Hunted (Book 3) (26 page)

Gen dropped his sword and drew a knife in a fluid moment, jamming it into the calf of the nearest Eldephaere. The man rolled over and Gen leaped on him, pinning his knife hand to the ground and losing his own in the process. The Eldephaere’s companion kicked out, bruising Gen’s ribs, but Gen retained his dominance while the man thrashed. Gerand recovered, hooking his arm around the throat of Gen’s assailant, pulling him backward. The Eldephaere struck out wildly with his dagger, attempting to hit anything to release the choking grip.

Using the elven art of Kuri-tan, Gen pummeled his victim with bruising knee strikes and head-butts until he fell silent and unconscious while Gerand squeezed the life out of the remaining soldier a few moments later. Both young men slumped to the ground, exhausted and panting.

“Hello there?” Volney asked tentatively. “Gen? Gerand?”

“We’re here,” Gen reassured, taking stock of his bruised ribs. “Gerand, are you hurt?”

“They gashed me three times. Only one is bad. Give me a moment and I’ll have it staunched.”

“Where?”

“The bad one is on the shoulder. The other two in the leg.”

Gen shook his head. They needed help. “I’ll kill the wounded horses and see if I can’t track down some that aren’t injured.”

Gen pursued the unpleasant work quickly. The heat of the battle was wearing off, the cold greedily returning to send a powerful chill down his sweating body. To his dismay, only one healthy horse remained, and Gen led it back to where Gerand, grimacing in pain, tried his best to rally Volney, whose ashen face revealed a resignation that clenched Gen’s gut.

“I’m going to die,” Volney mumbled blankly.

“Shut up,” Gerand remonstrated him roughly. “You’ve got a scratch on your back that will easily heal. We just need to find you some warm inn and a beautiful wench to watch over you. You’ll be smiling and saying stupid things in no time.”

Gen checked Gerand’s wounds. “Gerand, help me get Volney up into the saddle. Can you sit behind him and hold him up?”

“I think so. And just so you know, I can’t move my arm well enough to fight with any effectiveness.”

“I understand.”

The snow picked up in earnest as Gen collected the essentials from their dead horses and helped his friends get set in the saddle. The Eldephaere horse stamped nervously at its unfamiliar riders, and Gen used some oats from a saddle bag to earn its trust and allay its nervousness. As he took the reins and led it down the road, the snow washed over them as evening deepened. The cold leeched their strength from them, and Gen found his thoughts drifting along with the snow. Memories of the brutal Whitewind shard he had traveled to with Torbrand resurfaced as snow collected on his cloak.

Nearly two miles from the battle, full dark had fallen along with a few inches of fluffy powder. Gen checked on his companions, finding them unmoving and seemingly frozen together. They merely grunted in response to his inquiries about their welfare, and he couldn’t help but think that at least
they
had the heat of the struggling horse and each other to help them push through. As he turned and considered his options, a flicker of light to his left caught his eye. Distant and weak, its orange color could only mean one thing.

With renewed energy he pushed forward in a direct line toward the scant illumination. A light was shining through a crack in a shutter. He stopped and turned to his shivering companions.

“We need a cover story. I am a bard—named Rafael—and you two are soldiers returning home to your families. Volney, you’ll be Sans, and Gerand, you will be Loris. Brigands ambushed us on the road to Chale. Do you understand? Rafael, Sans, and Loris.”

A positive sounding groan emanating from the dark lump on the horse was enough, and Gen resumed his trek forward. A small house—barely more than a hut—resolved out of the darkness, an occasional spark from the chimney spurting out into the falling snow. A fire. Gen pulled forward more eagerly. While he hoped the home’s occupants would be of a friendly nature, he would force his way in if necessary. Barking from inside startled him as he stepped up to the door, and he knocked, a woman and child inside gasping at the unexpected noise.

“Quiet, Bolger,” the woman ordered nervously. “One moment, if you please.”

The door opened cautiously a few moments later, a slender young woman, bundled against the weather and holding a menacing stick, searched the face at her door in the darkness.

Gen executed a bow and tried his best to put on a pleasant demeanor. “My deepest apologies, good woman, for disturbing you this night, but my companions and I are in great need. I am Rafael, a bard, and I, with my two companions there, was traveling toward Chale when a band of brigands fell upon us. They are injured, and we are desperate and cold this evening. Would you kindly provide us with some assistance for the night? We can compensate you.”

While he talked, a dark-haired boy, no older than five, came around the door and grabbed onto his mother’s leg. The woman stared at Gen for such a long time that he started to feel awkward. At last, she seemed to relax.

“Get back inside, Tolliver, and put another log on the fire.” To Gen she said, “I’ve a small place here, but I will help as I can. I am Lena.”

“Our deepest thanks, Lena. Is there anywhere to stable the horse?”

“There is a mine entrance in the hill just to the right of the house. I’ve a few chickens I keep inside. Your horse can stay there.”

“Eldaloth bless you, Lena.” Gen helped his companions down and practically dragged them inside. The house was indeed small. A front room with a table and three chairs welcomed them with a cheery heat. Another room lay beyond a blanket hanging over a doorway, the fireplace open to the rooms on either side. A small kitchen to the right of the main room revealed evidence of a neat and orderly person. Dishes and bowls had been stacked evenly on rough wooden shelves. Most notable, however, were intricate carvings sitting on the fireplace mantel and lining a single shelf that ran all the way around the room.

The boy poked his head through the blanket that separated them from the other room as Lena pulled the table away from the fire and into the kitchen to allow room for the two injured men to lay on the floor. Bolger, a black and white mutt, reclined by the fire.

“This one has a cut to his back,” Gen explained. “The other has wounds to his shoulder and legs. I will see to the horse and return shortly. Again, my thanks.”

“One moment, Rafael,” Lena called. “Let me fetch the lantern. It is a dark night.”

After the warmth of the house, the cold slapped Gen’s face and watered his eyes. He saw to the horse as quickly as he could and ran back, knocking the snow off his boots before pushing the door open and plunging back into the welcome warmth. Lena had removed her winter clothing, and Gen studied her, noting her youth. A ragged brown dress spoke of her poverty, but her face, with thin, delicate features, reflected a kind aspect, especially the ice blue eyes that now carefully regarded the angry wound on Volney’s back. She pushed her long brown hair behind an ear, and turned back to Gen, who removed his own cloak. She regarded him with an odd expression for a moment before snapping into action.

“Help your friend with his shirt so I can get a look at the shoulder. Tolliver, get the pot and fill it halfway with water from the barrel.”

“Do you know some healing lore?” Gen asked hopefully as he crossed to Gerand.

“I do. My husband used to always hurt himself in that ridiculous mine of his.”

“Where is he?”

“Harry? Dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Gen apologized.

“Collapsed on him this spring,” Lena explained. “He thought he’d see us rich from that stupid hole. As it was, we could barely pay Grimson the rent for this place.”

Gen pulled the shirt from a frowning Gerand. “And the carvings. His work, too? They are wonderful.”

“No,” she blushed. “Those are mine. I try to sell a few to pay for this place. Been a bit slow lately. Just returned from Chale yesterday. Sold enough for food for the winter. Not sure what I’ll do for the rent.”

Gen heard the indirect plea. He said, “I think my companions and I will help you along as reward for this service.”

She blushed again, and Gen smiled to reassure her. After several minutes, Lena instructed Gen to clean Volney’s wounds with the hot water while she continued to mash some sort of paste in the kitchen.

She eyed Gen while she worked the pestle. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of brigands bothering with anyone or anything this far north.”

“Just unlucky, I guess,” Gen answered evasively.

“A whole patrol of Church soldiers passed by earlier today, probably heading toward Aberlee.”

“We passed them on the road,” Gen said. “The brigands hit us soon after. They came out of the hills. Probably after my earnings. Fortunately, these two, Sans and Loris, are soldiers who were returning home for the winter. They fought them off.”

“You’ve got yourself a sword, too.”

“Yes. A necessity in the trade.”

“Let’s get to work,” she said, handing him a cup. “Get them to swallow this. It will help them sleep while we do the more painful bits. You seem to be moving a bit stiffly, too.”

“One of the blackguards caught me in the ribs during the scuffle. Bruised, not broken. There is no need to worry for me.”

“You may feel differently in the morning,” she said.

Gen thought she might be right. Before long, Volney and Gerand had passed out, and Gen assisted Lena as she expertly cleaned and applied a rough stitching to the more serious wounds. Next came the bitter paste and the tying of bandages.

“If it weren’t for the draught,” Lena said, “the paste would have them screaming and pulling up the floorboards. It will keep the cuts clean until they can heal. Are you sure you don’t want me to look at those bruised ribs?”

“No, thank you.”

Gen slumped against the wall, and Bolger sauntered over and put his head in Gen’s lap. Gen scratched behind his ears as Lena went to the kitchen to tidy up. She regarded him questioningly a few times as she worked, and when finished she crossed into the adjacent room to put Tolliver to bed. Gen let his mind wander to the Chalaine and Mirelle, tiredness pushing the lids of his eyes down. He barely woke when Lena stoked the fire again, but vivid dreams took him down into the dark.

A blast of cold wind and Tolliver’s excited shouting brought them all out of slumber early the next morning. Gen, surprised at how well he had slept, pushed himself away from a protesting Bolger and leaned against the wall. A sleepy Lena emerged from the other side of the hanging blanket and pulled Tolliver away from the door and closed it.

“The snow’s as tall as Bolger, and it’s still snowing!” he exclaimed. Bolger barked as if in reply. Gen frowned.

“It appears we may need to trespass a little longer on your kindness,” Gen apologized.

“Well, I knew that after one look at Sans’s wounds. He won’t be fit to go anywhere for a good spell. He’s young, though, so I think he could probably ride in a week.”

Gen cursed inwardly. He needed to get to the Chalaine. Gerand’s eyes slowly opened, and Volney, lying facedown, eventually worked up enough energy to grunt something unintelligible. Lena set herself to preparing a meal while Gen checked on his companions before wandering the room to inspect the carvings. Intricately detailed figures of rustic men and women engaged in everyday tasks evoked smiles from Gen’s face. Another small shelf by the door held a variety of creatures. An Uyumaak Basher stood near a ferocious boar, and a majestic falcon appeared ready to devour a nearby toothy lizard.

“Those are mine,” Tolliver stated possessively, both as an explanation and a warning. “Ma promised she won’t sell them.”

“Your mother is very skilled. I might buy a piece or two myself before I go.”

“You can’t buy these!” Tolliver exclaimed.

“He doesn’t mean those, Tolliver dear,” Lena piped in from the kitchen.

Gen chuckled and the little boy relaxed. Tolliver grabbed his hand. “I’ll show you one you should buy,” he said. Gen let Tolliver lead him around the room to a low shelf by the bedroom door just by the mantle. He pointed a finger upward. “Get that one.”

Gen immediately picked out the one he meant and felt a surge of panic. There, staring back at him, was a perfect likeness of himself two hands high. Gen slowly lifted it down, marveling. Lena had carved the major scars of his face nearly perfectly, and his Dark Guard uniform had a notch where he wore his Defender of the Faith pin. Gen turned toward Lena, who grinned as she sliced an apple.