And they shared so many things; Jegrai even had a keen appreciation of the beauties of the Vale that was so like Teo's own that he found himself pointing out this twisted, blossom-covered tree, or that boulder-covered, evergreen-topped hillock, knowing that Jegrai's eyes would widen with delight the way Teo's must have the first time he'd seen it.
And the Khene's flat-footed surprise at seeing the campsite Teo and Felaras had chosen was well worth the long, dusty ride.
It was a lovely little side canyon, well shaded by clusters of trees, with grass that was knee-high even this early in the season, and watered by its own clear spring. The Order used it for grazing their horse-herd in the summer, but the herd had other pastures. There was no other place so well suited to the needs of the nomads.
And the steep sides of the canyon should reassure them that the Order was not going to attack them in the night. They would feel reassured that nothing human was going to scale up those walls. A few of the Watchers—a very few—could have climbed down from the greater heights above, but Jegrai wouldn't know that. And no Watcher was going to be a threat to them while Felaras was Master, anyway—not unless they broke truce.
"By the Wind Lords," Jegrai breathed, as the outriders gathered at the mouth of the place and gaped in awe. "She is generous, your Khene. Had I this place in my keeping, I would think twice on giving it over to strangers. With five men I could hold off every Clan on the plans." He looked skyward for a moment, then shrewdly back down at Teo. "And your wizards cannot overlook this place."
Teo shrugged, mouth twitching. So he's already figured we can't bombard without being close to the walls, hm? Felaras will be interested to hear that, seeing as it bears out her assessment of him.
But he pointed out, "We have shared bread, salt, and water, Khene. What have we to fear from you? What have you to fear from us? The only questions lying between us now are how far we are willing to aid each other."
"Sa-sa," Jegrai agreed. He stood up in his stirrups and waved to the people crowded behind him, even as he nudged his own horse aside so that they could pass. He shouted something in his own tongue that was answered by a weary cheer, and the dust-covered nomads began pouring through the mouth of the valley in a tired but increasingly cheerful stream.
There seemed to be no end to them, and the noise was incredible. As were the people themselves. Children that Teo thought hardly old enough to walk sat atop their own sturdy ponies and managed them as well as most Seekers or Archivists (Watchers didn't count, not to Teo's mind. They were riders equal to the adult Vredai fighters). Women held smaller children balanced on the saddle-pads before them, and frequently rode with wrapped babies in a kind of pack on their back. The chatter of the children as they passed Teo and looked up at him in fascination made him grin like a fool.
But then the noise faded to almost nothing—and Teo saw the living cost of their flight.
Gods—oh gods, I was right. They were driven here.
That was his first thought. His second was pure shock, a blow to the gut. He was seeing things he had only read about—and they were horrible. Men with one eye, or one arm, or half crippled. Some younger than he was. And not just men. There were young women—armed and with Kasha's dangerous grace, but with a hollow look in their eyes that said they had faced terrible things the like of which Kasha had only seen in chronicles.
We—we've been so sheltered. The only person I ever saw die was another novice, in a fall. I've never seen wounds like this, inflicted in war, in anger. He couldn't look away, somehow. We've been so sheltered. . . .
And near the end, a horse-litter, with a plump, middle-aged woman riding beside it. It was at this point that Jegrai's face lost all signs of pleasure—that it went shadowed, and brooding. He nudged at his horse with his heels and threaded his way through the last of the riders toward the litter; and, moved by some impulse he didn't understand, Teo went with him.
Jegrai spoke briefly with the woman as she stopped for him; Teo looked down at the litter. It held a boy—not yet a young man, and by the look of him, not likely to reach that state without some help. His face was greyish, the color of someone with a bad head injury, and his head was wrapped and padded. He was bandaged in several places, and though the bandages were clean, they were stained with blood and other fluids.
Teo's heart lurched, and he spoke on impulse. "Khene -Jegrai—who?"
Jegrai touched the boy's forehead before answering. "My cousin. Yuchai. The night of the great storm he was riding guard; his horse shied and went into a pit-trap." He sighed. "He grows no worse, but he grows no better, either. He has not woken except to rave since he took the fall. He has taken an injury to his head, he burns with fever, his wounds do not heal, and we can do nothing."
"But—" the words burst from him; he couldn't have stopped them if he tried. "My brother, why aren't you giving medicine for the fever? Why have you not seen to his head? Why do you let him lie in pain?"
The light in Jegrai's eyes was as bright and sudden as the lightning. "You can do all this?" he cried.
"Not I, but those of our Order can—and by the gods, by the brotherhood we swore, we will if you'll trust us with him!"
Jegrai swiveled in his saddle. He reached out like a striking snake and clasped Teo's wrist with a steel hand. "You will swear this by the bond of water?"
The hope and fear in his face were painful to see. Teo did not pull away; instead he clasped his free hand over Jegrai's. "I will swear this on my own blood," he said tightly. "Give me but long enough to ride to the top of the mountain and back, and what we can do, my brother, we shall do."
"A head injury, you say?" asked Boitan, carefully packing a traveling basket with herbs, clean bandages, and boiled scalpels. "Did you see it?"
"No, sir," Teo replied, packing a second basket with the traveling surgery lantern and other oddments Boitan laid out. The cool of the rock-walled infirmary was pleasant after the wild ride up the mountain. "The boy's head was bandaged—all I can tell you is that it didn't seem to be the temple. And although they had his wounds bandaged up, I would guess that they don't suture wounds, that they just use pressure bandages and hope the flesh heals. From what little I know, it looked like they'd wrapped him awfully tight, and he was leaking fluid."
"Probably a depressed skull fracture, by the symptoms," the physician muttered, packing something that gave off a pungent odor when he squeezed the packet to fit it in. "And if that's how they're dealing with wounding—you know that half the time pressure bandages do as much harm as good, cutting off the blood and letting the tissue rot. I'll probably have to open him up and cut out dead tissue. I hope to hell they don't have any taboos about surgery, or you and I may be decorating stakes down there. There. That's it."
"I've already gotten fresh horses ready."
"Good man. Damn good thing I'm a rider." Boitan smiled crookedly; Teo returned it. The absent Vider was not a rider; rather than the fast horses Teo had called for they'd have been taking ambling old cobs—and would have probably reached the nomad camp well after midnight.