Gialyn’s knees began to shake. He clutched at the thick branch in his hand, not knowing whether to turn right or left. He forced himself under the overhang and stabbed at the meagre rustle of leaf or grass. The fire had all but gone out. Any minute now!
The next attack came from the left. Three of the rats ran straight for Gialyn. He fought in a frenzy, beating them off with a wide, arching thrash from the stick he had kept. For all he could see, he might as well just close his eyes. He spun the stick round his head, darted, and jabbed at every noise. The rats’ cackles sounded like mockery to his ears. Every few seconds, he would feel a nip at his ankle or his knee, always the same side and as regular as clockwork. They were trying to separate him from his father.
Four more rats came from the right.
A sense of utter desperation fuelled Gialyn into a blind panic. He almost wished he was blind, that there was no light coming from the dying embers. Three of the rats were dragging Daric away. He tried to swipe them away, but tripped and landed hard face down on the ground. One of the rats was on his legs, biting into the small of his back. Gialyn rolled over and managed to kick the creature away, but it came back at him all the harder, biting at his arm, then at his neck. Gialyn could feel the strength draining out of him. His limbs became numb. His body surged with fear. A sickness came upon him. He felt lightheaded, almost resigned to his fate…
…Then the wolves came. Hurtling down the bank, they bowled the rats over. One wolf – Gialyn could not tell who it was – wrenched the rat from his side so quickly that creature’s neck snapped with a sickening crack. Another rushed to Daric’s aid, yanking a rat from his father’s feet and launching it against the thick roots, crushing its skull. The other five rats regrouped and for a second there was a standoff. Wolves howled and rats chattered and squealed. Lips curled as teeth snapped and hackles rose, both wolf and rat testing the ground between them. The wolves were much bigger but still outnumbered. And there was no telling if more of the ugly creatures waited in the trees. The rats attacked first, ignoring Gialyn for now. But they had no answer to the wolves’ ferocity. Two rats were downed almost immediately, their limbs twisted into unnatural angles and their throats opened to the night. A third made a brave stand, but then squealed like a stuck pig when the wolf – Gialyn still could not tell who it was – snapped at its face. The other two rats scurried off, quickly jumping into the river and beating a hasty retreat. Their eagerness to escape left a wake that even Gialyn could see, such was their haste.
The wolves let them go.
* * *
Gialyn did indeed pass out, but only for a few minutes. He tried to hold on, but the burning pain of a hundred bites and scratches had overwhelmed him. When he opened his eyes, he saw the silhouette of Toban standing by him.
“Get up, Gialyn,” Toban said. “You’re injured. You need to clean your wounds.” The wolf’s tone was patient and very matter-of-fact. He repeated himself… and again… and again.
Gialyn struggled to comprehend. The shock had left him cold and lightheaded. Cold sweat beaded his palms and forehead. For the moment, he had little idea of his predicament.
“Gialyn, can you hear me?” Toban raised his voice.
“Yes, I can. Yes,” he mumbled. He raised himself on his elbows and looked around. He saw the other wolves coming back to the camp with branches in their jaws, dropping them into the fire. Toban was sitting beside him, patiently waiting for Gialyn to come to his senses, so it seemed.
Then Gialyn remembered…
“Father!” he shouted. He twisted around in search of Daric.
“Your father will be fine,” Toban said. “In better shape than you, I’d say.”
“What happened? Is everyone…?”
“Don’t concern yourself about the others. Please, you must wash your wounds before they are infected. Those river rats did not look very sanitary.”
“Yes, of course. I will.” Gialyn struggled to his feet and stumbled over to the river. He knelt by the bank and cupped his hands in the water, splashing it over his face.
“No, that won’t do. You need to scrub! If you can bear it, you should get back in the river and soak. The back of your neck is cut, so is your forehead, and your arms, and legs.”
Gialyn sighed. He was so utterly tired that he thought he might just roll over and sleep where he knelt. He leaned on his side and dipped his feet into the fast-running water. Slowly, he inched himself farther, until he could submerge his head. He made the best of his limited strength and scrubbed hard at his wounds for five long, painful minutes.
By now, the wolves had a roaring fire going.
“That will do,” Toban said. “Now come, sit by the fire and take off your clothes.”
“Not that again.” Gialyn managed a laugh, though not because he thought it was funny.
He did as asked and sat knee to chest a few feet from the fire. Two of the wolves lay at his back to help keep him warm. Another twenty minutes saw him feeling much better.
“I think your father is waking up,” Toban said.
“Thank the gods,” Gialyn whispered. “Can he talk?”
“He is mumbling. Maybe in a few more minutes.”
Gialyn’s clothes were nearly dry; hung, as they were, within a span of the fire. He dressed quickly, then knelt at his father’s side.
“Father, it’s me.” He put his hand on his father’s shoulder and shook a little.
Daric moaned, still with eyes closed. He slowly lifted his hand to his head. A fair bump had risen where he had hit the rocks. “Where am I? What has happened?” he asked.
“You’re down the river some ways, Daric,” Toban said. “Your son is here with us, and all was well when I left the others a few hours ago.”
“What?” He opened his eyes. He lay there, puzzled by his surroundings. A long while passed before he seemed to recall the events that had brought him to the riverbank. “You say all is well. What of the Salrians?”
“Some are dead, some have run away, and two are prisoners.”
“Dead?” Daric turned on his side and lifted his head towards Toban. “How?”
“Arfael.”
“And…” Daric shrugged his shoulders and waited for more.
“Arfael killed maybe four, from what I could make out. Two more died from a fall; another three or four ran off,” Toban said.
“By Ein’laig, how is that possible?”
“Things with Arfael are not quite as they seem, Daric. I’ll explain later, when you have rested. For now, you must try and sleep.”
“Agreed. But please, I need water first.”
“You will have to go to the river. Your packs are back at the gully.”
“Daric reached inside his coat and pulled out his spirit flask. “Empty that and fill it with water, please. It is nearly all gone anyway. Also, it’s Grady’s, so…”
Gialyn took the bottle from his father. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Son, you’re here?” Daric said. “Oh yes. Now I remember. So you finally let go. Good lad.”
Gialyn looked down at the floor, disappointed in his father’s reprimand. He sulked off to fill the bottle.
* * *
Daric watched as Gialyn headed for the river. It was not far, and there was good light from the fire the wolves had built. The wolves… how had they managed to make a fire? And why did they bring Gialyn all this way? By the look of the trees, they must be a good two miles inside the Crenach’coi, if not more; they should have left the boy with the others.
“He saved your life, Daric,” Toban said. “You were attacked by wild animals. Your son fought off seven of them with a stick until we arrived to aid him. He nearly died.”
Daric closed his eyes and banged the back of his head against the ground. “Idiot! Why do I…?” He assumed it had been the wolves that had found him – although quite where they had come from was another question. Why had he not considered that Gialyn might have had a hand in it? “Thank you, Toban. I only said i
t because… Gods, I do not know why I said it. I didn’t want him to risk his life for me.”
Gialyn came back with the bottle. Daric grabbed his arm and pulled him close. “Thank you, son. I’m so proud of you.”
The two sat in an embrace for a long minute.
Toban interrupted: “We should decide what to do. I would suggest waiting here until morning. The riverbank is torturous enough for a healthy man, and you’re…”
“…Far from healthy,” Daric finished. “Don’t worry; you won’t get an argument from me. Morning, it is.”
* * *
Gialyn lay down beside his father. He was about to drop off to sleep, too, when a narrow plume of blue flame rose in the eastern sky.
He sat up quickly. “What was that?”
“I’d guess… but… No, that’s impossible.”
“What’s impossible?”
“Nothing, Gialyn; you go to sleep. It is probably just the Woodmen.”
Gialyn lay back down. Sleep came quickly.
CHAPTER 30
The Hollow
With the night closing in around them, it was proving difficult for Grady and the others to find a safe place to cross the tributary. It was by no means as wide or deep as the Raithby River, but its flow was fast as it cut through the bedrock on its way to the waterfall. They would need to walk some to find a safe crossing.
A mist hung over the trees to the east, obscuring the near-full moon. To the west, the sky bled into the deep purple hues of late sunset. It would not be long before all but the wolves would be fumbling for safe footing.
Eventually, they found a shallow area that might be navigable – on the near side, the riverbank was level with the field, while on the eastern bank there was just a small step up. The wolves crossed first, then the Salrians carried Ealian between them, flanked by Grady and Olam.
The waters ran fast. Grady sheathed his shortsword and helped Si’eth across, holding the shorter man’s arm while he – maybe on purpose, maybe not – gingerly hunted for secure footing. Bre’ach seemed to manage well enough. Maybe the older man could not swim? Grady decided he didn’t care, as long as Ealian made it safely across.
Once back on dry land, they found themselves at the edge of a wide, sloping field between the tributary and the edge of Crenach’coi – less than a mile to the east. The group walked slowly. The wolves always sniffed the ground and pricked their ears at the slightest sound. Grady and Olam stayed at their station either side of the Salrians, while Elspeth walked just in front, continually looking back at her brother. She held his hand while they walked, which made Ealian all the harder to carry. But she refused to let go, despite the boy’s unconscious state. He would not have known she was there.
Before long, they reached a hollow – a small dip in the grass about thirty feet across, set at the edge of the forest. Trees enclosed the hollow to the north and south, and a shallow bank on its western boundary completed their cover – a perfect campsite. An enemy would have to pass within ten paces in order to see them.
Grady directed the Salrians to carry Ealian down into the hollow and lay him carefully in the rooted nook of a large oak tree. Then Si’eth and Bre’ach sat, as ordered, on the other side of the tree. The wolves nodded in agreement at Grady’s request to guard them.
Olam knelt by Ealian. He fished through his bag for anything he had that might help the boy.
“We need a fire, Grady,” Olam said. “We cannot help Ealian without some light. None of us, save the wolves, can see what we are doing.”
“As you say, my friend,” Grady said. “Elspeth and I will start a fire. You stay by Ealian.”
* * *
Olam had failed. It was his suggestion to take the southern path out of the Am’bieth Marsh; he was the one who attacked the Salrians in their camp; and he had not warned the others about the threat from the Dead Man’s Vein. Now he had an injured child lying in front of him, a child who may die before another day was done. How could he cure the boy? Was there a cure? And where was Arfael? The questions kept coming.
He put his palm on Ealian’s forehead. The boy was hot and clammy to the touch. If the attack had happened a few hours ago, he might have thought blood poisoning from a dirty arrow. But barely an hour had passed since the fight in the gully, and this fever seemed hours old. Days, maybe. His years of experience came to nothing. How had the boy caught such a fever, and so quickly?
Indeed, the only fair explanation was the unexplained – the boy’s sudden turn must have something to do with the Black. But if that were the case, nothing Olam had with him would help the child. He bowed his head and prayed he was wrong.
Grady and Elspeth returned to the hollow, their arms full of twigs and branches. Elspeth dropped hers in a pile and stepped over towards Olam, while Grady began snapping twigs into manageable kindling.
“Is he any better?” Elspeth asked.
Olam drew in a sharp breath. “He’s hot. I was just thinking blood poisoning, but the fever has come too quickly for that. Unless, of course, the poison was from the arrow itself…”
“No. I asked that Salrian captain if they had used poison, back when we were crossing the river. He said no. I don’t think he was lying.”
Olam nodded slowly at Elspeth’s remark. Ironically, a poisoned arrow had been his last hope; he could have cured such a fever. “Then it is likely the Dead Man’s Vein that is making him sick.”
Elspeth put her head in her hands.
She had screamed at him when he had finally told her about the Black, that he had known about it since that first night in the marsh. It had taken ten minutes to explain why he had not mentioned it before. He still did not think she had forgiven him. And why should she? He had a duty to tell her; she was the boy’s sister. What had he been thinking?
Elspeth looked tired. The sort of tired that came after a shock. In truth, Olam thought she did not look much better than Ealian did. She rubbed her face. Her eyes looked drawn and her skin was pale. “What can we do?” she asked.
“Nothing tonight, bar the usual remedies. We need to break the fever, help him fight it. We will keep him warm and hope for the best.”
“That doesn’t sound like much, Olam. There must be more. We need to get this fever down, and then find these Woodsmen – you did say they could help with the Black.”
Olam nodded. “Yes, but we must take Ealian to them; I doubt we will persuade any of them to come with us. And we cannot move him until this fever is under control.”
Olam gazed into the woods, trying to think of a solution, a remedy, that might help the boy. “There may be something I can do – if we can find some kharoe ash or liet root… both would be better.”
“Then you know my next question: where, and how much?”
“There are no towns within a three-day march, and I doubt any passing traveller will carry it, even if one did pass by. We could maybe send one of the wolves back to—”
“There is a town,” Grady interrupted. “Be’olyn. It’s barely ten miles from here.”
Elspeth stood and turned to Grady. “Then let’s go; you and me. We can leave now, be back by morning.”
“You wouldn’t get a mile in this fog,” Grady insisted. “You and I will go at first light, if the boy has not improved.”
“Tomorrow could be too late. Look at him.” She waved a shaky hand in Ealian’s direction. “This fog will thin out once we leave the valley. We must go now.” She started to button up her cloak.
“Elspeth, no.” Grady took her by the arm. “Likely as not we’d get lost in the dark, and there are the prisoners to think of. Never mind we have no word on Daric or Gialyn. We must wait until morning. Please.” Grady put his hand on her shoulder.
“You don’t care about him. You have as good as said so. What if he were your brother? You would not sit and wait for chance. I don’t know how you can expect me to.”
“I’d hope someone would speak some common sense before I ran off and made things worse.” Grady rele
ased her arm. “Elspeth, I do care. This is the best choice. First light, I promise.”
Elspeth stood a moment in silent indignation, doubtless knowing Grady’s plan made sense, yet unable to admit it to herself. With a slow shake of her head, she moved to Ealian’s side and sat on the ground beside him. She looked paler than she had five minutes earlier. Olam did not think that were possible.
* * *
Grady finished making the fire and stored the spare wood in a pile a few feet to the side of Elspeth. “Keep the fire burning. Keep him warm,” he said softly. Elspeth nodded without taking her eyes off her brother.
Grady fetched his pack and sat in front of the fire next to Olam. “Have we got everyone’s belongings?”
“No. Arfael’s pack is still in the gully, and I think Ealian’s is, too. I will go over and fetch them in the morning.”
“Good. We might be in need of supplies. We could be here a few days, if not more.”
Grady took the scroll out of his inside pocket. “Might as well see what all the fuss is about.” He waved the scroll at the Salrians. “Do you want to tell me, or shall I just open it?”
Si’eth raised his head. He regarded Grady with scorn. “If more of my men come, that unbroken seal may be the only thing that keeps you alive. And no, I do not know what’s in it.”
“So I should leave it, is that what you suggest? Can you believe the man?” he asked Olam. “They cause all this trouble, chase us half way through Aleras, almost kill the boy, and I should behave myself and not open their precious scroll. I think not.”
The Dragon Oracles: Omnibus Edition (The Eastern Kingdom Omnibus Book 1) Page 33