Catch a Wolf

by A. Katie Rose

  Cursing and muttering under his breath, he marched away from the tree toward Ly’Tana’s buckskin, Alun in tow.

  “How badly are you hurt?” Rygel asked, hunkering down in front of us, a worried frown puckering his brow.

  “Not much,” Ly’Tana and I both answered at the same time.

  I chuckled, wincing, while Ly’Tana giggled into my stomach.

  “I can see that,” Rygel said, reaching out his left hand to touch Ly’Tana’s head. His right he kept tucked tight against his ribcage. “I’ll heal you both, but I’m tapped out right now.”

  “No,” Ly’Tana said, struggling to sit up.

  Unsteady on his small legs, the pup stood up and waddled toward me. His blue eyes blinking, his tiny pink tongue washing his nose, he whimpered. I pulled him into my now vacant lap. He snuggled close, folding his legs under him, watching the humans around him with my arm supporting him. I touched tiny ears that perked slightly more than before.

  I couldn’t assist her much, but I did manage to push Ly’Tana upright with my right hand on her shoulder. She wavered, clearly dizzy with the effort of sitting up, before she leaned against the tree as I did. Her exotic beautiful face twisted in sharp pain.

  “Princess?”

  “You’ll heal Mikk.”

  Confused, Rygel glanced over his shoulder in the direction Kel’Ratan and Alun went, and back. “Your horse?”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Help us up.”

  Rygel gently pulled Ly’Tana to her feet, Arianne offering her tiny but strong body to lean against as she stood up. When I struggled to rise, my two crutches stepped forward. Witraz took the pup from me and whistled for Tor.

  Passing the pup to him with a terse order to feed him, he and Rannon helped me up. The pain was almost not worth the effort. Sick with it, I shut my eyes for a long moment and tried to breathe as deep as I could without causing my shoulder and ribs to scream. I opened them again, feeling like I’d vomit.

  “I don’t know what—” Tor began.

  Rannon raised his free hand in a clear threat. Cringing, Tor backed off, the wolf in his arms. My pup didn’t care much for the situation, for he set up a piercing cry that set one’s teeth on edge. Tor almost dropped him.

  “My prince?”

  I glanced from Tor to find Rygel peering at me worriedly. I shook my head, sweat dripping into my eyes, stinging sharply.

  “The horse first.”

  In a slow, limping parade, we walked across the meadow. Kel’Ratan looked up from yet another examination of the buckskin while Alun held his bridle. On three legs, the horse stood quiet, pain induced sweat dampening his neck and flanks. His left front hoof bore no weight at all and touched the grass only at the toe. Bloody cuts and jagged tears in his cream-colored hide bore witness to the rocks’ sharpness. His nostrils flared in quick panting breaths. His head turned, he nickered in welcome as Ly’Tana reached for him.

  “We need him strong,” I said as Ly’Tana stroked her stallion’s muzzle. “We mustn’t stay here.”

  “But—”

  I shut my teeth and jerked my chin at the horse. Rygel obeyed and stepped up to the stallion’s shoulder.

  “I’ll need my kit from my saddle,” he said.

  Kel’Ratan tossed his head at Alun. With a quick nod, Alun didn’t bother to salute, but loped toward the milling, grazing horses.

  Ly’Tana made way for Rygel, Arianne helping her step back a few paces and sink down into the long comfortable grass. Ly’Tana leaned against Arianne’s shoulder, her lips thinned with the effort to not weep. I knew should I sit down once more, I doubted even my two crutches could get me back up again. To distract myself from my pain, I concentrated on Rygel working yet another miracle.

  As with Bar, ever so long ago, Rygel spent a few moments stroking the horse, his head bowed. With his eyes shut, he appeared to be in a light trance, his sweat dampened hair glowing faintly with a pale nimbus. The thought crossed my mind that the nimbus appeared when Rygel drew on his healing magic. Or I merely saw things that weren’t there. That, of course, was a very strong possibility.

  Alun trotted back, Rygel’s leather satchel in his hand. Seeing Rygel occupied, he set it carefully down at Rygel’s feet and once more stepped to Kel’Ratan’s side.

  Many long moments later, Rygel sighed and opened his eyes. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said, wiping his brow on his sleeve. “No broken bones, but the shoulder is dislocated. If we pop it back in, I can heal the bruising and inflamed tendons and all these wounds. That won’t require as much power.”

  “What will you do for the shoulder?” Kel’Ratan asked.

  Rygel smiled faintly and gestured to his injured right arm. “I can’t do anything. You’ll have to.”

  Kel’Ratan’s mouth dropped, his blue eyes wide and alarmed. “Uh—” he began.

  “Tell us what we need to do, m’lord,” Alun said.

  “It’s going to take three of you,” Rygel said. “One to hold his bridle and two to pop it back in.”

  I glanced at Rannon in a silent request. He nodded and abandoned Witraz to hold my body upright alone.

  “It’s going to hurt like hell,” Rygel said, flashing a warning glance at Ly’Tana. “He’ll jump.”

  She waved a hand permissively, hope lighting her green eyes, her fair lips trembling faintly with anguish at her horse’s pain.

  Alun held the stallion’s bridle above the bit, stroking his thick wet neck. He murmured in a low voice, a nonsense sing-song tone aimed to keep the horse calm. As though sensing something, the big stallion watched Kel’Ratan and Rannon with white ringing his eyes. They stood next to him, waiting for instructions from Rygel. His cream, sweaty flanks quivered in fear.

  “Pick up his foreleg,” Rygel instructed, gesturing to the injured limb. “Each of you to either side of it. Lift it up and pull toward you.”

  With Rannon on the outside and Kel’Ratan under the horse’s neck, they held the leg in their strong hands. Mikk, in fear and pain, leaned back, away from them, all his weight on his haunches.

  “Keep pulling back, slowly,” Rygel said, leaning over with his hand on Mikk’s big, bloody shoulder. “Then when I say, jerk hard, with all your strength.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Kel’Ratan muttered, easing the stallion’s leg toward him in a pulling motion.

  “Me too,” Rygel said. “Now yank!”

  At his snapped order, the two big men jerked hard on the hoof. A loud crack resounded at the same instant the big stallion plunged sideways. Ripping his leg out of their grip, he lunged against the bridle, almost tearing free from Alun. Alun let go of the bit, but held onto the reins as the stallion jumped away in panic. To my utter shock, he landed on four solid hooves, not three.

  Alun went to him, calming his trembling, stroking down his face, murmuring his nonsense words. The horse quieted, sweat breaking out and dripping down his neck and shoulders. His flanks still quivered, offering silent testimony to the pain he felt.

  Alun lead him slowly back to Rygel and Mikk, while limping, could put weight on the leg. Ly’Tana clapped her hands, tears shining in her eyes. Her lips pursed, a swift, soft whistle escaped her on a single breath. Mikk nickered in response, his ears up as his head craned around to see her fully.

  “Well,” Kel’Ratan said gruffly, stroking his hand down Mikk’s powerful shoulder. “Well.”

  Taking vials of powder from his satchel, Rygel unstoppered one, sniffed, and began applying the stuff liberally to the horse’s bloody wounds. He walked around Mikk’s huge hindquarters, unmindful of hooves the size of dinner plates that could kick him into next week. He tapped more powder onto a wound I couldn’t see, moved on, only to pause and tap more.

  Ever curious, Kel’Ratan asked, “What is that?”

  “A mixture I created,” Rygel answered, pausing to tap. “It helps clear the wounds of infection. Not a good idea to heal a dirty wound. Then you close all the dirt and grime inside the body.”

&nbs
p; “Makes sense,” Kel’Ratan allowed.

  “What’s in it?” Witraz asked.

  Rygel paused mid-tap to eye Witraz over the horse’s withers. The buckskin definitely felt better. His neck low, he stood patient, his left front hoof solid on the ground as he cocked his left hind leg, resting.

  “Just stuff,” Rygel answered shortly, moving on.

  “Oh.”

  “I need quiet,” Rygel said, dropping the now empty vial back in his satchel.

  I glanced at Ly’Tana. With her beloved horse well on his way to full recovery, she offered me a wan smile before snuggling into Arianne’s arms. Closing her eyes, she, too, rested. I envied her that ability, for my pain would never let me rest.

  “Your turn will come.”

  “Shut up,” I thought back at the voice.

  It appeared none of the warriors dared move for fear of disturbing Rygel. Only the light breeze whispering through the tall grass, the distant jingling of metal bits in horses’ mouths as they grazed, the murmuring of leaves did I hear. I swear none of them even dared breathe.

  As Rygel placed his hands, fingers splayed, on Mikk’s damp cream hide, he bowed his head. With the healing power now flowing into him, Mikk’s eyes half-closed and his head dropped, his nose brushing the grass. I wondered if he’d need to rest as so many of Rygel’s patients did.

  Though we need to recuperate, I thought absently, we dare not.

  Brutal would now summon another army, sending to Soudan for yet more fresh troops. Ly’Tana was right. Next time, he won’t attempt to talk us in. He’ll attack with everything he has.

  I blinked. Perhaps I blacked out for a space or three, for at first glance nothing had changed. Then everything had. The wounds on the buckskin’s creamy flesh disappeared. Rygel stirred, breathing deep, straightening his back with a long groan. The horse also blinked, raising his head to gaze around. In a motion that said everything, Mikk shook himself, saddle and gear rattling, and snorted down his nose.

  “I’ll be damned,” Kel’Ratan said in a low voice. Alun whistled.

  Walking about, they examined the stallion closely, running their hands over his flawless cream coat. Mikk bent down and grazed the lush grass, tearing and chewing as fast as he could.

  Rygel rubbed him affectionately for a moment, smiling slightly. When he turned toward me, he staggered, caught himself, and offered me a wry grin. He’s all but exhausted, I suspected. Sweat plastered his yellow hair to his cheeks and brow in thick tendrils. His eyes and mouth drooped, his cheek bones cutting through his pale skin.

  Alarmed, I tried to reach for him. But with my only useful arm still around Witraz’s shoulder, all I could do was lean.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  He ducked his head to wipe the sweat onto his left shoulder, his right still clamped tight to his ribs. “Your turn.”

  “No.” I jerked my head toward Ly’Tana.

  His ‘but’ rose as far as his eyes and opened mouth. He changed his mind the instant he met my gaze. Dropping his head once in a slow nod, he turned and hunkered next to Arianne. Ly’Tana murmured something I couldn’t catch as he once more touched her brow.

  “But—” Witraz began.

  “Don’t start,” I growled.

  Kel’Ratan, stepping carefully around the three in the grass, walked toward me. “He seems tired, but I think he can go. She doesn’t have much weight to speak of. Not much of a burden for him.”

  I nodded. “After he heals her, we’ll rest for an hour. No more.”

  Kel’Ratan looked me up and down, worry puckering his face. “What about you? You’re in no condition to travel.”

  “Short of shooting me,” I replied blandly, “we have no choice. Rygel can’t heal all of us and he’s injured, too.”

  Frowning heavily, Kel’Ratan looked from me to Rygel, on the ground with his hand on Ly’Tana’s brow, and back. “I reckon we can’t always rely on his magic, now can we.”

  “Not always.”

  “Then let’s bind you up the best we can, then,” he said. “I’m no healer, but I can strap ribs and stitch wounds with the best of them.”

  Smiling faintly, I allowed Witraz to limp me back toward the lone tree. Rannon, at Kel’Ratan’s terse order, ran to fetch saddlebags. Easing me to the ground, Witraz knelt beside me while Kel’Ratan examined the wound on my back. Taking his dagger, Witraz gingerly cut my bloody tunic from my torso.

  “This is—” Kel’Ratan muttered, hunkered behind me, his fingers gently probing. I held back a hiss of pain.

  “Bad.” I finished for him.

  He clucked his teeth. “Well, it’s not good. It needs stitched.”

  “How are you at sewing?”

  “I’m no seamstress, but I think I can close this. It’s got splinters in.”

  “Dig them out.”

  I shut my jaw hard to prevent not just a hiss of pain, but a howl as his thick fingers dug into my back. I shut my eyes, sweat pouring off me in small rivers. I felt Witraz clamp down on my other shoulder to both prevent me from moving and offer comfort. What are you doing back there? I wanted to scream. Digging for gold?

  “There,” Kel’Ratan breathed, bringing his bloody hand with a long piece of wood between his fingers around for my inspection. I opened one eye to peer at it.

  “Lovely,” I muttered.

  Rannon returned with a small kit and a large cotton cloth. After handing the kit to Kel’Ratan, he ripped the cloth into large strips. The low whirring sound as it tore accompanied by the waves of pain that washed through me made me nauseous. I hoped I wouldn’t vomit, but couldn’t be certain I wouldn’t.

  Kel’Ratan muttered to himself as he plundered the leather kit. “Needle.” He put the long slender needle in my hand. “Hold that.”

  I eyed the tiny silvery wand with its sharp point, knowing within moments it would pierce my flesh.

  “Silk. Where the bloody hell is it? I know it’s here somewhere, ah, there you are, damn thing. Give me that.”

  Kel’Ratan took the needle back from my fingers. I braced myself.

  “It’s going to hurt,” he warned. I could hear him behind me, threading the needle.

  “Pain don’t hurt,” I answered, shutting my eyes.

  “He’s tough,” Witraz said. I could hear the grin in his voice.

  I breathed as deep as I could, trying to relax, waiting for the needle. As I had been stitched back together countless times after arena matches, the thought of the needle in Kel’Ratan’s fingers didn’t bother me. His handling of me spoke of confidence, telling me I wasn’t his first victim he’d sewn. I couldn’t help my first slight jump at the sting of the needle, but after that the pain came almost as a familiar friend.

  “Most are usually yelling by now,” Kel’Ratan muttered, busy poking and threading.

  I said, “It’s just pain.”

  “Right,” he growled. “It’s an insignificant minor problem that turns strong men into crying babies.”

  “I’m tough,” I said, listening to Witraz chuckle.

  “A true wolf.”

  Kel’Ratan might be an experienced field surgeon, but he sure took a long time. An eternity surely passed before he sighed, leaned back and surveyed his handiwork. Had I been lying down, I know I’d have drowned in my own sweat.

  “Done. Rannon, hand me that salve there.”

  I opened my eyes, feeling that while the pain I could manage, my nausea was another matter. Thirsty, I licked my lips, but dared not ask for a drink. Anything that went down could surely be counted on to come right back up.

  Kel’Ratan’s calloused, gentle fingers smoothed a cool salve onto my wound, instantly easing the sting, reaching further into the deep bite of the injury itself. Inching around my bare torso, he muttered under his breath, applying the stuff to my many other cuts and scrapes, stark reminders of the broken trees.

  Clucking his teeth, he sewed together four more gaping wounds on my arms, chest and ribs. I endured each an
d every one with calm stoicism. Yet, individually, all my wounds’ crying voices were silenced under his fingers and the blessed numbing salve.

  “What’s in there?” I asked. “It feels wonderful.”

  “I’ve no earthly idea,” Kel’Ratan replied, rubbing more into a deep cut lower down on my back.

  I raised my right arm to allow him access to my ribs, Witraz backing away to give him room. “Our physicians have been concocting it for generations,” Kel’Ratan resumed, squinting as he peered at my skin. “It kills the pain and helps wounds to heal much faster than normal.”

  “Give it to Rygel, m’lord,” Rannon suggested.

  “Not a bad idea.”

  Kel’Ratan’s fingers probed and poked my swollen ribs and chest. I winced away from him, sucking in my breath.

  “Hold still,” he ordered.

  I did my best to obey, but his touch inflamed the agony that had cooled when I sat quiet and breathed shallowly.

  “I don’t think they’re broken,” Kel’Ratan said at last, frowning. “They may be cracked or even sprung. Either way, binding them will help.”

  With Rannon’s aid, he wound the strips of cloth around my chest. With a healer’s skill, he wrapped tight enough to offer support, but no so tight I couldn’t breathe. He also covered my shoulder wound with a bandage, and wrapped my arm in a sling. Then he wrapped still more cloth cut from Rannon’s knife, binding my arm hard to my side.

  “If you can’t move, you don’t hurt as much,” he said.

  He was right. With my chest supported, my wound closed and my arm strapped down, my pain eased considerably. Now if he could only do something for my belly sickness.

  “You’ll have to do the same for Rygel,” I said, examining his handiwork.

  “He’ll be easy,” Kel’Ratan answered, standing up. He grabbed the salve, his kit and grinned. “He’s out cold. No wincing or whining.”

  “I didn’t whine,” I said to his back as he walked away.

  “You winced, though,” Witraz commented.