dirty.
And got her the commission that put her here, unconscious, scarred, and bloody, he thought dismally. Thank the Light I never had any children of my own.
The drysian arrived at last, Alec on his heels with a basin of steaming water.
"She was thrown when the enemy ship rammed hers," he said, watching as the healer set to work.
"Yes, yes, Alec's told me all about it," Lieus said impatiently, sponging blood from the ragged wound. "She took a bad knock, all right. Still, the cut didn't go deep, thank the Maker. She'll wake up in a while with quite a headache, and probably some sickness. There's nothing for it now but to clean her up, keep her warm, and let her sleep. You two clear out; you're just in my way here." He jerked a thumb at Seregil. "I'll see to your shoulder later. Arrow, was it?"
"It's nothing."
The drysian grunted, then tossed Alec a small jar. "Wash his wound and keep some of this on it until the scab dries. I've seen wounds like that go putrid a week later. You don't want to lose your sword arm, now, do you, my lord?"
On deck, they found Klia busy taking stock of the situation. The Courser had finished with the other Plenimaran vessel and now rode at anchor nearby.
"You heard him," Alec ordered, mimicking the drysian's gruff tone. "Let me see what that arrow did to you."
The cuts from the mail rings were still oozing, and the whole area was dark and swollen. Now that the excitement of the crisis was over, Seregil was surprised at how much it hurt. Alec helped him remove the mail shirt and set about dressing the wound, his touch as sure and gentle as any healer's.
Those same hands were drawing a bow not so long ago, Seregil reflected with another stab of guilt. Alec had never killed a man before they'd met, and probably never would have if he'd been left to his trapping and wandering. , Life changes, he mused, and life changes us.
The soft afternoon breeze off the islands carried a sun-warmed mingling of scents he hadn't known for nearly forty years: wild mint and oregano, footcatch cedar, and fragrant powder vine. He'd last visited these islands a few months before his banishment. Looking across the water to Big Turtle, he could almost see his younger self jumping across the rocks, diving fish-naked in the coves with his friends—a silly, self-involved boy who'd had no idea what immensity of pain lay just over the horizon of his short life.
Life changes us all.
Klia climbed on a nearby hatch, still wearing her filthy green battle tabard. Braknil and Mercalle's riders gathered on the deck in front of her as she began to take stock.
"Who do you have left, Sergeant Mercalle?" Seregil heard her ask.
"Five riders and my corporal, Commander," the woman replied, betraying no emotion. Behind her, Zir and the other looked bedraggled and dispirited. Most appeared unhurt, although the lute player, Urien, was cradling a bandaged hand against his chest. "We've lost most of our weapons, though, and the horses."
"Those can be replaced. Riders can't," Klia replied brusquely. "And you, Braknil?"
"No deaths, Commander, but Orandin and Adis were badly burned by those damned fire streams."
Klia sighed. "We'll leave them in Gedre if the khirnari is agreeable."
Spotting Seregil, she waved him over. "What did you make of that?"
"That they were expecting us," he told her.
Klia scowled. "And I thought we'd been so careful."
The information didn't necessarily come from Skala, he thought, but kept the thought to himself for the time being.
"Can we make Gedre without stopping for water?" she asked the captain.
"Yes, Commander. But it will be dark by the time we've run up the new sail. Plenty of time to send landing crews over to fill some casks."
Klia rubbed the back of her neck wearily. "If those ships were waiting to ambush us, then they knew why we were going to the island. They could have ambushers waiting at the spring. I've had enough surprises for one day. I say we push on to Gedre."
No one slept that
And got her the commission that put her here, unconscious, scarred, and bloody, he thought dismally. Thank the Light I never had any children of my own.
The drysian arrived at last, Alec on his heels with a basin of steaming water.
"She was thrown when the enemy ship rammed hers," he said, watching as the healer set to work.
"Yes, yes, Alec's told me all about it," Lieus said impatiently, sponging blood from the ragged wound. "She took a bad knock, all right. Still, the cut didn't go deep, thank the Maker. She'll wake up in a while with quite a headache, and probably some sickness. There's nothing for it now but to clean her up, keep her warm, and let her sleep. You two clear out; you're just in my way here." He jerked a thumb at Seregil. "I'll see to your shoulder later. Arrow, was it?"
"It's nothing."
The drysian grunted, then tossed Alec a small jar. "Wash his wound and keep some of this on it until the scab dries. I've seen wounds like that go putrid a week later. You don't want to lose your sword arm, now, do you, my lord?"
On deck, they found Klia busy taking stock of the situation. The Courser had finished with the other Plenimaran vessel and now rode at anchor nearby.
"You heard him," Alec ordered, mimicking the drysian's gruff tone. "Let me see what that arrow did to you."
The cuts from the mail rings were still oozing, and the whole area was dark and swollen. Now that the excitement of the crisis was over, Seregil was surprised at how much it hurt. Alec helped him remove the mail shirt and set about dressing the wound, his touch as sure and gentle as any healer's.
Those same hands were drawing a bow not so long ago, Seregil reflected with another stab of guilt. Alec had never killed a man before they'd met, and probably never would have if he'd been left to his trapping and wandering. , Life changes, he mused, and life changes us.
The soft afternoon breeze off the islands carried a sun-warmed mingling of scents he hadn't known for nearly forty years: wild mint and oregano, footcatch cedar, and fragrant powder vine. He'd last visited these islands a few months before his banishment. Looking across the water to Big Turtle, he could almost see his younger self jumping across the rocks, diving fish-naked in the coves with his friends—a silly, self-involved boy who'd had no idea what immensity of pain lay just over the horizon of his short life.
Life changes us all.
Klia climbed on a nearby hatch, still wearing her filthy green battle tabard. Braknil and Mercalle's riders gathered on the deck in front of her as she began to take stock.
"Who do you have left, Sergeant Mercalle?" Seregil heard her ask.
"Five riders and my corporal, Commander," the woman replied, betraying no emotion. Behind her, Zir and the other looked bedraggled and dispirited. Most appeared unhurt, although the lute player, Urien, was cradling a bandaged hand against his chest. "We've lost most of our weapons, though, and the horses."
"Those can be replaced. Riders can't," Klia replied brusquely. "And you, Braknil?"
"No deaths, Commander, but Orandin and Adis were badly burned by those damned fire streams."
Klia sighed. "We'll leave them in Gedre if the khirnari is agreeable."
Spotting Seregil, she waved him over. "What did you make of that?"
"That they were expecting us," he told her.
Klia scowled. "And I thought we'd been so careful."
The information didn't necessarily come from Skala, he thought, but kept the thought to himself for the time being.
"Can we make Gedre without stopping for water?" she asked the captain.
"Yes, Commander. But it will be dark by the time we've run up the new sail. Plenty of time to send landing crews over to fill some casks."
Klia rubbed the back of her neck wearily. "If those ships were waiting to ambush us, then they knew why we were going to the island. They could have ambushers waiting at the spring. I've had enough surprises for one day. I say we push on to Gedre."
No one slept that
Similar Books
