“We have men, my lord. My husband died in your service, and my brother lost his leg.”
He slanted a look at her, shifting a moment later to notice that she had placed the sword near his side, where he could reach it.
“I blame the Forlangers. Not you, my lord. In case you are wondering.”
His smile had a force that cracked the distance between them. “Generously spoken, Mistress. May I know your name?”
“Anna, my lord.”
“And the other one. There was another woman, was there not? The one who was supporting me as we walked?”
“No other woman. A man.”
“I was sure, by the feel of her, for my arm was wrapped around her, though I meant no offense by it...” He rubbed a calloused hand over his eyes. “I suppose I was delirious. Perhaps I am roaming not on earth but in the shadows cast by the gods.”
“No, my lord. You lie on earth. If men from the village convey you to the King’s City, my lord, what is to stop the Forlangers from killing you all?”
“They could hide me in a wagon...” He shook his head at the same time she did. “They’ll be watching the roads. They will not rest until Hargrim can throw my corpse before the king and claim me as a traitor.”
“How will he claim you as a traitor when all know you serve the king loyally?”
“Men lie, Mistress Anna. They tell stories that are false.”
“So they do, my lord. All but my husband. He was a good man and never lied to me, except for the time he had to come tell me that my son was dead.”
“I hope your son did not die in my service too. I would hate to think I had repaid you for this by having measured so much grief into your life.”
“No, my lord. He was a boy and died of a sickness, as children do.”
“Sad tidings for a mother. What of you, Mistress Anna, do you lie?” He paused, a hand probing the linen bandage. “Can you heal me?”
“I have some knowledge of herbcraft and have done what I know how to do. I have a tea that should help with the pain and any fever. It is a bad wound, and you may yet die of it, but you may live. It is not for me to say. That is the choice of the Hanging Woman.”
“Who is the Hanging Woman? Some country name for death?”
“Death is death, my lord, not a person. Do they not know that at court? The Hanging Woman has a rope and will hang you in it if she chooses to capture you. Those who are hanged are changed. Maybe that change will be life into death or maybe it will be something else, something you never expected.”
He gave a rough cough, then winced. “This is not the work of your Hanging Woman, then, for I have been expecting an attack for months now. Ever since the poison has reached the king’s ear, a rumor that I plan to raise my army against him and place myself on the throne.”
“Do you, my lord?”
All at once the pain and exhaustion and blood loss overwhelmed him, or perhaps the infusion finally took hold. He looked so tired, as if the fight had dragged on too long and he wondered if he had the will to keep struggling. “No. Never. But it may be too late. The rot of that story may have already have tainted the king’s heart.”
“Can you rest, my lord?”
He twisted and turned as well as he could, restless and aggrieved. Lines of pain wrinkled his forehead. His lips were pale, and his eyes shadowed by the effort of speaking. “If only... if I could get to the king and not be murdered on the way. I was on my way to court now, and you see what has happened. Lord Hargrim’s people control the roads. I will never get through.”
“Have you no allies in court?”
“The king’s sister has the king’s ear. He trusts her. And I trust her.” He paused and looked at her. A yellow-beak’s whistle chirred twice from out among the leaves. “We were not lovers. It is nothing to do with that.”
“I did not think it was,” she said, surprised at how quickly he had hastened to deny an unasked question. “It is no business of mine.”
“She was married to Lord Hargrim’s brother back once. She knows what they are.”
“Wolves,” said Anna, for they had returned to a subject she cared about. “Winter wolves, on the hunt.”
A smile tightened his mouth. “That’s right. They are wolves. They want to kill me so they can eat the herd at their leisure once I am no longer there to protect those the king has given me to guard.”
He looked up, seeing Uwe duck into view, but since Anna had heard the bird call she did not turn.
“This is Uwe. He is my friend, the one who carried you,” she said.
The general stared for a long, uncomfortable while at Uwe’s beardless face and the loose layers of clothing that hid his slender body.
Anna rolled up a blanket against the general’s side. “Rest a little,” she said. “You can go nowhere tonight or tomorrow or any day soon.”
“Do me this one favor,” he said, touching his throat.
There was a humble iron chain there, well made but nothing fancy. When he fumbled at the chain, she realized he had not the strength or dexterity to pull it out, so she hooked fingers around the links and eased it from under his tunic.
A hammered tin medallion in the shape of a swan hung from the end of the chain, odd to see around the neck of the general because it was a cheap trinket, the kind of thing peddlers sold when they came through the village with their carts in the summer and autumn. She turned it over. On the back were scratched markings.
“Do you see what it says?” he asked.
Uwe stretched forward to look and, like Anna, shook his head.
“I cannot read, my lord,” Anna said. “I thought a lord like you would wear gold, not tin.”
A smile brushed his lips. His gaze seemed to track back into memory, or else he was about to pass out.
“It says ‘one foot in the river.’” His voice was hoarser now, fading as the infusion dulled the pain. “Elland Fort is where I saved the kingdom, even though people say my great victory was at Toyant Bridge. But the ones who I trust know the truth of it. They know I wear this to remind me.”
“Who are those, my lord?”
“My young wife. My brother. My three captains, of whom one is now dead. My two aunts. The king’s sister.”
“And where are these people, my lord? Can they not rescue you?”
“The king’s sister is at the palace, close to the king. The others are far from here, for we heard a rumor that the Forlangers were going to strike. My wife is pregnant, so I sent her to my aunts’ stronghold in the south. I was riding to the palace with proof of the Forlangers’ treachery. That is why they cut me down even so close to the court. Once the king knows, they will be ruined.”
Anna pressed another swallow of the tincture down him. His breathing was getting a ragged edge as his body fought him down into the rest he needed if he wished to heal.
“They will lie about me, about what I did here, how I died here. They will lie about my disloyalty to the king. But whatever else, this is my token. Do not let it fall into the hands of the Forlangers. Better you should have it, if it cannot be returned to my wife.”
She tucked the tin swan into his hand. His fingers closed over the medallion.
His eyes fluttered closed, as if the swan comforted him.
For a moment she thought he would finally sleep, but he struggled awake again as a man struggles to climb a slippery hillside. He glanced around the space but because of the darkness beyond the glow of the hearthfire he could see nothing except a glimmer of smoke pooling against the leaves as it sought a way heavenward.
“No one will find this place,” she said. “And we will keep a watch over you. You can trust Uwe as you can trust me. The Forlangers killed my husband. I will not turn you over to them. I give you my oath by the water of the gods. Let that content you, my lord. You must rest if you are to have a hope of healing.”