by Cheryl Dyson
******
Toryn snored softly and Brydon smiled. He had never known anyone who could fall asleep so quickly and yet be wide-awake the instant his eyes opened. He stretched out on his blankets and waited for Davin to return.
The silence was immense and his eyelids drooped tiredly. Brydon tried to think of his princess back in Falara, but Eryka’s face was lost to him. He remembered curling blond hair but he was uncertain even of her eye color. It mortified him to discover that the merest thought of Sellaris conjured clearer images. Burnished copper curls that fell over creamy shoulders. Smoldering grey eyes and soft lips parted wantonly. He remembered the curve of her neck as she tipped her head back and the line of her throat as she moaned...
He cursed to himself and shook the memory away.
“Forgive me, Eryka,” he muttered, feeling treasonous. His turmoil dissipated an instant later as he realized Davin had been absent too long. He got to his feet and paced for a moment, wondering if he should go look for him.
“What’s wrong?” Toryn asked.
“Davin should have been back by now.”
Toryn sat up and tugged his boots on. “When I agreed to come with you, I expected a nice, quiet journey,” Toryn grumbled. “What have I gotten? Lions. A viperous Akarskan wench. An insane Penk who thinks he’s a werewolf. Captured by thieves. A battle with thieves. A battle with more thieves. A man who disappears into thin air before I can slice him in two. A Falaran who can read my mind. Swamps, mud, rain, bugs, and fever. A city full of howling madmen and tax collectors. Now this. I can’t wait to see what happens next. Did you plan all this?”
“If you are finished whining, I suggest we go find Davin,” Brydon said mildly.
Toryn grinned nastily, but the door opened before he could comment. Davin staggered through the portal and Brydon saw with horror that his face was half-covered with blood. His white shirt was splattered with it.
“What happened?” Toryn cried as they ushered him to the bed. Brydon quickly poured water into the basin and soaked a cloth.
“The wound isn’t deep,” Davin protested as he washed the blood from his face. “They got lucky. Two cutthroats for hire—good ones. I really didn’t think Whitey would go this far.”
Blood flowed from a deep gash on Davin’s temple and Brydon pressed the cloth to it tightly. Toryn dug in his pack and handed Brydon a jar of gray powder. He set some bandages aside.
“Thank Adona Verana gave us this powder. I didn't think we would need it so soon.”
Brydon plastered some grey powder over the wound and Davin’s face went white. “Sorry. I forgot to tell you it stings,” Brydon said, which was a major understatement. Davin glared at him. “Well, it stopped the bleeding.” He bandaged the wound tightly and then looked at Davin’s bloody shirt.
“The rest of the blood isn’t mine.” Davin took off his stained clothing and threw it into the corner, wrinkling nose as the acrid smell permeated the room. He lay back on the bed, visibly weakened from blood loss.
“Whitey won’t try anything else, tonight,” Davin said tiredly. “He will be too busy getting our papers and wondering what I’m going to do to him for this second betrayal.”
He yawned and fell asleep, leaving Brydon and Toryn to stare questioningly at one another. Toryn shrugged and took Brydon’s blankets, leaving him to guard the door.
“I knew I’d lose the bed,” Toryn said.