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Chamtivos lost the smirk he wore. Something neither human nor Kai nor anything belonging to this world stared back at her and Karulin. They both retreated a step. “It isn't your place to protest or judge. Here I am king.”
He didn't wait for a reply but strode to where the other men gathered, making plans for the following day and exchanging wagers over who'd make the first kill and how they'd do it. Karulin bent to pick up the gag he'd dropped to the ground. He held it out to her, face hard with a quiet fury and equally resolute. He held the gag out to her. “Do you want this?” She nodded. Cloth strips came in handy for numerous reasons. He folded the gag neatly, tucking it under Serovek's prone form. “You can retrieve it once I'm not so close to you.”
His actions were odd as was his statement. Bound as she still was, her mobility was severely limited.
“Will you be one of the hunters tomorrow?” Anhuset hoped not. She'd regret killing him and only him. He might be as twisted as the master he served, but she trusted her instincts and her judgment, and they told her Karulin was nothing like Chamtivos.
His lips thinned. “That depends on whether or not Chamtivos requires me to prove my loyalty to him.” He shrugged. “I'm an adequate hunter and better with a sword than a bow.” Her eyes widened at these key details he shared with her. His voice, already low, softened even more. “There are four archers among us who are far more skilled than the rest. Without them, you might survive.” He backed away. “Good luck, sha-Anhuset.”
He returned to the boats where the others had already begun boarding. Chamtivos regarded him from his place at the bow of one boat, reminding Anhuset of a snake studying unsuspecting quarry. Karulin ignored him, and she guessed he'd not turn his back on his master, figuratively or literally, any time soon.
She watched them row away, leaving her and Serovek without provisions or weapons of any kind. She'd expected no less. Wrists and ankles still bound, she'd have to find a way to cut herself free, otherwise she was useless to Serovek and herself. A small, triumphant cry burst past her lips when she discovered a treasure folded into the creases of the gag cloth tucked under Serovek's shoulder: an eating knife. Small, easily hidden, and just as sharp as any fighting blade she normally carried.
Chamtivos had a traitor in his midst, or at least a man who felt it necessary to even the odds a little more between predator and prey. Karulin had managed to wrap the knife in the gag cloth without anyone noticing, including her, relying on the hunch that Anhuset might want the cloth as either a bandage or a weapon. He was her enemy, her adversary, but at least an honorable one, unlike that craven dog to whom he gave allegiance.
She cut her bonds away and used the gag cloth to create a makeshift sheath for the knife. Chamtivos might have stripped her of her weapons, but she wasn't without. She had teeth, claws, Karulin's knife, her training, and her wits. They'd not find her easy prey to hunt and kill.
Serovek was another matter. Up close he looked in even worse shape, battered and bloody. No doubt she'd find more contusions and worse under his clothes. His breathing was quick but not labored, a good sign that. Even if his captors had broken a rib or two, they hadn't punctured a lung.
She lifted a few strands of his hair, sticky with blood, away from his abused face. “The cruelties of lesser men inflicted upon a greater one. I'm sorry, Serovek.” The sight of his injuries seated a cold fury deep in her gut, and she almost wished Chamtivos and the gutless lackeys he commanded would turn their boats around start the hunt now just so she'd have the pleasure of ripping their heads off and feeding their bodies to whatever lurked in the lake's depths.
It was late morning, and she had less than a full day's cycle to get herself and Serovek to some form of shelter and plan how they might survive. “Come on, margrave. We can't stay on the beach forever.”
They were exposed on the beach. The conifer wood covering most of the island offered the camouflage of shadow as well as darkness that she saw far better in than her human adversaries. There would be places to hide. Small caves, outcroppings or niches, swales overhung by tree branches with deeper ditches that could serve as ambush trenches. Anhuset hoped the island dwellers were less menacing—and smaller—than what she'd seen in the lake itself.
She eased Serovek onto his stomach, wincing when he emitted another groan. “This is only going to get worse for both of us before it gets better,” she assured him.
Kneeling at his head, she hooked her elbows under his shoulders and clasped her sore wrists at his back. He sagged in her arms, dead weight, his head resting between her breasts.
“And humans complain the Kai are heavy,” she muttered. “I think I could carry Magas easier.”
Widening her stance, she slowly raised him to his feet, using her legs to support him. With his feet still dragging the ground, she wedged her thigh between his legs, grabbed his left hand with her right and draped it over her shoulder. Every punch and kick she'd taken after head-butting Lewelis made itself known in the sharpest way when she pressed her head to Serovek's side, squatted and curved him over her back for a lift off the ground.
Sweat trickled down her face and dripped into her eyes as she took one staggering step, then another and another toward the tree line.
She adjusted her weight and that of her burden until she had her legs solidly under her and could walk without staggering. Soon, she adopted a steady pace, Serovek heavy on her but not impossible to carry despite his considerable bulk.
Heated by her exertions, she welcomed the shade the towering firs offered. She'd miss the warmth later, but for now the chill helped as she climbed the island's slope.
Thorny underbrush clawed at her clothes. She wove through a labyrinth of majestic trees, their needle-shaped leaves whispering to her while they swayed and creaked in the steady wind coming off the water. Serovek grew heavier on her back with every step, and the air in her lungs scorched a path on the inside of her bruised throat with each breath she took.
Exhaustion conquered her halfway up the slope. Dizzy, gasping, and in danger of dropping her burden, she staggered to a spot mostly clear of the rapacious underbrush but still padded with a carpet of fallen fir needles.
The process of lowering herself to the ground and rolling Serovek off her shoulders and onto his back left her seeing double. She collapsed next to him, listening to the thunder of her heartbeat in her ears.
Once her heart stopped racing and her lungs no longer threatened to catch fire, she checked Serovek. He still breathed, the rhythm deeper, slower as if he sensed that for now he was safe in the company of a friend instead of among enemies. Anhuset gained her feet to explore their immediate surrounds. The conifers, statuesque and close together, bound the forest in an endless twilight. Mushrooms and lichen grew in abundant patches on the forest floor and on flat rocks.
Luck smiled down on her when she spotted an expanse of stone with a shallow indentation in its center, a water-catch that still held a gathering of morning dew hidden from the sun. She didn't have a cup to scoop up the water so unwrapped the gag cloth from the knife and saturated it until water trickled through her fingers as she held it in her palm.
Serovek's bloodied lips parted as she squeezed a stream of water into his mouth. He swallowed everything she offered, the tip of his tongue swiping over his lower lip to catch the last drops. Anhuset used the damp cloth to lightly swab his face and break the crust of blood sealing his eyelids shut.
He regained consciousness gradually, his eyes moving back and forth beneath the thin skin of his lids, and his breathing changed once more. One eye finally opened to a bare squint, his gaze made even more hideous by the blood threads marring the whites of his eyes.
“Ah gods,” he said in a rough voice. “We made love, didn't we? And I don't remember any of it.” He shifted position, cursing from the pain it caused him. “You weren't jesting when you said I wouldn't survive you.”
He was a sorcerer in his way with his ability to coax out her amusement in even the direst of circumstances. Pleased more than she could express at his revival and his humor, she pushed his hair back from his forehead with a careful caress. “Obviously, you aren't dying.”
“I'd probably feel better and hurt less if I were.”
