“It’s upstairs,” Zip called and vanished through the half-ruined doorway.
It took a few moments for Walegrin’s eyes to adjust to the faint-shadowed darkness of the house. By the time they had, he’d heard the groaning and flailing about in the upper room- the room to which Zip was leading him. The
Torch had offered to keep Zip and the two other piffles who had survived
Chenaya’s ambush in sanctuary at the palace until their wounds had healed. Zip had refused for both himself and his men; Walegrin figured he regretted it now.
Certainly the smell of blood was strong enough in the airless room they were crowded into. A lump-tallow candle provided sputtering, smoky light. Walegrin took the sconce from the wall and studied the place. He shoved a smaller man aside and headed for the comer where the whimpering was coming from, then brought himself up short.
“It’s a woman!”
“It usually is,” Zip replied. “She’s been like this for three days. Around sunset we thought she was going to have it, finally. But it’s only gotten worse.
You gonna help?”
Walegrin knelt down and had his worst suspicions confirmed. This was no hell-cat
PFLS fighter; this wasn’t even the result of a private quarrel; no, this was a girl, a child really, lying on the filthy wood, her clothes long since torn and discarded, laboring to get a child out of her belly.
“Sweet Sabellia’s tits,” he swore softly.
The girl opened her eyes. She tried to say something to him but the sounds that came from her were too ragged for him to understand.