his—he can feel the chill it gives off through his clothing and hers—and she leads him away, under the dwenda muhn.
In the ghost light it casts, he notices, looking back, that her feet leave no trace on the sand at all.
After a while, nor do his.
CHAPTER 5
hen the doctor was done with Shendanak, Egar went out onto the stairs and called in a couple of the cousins for witness. He picked two faces he knew, men he’d shared grog and grumbling with on the long voyage north. Both had been down off the steppe for a good few years, both had survived in Yhelteth in a number of more or less thuggish capacities before they went to work for Shendanak. They had a flexible city manner about them as a result, and ought to understand the situation beyond any initial dumb-as-fuck tribal loyalties they still might own.
He hoped.
He led them to Shendanak’s bedside and let them look.
“See,” he told them breezily. “Cleaned up and sleeping like a baby.”
“Yeah?” Durhan, the younger of the two, glowered across to where Salbak Barla was packing up his doctor’s satchel. “So when’s he going to wake up?”
Egar shot Barla a warning look.
“Sleep is a great healer,” the doctor said smoothly. “It unmounts the rider of consciousness so that the horse—the body—may rest from its exertions and recover from any wounds it has sustained. The wise rider does not attempt to mount an ill-used horse too soon.”
Durhan was not appeased. “Don’t fucking talk to me about horses, you city-dwelling twat. I asked you when he’s going to wake up.”
“Couple of days,” Egar improvised rapidly. “Right, Doc?”
Barla nodded. “Yes, I was going to say. Given the nature of his wounds, a few days should suffice.”
Durhan’s companion—a blunt, taciturn Ishlinak by the name of Gart—nodded slowly and fixed Egar with a speculative look.
“You sure about that, Dragonbane?” he rumbled. “Couple of days? That’s the word you want put out?”
Egar feigned lack of concern. “You heard the bone man.”
“Yeah. But I wouldn’t want to be you or your pet bone man here, three days hence, if Klarn still hasn’t made it back. That happens, the brothers are going to take it hard.”
“That happens,” Durhan echoed, “the brothers are going to want blood.”
Egar grinned fiercely, no need to fake it this time. “Anyone wants blood, that can be arranged. You just tell them to come see the Dragonbane.”
Alarm on Salbak Barla’s face, but the two Majak just grunted acknowledgment. It was steppe custom, close enough. It would wash.
“Couple of days it is,” said Gart.
“Yeah.” Durhan nodded at the doctor. “You keep him well, bone man, you hear? If you know what’s good for you.”
“Right, good.” Egar, shepherding them out of the bedchamber. “Now get everybody off the stairs and about their business. I want a sickbed honor vigil out there at most—five men or less, cool heads. You pick them. And no more shaking down the locals in the meantime. We need that shit like a pony needs skates.”
Durhan balked. “Tand’s men—”
“The lady Archeth has gone to deal with Tand. That’s her end, this is ours. You get the brothers straightened out for me, we’ll talk about the rest later.”
He got them to the door, ejected them into the hall, and nodded to Rakan’s men to close up again. Through the wooden panels of the door, he heard Gart’s voice raised against a growing storm of questions in Majak. He closed his eyes, allowed himself the brief moment.
Here we go again.
Back in Yhelteth, he’d sworn he was done giving other men orders. He wanted no rank, he wanted no responsibility. He’d tagged along on the expedition for a whole tangle of reasons that he now had trouble teasing apart, but longing for command was not one of them. There was gratitude to Ringil, some vague sense of obligation to Archeth—he was, after all, supposed to be her bodyguard these days—and the common-sense
In the ghost light it casts, he notices, looking back, that her feet leave no trace on the sand at all.
After a while, nor do his.
CHAPTER 5
hen the doctor was done with Shendanak, Egar went out onto the stairs and called in a couple of the cousins for witness. He picked two faces he knew, men he’d shared grog and grumbling with on the long voyage north. Both had been down off the steppe for a good few years, both had survived in Yhelteth in a number of more or less thuggish capacities before they went to work for Shendanak. They had a flexible city manner about them as a result, and ought to understand the situation beyond any initial dumb-as-fuck tribal loyalties they still might own.
He hoped.
He led them to Shendanak’s bedside and let them look.
“See,” he told them breezily. “Cleaned up and sleeping like a baby.”
“Yeah?” Durhan, the younger of the two, glowered across to where Salbak Barla was packing up his doctor’s satchel. “So when’s he going to wake up?”
Egar shot Barla a warning look.
“Sleep is a great healer,” the doctor said smoothly. “It unmounts the rider of consciousness so that the horse—the body—may rest from its exertions and recover from any wounds it has sustained. The wise rider does not attempt to mount an ill-used horse too soon.”
Durhan was not appeased. “Don’t fucking talk to me about horses, you city-dwelling twat. I asked you when he’s going to wake up.”
“Couple of days,” Egar improvised rapidly. “Right, Doc?”
Barla nodded. “Yes, I was going to say. Given the nature of his wounds, a few days should suffice.”
Durhan’s companion—a blunt, taciturn Ishlinak by the name of Gart—nodded slowly and fixed Egar with a speculative look.
“You sure about that, Dragonbane?” he rumbled. “Couple of days? That’s the word you want put out?”
Egar feigned lack of concern. “You heard the bone man.”
“Yeah. But I wouldn’t want to be you or your pet bone man here, three days hence, if Klarn still hasn’t made it back. That happens, the brothers are going to take it hard.”
“That happens,” Durhan echoed, “the brothers are going to want blood.”
Egar grinned fiercely, no need to fake it this time. “Anyone wants blood, that can be arranged. You just tell them to come see the Dragonbane.”
Alarm on Salbak Barla’s face, but the two Majak just grunted acknowledgment. It was steppe custom, close enough. It would wash.
“Couple of days it is,” said Gart.
“Yeah.” Durhan nodded at the doctor. “You keep him well, bone man, you hear? If you know what’s good for you.”
“Right, good.” Egar, shepherding them out of the bedchamber. “Now get everybody off the stairs and about their business. I want a sickbed honor vigil out there at most—five men or less, cool heads. You pick them. And no more shaking down the locals in the meantime. We need that shit like a pony needs skates.”
Durhan balked. “Tand’s men—”
“The lady Archeth has gone to deal with Tand. That’s her end, this is ours. You get the brothers straightened out for me, we’ll talk about the rest later.”
He got them to the door, ejected them into the hall, and nodded to Rakan’s men to close up again. Through the wooden panels of the door, he heard Gart’s voice raised against a growing storm of questions in Majak. He closed his eyes, allowed himself the brief moment.
Here we go again.
Back in Yhelteth, he’d sworn he was done giving other men orders. He wanted no rank, he wanted no responsibility. He’d tagged along on the expedition for a whole tangle of reasons that he now had trouble teasing apart, but longing for command was not one of them. There was gratitude to Ringil, some vague sense of obligation to Archeth—he was, after all, supposed to be her bodyguard these days—and the common-sense
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