Blood Ties by Peter David Page B

the typical responses of annoyance and outrage that he was accustomed to, the gnome finally fell silent. I could only imagine his frustration and wondered whether he would be so aggravated that he would just take off. I doubted I could be quite so fortunate, but I could always be optimistic about it.
    Having satisfied ourselves that the enemy had either temporarily retreated or indeed given up entirely, I quickly established sentry points so that we could watch for any further incursions. The men didn’t hesitate to take my instructions as if they were orders, never questioning my commands or my right to give them.
    What can I say? I suppose I have an air of authority about me.
    Satisfied that the parapets were attended to, I made my way down to the ground and quickly returned to the barracks. I assumed, correctly as it turned out, that that was where Russell would be.
    He was lying unconscious on one of the beds, his shoulder thoroughly bandaged. There was a spot of blood visible in the bandage where the wound had been seeping through, but it appeared to have stopped. He was pale, which was understandable.
    Old Henry was standing over him, staring down at him.
    â€œDid you get the bullet out?” I asked.
    â€œWent right through him. Clean shot. Near as we can tell, no major organs were hit.” He never looked my way but still he spoke to me. “That was a damned stupid thing you did.”
    â€œSo you’ve said.”
    â€œYou were one of the best marksmen up there.”
    â€œOne of?”
    He didn’t smile, but he did deign to look at me. “We needed your gun and your eye in defense of Blackholm. Risking both to save a single young man who isn’t even a particularly competent soldier . . .” He shook his head.
    â€œI’m sorry if my priorities ran into conflict with yours.”
    â€œNever say you’re sorry when you’re really not,” said Old Henry. Then he paused, and his voice softened. “You did what you felt you had to do in order to live with yourself. I can respect that and consider it a worthy achievement. And I suppose I should thank you”—and he glanced toward Russell—“for saving my son.”
    â€œYour . . . ?”
    I probably didn’t cover myself with glory with my reaction, which was to stand there slack-jawed and wide-eyed. “Are you serious? He’s your son?”
    â€œAccording to his mother.” A vague suspicion passed through his eyes. “As for me, I have my doubts. But life is what it is, and so I accept her word and play the hand I’m dealt, as I’m sure she did.”
    In my experience, when one doesn’t know quite what to say, it’s preferable to say nothing at all. I knew one thing of a certainty, though, and that was that Old Henry was clearly someone who placed his dedication to protecting Blackholm above every other consideration.
    As if my rescuing his son was no longer something worth discussing, he said brusquely, “How long will you be staying here? I ask because you strike me as someone who tends to move around quite a bit.”
    â€œI have been known to.”
    â€œMakes it more of a problem for your enemies to target you?”
    â€œFate, actually.” I smiled mirthlessly. “If I stay in one place too long, fate looks down and says, ‘Ah, there he is. Let’s visit some particular devastating mishap upon him, or maybe just strike him with a lightning bolt.’ ”
    â€œYou jest, but with an undercurrent of truth. Well, while you’re here, I’d like you to do as much good as you can. The recruits are already speaking of you with reverence.”
    â€œAs they do you.”
    â€œBe that as it may, I want you to work on training them. I’m a brawler, Finn. If the enemy overruns the wall, if it comes to face-to-face combat, then stand behind me and be secure that none of them will get to you. Far preferable, though, is preventing