As she and Tarc walked back to the wagon, she said quietly, “All five of the bandits behind the wagon had arrows through their heads. Would it be correct for me to assume that the three up front with arrows in their heads were also ones you shot?”
Tarc didn’t answer for a few steps, then only nodded.
“Is that because you’re even more accurate than your dad?”
There was another pause before Tarc gave a little shrug and nodded again.
“If anyone had claimed,” she said slowly, “that there was an archer anywhere in the world who could consistently hit men, moving on horseback, in the poor light just before dusk, I wouldn’t have believed them. If they’d said the guy was so good he shot them in the head rather than the body, I would’ve laughed.” She turned the lamp over at Tarc’s quiver and saw he had six arrows remaining. “Don’t your quivers usually have twelve arrows?”
Tarc’s hand lifted abortively toward his quiver, then dropped back to his side. “Yes,” he answered.
“So,” she said thoughtfully, “you shot eight men in the head, out of a twelve arrow quiver, but still have six arrows left?”
He didn’t say anything for long enough Lizeth wondered whether he was going to answer. Finally, he said, “Three of dad’s arrows to the body were in good condition because they didn’t hit bone. He gave me two of them.”
“You shot eight arrows and none of them missed,” not sure whether she was making a statement or asking a question.
Tarc grunted. Lizeth wasn’t sure whether it was an affirmative grunt or merely an expression of irritation. She continued, “And he gave you two of the three arrows because you’re a better shot than he is…”
Tarc didn’t answer, but then she hadn’t asked a question. She shook her head and—not knowing whether it was a curse or an expression of amazement—said, “Damn…”
***
As they sat down to eat, Daum leaned close to Eva and said, “What’s the deal on the kid with the broken arm?”
Keeping her voice down, she said, “He was one of the raiders. They had him hiding in the swamp for the ambush. Once we stopped, he worked his way through the brush to where we were. Then he crawled up the embankment, under the wagon, and grabbed Daussie.”
Daum leaned back to stare at his wife, “You’re taking care of someone who attacked Daussie?!”
She shrugged, “He was only working for them because they had his sister. He had to do what they told him to or they beat her.”
“If I got caught, I’d tell a story like that too.”
She chewed at a lip, “Those were my sentiments at first. But, Kazy absolutely and completely believes his story. She… she, somehow, convinced Daussie and me.” Eva looked Daum in the eye, “Now I really do believe he was just a kid in an impossible situation.”
“Oh, jeez,” Daum said, doubtfully. “Time’s gonna tell his true character, I suppose. I just hope no one gets hurt when you guys turn out to be wrong…” He looked over at the kid, “What happened to his arm?”
“He was behind Daussie, holding her left arm twisted up behind her back. He had a big knife he was poking her with. He says the raiders’ orders were for him to grab someone and threaten them. That was supposed to distract us when we needed to be fighting…” she trailed off.
“So, what happened to his arm?” Daum said, repeating himself.
“Oh. Tarc was there when the kid grabbed Daussie. He said, “Disc, humerus,” which I thought was pretty cryptic. Daussie understood though. She teleported a thin disk out of the middle of his humerus.”
Daum’s eyes widened at the idea, then he frowned, “If Tarc was right there, why didn’t he just kill the guy with one of his throwing knives?”
“Daum! The guy had a knife in Daussie’s back! You’ve told me how those guys can have convulsions when one of Tarc’s knives goes in their brains. Would you take that kind of chance?”
“Well, no. But Tarc could’ve slowed the flow in his carotid, or crushed his spinal cord, or—”
Eva interrupted, “He could’ve. But the kid was almost six meters away. Tired from using his telekinesis to guide arrows, he would’ve had a hard time stopping the flow in the carotid from that distance. He could’ve thumped the kid’s spinal cord, but the damage could’ve been permanent and he said…”
“Said what?”
“He said the kid looked scared to death. He agrees with Kazy that the kid seems like he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.”
“Daussie could’ve cut the kid’s spinal cord…” Daum trailed off, feeling bad for suggesting such a horrible injury to a young man in a bad spot.
Even nodded, “She could’ve, but, once again, he had a knife in her back and neurologic injuries tend to cause some jerking around. Besides, she said she could feel him trembling.”
“You’re kidding. He had a knife in her back and she was feeling sympathy for him?”
“I’m not sure she knew what she was feeling. But Tarc made the right suggestion, cutting the kid’s humerus made it so, mechanically, he couldn’t stab Daussie. Then the pain made him let go of her other arm.”
“And now you guys are going to try to fix his broken arm,” Daum said, resignedly.
“Yeah, but I’m worried. The cut Daussie made is really smooth. I’m afraid we’ll get it back in place and it’ll just slip back out.” She shrugged, “From what I know it’ll probably still heal, just a little short and a little crooked.” She looked up and gave Daum a weak grin, “But that’d be a hell of a lot better than if he was paralyzed.”
Daum said, “Short?”
“If the pieces don’t stay butted end-to-end, the muscles will pull them so they overlap, making his arm short.” She shrugged, “We’ll fight that by keeping him upright even when he’s sleeping. That way the weight of gravity pulls the bones out straighter and longer.” She chewed her lip, “It’ll probably still wind up short, but that’s not a big deal in the arm.”
***
Farlin Miller felt desolate. The wagon people had somehow beaten back the Ragas, as the bandits who’d been holding Farlin and his sister called themselves. However, it was only a matter of time before the Ragas would regroup and attack again. Worse, now his arm was broken. So, even the remotely unlikely plans he’d been nurturing for an attempt to escape with his sister seemed… beyond impossible.
The women from the wagon had been unbelievably kind. The oldest one claimed to be a healer. She’d given Farlin some poppy paste, they’d helped him sit down, and then they’d gone off to cook a meal for everyone.
Later, a bunch of the women and the youngest man gathered around Farlin. At that point, for some reason he didn’t understand, Farlin’s entire arm went numb. Then the healer pulled and twisted on his arm—the arm he didn’t understand how he’d broken. Despite the numbness, he still had some pain, though it wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d expected. And, he kept feeling the bones slip in and out of place in his arm.
The short, dark-haired girl with the green eyes, Kazy, said, “With the ends of the bone cut off smooth, they’re never going to lock together.”
Farlin had thought, “Cut?!” but decided they must just use the word “cut” differently than the way his family’d used it, since there was no wound for his bone to have been cut through. She must mean “broken,” he thought.
The healer woman shook her head, saying, “I think we’re just going to have to leave it overlapping.”
Then Kazy said, “How about if Daussie cuts one of the bone ends to leave a little spike sticking up off of it? Then that spike could lock into the hole on the other end of the bone.”
They’d gone off to draw pictures in the dirt under the light of a lamp. Meanwhile, Farlin’s horrified imagination visualized them cutting him open to saw a spike onto the end of his bone. He wondered if there was any way he could just beg them to leave his arm alone. Or at least not cut his bone.
Then he mused on the fact he’d learned that Daussie was the beautif
ul girl he’d grabbed when he first came out from under the wagon. Maybe they think she deserves to get revenge on me by cutting my arm open to saw my bone?
That they were treating him kindly after he’d attacked Daussie made him feel guilty. Though his story about how the Ragas killed his parents and his uncle, leaving only Farlin and his sister Nylin alive, was true, he hadn’t expected anyone to believe him. He’d pleaded though, telling them how the men threatened Farlin to get Nylin to cooperate with their desires, and threatened Nylin to get Farlin to do most of their chores—and help them attack passersby.
The others had been doubtful, however, for some reason, Kazy’d believed him. She weighed in vehemently on his side, convincing the others to give him a chance. She’d argued so strongly for him that he’d dared ask for more, begging them to rescue his sister. Though they’d denied him that, he thought that perhaps his begging help for his sister had weighed in his favor.
When they gathered back around him, his arm—which had started to wake back up—got numb again. Then Daussie leaned her head close to his arm.
Farlin leaned away from her, begging, “Please… please don’t cut me.”
Kazy took his other arm, holding it gently and speaking quietly, “Relax. She’s not going to cut you open. She has a way to cut the bone without doing that.”
Kazy kept telling him to relax. Her gentle words relaxed Farlin so much he found himself dozing off as they talked about his bones…
…until his bone crunched back into place—which hurt a little, but definitely felt like it should’ve hurt a lot worse.
He heard the healer woman speak with a sense of awe, “That was an amazing idea Kazy. The spike’s really locked the ends of the bones together. I don’t think he’ll ever notice his arm’s a few millimeters short.”
Then they’d strapped his arm to a board to hold it straight. His wrist was tied so it hung from his neck and they’d propped him up so he was sleeping in somewhat of an upright position. The woman said he’d need to sleep sitting up for a month or two because, in that position, the weight of his arm would help pull his bone straight. To his amazement, they’d given him more poppy paste to take during the night for the pain.
He didn’t take much, worried poppy would make him comfortable enough that he might sleep through the night and miss his opportunity to see if he could do anything for his sister.
He’d decided that if these people wouldn’t help him, he had to do what he could to try to rescue Nylin by himself. Though, even if they have really killed a lot of the Ragas, me with a broken arm against even a few of them wouldn’t be a fair fight. I’ll need an incredible amount of luck.
But I’ve got to try.
Or die.
Grimly, he thought, Most likely try and die.
~~~
Farlin was having trouble staying awake in the dim firelight. His eyelids sagged. He decided, I’ve got to try to go after Nylin now, before I wake up and find morning’s come.
Shifting his weight, he put his good left hand underneath himself and started to rise. When the bones in his right arm shifted, he sternly admonished himself not to cry out.
Suddenly, a hand gripped under his left armpit and eased him to his feet. Dismayed, Farlin turned and saw he was being assisted by Tarc, Daussie’s brother. Disheartened, Farlin nonetheless whispered, “Gotta go pee.”
Tarc grunted, putting a finger to his lips. He led Farlin out into the darkness. When they’d gone significantly farther than Farlin thought necessary for a bladder run, he began to worry that the guy was just walking him far enough away to kill him without waking the others. “Where’re you taking me?” he asked in trepidation.
“To get your sister,” Tarc whispered, as if it were obvious. “Go ahead and pee while I’m adjusting the lamp.”
Thankful his pants had a fly with a button—so he didn’t have to try to untie his belt with one hand—Farlin did his business. When he finished, he saw Tarc really did have a lamp. He’d turned up the flame and adjusted the shutter to a narrow beam.
Still speaking quietly, Tarc said, “We’re past the swampy area. The Ragas’ camp’s out in the woods on the right, correct?”
Farlin looked ahead and nodded, then realized Tarc likely wouldn’t see it in the dark. He said, “Yeah. I think the trail’s just a little farther along.” He turned back to Tarc who seemed the same age as he was. “Shouldn’t we try to get some of the men to come with us?”
Tarc sighed, “If we ask them, they almost certainly won’t go. And, they’ll most likely tell us we can’t go either.” He gave a shrug that was barely visible in the dim light of the lantern, “We can go ask if you want?”
“No, let’s go on,” Farlin said with resolve. He felt sorry he’d asked in the first place. He still wished one of the older men would’ve come with them, but was well aware of old people’s tendency to choose safety over daring. Though trying to rescue Nylin with a broken arm’s foolish, not daring, he thought.
They walked together and Tarc kept the light on the edge of the road. In thirty paces or so, Farlin saw the trail leading off into the woods. He pointed it out.
After they’d followed the trail a little way, Tarc stopped. “About another 150 meters?”
Farlin had no idea but thought that might be about right. He said, “I think so. I’m not sure.”
Tarc shone the light of the lamp on a fallen tree, saying, “Sit. I’m going to go scout things out. How many will there be in the Ragas’ camp?”
“I know you people killed some of them,” Farlin said, trying not to let his doubt show. “And, some of them might’ve run away. But, at the very least there’ll be three. My sister, Nylin; Grace, the other girl they captured; and Rosyl, one of the Ragas. He broke his wrist a few weeks ago and can’t use a sword yet. They left him to guard the camp.”
“And this Rosyl? What kind of man is he?”
“He’s an animal. A mean, disgusting subhuman.” Farlin glanced at Tarc, “He may have a broken wrist, but he’s still dangerous. My hope is that he’ll be asleep. If I could get close enough to knife him before he knew I was there, that’s the only way I could do it. I didn’t have much of a chance ’cause he’d probably hear me coming, but that’s the only strategy I thought of.” Farlin looked down at Tarc’s feet. “You don’t make much noise. If you can find a heavy rock, you might be able to sneak up and smash Rosyl’s head while he’s asleep. If you give him a half a chance you’ll regret it.”
~~~
Nylin looked over. Rosyl was pawing at Grace. Nylin felt torn between sympathy for Grace and relief Rosyl wasn’t going after Nylin again.
Suddenly she realized one of the men had returned. He was standing silently on the other side of the fire. Her queasy sense of relief disappeared. She assumed that, with Grace occupied, this guy’d want her.
The man cleared his throat.
Rosyl looked up, then said, “Who the hell are you?!”
Nylin looked more carefully at the man, realizing she didn’t recognize him either. Her spirits sank further. The devils she knew were bad enough. This new guy’d probably be worse.
Her eyes widened when the man said, “Let the girl go.”
Reaching for his knife, Rosyl said, “Like hell.” Then he flopped back, arching his back and quivering. There was something on the front of Rosyl’s head. The new man strode around the fire, bent and pulled the thing off of Rosyl’s face.
When the new man bent to wipe it on Rosyl’s shirt, Nylin realized it was a knife that’d been buried in Rosyl’s eye. Shrinking back, Nylin started scooting away.
Terrified, she croaked, “Run Grace.” But, even as she rolled over onto rubbery legs, hoping to run herself, she knew it was hopeless.
The man calmly said, “Nylin, wait. Your brother, Farlin, he sent me to get you.”
Posed on her toes and fingertips, Nylin stopped. Ready to start her sprint, but with a spot on her back itching where she expected the man’s knife would strike next. This guy probably
tortured Farlin until he gave him my name, she thought, then wondered how this stranger found the Ragas’ camp. Slowly, she stood and turned. Tremulously, she asked, “Where’s Farlin?”
The man waved back along the trail, “About 150 meters back that way. His arm’s broken so he isn’t really in condition for a fight. Leading me here was about his limit, so I came in his place.”
Heart in her throat at the thought of Farlin crippled by a broken arm, Nylin started that direction.
The man said, “Wait. We won’t be coming back. Get anything of yours you want to take and show me Farlin’s stuff so I can collect it for him.” He turned to Grace, “Your stuff too.”
Telepath (A Hyllis Family Story #4) Page 6