It was raining when they set off the next day, pale sunlight barely piercing the thick grey clouds that rolled across the washed-out sky. Heavy droplets pelted the arched roofs of the wagons, running down the brightly-painted ribs to spatter onto the clinging white mud of the roadway, and even the green light filtering through the trees had taken on a sickly cast, blotching the faces of the company with bruised-looking smudges of shadow.

They’d spent the morning finishing the job of clearing the road, and Caleb’s boots and trews were splattered up to the thigh with mud and muck from the task – though he’d fared better than Kala, who’d slipped and fallen in the rut left by the tree and ended up covered head to foot with filth. She’d made an attempt to get the worst of it off her face and hands, but her leathers were stained several shades lighter, and before she’d mounted up she’d been shedding flakes of dried mud with every step, even in the downpour.

(more…)

For a brief moment, Caleb felt as though his heart had stopped beating.

He stumbled backwards, holding Kitten tight against his chest, until the heel of his boot met sudden resistance and he lost his balance, going sprawling backwards onto the floor with an impact that drove the breath from his lungs and sent a wave of stabbing pain and nausea flooding through his body as the girl’s entire weight landed on his already-bruised ribs.

The bright colours of the wagon’s interior swirled and blurred around him, and for a horrible moment he thought he was about to pass out again. But the dizziness passed more quickly this time, leaving him aching and sick but clear-headed, and all too aware of what he’d seen on Kitten’s hand in the moments before the fall.
(more…)

“It’s nothing bad,” the apothecary added, hastily, as Kitten ran towards them. They crouched down, picking up the child and swinging her up onto the footboard of the wagon with a slight hiss of indrawn breath. “Ariane and I need to borrow the fire for a while, and I’d be happier if the two of you were inside while we do.”

This didn’t make all that much sense to Caleb, but then again, he was neither an apothecary nor a mage. And, he realised, getting to his feet, he had been sitting in the same position for most of the evening. It wasn’t nearly as cold as it could have been, but his knees and hips were still locking slightly, and getting inside was starting to sound more and more like an appealing proposition.

“Thank you,” Ariane said, stepping out into the night air and offering her own hand to pull Caleb up. She was stronger than he’d expected, easily taking his weight, and her slim fingers were warm and rough with callouses.  “We’ve had an idea on something that might work to alleviate whatever’s going on with him a little – I’m almost certain it won’t actually cure or reverse it, but if we can at the very least get him conscious again then we might be able to find out a little more about what happened when he was attacked, and whether he recognises the type of blade. I think it might be a curse-blade, but there’s precious little about those in any of the books I actually have with me, so I’d have to raid Aster’s library when we get there.”

Caleb nodded, though between how fast Ariane was talking and his own tiredness, he’d caught all of about one word in five of the explanation. “Why do you want us to be inside, if it’s alright to ask? Is it dangerous?”

(more…)

Caleb had never considered himself a particularly good storyteller. He could remember most tales he’d ever heard, true, and he’d a fair gift for mimicry of tone, but he wasn’t particularly educated, or particularly good at keeping rhythm, or particularly… well, anything, really. But the Captain’d asked him for a story, so he’d told one.

And then another.

And then another, and another, and another, letting the tales lead naturally one into the other through character and place and theme. And even when he’d stumbled, or been wrong in the details, or forgotten the thread of the narrative, his listeners had followed him through, brushing off any attempts to apologise with laughter and half-joking pleas for the continuation of the tale.

An hour or so into the telling Kitten had emerged from the shadows which hid Talan’s wagon, hovering quiet and unsure on the edge of the circle of firelight until Alak noticed her and waved her over. Her face was wet from crying, eyelids puffy and eyes red and sore, but she managed a small shaky smile at the assembled older members of the company and, once she’d been soundly hugged and tousled and nose-booped by the twins and given a mug of warm apple and a place by Caleb’s knee to sit and listen to the stories, she was almost back to her usual animated self.

(more…)

Dana reached them first, dropping to her knees beside Rethan’s still form and pushing back his sleeve to press her fingers against one bloodied brown wrist. Her hand was shaking, Caleb noticed, but when she spoke her voice was calm and steady, pitched to carry to the others who’d yet to make it to the mid-point of the tree. “He’s alive.”

Caleb let out a breath he’d not realised he’d been holding, and hugged Kitten tighter to him. The girl’s face was buried in his shoulder, her small hands tangled in the rough material of his shirt, but she seemed calmer than almost any of the adults there (with the exception of Rethan, who was unconscious and thus didn’t count).

“Don’t touch anything,” Talan warned, leaning heavily on their staff as they made their way towards the group. “Not until I have had a chance to examine him, at least.”

Dana growled something under her breath, the fangs in her lower jaw seeming suddenly much more prominent for a brief second, but did as she was bid, sitting back on her heels and watching the slow almost-imperceptible rise and fall of Rethan’s chest, an unreadable expression on her broad, scarred face.

Tam, walking close behind Talan and burdened down with what seemed like half the contents of the apothecary’s wagon, muttered something to her companion. Caleb didn’t hear what was said, but Talan’s expression softened a little and they raised their voice again. “You’ve done all you can for him, Dana. And I’m sure he will thank you for it, when he’s awake.”

(more…)

Rethan looked up as Caleb approached, the lines of his mask catching the light in a way that horribly mimicked the shard of metal protruding from his belly. “Don’t worry. It’s not- ngh! -as bad as it looks.”

Somehow, Caleb doubted that. But he wasn’t about to argue with the other man right at this moment. “What happened?” Daft question, probably, but if he could keep him talking until Talan got back then he’d at least know that he was still conscious. It wasn’t as if he could tell from his face, after all.

Rethan laughed, or at least, made a sound in his throat which was probably meant to be laughter. “I got stabbed.” He nodded downwards towards his abdomen. “You’d think- ah! -they’d be able to afford swords which didn’t break.”

Caleb winced, his over-active imagination all-too readily providing him with a mental image of exactly what might have happened to cause that particular wound. If he was right, he was surprised the older man was able to carry on a conversation, let alone make sarcastic remarks.

No time to wonder about that now, though. Keep him talking, that was the key. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“Couldn’t say for sure.” He shifted position slightly, hissing in pain as he did so. “I’ve a damn good guess, though.”

(more…)