Caros was desperate to find her, but he could not leave Neugen to face death alone. He had to get to his feet while battling the beast beating in his head. Gritting his teeth, he rose slowly and painfully. Every move planned until finally he stood on legs as weak as a newborn foal’s. He whistled and clicked his tongue with difficulty, but heard his mare nicker in response. He smiled in gratitude and nuzzled her when she came to him.
“Shshsh... There now. We are going home. You know the way. You will take us home.”
Neugen coughed and said, “Saur’s dogs! I suppose I cannot let you go off by yourself with half your brain missing.” He used the humour to cover his pain and gruffly added, “Not sure how long I can stay awake, but give me a hand up.”
Both men were drenched in sweat and parched when they had finally struggled onto their horses and began their way back to Orze. The ride was agony for Caros and nausea made him throw up as he rode. Each gasp of air seemed to inflame his head wound and every bout of vomiting brought him closer to obliviousness. The sun burned both men mercilessly as their mounts plodded through the hills. Caros was aware Neugen’s mount was following as they led off, but as his strength drained and the wound to his head grew worse, he lost all coherent thought of his friend.
Neugen was conscious however and watched in helpless despair as Caros begun to retch. While not a veteran warrior, he had seen men sustain head wounds before. They were difficult to treat and sometimes the injured man would seem fine and then fall dead days or weeks later. Retching was an evil sign and he feared his friend would lose consciousness soon. Once he fell from his mare’s back, Neugen knew his friend would die where he fell. There was no way he would be able to lift him back onto the horse. Neugen himself was rapidly succumbing to his wound. Blood was beginning to spot his hand with each painful cough and his breath was becoming shallower.
He tried to focus on his surroundings in the harsh early afternoon light. Caros’ mare had been leading northwest since they had remounted. They were now on a slope above a deep and narrow valley and she was leading them to the mouth of it. Neugen saw no sign of habitation, smelled no home fire and heard no bell or bleat of sheep. His chin fell to his chest and he struggled to breath as air whistled from around the shaft of the spear where it protruded from his chest. He stared at the smooth wood in horror at the death he was living. This was the end then? No glory in a huge campaign. Not even the small life of a village warrior fighting off raiders. No woman to give him a son. He had learned from veteran warriors, had fought well and bravely and even gained his longed for horses. Surely he had more to do? Now as the world seemed to be growing, here he was, dying on a rocky hilltop in the middle of nowhere.
He raised his head and his horse nickered softly as though exhorting him to stay strong. That made him smile and he looked to Caros. His friend was slumped dangerously far forward and could slip from the mare at any moment. A shout went unnoticed by Neugen who tried to move his mount up beside Caros’ and brace his friend. The cursed mare seemed to pick up her pace. He urged his own mount forward faster as Caros began to topple sideways off the horse. Suddenly, hands appeared from nowhere and pulled Caros off the mare while Neugen’s mount was caught and held by another pair. He reached for his falcata, but could not draw it. He pulled harder and coughed a spray of blood instead. A voice penetrated through his shallow gasps.
“Leave the blade, warrior! Leave it, I say!”
Neugen rocked on his mount and stared. An old woman held his wrist fast. That was what was preventing him pulling the blade? By gods, he was weak. The woman stared up at him with the blackest eyes he had ever seen. She turned her weathered face and called to someone out of sight. A man approached through the fog invading Neugen’s sight.
“This one has a branch through him. Get him off his horse, I can do not a thing with him all the way up there.”
The man nodded meekly, reached up with thick arms attached to a barrel chest and lifted Neugen off the horse as though he were just a child. A sharp slap sounded.
“Do not set him down here! Take him to the yard!” The old woman chided the man who had been on the verge of laying Neugen on the trail. “And take care not to shove that cursed stick any deeper!”
Neugen’s eyes closed as he felt himself lifted and carried. Murmuring voices washed over him and snatches of sentences that made little sense, but he was no longer in pain. He was falling and thought he could hear the joy of his ancestors as they frolicked beyond the death realm of Saur and his dogs.
Neugen did not die. Caros’ mare had done her job and had led them back to the valley of her birth. The old lady and her son, the barrel-chested man who had lifted Neugen, lived with their extended family in a sturdy, rock-walled home in the deep valley. They had retreated into their home at the first sight of the two horsemen riding on the slopes above. With wide, terrified eyes pressed to peepholes they had watched the men and waited for others to appear and the attack to begin. No attack came. The lead rider seemed to be asleep and slumped forward. The second rider swayed dangerously on his mount. Still the family remained silent. The man’s wife stifled her sobs of fear and clasped her suckling babe to her milk-engorged breasts while holding a hand over the mouth of the toddler on her knee.
The old lady, whose sight was still as sharp as the youngest of her clan, exhaled deeply. “Could be they are raiders drunk on pillaged ale, but I think not.”
“What do we do?” asked her son simply. He was a hardworking, but unimaginative man.
The old matriarch pursed her wrinkled lips in thought. They had survived the last raid on the valley because their home was fortuitously hidden in this deep and narrow valley. She did not want to chance their luck again and bring attention to their home. As it was, the two riders appeared to be heading to the village. The second rider turned and appeared to cough. The old woman, eye pressed to a crack in the heavy cedar shutter, saw the spear shaft that stood proud from the second rider’s chest. Her eye darted to the lead rider, he was slumped forward still and it appeared that the horse was picking its own route.
She made her mind up. “Tarren, those men are injured. They will not be long on their mounts. Get the door open, we need to tend to them.”
Tarren inclined his head and began removing the thick beams barring the door. His wife squeaked in protest, but was silenced by one withering glance from her mother-in-law.
“Isbet, get water boiling and clean linens. Hurry now, girl!”
Isbet jumped to obey and the toddler sprawled to the floor while the babe squawked in protest as its mother’s raw nipple pulled from its mouth.
Matriarch and son ascended the valley side nimbly and approached the riders. Both appeared oblivious to their presence although their horses nickered nervously at their approach.
Tarren reached the first rider just as he slumped from the mount and catching him, lowered him gently to the ground. The old matriarch approached the second rider and started when he reached for his blade. His eyes were sunken and dark, his chest coated with a blackened crust of blood while bright blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and coursed through his thin beard. She gripped his wrist tightly and tried to get his attention as stared about sightlessly. After a brief tug to loosen his wrist from her grip, his strength died. This one was not long for the world.
Once both men had been laid on straw pallets, the old matriarch sent her son to retrieve the horses while she removed Neugen’s armour and cut away the tunic from his body. Isbet brought old linen and tore them into strips as ordered. The old lady glared at the broken spear shaft and prodded the discoloured flesh around it.
Pus oozed out and she leaned close to sniff. “Well that is one thing in your favour. The black stink has not started. Tarren come!”
The man lumbered over from where he had hobbled the horses. “I am going to place a blade either side of the spear. When I say, pull the shaft out. Pull clean and do not twist!”
Tarren grunted. Isbet’s eyes grew round as th
e old lady deftly slid a bronze blade into Neugen’s chest alongside the shaft. Blood and yellow pus pulsed from the wound. Without pause the old lady took up another blade and slid this into the wound on the other side of the shaft.
“Grab the shaft. Ready?”
He gripped the shaft with one large hand and nodded.
She took a breath and used the blades to lever the wound open. “Now!”
Tarren pulled and with a wet plop, the spear head came free, followed by a river of blood.
Neugen’s back arched and his feet kicked spasmodically on the pallet, sending golden motes of dust dancing through the late afternoon sunshine. Isbet turned and hurried behind a tree while Tarren stared at the iron tipped javelin. The spearhead was the elongated pyramid shape used in war to punch through armour. This was fortunate for Neugen as its shape meant it could be extracted with far less damage than usually caused by barbed heads used commonly for hunting game. The old lady gave instructions to Isbet to clean the wound.
“Deeply! The pus must all be removed or the black stink will claim him by this time tomorrow.”
Isbet, fresh from throwing up, nodded weakly and set to irrigating the awful injury with vinegar and water. Calling two of the older children over, the old lady ordered them to fetch maggots from the horse stall. “Off you go now! The smaller the better and do not harm them! I want them lively!”
The pair giggled and loped off to complete the strange quest. They knew better than to question their grandmother.
“Tarren put that thing where the children cannot find it and help me with the other one. Here, get those clothes off him, my back is too sore to kneel any longer.”
Tarren unlaced Caros’ armour and then pulled his tunic off. Caros groaned in agony and his eyelids twitched but remained shut. The old lady shuffled closer and leaned stiffly over him. With a gnarled thumb, she lifted first one eyelid and then the other.
“Hmm, not good. Whoever hacked him should have done him a favor and just taken his head off.” She straightened and kneaded her back. “You know he looks familiar. Aside from the extra hole in his head, he is a good looking lad.”
“I know him.” Tarren grunted.
“What?” His mother squawked in surprise.
Tarren nodded hastily. “I do. This is Caros whose father was Joaquim.”
“No! I thought he looked familiar did I not say!”
Isbet came over hesitantly to stare.
“What are you looking at? Is my son not enough man for you?” The old lady rounded on her. Isbet squealed and sidled away and the old lady laughed. “I jest, Isbet.” She clutched Isbet’s arm and led her back to Neugen. “You have done an excellent job. The pus seems to be cleaned away nicely. It will return though. Now where are those children of yours?”
On cue the two children appeared, each with hands cupped and still giggling.
“Ah let us see the little monsters then.” The old lady exclaimed. They thrust their hands out, proudly displaying a dozen or more squirming white maggots. “Ach, poor things. Look at your filthy hands, here give them to me.”
The children laughed and dropped their trophies into their grandmother’s lined hands.
Isbet, with renewed confidence, after receiving a little praise from her mother-in-law, asked the obvious question and even Tarren looked on, intrigued.
“Ahah. Watch.” With a groan, the old lady bent her knees to crouch beside Neugen. “Boy will be the death of me!”
She carefully dropped the grubs onto the bruised and swollen wound. Isbet gasped and even the children looked shocked. “Now no need to go off behind the tree again girl. These little ones will do what your dainty little fingers and my bent old stumps could never do. Better still, they will do it all night as well.” The old lady kept three of the fly maggots and turned to Isbet. “They will eat away the flesh that becomes corrupt and with the gods’ favour, will keep away the black stink.” She held out her hand shakily with the remaining maggots. “Here then, clean up young Caros’ head there and pop these on before wrapping the wound with linen.”
While the women dressed the wounds, Tarren set up an awning over them. Neither man recovered consciousness that evening. Instead, both grunted and moaned throughout the night as their wounds brought on the inevitable fever. Isbet rose periodically to tend to the men and dribble water through their lips. By morning, Neugen was carrying a high fever and was flushed red. His eyes opened, but he spoke only to those who were not present, so the woman and children ignored his delirious words and occasional cries. More concerning to the old lady was the silence from Caros. He lay still and only very occasionally groaned what sounded suspiciously like Isbet’s name. The old lady feared the boy had the worse of the wounds. What damage may have been done to the lad’s brain was not something a healer could remedy.
One moment, Caros was floating in a sea of disparate thoughts and voices and the next he was staring up at a makeshift canopy above him. His eyes traced the patterns woven into the tired and dusty fabric until they could shift no more and he blinked. The spell broken, his body came alive. Pain rushed to fill his mind and unravel the peace he had felt. He clenched his teeth, remembering with fear the pain of the monster drilling through his head. His right eye throbbed and he closed it to lessen the pain. He finally closed both eyes, but that just seemed to trap the pain inside him. He wanted to scream, but was too afraid to. Something fluttered against his skin. A hand, he thought. Something cool, something not attached to the pain. He opened his eyes and saw an old lady hovering beside him. Another face moved beside hers. Ilimic? He smiled despite the renewed pain and tried to focus on her, but his right eye blurred and skittered. The old lady pushed something between his lips and he swallowed the tepid broth she trickled onto his tongue. When the old lady extracted the linen, Caros was again asleep. She nodded, happy that the lads had lived this far. Every day won was a day closer to them recovering.
Neugen shivered and sweated with fever beside Caros, who although he was not feverish, was in severe pain. Caros tried to turn onto his side to relieve the pain. The movement caught Neugen’s eye. Until that moment, Neugen had not realised Caros was even there. He turned his head slowly and saw his friend moving restlessly. His heart filled with relief.
He had lain awake for some time now, trying to avoid memories of the attack. He had thought that Caros must have died somewhere out there in the hills for he had no memory of being found or how he got here.
“Caros!” He whispered.
Caros paused in his fidgeting and slowly opened bloodshot eyes. Neugen flinched at what he saw in them. There was misery and pain carved into his friend’s soul, but more than that, he saw raw anger stirring in his friend. Something whispered a warning in Neugen’s heart. The Caros he knew was only barely alive in the eyes staring back at him.
“Caros? We live!” Neugen smiled weakly, “You do not look too well, but I expect I look about the same?”
Caros said nothing, just closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Nothing Neugen could say helped. Caros refused to respond to him and Neugen finally gave up. He lay exhausted and saddened.
Caros had discovered on waking that Ilimic was not by his side. He had smiled at the old lady and looked about for her to no avail. Unconcerned, he concentrated on taking in the thin dribble of watery soup. Finally, when his jaws ached and his eyes throbbed, he spat the linen from his mouth.
“Enough.”
Then a new presence appeared alongside him and smiling, he opened his eyes to find Ilimic, only it was not her. It was a girl older than Ilimic, with a heart shaped face and long, dull black hair. She smiled at him and laid her hand on his brow and his heart froze. The memories of the attack swamped his mind, particularly the pale shape of Ilimic on the road, crying out in fear. In fury, he had snarled at the girl smiling at him. She screamed, snatching her hand back and stumbling hurriedly backwards.
“Isbet! What has happened?” The old lady called from the shade where she rested.
&nb
sp; Isbet was sobbing in fright. “Nothing Ma-ma, he just gave me a start. I think I may have frightened him.”
A part of Caros regretted venting his anger on the blameless woman, but another did not care. He closed his eyes and tried to switch his thoughts to blankness. The woman receded, but the pain did not. He fought and denied it, but in the end, it was stronger and like a predator, it smelled his weakness.
He rolled clumsily onto his side. He thought vaguely that he could perhaps leave and that the agony would remain behind. The movement unleashed another attack by the monster though. His stomach turned and he gasped at the nausea that left him weak.
He heard a voice then and his eyes snapped open. Neugen lay nearby and Caros stared in cold anger at his friend. He was a reminder of the pain, of the loss of his family, the loss of Ilimic as well now. He had accepted enough loss. Neugen talked, but Caros closed his eyes and shut his ears. There was nothing to say. Was he to be happy at being spared? The village dogs had it better than this. There was nothing to say.
Using all his will, Caros managed to clamber upright the following day. He was weak, but two days of lying helpless while Neugen tried to raise his spirits was more than he could endure.
The old woman clucked at him in disapproval while Isbet cowered behind her and watched him with frightened eyes. His naked body trembled at the effort, but he stood upright and gingerly tottered to the water trough beside the house. He accepted no help from anyone and glared at Tarren when he moved to aid him. The big man shrugged passively and walked back to his chores.
After washing himself at length, he felt marginally better and sought out his tunic. It had been washed and mended although he did not notice. As he dressed, he stared at his hands shaking weakly while trying to tie the laces on his breeches and sandals. The right side of his head throbbed and the pain had gradually grown until his right eye streamed and he could only use his left. He felt Neugen’s eyes on him and willed himself to finish dressing.
His friend had at first tried laughing and joking about their condition, but Caros had barely responded. He had then tried to talk about what had happened and Caros had just turned away. Neugen had continued, whenever they were awake, to try to lift his spirits.
Warhorn Page 16