by Cheryl Dyson
******
He groaned and sat up groggily to see Toryn standing over him. Sunlight glinted off the blade of the sword that Brydon’s father had forged. Toryn had a strange look in his eyes. Brydon froze, the dazed mist dissipating, and looked from Toryn to the sword and back again.
"Tempting, is it not?" he asked softly.
Toryn nodded once, curtly, and swayed a bit before he sat down hard. Toryn’s shirt was torn, and blood stained his leather pants. Brydon got up and moved to Toryn’s side, ignoring the throbbing in his head and the ache in his shoulder.
"I am... all right," Toryn said weakly and waved him away. "Where is Alyn?"
Brydon reluctantly left Toryn and searched the rocks, to find Alyn wedged a small cleft. Blood covered part of her face, but she stared up at him with an annoyed expression. "My boot is caught," she said. "I can’t get free."
Brydon gaped at her. It was difficult to concentrate. He was tempted to leave her there rather than deliberate a way to get her out. The cleft was far too narrow for him to climb down and assist her, and she could not reach her own ankle.
"Can you slide your foot out of the boot?" he asked finally.
"Don’t you think I already tried that?" she snapped. Brydon’s urge to leave her strengthened.
"Well?" Toryn called. "Is she dead?"
"No, she’s stuck in the rocks," Brydon replied.
Alyn groaned as Toryn’s guffaw reached them. "Too many meat pies and pastries?" Toryn asked.
Alyn shouted several loud slurs about Toryn and his parentage and then she wrenched at her leg. Rage must have lent her strength, for she was suddenly free and clambered out of the hole like an angry badger.
Brydon grinned and followed as she limped toward Toryn. He did not wait around to hear their argument, instead he returned to the stream to retrieve their supplies. He wondered where Alyn’s horse had gone, but his head was pounding, so he did not worry too much about it.
When Brydon returned, he shredded his only linen shirt with his dagger—after retrieving it from the lion’s skull. Brydon gave Toryn a large wad of the cloth to use as a compress. Toryn held it against his bloody side. He lay with his head pillowed on his cloak.
Brydon bent to examine the injury and Toryn weakly slapped his hands away. "No... Falaran," he muttered.
"This Falaran is going to help you whether you like it or not, you stubborn Redolian idiot. Now lie back and shut up, or I will club you unconscious."
Toryn sighed and closed his eyes. Brydon cut open Toryn’s shirt and grimaced. The wound was bad—four jagged gashes in the soft flesh of his waist. Brydon poured water into the bleeding wound and bound the remainder of his linen shirt tightly around Toryn’s ribs. Toryn made no sound, though he sucked in a sharp breath when the water touched the wound. Brydon wished he knew anything at all about the healer’s art. Alyn had blanched when she’d viewed the wound; obviously she would be no help at all.
Against Alyn’s protests, Brydon turned to her next and examined her head wound. The injury was not as deep as he had assumed, though she had a swollen knot on her forehead and blood was caked in her hair. She washed it as well as she was able and Brydon bound her head with strips from his cloak.
"I think you’ll be fine. The wound does not look that deep. You’ll have a nasty bruise, though."
She nodded. "I need to find my horse. He threw me and bolted when the lion attacked." She wandered in a circle, seeking the tracks of the horse, and then disappeared into the undergrowth.
When she had gone, Brydon took off his clawed and bloody shirt and tossed it aside. He could neither reach nor see the wound on his back, but it burned with an unholy flame and he felt blood trickling down his back. He poured the remaining water over the wound and washed it as well as he could, gritting his teeth at the pain. He retrieved his bloody shirt and cut it into ribbons, then wrapped his injury as well as he could.
He looked at Toryn wryly. "Perhaps we should not have come to Akarska," he said.
Toryn opened his eyes and blinked at him. "I told you so," Toryn said. "Where’s the wench?"
"Looking for her horse. I think she was glad of the excuse—the sight of blood seems to disturb her."
"Maybe she won’t come back."
"She will. She seems pretty tenacious and she views us as part of her duty."
Toryn groaned. "Don’t mention that word. I feel sick enough." With that, he shut his eyes and soon his breathing became deep and regular.
Brydon would have loved to collapse and sleep, but he knew the lion meat would spoil unless he dressed it right away. They needed food and it would be senseless to waste the cat, though he expected the meat to taste awful. There was no guessing how long Alyn would be gone. He sat down and began the arduous task of skinning the feline, letting his mind drift as he worked. He was halfway finished when Alyn’s horse entered the clearing, followed by three others. Brydon chuckled and got to his feet. The animals shied away from the lion scent as Brydon approached them, but they calmed to his gentle words and snorted softly. Brydon removed the bridle and saddle from Alyn’s horse and turned him loose after slapping him companionably on the neck. He examined the other three, pleased to note that they were all fine animals. The four horses wandered off a short distance and began to graze, though they kept a somewhat wary eye on the lion pelt as Brydon worked.
When Brydon finished his task, he went back and washed himself in the stream and then put on his leather vest. It was lined with thick sheepskin and cushioned his wound somewhat. His back ached and his shoulder had bled continuously while he worked. He felt the sticky wetness ooze down his back and soak his makeshift bandage. He wished Alyn would return so she could bandage it properly for him.
He built a small fire and sank down to rest. The sun was low on the horizon and Brydon felt he could easily lie down and sleep for a week.
Toryn moaned and opened his eyes.
"Hungry?" Brydon asked.
"Starved," Toryn said and sat up. He winced and moved himself slowly backward to rest against a tree for support.
"What did you use for a bandage?" he asked and touched the cloth on his ribs.
"My best shirt. No more injuries for you. I am nearly out of clothes. Are you cold?"
"No. Is Alyn still gone?"
Brydon walked to the lion’s carcass and cut off some large steaks, nodding at Toryn’s question. Toryn eased over to the fire and helped spit the meat on sticks before holding his over the flame. His glance let Brydon know he wished he could season the meat. Both of them were too weary and sore to get up and search for herbs.
"Alyn isn’t here, but her stallion came back."
Toryn laughed. "Can we take it and run?"
"And be caught in Akarska with a stolen horse? You must be more wounded than you look."
They had scarcely begun to eat when Alyn returned.
"I can’t find him anywhere," she said by way of greeting.
Brydon pointed a thumb toward the horses.
Alyn stared. "How did you find him?"
"He came back on his own."
"That’s impossible! I’ve barely had him three weeks; he doesn’t know me well enough to return to me. He would have gone home, or to the nearest barn."
Brydon shrugged. Alyn’s expression remained puzzled, but she accepted a skewer from Brydon and nibbled on the tough lion meat, wrinkling her nose at the taste.
"Maybe he thinks you’re his mother," Toryn commented.
She glared at him, but her gaze softened as she viewed the bandage around his waist. "Are you sorely wounded?"
"I’ll live."
"I stumbled upon the lion when I was following the tracks of a pine buck. I must have startled the cat. It charged me and I loosed an arrow that did little damage. The bow is not my best weapon, and my whip—" she lifted the length of leather Brydon had seen coiled at her hip, "—is not much use against a lion."
After they had eaten, Brydon fed the horses with handfuls of grain from Alyn’s p
ack. When he returned, Alyn was asleep and Toryn’s head nodded.
"Get some sleep, Toryn," he suggested. "I’ll keep watch after I put the carcass up in a tree so nothing comes for it."
"Let me help," Toryn offered and tried to get up.
"Sit!" Brydon barked. "If you make your wound worse I’ll have to leave you here alone in Akarska."
Toryn sat, grumbling.
Brydon took some ropes from his pack and hauled the lion up into a tree, far enough off the ground to be safe from small predators. He collapsed then, as his back flamed in agony. When he could breathe without wheezing, he stood up and staggered over to his pack, unconscious before he lay down next to it.
