“I don’t think this needs to be stitched,” he said, finally, “Just bandaged really well.”
“That’s a relief.” She allowed herself to smile. “Thanks for taking care of everything. I’m sorry I had to find this place with my head.”
Eldan had spent a couple of candlemarks pulling up armloads of grass and bringing it into the cave for the horses, then hunting up food for the humans. That was when he’d assured her that his Gift of understanding animal thoughts would keep him safe. Somehow she hadn’t been too surprised that he’d brought back roots, edible fungus, and fish. Obviously if there was going to be any red meat or fowl brought in, she would have to be the hunter. And that would have to wait until tomorrow, since she’d managed to give herself a concussion when she fell.
But the ceiling of the cave was high enough that a fire gave them no problems, and the hot fish, wrapped in a blanket of clay and stuffed with the mushrooms, together with the roots roasted in hot ashes, tasted like the finest feast she’d ever had.
“How in the Havens did you ever become a mercenary?” Eldan asked, wrapping a bandage around her leg, and securing it.
“Sort of fell into it, I suppose,” she replied. “I expect this is going to sound altogether horrible to you, but I happen to be good at fighting. And I didn’t want the kinds of things considered acceptable for young ladies.”
“Like husbands and children?” To her mild amazement, Eldan nodded. “My sister felt the same way. It’s just that I can’t imagine anyone with the Gift of Mindspeech being comfortable with killing people.”
“I don’t use it, much. The Gift, I mean. Wouldn’t miss it if it got taken from me.” She felt a little chill; Eldan was the only person besides Warrl to know about this so-called Gift, and the idea frightened her as nothing else in the past five years could. “Don’t—let anyone know, all right?”
“There’s no reason why I should,” he assured her, and somehow she believed him. “But I must admit, I don’t understand why you’d want to keep it secret if you don’t use it that much.”
“I live with mercenaries,” she pointed out to him. “People who value their privacy, and who generally have secrets.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Where, among the Heralds, such Gifts are commonplace, and we understand that one doesn’t go rummaging about in someone else’s mind as if it were a kind of old-clothes bin. There’s a certain protocol we follow, and even the ordinary, unGifted people understand that in Valdemar.”
For a moment she tried to imagine a place where that would be true, a land where she wouldn’t be avoided for such an ability, or considered dangerous. She shook her head; places like that were only in tales.
“Well, we’re different,” he admitted. “Let me look at that slash along your ribs, hmm?”
She pulled off her tunic and pulled up her shirt without thinking twice about it; she’d have done the same with Tre or Gies, or Shallan. But when Eldan cleaned the long, shallow cut with his gentle hands, she found her cheeks warming, and she discovered to her chagrin that she found his touch very arousing.
That’s not surprising, she rationalized. We both came very close to death back there. The body does that, gets excited easily, after being in danger—I’ve seen Shallan vanish into the nearest bushes with Relli, both of them covered in gore. Coming close to death seems to make life that much more important. Hellfires, I’ve felt that way plenty of times, I just never did anything about it because there wasn’t anyone around that I wanted to wake up with.
He’s somebody I wouldn’t mind waking up with.
She caught the way her thoughts were tending, and sternly reprimanded herself. But that’s no reason to start with him.
:You know, my lady,: whispered a little caress of a thought across the surface of her mind, :just because you’ve always been afraid of something, that’s no reason to continue to fear it.:
For a moment she was confused, then angry with him for eavesdropping on her thoughts, until she realized he was talking about Mindspeech, not sex. But the touch of his mind on hers was as sensuous as the touch of his hands just under her breasts; the only other Mindspeaker she’d ever shared thoughts with was Warrl, and he was not only unhuman, “he” was a neuter. She had never felt anything quite so intimate as Eldan’s thought mingling with hers ... there were overtones that speech alone couldn’t convey. A sense that he found her as attractive as she found him; an intimation that his body was reacting to the near-brush with death in the same way....
We’re going to have to stay in here until the hunt dies down, she thought absently, more than half her attention being taken up with the feel of his warm hands soothing her aching ribs, and the silken touch of his thoughts against her mind. It’s going to happen sooner or later—we’re both young, and we’re both interested. There’s no earthly reason why we shouldn’t. If we don’t, things are only going to get very strained in here.
She caught his hands just as he finished bandaging her ribs, and slowly, and quite deliberately, drew him toward her.
He was surprised—oh, not entirely, just surprised that she was so forward, she suspected. There was just a sudden flash of something like shock, and only for a moment. She deliberately kept her mind open to his touch, and after a brief hesitation, his thoughts joined hers as their lips met, and he joined her on her bedroll.
She prepared to kiss him, parting her lips, only to find he’d done the same. She chuckled a little at his evident enthusiasm; he slid his hands under her shirt, over the breasts he had been trying very hard not to touch a moment before. She undid the fastenings of his breeches and helped him to get rid of them, while he rid her of shirt and underdrawers.
Tired and battered as they were, they moved slowly with each other, taking their cues from the things picked out of each other’s minds. Making love mind-to-mind like this was the most incredibly intimate and sensuous experience Kero had ever experienced; and it was evident that Eldan was no stranger to it. In fact, given the evidence of her senses, she’d have to account him as very experienced in a number of areas, with a formidable level of expertise.
Quite a difference from Daren.
At some point, the candle burned out, leaving only the fire for illumination; she hardly noticed. She saw him just as clearly with hands and mind as she did with her eyes.
One more thing that was different from Daren: incredible patience. It had been a very long time since her last lover; Eldan was understanding, and gentle—and made certain she was fully satisfied, sated, in fact, before taking his own pleasure, pleasure in which she joined, thrilled by the overwhelming urgency she felt rushing into her from his mind. He arched his back and cried out, then slowed, breathing ragged and spent, and came to rest atop her. They lay together entwined, and gradually Kero realized he was falling asleep and fighting it. She soothed the back of his neck with a delicate brush of fingertips, and he sighed at the wordless exchange and gave up the fight. He withdrew from her, gently and slowly, still aware of all the sensations of each others’ bodies. When she was certain he wasn’t going to wake, she carefully disengaged herself, found another dry piece of wood, and threw it on the fire, giving her a little more light to see by. She reached out and caught a corner of his bedroll, shook it out, and draped the blankets over both of them.
As she settled in beside him, she noticed the Companion stare at him and sigh, before turning toward the entrance of the cave in a “guard” stance. That was the last thing she saw as she fell asleep.
When she woke, Eldan was already awake and about; in fact, that was what had awakened her. Wisely, he did not attempt to move quietly—anything that sounded like “stealth” would have sent her lunging to her feet with a weapon in hand. She woke just enough to identify where she was, and who was with her—then enjoyed the unwonted luxury of taking her time about coming to full consciousness. There was no hurry; she certainly wasn’t going anywhere....
Especially not today. Today she was one long ache, from the soles of her feet t
o the top of her head. Just bruises and muscle aches, of course; the cuts would be half-healed scars by now. Or, more accurately, half-Healed scars. She suspected that the wounds she had taken had been a great deal worse when she’d gotten them—but one of Need’s attributes was that she Healed the bearer of just about anything short of a death-wound. She’d surreptitiously made certain that the sword was under her bedroll, well padded to avoid making a lump, before she’d undressed to have Eldan tend to her injuries. She didn’t have to be in physical contact with it for it to Heal her; it just had to be nearby, but under her bedroll was where she liked to put it when she had hurts that needed to be dealt with. She certainly would never have slept with a concussion without Need’s Healing.
She wondered what Eldan would make of her rapid recovery.
I hope he’ll just think a little self-Healing is one of my abilities. I’d rather not have him asking too many questions about Need. Grandmother said there was something odd about Heralds and magic, and I’d rather not find out what it is.
Eldan had set about organizing the cave into a place where they could stay comfortably for several days. Just now he was heaping bracken into a depression and covering it with a layer of grass, and after a moment, she figured out why. It was to be a bed, of course; much more comfortable than a couple of bedrolls on the cold stone floor. She watched him, blinking sleepily, as he laid her saddle and his own upside down to dry, and spread both horse blankets out to air.
“A nest, little hawk? You’re far more ambitious than I am,” she said with a yawn.
He looked up, and grinned. “Here,” he said, tossing her clothing. “It’s clean. I washed it all while you were asleep.”
She shrugged off the covers and ran a hand through her hair, grimacing at the feel of it. “I almost hate to get into clean clothing when I’m as dirty as I am.”
“That’s easily remedied, too,” he told her. “This is a limestone cave, and that means water. There’s a tiny trickle at the back of the cave. Enough to keep all of us supplied, and clean up a little, too.”
One of the things she’d stolen on her forays after food had been a bar of rough brown soap; harsh with lye, but it would get her clean. It had been in her packs; Eldan had evidently found it when he’d rummaged around looking for the medical supplies (such as they were). He handed the soap to her, with a scrap of cloth that had once been part of her shirt. He didn’t have much, besides his bedroll and some clothing.
“Come keep me company,” she said, heading to the back of the cave and the promised water. Sure enough, there was a little stream running across the back of it, in one side and out the other, with a rounded pool worn by its motion. Cold, too. She winced as she stuck her hand in it, but cold was better at this point than dirty.
“So how did you manage to find such attractive company?” she asked, as she scrubbed ruthlessly at dirt that seemed part of her, harsh soap, cold water, and all.
“Well, I was all tied up at the time—”
“I meant the Karsites, loon,” she said, splashing water at him. He ducked, and grinned.
“Be careful, or you’ll put out the candle,” he warned. “And I don’t have many. We really ought to make do with firelight. So, you want to know how I happened to be keeping company with Karsites? I’ll tell you what, you answer a question, and I’ll answer one. Fair enough?”
“Well—” she said cautiously.
“I’d like to know where you got such good training in your Gift if you never told anyone about it,” he interrupted eagerly. “Your control is absolutely amazing!”
“I told one other—person,” she admitted, reluctantly, “Actually, he came to me, because I was—uh—making it hard for him to sleep at night.” She ducked her head in the cold water, more than the chill of her bath making her shiver. Years of concealing her abilities had made a habit of secrecy that was just too much a part of her to break with any comfort. The silence between them lengthened. “Look,” she said, awkwardly, her hair full of soap. “I’d rather not talk about it. It—it just doesn’t seem right. I really don’t use it that much, and I’d rather forget I had it.”
He sighed, but didn’t insist. “I guess it’s my turn, hmm? Well, it’s stupid enough. Or rather, I was stupid enough. I was just across the Border, in a little village. Not spying, precisely, just picking up commonplace information, gossip, news, that kind of thing.”
She turned to stare at him. “Wearing that? Blessed Agnira, what kind of an idiot are you?”
“Not that much of an idiot!” he snapped, then said, “Sorry. I wasn’t that stupid, no, I was wearing ordinary enough clothing, and I’d walked in; I’d left Ratha out in the woods, outside the village walls. I thought my disguise was perfect, and I thought my contacts were trustworthy, but obviously, something went wrong. I think someone betrayed me, but I’ll probably never know for sure. Anyway, when they first hauled me outside the walls, there were only a couple of the guards and no priestess; Ratha tried to get me loose, and they got one of my saddlebags even though they couldn’t catch him.”
“And when they found the uniform, they couldn’t resist dressing you in it.” She rinsed out her hair, and dried herself with the rag he handed her. With a smile of amusement, she recognized the rest of her ruined shirt. “I can see their reasoning. Makes it all the more evident to the priestess that they really had caught a Herald.”
He nodded, and she pulled the clean clothing on, dripping hair and all. “So, that’s it. Short and unadorned.”
Except for the reason you were over here. Just gathering “information,” hmm? With the ability to read thoughts? Not bloody likely. You were posted to that village to eavesdrop on everything you could, and you’re more of a fool than I think you are if you haven’t realized I’d figure that out. So you Heralds aren’t quite as noble—or as stupid—as you claim. There’s such a thing as morality, but there’s such a thing as expediency, too. I just hope you save your expediency for your enemies.
But she didn’t say anything, just strolled over the uneven surface of the cave floor to their fire.
“So how did you end up here?” he asked, handing her a roasted tuber and her water skin. “The closest fighting I know of is on the Menmellith border, and you’re leagues away from there.”
“Sheer bad luck,” she told him. “The worst run of luck I could have had except for one thing—nobody’s managed to kill me yet, that I know of.”
He smiled at that, and she described the rout, the flight, the dive into the river, and her continued flight deeper and deeper into enemy lands.
“—so I ended up here,” she finished. “Like I said, sheer bad luck.”
“Not for me,” he pointed out.
She snorted. “Well, if your chosen deity brought me all this way to save your hide, it’s going to cost you double. I may not be able to collect from a god, but I can certainly collect from you!”
He laughed. “If any outside forces had any part in bringing you up here, it wasn’t at my request,” he protested. “I mean, not that I wasn’t praying for rescue, but they caught me only yesterday, and you’ve been on the run for—what? Weeks?”
“At least,” she said glumly. “Seems like months. Sometimes I think I’m never going to make it back home alive.”
“You will,” he replied, softly.
She just shrugged. “So, are you going to introduce me to your friend? It hardly seems polite to keep acting like he’s no brighter than Hellsbane.”
Eldan brightened. “You mean, you—”
“My weaponsmaster told me about Companions,” she said, cutting him off. “They’re—s—s—”
And suddenly, she was tongue-tied. She literally could not say the word, “spirit.”
“Special,” she got out, sweating with the effort. “Absolutely the intellectual equals of you and me. Right?”
“Exactly.” He beamed. “Ratha, this is Kerowyn. Kerowyn, Companion Ratha.”
“Zha’hai’allav’a, Ratha,” she said polit
ely, as the Companion left his self-appointed watch post at the entrance and paced gracefully toward her. “That’s Shin’a’in, the greeting of my adopted Clan,” she told both Ratha and his Herald. “It means, ‘wind beneath your wings.’ My Clan’s the Tale’sedrin, the Children of the Hawk.”
She didn’t know why the Shin’a’in greeting seemed appropriate; it just fit. Ratha nodded to her with grave courtesy; Eldan’s eyes widened.
“Shin’a’in?” he exclaimed, and turned to look at Hellsbane, dozing over her heap of fresh-pulled grass. “Then—surely that’s not—”
“She’s a warsteed, all right,” Kero said with pride. “And probably the only one you’ll ever see off the Plains. Her name’s Hellsbane. Smart as a cat, obedient as a dog, and death on four hooves if I ask it of her.”
“That much I saw.” He got up and walked over to the mare, who woke when he moved, and watched him cautiously.
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