by Stefon Mears
The leader threw his dagger as he closed. The handle thumped off Cavan’s wounded shoulder.
The pain broke free.
Agony washed over Cavan. Radiated out from his shoulder and forearm, fever hot and wrenching.
Cavan grabbed that pain. Embraced it. Forced himself into it, until the pain came from everywhere at once. Blacking out the edges of his vision.
The leader was almost on him now. Sword high and swinging.
Voices called his name. Ehren? Amra? No way to know. No attention to spend on them.
Cavan forced his wounded arms to scoop up blood and dust and he spat power born of pain across them. So much focus, the spell was taking his consciousness with it.
He muttered the words, “Usu isath.”
And then the blackness overwhelmed him.
17
Cavan did awaken later, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. His left shoulder and right forearm spiked pain with every heartbeat, and his heart was beating rapidly.
Hardest bed he could ever remember. Dark room, but a fire crackled in the hearth. He could smell … was that tea? Soup? Something strong and herbal anyway. Didn’t smell great, but parched as his mouth was, he’d choke it down if someone offered it. He could smell horses too, not just their hides but their leavings.
That was when Cavan realized he was alive. Maybe prisoner.
He sat up … and fell back just as fast. Thumped his head on something hard until the thin excuse for a…
No. That wasn’t a pillow. Cavan had used his cloak as a pillow too many times over the years to not recognize the feeling. Even if this new woolen cloak was softer than his old roughspun.
His eyes blinked, adjusting to the gloom. He could see the stars above now. Blue-gray mountain floor, dancing with shadows in the firelight. The crackling fire wasn’t in a hearth. It was … a campfire?
Ehren stretched out next to it. Salve on his cheek, and his left forearm wrapped. Amra … where was Amra?
Cavan tried to speak, but all that came out was a dry, almost choked sound.
“Hush,” Amra said, from the shadows. “There’s a waterskin next to you, if you can manage it.”
Cavan’s left shoulder was wrapped tight, and he could feel the poultice underneath the bandages. That arm was going nowhere. Someone had bound it to his chest to keep Cavan from moving it.
His right arm was mobile, but his fingers were twitchy. The forearm was bandaged, and stained a dark brown. He could feel the poultice under the bandages there as well. But his fingers still obeyed his commands, even without resorting to wizard tricks he’d regret later.
Cavan picked up the waterskin, pulled the cork with his teeth, and rinsed out his mouth twice before swallowing a grateful mouthful. He wanted more, but stopped there. Had a feeling he needed to ease into drinking or risk puking it all back out.
Moving slower, he could sit now, back against the mountainside. He was glad that the gloom meant no one could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead from just getting to a sitting position.
He could see the horses now, and they looked unharmed, at least. He still wasn’t sure where Amra was, but he could see a couple of shadowy lumps over near the ledge.
Cavan cleared his throat a couple of times, and managed a word.
“Amra?”
“I’m here,” she said, from somewhere over by the lumps. “Need something?”
“So … we won?”
Amra laughed, rich and full. Ehren chuckled and sat up. The salve on his face made his smile look ghastly and a sickly kind of pale.
“Doesn’t feel like winning right now,” Ehren said, “does it?”
“Please,” Amra said, “if we lost, you wouldn’t have breath to complain with. You’re both alive, and neither one of you is going to die from those wounds.”
Amra stepped back into the firelight, and Cavan saw no bandages on her. Her step light and even, until she crouched between Cavan and Ehren.
“How are they?” Ehren said.
“They?” Cavan said.
Amra glared at Ehren. “We have two prisoners.”
“Someone want to catch me up?”
“Well,” Amra said, “while you two were fooling around, I killed two of them.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You had a weapon and Ehren didn’t, so I stepped in and saved his ass. The guy with the halberd was pretty good. Been a while since I’d fought one of those, and he knew how to use it.”
“Doesn’t look like he got you.”
Amra scoffed. “Didn’t say he was that good. Anyway, while I had him engaged, our ray of sunshine here—”
“I took up my staff,” Ehren said, “and caught him at the small of the skull while he was busy with short-but-deadly. Knocked him out.”
“I expected him to finish Mr. Halberd off,” Amra said, shaking her head. “Don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I don’t kill the helpless,” Ehren said, “and neither should you.”
“Anyway,” Amra said, turning back to Cavan, “you were disarmed, bleeding from two nasty-looking wounds, and on your knees while the lead huntsman was swinging his sword.”
“We were both too far away to help you,” Ehren said. “Even Amra couldn’t have gotten there in time to stop his killing blow.”
“But you managed some kind of whirlwind spell.”
“Never seen anything like that before,” Ehren said, sounding impressed. “Like a tiny tornado made of dust and blood. Yanked his sword away.”
“Hope it didn’t hit anyone down below,” Amra said, shaking her head.
“And then it spun him around and around and slammed him into the side of the mountain.”
“And Mr. Sunshine here wouldn’t let me do the smart thing,” Amra said. “So both our ‘prisoners’ are unconscious over there.” She pointed to the two shadowy lumps. “Assuming they don’t do anything stupid, like roll themselves over.”
“Amra,” Ehren said, and if Amra were capable of shame, that tone would have brought it out in her.
Amra fluttered her eyelashes at Ehren.
“It’s good that they’re alive,” Cavan said.
“No you too,” Amra moaned.
“They have information we need. If the duke is holding Kent and his family, these two’ll help us figure out where and how to free them.”
“I think we can find the dungeon without them.”
“And if they’re not in the dungeon?” Ehren said, smiling at Cavan.
“Of course,” Amra said. “Whenever I build something big and defensible, something built to keep people from escaping it, the first thing I do is use it as a distraction so I can keep my actual important prisoners someplace ill-defended and easily taken.”
“You don’t believe in hiding in plain sight?” Ehren said.
“We’re not talking about hiding!” Amra looked back and forth between Cavan and Ehren as though she couldn’t believe they were being this stupid. “The duke doesn’t have to hide them. Not in Interr. All he has to do is stash them someplace safe until he kills you, Cavan.”
Amra turned and put her hands on the cold stone so she could lean in nose-to-nose with Cavan.
“Now you tell me, here and now, that you think there’s anywhere smarter or safer to keep Kent than the duke’s own keep. And you tell me how there’s anywhere — anywhere — that makes more sense for that than the dungeons.”
“I can’t,” he said, tone level despite the demand for agreement in Amra’s eyes. “For the same reason you can’t — because if there is anywhere smarter, the duke keeps it a secret. Which means people like you, me, and Ehren have never heard of it.”
“He’s right,” Ehren said, apparently untroubled that Amra was still locking eyes with Cavan. “But if anyone does know such a secret, it’s the chief of the duke’s own huntsmen.”
“This is a waste of time,” she said.
“We’re here ‘til morning anyway,” Ehren said. “I can only heal these wounds by the fi
rst rays of the sun. We might as well ask some questions.”
Amra sighed.
* * *
Tohen awoke, which was the last thing he expected. Then again, what woke him was a sharp slap across the face, and that had happened so many times in his life it was almost like greeting the day with a gentle caress.
A gentle caress would have been nice. He’d taken one hell of a shot to the skull, and his head was throbbing like that time he’d tried drinking with dwarves and woken up three days later in a goblin cell.
His mouth was almost that dry too, but it tasted better. Gritty, with a hint of blood, but anything tasted better than the aftermath of dwarven ale.
This time he was lying down. Arms behind his back. Tied at the ankles, wrists, and elbows, and the knots felt solid. Sword was missing, but they’d probably disarmed him.
Tohen knew he was still in the mountains. He could smell the clean air, blowing on the wind over the ledge beside him.
Ledge?
Tohen tried to shift his body away from the drop, but a boot stopped him.
“That’s far enough. We’re more than happy to throw you over if you don’t cooperate.”
Cavan’s voice. Talking tough. If it were just him, probably an empty threat. That Amra though…
Wait. Cavan still lived? Tohen tried to remember what happened before that blow to the head. He remembered the ambush. The skirmish. He’d wounded Cavan. Had him on his knees. Sword coming down for the killing blow…
Then nothing. Just waking up here. Bound and hurting.
Well, they knew he was awake anyway…
Tohen opened his eyes. Still on that mountain ledge. And all three of them still lived, and all three were still mobile. Damn. Cavan was bandaged in two places at least, and so was his priest, but Amra didn’t look like Qalas had scored so much as a light cut.
Maybe Tohen overestimated him.
“Wh…” it came out a croak, and Tohen had to hock and spit before he could grind out any words. “What happened … to my men?”
“Did you catch that?” Cavan said.
“Give him some water,” the priest said.
“He asked about his men,” Amra said, but she didn’t stop the priest from squeezing a stream of water into Tohen’s mouth from a waterskin.
While Tohen swallowed, he took in more of the scene. Campfire with good dry wood. That explained the smell. They’d added water to the dry soup stock. Smelled … well, it smelled like camps and safety, but Tohen knew better than to let the familiar smell set him at ease.
“Two of your men are dead,” Cavan said. “The one-eyed man and the one with the bushy beard.”
“Guess Lutik’s luck finally ran out then.” When that didn’t get a response, Tohen said, “The one-eyed man. Lutik. Used to call him Lutik the Lucky.”
“You’re beaten,” the priest said, with the same quiet certainty that Tohen had heard from everyone who thought they spoke for the gods. “Your hunt is over and the prize has slipped away. Now you—”
“Prize is right there,” Tohen interrupted, nodding at Cavan. “And I’m still breathing, so the hunt goes on.”
“Now can we kill him?” Amra said.
“Qalas surrendered, did he?” Tohen said, grimacing. “Told you where to find the stash of firewood and supplies?”
Cavan started to say something, and Tohen read the hesitation and spoke first.
“No. He’d have made you believe you didn’t need me. Given you reason to kill me.”
“The supplies were easy,” Amra said. “I just looked where I would have hidden them.”
“And Qalas,” the priest said, “is unconscious.”
“Waiting his turn for the question?” Tohen shook his head. “Might as well kill him. Too much pride to talk. Even if he did, he doesn’t know anything. He never did learn to listen.”
“Where’s Kent?” Cavan said.
“With the duke. Where do you think?”
“Where’s he being held?” Amra said, following that with all the typical warrior strategy questions — guards and armament and the like — but Tohen was too amused to pay attention to the details.
He just let her finish, then smiled.
“What do I look like to you? A counselor? Someone the duke invites to his private meetings and consults about all his plans?” He shook his head. “I’m a huntsman. I find people the duke wants dead, and fulfill the duke’s wishes.”
“You’re the chief huntsman,” the priest said. “That merits some respect. Don’t tell me—”
“That just means I get my orders from the duke’s seneschal instead of from the chief huntsman. His grace never wastes time on the likes of me.”
“Can I kill him now?” Amra said, with the same matter-of-fact tone Tohen would have expected from someone with her reputation.
“We don’t murder prisoners,” the priest said.
“You’ll just come after us again,” Cavan said, voice thoughtful. “Won’t you?”
Tohen nodded.
“Cavan,” the priest said, “tell me you’re not—”
“We have to do something.”
Tohen shut his mouth, quickly. Tried to look unobtrusive. Maybe if he gave the priest enough time, the sunny boy could get Cavan to let him go. Unarmed or something.
But Amra spat. She pulled her sword and struck faster than Tohen would have believed possible. On his best day, he was never that fast.
She severed his left leg just below the knee. So quick and clean Tohen watched it happen without feeling more than a tug on his skin.
The bottom part of his leg, boot and all, just … fell. Blood spurting everywhere. Someone was yelling, but sounds became gray haze. So much blood. How could there—
Then the pain hit. Excruciating. Beyond anything he’d ever experienced.
Tohen screamed like he’d never screamed before. Like his soul was ripping free of his body. As though screaming might take the pain away, if it came out loud and harsh enough.
Then it got worse.
Amra had a flaming log from the fire by its unburnt end. Held it against his leg. Burning the wound shut.
Tohen’s own screams were the last thing he heard before he passed out. Wishing he were dead.
* * *
Cavan stood between Ehren and Amra, one hand on a shoulder of each of the two as they glared at each other. The trio stood over the unconscious body of the chief huntsman. He smelled of burnt pork, and he’d soiled himself.
“He’s alive,” Cavan said, trying for soothing but even he could hear the tension in his voice.
Amra threw the burning log back into the fire. Clapped her hands free of dust with a sense of finality.
“You had no right,” Ehren said. “Not without consulting us.”
“You want him alive, yes?” Amra said, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “He’ll live. And when the sun rises, you can pray his wound clean and mended.”
“Zatafa can’t give him back his leg.”
“So much the better. I won’t have to do it again.”
“Sit down, both of you.” Cavan shook his head. “My shoulder hurts. My arm hurts. And I don’t want to ruin these bandages by beating you both into submission.”
That got them to look at him. Ehren with a puzzled expression. Amra’s was amused.
“Happily,” she said. “The soup’s ready anyway. Won’t be great, but it’ll keep us from overtaxing that pack of yours, Ehren.”
“This matter isn’t settled,” Ehren said sitting down cross-legged near the fire.
“No,” Amra said with a sigh, “I could never be that lucky.”
Cavan didn’t shunt away the throbbing pain from his left shoulder and right forearm, but he did use a few tricks to soothe them into calming down as he sat on the cold stone.
“Look,” Amra said, dishing soup into clay mugs she’d found in a hidden cache, along with the firewood, tinder and flint, soup stock, water, and scores of arrows. “You don’t want him dead. I get that.
It’s bad tactics, but I get it.”
“A life is worth more than a tactical advantage,” Ehren said.
“Sometimes,” she conceded, “but in this case I’m inclined to disagree.” Ehren started to speak, but she got louder. “Hear me out.”
She shoved a mug of soup into his hand, and passed another to Cavan.
“Since the Firespears, we’ve had three encounters with these guys.”
Cavan wondered what two he missed, but before he could ask she continued.
“First, in Tradeton. They knew where we were going and got there ahead of us. We only avoided an ambush because the guards knew Cavan well enough to follow him at his word.”
She took a sip from her own mug, and Cavan found it encouraging that Ehren didn’t leap into the moment of silence. When these two started fighting…
“Second,” she continued, “in the woods back there. I’m positive they were waiting for us in that clearing. If you doubt me, wake up the southerner and ask him.”
She hesitated, but neither Cavan nor Ehren moved to awaken the southerner. Cavan sipped some of his soup — a little sour, but the dried pork held up well.
“Right,” she said. “We evaded them and sped past. Twice they had a tactical edge, and twice we slipped them.” Ehren started to say something, but she got loud again. “Let me finish.”
Ehren settled back in, and she continued while Cavan drank his soup in silence. The more he drank the better it tasted. Or maybe he was just that hungry.
“Everyone knew we were heading for the baronial manor. But they knew they couldn’t catch us there. So they skipped that over, and guessed our next destination. They not only knew we’d have to cross the mountains, but that man” — she pointed at the unconscious chief huntsman — “figured out which route we’d take. Knew where we’d take a rest. And in case you didn’t notice, he managed to catch all of us completely off-guard.”
“Yes,” Ehren said, “we should have asked how they managed it.”
“Magic,” Cavan said, and his casual tone brought curious looks. “It wasn’t quite invisibility. More like a chameleon effect. Nothing I know how to do, but I’ve read about it. And the wizards who know the technique can prepare it for another to use. They say the Order of the False Dawn uses the same approach.”