Heir of the Blood King

by W.O. Cassity

  Chapter Four: Reflections to Ponder

  Donadeir awoke to see Talia using her sword to sharpen the end of a stick into a makeshift spear, with another completed one resting beside her. He enjoyed observing the determination on her face as she worked the end to a fine point. He knew she intended not only to use these spears for defense if needed, but also to hunt small game. The way his stomach felt, he could eat an entire bear. Donadeir had never gone a day in his life having to go without. His family had always kept reserves, and people were always willing to trade what they had for what his family sold. Not only did they deal with baked goods, they also carried strong mead, cheese, and on some occasions, wines from all over the kingdoms.

  It was important for Donadeir to follow Talia’s lead. If she wanted him to come with her to help, he needed to show her he was confident in her ability to take care of them both. He knew she most likely would not want him to go if she planned to hunt. A young man with his girth is not very subtle or quiet. Animals would hear him for miles, he amusingly thought to himself. Donadeir understood he was larger than most, but he wasn’t ashamed of it. He was proud to show how well to do his family was, and that often times meant appearing to have an abundance for every want and need. His main concern was he didn’t want to appear completely feeble around Talia. Yes, he had a very round stature, but it was important for Talia to know, unskilled as he may be, he could be trusted to carry his fair share of the work.

  “Good, you are awake.” Talia glanced at him. “We only have a few hours of light left, so it is important I go out and get what I can. I checked the stream to the east, and some water flows there now, so after I head out to find us something to eat, you should go to the stream and drink as much as you can. It isn’t far away, but we don’t want to risk returning to the stream too often. Guards may be watching for that kind of thing.”

  “Sounds good,” Donadeir replied. He knew Talia would have a sound plan, and he was confident she had already scouted about for danger. “Until you get back, I’ll see what I can gather here to gain us some cover. A few broken branches and leaves are better than nothing.”

  “True,” Talia responded. “Try to be back here before we lose the remainder of the light. Any sign of danger, you should come back here immediately. It may be a bit risky for us, but we might try to get a small fire going before we lose the light so if I find anything to cook, we can take care of it before night falls. There’s still enough smoke in the air our fire should go relatively undetected.”

  Donadeir hadn’t realized what he thought was mist and cobwebs in front of his eyes, was smoke from last night’s fire. Everything seemed so surreal—as if it had happened to someone else in his dreams. His stomach ached to remind him of his reality and suspension of his disbelief went out the window.

  Talia finished the spear she had been working on and blew the few remaining shavings off the point before testing its sharpness with her finger. Carefully, she swung the spear around, testing its weight and balance before handing it to Donadeir. She reached down to retrieve the other spear she had made for herself, and then she placed her staff securely along one of the logs from the fort, pulling some debris over it to conceal it.

  “Don’t linger long at the river,” Talia said. “Get your fill of water and return as quickly as you can. I will bring us something to eat. Any sign of trouble, you get back here immediately.” She told him again. “Use the spear only if you are cornered. I won’t be far away,” Talia nodded to confirm her order to Donadeir, and then she made her way into the Berring Forest.

  Donadeir remembered the small stream in the east. Sometimes he would practice throwing rocks to hit the darter fish which were quick as lightning under its calm surface, although he never actually managed to hit one. It crossed his mind briefly perhaps he could try to use the spear to skewer one of the fast little fish to eat, but then he realized he would need to skewer several dozen just to feed himself because they were so small. The best thing to do would simply be to let Talia take care of the food, and he would drink and scout for any signs of trouble to and from the stream along the way.

  As he used the log he passed out on the night before as a prop to help him stand, the small gash to the side of his knee from his first fall last night began to ache. The wound made his muscles feel tight with a burning sensation. Carefully he raised his robes up to check, and although it was bruised and there was dried blood, it appeared to be something that would heal eventually. He imagined it would also be a good thing to clean out the wound as best as he could to stave off infection. He had seen people who came into the village with untreated wounds, some of which caused high fevers or even death. Donadeir knew blood was precious, so it was the key to longevity, and with his renewed bond with Talia, he had every reason to remain here and be careful to protect this connection by any means necessary, both large and small.

  The stream was one of the small run offs from the mountains. After it passed through the eastern brush on the outskirts of Riverside, it would spill into the river in the south. The area was primarily only known to the locals. Only a few horse trails crossed through the thickets and into the stream, and there wasn’t even a bridge across it—most eastern travelers just waded through.

  In spite of his knee, Donadeir had made it to the banks of the stream in just under an hour. He used the spear to shift some of his weight from his injured leg. Melting snow was just beginning to fill the stream, and the current was a lazy drift of water. It gently filled small pools and flowed over into more pools further down the stream. Standing at the bank of the water, Donadeir felt exposed in the open area with very little brush to conceal where he was.

  As he stooped down, his knee groaned against him, so he allowed himself to settle into a sitting position with his injured leg outstretched to relieve the pressure. He leaned against both of his arms, letting his spear settle beside him. After a deep drink of water, it took him a few minutes to get the boot off his foot. Donadeir sat upright, pulled up his robes, and placed his bare legs into the river.

  As he massaged the injured area on his knee, he felt his hands warm up against his leg. He tried not to look at the injury too closely, but he wanted to make sure he cleaned all of the dried blood away and there was no dirt in it. He pulled his leg out and realized the gash he had felt was really more like a scrape and the blood had clotted to form a clean scab. Donadeir could have sworn the wound had been much deeper. Perhaps his hunger exasperated the problem within his mind. The cool, fresh water took a good deal of the stiffness and pain away from his leg and he easily stood upon it, no longer needing to use the spear to offset his weight. He was grateful the injury wasn’t as severe as he had feared it might have been.

  Donadeir retrieved his spear and made his way back to the fort with the anticipation of seeing Talia once more rolling through his mind.