The noises I heard in the background told me they were removing the bolt from Dradac’s shoulder now, but, concentrating on my own task, I tried not to hear the giant’s cries. I removed the boy’s gray robes and clumsily worked him out of the tunic he wore beneath them. Then I bellowed for Nib, and incredibly, the outlaw answered my summons. With an authority that surprised even me, I ordered him to heat a kettle of water and fetch me anything that might serve as clean bandaging. He moved quickly to obey and I didn’t stop to wonder why he followed my bidding. My mind was taken up with the task at hand.
I wadded the boy’s dirty robe and applied it with pressure to the gash in his side, attempting to hold back the blood. I longed for Brig to appear just then and take this responsibility off my hands, but he didn’t materialize and I knew he wouldn’t. He was visiting the camp at Molehill and the vagueness I felt when reaching for him told me what a long distance separated us.
Nib returned with the objects I required and surprised me by crouching nearby to await further commands. I was glad of his company. His presence wouldn’t allow me to display fear or doubt. When I peeled the blood-soaked bandage back from the boy’s wound, a crimson stream trickled out, and I despaired. How could I clean the wound when it wouldn’t stop bleeding? Reapplying the cloth, I rubbed the sweat from my brow with one arm, buying myself a little time.
Nib suggested helpfully, “Don’t know much about these things, but it seems to me you should wait for the blood to clot before you take the bandage away.”
“I know that,” I lied, as I looked down on the boy I was struggling to save and asked myself why I was doing this for a complete stranger. I didn’t even know his name.
The minutes ticked by. I expected the boy would slip away at any moment but his breathing held steady. His bleeding had miraculously ceased by the time Javen appeared—I had little idea how. At the healer’s request, I stayed nearby over the next hour, watching as he bathed and stitched the priest boy’s wound and applied fresh bandaging. Javen warned me it was unlikely my charge would survive the night.
At length, the healer departed, declaring he had done all he could. As soon as he had gone, I began constructing a shelter of sorts around the boy. It hardly felt right to let him lay out in the cold all night. Dusk was falling as I tramped into the forest to collect a heap of pine boughs and elder branches. I propped these limbs against one another and bound them with bits of twine, as Brig taught me, to form a flimsy shelter over the ground. More than likely it would blow over with the first gust of wind, I thought, standing back to eye the completed work.
About then I became aware of a savory scent wafting on the evening breeze. One of the men had killed a wild boar and was now roasting it over the campfire. The sight and smell of the food set my empty stomach rumbling and, with a backward glance, I left my little shelter and went to the fire where for a short time I forgot my worries over a greasy slab of meat.
After eating, I remembered Dradac. Abandoning my place at the fire, I ducked into the cave, but on entering, found the giant sleeping deeply, laid out on a thick pallet of animal skins. His face was relaxed and I was relieved to see he wasn’t in pain at the moment. I decided not to wake him and slipped silently back out into the gathering darkness.
I fetched bread and water for the priest boy, but found when I peered into his shelter that he still slept. A mercy, I supposed, as I sank to the earth to eat the dried bread myself. On finishing, I was assailed by a great weariness. The day’s events had been more than I was accustomed to. The camp was silent around me, the other men having departed either to their beds or to their watches. I thought of turning to my own bed, but it seemed wrong to crawl into a warm, safe place while the injured boy slept out here. I moved my sleeping pallet out of the cave and into the shelter, piling my blankets and animal skins over the boy.
Just enough space remained for me to crawl inside and curl up on the hard ground beside him. Rocks jutted into my flesh and insects crawled over me, but I was accustomed to such discomforts. Harder to ignore was the chill that descended as the ground cooled. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself, eventually slipping into a shallow, miserable sleep.
I was awakened sometime during the night by the commotion of the priest boy groaning and tossing around. A thrashing elbow caught me in the face. I shoved aside the last remnants of sleep clouding my brain and reached out for him. Although he stilled at my touch, his rapid panting never slowed.
“Hurts…” He gritted out weakly.
“I know,” I said. “But you need to relax. Squirming will only make it worse.”
His response was so faint I had to lean closer to hear. “Am I going to die?” he gasped.
Admitting I didn’t know would hardly soothe his fears. He was going to need all the courage he could summon over the next days. “You’re going to be fine,” I assured him. “It’s a minor wound, not as bad as it feels.”
“How bad?” he persisted. “Can I see it?”
“Maybe later. It’s too dark in here now.”
“Where’s here?”
“Dimmingwood,” I said. “You were journeying through the forest with a priest and an escort, remember? You were attacked by brigands, injured, and brought back to the outlaw camp. I’m Ilan and I’m looking after you.”
He groaned. “I remember now. But where is Thilstain?”
“Would that be the balding woodsman with the belly?” I questioned.
“No, Honored Thilstain is a priest. The other was just a stranger, hired to safeguard us on the way to Whitestone Abbey.”
“I’m afraid your escort is dead,” I told him. “I don’t know what became of the old priest. The last I saw of him was his back as he fled into the trees.”
The boy sighed, sounding relieved. “So he has escaped? Then he may return with aid.”
“I doubt that,” I said. “He doesn’t know where you are or even if you’re alive. Besides, I imagine he’s too giddy with joy just now over his own safety to spare much thought for yours.”
I sensed the boy’s disappointment, but all he said was, “Even if he can’t help me, I suppose the fact that he escaped is cause for thankfulness. I wouldn’t wish him harm, dour man though he was. No, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s wrong to criticize a man of the robe. Please, forget you heard it.”
I grinned into the darkness. “I’m scarcely in a position to think less of you for a stray comment. An outlaw has greater wrongs to her credit.”
He sounded suddenly alert. “You’re one of those murderous thieves, then?”
“I’m afraid so,” I said dryly. “But you’ve no cause to fear me. Even I don’t kill Honored Ones.”
“But you do hold them prisoner,” he pointed out.
“No one’s a prisoner here,” I said. “We brought you to our camp to keep you alive. Think of yourself as a kind of guest. For now, just forget everything else and concentrate on recovering. You’ve had a near brush with death.”
“I feel like it,” he admitted. “You’re sure I’m not dying?”
“Positive,” I lied. “Try and think of something besides the pain. Tell me about yourself. You know my name, but I’ve yet to learn yours.”
“Sorry, I didn’t think of it. I’m Terrac of Deep Pool. That’s a settlement near Three Hills in Cros, a long way from here. Honored Thilstain and I were on the road for weeks to get this far.”
His words cut off abruptly as he sucked in a great breath at what I supposed must be a particularly sharp throb of pain. It was a moment before he was able to continue with, “The Honored One goes to Whitestone on pilgrimage, while I journey there to join the priesthood, as was my father’s dying wish. Everyone said if my mother were living, it would have been her wish as well.”
He gasped those last words out in short, panting breaths. As I heard him grinding his teeth against the pain, I hesitated to ask what was on my mind. But I needed to know.
“You’re not already a priest then?” I asked.
&
nbsp; “Not yet, but Thilstain was instructing me.”
This isn’t good news, I thought uneasily. “I advise you to keep that fact to yourself,” I told him. “The outlaws spare you for the sake of your priesthood. If they learn you’re not an Honored, they’ll have no compunction at killing you.”
“An upright man doesn’t lie,” he pompously informed me.
“Then that man sets little store by his life,” I answered. But sensing he was going to remain stubborn on the issue, I switched to a more persuasive tone. “Besides, you don’t have to lie exactly. The assumption has already been made. It would be enough simply to hold your peace and let folk believe what they will.”
His tone was hesitant. “But that’s little different from a lie.”
“What does it matter?” I demanded, losing patience. “What’s one small lie to a lot of cutthroats anyway? Give them the truth and they’ll kill you for thanks.”
The boy either lacked the will to argue further or he couldn’t summon the breath to do so.
“You should rest now,” I said. “But think on what I’ve told you. I haven’t gone to all this trouble only to see you kill yourself as soon as you get a chance to open your mouth.”
“I am grateful to you,” he said humbly. “I’ve much to thank you for.”
“Forget it. Do you need anything?”
He asked for a drink of water, so I crept off to the nearby pool, filled a skin with the cool, clear water from the falls, and brought it back to him. After drinking thirstily, he quickly sank into an exhausted slumber.
* * * * *
The next day, noise and activity were kept to a minimum around camp to afford quiet for Dradac. I doubt anyone even remembered Terrac, the boy priest, unless they looked up to see me slithering in and out of the shelter all day, waiting on his needs.
He fared even worse today, waking rarely and only for short lengths of time. He gave no sign he remembered me or last night’s conversation. He moaned and tossed around until he finally tore his stitches open and I had to fetch Javen to repair them. I felt relief each time the injured boy sank down again into a fitful rest.
It was a long day for me because my charge lacked strength to do anything for himself. I fed him, coaxed sips of water down his throat, and changed his bandages. Come nightfall, I was exhausted as I lay down to sleep. As I sprawled on the hard-packed earth beside his sleeping form, a numbing chill stole over the ground. Scooting over to press my back against the still, warm body beside me, I fell asleep wondering what would become of Terrac of Deep Pool and whether or not he would prove worth my efforts.
* * * * *
The following morning, Brig returned and from the moment he strode into camp, things began to improve. He took over the larger share of the work in nursing Terrac and looked impressed with what I had done for him. He didn’t ask for details on how the priest boy came under my care and I didn’t offer them, knowing he wouldn’t approve of my having been placed in such a volatile situation, where it might easily had been me injured instead of the others.
Under Brig’s care, Terrac’s health steadily improved. Soon the day came when, with assistance, he could drag himself out of the dark hut and into the sunshine. Brig and I propped his back against the sun-warmed rock at the cave’s entrance and he would sit there, face tilted toward the sky, for hours at a time. I couldn’t tell if he was engaged in some sort of priestly meditation or just resting.
At first, he seemed uncomfortable when his fellow invalid, Dradac, began joining him. I couldn’t see what he had to be disturbed at. The giant would only sit quietly by his side, making feeble attempts at whittling one handed, while letting his bad shoulder soak up the sun’s rays. Javen assured the giant he would regain the use of his arm, but the healing process was going to be slow.
Over the next few weeks, Terrac came to accept Dradac’s company and the giant became one of the few exceptions to Terrac’s general rule of contempt for the outlaws. Brig, too, earned a measure of respect, probably for having cared for him during his convalescence, and even I was tolerated in a condescending but not terribly hostile way. However, it quickly became apparent no one else would be fortunate enough to penetrate Terrac’s favored circle.
CHAPTER SIX
Springtime lengthened into summer and the nights grew warm, the days uncomfortably hot and sticky. As soon as Terrac had recovered enough I needn’t fear for him any longer, I moved back into the cave. I had my own semi-private space there, a cozy alcove with the waterfall sheeting down one side to form a thin screen between the outside world and me. I didn’t mind the dim light or the lack of space. At this time of year, the slight dampness on the walls and floor was pleasant and I could roll over and stretch my hand out to touch the splashing fountain as it cascaded downward. The cool water was refreshing on hot nights.
But Terrac couldn’t be persuaded to move into the cave with the rest of us. Even when the brown needles fell away from his flimsy, pine bough shelter, leaving only a naked frame of bare branches, he remained outdoors. I think it was the company inside he objected to. I was discovering he had a definite sense of superiority over the rest of us and I teased him this was unbecoming in a boy destined for priestly vows. He only sniffed unapologetically and cajoled me into helping him contrive a sturdier hut beneath the trees.
One morning, only a few days after the building of the new hut, Terrac and I were crouched together along the bank of the stream bordering camp. He was looking on with squeamish disgust as I gutted a rabbit for our breakfast when Rideon approached.
The brigand captain glared down on Terrac and stated his object without preamble. “It has come to my notice that you are able to move about again, boy.”
Terrac nodded cautiously. I could see he was nervous in the outlaw’s presence but striving to hide it.
Rideon said, “If that’s the case, it appears the time has come for you to make a decision. I’m going to lay two choices before you. There is no third alternative, so don’t ask for one. Give an answer I don’t like and the question will be taken from your hands altogether. Understand?”
Terrac swallowed. “I suppose so.”
“Good. These are your options. Firstly, you can swear on your honor to forever make your home in Dimmingwood with us. You’ll earn your keep here with menial tasks around the camp, same as Ilan does, and never set foot beyond the borders of the forest again.”
Terrac’s eyes widened in alarm and I could see him forming a refusal, but Rideon didn’t allow him time to get out the response. “Or,” the outlaw continued, “should that idea not appeal to you, you may choose the second alternative—refusing to take the oath and thus being put to a quick death. Priest boy or not, my generosity extends only so far and I won’t risk a large-mouthed brat wandering loose to tell my enemies exactly where to hunt down my band.”
I held my breath waiting for Terrac to say something foolish and he didn’t disappoint me.
“You don’t seem to care that the oath you’re asking of me will change my life’s plans,” he protested.
Rideon shrugged. “I wasn’t aware I was advocating one option over the other. I’m merely here to accept the first choice or to execute the latter, should it be your preference.” He tapped the blade at his side for emphasis. “The ultimate decision is entirely yours.”
Terrac flicked a frightened glance at the black blade, drew a deep breath, and appeared to startle even himself with the words that spilled from him. “I swear on my life and honor that I’ll never leave the boundaries of this wood as long as I breathe. Not without the express permission of the outlaw, Rideon the Red Hand.”
Rideon was the only one of us who appeared unsurprised. “A reasonable decision, priest boy. If ever you should rethink it, my blade and I will be on hand.” He flashed his teeth in a grim smile and left us.
Terrac immediately looked miserable and I suspected he was thinking of how, with a few short words, he destroyed his hopes of entering the priesthood. In an attempt to che
er him I said, “It isn’t so bad, you know. Maybe you’ll come to like it here. And at least you’re alive, which is more than anyone would’ve expected on the day you came.”
He didn’t look much comforted.
* * * * *
Later that day, I was kneeling beside Dradac, who was helping me repair an old knife that had lost its handle, when the heavy scuff of approaching boots alerted me to another arrival. Without looking up, I sensed it was Brig.
In a moment, his voice confirmed it.
“Is it true, Dradac?” Brig demanded angrily, ignoring my presence. “I’ve had my suspicions since the spring, but what I’ve heard from Nib today confirms it. Was Ilan with you when you confronted those travelers and nearly had yourself killed?”
My stomach lurched. I’d always known it was only a matter of time before he discovered the extent of my involvement in the episode that brought Terrac to us and I had an idea there would be trouble when that information surfaced. I just hoped I wouldn’t be present for it. It was good my face was turned away from Brig then because I was sure my guilt was clearly written in my expression.
Dradac affected innocence. “What’s this? Who said she was there?”
“Did you imagine I’d need to be told?” Brig asked. “I run up to Molehill for a few days and return to find an injured boy priest encamped in our midst and Ilan fluttering around his sick bed. Who else would have spared him?”
Dradac said, “What makes you so certain it wasn’t me? Do you think I would murder a helpless boy wearing the robe of an Honored One? Imagine how many years bad luck that’d bring me.”
“Drop the pretense. You’re only making me angrier,” said Brig.
The giant sighed. “All right, I confess. She was with me when we got the signal about the trespassers, so I let her come along to meet them. I wasn’t planning to expose her to any real danger. But they appeared a harmless group and I thought it would be an exciting experience for her. There. Are you happy now I’ve admitted to my miscalculation?”
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