She came over to him as he moved the chainmail and settled the blanket around his shoulders.
“Let’s see that mouth.”
He leaned away and spat out a gob of bloody phlegm.
“Nice,” she said. “Now turn into the light so I can see.”
They were nearly of a height. He angled his head this way and that and opened his mouth.
“I can’t see much, but it looks like you you’re going to have to get those back two extracted before they get infected and abscess.”
Gonwyn nodded. That was about what he thought.
She looked at him, perplexed. “Why didn’t you go to the Healers?”
He shrugged, embarrassed. “My friend was dying from a stab wound and was still doing his duty, right up to the last seconds of his life. I couldn’t go the Healers for a toothache, not after that.” He did not admit that he’d thought about doing exactly that. “I didn’t know the shoulder was that bad.”
She gave him a very long look, then swallowed whatever she was about to say. “Well, I don’t want your dirty fingers in my dinner, so you sit over there.” She looked down at where he had been cutting the rabbit. “How were you figuring on eating?”
“Boiling the meat into a broth. See if I could boil the meat soft enough to chew, and sip down the broth.”
She nodded one time, an economical gesture. “We’ll do that.”
She set to finishing the task he had started, cutting the rabbit into bits to boil and then spitting hers to roast. The cook fire brought the heat directly under the pot and spit, so the food cooked quickly and evenly. There was little enough left for them, but this fire was about eating, not comfort.
The sun faded before the rabbits cooked, leaving them sitting ravenous underneath a purple-black darkness decorated with a skyful of bright-blazing stars. The evening brought a chill, enough that he sought his one not-as-dirty shirt from his field pack. He managed some cupfuls of soup, along with a few bits of rabbit. He shared the jouney bread he’d taken from the Tedrels, his well-soaked with broth to soften.
By unspoken agreement, the mission had ended.
Tomorrow they would abandon the search and return to the assembly area.
Gonwyn felt a voice in his head, from a Mindspeaker powerful enough to punch through his head-blindness. Danilla and Enara’s heads came up. :Any units still fighting are to cease operations and return to start lines. All regiments’ and militia are to do a muster count and report by the numbers. All Heralds not assigned to military Mindspeaking duties are to report to command tent in fighting kit for briefing.:
“Who the hell was that?” asked Gonwyn.
“I think that’s Myste,” Danilla replied.
“What’s a Myste?” asked Gonwyn, still impressed by the strength. His head-blindness had been described as a wall fifty feet high and a hundred wide.
“Herald Chronicler.” She replied.
“Herald Chronicler?” Gonwyn realized he was starting to sound rather dumb.
“Don’t you ever get to Haven?” she asked him in turn.
“No,” he replied, relieved to be on the granting end of the conversation, “it gives me hives. I try to avoid any kind of headquarters.”
“Myste was in my year at the Collegium and an utter despair. No real friends. No one would partner with her for Trials, and we dreaded having to train with her. Couldn’t see, needs um . . . spectacles. Can’t fight to save her life. Nearly cut off her Companion’s ear the first time she tried it mounted. Can’t run Circuit.”
“She can Mindspeak, though,” replied Gonwyn.
“So, it would seem,” answered Danilla, just a little primly. He was ready to ask her what that meant, when Myste’s voice broke through again. :Pending instruction from the Queen, all actions against the Tedrels, except in strictest self-defense, are to cease. By Order of the Lord Marshal.:
“What? Why?” asked Danilla.
Gonwyn turned toward her. “I’m guessing it’s because the commissary is running out. We don’t have the time or rations to scour these hills, and the Queen has to think about the harvest. We took a lot of farmers out of fields to fill out this army, and she needs them there, or we don’t eat next year. I’d wager she’ll leave just enough down here to keep the Tedrels in check, and only in numbers that she can easily feed.”
Rath broke in. :Something is up . . . I’m hearing that there’s going to be a raid into Karse to get some prisoners, so everyone is tied up with that.: She paused. :Daners made contact. Our report has been “noted.” We’re to pull back, and bring out Lady Danilla, and stop hunting Tedrels. I’ve explained what Adreal sent us on, but he died before his message could get passed through, so they’re going off of your reputation.:
“Lady Danilla?” he asked the Herald. “You said your father herded cattle.”
Even in the dark, he could feel her embarrassment.
“It was a lot of cattle,” she replied.
He exhaled loudly. “All right, we’ll stay on plan. Once the moon comes up and gives us some light, we’ll backtrack to where that big valley runs north and south. We should pick up the roadstead there and be back in the camp before moonset. The creeks are more direct, but they’ll all look the same at night, and the map is worthless.”
He slipped his damp hauberk back on, then the chainmail. The pain flared when it settled over the wound, as did the spots where the second-hand mail had galled his shoulders. He made no effort to put the surcoat back on. It was too torn and dirty for even his low standards. He and Danilla then packed the camp in the dark, loading the saddlebags and field packs. Both pits were carefully covered. They could not conceal that they had been there, but they didn’t have to make it easy.
Once they were done and ready to ride, there was nothing for it but to wait for moonrise. The Companions stood watch, trading guard while he and Danilla dozed. Sleeping in armor proved nearly impossible, as it just wasn’t possible to get comfortable. Gonwyn had done it enough to have a leg up, but his multiple hurts kept him from doing more than dozing fitfully. The time passed in short naps, measured by stiffness and metal digging into tender places.
The moon had just risen when Gonwyn snapped awake.
:How many, Rath?: He sent, struggling to make the sending.
:Some thirty, Chosen. They are close and coming this way.:
“Danilla?” he whispered.
“I’ve heard from Enara,” she replied. “Can we get out?”
:They’re astride our path out,: Rath answered to him. :There is another body moving east of us, where I think the draw comes up.:
“Damn,” said Gonwyn. “Good water, good campsite, escape route . . . we might be camping on one of their rally points.”
“What do we do?” Danilla asked.
He ran the options, all bad. “We hide. Wait them out. Rath, show us the draw.”
They quickly mounted and made for the narrow watercourse. It looked intermittent and fell in a sharp vee, barely wide enough for the two Companions. The vee fell out of the moonlight, and while there was no concealment, they might just be safe in the shadow. They had just settled in and froze as the first group of Tedrels poured in.
Gonwyn quickly assessed them. They looked whipped. Many bore light wounds, but they were still armed. In the moonlight he saw Tedrels with crossbows, spears, and some better equipped with swords, shields, and some armor. A second group followed in better order, their leader haranguing them in the pidgin tongue that passed for the Tedrel language.
Few carried more than their war gear. They took out what food they had, some better provisioned than others. The stronger took from the weaker where they could, and the main body split into fragments as they moved to camp in mutual distrust.