Sighing, I allowed Finn to remove the hauberk and the padding I wore underneath. As soon they were off, though, I took them back to inspect. There was a slight deformation in the hauberk’s metal links where the quarrel had struck, which corresponded to a small tear in my padding where the tip had poked through. While there wasn’t any blood on the hauberk, there was a bit on the padding, but no more than when I nicked myself shaving. Looking down at my side, I could see more clearly where the quarrel had hit me; the skin was slightly broken and red, the area around it bruised from the force of the strike. But there was nothing that would have caused me to fall out in pain.
Finn must’ve thought the same thing, for he frowned and stretched out a hand to the bruised scratch. And frowning back, I shifted out of reach. Helping with shirts and armor was one thing; gratuitous touching was another. Besides, I had enough of people taking liberties with my person. The diminutive servant blinked, then flushed red. “I—I have some salve, my lord,” he offered.
I shook my head. “Not now.” I looked over at the trio at the window, but they were all still engrossed. Figuring that I’d waited long enough for the Faena, I started to don the padding again, but Finn pulled it from my grasp and, before I could stop him, went to the fireplace, where he examined it and the chainmail in the light of the flames. Scowling, I started to go after him but was stopped by Jeff. “Don’t be stupid,” he said, standing and tucking various sharp instruments away. “The king will wait while you tend to your hurts.” He gave a small shrug. “Anyhow, I don’t know that we need all this rushing about. Just because no one from the garrison has been seen doesn’t mean that anything’s happened to them.”
I looked at him.
Jeff’s mouth crooked in a half smile. “All right, I’m being stupid. It’s that I can’t imagine anything happening to Suiden.”
I couldn’t either. “He’s not invincible,” I said anyway.
“No, he’s not.” Jeff sighed. “Even if he seems like it.”
“I know,” I said. “I was just thinking about the time we were patrolling by the village Omeagh and found all those bandits waiting for us. Suiden didn’t even blink.”
There was a creak as Arlis raised his head, his red-rimmed eyes staring at us—and a suspicion flashed through my mind. “I wonder, though, how they knew we were coming,” I added.
Arlis flinched.
“They must’ve heard it from the villagers,” Jeff said, not noticing. “I’ve always wanted to know where all the bandits were coming from in the first place. You wouldn’t think that there’d be that many broken men in all the northern marches, let alone in the mountains above Freston—”
A whole series of creaks sounded as Arlis tried to stand. He fell back on the bed, his legs giving out.
I sat aside my suspicions on how the Mountain Patrol’s schedule became known to smugglers. Sort of. “Maybe you should stay here, Arlis,” I said.
“No,” Arlis said.
“You haven’t slept for two nights running,” I said. “It’s not good to be exhausted going into battle.”
Arlis put his hands against the mattress and pushed, this time successfully levering himself off the bed. “You and Jeff haven’t slept either.”
“Like you care,” Jeff said.
I shook my head and Jeff fell silent. “We’ve had more than you,” I said to Arlis. “You look bloody awful.”
“Do I?” The side of Arlis’ mouth kicked up. “Well, you’re not looking so sweet yourself.”
“It’s not just lack of sleep, Arlie,” I said.
Arlis’ mouth went flat. “Are you ordering me to remain here? Sir?”
“Perhaps all three of you should stay,” Laurel said, finally looking up from the bolt.
“What?” Jeff, Arlis and I asked at the same time.
“Separate Rabbit from Iver’son?” Wyln asked. “That may not be wise, Laurel.”
“I will also remain with them,” Laurel said.
“You’ve had just as much sleep as they have,” Wyln said.
“I have gone without before and managed not to hurt myself,” Laurel said. “Besides, there are other protections. Like Cais.”
Finn, still at the fireplace with the padding and chainmail, gave Laurel a narrowed stare.
“True,” Wyln said. “Still, do we want Two Trees’son here while all the others are elsewhere?”
“Cyhn?” I asked.
“You’d have to fight the king to keep Rabbit here when he leaves, Faena,” Dyfrig said, entering the lists.
At least, I think it was Dyfrig, as I knew everyone else’s voice and whoever had spoken wasn’t any of them. Standing in the halo of light from the window was a young man—well, younger than Dyfrig had been in a long while, He looked the same age as my eldest brother, all lines and wrinkles gone, his body straight and tall, and his blue eyes piercing bright, his hair the color of ripened wheat. Though he wore church robes, he looked as though he should’ve been wielding a doubled-edged broadsword.
Or a flourishing a cutlass while sailing the ocean blue.
“Bones and bloody ashes,” Jeff whispered.
“He has come into his full power,” Laurel began.
“I didn’t change like that, Laurel,” I said.
“No, lad,” Arlis said, his eyes wide. “You surely didn’t.”
“That’s because you’re not him, Rabbit,” Laurel said. “Nor is he you.”
“Profound,” Dyfrig said in a light baritone. “But while it would be interesting to discuss the mysteries of individuality and the singularity of the person, we do have more pressing concerns.” Plucking the quarrel from Laurel’s paw, he hefted it in his hand and my shoulders twitched. “I’ve heard how you were laid low by one of these, Rabbit, yet there’s hardly a wound.”
“Maybe the bolt was magicked,” Jeff suggested. “I’ve seen Rabbit hurt before and he’s never screamed. At least, not like that.”
Arlis looked at the scratch on my side and his brows flew up in astonishment. “That made you scream?”
“It hurt,” I said, my gaze fixed on the quarrel. “A lot.”
Wyln took the quarrel from Dyfrig’s grasp. “There are no marks on any of the quarrels. Nothing about them that would make them any different from any other crossbow bolt. We asked Elder Dyfrig if he could find aught amiss, but he could not. Even Iver’son, who has an acknowledged ‘feel’ for the talent, handled one like it was a stick found in the woods.” He started towards me and I found myself backing up. “However, you made sure that you had the length of Iver’son’s desk between you and them. And even now you retreat as if I held a fanged asp—or a Pale Death.”
“Pale Death?” Dyfrig asked.
“An extremely venomous weaver,” Laurel said. His ear flicked back. “One moment you were on the ground writhing in agony and the next you were on your feet, ready to fight the revenant. What happened?”
Just a vision of the Lady Gaia—however, I wasn’t about to say that in front of the doyen, even if he looked as if he could be the scourge of the southern seas all by himself. Or maybe it was because he did look as though he should be sailing under a pirate’s flag.
“I took it out,” I said.
“That was obvious. Why?”
“Why?” Damn. I tried to come up with something that my rune would accept, but my thoughts felt as though they were moving through treacle. “It just occurred to me—” Pain exploded across my palm. Hell. I’d bent the truth too far.
Laurel looked down at his own truth rune and then his other ear went back, both flattening against his skull at the confirmation of my lie.
“I see,” Wyln murmured.
They both moved towards me and I backed up, my mouth twisting in a snarl.