“No, am I?” He sounded intrigued. “That creature that we bumped into must have caught me—I didn’t notice.”
A faint light appeared cupped in one of his hands. As he bent to examine his legs, Rialla noticed that his sleeve was suspiciously dark.
“It’s your arm.”
Tris pulled the knife from his boot and twisted to tuck the point of the knife under the material of his tunic.
“Here, let me,” offered Laeth, who’d crossed the room when Rialla first noticed that Tris was wounded. He took the knife and split the sleeve from shoulder to wrist.
“Just a cut,” said Tris after a quick look. “I’ve got some brandy and bandages out front.”
Laeth stayed where he was while the healer left the room.
“By the gods, Ria, I wouldn’t take my brother’s estates if they were offered to me,” he said intently. “I enjoy being a mercenary much more than I ever did being a Darranian lord. Let Winterseine have the plague-ridden land. Don’t do this.”
Rialla leaned back against the wall and shook her head. “I’m not doing this for you, Laeth; proving your innocence is a side benefit, but that’s all it is. If Winterseine gains the power of your brother’s estate and title, what happens to the alliance?”
“It fails, as he intends it to,” Laeth bit out angrily. “Slavery remains a part of Darranian culture. That’s tragic, but slavery has been around a long time. Eliminating it in Darran isn’t going to stop it elsewhere. Plague you, Ria, it’s not worth the risk of your freedom.”
“What freedom?” asked Rialla intensely. “I am a slave. I spend all of my time trying to prove to myself that I am not.”
“Nonsense,” commented Tris. Rialla hadn’t noticed when he entered the room; he had dispensed with the magelight. “You were supposed to come straight here, not engage in a series of highly unnecessary heroics, and lead the hold guards on a white stag hunt all over the countryside while we sat here and worried. A slave does as she’s told.”
Laeth snickered. “I keep trying to tell her that, but she doesn’t listen.”
Rialla smiled, enjoying the exchange—but not accepting it. They didn’t know how insidious the slave mentality was, the fear of being beaten or worse: the need to please the Master.
“Did you clean your arm?” she asked.
Tris nodded. “I can’t get the bandage tight, though. It’s in an awkward place.” He handed a long, narrow cloth to Rialla.
She hesitated then said, “I’ll need some light.”
He produced another light, and she wrapped the cotton tightly around his upper arm.
“This looks like you were raked with claws,” she commented.
“We ran into something in the tower,” said Laeth. “I didn’t notice whether it had claws or not.”
“Something that smelled like it came from a swamp,” added Tris. “Apparently someone wanted to make certain that Laeth would die.”
“I told Lord Winterseine I was going to stop Lord Jarroh,” said Marri hesitantly from the bed, “even if I had to sleep with Jarroh to do it.”
Laeth started laughing. “I bet you had him convinced that you were a mouse all this time. Did you call him a stupid mule too?”
“No,” said Marri, “I called him a murderer. I knew that you hadn’t killed Karsten: you don’t have it in you to commit such an act. The next most logical suspect was Winterseine. Especially since he was working so hard to convince everyone that you were the guilty one.”
“I wonder what he sent after Marri,” mused Rialla. “I think that you’d better take her with you to Sianim, Laeth.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “I had intended to do so. I wish you would come with us.”
Rialla shook her head again. “No.”
“I’ll tell Ren what you are doing. He ought to be able to find you and get you out, if you can’t do it on your own.” Laeth obviously wasn’t happy, but he knew her well enough to understand that he couldn’t change her mind.
“Thank you,” said Rialla.
“I suppose, then, that we had best be out of here,” said Laeth briskly.
“Let me get some things together,” said Tris, heading to the front room. “I’ve got some sturdy clothes that might fit the lady, if she’s not too choosey. I wondered what I was going to do with them when the farmer gave them to me for healing his ewe. I’ve traded bread as well. It should only take me a moment to find everything.”
True to his word, Tris took only a short time to pack a pair of large saddlebags. He hefted the load and handed it to Laeth.
With the bags over his shoulder, Laeth took Rialla’s hand and kissed it with a courtier’s grace.
Rialla patted his cheek gently with her free hand, and then shoved him on the shoulder hard. “Get going before they find those horses. Keep it to a walk if you can; they’ve had a hard night. If you bear northeast into Reth, you should be safe enough; most of the soldiers are searching in the southeast, toward Sianim.”
“I’d planned on it,” he said. “I have some friends in Reth that we can stay with and rest the horses. Luck to you, Ria.”
“And to you,” she replied.
Laeth turned to Tris. “Thank you for your aid this night.”
Tris shrugged it off. “If you and your lady reach Sianim in safety, that will be thanks enough.”
Tris followed them out, saying that he could conceal the obvious tracks and if anyone saw him wandering around in the dark, they would think nothing of it. There were several plants that were more potent if picked at night.
Alone in the cottage, Rialla went back to the bedroom and fell on the bed with a moan; she couldn’t believe how exhausted she felt. She closed her eyes and couldn’t seem to open them; she groaned when Tris roused her again.
“Sorry, I know,” he said apologetically. “But I have to get you cleaned up before someone wonders why a badly wounded slave is covered with mud and tree limbs.” As he spoke, he pulled off her borrowed clothes.
She was just far enough out of her stupor to know that she should be objecting to his actions, but couldn’t seem to find the energy to do it. He wiped her down with a damp cloth and put her slave tunic back on with minimal help from her.
It worried her to be so sluggish, and she fought free long enough to say in a frantic voice, “What’s wrong with me?”
“Shh, it’s all right. Healing is very wearing on the body. Normally after what I did, you would sleep for a whole day rather than leading a pack of hunt-mad guards on a will-o’-the-wisp chase.” As he spoke, he took a comb and began working it through her hair, ignoring her irritable complaints when he tugged too hard. “We’ve got to get the rest of the leaves out.”
Finally he laid her down in the bed, but he didn’t cover her. Instead he sat beside her and said, “Rialla. Wake up, just one more time. Come on, sweetheart.”
Responding to the urgency of his voice, she just managed it. The dawn lit his craggy face, and she could read the reluctance in it.
“If they see that I’ve healed your leg, they’re going to be suspicious.” He seemed to be having trouble with what he was saying.
“We need to give them a slave with a wounded leg,” she said.
Tris nodded.
Rialla worked up the energy to smile. “If you have a knife, I’ll do it.”
He shook his head. “No need for anything so crude, but it’s still going to hurt.”
Her eyes closed again, but she laughed anyway. “Give me a minute and I doubt that I’d feel it if a mule kicked me.”
She was wrong. When he reopened it, she cried out—too tired to be tough.
He carefully set stitches to keep it from scarring, then covered the wound with a numbing salve and wiped the involuntary tears from her cheek with his thumb.
“All right now?” he asked.
She nodded and closed her eyes and didn’t open them again for several hours.
6
The sun was almost finished with its journey to the west when Rialla woke up. She still felt tired and her leg ached. With the instinct of the hunted, she knew that some noise had roused her from her healing slumber. She closed her eyes again and listened.