In the quiet that followed, Ciara sucked in a ragged breath and slumped back until a rock caught her. The shaking in her legs worked its way through her entire body, making her teeth chatter. Andrakaos swiveled around to face her, radiating smug superiority.
Lizards.
"Those… lizards… almost had me… for dinner," Ciara managed, around panting breaths, each one of which caused a sharp pain in her side. The wyvern had certainly cracked one of her ribs.
She looked around, past the mangled corpses of the wyvern Andrakaos had crushed, and at least three felled by Ferris's blade, until she spotted the Sciath half way across the cavern, leaning heavily on his sword. He nodded when Ciara caught his eye, but made no move to join her.
"Are you all right?" she called across to him.
Ferris nodded. "Right enough." Though the rough burr in his voice told a different story.
Ciara pushed cautiously away from her rock perch and took a couple unsteady steps forward, clutching for Andrakaos's leg when the cavern tilted precariously beneath her feet. An arm slid around her waist and Ciara looked up in surprise to find Donovan at her side.
"Ferris," she said, waving a limp gesture in his general direction.
Donovan's voice tickled her ears but the words were slurred. Ciara shook her head, intending on asking him to repeat himself, but the movement caused her stomach to revolt. Fighting down the urge to vomit sent pain cascading up her side, and that in turn made her lose the battle. One moment she was apologizing to Donovan for throwing up on his boots, the next she laid cradled against someone's chest as the world darkened around her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Grumnlin moved with more agility than Berk would have thought possible, and with more noise than six men in heavy armor. He couldn't take a step without an accompanying snort, snuffle or utterance of some type. Berk didn't know if the grumbles were actual words, or just mindless noise. In any case, he totally eliminated the prospect of them avoiding notice should there be anyone nearby. All well and good if that someone happened to be the Guard. Berk didn't care to think of the other all-too-real and more likely possibility.
He also didn't care to mention it to the general. Not because the man's overall mood grew darker as the day wore on, but because more than once Berk caught him muttering to himself as well. Everyone did it at some point or another, but the general seemed to succumb with regular frequency, and as though having an actual conversation with someone else. At first Berk thought the general was talking to him. After being waved off when asking for the man to repeat himself, Berk realized his error. The latest in a growing list.
"This is a mistake."
Since the general didn't look at him, Berk assumed the words weren't meant for him. Then Bolin half turned, brow furrowed, a thoughtful frown on his face. His gaze skated past Berk as though something far distant had caught his attention.
"I should have trusted Dain."
"Why stop?" Grumnlin called from a good length ahead of them. "Men keep walking."
"We could turn east," Berk said without much hope. "Head back to the road and try to meet up with the Emperor."
The general seemed to consider that. He put a hand against his chest, his thumb tracing a pattern in mindless repetition. "He won't be on the road. He'll be searching for us. Trying to pick up our trail."
And hopefully finding it, Berk thought. "We could backtrack then."
"No." Breaking branches and disgruntled snorts preceded Grumnlin as he rejoined them. "No tracking back. No finding anyone. We go." He stopped beside the general and tugged at his arm. "No stopping."
Bolin jerked his arm away, and the snarl that curled his lip sent Grumnlin back three paces, eyes wide. "It won't take much for me to decide to kill you."
Grumnlin put up his hands and took another step back. "No kill. Take you to Pretty Witch. Fix head."
"Or make it worse," Berk said.
The general's face twisted in pain. He reached out to brace himself against a nearby tree, head bowed, breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts. A groan escaped him and his knees gave way but he caught himself before Berk could, his fingernails digging into the bark.
"We go on," he said.
"Yes. Go." Grumnlin started to force his way through the increasingly heavy underbrush. "Almost to stopping place."
"Kensing Tor?" Berk asked. He'd thought it would be further.
"Stopping place, not dead place. Not yet."
"Grumnlin--"
"Leave him," Bolin said. He shoved off the tree to follow the creature, and after a few staggering steps, seemed to get his strength back. "It doesn't matter. At the moment, we go where he leads. And if you plan to question that, I'll be rethinking my decision not to have you executed."
Berk closed his mouth, although the prospect of a quick execution held a certain appeal compared to other alternatives.
They trudged along after Grumnlin until the shadows beneath the trees deepened. They finished off the last of their water and jerky on the walk. Though they could do without food for a while, they definitely needed water. Not only that, but somewhere along the way Berk had twisted his ankle, and the throbbing had grown decidedly worse. So much so, that when his other foot caught as he stepped over a log and he threw his weight onto his left leg, it gave way. He lurched sideways, and thrust out his arms to try and arrest his fall, cursing loudly when something sharp skittered off the top of his boot and stabbed into his calf.
The general helped him up, keeping hold of his elbow as Berk limped to a boulder and sat. He twisted his leg to get a better view, his stomach lurching when he saw the broken stub of a branch jutting from his calf, just above his boot. Blood seeped from the wound, and each beat of his heart sent an echoing throb of pain pulsing up his leg.
"Clumsy man," Grumnlin said.
Berk scowled at him as the general crouched down to inspect the wound.
"We go meeting place."
The general gave the little man a quick, dark look. "This wound needs tending first."
"Leave clumsy man to fend for self. We go."
"We'll go when I say." He pulled a knife and Grumnlin skittered away, but the general ignored him and slid the blade up Berk's pant leg, peeling the fabric back. He glanced up at Berk. "Ready?"
Berk sucked in a breath and-- "Damn the unholies!" Black specks danced across his vision as the pain shot all the way to his thigh. If he hadn't been gripping the boulder hard enough to turn his knuckles white, he probably would have fallen off.
Fabric tore, followed by a steady pressure around his upper calf. He blinked sweat out of his eyes to find the general standing beside him, a hand on his shoulder, the bloody shard of wood in his other hand.
"Still with me?"
Berk nodded.
"We need water."
"Water at meeting place," Grumnlin said.
"We can go," Berk said, his voice hoarse. He stood and took a tentative step, unable to bit back a gasp.
"There has to be water closer." Bolin forced him back down onto the boulder. "Stay here. I'll go see if I can find some."
"I don't think we should split up."
"I don't think I asked your opinion." The general took the water skin and looked down at Grumnlin. "You stay here as well."
Grumnlin's round face wrinkled under the hair and dirt. He plopped to the ground, drew his legs up to his chest, and muttered under his breath. The general left without another word. Berk frowned after him. They hadn't totally lost the light yet, but if Bolin decided to abandon him with Grumnlin, there would be no way of tracking him with the coming night. Berk would be forced to make for the road and hope for the best.
Grumnlin edged closer, and Berk yelped when the little man thrust out a finger without warning to poke the flesh just above the bandage covering his wound.
"Needs poultice," he said, and before Berk could do any more than glare at him, Grumnlin got up and walked away. "I find things."
"You need to stay here."
He shook his head and crashed off through the scrub, leaving Berk to listen to the fading sounds of his departure. At least, if there were any marauders in the vicinity, all the racket would draw them to Grumnlin and not Berk. Not until the creature pointed them in his direction.
Berk blew out a disgusted sigh. He needed to stop thinking along those lines. The Emperor had managed to rid him of most of his nightmares. Those having to do with being in the marauder's hands, however, lingered, twisting the actual memories into horrific visions he didn't care to revisit, even in the full light of day. The prospect of falling into their hands again filled him with a very real dread.
He tried to direct his thoughts elsewhere, but even thinking about Sully's suggestion that he accept a promotion led him down paths that brought him right back to his current situation. How could Sully believe Berk capable of leading men, when he couldn't even keep himself out of trouble? He seemed to be developing quite a knack for making rash decisions. Commander Garek would have a fit when word got back to him about this latest one. Then again, if Berk wound up dead, it wouldn't really matter.
And there he was, right back down the dark tangle of thoughts he tried to avoid. He drew his sword and fished an oiled rag from a pouch to give him something else to focus on, losing himself for a time in the familiar and comfortable routine of polishing steel.
Snuffling and snorting alerted him to Grumnlin's return and he stood, sword at the ready in the event he didn't return alone. Grumnlin looked around as he emerged from between the shrubs, something cradled in his arms.
"Where Great Lord?" he asked, and dumped his collection of oddities on the ground.
"A better question is, where were you?"
Berk startled at the general's quiet question and whipped around. The world spun with him. He staggered before catching himself on the boulder again. The general's hair lay plastered to his head, water dripping from it. Slicked back from his face as it was, the dark bruise across his temple stood out, but no fresh blood accompanied it.
"Make medicine for clumsy man's leg."
"I didn't know you were a healer," the general said.
Grumnlin made a face. "No healer. Know bad plants. Stick was snake weed. Make clumsy man sick. Know tricks to make leg better so no more stopping."
The general passed Berk the water skin before hunkering down beside Grumnlin. He looked through the collection of plants and what appeared to be animal dung and, once they passed his inspection, he turned to remove the bandage from Berk's calf. Grumnlin set about making his poultice, using a flat rock to smash and combine his ingredients. It smelled like rancid meat and made the water Berk had just drunk churn in his stomach. He hissed when Grumnlin pressed the poultice to the angry wound, but the effects were immediate. The pain dissipated, and the heat radiating from the injury cooled.
"Now," Grumnlin said, wiping his hands on his already grubby jacket, "we go, and no more stopping."
He headed off into the woods again before Berk could even get back on his feet. As he stood to follow, the general stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"Take these," he said, not meeting Berk's eyes. He held out his sword and long knife bundled together with his belt. "Don't argue with me. Just do it."
"And if we run into trouble?"
"Then you can give them back. If I look capable of using them."
Berk took the weapons and slipped them over his shoulder. "Can I at least ask why?"
The general rubbed the back of his hand across his jaw. He started to say something, his brow furrowing before he cleared his throat and tried again. "I… considered using them on myself." He looked off into the distance, blowing out a rough breath. "I never thought I would ever be that weak. As fleeting as the inclination was, I can't guarantee the next time it won't be more persistent."
"And you're certain there will be a next time?"
"Aye." He still refused to look at Berk. "I don't care what I threaten you with, you're not to return those unless we're facing a foe you can't take on your own. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good. Let's go before we lose Grumnlin along with the light."
***
The faint scent of smoke tickled Berk's nostrils and he stopped to sniff the night air like a questing hound. The trees had gradually given way to wide stretches of waving grass dotted by scrub and boulders. Clouds hid the stars, and a bitter breeze kicked up out of the northwest, making the elusive scent all the harder to pinpoint.
The general glanced back and raised a questioning brow.
"Wood smoke," Berk said. "Can you smell it?"
"Campfire?"
"Fire, yes," Grumnlin said. "At meeting place."
Berk's hand dropped to his sword. "And who's at this 'meeting place'?"
"Helpers."
"What kind of helpers?"
Grumnlin waved a gesture. "Men with swords. Mebbe woman."
Berk's mouth went dry. "Marauders?"
Grumnlin shrugged and turned to trudge off. He gave a frightened squeal when Berk grabbed him by the shoulder and whipped him back around.
"Who are you taking us to?"
"Men like you. Rude. Mean. With sharp swords and knives. One mebbe has magic. They see Great Lord to Dead Place."
"They'll see us both to the Halls," Berk said. "But only after they've had their fun first."
"What game are you playing at, Grumnlin?" the general asked.
"No game."
"How far is this meeting place?"
"Not far. Over ridge."
Berk peered into the night. They wouldn't be able to spot the ridge until they were standing on it. The marauders must have sheltered on the downside of it, because he couldn't make out so much as an orange glow from their fire.
"How many are there?" Berk asked.
Grumnlin shrugged again. "Don't know. Told to take Great Lord to them. They take Great Lord to Dead Place."
The wind gusted, bringing a stronger whiff of burning wood. They weren't far. Hopefully far enough they wouldn't hear the current conversation.
"Get us close enough to see their camp," the general said. "But you make any sound to draw them to us, and I'll let Berk slit your throat."
"Always ready to hurt. I help blue man. I put medicine on leg and help. He owe me." Grumnlin sank to the ground and hugged his knees to his chest. "Go past lonely tree and over edge. Meeting place there. Go look. I stay here."
"I'll go," Berk said.
"Better if I do it," the general said. "I'll try not to be seen, but if I am, at least they're no danger to me. I'm sure the witch wants me alive, and I doubt even marauders would go against her wishes. You make sure Grumnlin stays here. If I'm caught, I'll make enough noise to warn you off. Don't attempt to get me back."
He turned away, not getting more than a step when a figure loomed up out of the darkness behind him. Grumnlin let out a frightened screech that split the night like the call of a wounded animal. The general ducked beneath a club aimed for his skull, bringing his fist up as he stood. His attacker grunted with the impact, but didn't slow. The club swung back overhead and Berk rushed forward, sword drawn, but the marauder twisted to avoid his thrust and brought the club down fast and hard. It whistled past Berk's ear as he arched his body out of the way, and then the marauder went sailing sideways as the general lowered his shoulder and charged into him. The shout the man meant to give whooshed out of him when he hit the ground. Before he could recover his breath, Berk's sword rested on the marauder's throat. The man laughed and swatted at the blade, kicking out to try and catch Berk in the knee. When Berk shifted to avoid the blow, the marauder clambered hastily back to his feet. He yanked a short axe from his belt and gestured Berk forward.
"Come on, dog," he said in the marauder tongue. "I'll split you and eat your brains."
Berk faded back. Rocks and twisted roots littered the ground and he feigned catching his heel on one, stumbling to draw the marauder in. It wasn't entirely a ploy. Grumnlin's poultice helped, bu
t the wound screamed in pain every time Berk put his full weight on his leg. The man came at him, grinning widely until Berk shifted forward, sword thrusting straight and true. The impact jarred Berk's arm and the marauder's eyes widened. He gave a feeble swing with the axe that Berk deflected harmlessly off his bracer. He twisted his sword and leaned into it until the man finally dropped to the ground with a drawn out moan.
A call rose out of the distance. When it went unanswered another followed. It wouldn't take long for the marauder's tribe to come looking for him.
"We need to go," the general said, hauling Grumnlin to his feet.
Berk retrieved the general's weapons from where he'd dropped them during the fray, and held them out to him, but Bolin shied away, eyeing the bundle as though it was a snake ready to strike.
"We don't know how many there are," Berk said. "Do you expect me to face them alone, or just wait until they're on us before you take these back?"
"They can't track us at night over rocky ground. We'll be well away by dawn if we keep moving."
Berk scowled but gave up the argument. They didn't have time for it. Already the glare of torches could be seen cresting the ridge. He didn't say anything further, just slung the sword over his shoulder and gestured Grumnlin and the general on ahead of him. At least if the marauders caught them, and the general refused to fight, the chances of Berk being taken alive would be dramatically reduced. He buried any thought of the alternative. Having been in marauder hands once was more than any man ever needed.
They traveled as quickly as they could over the uneven, rocky ground. Grumnlin moved with amazing agility, and Berk soon lost sight of him in the darkness. He put his faith in the general either knowing the way, or still being able to see their guide. Calls echoed behind them. Berk knew precisely when they found the body because a sharp, angry shout went up, followed by a silence he could feel.
The general gave him a quick look. "They'll be on the hunt now."
"Not much of a hunt. They know where we're heading."
Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three Page 29