“Brindle,” said Piper cautiously, “I know this is a lot to ask, but may I feel your ears? I don’t know what a healthy temperature should be, and if I ever need to treat a gnole again and don’t have one to help me…”
Brindle’s whiskers arched forward in the gnole equivalent of a tired smile. “A gnole will help, bone-doctor.”
He sat patiently while Piper felt his nose and the inside of his ears, and even opened his mouth so that Piper could compare the color of his gums to Earstripe’s. “Can’t always use,” he warned. “A gnole has bad teeth, maybe, a gnole’s gums go red anyway. But red, dry, hot, all bad for a gnole.”
By the time night had fallen, it was obvious that Earstripe was running a fever, even without checking ears or gums. Heat seemed to radiate off the small body. At first, he snapped his teeth and growled at things that only he could see, but as hours passed, he seemed to lose the strength for that. Eventually his only movement was violent shivering, and even Brindle seemed at a loss for what to do next.
It was probably close to midnight when Galen looked up and saw the lights of Archon’s Glory shining brightly ahead. The sight filled him with unutterable relief. They were almost to a gnole healer. If anything could be done, it would be done.
He nudged Piper. The doctor had sagged against him in exhaustion and Galen had put his arm around the man’s shoulders. Piper had fallen into a fitful doze with his head on Galen’s shoulder. No surprise there. I don’t think he’s slept since…since…hell. Since before I fought that scorpion machine. It felt like an age of the earth ago.
“Piper,” he said gently. “Piper, wake up. We’re almost there.”
Piper muttered something and burrowed against Galen’s side. Fortunately, it wasn’t the side with the bruised ribs. From this angle, Galen could only see half his face—the long, straight nose and the dark curve of eyelashes. There were lamps lit at the front and back of the boat and the light was very yellow, which gave the blue circles under the doctor’s eyes a greenish cast.
The paladin sighed and tucked the blanket around Piper’s shoulder, feeling a rush of some gentle emotion that was hard to identify. Fondness, perhaps, and a touch of exasperation. The man should have slept before now, but of course he hadn’t, not until he was ready to drop.
Galen lifted his head, to see Shane watching him.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
Galen narrowed his eyes. First Marcus, now Shane. “He’s very tired,” he said irritably. “He was up for hours tending Earstripe before you arrived. I don’t think he’s slept in over a day.”
“I’m sure he’s exhausted,” agreed Shane. “And how long has it been since you slept?”
Galen shrugged. “It’s different for us. How many forced marches have we done?”
Marcus snorted. “Too many. Though they were a long time ago, most of them.”
“Thank the gods for that,” said Shane.
“Yes, of course. But we’re not as young as we used to be. I like eight hours a night, when I can get it.”
The boat traffic increased as they approached the city. The captain and her assistant used their poles to steer the boat out of the way of the big barges carrying goods, and finally they bumped against a dock on the far side of the river from where the bodies had been found.
Piper stirred and sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “Mm? What? Are we—Earstripe!”
“Not dead,” said Brindle, who had been curled up beside the injured gnole. He sat up as well. “Hot, but not dead.”
Piper felt his patient’s ears. “Is he hotter?”
Brindle nodded grimly. They packed more cold cloth around Earstripe’s ears and dipped his hands in river water to cool them, while Shane paid the captain the other half of her fee.
“Good luck to him,” she said, nodding to the limp gnole in Marcus’s arms. “I’ll light a candle to the River Serpent for you all.”
“Thank you,” said Shane gravely, because Shane was always courteous. Galen, who was suspicious of most gods these days, except perhaps the Rat, did not say anything. He helped Piper scoop damp cloths in a bundle, to try and cool Earstripe on the way to the gnole doctor.
“How far is it?” he asked Brindle.
“Not far.” The gnole paused, smoothing down his whiskers. “A gnole doesn’t live in this warren. May need to ask some gnole when we get there. Entrance to a warren changes sometimes, yeah?”
“Lead the way.”
* * *
Brindle, to Galen’s mild surprise, did not take them back into the city proper, but stayed on the far side of the river, heading downstream. Galen knew that there were warehouses on that side, and a shanty town that had sprung up when the Elkinslough had burst its banks several years ago and flooded some of the poorest low-lying neighborhoods. He knew that at least one gnole warren had been flooded as well, but he hadn’t realized that it, too, had relocated.
“Built into hillside here,” said Brindle, leading them through the narrow makeshift streets. “No flood here. But a long walk for a job-gnole or a rag-and-bone gnole, so more small burrows in the city now, yeah?”
“Makes sense,” said Piper. Galen was too busy looking over his shoulder. The tent city he remembered had matured, permanent and semi-permanent structures replacing flimsier canvas ones. There were even scatterings of lamps, burning the very cheapest oil by the smell, but still providing light. Rope-and-board walkways crisscrossed the area at varying levels and Brindle led them up onto one. Looking down at the ground, Galen could see why. Sewer systems were expensive and complicated to install and it would probably be a hundred years until anyone got around to putting one here.
Still, it wasn’t the worst he’d seen by a long shot. The slope of the hillside meant that the nightsoil was washed down to the river, so it didn’t smell significantly worse than any other neighborhood in Archon’s Glory. The smell of the river itself was extraordinary in summer, but there was no getting away from that anywhere in the city either.
There were a fair number of people, both gnole and human, coming and going, as one might expect, even in the middle of the night. The humans gave the paladins a wide berth, clearly not thinking it worthwhile to get involved. Galen heard footsteps overhead and looked up to see more walkways above them, the bottoms hung with slum-weaver nests.
“This area built up fast,” he said.
“Available material,” said Marcus. “The flood destroyed a great many houses. The people who lived in them scavenged everything that they could, and more washed in from upriver.” He had been carrying Earstripe, but he nodded to Shane and handed the gnole over to give his arms a rest.
“I can take him,” said Galen.
“You’ve been beat to shit,” said Marcus bluntly. “I wouldn’t trust you to carry a bouquet of daisies right now.”
“Oh yeah? I’ll take you on right now. Bare-knuckle. Let’s go.”
“Gentlemen,” said Piper, sounding exasperated, “we are on a matter of some urgency. You can fight later.” He narrowed his eyes at Galen. “After your ribs have healed up. And if you tear out those stitches, I shall be annoyed.”
Galen sighed dramatically. Brindle rolled his eyes. Shane gazed at the sky, perhaps seeking strength from a higher power.
“Getting close,” said Brindle a few minutes later, as they threaded their way higher up the hillside. The amount of human traffic had diminished significantly and the makeshift alleys were darker and quieter. The walkways were no longer board and rope, but cobbled together from packing crates. Galen caught the occasional flash of gnole eyes in the gloom, but there were no lamps here, only the glowing red haze of the sky to see by.
“Wait here,” said Brindle. “A gnole will be back.” He vanished into a space too small for a human, leaving the four men standing in a knot.
It was very quiet, once the rustle of gnole fur had faded. Much quieter than Galen liked a city to be.
Piper took advantage of the pause to check Earstripe. His f
ace was grim. “Fever’s getting worse, I think,” he muttered to no one in particular. Galen put a reassuring hand on his arm, although his own nerves had begun to prickle.
“I believe someone is watching us,” said Shane quietly.
Galen opened his mouth to say something sarcastic, and then a figure materialized from the shadows.
Twenty-Eight
There were three of them. The woman in front, who seemed to be the leader, looked less like a footpad and more like someone’s mother, but presumably baby footpads had to come from somewhere. She was holding a board like a club. The two men behind her were carrying truncheons. None of them looked happy.
Marcus’s hand went to his sword hilt. Galen reached for his own, realized yet again that he didn’t have one, and cursed internally. And Shane can’t draw because he’s carrying Earstripe. I could go for his sword, but dammit, he favors that ridiculous back scabbard that the Dreaming God’s people use, I’ll take his ear off if I try. Galen didn’t know how they managed the damn things without slitting themselves open from stem to stern. He settled for stepping in front of Piper and getting ready to shield the doctor if it was his only choice.
“I don’t know what you’re doing with that gnole,” said the woman, her eyes narrowed, “but if you think you can come in here and start hunting them, I don’t care how big you are, you’ll soon learn differently.”
Galen felt a twinge of relief. They weren’t here for a mugging, they were here defending the gnoles. Which…okay, admittedly, four heavily armed men lugging around an obviously dead or injured gnole is suspicious. Where’s Brindle? If he comes back, he can vouch for us.
“We mean no harm,” said Piper.
“How about you put that fellow down, and we’ll see about that?”
“Here?” said Piper, clearly horrified. “No, it’s too dirty.” Which was true, but perhaps not the most diplomatic thing to say at the moment.
Galen tried to think of how to smooth the situation over but he was so damn tired that he couldn’t think of what to say. “It’s fine,” he said. “It’s fine, really.”
Judging by the way that the woman and her associates gripped their weapons, they did not believe that it was fine.
It was Shane who saved them. “I think that we share a goal,” he said, still holding Earstripe to his chest. His voice was so calm and gentle and soothing that he could have said he was about to fly to the moon and it would probably have sounded reasonable. “This gnole is our friend, and he has been badly injured. We are seeking the gnole-warren here, so that he may be treated by his own people.”
The back scabbard wasn’t the only thing Shane had taken away from the Dreaming God’s temple. Most paladins could do the voice to a certain degree, but the Dreaming God’s people had refined it to a high art. Galen watched the two men’s white-knuckled grip on their truncheons relax. He felt a stab of envy. He couldn’t do the damn voice at all.
“You say you’re here for a healer?” the blonde woman said, still suspicious but not quite as hostile.
Shane nodded. “We are here with a gnole guide,” he said, still in the voice. “He has gone to get directions, but should return shortly. I promise you, we have nothing but goodwill for the gnoles here.”
She took a step back. “Been some trouble lately,” she said gruffly. “People got word the warren was here. Bully-boys thinking it would be funny to start trouble with ’em.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Shane, and anyone listening could tell that he was sorry. “I will inform the Temple of the White Rat that there have been problems.”
The line between the woman’s eyebrows eased. “You’re with the Rat?” Shane dipped his head. “Ah, right then. Good people. But don’t let ’em send the guard. We don’t want ’em throwing their weight around, understand? We take care of the gnoles and the gnoles take care of us. Don’t need to get anybody else involved.”
Shane nodded gravely. “You have my word that I shall pass on your concerns only to the Rat.”
She nodded, distracted, looking past him. Then her expression changed and she lowered her weapon completely. “Guess you’re telling the truth.”
“A gnole leaves for five minutes and humans get into trouble,” muttered Brindle, pushing his way past Galen. “Gnoles opening up a path for too-big humans now.”
The woman said something in halting gnolespeech, putting her free hand up to imitate one ear. Brindle flicked his whiskers sharply and replied, enunciating each word clearly. She nodded and the trio vanished as quickly as they had arrived.
“It is good that the warren has local protectors,” said Shane.
“Yeah, I just thought that some of those local protectors were going to try to bash our heads in,” muttered Marcus.
Scraping sounds heralded the arrival of more gnoles, pulling aside boards and what looked like a broken door, until they had made a path that was large enough for a human to walk through. Brindle waved for the four men to follow. Marcus took point, with Shane after him and Piper after that. Galen brought up the rear, not because he didn’t trust the gnoles but because he didn’t entirely trust other humans. Those three seemed friendly, but if there are people about who think it’s amusing to torment gnoles, I’d rather be where I can stop them.
Fortunately, no one like that materialized. They were led through a dark labyrinth of canvas walls and scraps of board. Galen could barely make out the outline of Piper in front of him. Then a light flared up behind him and Galen turned to see a strange gnole following him, holding a candle on the end of a short pole, probably for the benefit of the humans. Another light bobbing up ahead seemed to confirm that.
It made the going easier. They went down a short ramp and then onward again. Galen wasn’t certain, but he thought they were probably actually into the hillside by now. The air smelled less of the river and more of gnole-fur and earth.
The way opened up abruptly and he and the other humans spilled out into a large circular room. The edges were defined by hanging blankets and wooden supports but the roof was made of earth and stone. Tunnels led off in multiple directions, like spokes from a wheel.
Dozens of gnoles lined the walls and peered at them from the tunnel mouths. There were small lights fastened to the wooden supports, casting a much dimmer light than the candles carried by their escorts.
Galen trusted the gnoles completely, but his nerves prickled anyway. Without the lights, the paladins would be completely at the mercy of the warren’s occupants. And there were many, many occupants. He could hear breathing and shifting and a soft murmur of gnole voices from every side. I am going to guess that no one tormenting gnoles ever came in here. Or if they did, they didn’t leave again.
A gnole came forward. They leaned heavily on a cane and Galen guessed by their gait that one foot was shorter than the other, but they still moved with gnolish energy. A broad white blaze ran down the center of their face, much wider than the usual badger stripes, splashing across the eyes and leaving the nose entirely pink.
“Our doctor,” said Brindle, with obvious pride.
The white-blazed gnole chattered at Brindle, but their eyes were locked on the bundle in Shane’s arms.
“Ours says to bring this gnole,” says Brindle. “Ours says that ours will care for him.”
“I would like to speak with your doctor if I may,” said Piper. “The more…ours?…knows of the injury the better.”
Brindle launched into a rapid explanation, ears and whiskers sweeping as he spoke. Galen caught two or three words, but for the most part, the gnole was talking far too fast for his meager skills to keep up.
The doctor turned to look at Piper warily, and spoke a few curt words. Brindle said, almost apologetically, “Ours does not think that a human can tell ours much of a healing.”
“No,” said Piper, one corner of his mouth lifting with weary humor. “No, but a human can tell ours what a human did to a gnole, so that ours knows what to undo.”
The white-blazed gnole
barked a laugh at Brindle’s translation, and ours’ stance seemed to soften. They nodded curtly to Piper and stumped away down a tunnel. Bays opened off it, marked off with woven blankets. The humans followed, ducking their heads. Shane was practically bent double, trying to avoid crushing Earstripe to his chest.
The gnole doctor swept a blanket aside and pointed. The bay was large, the center a round nest of bedding. A long side table gleamed with instruments, some of them similar to the ones that Galen had seen in Piper’s bag, some of them baffling in purpose and design. One of the gnoles with the candles set it down reverently on the side table.
The ceiling here was even lower and Shane gave up even trying to stand. He knelt, and shuffled forward on his knees to lay Earstripe into the nest. He bowed his head to the gnole doctor, and then he and Marcus retreated into the hallway.
Galen stayed, while ours moved around the patient, rearranging his limbs, checking the insides of his ears, and scowling.
“Brindle, can you translate what I’ve done?”
“Complicated words,” said Brindle. “A gnole can try.” He looked over at the white-blazed gnole and said something. Ours nodded again and gestured to Piper to join ours beside the patient.
Gnole and human bent over Earstripe together, Piper explaining what he had done, and Brindle quietly murmuring a translation. What struck Galen as he watched was how similar the two looked. The intensity of their gazes, the deft, careful movements as they unwrapped the dressings—these were two of a kind, no matter that one was three feet tall and the other flat-faced and naked-limbed.
Another wave of that odd, tender emotion rolled through him as he watched Piper. This one was stronger than the first, laced with admiration. He is a good man, thought Galen, almost wonderingly. A good man who is good at what he does. He wants nothing more than to help people, and when it began to hurt him too badly, he found another way to help.
Ours sniffed the dressing and gave Piper another sharp look. “Honey,” said Piper. “I didn’t know what else to use. It does help sometimes in humans, but I don’t know about in gnoles.” The gnole doctor cocked ours head, listening to Brindle’s translation, then let out another sharp laugh and cuffed Piper’s arm in clear amusement. Ours pointed to a clay jar on the table and Brindle fetched it and opened the jar, revealing dark amber honey. Piper laughed too, the tired lines of his face briefly falling into kinder ones, and Galen felt his heart clench in a way that was close to pain.
Paladin’s Hope: Book Three of the Saint of Steel Page 19