Anhuset rolled her eyes. “Feeling better by the moment, I see.”
She sat down next to him, watching as he turned his head to take in their surroundings. His amusement was gone, the jovial manner with it. “What happened to the others? Klanek, Erostis?” His voice dropped. “Megiddo?” He listened without interruption as she recounted the events from the attack until their current predicament and Chamtivos's plans to hunt them the following day.
“You've made an enemy of your steward it seems. He hates you enough to pay a fortune for your death and planned it over time I'm guessing.”
His heavy sigh spoke of regret, sorrow, even a touch of embarrassment. “Bryzant has been my steward for a decade. It's never a joy to learn you've nursed a viper at your breast. He's capable and intelligent, but he needed help to execute this plan from a distance.”
“Ogran?”
He nodded. “You were right to be suspicious of him.”
It was her turn to sigh. “One of a few times when I wish I'd been wrong.”
“He was a useful puppet. Not smart enough to coordinate such a plan on his own, and he gains nothing from my death, but show him enough coin, and he could be persuaded. Bryzant, on the other hand, has some things in common with Chamtivos. A younger son without inheritance or prospects beyond his service in my household. He was ambitious and above all, patient. And he lacked Chamtivos's predilection for killing off family members. If he paid the warlord, he did so from funds taken out of my treasury. I might find it amusing if you weren't part of his machinations. Or Megiddo and my soldiers for that matter.”
“Did he tell you he plans to ransom Megiddo to the Jeden Order?”
He pressed a hand to his left side. “Every time his dogs used their fists on me.”
For now, there was little she could do to alleviate his discomfort, nor could she stay here with him much longer. They needed water, and she needed to scout the island, learn what the terrain held in store and discover any hiding places or defensible spots they could exploit in preparation for tomorrow's ordeal.
“I'll have to leave you here for an hour or two while I search the area. There's no avoiding it.” She handed him the eating knife Karulin had sneaked to her.
Serovek's mouth fell open. “They missed a knife on you?”
“Not mine,” she said. “Chamtivos's second-in-command. The two are at odds. Karulin is a decent sort if you don't count attacking travelers and holding them hostage for ransom money. And compared to Chamtivos, he's sweetness, light, and sanity. He left the knife on purpose. It was either an act of rebellion or one of betrayal.”
“It seems loyalty is hard to come by these days, no matter who you are,” Serovek said in wry tones. He tried to return the knife to her. “Take it with you. You don't know what you'll cross in your exploration.”
She pushed it back to him. “I have ten claws, sharp teeth, and can take down anything with the aid of a sturdy stick. I'm well armed. You need the knife more than I do.”
“I've no argument for any of that,” he replied.
She stood and brushed dirt off her trousers. “Good. Less time wasted.” A thought occurred to her. She needed some way to know if he was in trouble while she was gone. “Can you whistle?”
His brow creased in frown lines and he pursed his mouth. A clear, near perfect mimic of a flycatcher's song filled the air, carrying through the trees where a chorus of bird calls answered with full-throated enthusiasm.
“Impressive,” Anhuset said without a drop of sarcasm when he stopped.
“And hurts worse than being kicked in the balls.” Serovek pressed a hand to his mouth. “If you're wanting me to whistle a tune for you before you go, forget it.”
She resisted the urge to once more comb his tangled hair back from his face with her fingers. “Tempting but no. Whistle if you're in trouble. Something like a two-three-two pattern so I'll know it's you and not some bundle of feathers courting a female.”
“Anhuset.” Serovek crooked a finger and she leaned closer, admiring his long dark lashes and the swoop of his eyebrows. His mouth beckoned her despite its bruising and the remnants of blood in its corners. “Be careful. I don't want to lose you.”
The words sent a bolt through her. Words not of lust or teasing but of deep affection for her, of fear for her. Anhuset almost replied she wasn't his to lose, but that was no longer true.
She, who'd never subscribed to delicacy of any type, stroked Serovek's swollen face in a delicate caress. “Worry not. I'll take care and return soon.”
Her trek down the slope, through the forested labyrinth was quicker than she anticipated. She didn't dwell on the question of whether she was leaving Serovek or fleeing from him.
Chapter Ten
A beautiful butterfly with the sting of a hornet.
There wasn't a bit of flesh on him that didn't hurt, and his insides didn't fare much better. Serovek had been in more than his share of fights in his lifetime and wore the scars as badges, but he'd never endured the kind of beating Chamtivos and his men had doled out to him. If he didn't piss blood or spit out a couple of teeth, he'd be amazed. If he and Anhuset lived through this fun little excursion the warlord had planned, he'd consider believing in merciful gods.
Once assured he wasn't going to die on her in the immediate future, Anhuset had sprinted down the slope, fleet as a deer. Chamtivos hadn't extended his particular brand of hospitality to her with the same zeal as he did to Serovek. Though it galled him, Serovek knew he'd serve her best by staying behind. He had to clear his head, pry open both eyes, and make himself useful to the woman who carried him across her shoulders over difficult terrain to get him to safety.
“Ugly you might find me, firefly woman, but I think you're beginning to like me,” he said to the stately firs surrounding him. Serovek smiled despite the pain it caused as he imagined Anhuset's expression had she heard him.
He took the damp cloth she'd used to give him water and clean his face, and soaked his right eye, glued shut by scabs. Hot threads of blood trickled down his cheek as he broke the scab and forced his eyelid up. The world remained blurry, but his depth perception was no longer skewed. He wondered if Brishen had dealt with the same when he lost his eye and how long it had taken for him to adjust.
Scooting closer to a young tree, he used the trunk as support to leverage himself first to his knees, then to his feet. He breathed hard, lightheaded from the exertion as well as the pain in his ribs, lower back, and face. Resting against the sapling for a moment, he rode out the first few waves of agony until his body accustomed itself to the discomfort enough that he didn't feel like bellowing with every movement. Leisurely convalescing wasn't an option. He had to move, had to walk, and at some point, would probably have to fight. He already considered himself a detriment to Anhuset. He wouldn't be the means by which Chamtivos would find it easy to kill her.
She'd left him the eating knife for defense, but knives were tools as well as weapons, and after what felt like a thousand years, he managed to scavenge a few sturdy sticks of decent length and thickness and staggered back to where Anhuset had left him. His mobility might be limited from his injuries, but his enemies hadn't broken his fingers. He settled down to craft crude but effective weaponry with the eating knife and sticks.
The day had aged into late afternoon by the time Anhuset returned, grim-faced but carrying an armful of items she'd scavenged during her scouting. She paused to eye the third spear he was whittling at, shaving off bits of wood to create a lethal tip at one end.
“A fishing spear,” she said. “Nasty bit of work if you take one of those in the gut.”
He honed one of the back-curved edges he'd whittled into the stick's tip, meant to hook onto whatever it grabbed and tear if prey tried to wriggle free. “I'm not inclined to show mercy to this group,” he said dryly, setting the knife and stick aside for a moment. “I see you were foraging as well as scouting. What interesting things have you brought back?”
She dumped what
was in her arms into a small pile at his feet: a short length of rope stained with mildew, a tattered shirt, and a moldy basket of smooth round rocks. She held onto the best item of all, a gourd full of water, and offered it to him. “You're surely parched, but I don't think I need to warn you about why you shouldn't guzzle it all down.”
Serovek nodded his thanks, using the first sips to rinse the taste of blood from his mouth. The water was cold, and to his dry tongue and throat, sweeter than winter mead. “Water from the lake?” he asked between sips.
Anhuset folded in front of him, long legs crossed at the ankles, her knees bent so she perched like a butterfly with spread wings. A beautiful butterfly with the sting of a hornet. “Yes, though I kept an eye on the waves. Something or things patrols those waters. They're big, long like snakes and were very interested in our boats when we rowed here. They may not come ashore, but I wanted to be cautious, not eaten.”
He raised the gourd to her in a toast. “Who wouldn't?” This time he swallowed a more generous gulp, his belly cramping in warning as the water hit his stomach like a stone. “I don't much like the idea of you risking your life that way, but I thank you for the water. Rest assured I'll savor every drop.”
Was that a blush tinting the high ridges of her cheekbones? He hoped so. She didn't admonish him for laying on the charm, only nodded and slid the basket of rocks toward him.
“These are from the shore. I picked what I thought might work in a sling. Do you know how to use a sling?”
He almost chuckled but a twinge with the sharpness of a portcullis spike in his ribs changed his mind. “Since I was about four years old. My father taught me. When I was thirteen, I took down a charging boar with one shot landed between its eyes.”
Her eyebrows rose and her eyes widened. Even if he couldn't read her eyes in the way he could read a fellow human's, Serovek was sure by her expression she wasn't disbelieving of his boast, only impressed. Trust. She was learning to trust him.
“So not just adept at seducing women, riding horses and swinging a sword then.” She tapped the basket. “I'm adequate with a sling, though I've never killed a boar with one. I prefer throwing spikes.” She gestured to the knife he set aside. “When you're done with your spear, I'll take the blade and whittle a few spikes to carry with me. We can use the shirt and rope to make a sling.”
He hefted the rope. There wasn't much of it, certainly nothing to use for climbing or netting something, but there was plenty to make a sling once he unraveled some of the fibers. “Besides the rocks, where did you find the rest of these?”
“Different spots on the island. Either we aren't the first unfortunates to be marooned here for Chamtivos's pleasure hunts or this island is visited by others who leave things behind when they return to the mainland.” She reached for one of the two completed spears, inspecting it with a careful eye, testing its weight and balance in her hand. “You made this just with the eating knife?” At his nod, she smiled a wide, toothy smile guaranteed to turn most humans pale with fright. Serovek only wondered how he might kiss her senseless without having his tongue shredded to ribbons. “I can run back to the lake with one of these and try to spear something for dinner, but we'll have to make it a fast one. We can't stay in this spot much longer.” Her gaze swept over him. “I can carry you again if needed.”
His stomach recoiled at the idea. The water alone sat uneasy in his belly as it was. “I'm not hungry, and I can walk.” He sounded more abrupt than he intended, but Serovek would crawl up the remainder of the slope on his knees before he put that burden on Anhuset a second time. “What else did you discover during your foray?”
Her grin fell away. “There's only this side of the island with a shore fit to land a boat. The other side is a sheer drop to the water. The best place to be is at the island's summit, but the slope is steeper the higher you climb, a lot of it muddy and hard going. If we had more time, drier ground, and a gentler ascent...”
“And me not injured.”
She waved away that obstacle with an airy hand as if it meant nothing. “We'll just strategize around it.”
Serovek admired her ferocity, her pragmatism, her indomitable will. She didn't give up or back down. Her sheer grit saved her from what, in any other woman, would be deluded optimism. Anhuset didn't need rescuing. She just needed help—someone to open the armory so she could choose the weapons that would allow her to resolve the problem. “The summit is out, but I'm guessing you found an alternative.”
She nodded. “I found a spot under a shallow rock overhang closer to the windward side and not much farther up than where we are now. A hike but not a climb. From below, you can't see the overhang and the niche it creates until you're on top of it, but if you're in that spot, you can clearly see whatever's coming up the slope, even with so many trees in the way.”
“It'll be hard covering our tracks, especially if they bring in a tracker.”
She flashed him another toothy smile. “And why I made sure to lay down enough false trails that it looks like the island's been invaded by herds of cattle. Those arse-wipes will have a difficult time telling the real trail from the false ones, even with a good tracker in the party.”
“Well done,” he said softly. Once more a faint blush painted her cheekbones.
Anhuset cleared her throat, the yellow of her eyes flaring bright in the shadows. “We should leave now if you don't want to hike in the dark.” She gathered her foraged items together and plucked the empty gourd from his hand. “Depending on how many participate in the hunt, they'll come in one or two boats. Someone will be left behind on the beach to guard them.”
He took the hand she offered and levered himself upright to stand beside her. “Whatever we plan, it will require diversion, ambush, and speed. Unlike me, you can move quickly. You'll have to be the hunter yourself in this game.”
“And you the bait.”
Even in the woodland gloom, her hair shone silvery-white, a beacon she'd have to hide before Chamtivos arrived. Serovek reached out to lift one of her locks and cradle it in his palm. Anhuset stilled but didn't pull away. His blood heated at the notion she might welcome his touch. “We work well together. But you leave me and see to your own skin should things turn against us. You must get Megiddo away from Chamtivos. Even if the monks pay the ransom he's demanding, he won't honor the exchange. They'll figure out a way to break Brishen's enchantment and butcher Megiddo's body for sport.”
Her eyes brightened to the palest yellow. “We fought well together when we rescued the herceges from his captors. We'll do the same to save ourselves and Megiddo now.”
Her resolve strengthened his, and they packed their small trove of found treasures in the tattered shirt. Serovek used one of the spears as a walking stick while Anhuset carried the other two. Their trek to the rock ledge and overhang was slow going as they laid down more false trails. Near twilight, they reached the spot she'd chosen. Serovek noted how the topography did as she described, fooling the eye for anyone climbing the slope and offering a good view for whoever occupied it. “You're a woman of many talents, Anhuset,” he said as he pressed a hand to his side. A fire burned within his ribcage, and every bruised, abused muscle screeched a protest at his lack of mercy in traipsing across uneven landscape instead of resting in a soft bed to heal.
“Are you having trouble breathing?” Anhuset appeared in front of him, her gaze trained on his face, one hand covering his where it rested against his ribs. There was no misinterpreting or mistaking the concern in her voice. “Sit before you fall.” She pointed to a flat section of rock half covered by leaves.
“I'm fine, Anhuset. Just sore and wishing for a glass of Dragon Fire, a hot bath, and a comfortable bed.” And you to share all three with me. He didn't argue with her, though the aches and pains in body didn't lessen; they simply switched places.
They settled into the scant fastness, preparing for both an uncomfortable, cold night and the ordeal to come. Serovek prayed some of the hunters would take the ba
it he offered and head this way when they arrived. Anhuset, as superior a fighter as she was, would have a hard time of it trying to outmaneuver and kill a dozen or more hunters by herself.
While she built up a makeshift wall of brambles to slow down any charge up the slope and hide Serovek behind its screen, he split and unraveled the bit of rope, turning some of the fibers and a patch of the tattered shirt into a sling. The rocks Anhuset had gathered by the lake served as perfect projectiles. Bigger than a chicken egg but smaller than a fist, they were the right size for maximizing speed and accuracy without sacrificing impact. She'd admitted to not being as good with a sling, but the woman knew how to pick a good sling stone.
While Anhuset gathered brambles for her wall and kindling for their fire, Serovek carved throwing spikes for her. Once they'd prepared as best they could, she surveyed their handiwork with a dour expression. “I could construct two foot spike traps in the bramble to keep Chamtivos's men from getting to you without risking themselves, but you'd have as much of a chance at stepping on one as they would if you end up fighting hand-to-hand. And if I were them, I'd just use an archer to pick you off from a distance.”
“How glad I am you'll be on my side in this hunt,” he said without any sarcasm.
She snorted and left her inspection of the bramble wall for an even closer inspection of him. In the darkness, her features were merely hints of angles and curves layered in shadow, with her yellow eyes like twin suns flaring and darkening with her emotions. “Can you stand long enough for me to check your injuries?”
Her question made him even more determined not to be an invalid. He stood on more stable footing now, no longer dizzy or half blind. The sizzling pain under his ribs remained, but he'd grown used to the discomfort. “I'm just bruised and feeling my age.”
“Let me see anyway. For my peace of mind.” Her fingers were already tugging his blood-stained shirt up for a view of his torso.
The Ippos King: Wraith Kings Book Three Page 22
