The Gauntlet Thrown

by Cheryl Dyson

CHAPTER SIX

  THE HEALER

  Brydon awoke a short time after dawn. Toryn and Alyn were asleep, so he started a fire, feeling stiff and sore after yesterday’s activities. He could hardly move his right arm, and even a tentative flex of his hand sent spasms of pain up into his shoulder.

  The others roused at the smell of breakfast cooking, and Brydon checked their wounds and ignored their snarls to leave them alone. Alyn was a bit dizzy, but pronounced herself fit to ride and Brydon believed her. It would take a bigger injury than a bruised head and some scratches to keep an Akarskan out of the saddle. She got up and worked the stiffness out of her neck and then headed into the forest. Toryn chewed at the tough meat.

  "This is disgusting," he said, "but surprisingly better than lamb."

  "Where did the other three horses come from?" Alyn asked in a not-quite-accusing tone when she returned.

  "They came with yours," Brydon replied.

  "That makes no sense at all, unless they are unclaimed and this is their territory. Maybe Fireling followed them, but why would they come here? This whole area stinks of lion and blood. If they were wild, they would avoid it and us as well."

  "Even you?" Brydon joked.

  "Of course," she replied seriously. "Perhaps they are not unclaimed, even though I checked for ownership markings. I could not find a clan sign or trader symbol. They must be wild, and yet they allowed me to walk right up to them. They were not at all frightened."

  "Perhaps you smelled so much like a horse that they mistook you for one," Toryn offered.

  Alyn threw him a glare. "If that were the case, then your foul scent would surely have driven them far from here!"

  "Eat, Alyn," Brydon suggested as Toryn made mock wounded gestures. "You can puzzle on it later."

  After Brydon reorganized his pack, he turned to see Toryn on his feet, kicking dirt over the fire while he kept an arm held tightly to his side. Alyn had Fireling in the clearing and was stroking his coat with a soft cloth.

  "What are you doing?" Brydon asked.

  "I know you need to get moving, so let’s go," Toryn said. "I’m ready to be away from here."

  "No. You can’t walk, or you’ll tear your wound open."

  "It’s my wound," Toryn replied. His black hair hung over his forehead and nearly hid his green eyes.

  "Yes, and I’ll not have you blaming me all of your days for making it worse."

  "How about if I blame you for causing it in the first place?"

  "Don’t you already?"

  "Naturally."

  "How very Redolian of you."

  "I am Redolian!"

  "Will you two stop it?" Alyn snapped. "I am trying to think."

  "Let there be complete silence in the forest for this miraculous act!" Toryn boomed.

  Alyn kicked some rocks at him and he winced when one bounced off his calf. "Since these horses are unmarked, I see no reason why I can’t claim them. I’ll make it official when we reach the next settlement, but until then, they don’t belong to anyone. Can you two ride?"

  Brydon nodded and was surprised when Toryn did, also. Alyn stared hard at Toryn and then smirked. "We shall see."

  Alyn brought one of the horses into the clearing, tugging him by the mane. He followed docilely, an action that put a baffled expression on her face. She took Fireling’s halter from her saddle and buckled it on the grey steed, which accepted the binding without protest.

  Brydon concentrated on the scene while Alyn took a turn or two of the lead rope around her fist. She sprang onto the horse while her other hand gripped the long mane securely. Clearly, she expected furious bucking and twisting, but the horse merely shivered once and turned his grey head to look at the burden on his back.

  "I do not understand this," Alyn muttered. The horse obediently walked forward a few paces and stopped. Alyn rode him around in circles for a short time, and then dismounted, grumbling to herself.

  The next horse was a fine black stallion with a white blaze down his face. Alyn predicted trouble with that one, but the performance was the same as with the young grey stud. She tried the bay mare next and the docile behavior was repeated.

  "These horses must have eaten some poison-plant," Alyn declared. "No wild animal is this tame. They act like they belong in a matron’s stable. Someone must own them."

  "Who cares?" Toryn shrugged. "Which one do you want, Falaran?"

  "The black, of course."

  "Naturally. It’s a fine-looking animal, but I suppose you’ll make a scene if I take it, so I suppose I’ll have the mare."

  "Thank you." Brydon grinned though he knew Toryn had refused the stallion because of his injury. Fighting a spirited horse with torn ribs would be no picnic. Brydon felt the same about his shoulder wound, but the black horse drew him. He would have wanted the stallion if every bone in his body were broken.

  Alyn rigged up a makeshift halter for Fireling from her whip. Brydon was fascinated and had her painstakingly recreate the knots and loops, but in the end he could not get the hang of it and Alyn gave up tutoring him with an exasperated sigh. She put her leather halter on the mare for Toryn. Fireling’s bridle was fitted for the black stallion, in case the horse decided to revert to a more typical "wild horse" behavior.

  Alyn also placed her saddle on the black and then assisted Brydon to mount. He sat for a moment and accustomed himself to the feel of the animal. He had been trained in horsemanship, but horses were scarce in Falara, as elsewhere, and it had been a long while since he had ridden. Walking the horse wasn’t difficult, except for Alyn shouting constant instructions.

  "Sit up straight! Put your heels down and hang on with your knees, not your hands! I said your knees, not your toes. Now trot!"

  He eased the horse into a jolting gait that almost caused him to bite his tongue in half. Alyn screamed at him like a laundress yelling at a scullery boy

  "What are you doing? Grip with your legs! You are bouncing like a sack of grain!"

  Brydon clung with his legs, but that seemed to make the jolting worse. He did not recall riding being quite so difficult when taught by the group of knight-priests in Eaglecrest. Perhaps the virtues of patience and a civil tongue made a difference.

  "Now slow him down! Pull on the reins! Slowly! Not up to your chin! Keep your hand down on his withers!"

  "His what?" Brydon called and hauled back on the reins. He tried to remember to hang on with his legs while attempting to remain upright.

  "His withers! Just keep your hand down by your—" She broke off suddenly. Brydon figured it out and flushed.

  The stallion slowed to a nice easy trot that hardly jolted at all. Brydon’s long-unused leg muscles remembered their training and the horse told him when he overbalanced or leaned the wrong way. It swiveled an ear back on occasion.

  "Okay. Your turn, Toryn."

  Brydon dismounted, feeling as though he had been beaten with a tree. The claw wounds on his shoulder had reopened and he felt blood soaking into the sheepskin of his vest once more. He leaned against the stallion for a moment and wondered how much blood he had left to spare. He knew he should have Alyn or Toryn look at the wound, but the thought of ripping the sheepskin away from the dried portion of the wound made him vaguely ill. He’d soak it in the stream when he had a chance.

  Toryn mounted with the aid of a large boulder, stepping from it to the mare’s back before settling himself comfortably. He rode the horse with an expertise that Brydon envied and even Alyn had few comments. She looked disappointed.

  "Good," Brydon said. "We’ll leave in the morning. That will give us time to cut up the rest of this meat and get things packed." And give us more time to rest, he added to himself.

  Toryn spent the remainder of the day asleep and Brydon sliced up and packed the leftover lion with Alyn’s help. Neither of them felt overly talkative, so they spent the day in companionable silence. When his wound began to bother him, Brydon asked Alyn to help him tend it.

  She washed it with strips of cloth while Bry
don knelt by the stream.

  "This looks bad," she said as he recited several rote prayers to keep from crying out. The cool water felt like acid.

  "Do you know anything that might help heal it?" he asked hopefully.

  "No. I don’t even have hoof salve in my bag. I expected to stop in Yama’s village, until I met you two. I suppose we could make a side journey and see if they can provide us some supplies."

  Brydon was dubious about the efficacy of "hoof salve" and preferred to take his chances than go out of his way and chance the healing practices of unknown Akarskans. "I am sure it will be fine. I would rather not take up any more of your time than necessary." He scrubbed the blood from his vest and put it back on, feeling less pained once the sting had subsided.