Relief, then agony-reflex sucked ice water into her lungs as the iron grip on her throat vanished. She lunged up, and found herself nearly face-to-face with the man who'd been killing her, his distorted countenance looming at her out of the fog. A foot of steel poked out of the front of his jacket, and blood flooded out of his slack mouth into her face as she coughed and retched out river water, the blood black as the water in the moonlight, tasting of copper and salt and iron. Then the body swung aside as Astrid wrenched her backsword free with a ruthless boot on the man's body.
You all right? she signed, wiping the blade and sheathing it over her shoulder.
Fffffff- Eilir stuttered as cold and shock froze her fingers for an instant, sitting in the river. Fine.
A hand clasped her forearm and helped her up; she stooped to cough once more, felt carefully for her sword and dirk in the dark water, and waded to the western bank. There she went to one knee for an instant, panting and hacking to clear her lungs and suck in air. The weight of her sodden armor-padding and plaid dragged at her already, and there was a mortal chill in it. Astrid handed her a flask; she took a brief nip of the Larsdalen brandy to let the sweet fire warm her belly, then poured a little more into her palm and rubbed it over her face-an old trick against cold Sam had taught them years ago. Then she signed:
How are you, anamchara? I thought you were knocked out at least.
To herself: And I thought I was dead. Not ready for the Summerlands, not just yet. Things to do and be first.
Just a bruise, and woozy for a few seconds, Astrid said, though the aluminum-feather raven on her helmet was slightly the worse for wear-the rock had bent its neck and beak, and knocked out one of the ruby eyes.
Eilir nodded; it couldn't have been a real concussion. You didn't get up from one of those and prance around as if you'd woken up from a nap, as she knew from painful experience.
Then I didn't know where on earth I was or which way was up, lying in that ground mist. Come on, you've got to keep moving or you'll stiffen up.
Thanks, by the way, Eilir signed, as they puffed up the slope to the road.
You're still one ahead in the save-your-oath-sister's-life league, Astrid replied.
Eilir felt a little better as she moved, despite the cold water dripping from every portion of her. A thought made her smile.
You know how stretch fabric gets unstretchy when it's been washed too many times?
Yeah?
That was why pre-Change underwear still in the package were worth their weight in gold and more. Most people were back to rag loincloths or less. Drawstrings just didn't work very well at keeping boxers up, either.
Well, getting soaked like this made me think. What are we going to do when the last sports bra dies?
Astrid grimaced, then shook her head: The same thing we did when the tampons ran out. Improvise. Use very thin well-tanned kidskin, maybe. Or if we could tan your sense of humor, it would stretch!
Then it was Eilir's turn to twist her mouth. That turned from mock horror to the real thing as they came onto the road. The rest of the Rangers had dragged the bodies under the slope on the west side, where they couldn't be seen from the heights above. There were four, two with wounds where arrow shafts had been pulled free for reuse, the other pair spilling all their blood from sword wounds; it glistened black in the moonlight. The wet cold kept the smell down a little, but nothing could hide the undignified sprawling look of sudden violent death.
It wasn't the enemy dead who left her stricken, though-they'd chosen to carry blades for one of Arminger's barons, and it was up to them to make accounting to the Guardians-Reuben Hutton was lying bleeding as well.
Kevin looked up as they came to Reuben's side; he was the Dunedain's best medico, and he shook his head slightly at their questioning glance. Eilir felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold water; Reuben had played and trained and then fought with them for a long while now.
The young man probably knew what the crossbow bolt angled up under his floating rib meant, and he'd had just time for the first shock to wear off; his pleasantly homely face was milk pale and contorted as he tried not to scream. Drowning as a slashed artery drained into your lungs wasn't a very slow way to go, but it hurt. Astrid reached down and pulled a silver cross on a chain out from under the Mackenzie-style brigandine he was wearing; Reuben clutched it convulsively and brought it to his lips. He was Christian-Catholic, specifically, like his adopted family. Eilir didn't know precisely how he'd ended up with the Huttons; there was something about his birth father and mother dying heroically in a fight where Will's wife, Angelica, was nearly killed, back when the first Bearkillers were making their way westward from Idaho. Nobody seemed to want to go into the details, and she'd never wanted to push it.
Kevin brought out one of the hypodermics they all carried in a padded boiled-leather pouch; poppies grew well in the Willamette, and homemade morphine was available, though scarce. Eilir signed Two, which was a fatal dose and didn't matter anymore, and then went on to Astrid: Hold him. When she looked surprised, Eilir went on: Just do it! Now!
Astrid put an arm under his broad shoulders as Kevin stabbed one hypodermic and then another into the angle of neck and shoulder. Reuben's face relaxed quickly as the drug took effect. He kept the cross before his lips; Astrid bent down and pressed hers to his brow for a moment. He tried to smile, tried to speak, stiffened and jerked as blood ran out of the corners of his mouth. Then his chest moved in a sigh, and he went slack. More blood ran down his lips and onto Astrid's black jerkin with its sigil of white tree and stars.
The five remaining Rangers put his body beside a massive fallen log and covered it quickly with brush. Eilir took advantage of an instant of privacy as she and Astrid recovered their bows. I told you to do that because he'd been in love with you for years, she signed. As the silver-blue eyes went wide in shocked surprise: Don't ask. I'll tell you about it later, my dearest doink. We've got work to do.
Kevin went ghosting down the trail; when he came back he had part of the work with him, in the person of Sam Aylward's stocky form, striding along cradling his bow in his arms just as he had his rifle when he yomped his way to Port Stanley a generation before. The shrewd eyes took in the scene as he and the Ranger eased into the woods beside the roadway, and Eilir felt a rush of relief. She thought Astrid did too, from the way she shifted slightly in the darkness.
Nice quiet job, he signed. Nobody got away? Anyone cut out for the river?
More reasons than Eilir's status had made knowledge of Sign widespread among the Clan Mackenzie, although that had probably started the fashion-that and children's love of secrets and codes. It was useful in a surprising range of tasks, especially talking while you were hunting or fighting.
One, the leader, Astrid signed, and reported the facts with stark simplicity.
Too bad about Reuben, he was a likely lad and always gave his best, the stocky bowman replied. Then, with a veteran's stoicism: Good work otherwise. Of course, there were six of them originally. They sent one back to the trail up Table Rock when they ran into your tracks, before they chased after you. Downy bird, whoever was in charge of them. Glad you scragged him. Speaking of which, the one they sent back ran straight into me and my lot.
He reached behind himself with his hand and patted the arrows that jutted over his right shoulder.
Urrk! Eilir thought, and saw him wink. Astrid went on:
We've got a way up the slope to the cliffs-the turnoff's t about two thousand yards north. Then around a mile and, a half through the woods to the base of the cliff. Our contact dropped the codeword, so we know that's OK.