayne dying in front of him and he didn’t know it? Was he helpless to save him despite making deals with two gods?
“I can’t. I need to be touching him,” Caelan admitted, forcing the words out past the lump growing in his throat. Desperation left his skin itchy and tight. He couldn’t sit there and do nothing. He couldn’t allow Rayne to suffer, or worse, slip away from him. Not when he had the power to save his life.