by Jo Spurrier
‘Shall I take the sling?’
‘No. Leave it.’
‘Alright, then. If I don’t find you back at camp we’ll collect you as we ride out.’
She pulled away and he heard her retreat. Rasten slowly uncurled from his huddle as his back twinged; a touch of dampness at his shoulder suggested that he’d torn a stitch, but Rasten ignored it and crawled across the dirt to retrieve the sling.
It lay in a sad tangle. The hide was old and worn, but Sierra had done her best and he’d given her scant thanks. Rasten steeled himself to pick it up. Though his hands shook, he kept his mind fixed on her and pushed aside the memory of that weatherworn face and smiling eyes.
The sling was a child’s weapon. Sierra had honed her skills when she was a herder-girl watching over the goats, perfecting her stalk against prowlers sniffing after the new kids. Rasten couldn’t remember if he had practised the same way, and didn’t dare dwell on the thought. Gritting his teeth, he slipped the loop over his fingers and pinched the knot with his thumb, and when he slipped a stone into the pouch the weight of it was familiar. Perhaps if he could recall enough to hunt, he could be of some use to her, after all.
Three days ride southwards brought them to a region of low hills and dry gorges lined with scrubby trees. They made camp beneath an overhang of rock, above the sandy bed of a dead stream.
Rasten and Sierra rose as the sky grew light. When she went to check on Isidro, Rasten heaved himself up, scrubbed his face with his sleeve and set about rolling and flexing his wounded shoulder.
Isidro slept restlessly, with his forehead creased and his blankets pulled tight around his shoulders. When she laid her hand on his brow he pulled away, muttering something unintelligible.
‘He’s still feverish,’ Sierra said. ‘I think it’s worse than before.’
‘Might be best to stay here a few days and let him fight it off.’
‘Do we have any willowbark?’
‘A little.’ Kell hadn’t kept much. The old man had no need of anything that would relieve the pain of his victims. ‘Keep an eye out when you go out hunting.’
‘Are there willow trees in this part of the world?’
Rasten didn’t answer. He merely raised his gaze to the sky, where the brightest stars still lingered against the dawn. ‘Maybe try your luck north,’ he said. ‘See if anyone’s following us.’
Sierra bit her lip. There was no telling how far behind them Cam and Delphine were — or even if they were still on their trail. ‘I’ll do that,’ she said.
‘Do you think there’ll be any game?’
‘I saw goat tracks,’ Sierra said. ‘I might be able to take one down with a sling.’
‘And if there’s a goatherd?’
She shrugged and reached for her boots. ‘If they’re tame, it’ll be easier. I’d best get going.’
‘You don’t want to eat first?’ He’d kept back some of last night’s meal, but Sierra shook her head.
‘See if you can get Isidro to eat it,’ she said.
He watched her go through the pale grey light, before collecting water from the hollow in the sandy soil below their camp. He set it to boil, and then led the horses down to drink.
Then, reluctantly, he crouched by Isidro’s side. After several long moments, he gingerly felt for his pulse. It seemed to rouse him, for Isidro turned his head with a groan and his eyelids flickered open.
Rasten edged away as Isidro forced himself upright.
‘Sirri left some food for you,’ Rasten said. ‘I’ll get it, and I’ll pour you some water once it’s boiled.’
Isidro nodded, wincing, and Rasten felt a rippling echo of the pain it sent through his head. He could sense the power it gave off, but the part of him that had once been able to absorb it, as Sierra did, was too thickly scarred to draw it in.
When he turned back with last night’s gruel and a bowl of water, Isidro had let the blanket fall from his shoulders and rolled his sleeve back to the elbow of his right arm. The bandages were filthy and spotted with blood, and at the edge of them, Rasten saw the dark red streaks beneath his skin, reaching up into his arm like fingers of fire.
Isidro hastily pulled the sleeve down again. He took one look at the congealed gruel and turned away. ‘You have it,’ he said. ‘Or save it for Sirri. I don’t want it.’ He was beginning to shiver and groped behind him for the blanket.
Rasten set the steaming bowl down at Isidro’s side and dropped the blanket over his shoulders. With a sigh Isidro lay down again, his eyes clouded with sickness and pain. When Rasten stayed where he was, the other man stiffened and slowly turned his way with narrowed eyes. ‘Get away from me.’
Rasten backed away, but he didn’t shift his gaze. He’d seen the arm for only a moment, but that was enough. Those red streaks meant only one thing: the wound had turned foul, poisoning his blood. ‘I’ll wash it out again —’
‘It’s too late. It has gone too deep.’ Isidro let his head sink, closing his eyes. When Rasten shifted his weight, the loose pebbles clinking beneath his feet, Isidro roused once more, but not for long. He lacked the strength to keep his eyes open. ‘Has there … been any word from Cam or Delphi?’
‘Not yet,’ Rasten said.
‘How long has it been?’
‘Four days now.’
Isidro fell silent, curling into a ball as he shivered beneath the blankets.
Rasten retreated to the far side of the fire, but he kept watching the huddled form. Infection was always the greatest threat. He’d taken every care, but perhaps the contamination had been lurking ever since Rasten shattered the bones at Kell’s command last winter. If so, then the foulness was too deep for any potion to leech it out.
The simplest answer would be to carve away the contaminated flesh and bone, but as Rasten watched the shivering man across the fire, he wasn’t sure Isidro would survive it. He’d already lost a great deal of blood — much more and his life would dwindle away like a flame starved of air. That was if the shock didn’t kill him first … and if the poison leaching into his blood wasn’t already enough to doom him. But doing nothing would kill him, too.
Rasten turned towards the sacks and boxes strewn around their campsite. He had the implements; Sierra had found them when she ransacked the cavern. They both knew it might come to this. Only now Rasten was afraid they’d left it too late.
Isidro stirred again. ‘Rasten? Are you there?’
‘Right here,’ Rasten said.
‘Tell Sirri … tell her it’s alright. Don’t let her hate herself … you have to look after her, you have to …’
Look after her? Rasten thought. I don’t know how. I don’t even know how to look after myself. She’s the one who looks out for me.
He went to the packs, sorting through them until he found what he sought. His hands shook as he lifted it from the canvas pack. It was finely made of inlaid wood, although the gilded fittings had corroded and the gold leaf was flaking off. How many times had Kell ordered him to fetch this box? For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to hurl it against the rocks and kick it to splinters, but Rasten clenched his teeth and set the case beside the fire, then went back for the other items he would need: the herbs and medicines, the needles and silk thread. He could use his belt for a tourniquet, and he’d have to hunt down the scrap of soap they had …
While he sorted everything, Rasten reached for Sierra. He found her crouched on dry rocks in a rubble-choked gorge, her gaze fixed on a handful of goats on a ledge above. Sirri?
At the touch of her mind he could feel that her throat was parched and her belly cramping. What?
Isidro’s in bad shape. I think we have to take the hand. I need you back here.
He felt her hand clench around the sling, felt the sting of tears and a flash of pain as she bit her lip. You said it would kill him.
He’ll die without it.
She glanced up at the goats, and turned away. Rasten heard one of the beasts bleat in alarm, and then the skitter
of stones as they bounded away to safety.
Delphine squinted up at the sky. Her legs were cramped and her back ached, but she didn’t dare move. Their little rocky niche faced full east, and already the rising sun was beating down upon them.
She stole a glance at Cam, but he was scowling at the gravel, his head cocked to listen to the men below.
‘They’re here somewhere. Those are their horses down below. They’ve gone to ground in this Gods-forsaken rock pile.’
‘Well then, where are they? We’ve looked —’
‘No, you’ve spent half an hour wandering along goat-tracks waiting for the bastards to flag you down and surrender. They’re holed up in some crevice. There’s no cursed way they can slip past us, so get the men out there and find them!’
‘We’re supposed to be hunting the cursed Sympath —’
‘Would you rather face her empty-handed or with a pair of hostages? Pull your thumb out of your arse and go look for them! Where are those cursed mages? I know they’re green as new grass, but even they ought to be able to track down a soft, civilian academic. Move!’
Soft, civilian academic. Delphine wrinkled her nose. After months of travelling rough she was no longer soft, and while she may not be a Battle-Mage, she was hardly the same sheltered scholar she’d been at Demon’s Spire.
The men were coming towards them. Even though the camouflage enchantment covered them completely, Delphine held her breath as the squad marched past. The device would hide them from sight, but it did nothing to cover sound. One of the men peered into their alcove, but his gaze passed right over her. Even without the shield of the enchantment to conceal them, it was too shallow and exposed to make a good hiding place. They simply hadn’t had time to find anything better.
Once the soldiers passed, Delphine reached carefully into her sash for the stones she had tucked away. They’d slept only a handful of hours since finding them at the water-hole — the rest of the time had been spent keeping ahead of the soldiers. In the darkness of the moonless night, they’d lost the trail and drifted westwards, exhausted, until another party of soldiers sent them scrambling for shelter. They’d abandoned the horses at the foot of the slope, taking only the bare essentials — the nearly empty water-skins, the map, and the stones.
Delphine pulled out a stone and clutched it in one filthy hand, feeling the odd warmth and resonance of the rock. But if the others couldn’t send help … We’re not lost yet, Delphine told herself fiercely. Perhaps they could creep out after dark and steal fresh horses … it was a long shot, but in the last few months it seemed long shots were all they had. Back in the spring she’d held only the barest hope that they’d make it this far, and yet here they were.
Isidro was still alive. She’d wept to see his footprints in the sand. Cam showed her the tracks, Isidro’s tall and long-legged strides; Sierra, smaller and light of foot; and the ones that could only belong to Rasten. She’d shivered at the sight of them, her mind running over what she knew of this creature who’d tormented the man she loved, and yet now seemed to be living alongside him. As soon as it was safe, she would craft the enchantment that would let her reach out to those they followed. She could only hope they were in a position to help.
Delphine glanced at Cam again, and held up the stone.
Mages, he mouthed.
A powerful mage would miss the faint buzz of power given off by the enchantment — those with great power were notoriously oblivious to small fluctuations in the currents of energy. The power given off by the communication device, however, was a different matter altogether.
But she was tired, and the sun was already beating down on their little niche. The enchantment was a delicate and complex working, and her power was already running low from exhaustion. A few more hours of heat and thirst might be more than she could bear.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Delphine told herself, and began to gather her power.
‘Issey, can you hear me?’
His eyelids flickered, but he didn’t respond. Sierra stroked his cheek. His skin was unnaturally pale, and she couldn’t bear to look at the vivid red streaks on his arm. Should we have done this in the first place? Oh Issey, please don’t die. I couldn’t live with myself if you died now, after everything we’ve been through.
Over by the fire, Rasten muttered to himself as he inspected the bone saw, scratching at some matter caked around the handle before dropping it into the boiling water. ‘Speed is key. He’ll go into shock, but the longer we take the worse it’ll be. If he wakes, you’ll have to help me hold him down. Can you do that?’
‘Yes,’ Sierra said, trying to sound sure of herself, but she couldn’t keep the quaver from her voice.
‘It’ll be easier with you to keep him from feeling it. The pain won’t rouse him, and it won’t tax his strength further. You know how pain can wear someone down.’
Isidro wouldn’t feel the knives and the saw, but she would, in an echo of sensation. She clenched her jaw. She’d endured worse, and if it meant Isidro would live, she’d weather it ten times over. ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you?’
‘Many times. I thought I’d have to do it back in the winter. I didn’t think he’d live if we left the arm as it was. But Kell wouldn’t permit it.’
‘Let’s just get it done,’ Sierra said.
There was no point her offering to help. Kell had forced her to wield the knives and implements a few times, but she had never been trained the way Rasten had. She could read the tension in his shoulders as he lifted the pot from the fire and began to take out the knives and the saw. Sierra bowed low over Isidro, and kissed his forehead. When she straightened she found Rasten watching her.
‘Once you’ve washed your hands, touch nothing unless I say, understand?’
Sierra nodded. Rasten was tense, his eyes dark, his voice harsh and clipped. She knew his moods now, and when this one came upon him, it was better not to argue or even to ask too many questions. She straddled Isidro’s waist, pressing her bare legs against his skin, and washed her hands in the steaming bucket Rasten had brought to his side. Beneath her, Isidro shivered and muttered something unintelligible, shifting against the bundled shirt under his head. Rasten sat back on his heels and scowled at him. Sierra felt his power flare, and flame-coloured ropes of force boiled out of the air to wrap around him. Only a blood-soaked layer of cloth covered the gaping wound on his forearm. Rasten slipped the tip of a knife under a corner of it and peeled it off. Sierra swallowed hard at the sight of the bruised and swollen flesh.
‘If you’re going to puke lean over the other side. Same for fainting. Don’t contaminate the wound.’
‘I am not going to faint,’ Sierra said, as much to herself as to him.
‘Good. Are you ready?’ Rasten said, reaching for the belt he’d laid under Isidro’s upper arm and wrapping it into a tourniquet.
As he pulled the belt tight, Sierra felt a sudden hum in her ears, a buzzing sound like a swarm of bees. She squeezed her eyes closed and swallowed hard. By the Black Sun herself, I will not faint. Afterwards, you can weep and swoon to your heart’s content, but I will not let Isidro down, not again. She forced herself to breathe deeply, but the buzzing in her ears did not diminish — if anything it grew to a throbbing, painful thump within her skull.
Dimly, she heard Rasten growl. ‘What now?’
Isidro? Sierra? Can you hear me? The voice came within the reverberation that filled her skull.
Delphine, she said, is that you?
Yes, I haven’t had time to reach you until now. We’re in trouble, we need help — a patrol has us pinned down in a patch of rocks …
When she spoke mind-to-mind with Rasten or Isidro, the ritual bond allowed her to see through their eyes, but Delphine’s enchantment had no such ability. All Sierra could see with her eyes clenched shut were flashes of light matching the throb of power inside her skull. We’re in the gorges to the south, Sierra said. She forced her eyes open, but the daylight sent another b
linding streak of pain through her skull. She was breathing deeply through the pain. Kell and Rasten had taught her how to withstand it, how to separate a part of her mind from the howling of strained nerves.
Rasten heard the exchange too. He’d loosened the tourniquet and fetched the map.
We lost the trail during the night, Delphine said. Cam thinks we drifted to the west …
We’re half a day’s ride away, I think, Sierra said. The Akharians are chasing you? How many? How close?
How close? They’re right here. We’re hidden for now, but they’ll keep searching. Sierra, I’m sorry, but we need help — can you come? Please? Or … or are things bad where you are, too?
Sierra gritted her teeth. I’ll come as soon as I can. Just hold on.
Oh, thank heavens. Is … is Isidro alright? Is he there?
Not right now. I’ll tell you more when I see you. Now break the contact, before you split my wretched head open.
Oh! Delphine said, and then the buzzing abruptly died, though it left Sierra’s head still ringing like a bell. She closed her eyes against the too-bright sunlight. ‘Did you hear all that?’
‘I heard enough.’
‘Mm,’ Sierra said. Perhaps she should have told them about Isidro … but no, it would take too long. Time was against them already.
‘Do you need to rest?’
Sierra shook her head. ‘No. Get on with it, Rasten.’
He pulled the tourniquet tight. Then, while Sierra watched the flesh beneath the leather bands blanch to a pallid white, Rasten washed his hands and cleaned Isidro’s arm with a sop soaking in a bowl of steaming herb-water. Then, he selected one of the knives laid out by his side, and began to cut.
He began a handspan below the elbow. Sierra clenched her teeth against the searing sting of the blade, but a few moments later a rush of warmth replaced the pain. Isidro moaned and twitched against Rasten’s restraints, but his eyes didn’t open, and for that Sierra was grateful.
As blood ran from the wound, Rasten laid the knife aside and reached for a tool shaped like blacksmiths’ tongs wrought small. With this, he caught the artery and pinched it closed. ‘Hold it,’ he said to Sierra, and while she awkwardly wrapped her hand around the handle, he snatched up a silken thread and tied the vessel closed.
