Hanstau stiffened.
The blond warrior seemed to fill the tent with his bulk, armor and weapons all gleaming. There might have been a degree of handsomeness about the man, but it was lost on Hanstau. He’d seen Antas cut down others without mercy; those small eyes held only cruelty and viciousness.
He gave Hanstau a crafty smile. “What does my Warprize ask of me?”
Reness sucked in a breath, but Hanstau was past caring. “That she be permitted to walk and bathe and eat,” he said as simply as he could. “Or she dies.”
Antas lost his smile, and considered Reness with a frown. To Hanstau’s surprise, he gave a harsh nod, then started barking out commands.
The two guards entered, and were on Hanstau before he could raise a hand in defense. They forced him to his knees, his hands bound behind him, a blade at his throat.
Antas studied him. Hanstau snapped his mouth closed and glared back.
Antas smiled again, distinctly gloating. He knelt at Reness’s side. “If no thea,” he said. “Then no need, Warprize.” He paused, staring at Reness. “Understand?”
“Yes,” Reness said, grim of tone and face.
Antas freed her hand, stood, and left the tent.
Reness groaned, using the free hand to remove the rest of her bonds. She moved stiffly, and slowly, but she hadn’t lost any real strength that Hanstau could see. He shifted slightly, and the blade shifted with hm.
“Antas ordered—” Reness started.
“I got the gist of it,” Hanstau said drily. “Go, walk and stretch. Bathe, if they will let you, and keep the wound clean.”
“I will not linger,” Reness said as she stood, took a few tentative, limping steps, and then left through the tent flap.
The guards, and the blade, remained at Hanstau’s throat.
Hanstau grimaced, careful not to move. This didn’t seem the most practical way to keep him compliant, but given Antas’s savageness, it was probably wise on the part of the guards. He resigned himself to a wait, however long.
He could recite prayers to the Sun God, or perhaps that section of the Book of Xyson that listed—
The tent flap opened, and Hail Storm walked in.
A chill lanced up Hanstau’s spine. He flinched, and regretted it. He was a Master Healer after all; nothing should faze him. But there was something wrong with this man, something in the depths of his eyes…
Hanstau wasn’t alone. His guards felt it, too; they stiffened as the warrior-priest approached and towered over Hanstau.
But Hanstau wasn’t going to take that, he glowered at the man, meeting those dark eyes with his own glare.
Hail Storm knelt, held out the stump of his arm, and unwrapped the bandage.
Hanstau stared at it. It looked good, considering that it had been cauterized to stop the bleeding. But he noticed something else.
The grass under Hail Storm was withering.
Hanstau blinked. They’d been in the tent for some time, so the grass wasn’t the brightest shade a green to begin with, given the lack of sun. But the grass under this warrior-priest was curling, browning, even as—
Hail Storm said something harsh.
Hanstau jerked his eyes back up. “Yes,” he said, not sure of the words, but understanding the tone. “It looks good.”
Hail Storm grunted, his eyes narrowed as he began to re-wrap his stump with the dirty bandage.
“No,” Hanstau said firmly. He wouldn’t let the Dark One himself do that on his watch. “Use a clean one.” He jerked his chin toward his satchel.
Hail Storm grunted again, and pulled it close to rummage within. This ordinarily would have upset Hanstau, but he was distracted by the browning grasses, and now that he thought about it… he squinted a bit.
