“You think?”
“Loss of blood is the real danger-and shock to the body. I also put some salt on it. Dries things out and stops the wound from oozing and festering.”
“You a doctor too?”
“In five years of warfare you treat a lot of wounds. Plenty of trial and error. You should be glad you aren’t one of the first I tried to help. You’ll feel a lot better now. Twenty-seven stitches.”
“I’m so pleased you counted. Couldn’t have lived without that.”
Royce knew where he was the instant Hadrian spoke, but the whole picture was still forming. Tardy bits and pieces, slower than the rest, were ushered to their places. He remembered the call of the loon and Hadrian speaking about fishing before remembering that they had been in the lake. Recalling the swim, Royce was surprised to discover he was dry and dressed in a linen tunic. There was a blanket over him, several guessing by the weight.
“I have soup,” Hadrian said. “You should eat.”
Royce opened one eye and found Hadrian was sitting beside him with a steaming tin bowl he held with a towel. “Get that away from me.”
“Nauseous?”
“Ready to vomit.”
“Yeah, that happens. And you don’t want to do that or you’ll rip my stitches.”
Royce opened both eyes to properly glare. “Oh yeah, that’s exactly the reason I’m against it. I don’t want to ruin all your work.”
“Only trying to help.”
And doing a lousy job of it! Royce opened his mouth to say it but stopped. It wasn’t true. Truth was he’d be dead three times over if Hadrian hadn’t risked his life to save him. In some dark corner of his mind he found he was as upset about that as he was about the hole in his side-maybe more so. It didn’t make sense and was as disorienting as the pain. Why’d he do it? The question had been in his head ever since he saw Hadrian wearing the harness. Stupid didn’t cut it anymore. No one was that dumb. And Hadrian had the brains to bandage him, get them down the tower, and all the way to Iberton. Hadrian wasn’t stupid-crazy maybe, but not stupid. Had Arcadius put him up to this? Was this planned? Can all this have been-
No.
Even in his most diabolical, far-stretched, conspiracy-born theoretic imagination, Royce couldn’t nail this calamity to the wall of premeditation. They both had almost died. They still might. No one ever gives a damn about plans or loyalties when their life is teetering on the brink, and Royce could still see Hadrian’s swords snapping, the blade flying over the parapet. He remembered him slipping on blood and falling, getting a blade to his thigh. This hadn’t been an act.
So why, then?
Royce didn’t have an answer. They barely knew each other. They didn’t like each other. Royce would go so far as to say they hated each other, and yet … it didn’t make any sense. The one thing Royce did know, the one thing he was positive of was that he should be dead.
“Thanks.”
Hadrian looked up. “What?”
Royce scowled. “You heard me.”
“Maybe the struggle to get that word out is what was making you nauseous.”
Royce sneered, but wondered if there wasn’t some truth to it. He had only ever said thank you twice before. This made three. Far from being appreciative, he hated each time. The words were always bitter and came after weakness. “How’s your leg?”
Hadrian looked down at the bands of linen peeking through his torn trouser leg. “Not too bad.”
They weren’t in the bar anymore. Royce was lying on a bed in a small room with simple furniture. “We at that Lord Marbury’s place?”
Hadrian shook his head. “Dougan’s bedroom. He’s been very accommodating.”
“We going to Marbury’s?”
“Dougan says he was arrested.”
“When?”
“Couple days ago.”
“Where’s Dougan?”
“Went to fetch water.”
“Are you sure? How long does it take to walk across the street and back?”
“The well is in the village.”
“Well?”
“That’s what he said,” Hadrian replied.
“We need to leave-now.”
“Now?” Hadrian looked stunned. “Can you walk?”
“Push me up, and we’ll find out.”
Hadrian scowled and helped him to his feet.
The pain was sharp but tolerable-so much better than … was it the day before? Royce pushed off the bed as if he were a boat launching itself and stood hovering vertical. “See, I’m better,” he said through gritted teeth. “Let’s go.”
“What’s the hurry?”
“Dougan’s betraying us. Probably sending word to the nearest patrol, or maybe he’s standing on the highway trying to flag one down.”
“How do you know?”
“Who do you think got Lord Marbury arrested?”
“Why Dougan?”
“See anyone else here you remember? They covered for you, and now all of them-except Dougan-are gone.”
“That doesn’t prove anything. Dougan lives here. The others were customers.”
“Uh-huh, and the last time we were here, Dougan told you everyone drew their water from the lake. Just walk out with a bucket and scoop it up, crystal clear he said. This village doesn’t even have a well, remember?”
“I’ll get our things.”
Hadrian left the bedroom, and Royce could hear him shuffling about the bar. Gingerly Royce followed, testing himself. He walked slowly using his hands, going from bedpost to doorframe to support post to corridor wall. Hadrian appeared with a bundle under his arm and his sword on his back. Giving an arm for support, they limped outside.
The sun was high, and in the distance Royce could hear villagers: the bang of doors, laughter, and the squeak of a wheel. Mostly he listened to the pounding of his heart in his head. His body wasn’t pleased. It had liked the idea of lying down on a soft mattress under layers of blankets and didn’t mind shouting that it wasn’t up to any more.
Progress was incredibly slow. They shuffled instead of walked as Hadrian drew him along like an anchor. They moved up the road but swung around the south side of the lake before reaching the highway. Houses clustered around the water’s edge. The only way to get free of people was to head southwest, uphill, into the heather.
They walked for what Royce guessed to be hours, a slow but steady pace into the hills of bristling grass and thorny bushes. Eventually Royce did vomit. He fell on his hands and knees and retched for several minutes, groaning in agony.
“What do you say we camp here?” Hadrian asked.
Royce was still on his hands and knees, staring at the grass and spitting. “Sounds good.” He crawled a few feet away and then collapsed onto his back, staring up at the darkening sky. Hadrian dropped to the grass beside him and the two lay shoulder to shoulder, panting for air, moaning in pain.
Royce wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Where’s that pitch-coated canvas you were going to make for me?”
“I forgot.”
“Can’t count on you for anything.”
“Nope. I’ll abandon you at the first sign of trouble.”
Royce turned his head to face him and waited until Hadrian looked back. “You know I would have,” he confessed. “I would have left you to die. Tried to, in fact.”
“I know.”
Royce stared dumbfounded. “And still you came back?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“I’m stupid, remember?”
Royce rolled to his side, spit, and lay back down. “No, really-why?”
Hadrian looked up at the sky. “You’re my partner.”
Royce laughed and then cried out, “Don’t do that-it hurts!” He carefully sucked in air, taking several minutes to get his wind back. “Are you … you’re serious?”
Hadrian didn’t reply, and the two lay beneath the night sky just breathing as the first stars appeared overhead.
Merrick had tried to teach the constellations to Royce long ago. He only remembered the Great King, a series of stars in the north that were supposed to resemble a man on a throne, wearing a crown. People also called it Novron after the first emperor, claiming that having been part god, he had ascended into the heavens. Royce spotted the first of the familiar crown stars winking out of the twilight.