caved in or torn.
She wondered if she should clear the fallen branches away later. If it isn’t
hurting anything, I’ll leave it. If we look like a pile of debris to animals, they
might leave us alone. No—what am I thinking ? The native animals will know
what is right or wrong for their own area. I must be delirious.
Tad gazed out at the powerful storm with his eyes wide and his feathers
roused against the cool damp. She wondered what he was thinking. Every
time one of the really big lightning-bolts flashed across the sky, the back of his
eyes glowed greenly.
Her shoulder began to stab at her again, throbbing in time to the thunder;
the drugs she had taken must have worn off a bit. If she was in serious pain,
Tad probably was, too, and there was no reason why they should endure it if
they didn’t have to. The medical kit contained enough pain-relieving drugs to
last two people for two weeks—by then, they would either be found or be in
such serious trouble that a little pain would be the least of their worries. She
felt for the bag of medicines and fished in it for two more vials of painkiller,
handing him his. He took it, pierced the seal with a talon, and swallowed it
down before she even had hers open. He took hers away from her and
punctured the wax seal for her in the same way; she took it back gratefully,
and downed it.
“Should we set a watch?” he asked. “I think we should. I think we should
really try to stay awake even if we’re taking painkillers. I don’t like the idea of
lying here helpless. It was different when we could set mage-wards, but now. .
. .”
She thought about the question for a moment. We probably ought to, even
though it’s not likely we could do much against a real enemy. Then again, if all
that comes to plague us is scavengers and wild beasts, if we set a watch,
whoever is awake can probably fend off any trouble.
“I agree. If you can sleep now, go ahead,” she said finally. “I can’t, not even
with this demon’s brew in me. If you’re rested by the time I can’t stay awake
any longer, then you can take second watch.”
He nodded, and she draped some of the bedding over him to keep him
warm. “I’ll have something for you to eat when you wake up,” she promised. “I
think it’s going to rain until well after dark; I’ll wake you up when I can’t keep
my eyes open anymore.” She had no idea how he did it, but he was actually
asleep shortly after she finished speaking. Must be exhausted, she decided.
He was trying so hard to slow our fall; that must have taken an awful lot out of
him. I ought to be surprised that he didn‘t just collapse completely after his
wing was set.
She ought to feel a great deal more than she did; it was hard to sustain
anything, even fear, for very long. That’s shock, and maybe it’s just as well.
As long as I plan everything and concentrate, I can carry it out.
Later, perhaps, she would be able to feel and react; now she was oddly
grateful for the peculiar numbness.
Since the supplies she had salvaged were pretty much mixed up together
already, she used the hodgepodge of foodstuffs to make a kind of giant
pancake with meat, vegetables, and spices all baked into it. She made as
many of these cakes as she had supplies for; ate one herself, and saved the
rest for Tad. After that, she just stared out into the rain. It was growing darker
by the moment, although that simply could have been thickening clouds and
not oncoming nightfall. A dull lethargy settled over her, and the rain lulled her
into a state of wary weariness.
There was no sign that the rain was going to collapse the roof, and no sign
that it was going to stop any time soon. Belatedly, she realized that here was
a good source of fresh water for them, and she began to rummage through
the supplies again. As she found things that could hold water, she stuck every
container she could find into the streams of run-off along the front edge of the
canvas. Before long, she had all their canteens and storage-bottles full, and
had refilled the rest of their containers a second time, and she’d washed and
rinsed the dishes.
I can get a wash! That revived her somewhat; she felt sweaty, grimy, and
the mere idea of being able to wash herself revived her a little. She put a
potful of water beside the fire to warm up; if she didn’t have to wash herself in
cold water, she wasn’t going to! They might not have magic, but they still had
other resources.
Besides, there were some remedies for bruises in that medical gear that
had to be steeped in warm water. When she finished washing, she could do
something about her minor injuries. They probably wouldn’t feel so minor
when she tried to sleep.
Poor Tad; I don’t think my remedies will work on his bruises; he hasn’t got
bare flesh to use them on. No point in soaking his feathers either; that would
only chill him and make him feel worse.
Rain continued to pound the canvas; the falling rain was the only sound in
the whole forest, at least to her limited ears. She sat with her knees drawn up
to her chest and her good arm wrapped around them, watching the silver
water continue to pour out of the sky, sent into a trancelike state by the
steady, dull roaring. The flash of lightning and the pounding of thunder were
the only things that kept her from completely succumbing and falling asleep a
time or two. She caught herself with a sudden shock and a pounding heart,
jerking herself awake.
When her water warmed, she clumsily stripped off her tunic, fished out a
scrap of ruined cloth and bathed her bruises with gratitude in lieu of soap.
How good a simple thing like a warm, damp cloth on her aches felt! And how
good it felt to be clean! Her sense of being grimy had not been wrong.
Oh, how I wish I had one of those hot pools to soak in. . . . Well, while I’m
at it, why don’t I wish for rescue, a soft bed in a deep cave, and enough
painkiller to keep me asleep until this shoulder is healed! More such thoughts
would only depress her or make her frantic with worry; she should concentrate
on now, and on doing the best she could with what she had.
Just being clean again made her feel a great deal better; time to put on
clothing that was equally clean. The air had cooled considerably since the rain
began; now it was getting positively chill as well as damp. She pulled out a
tunic with long sleeves—and realized as she started to put it on that it would
be impossibly painful to get her arm into the sleeve without ruining the tunic.
Well, who was there to see her? No one.
She slit the front of the tunic with her knife; she could belt it closed again.
But before she put on any clothing, she wrapped a blanket around her
shoulders, and went back to the medical kit. She should treat the bruises first,
then get dressed.
She found the herbs she needed in the kit, and put them into the pot of
remaining warm water to steep. Now the rain did show some signs of slacking
off, but it was also getting much darker out there. This wasn’t just thickening
clou
d cover; it must be just past sunset.
She reached for the shortened spear, and pulled out a selection of knives
that could be thrown in a pinch, then considered her next move.
Do I build the fire up to discourage night prowlers, or bank it so as not to
attract attention?
After some consideration, she opted for the former. Most animals were
afraid of fire; if they smelled the smoke, they might avoid this area altogether.
She had to burn green wood, but that was all right, since the smoke it made
drifted away from the lean-to and not into it. A bigger fire warmed the interior
of their shelter nicely, and beside her, Tad muttered drowsily and settled into
deeper sleep.
When the herb-water was a deep, murky brown, she stripped off her
blanket; soaking bandages in the potion until the bowl was empty, she
wrapped the soaked cloth around the areas most bruised, curling up in the
blanket until they dried.
The heat felt wonderful—and the medicines actually began to ease the dull
throbbing ache wherever some of the worst bruises were. The scent of the
potion arose, bitter and pungent, to her nose.
Good. At least I don’t smell like anything edible. I wouldn‘t want to eat
anything that smelled like me. Even the bugs won’t bite me now. Maybe.
It wasn’t long before the bandages were dry enough to take off; she pulled
on her breeches with one hand, then got her tunic on over her good arm and
pulled it closed. Fortunately the belt fastener was a buckle with a hook instead
of a tongue; she belted the slit tunic so that it would stay closed, more or less.
The rain stopped altogether; insects called out of the gloom in all directions.
As the last of the light faded, odd whoops and strange, haunted cries joined
the buzzing and metallic chirping of insects. Bird, animal, reptile? She had no
way of knowing. Most of the calls echoed down from high above and could
come from any throat.
It was very damp, cold, and very dark out there. The only other spots of
light were foxfire off in the distance (probably from a decaying stump), and the
mating lights of wandering insects. No moon, no stars; she couldn’t see either
right now. Maybe the cloud cover was still too thick. Maybe the cover of the
leaves was too heavy.
At least they had a fire; the remains of the basket were burning very well,
and the green wood burning better than she had expected.
Perhaps the most frustrating thing of all about their situation was that
neither she nor Tad had done a single thing wrong. They hadn’t been showing
off, nor had they been in the least careless. Even experienced campaigners
like Aubri and Judeth would have been caught unaware by this situation, and
probably would have found themselves in the same fix.
It wasn’t their fault.
Unfortunately, their situation was still a fact, and fault didn’t matter to
corpses.
Once Blade had immobilized Tad’s wing, it hadn’t hurt nearly as much as
he had expected. That might have been shock, but it probably wasn’t; the
break was simple, and with luck, it was already knitting. Gryphon bones
healed quickly, with or without the services of a Healer.
It probably didn’t hurt nearly as much as his partner’s collarbone either; his
wing was not going to move no matter what he did, but if she had to move and
work, she was going to be jarring her shoulder over and over again.
I wish the teleson wasn’t gone. I wish I could fix it! He could fix the
firestarter and the mage-light, and probably would after he slept, but the
teleson was beyond him, as was the tent and the cook pot. If they had the
teleson, help could be here in two days, or three at the most. Now it might be
two or three days before anyone even knew they were in trouble.
He had volunteered for the second watch because he knew that she was
going to have to be very tired before she could sleep—but once she was,
those painkillers were going to hit her hard. Once she fell asleep, it was going
to be difficult to wake her until she woke by herself.
For his part, although the painkiller helped, Keeth had taught him a fair
amount about taking care of himself; he could self-trance pretty easily, and he
knew several pain-reduction and relaxation techniques.
Lucky I have a trondi’irn’sor a brother.
He made himself comfortable, and once Blade draped a blanket over him
so that he was warm, he fell asleep quickly.
Strange images, too fleeting to be called “dreams,” drifted with him. Visions
of himself, visiting a trading fair in Khimbata, but as an adult rather than a
child trailing after his Haighlei nurse, Makke; moments of flying so high above
the earth that even with his keen eyesight, humans below him were no more
than specks. There were visions that were less rational. He thought, once,
that the trees were talking to him, but in a language he didn’t recognize, and
that they grew frustrated and angry with him because he didn’t understand
what they were trying to tell him.
None of this was enough to actually disturb his rest; he roused just enough
to dismiss the dreams that were unpleasant without actually breaking his
sleep, then drifted back into darkness.
He was just about on the verge of waking all by himself—half-dreaming that
he ought to wake, but unable to really get the energy to rouse himself— when
Blade shook him slightly, enough to jar him completely out of his half-sleep.
He blinked up at her; her face was a bizarre mask of purpling bruises and
dancing golden firelight. If it had been a little more symmetrical and less
obviously painful, it would have been oddly attractive. He tasted bitter herbs in
the air as she yawned, and guessed that she had bandaged herself with some
of her human medicines.
“I took more painkillers, and I can’t stay awake anymore,” she confessed,
yawning again. “I haven’t seen or heard anything that I can confirm, although
my imagination has been working away nicely.”
“Fine, then get some sleep,” he said, a little thickly, and blinked to clear his
eyes. “I’ll take over until dawn.”
She settled herself between the wall of the tent and him, lying against him.
He let her curl up in such a way as to take the most advantage of his warmth;
she needed it. And she probably needs the comfort just as much, he thought,
as she tried to arrange herself in a way that would cause the least pain to her
broken collarbone. It can’t have been easy, sitting here, staring into the dark,
and wondering what was out there, with your partner a great snoring lump
beside you.
Granted, he wouldn’t have stayed a great snoring lump for long if there’d
been trouble, but that was no comfort when you were straining your ears
trying to tell if that was a nightbird, a bug, or a maneating whatever out there.
Gryphons were not noted for having powerful night vision, but both
Skandranon and his two offspring were better than the norm at seeing in the
dark. They weren’t owls—but they weren’t half-blind, either, and they were
better than humans. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and mentally<
br />
marked the shadows so that he knew where everything was. Some, he could
even identify, by matching the general shape with his memory of the objects
surrounding the camp; the place that looked like a crouching bear was really a
stump overgrown with inedible fungi. And the bush that seemed to have a
deeper shadow at the heart of it really did; it had grown around what remained
of a snag, which could have passed for another crouching creature. Deep in
the distance, a phosphorescent shape was a rotting tree with a patch of foxfire
fungus in it—and it wasn’t really moving, that was an illusion brought on by
eyestrain. Things that might have been pairs of eyes reflecting the firelight
were nothing of the kind; if he watched them until they moved, it was clear
that they moved independently of one another, which meant they were only a
couple of light-bearing insects, probably flying in pairs because they were in
the middle of a mating dance. A swift and silent shape passing from branch to
branch above his head was an owl; one that flew with a faint fluttering just out
of range of the firelight was a bat.
Once he identified things in his range of vision, he began cataloging
sounds. The obvious buzzes and whirs were insect calls; likewise there were
croaks and cheeps he knew were frogs. There were some calls he recognized
from around White Gryphon; not all the creatures here were new to him. The
occasional sleepy twitter or mutter from high above meant that something had
mildly disturbed a bird’s rest—nothing to worry about, birds bumped into each
other while they slept all the time.
Then there were the howls, barks, and growls. He took note of all of them,
keeping track of where they were coming from and under what circumstances.
Most of them originated from up in the tree canopy; that meant that, barring
something completely strange, whatever made them wasn’t going to bother
the two down below. The things living in the trees would, for the most part, be
prey rather than predator; life in the tree tops was difficult, with the most
difficult task of all being how to get to water.
Anything living up there had a reason not to want to live on the ground. Any
creature up there would probably be relatively small, no bigger than Blade at
the most, with a disproportionately loud call, because in the thick leaf cover up
Mercedes Lackey and Larry Dixon - Mage Wars 03 - The Silver Gryphon.txt Page 15
