Shadow Weaver (Back on Wattpad 2020!)

Chapter 35

Soldiers lift Brin from a litter to the back of the healer's cart. He whimpers, head tossing from side to side as though he's in the throes of a terrifying nightmare, despite all the medicine he's been plied with. Tug watches, arms folded, and expression neutral. But I sense war raging in the serpentine ravines of his mind.

Two soldiers mount their horses. The Duke has ordered them to escort Brin to the nearest town and see him installed at the healer's. It will be a hazardous journey through the forest, considering Brin's condition. Even when they reach the flat land beyond the river swamp, the way is not without danger. If the bird-men return, they do not stand a chance.

Only the healer who has been well paid and instructed to send regular word of Brin's progress, appears satisfied with her new charge and change of fortune.

A soldier approaches and announces my tent is ready. I thank him, and with a last glance over my shoulder at the departing cart, head for the tent so I may change my dress.

The center of the tent is tall enough to stand in. A hemp rug lies unevenly across the hacked down bush and shrubs beneath my feet. Two small wooden chests sit open on one side of the shelter, overflowing with silk embroidered robes that look startlingly out of place.

I take my water flask and hairbrush from my saddlebag, and wash my face, wiping dirt and blood on the hem of my torn dress. Then I sift through the dresses, searching for the cobalt gray robe I wore in Lyndonia the morning Duchess Elise took me to visit Kel.

Breathing is awkward. I am not looking forward to the next five hours' riding. But at least my mare was not hurt when a bird-man tripped her with his lasso. I cannot imagine abandoning Dancer, nor seeing her suffer just so I may reach our final destination.

I struggle to rip apart the hook-and-eye closures on the back of my tattered dress. Pain flares with each sharp, tugging movement. I don't have the strength to break the top hooks. With the back of my dress gaping, I peer out from the tent, hoping to borrow a knife from a nearby soldier.

Tug is walking in my direction, away from where the troop is gathered. Unless he is going to relieve himself, he is heading to see me. Unlike the soldiers who erected the tent and promptly vanished, he is the only man around here who couldn't care less about my privacy.

I consider ducking back inside. Standing in front of Tug with my dress half falling off is not a welcome thought. But Brin has gone and the unit will want to move on. I will be stuck half-dressed with everyone wondering what is taking so long, otherwise.

"The Prince asked me to give you this," Tug says when he is closer. He holds a slim bell-shaped phial half-full with yellow pus-like liquid. "It's Nocturne Melody, a pain reliever."

Pretty name for something so foul looking. I take the glass bottle, pop the cork and sip. The acrid taste makes me want to vomit.

"It is usually drunk by men dying on the battlefield. Unless you're planning on a soldier carrying you to the Red City you should slow down." The icy shards in his voice set me on guard.

That moment in the forest, of complicity, of working together, of relief at seeing each other alive, has vanished. Perhaps he is angry with me because Brin might die.

"I need a knife," I say. "To get my dress off."

He takes the short knife from his belt. The blood on it is still fresh. He steps closer, eyes accusing, and wipes the blade on the sleeve of my dress. I flinch as though he's just spat in my face. With most of the blood now on my sleeve, he lays the knife flat in his palm like a challenge.

I slip the pain reliever into the pocket of my robe, and reach for the handle. An ink engraving on the hilt bears the same beast markings as the tattoos on his face. I take it, and with a smile I do not mean, thank him for his help.