Hweilan took deep, careful breaths, slowing her hammering heart. She listened to them arguing which way to chase.
After awhile, she heard horses galloping away, following the gap between this hill and the next. When the hoofbeats had faded, Hweilan waited, listening. Ravens in the distance. An intermittent breeze rattling the leaves higher up the hill. Nothing more.
Knife still in hand, Hweilan made her way back down the hill.
Nothing moved in the camp. All the horses were gone. Not a Creel in sight. Scith lay against the roots of the fallen tree, his chin resting on his blood-spattered chest.
Hweilan ran to him. It was even worse than she'd feared. The Creel had cut both of Scith's ankles and sliced through the thick tendons that ran from his shoulders to chest. To keep him from bleeding to death, they'd burned him from heels to halfway up each calf. His left side had been scalded so badly that his shoulder was a blackened husk that faded into red blisters and peeling skin to the center of his chest. But the right shoulder had only been singed and was still leaking blood. The weak pulse of red fluid was the only sign Scith was still alive. Hweilan had seen worse. But the smell… a sickly sweet reek; it caused her stomach to wrench and brought bile up to the back of her throat.
"Oh, Scith…"
She reached out but could not bring herself to touch him.
He'd never walk. Not without a healer.
Scith lifted his head. Scith was the strongest man she had ever known. Even more than Soran, whose strength lay in his unyielding rigidity. Scith's strength was deeper. Both kinder and crueler. Primal. But now, his head wobbled with no more strength than an infant's. His jaw hung slack, and bits of bloody drool ran from the corner of his mouth.
He took a ragged breath and said, "Behind you!"
Hweilan whirled.
One of the Creel was coming out of the brush, a long, curved knife in hand. Watching her watching him, he froze. Neither of them moved. Neither breathed. Then the Creel straightened and smiled.
"You… no moving," he said in Damaran. Then he screamed in Nar, "Back! Come back! She's here!"
"No!" Hweilan said.
"You no worry," the man said. His lips peeled back in what he obviously intended as a smile, but emerged more of a leer. "You beautiful. No cutting for you."
"Run," Scith rasped.
Hweilan kept her eyes fixed on the Creel. "I'm not leaving you."
The Creel's leer melted away and his eyes hardened. "You drop knife now."
She raised it. "No."
The Creel tossed his own knife from hand to hand, then twirled it in his right. He began taking slow steps toward her. "You drop it. Or I make you drop it."
"Run!" Scith said.
Hoofbeats in the distance. The other Creel returning. It had all been a ruse to draw her in, and she'd fallen for it.
The Creel flipped his knife, caught the blade, then flipped it again. The leather-wrapped hilt slapped his naked palm. "Last chance, girl."
Hweilan lowered her knife. "I will. Just… just don't hurt me."
Scith let out a long, low groan. "Run," he whispered.
Keeping her gaze fixed on the Creel, who was still slowly advancing, Hweilan crouched and set her knife on the ground. Right next to the campfire.
"Good," said the Creel. "Good, girl. Step back. Now. By your friend."
Hweilan's hand grasped one of the rocks the Creel had used to surround their fire. The outside of her glove was wet, and it sizzled against the hot stone.
"What-?" said the man. The sound of hoofbeats was very close now.
Hweilan stood and threw the rock as hard as she could. Wearing the thick gloves, her aim wasn't perfect, but the man was only a few paces away now. She aimed for his forehead, but the stone smashed into his mouth. He fell screaming.
She kicked the contents of the fire over him, then went for her knife. She was shaking all over, and her hand, encumbered by the thick leather of the glove, fumbled around the handle. As she scrambled for it, her eyes met Scith's.
In that moment of frozen time, that one brief instant between one heartbeat and the next, she saw it. Scith was dying. Each beat of his heart weaker than the last. Each breath a struggle. Every thought a battle. One he would soon fight no more.
Her fingers closed around the knife, and she turned.
The Creel was already on his feet, knife in hand. His eyes looked more shocked than hurt or angry. The burning coals she'd kicked on him had singed his outer clothes in spots but done no real harm. He spat a black glob of saliva and blood. Hweilan thought she saw a small chip of white-a tooth-in it.
"Stupid girl," he said in Nar. "Maybe I cut you anyway." A rider broke through the brush and reined in his mount on the edge of the campsite. Three others came in behind him, the last leading the fifth horse. They took in the scene, and all but one of them erupted in laughter.
"Seems we're just in time," the leader in Nar. "Lucky she didn't kill you."
The man on the ground spit another gob of blood and said, "She tricked me."
"It's her," the man said.
Everyone looked to who had spoken. It was the rider leading the extra horse. The one who hadn't shared in the laughter. He was studying Hweilan intently. "The one Argalath wants. The one who hurt Jatara. That's her."
The Creel all returned their attention to Hweilan. None were laughing now, and the man on the ground looked more apprehensive than angry. The riders fanned out, and the unsmiling one let go of the riderless horse. The beast tossed its head, snorted, then trotted back into the woods.
Hweilan waved her knife. "Stay back!" she said in Nar.
The nearest rider was only a few dozen paces away now, but he was having trouble getting his horse to come farther. His mount pranced and fought at the reins. Two other riders had gone back to the brush, and Hweilan could hear them trying to circle in behind her.
Hweilan couldn't gather her thoughts. Everything in her screamed at her to run, but she knew that even if she could get away-and that seemed very unlikely-she couldn't leave Scith. Not like this.
The man with the knife began to creep forward again. He gave her a bloody smile. "We'll be rich."
"You need to catch her first," said the leader. He'd brought his horse in behind the man on the ground and was trying to bring it around to her left, but the beast seemed reluctant to get too close. "Put the knife down, girl. We'll get the fire going again, have some hot food, then go back to your home. We'll even see what we can do for your friend."
"Home?" Hweilan had a hard time spitting out the word. She remembered the smoke, the glow of fires in the distance. The corpses outside the wall.
Vandalar feeds the crows…
Your mother is dead…
She screamed, more grief than fury, and charged.
The leader's horse shrieked and bucked away, its rider cursing as he tried to get it under control. Part of Hweilan's mind heard the other horses charging, but she focused all her attention on the man with the knife.
She made her attack clumsy. A feint, bringing the open edge of her knife around in a wide arc aimed for the man's face. He stepped back, caught her wrist easily, and squeezed.
"Now," he said. "Drop the kn All breath shot out of his body as the toe of Hweilan's boot hit him between the legs. His grip on her wrist melted away. She yanked her hand free and felt the edge of her knife slice through his glove and into flesh. He tried to scream and lurch away at the same time, but his knees collapsed beneath him.