The evening chill followed quickly on the heels of twilight, and Sorn shivered. Cele looked around. Dahleven was nowhere to be seen, but his gear was close by. Cele appropriated Dahleven’s blanket and doubled it over the one already covering Sorn.
His shivering didn’t ease. Cele lifted the edge of the blankets covering him and crawled in close beside him. He was feverish and stank of sweat and shit and pus. Pillowing her head on one bent arm, she draped the other across Sorn’s chest and inched closer, breathing through her mouth to avoid the smell. In a few minutes, Sorn’s shivering eased.
“Thank you, my lady,” Sorn whispered.
Cele startled. “I thought you were asleep.”
“No. Ghav’s herbs have worn off a bit. I’m awake for now.”
“Are you in pain? Should I get Ghav?”
“No, my lady. The pain is tolerable now that I’m still.” Sorn turned his head so he could look at Cele. Their faces were quite close and Sorn spoke softly. “Let’s just talk for a bit.”
“Okay.” Cele fell awkwardly silent. She and her mother had talked easily before her death two years ago, until the pain meds had put her into a coma. Pain meds! “I’m an idiot! I have some Tylenol in my kit. It’ll help with the pain.” She started to get up but Sorn stopped her.
“Save it. I may need it more later.”
Cele lay back down. The Tylenol probably wouldn’t help that much, and she didn’t want to think about how much worse his pain could get. Her eyes looked everywhere but at his face.
“Don’t worry yourself about me, my lady. I’ll recover. I promised my father I’d be back for Fanlon’s Feast, and I never break an oath. It’s quite a celebration. I’d hoped to partner a dance with you, but I think that must wait.”
Sorn’s confidence eased Cele’s concern only a little. Attitude counted for a lot in recovery, but the red streaks near his wounds alarmed her. They probably meant septicemia. That could be why Ghav hadn’t bothered to clean the wound again. If Sorn’s blood was infected, there’d be no point in putting him through the torture of it. But she certainly wasn’t going to tell that to Sorn. As for conversation, Sorn had provided an opening, and Cele seized it. “Tell me about your father. Do you look like him?”
“No, I take after my mother. Father is shorter and stocky, like Halsten. His fingers are thick as sausages, but he can do the most delicate work with them.” Sorn fell silent for a moment, then went on. “He likes to laugh a lot. He was always teasing Mother, and she always rose to the jibe. I think sometimes she did it to humor him. I don’t know if he ever guessed.” Sorn’s eyes were a little unfocused, as if he pictured a private scene in his mind, and a thoughtful smile curved the corners of his mouth.
“My mother didn’t laugh much,” Cele said, “but she was always in a good humor. Nothing ever seemed to upset her.” She felt herself blushing as Sorn looked at her. “Certainly she wouldn’t have nearly fainted twice in one afternoon.”
Sorn shook his head. “She might have fainted three times if she’d seen what you have today.”
Cele’s voice was critical. “It’s not what I expect of myself.”
“Have you much experience with combat then, on which to base such expectations?”
Sorn’s question zinged home and Cele grimaced. She thumped him gently on the shoulder and was rewarded with a brief grin. “You’re more like your father than you think.”
They fell silent again, and Cele groped for something to say. “Is there anybody special waiting for you at home?” Then she remembered Fendrikanin’s teasing and wanted to kick herself.
It didn’t seem to bother Sorn. “Oh, I’ll have nursing aplenty when I return—of the sisterly sort. I’ll not lack for scolding either, for not dodging fast enough.” Sorn looked in Cele’s eyes. “This wasn’t your fault, my lady. Things happen in battle. Don’t blame yourself.”
“But if I hadn’t distracted you—”
“If you hadn’t acted, one or both of those Renegades would have crushed my head from behind. If you hadn’t acted again, the other would have finished what the first began.” He pulled a cuff bracelet from beneath his sleeve, then pushed it onto Cele’s left forearm. “You saved my life twice over, and I thank you for it.”
The waning moon had just peeked over the ridge, and Cele could see a gold cat embossed into the silver cuff.
“I can’t accept this. It’s too valuable.”
“More valuable than my life?”
“Of course not!”
“Then accept this, and my thanks.”
Cele shut her mouth on her protest, unconvinced, but somehow feeling a little better.
Sorn changed the subject. “You know about me. What about you, my lady? You’ve been gone from your home for days now. You don’t wear the arm-bands of a married woman. Is there a man tearing his clothing in grief at your absence?”
Cele’s mind flashed to Jeff. Six months gone now, but his abrupt departure still left a bitter taste in her mouth. “No. There’s no one like that waiting for me.”
Her face must have shown more than she intended, because Sorn gently asked, “There’s an unhappy tale there, I can see. Will you share it with me? Some have found me a good listener.”
She’d told only Elaine the details of how Jeff had left, and only because she’d needed a place to stay in a hurry. It had hurt too much at first, and later she’d been too embarrassed. But Sorn lay there waiting, breathing a little fast, but with such calm acceptance and concern that Cele found herself telling him the story.
“Well, it’s nothing very unusual. There used to be someone, but he left.” Sorn was silent, and Cele found herself elaborating. “Jeff and I lived together for a year. We were engaged—”
“Engaged?”
“To be married.”
“Ah, betrothed.”
She liked the old-fashioned word. “Yes, betrothed. Then I came home one day and found a note that said he’d taken a job across the country, it had been fun, and to have a great life. And oh, by the way, the new tenants would be moving in at the end of the week so I had to get my stuff out of the house right away.”
The appalled expression on Sorn’s face was gratifying and encouraged Cele to continue.
“I was in shock for two days, and when I finally had the wits to ask, none of his friends would tell me where he’d gone. By then, I was out of time. The house was in Jeff’s name and he’d rented it out from under me. So I moved in with my friend Elaine.
“I was such a dope! In hindsight there were signs that he was flaking out on me, but I loved him. I thought we’d work it out. I trusted him. I built up this fantasy that he was different. I told myself that he wasn’t like my father, that he would always be there. He said he would, anyway. I guess I had to learn the hard way that words aren’t worth very much. At least he didn’t leave me pregnant.”
She’d only planned to tell Sorn the basic facts, but his attention had drawn the words out of her. And now that they were out, she felt lighter than she had for months.
“The cursed Oathbreaker!”
The force of Sorn’s outrage startled Cele.
“Lady Celia, among us a man who breaks an oath of that sort would pay a heavy fine and bring dishonor upon his family. The cur doesn’t deserve your regard.”
“I sort of figured that out, just a little too late.”
“Men of that stripe are wise in the ways of deception. You shouldn’t punish yourself for loving him. “
“But I should have seen him for what he was!”
Sorn squeezed her hand lying on his chest. “The heart is a wayward thing and goes where it will. You loved him and forgave him his flaws. Better a loving heart than a suspicious one.”
A hard knot that Cele hadn’t realized she carried began to dissolve. “Thank you.”
After a moment, he said, “I would ask a favor of you, my lady.”
Cele brightened, anxious to do something in return for his kindness. “Ask.”
“Do not j
udge us all by what that Oathbreaker did. No man in this company would act as he did, nor anyone I know.”
Caution and doubt made Cele pause. Men always stand up for each other. But the earnest look in his eyes made Cele retract the thought. Sorn was serious, and this was a different world. “Okay. I’ll make you a deal. I don’t know if I can trust words and promises just yet, but I’ll judge you by your own actions, not Jeff’s.” Or my father’s.
Sorn gave her a half smile and Cele became aware of how rapidly he was breathing. She touched his face and was dismayed at how hot his skin was. No wonder she wasn’t feeling the chill, curled against him. He radiated heat like a furnace. Cele started to pull away, but Sorn held her arm. “I’ll be right back,” she said, easing from beneath the blanket. “I’m going to get that Tylenol.”
But Ghav was already there. Cele watched, her arms crossed tightly, as he gave Sorn two different kinds of herbs to chew. Within a few minutes, Sorn breathed more easily and his eyelids drooped. The Tylenol wouldn’t have worked half as well.
Cele relaxed. Sorn’s bracelet almost fell off and she pushed it up past her elbow, where it fit better.
Ghav stood and turned to Cele. “You must eat, and see to your own needs.” When Cele started to protest, he held up his hand. “Don’t be selfish. You need to stay strong. I can’t spare time caring for a woman faint with hunger. Go.”
*
Dahleven returned from setting the order of watch and stretched out next to his friend. Many times they’d shared blankets, hunting together as boys. Sorn had been the better hunter, moving so quietly up on their prey he could hardly miss, he came so close. But Dahleven had been the one to lead them to their quarry in the first place. They’d made a good team, and better friends.
The camp was subdued. Sorn’s injury affected everyone. One by one, each man stopped a moment beside Sorn and bluffly exchanged a few words, offering nuts or fruit, though Ghav wouldn’t allow anything but a few sips of water.
They’d been lucky in more than one respect: the Renegades hadn’t fouled their claws, so Kep and Dahleven’s wounds hadn’t begun to fester. Falsom would recover. He’d fallen into a heavy sleep as soon as they stopped to camp, barely staying conscious long enough for Halsten to roll him in a blanket, but otherwise he seemed to be whole.
Sorn slept restlessly, despite the herbs Ghav dosed him with, and Dahleven was barely able to doze at his side. So, when Lady Celia finished eating and returned to Sorn, Dahleven waved her off toward Fendrikanin. No sense in her going without sleep as well. She took a breath as if to protest, but then clamped her mouth tightly shut and turned away. Dahleven sighed. He’d offended her again. Well, he couldn’t help that. She needed her rest whether she knew it or not.
Sorn stirred again and woke. He gave Dahleven a weak smile. “Like old times, eh?”
Dahleven grunted. “Too much so. You always were one to lie abed. We’ll never catch any game with you flat on your back all day.”
Sorn’s smile widened. “You should try it. The ladies like a man who knows his way around in bed.”
“So this is just a ploy to gain the lady’s sympathy? I can think of better ways to attract women.”
Sorn shifted position and gasped. Dahleven’s gut twisted in sympathy, but he maintained a mocking expression.
“Use them then,” Sorn said. “I can’t wait to see. You won’t catch one with that grim face, though. Women like a man who laughs now and then.”
“I laugh.”
“Not enough.”
Dahleven’s pretended humor failed him. “I can’t find much to laugh about just now.”
“Ah, my friend. Our fate is in the hands of the Norns, and they weave as they will. My death blow came defending a lady. It’s a good death. But your fate is much different, I suspect. Though tied to the same lady.”
Dahleven let Sorn’s reference to his death pass without comment. He was right; it would be an honorable death. The skalds would sing songs of his deeds. “The lady is a puzzle.”
“She’s more than a problem to be solved. She’s a woman—as you already know.” Sorn grinned.
Dahleven groaned. “I know it too well.”
“Your fates are woven together. Enjoy it.”
“The Gods respect and reward a man with courage enough to grasp his fate—and change it,” Dahleven countered.
“Some fates shouldn’t be changed. A man needs more than respect to make a life. He needs joy. Take it where you find it.” It was an old debate between them, and held the comfort of a ritual. Sorn’s eyes drooped and his smile softened. His voice was muzzy with coming sleep. “Don’t turn your back on joy, my brother.”
*
Sorn’s fevered voice awakened Cele. His querulous moans had already roused Dahleven and Ghav. Cele slipped from beneath the blanket she shared with Fendrikanin and went closer. She stopped a few steps off to Dahleven’s side, where he knelt, facing Ghav across Sorn’s supine form. Dahleven hadn’t wanted her near Sorn before, and she didn’t want to be sent away again.
A slight breeze bit cold and sharp, raising gooseflesh on her arms and legs. Cele hugged her arms tightly, trying not to shiver, and looked down at Sorn. Fever flushed his face, and his breath came rapid and shallow.
“Is there nothing that can ease him?” Dahleven asked.
The healer looked across at him. Dahleven’s usually calm face was carved by fatigue and worry. His eyes pleaded with Ghav.
Cele knew how he felt. She’d asked the same questions herself, but seeing the naked emotion on Dahleven’s face twisted something inside her. An irrational, half-formed hope tried to flicker to life. She wanted Sorn’s recovery too much to accept anything less, and Dahleven wanted it too. He led these men. They respected him. They obeyed him. Somehow Ghav would do what Lord Dahleven demanded. He would save Sorn. Cele saw the same expectation on Dahleven’s face, etched by silvery light and shadow. She wanted it for herself, for Sorn, and when she saw the anguish in his eyes, she wanted it for Dahleven, too.
Ghav’s low voice rumbled almost below the threshold of hearing, as if he were as reluctant to speak the words as they were to hear them. “There is only one thing that will ease him now, and it will come soon enough.”
Hope shriveled in Cele’s heart as Ghav’s words repeated in her mind. She looked at Dahleven. His expression barely changed, but the subtle tightening of his face, the slight sag of his shoulders betrayed his pain. Her vision blurred as her eyes filled, and hot tears spilled down her cheeks. She turned her face away.
There was nothing more anyone could do. Ghav had done his best. Sorn would die, and no one could do anything about it. No one here. At a hospital, with modern antibiotics and sterile surgical techniques, they could probably save him. But she might as well wish them both on the moon.
She hated feeling helpless. She’d felt like this when her mother lay dying those last two weeks in the hospital. She’d hated it then, and she hated it now. What was she doing here, anyway? Why did she have to start caring about Sorn just to watch him die?
Cele’s shoulders slumped and she hugged herself tighter.
There was one small thing she could do, if Dahleven would allow it. Cele went to Ghav’s side and knelt. “You’re both tired. Let me stay with him.”
They hesitated. At least they’re not saying no right away. Cele looked to Dahleven for a decision. She saw the doubt flicker across his face. He probably didn’t want to leave his friend in the care of a stranger. Cele saw the negative forming in his face when Sorn decided for him. He reached out and grasped Cele’s hand with hot fingers.
Ghav nodded and rose, saying, “He will thirst. Only let him sip. Call me if his pain increases.” Then he went to slip under a blanket beside Kepliner.
Dahleven looked at the face of his friend as though he were reading the future there. He grasped Sorn’s other hand. “Until later, my friend.” Then he rose and went to speak with the sentries.
Cele looked at Sorn’s hand clasping her own,
grateful beyond words for his vote of confidence. Her eyes threatened to fill with tears again, but she blinked and swallowed them, unshed. Then she snuggled close under the blanket with him, propping her head on one hand. When she looked at his face she saw him regarding her with aware, fever-bright eyes. She wanted to thank him again for all the small kindnesses he’d shown her, for his forgiveness, but all the words that she thought of seemed inadequate, so she remained silent. But she thought the half smile he gave her said he understood.
“Dawn will be a long time coming,” he said. “Sing to me.”
Sing? She’d never sung without music to guide her and drown her mistakes. Her experience consisted of singing along with the radio, and in church as a child. “I’m not very musical.”
“I’m not very critical.”
Cele’s mind went blank. The only songs that came to mind were hymns and Christmas carols. She sang “Amazing Grace” and “Away in a Manger.” She was trying to remember the words to “Oh Come All Ye Faithful,” when Sorn interrupted her.
“Do you know any happy songs?”
“Happy songs?” she asked stupidly.
“Those who crafted the songs you sing…seem not to have been very cheerful.” His voice came in painful gasps. “Could you sing a song with a smile in it?”
Cele became very aware of the limits of her musical knowledge as she tried to think of an upbeat tune. All she could think of was “Sleigh Ride” which had always set her toes tapping. It seemed terribly inappropriate, but Sorn liked it, so when she finished she started over again, singing softly, “…Our cheeks are nice and rosy, and comfy cozy are we…” By the end of the last chorus Sorn had fallen into a fitful doze.
She watched his labored breathing. It was no worse than when Ghav left, but it was so ragged that she wondered if she should call the healer anyway. Suddenly, Dahleven appeared out of the darkness. He lay down on Sorn’s other side. Cele expected him to dismiss her, but he only said, “Two will keep him warmer than one.”
They stared at each other across Sorn, the knowledge that he was dying hanging in the air between them. Then Cele looked away, at her hand held in Sorn’s. When she glanced back at Dahleven, she saw he’d been staring at their clasped hands too.
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