Rudimentum: Oracle

Chapter 13

Swift, having barely ridden a horse in his life, gripped the reigns with white knuckles, his thighs pressed tightly against the horse's flanks. On shore, Anne had shown him enough to know how to not fall off and to command the horse forward and to stop. The rest he acquired through observation while at dockside and at the races he enjoyed wagering on.

The night sped past him. Trees dashed alongside him and the horse's breathing echoed his urgency. The thumping hooves filled the silence and became the only sound he heard.

His thighs ached and his wet clothes clung to his body. He shivered as the cool rushing wind pierced his wet skin. The small burns on his face stung in sharp pain.

The straight road ahead of him dragged on for eternity.

Meehan's last words kept stabbing his mind. He knew he could not trust a single word that fell from his mouth, but he could not stop himself from wondering if he spoke the truth. That Meehan could have saved them, but his black heart stopped him.

Then again, his own black heart had stopped him from doing many things.

Swift shook his head and instead focused on the city walls growing closer as the hour nearly passed. It was easy enough to shut off his heart, he had been doing it for most his life, but now after Anne and Ed, it had become harder to lock that chest. Then came Elysia, a woman who had the balls to stand up against him, and William, a man whose life could have been his.

He gritted his teeth. As he neared the city's gate, he slowed his pace. The hooves clanged off the stone bridge over the river and he narrowed his eyes against the brightly lit gate. The guards on the wall and gate eyed him through the shadows of the torches.

He ignored their looks, knowing he needed to hurry. An hour had already passed, and it was still an hour back. He remembered William's face, as pained and as pale as a wilting moon, and the moans from Chief Tienbuck's people who laid wounded beside their friends and family.

Scanning the horizon of houses and buildings, he spied a tall, red-bricked tower on the left side of the city. A beacon of light shone from a fire burning at the top. That must be it, he thought. He approached one guard, aware of the noticeable blood on his leg.

He pointed at the tower and asked, "Is that red tower where I will find the physician, Fredrik Nathanael?"

The guard stood beside him, sleep heavy under his eyes. "Aye. That there's the marker for the infirmary where he usually is."

He nodded and urged his horse to a trot and weaved his way through the streets, keeping the tower in his view. Torches lit the roads with shadows and the clouds had dispersed enough to let the stars breathe. He continued down a narrow thoroughfare, the tower now looming above him. He passed under an archway and a courtyard opened before him.

A large red building greeted him, and he wasted no time. He galloped to the large wooden doors and leapt off his horse. His left leg buckled, and he fell against the horse swearing loudly. Gripping his thigh, he hobbled to the door and pounded his fist against it.

"Fredrik Nathanael!" he shouted, his voice ringing in the silence. He continued to bash his fist until he saw a light within the window and heard the click of a lock.

The door swung open to reveal a woman not much older than himself. Strands of brown hair fell from her updo and she wore an apron over a simple red dress. She stared at him wide-eyed.

"Are you in need of help?" she said. Her eyes fell on his blood-stained leg. "Oh my, you are bleeding!" She swooped down to his leg and spoke quickly. "We need to clean the wound and it most likely needs—"