Maybe it’s Hellsbane, she thought, parrying yet another sword-stroke, just now noticing that her arm was getting tired and heavy. She’s a tempting target, even if they don’t know what she is. Dear gods, what am I thinking? I’ve got to get back to the rest!
She urged the mare in the direction of the others, but once again they were cut off, and Kero had a confusing impression of being forced, step by step, toward the bank of the river.
The river! If I can get to it, I’ll at least have one direction they can’t come at me from!
She gave Hellsbane the signal; the mare needed no further urging. She gathered herself and surged toward the beckoning water, while the bandits tried to intercept them. She wouldn’t have any of it; though they prevented her from making that bank, she got within a few feet, running two of the bandits right off the bank in the process. She screamed, and rushed again, heading farther downstream, away from the vanishing Skybolts, but once more toward the riverbank.
Kero blinked as they burst through the brush and came out on a low bluff above the water. This didn’t seem to be the same river they’d camped beside; it was much wider and deeper, the opposite side farther than Kero would care to swim, seeing how rapid the current was. But this higher bluff made a good place to make a stand—
Hellsbane had other ideas. She had no intention of stopping on the top of the bluff. She plowed through the last of the bushes, kept charging straight on, and plunged over the edge, headfirst into the cold water.
“Well,” Kero said to her horse, as she was wringing out her shirt, “At least we lost them.”
Hellsbane munched soaked grain and dry grass, stolidly ignoring the results of Kero’s none-too-gentle ministrations. The mare had quite a few wounds after the encounter; cuts and slashes, and a few scrapes. None of her injuries were too deep, but Kero had stitched them anyway. Hellsbane was amazingly good about being doctored; she didn’t even object too strenuously to having minor wounds stitched up.
As for herself, she’d come out of it pretty much unscathed—other than being half-drowned. Soaked, but unwounded. Bruised and battered by the rocks in the river, tired to death and cold. She hadn’t lost any equipment this time, which was no small blessing, but she was completely lost.
She had no idea of where she could be, either. She had a vague idea of where they had gone in, at least in relation to a mental map she’d been constructing, but once off that map, she might as well have been on the other side of the world. The river’s powerful current had swept them downstream, to the south, the opposite direction she’d last seen the rest of the troop heading. Hellsbane had hit the water right where it swirled away from the bank in an irresistible flow, and once out of the grip of it, she could not get the mare turned to take the western bank that she’d jumped from. There was no help for it; the mare was convinced that the western bank held nothing but enemies and would not swim back to it. Kero had given up, and let her make for the opposite shore. By the time Hellsbane had made the eastern bank, they’d been carried at least a league downstream.
Now the western sky was a bloody red above the trees; night would be falling soon, and she was out in the middle of Karsite territory, completely alone, with every possession she still owned soaked through and through. Even if she’d had a map, it wouldn’t have survived.
There were a few notable exceptions to the destruction; her bow had been wrapped in oiled cloth, which had fortunately survived the plunge. It was all right, as were her little medical pack and her fire kit. But everything else was a wet mess. Unfortunately, that included the rations.
The journey-bread was inedible; the rest, jerked meat and dried fruit, and Hellsbane’s grain, was in a sad state. The little that was left would last a couple of days before going bad; after that, she and Hellsbane would have to live off the land.
“I could look on the bright side,” she said to the mare. “At least we have water. And I got that bath.”
But I’m cold now, with no chance to warm up. The best I can do is wring my clothes as dry as I can, stuff myself on what food hasn’t been ruined, and walk Hells-bane north. If I’m lucky, my clothes will dry on me without sending me into a chill.
Then she thought better of that idea. There’s only me, and no road. Maybe not. Maybe I’d just better see if I can’t rig up a shelter and try for a trail or a path in the morning.
Tarma had taught her how to rig a shelter in about any territory; in a forest, it wasn’t too difficult a task. A little work with her ax and she had enough supple willow and pine branches to weave into a lean-to. As the last sliver of the sun vanished on the horizon, she fabricated a woven mat that should cut the wind, and shed most of the rain if she happened to be completely out of luck. With the last of the light she gathered dry leaves and layered first leaves, then all her clothing, then another layer of leaves beneath it. The water-soaked jerky was even less appetizing than it was when dry, but she wolfed it down anyway. It was still food, and if she didn’t eat it, she’d have to throw it away.
She hung Hellsbane’s saddle blanket under a bush, and turned the saddle upside down to dry.
That was all she could do at this point, except to tell Hellsbane, “Guard.” The mare went on the alert, and Kero crawled into her bit of shelter, already shivering. She was sure she’d never get warm, and equally certain she’d never sleep.
She was wrong on both points.
“North or south?” she asked Hellsbane. The mare flicked her ears forward but made no commentary.
Her clothing was dry, her bedroll still soggy. Hellsbane’s blanket was dry, though, so after she saddled the mare and strapped the packs on her, she opened up the bedding and draped it over Hellsbane’s rump, like a pathetic attempt at barding. The mare craned her head around for a look, and snorted in disgust.
There was a vague tugging sensation that Kero recognized as coming from Need. West, it urged. She took one look at the river, even wider here than where she’d gone in, and told it to hold its tongue. Or whatever it used for one.
She mounted, settling herself over bedding and all, hoping they wouldn’t encounter anything unfriendly. If they had to make a run for it, they’d lose the bedroll.
“South, I guess,” she said out loud. “I haven’t a chance of catching up with the others, and they won’t wait for me. We were going north and east, so if I go south and can get back across this river, I should be in the right area to make for the Border again.”
Nothing answered her, not even a bird. She could hear birds elsewhere, off in the forest, but her movements had frightened them into silence here.
It made her feel like a creature of ill-omen, a harbinger of death. Something even the birds avoided—
Until she caught sight of a bold green-crested jay swooping down out of the trees to steal a bit of the ruined, discarded journey-bread.
Then she laughed, shakily, and cast off her feelings of impending disaster. Hellfires, she thought, as the mare picked her way between the trees, I’ve already had my quota of disasters. I should be about due for some good luck.