woollen shirt black with blood around the arrow in his back.
Owyn dropped to his knees beside Ailric. ‘Give me the token.’
She fumbled out the acorn she’d found in Ailric’s coat and pressed it into the forestal’s outstretched hand. ‘What happened to him? Will he be all right?’
‘He crossed without a token, so the way back was barred to him. It is too complex to explain now.’ He gripped the acorn tight, his lips moving, then stuffed it into Ailric’s trouser pocket and heaved the Astolan up onto his shoulder. ‘Come. We must leave.’
Beside them, the warrior moaned, struggling to lever himself onto his arms. Kneeling, Tanith pressed him gently back down.
‘Stay still,’ she said. ‘I’m a physician.’
Frightened blue eyes peered up at her, showing no sign of understanding, but when she drew her knife to slit open his shirt he redoubled his efforts to escape. Tanith calmed him as best she could, and quickly cut through the wool. The fabric was glued to his skin with blood; as she peeled it away, crimson welled up around the white-fletched arrow that pierced his back next to his shoulder-blade. He coughed, the arrow twitching, and a little blood appeared on his lips.
It had reached his lung. Unless she acted fast, he’d drown.
Owyn shook his head, teeth gritted under Ailric’s weight across his shoulders. ‘Leave him. We cannot linger here, lady.’
‘I’m a Healer,’ she snapped back. ‘I won’t leave a wounded man if I can help him.’
From somewhere beyond the trees, trumpets rang out. The warrior plucked at Tanith’s hand, slurring words she didn’t understand. She disengaged him and took a firm grip on her knife. It was no scalpel, but it was sharp.
‘I’m sorry. This will hurt.’
She made a swift, deep cut, down alongside the arrow-shaft. The man screamed. Trumpets sounded again from the copse, followed by drumming hooves. She probed the wound with her finger, searching for the arrow-head.
Quickly, quickly, or the welling blood would kill him faster than the arrow would have. Her finger slithered over a hard shape – the arrow-head. Not barbed, thank the spirits. Gritting her teeth, she dug the point of her knife behind the head and with her other hand drew the shaft free. The warrior’s scream became a wet bubbling moan as he vomited blood onto the grass.
Throwing the arrow aside, Tanith pressed her hand over the wound, thrusting out and down with the Song. There was no time to be gentle; this was battlefield Healing, swift and graceless. His body thrashed, eyes starting from his head, his mouth working soundlessly.
A sharp yank on the rope pulled her hand away. ‘Lady, leave him! He is already dead!’
The turf trembled under her and she looked up. Over by the copse, a dark shape was moving in the mist, accompanied by a low rumbling. White banners with a blue device appeared from behind the trees, then the dark shape resolved into a phalanx of cavalry thundering over the ridge towards her at a flat gallop.
Bloody spears swept down to the couch. She saw bared teeth and flying manes, then Owyn tugged the rope once again, hauling to her feet.
‘Hurry!’ he shouted, lumbering up to a run with Ailric still slung across his shoulders like a hunter’s kill. For an instant she agonised over the fate of her patient, then pelted after him.
Never had two hundred yards felt so much like two hundred miles. The sloping field looked endless, the green of the forest drawing further away with every stride instead of closer, whilst the cavalry surged down the ridge behind her. The thudding hooves, the creak and jingle of harness grew so loud that she imagined at any second she would feel the horses’ breath or a spear in her back.
Through the clearing mist, she saw the two stone pillars beneath the trees at the forest’s edge, the symbols carved into them still white from the mason’s chisel. Twenty yards away. She dared a glance back over her shoulder. The wounded warrior
Owyn dropped to his knees beside Ailric. ‘Give me the token.’
She fumbled out the acorn she’d found in Ailric’s coat and pressed it into the forestal’s outstretched hand. ‘What happened to him? Will he be all right?’
‘He crossed without a token, so the way back was barred to him. It is too complex to explain now.’ He gripped the acorn tight, his lips moving, then stuffed it into Ailric’s trouser pocket and heaved the Astolan up onto his shoulder. ‘Come. We must leave.’
Beside them, the warrior moaned, struggling to lever himself onto his arms. Kneeling, Tanith pressed him gently back down.
‘Stay still,’ she said. ‘I’m a physician.’
Frightened blue eyes peered up at her, showing no sign of understanding, but when she drew her knife to slit open his shirt he redoubled his efforts to escape. Tanith calmed him as best she could, and quickly cut through the wool. The fabric was glued to his skin with blood; as she peeled it away, crimson welled up around the white-fletched arrow that pierced his back next to his shoulder-blade. He coughed, the arrow twitching, and a little blood appeared on his lips.
It had reached his lung. Unless she acted fast, he’d drown.
Owyn shook his head, teeth gritted under Ailric’s weight across his shoulders. ‘Leave him. We cannot linger here, lady.’
‘I’m a Healer,’ she snapped back. ‘I won’t leave a wounded man if I can help him.’
From somewhere beyond the trees, trumpets rang out. The warrior plucked at Tanith’s hand, slurring words she didn’t understand. She disengaged him and took a firm grip on her knife. It was no scalpel, but it was sharp.
‘I’m sorry. This will hurt.’
She made a swift, deep cut, down alongside the arrow-shaft. The man screamed. Trumpets sounded again from the copse, followed by drumming hooves. She probed the wound with her finger, searching for the arrow-head.
Quickly, quickly, or the welling blood would kill him faster than the arrow would have. Her finger slithered over a hard shape – the arrow-head. Not barbed, thank the spirits. Gritting her teeth, she dug the point of her knife behind the head and with her other hand drew the shaft free. The warrior’s scream became a wet bubbling moan as he vomited blood onto the grass.
Throwing the arrow aside, Tanith pressed her hand over the wound, thrusting out and down with the Song. There was no time to be gentle; this was battlefield Healing, swift and graceless. His body thrashed, eyes starting from his head, his mouth working soundlessly.
A sharp yank on the rope pulled her hand away. ‘Lady, leave him! He is already dead!’
The turf trembled under her and she looked up. Over by the copse, a dark shape was moving in the mist, accompanied by a low rumbling. White banners with a blue device appeared from behind the trees, then the dark shape resolved into a phalanx of cavalry thundering over the ridge towards her at a flat gallop.
Bloody spears swept down to the couch. She saw bared teeth and flying manes, then Owyn tugged the rope once again, hauling to her feet.
‘Hurry!’ he shouted, lumbering up to a run with Ailric still slung across his shoulders like a hunter’s kill. For an instant she agonised over the fate of her patient, then pelted after him.
Never had two hundred yards felt so much like two hundred miles. The sloping field looked endless, the green of the forest drawing further away with every stride instead of closer, whilst the cavalry surged down the ridge behind her. The thudding hooves, the creak and jingle of harness grew so loud that she imagined at any second she would feel the horses’ breath or a spear in her back.
Through the clearing mist, she saw the two stone pillars beneath the trees at the forest’s edge, the symbols carved into them still white from the mason’s chisel. Twenty yards away. She dared a glance back over her shoulder. The wounded warrior
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