“With all respect, sir?”
Bolt flashed a furious look at the man. “What is it?”
The man wet his lips. “The captive was to be alive, sir. For the gold to be paid.”
Bolt turned his eyes back to me. It was unnerving to see the hunger in him, a craving such as Verity had for the Skill. This man liked to give pain. Liked to kill slowly. It only made him hate me all the more that he could not. “I know that,” he said brusquely to the man. I saw his fist coming, but there was no way to avoid it.
When I came awake, it was full morning. There was pain. For a time, that was all I really knew. Pain, bad pain in one shoulder, and down my ribs on the same side. He’d probably kicked me, I decided. I didn’t want to move any part of my face. Why, I wondered, is pain always worse when you’re cold? I felt curiously detached from my situation. I listened for a time, with no desire at all to open my eyes. The caravan was getting ready to move on. I could hear Master Dell yelling at Tassin, who was crying that it was her money by right, that if he’d only help her get it, he could have his apprentice fee back and full welcome to it. He ordered her to get in the wagon. Instead I heard her footsteps crunching across the dry earth as she hurried over to me. But it was Bolt she spoke to in a whining voice. “I was right. You didn’t believe me, but I was right. I found him for you. If it weren’t for me, you’d have ridden off after looking right at him. That gold is mine, by right. But I’ll give you half and be more than happy. That’s better than fair for you, you know it is.”
“I’d get in that wagon, were I you,” Bolt answered her coldly. “Otherwise, once it leaves and we leave, you’re left with nothing but a long walk.”
She had the sense not to argue with him, but she muttered dirty names to herself all the way back to the wagon. I heard Dell tell her she was nothing but trouble and he’d be well rid of her at Blue Lake.
“Get him on his feet, Joff,” Bolt ordered someone.
They dashed water on me, and I got one eye open. I watched a guard pick up the slack of my chain and jerk on it. That woke a host of lesser pains. “Get up!” she ordered me. I managed to nod. One of my teeth was loose. I could only see out of one eye. I started to lift my hands to my face to see how bad it was, but a tug on my chain prevented me. “Does he ride or walk?” the one holding my chain asked Bolt as I staggered upright.
“I’d love to drag him, but it would slow us down too much. He rides. You double with Arno and put him on your horse. Tie him in the saddle and keep a tight grip on your horse’s lead. He’s playing dumb now, but he’s mean and he’s tricky. I don’t know if he can do all the Wit things they say he can, but I don’t want to find out. So keep a good grip on that lead rope. Where’s Arno, anyway?”
“Off in the scrub, sir. His guts ain’t too well today. He was up and down all night, dumping his sack.”
“Get him.” Bolt’s tone made it plain that he wasn’t interested in the man’s problems. My guard hurried off, leaving me swaying on my feet. I lifted my hands to my face. I had only seen the one blow coming, but plainly there had been others. Endure, I told myself sternly. Live, and see what chances are offered you. I dropped my hands to find Bolt watching me.
“Water?” I asked in a slurry voice.
I didn’t really expect any, but he turned to one of his other guards and made a small motion. A few moments later the fellow brought me a bucket of water and two dry biscuits. I drank and splashed my face. The biscuits were hard and my mouth was very sore, but I tried to get down what I could of them. I doubted I’d get much more in the day to come. I noticed then that my pouch was gone. I supposed Bolt had taken it while I was unconscious. My heart sank at the thought of Burrich’s earring gone. As I gnawed gingerly at my biscuit, I wondered what he had thought of the powders in my pouch.
Bolt had us mounted and riding out before the caravan left. I caught one glimpse of Starling’s face, but could not read her expression. Creece and my master carefully avoided even looking at me for fear of catching my taint. It was as if they had never known me at all.
They’d put me on a sturdy mare. My wrists were strapped tightly to the saddle pommel, making it impossible to ride comfortably or well even if I hadn’t felt like a bag of broken bones. They hadn’t taken the shackles off, only removed the short chain between my ankles. The longer chain to my wrists was looped up over the saddle. There was no way to avoid the chain’s chafing. I had no idea what had become of my shirt, but I sorely missed it. The horse and motion would warm me somewhat, but not in any comfortable way. When a very pale-faced Arno was mounted behind his fellow guard, we set off; back toward Tradeford. My poison, I reflected ruefully, had done no more than give one man slack bowels. Such an assassin I was.
Come to me.
Would that I could, I told myself wearily as I was led off in the wrong direction. Would that I could. Every step the mare took rubbed my pains together. I wondered if my shoulder were broken or dislocated. I wondered at the strange sense of removal I felt from everything. And I wondered if I should hope to get to Tradeford alive, or try to get them to kill me before then. I could imagine no way of talking my way out of the chains, let alone fleeing in this flat land. I lowered my throbbing head and watched my hands as we rode. I shivered with the cold and the wind. I groped toward the mare’s mind, but only succeeded in making her aware of my pain. She had no interest in jerking her head free and galloping away with me. She didn’t much like the way I smelled of sheep, either.
The second time we halted for Arno to empty his guts, Bolt rode back and reined in beside me. “Bastard!”
I turned my head slowly to look at him.
“How did you do it? I saw your body, and you were dead. I know a dead man when I see one. So how are you walking around again?”
My mouth wouldn’t let me form words even if I’d had any. After a moment, he snorted at my silence. “Well, don’t count on it happening again. This time I’m cutting you up personally. I’ve got a dog at home. Eats anything. Figure he’ll get rid of your liver and heart for me. What do you think of that, Bastard?”
I felt sorry for the dog, but I said nothing. When Arno staggered back to his horse, Joff helped him mount. Bolt spurred his horse back to the head of our column. We rode on.
The morning was not even half gone when Arno had his friend halt for the third time. He slipped down from the horse’s back and staggered a few steps away to vomit. He doubled up, holding his aching guts as he did so, and then suddenly fell forward on his face in the dirt. One of the other guards laughed aloud, but when Arno only rolled over, groaning, Bolt ordered Joff to see what ailed him. We all watched as Joff dismounted and took water to Arno. Arno could not take the proffered water bottle and when Jeff put it to his mouth the water just ran over his chin. He turned his head aside from it slowly and closed his eyes. After a moment, Joff looked up, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“He’s dead, sir.” Joff’s voice went a bit shrill on the words.
They scraped out a shallow grave for him and heaped rocks over the top. Two more guards had vomited before the burial was completed. Bad water was the consensus, though I caught Bolt looking at me with narrowed eyes. They hadn’t bothered to take me off my horse. I hunched over my belly as if it pained me and kept my eyes down. It was no difficulty at all to look sick.
Bolt got his men remounted and we pushed on. By noon it was apparent that no one was well. One boy was swaying in his saddle as we rode. Bolt halted us for a brief rest but it turned into a longer one. No sooner would one man finish retching than another would begin. Bolt finally ordered them tersely back to their saddles despite their groaning complaints. We went on but at a gentler pace. I could smell the sour reek of sweat and puke on the woman who led my mare.