The Captain's War

Chapter 3: News from the South

Wen watched the candles in the window flickering through half-closed eyes. Her patient, the Ryak stranger, lay quiet and still beside her, breathing slowly. The young woman had stirred a few times throughout the day but had yet to awaken fully. Wen was worried there might be a head injury. It was hard to tell under all the bruises and scrapes. She stroked Fern, who was curled in her lap, and let her head nod against her chest. It had been dark outside now for the better part of two hours. Jai had gone to his room, preparing for sleep. He had wanted to wait up with the Ryak, but Wen had forbidden it. The boy needed his rest. Moroka came in for supper and left again with Owl, the hound, to search for small game in the twilight. She supposed he would be in soon enough. She might make him watch her patient for a while, once he made an appearance, although she suspected he knew that and was staying out longer because of it. He was queasy about healing work.

Just then she heard the front door rattle. As though her thoughts had summoned him, Moroka and Owl came in amid a storm of clicking nails, whining, and panting.

"About time you got back!" She called, turning in her chair so she could look at him through the open workroom door. "Did you catch us anything?"

Moroka reached back to untie his long black hair with a sigh. "No. It was strange, Wen, there wasn't a rabbit in sight. Owl couldn't even get a good scent. And the brush was all trampled down, too, like people had been moving through on horseback." He shook his hair out around his shoulders and bent to scratch the hound's ears.

Wen frowned. "Hm. Did you see anyone?"

"No. Not a soul."

"Odd."

Owl cavorted into the guest room and placed his shaggy head on Wen's lap, displacing Fern, who leapt down with a disgruntled chirp. She stroked the dog's head and thought. No large trading caravans had come through town in weeks, and the North Woods, where Moroka hunted, was usually fairly quiet. Perhaps there was a bandit clan stalking the fringes of the village. She would have to speak with the watchtower guards in the morning. They would have seen signs, surely, if there were brigands about.

"Well, Owl enjoyed the run, anyway," said Moroka, coming into the room and folding his gangly frame into the unnoccupied chair on the far side of the bed. "How's she doing?" he asked, inclining his head towards the unconscious young woman.

"Still the same. She hasn't stirred."

He glanced down at the woman's bloodied face, cringed, and looked away. "Maybe she knows why there's no game."

"Maybe," Wen replied. "Jai thinks she was attacked. That might have something to do with it."

Moroka raised his eyebrows. "Did he? I didn't know he had opinions."

"Oh, hush. You and I have got enough opinions for this household."

They sat a moment in comfortable silence. Wen scratched under Owl's chin. The hound sat, his long, whiplike tail thumping against the ground. Then he pulled away and went to the bed, sniffing along the blankets, finally shoving his nose in the Ryak woman's ear. Wen lunged for his collar. "Owl!" She snapped. "Back! The poor girl can't defend herself."

To her surprise, the Ryak woman moaned and turned her head away from the dog's wet snout. Then, suddenly, her eyes blinked open, and she fixed Wen with a wide-eyed stare.

"Hello," Wen said.

The woman opened her mouth and grumbled a few words in the Ryak language. Her brow furrowed in confusion. She cleared her throat and tried again. "What...?"