“We’ll be leaving at dawn.”
“Ah. Well, with luck he will awaken to thank you before then. I take it he hasn’t been particularly conversational on the road?”
“Not especially.”
“Blood fever will do that.” The doctor smiled. “It was a grimbear, I’m told.”
Jonik nodded. “We got that much from him.” A fearsome beast, tackled by another. The way Sir Lenard mumbled of it, the Beast of Blackshaw had come rushing from the woods to wrestle the grimbear to the ground, killing it with his bare hands. In all truth it would not surprise Jonik if that was the case. Mooton Blackshaw was a brutally large man, and with godsteel to grasp would have the strength to match the beast.
“Then he is doubly lucky to be alive,” the doctor said, with another smile. “There aren’t many men who have survived a grimbear attack. After everything he’s been through, he deserves a break.”
“You know about the pits, then?”
“Oh yes, of course. A famous tale.”
Jonik didn’t want to get into it. He did not know if this doctor knew who he was, and he didn’t want to know. “I’ll leave you to it.” He turned to step away.
“No, you needn’t leave. I only need to apply these bandages, then you can sit with him. It won’t take long.”
Jonik thought it a better idea than returning to drink with Harden. And if Sir Lenard was to awaken, it would be nice for him to see a friendly face, he supposed. And there’s still so much I want to know, he thought. He wanted to hear of their travels since leaving the Shadowfort. Which route they’d taken, who they’d run into, whether they’d fought dragons or other creatures along the way. He had hoped to hear all of that as soon as he set eye on Sir Lenard in the inn, but alas he’d been in no state to talk.
“I’ll be on the balcony, then. Call me when you’re done.”
Jonik stepped outside to let the doctor do his work, the nurse bustling about with her ointments and salves. The view would usually be good from up here, Jonik imagined, a ranging view toward the south, though he could see little through the mists and squalls. Only the shadow of the people, drifting up the road in their ones and twos and little groups, pulling carts and driving wagons, sometimes sitting a horse. If Gerrin was out there still, Jonik couldn’t see him. Come back with good news, he thought. Come back and tell me that my grandfather has gone to battle. That he’s there with all the others, and I’ll not have to make that choice.
The doctor was a quick worker. After a few short minutes Jonik heard a voice behind him. “It’s done, my lord. You may sit with him now.”
Jonik stepped back inside, thanking him as the doctor bowed and left, the dowdy nurse as well. When the door was closed Jonik settled onto a chair beside Lenard Borrington’s bedside. The wine was moving through his blood, slowing his thoughts, making him drowsy. There was a fire here too, crackling softly, and the rain was washing down outside. It made for a peaceful setting. Before he knew it, he was closing his eyes…opening them again…closing them once more and drifting off…
Then suddenly Gerrin was there.
Jonik sat up with a start. It had darkened considerably outside, and the rain had weakened, falling in a light drizzle. The fire had burned down to its embers, a few thin tendrils of smoke coiling upward. There were some wet footprints from the open door, staining the stone, and Gerrin was standing on a rug, soaking wet and dripping.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Jonik blinked, clearing his throat. He felt exhausted. Sir Lenard was snoring softly. I must have been more tired than I realised. “So, how did it go out there?” His voice was a little heavy. “Did you…find out something about my grandfather?”
The old Emerald Guard had a grave look on his face. “I found someone,” he said.
25
Something was pressing at her leg.
She groaned, half-asleep, and shifted in her tent. “Keep to your side, Lesh,” she said in a sleepy slur. “Stop encroaching. You’re always encroaching…”
Her eyes remained shut, and back into her dreams she slipped. This was a good one, and damn Leshie for interrupting it. She’d been with Elyon, in his pavilion at Harrowmoor, sitting together on his bed. They were talking, laughing, drinking wine and smiling at one another. He was undressed above the waist, and the sight of those muscles…
She felt that pressure at her leg again, about her calf. She pulled away. “Leshie, damn it…”
The girl was snoring soundly. She stuttered awake as Saska gave her another kick. “Wh…what are you…”
“You keep stretching your leg over to my side. I was dreaming of Elyon, and you ruined it.” It was about the only escapism she had, the only time she got to indulge in her improper thoughts and memories. It happened every so often at about the same time each month. “Just keep to your side. I’ve asked you a hundred times.”
“I didn’t…I am on my side.”
Saska rolled over to face her. She could see nought but the girl’s outline in the darkness. It was a black night, dark as death. The skies above were choked in cloud, moonless, starless, lightless. Saska reached out with a hand, extending it, to touch her friend in the face.
“Hey…” Leshie swiped her away. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you’re awake. If you’re going to wake me up, I’m going to do the same.” I’ll never get back to sleep now, she knew. She’d be damned if she had to lie here until dawn listening to Leshie snoring. She poked again, a finger going up Leshie’s nose.
“Hey…stop it,” the Red Blade hissed, taking her wrist, throwing her arm away. “I didn’t kick you, all right. I was sound asleep.”
“Sound asleep and kicking.” Leshie was a sleep-kicker; Saska had worked that out a while ago.
Her eyes were adjusting, though slowly. Not often had she seen a night so black. She turned back the other way again, feeling for her Varin dagger, tucked up by her head as usual. Her armour and other weapons were stashed to one side, but her dagger she kept right there beside her. Her fingers closed about the hilt, furnishing her with its power. Gradually, her night vision improved, but only a little. Gods. This is a dark even my blood-bond cannot penetrate.
When she turned back around, Leshie was sitting up on her elbows, staring at the flaps. “Whose there?” the girl said. Her voice sounded curdled, frightened. But Leshie was never frightened.
Saska twisted and sat up. Her heart stilled. The light of her dagger, ethereal blue, illuminated a shape outside the tent. A shadow, large and strange. Standing still as stone.
“Whose out there?” Leshie asked again. “Coldheart, if that’s you…”
The flaps shivered. Saska looked down. Through the door she saw a long, arm-like appendage reaching in through the gap, slithering toward her leg.
She sucked air, pulling her legs back. The limb was long, thin, snakelike, but ending in a hand of grasping fingers, some short, some long, two, four, six of them, more, and all of them were twisting, changing. More seemed to be appearing, growing from the arm, branching out like limbs from the trunk of a tree. Leshie gave out a scream, scrambling away. The arm jerked, moving at the sound, flashing out suddenly in a quick movement, like a striking snake. Ten fingers stretched and reached and wrapped, curling about her leg, pulling.
