Ra-khir graced the sentiment with the dignity it deserved. "Very well, Darby. As soon as we're finished eating, we'll head for Bearn." He had no real intention of allowing the boy to fight, but Darby could remain reasonably safe with the other knights' apprentices in Erythane. He wondered in how many towns and cities the messengers had left word for him and how many additional swordsmen would heed the call as well.
Ra-khir dropped three gold coins on the countertop. "Whatever is left from our payment needs to go to Karruno's funeral and family. A man that beloved deserves the best."
The barkeep's nostrils flared as he swept up the coins. "That's very generous, Sir Ra-khir. Please return anytime. Anytime!"
"Most gracious of you." Ra-khir gave back the polite reply, though he did not believe his family would prove as welcome as himself. He worried for Subikahn and Saviar, for Calistin most of all; but he knew where his loyalties had to lie. His father knew how important this mission was to Ra-khir. Knight-Captain Kedrin would only have called him back from necessity. He had no choice but to heed the call. When Bearn is in trouble, the Knights of Erythane will always be there. Ra-khir realized something else. Right now, Bearn needs the bodyguards to its heirs, and the Renshai's swords, more than ever.
Calistin awakened in a wet and shivering fog. A week had passed since his adventure in the Western tavern, a week spent slogging through a forest that seemed inexhaustible. Using the sun as a guide, he tried to keep his movements as northward as the towering trunks and tangled undergrowth allowed. After twice catching himself wandering in circles, he learned to stop walking at sunset, devoting himself to swordcraft and sleep until the morning. It not only honed his skill but also served as distraction from the hunger gnawing always at his belly.
Desperately thirsty, he sucked at leaves on the nearest tree, singling out the curled ones that had best collected the rain. Each sip was frustratingly small, insect portions that barely touched the fire in his mouth, the parching of his throat, and still dropped like lead into his empty stomach. He had tried eating the plants around him, but the nettles stung his gums and the others tasted more like dirt than food. Tough and stringy, he found them tasteless and impossible to satisfactorily chew. He tried cooking roots, but they charred into ash rather than plumping into the fragrant tubers he knew. In the past, food and water came to him. The Renshai saw to it that their great champion never wanted for anything.
Now, the effects of slow starvation frustrated Calistin into fits of rage. His lightning-fast reflexes slowed, and he found himself struggling to remember the intricacies of the more difficult maneuvers. When engaged in svergelse, nothing else mattered; but, the instant he stopped, the hunger bore down on him again, insistent and impossible to ignore. As of yet, he had not found plant matter he could stand. No bird or bunny stayed long enough to accept a physical challenge, and Calistin had never trained to chase down cowards who could fly.
Uncertain when he would find his next collection of water, Calistin lapped moisture off every leaf within his reach. Surely, his travels would soon bring him to civilization or, at least, a stream. He dreamed of stumbling onto a farm field. A pig or sheep would not think to run from a lone human, and he could swiftly make up for a week of hunger.
Torn between finding every drop of water and the need to move onward in the hope of locating more, Calistin finally continued walking. Every muscle in his body ached, and his kidneys felt like boulders. He could not remember the last time he had needed to relieve himself. His clothing reeked, touching his skin in icy patches, then peeling away. Wind cut through myriad holes, and enemy blood had stiffened to prickly wrinkles.
As Calistin walked, he imagined a feast of roasted pheasant and spiced cider, laid on a bed of fancy greens and succulent roots, dressed with vinegar. He could almost smell the odor of roasting meat, then he believed he did. He knew it had to be his nose playing tricks, but his mind told him otherwise. A light breeze from the east definitely carried the irresistible scent of cooking.
Calistin's mouth went thick with something not quite saliva. He no longer cared whether or not the odor was real; he could not tear his concentration from it. He had little choice but to follow it. He ran a few scenarios through his thoughts as he half-ran, half-stumbled toward the food. They were traveling merchants, or bandits, or royals on an outing. It did not matter. They would share, or they would die. If he had to kill someone to get it, he would relish the opportunity to fight. In the end, he felt hungry enough to roast and eat his opponent as well.
As Calistin drew nearer, all doubt vanished. The smell grew stronger, and smoke curled through the bushes. He sprang into a small clearing to find a rabbit skin laid out on a log and the meat hissing and spitting in the fire. No nearby human tended it. Calistin found himself shaking. Even in his desperation, he knew better than to reach into open flames with hands he relied on so completely. He also refused to dishonor a sword, instead casting about to find a large enough stick. Abruptly, he found himself face-to-face with Treysind.
A grin split the boy's dirty face, and he flung himself into Calistin's arms. "Hero, I's finded ya! I's so glad I's finded ya!"
Startled beyond words, Calistin allowed the boy to fully embrace him. "Treysind? Is that your dinner?"
Calistin's damp and filthy tunic muffled Treysind's reply. "It's ya's if ya's wants it, Hero.Ya hungry?"
The question was gross understatement. Finding a stick, Calistin poked the meat from the fire, not caring about the dirt he dragged across it. He ripped off a chunk. Feeling the first stirrings of pain that indicated he would burn flesh if he didn't let go, he popped the morsel into his mouth instead. Logically, he knew it was stupid. The grease burned his tongue much quicker than it would callused fingers, but Calistin did not care. He barely chewed before swallowing, then tore off another hunk. Before he knew it, he had the carcass stripped to the bones.
Treysind watched him, beaming.
Only then, as the warmth spread through his gut, Calistin realized two things. First, his tongue and throat stung from the too-hot meat. And, second, he had not left a scrap for his companion. "I'm sorry, Treysind. I guess I was too hungry to think about you."
"Don't worry 'bout me." Treysind gestured at the fire, where a second coney already roasted. "Ya's kin have that one, too, if ya's want. I kin git plenty more."
Calistin looked from the boy to the fire and back. Then he repeated the motion. "You can?" He did not understand how a child who could not fight his way through an empty field could succeed at something at which a Renshai had so miserably failed.
"Sure."
"How?"
Treysind held up a long bow. "Wit' dis."
Calistin could not help recoiling in distaste. Renshai shunned bows as cowards' weapons. Yet, he realized, Treysind isn't using it for battle. "Where'd you get… that?"
"I taked it off a dead Nort'man."
"A dead…?"
"When's they 'tacked yas. 'Member?"
Calistin could not forget. "You stole it?"
Treysind shrugged. "He weren't usin' it no more. I thinked I could put it ta better use."
Calistin had to admit Treysind had. He looked eagerly at the cooking rabbit. It would take a lot of food to make up for several days without. "You're a marvel, Treysind."
Treysind threw out his chest, grin enormous. He seemed to glow with pride.
Only then it occurred to Calistin how important his praise was to the boy. And how rarely he gave it.
"I's gots more food, too, if ya's want it. An' some water."
"Water?" Calistin grew even more excited at the prospect of a full swallow of liquid. "You have water?"