‘It’s my fault-’
‘No, it isn’t.’
But he nodded. ‘I said the wrong thing.’
‘Listen to me. You are the son of a lord-’
‘Bastard son.’
‘He laid a hand upon you, Arathan. Even if Sagander survives the loss of his leg, your father might well kill him. Some things are just not permitted.’
‘I will speak in his defence,’ Arathan said, forcing himself to sit up. The world spun round him and she had to steady him lest he topple over. ‘I am the cause of this. I said the wrong thing. It’s my fault.’
‘Arathan.’
He looked up at her, fighting back tears. ‘I was weak.’
For a moment he studied her face, the widening eyes and then the scowl, before blackness rushed in from all sides, and everything fell away.
Brush had been hacked down to clear space for the tents, the horses unsaddled and hobbled well away from the carcass of their slain companion. Ville had butchered as much horse flesh as they could carry and now crouched by the fire, over which sat an iron grille bearing vermilion meat that sizzled and spat.
When Rint returned from his long meeting with Draconus, he walked to the fire and settled down beside Ville.
Galak was still attending to Sagander, who’d yet to regain consciousness, whilst Feren hovered over the bastard son, who was as lost to the world as was his tutor. Raskan had joined his lord where a second fire had been lit, on which sat a blackened pot of steaming blood-broth.
Ville poked at the steaks. ‘First day out,’ he muttered. ‘This bodes ill, Rint.’
Rint rubbed at the bristle lining his jaw and then sighed. ‘Change of plans,’ he said. ‘You and Galak are to take the tutor to Abara Delack and leave him in the care of the monks, and then catch us up.’
‘And the boy? Coma’s a bad thing, Rint. Might never wake up.’
‘He’ll wake up,’ Rint said. ‘With an aching skull. It was that damned helmet, that lump of heavy iron, when his head was snapped back. It’s a mild concussion, Ville. The real risk was breaking his neck, but thankfully he was spared that.’
Ville squinted across at him. ‘That must’ve been some blow — didn’t know the old man was that strong.’
‘The boy wasn’t expecting it at all — Abyss knows, no reason to. Anyway, we’ll take it slow on the morrow, Feren keeping a close eye.’
‘And the Lord’s judgement?’
Rint was silent for a moment, and then he shrugged. ‘He didn’t share that with me, Ville. But you know how they look on such things.’
‘Bad luck for Sagander. Makes me wonder why me and Galak got to take him to Abara Delack. Why not just slit the fool’s throat and stick his head on a pole?’
‘You worked on him hard — the Lord saw that.’
Ville grunted. ‘Don’t want to insult us, then?’
‘If you like. Thing is, there’s proper forms, I suppose. Making a point about something ain’t no use if there’s no way of people seeing it.’
‘What about Abara Delack, then? What do we tell the monks, since this whole trip was supposed to be a secret?’
‘You were escorting the tutor to the monastery — they make the finest paper, after all.’
‘Used to, you mean.’
‘You tried explaining that to the tutor, but the old man was fixed on it.’
‘So, if he comes round we’d best be there — to tell him how it is.’
‘No. If he survives the night we’re to wake him tomorrow morning, and Draconus himself will tell the tutor what needs telling.’
‘Then we catch you up.’
Rint nodded, drawing a knife to stab at a steak.
Ville snorted. ‘Why’d I bother? Might as well take bites out the carcass itself.’
‘But then you don’t get the smoky flavour, Ville.’
Feren joined them. ‘It’s normal sleep now,’ she said, sitting down. ‘He’s tossing and turning, but not so much — no fever. Breathing’s deep and steady.’
Ville was studying Feren with narrow eyes, and then he grinned. ‘Never saw you being a mother before, Feren.’
‘Nor will you, if you value your life, Ville.’ She set a hand on Rint’s arm. ‘Brother, what I told you earlier.’
When he shot her a look, she simply nodded.
Rint studied the half-raw meat in his hands, and then resumed chewing.
‘You two can be so damned irritating,’ Ville muttered, reaching to turn the remaining steaks again.
