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Serovek's mouth fell open. “They missed a knife on you?”
“Not mine,” she said. “Chamtivos's second-in-command. The two are at odds. Karulin is a decent sort if you don't count attacking travelers and holding them hostage for ransom money. And compared to Chamtivos, he's sweetness, light, and sanity. He left the knife on purpose. It was either an act of rebellion or one of betrayal.”
“It seems loyalty is hard to come by these days, no matter who you are,” Serovek said in wry tones. He tried to return the knife to her. “Take it with you. You don't know what you'll cross in your exploration.”
She pushed it back to him. “I have ten claws, sharp teeth, and can take down anything with the aid of a sturdy stick. I'm well armed. You need the knife more than I do.”
“I've no argument for any of that,” he replied.
She stood and brushed dirt off her trousers. “Good. Less time wasted.” A thought occurred to her. She needed some way to know if he was in trouble while she was gone. “Can you whistle?”
His brow creased in frown lines and he pursed his mouth. A clear, near perfect mimic of a flycatcher's song filled the air, carrying through the trees where a chorus of bird calls answered with full-throated enthusiasm.
“Impressive,” Anhuset said without a drop of sarcasm when he stopped.
“And hurts worse than being kicked in the balls.” Serovek pressed a hand to his mouth. “If you're wanting me to whistle a tune for you before you go, forget it.”
She resisted the urge to once more comb his tangled hair back from his face with her fingers. “Tempting but no. Whistle if you're in trouble. Something like a two-three-two pattern so I'll know it's you and not some bundle of feathers courting a female.”
“Anhuset.” Serovek crooked a finger and she leaned closer, admiring his long dark lashes and the swoop of his eyebrows. His mouth beckoned her despite its bruising and the remnants of blood in its corners. “Be careful. I don't want to lose you.”
The words sent a bolt through her. Words not of lust or teasing but of deep affection for her, of fear for her. Anhuset almost replied she wasn't his to lose, but that was no longer true.
She, who'd never subscribed to delicacy of any type, stroked Serovek's swollen face in a delicate caress. “Worry not. I'll take care and return soon.”
Her trek down the slope, through the forested labyrinth was quicker than she anticipated. She didn't dwell on the question of whether she was leaving Serovek or fleeing from him.
Chapter Ten
A beautiful butterfly with the sting of a hornet.
There wasn'ta bit of flesh on him that didn't hurt, and his insides didn't fare much better. Serovek had been in more than his share of fights in his lifetime and wore the scars as badges, but he'd never endured the kind of beating Chamtivos and his men had doled out to him. If he didn't piss blood or spit out a couple of teeth, he'd be amazed. If he and Anhuset lived through this fun little excursion the warlord had planned, he'd consider believing in merciful gods.
Once assured he wasn't going to die on her in the immediate future, Anhuset had sprinted down the slope, fleet as a deer. Chamtivos hadn't extended his particular brand of hospitality to her with the same zeal as he did to Serovek. Though it galled him, Serovek knew he'd serve her best by staying behind. He had to clear his head, pry open both eyes, and make himself useful to the woman who carried him across her shoulders over difficult terrain to get him to safety.
“Ugly you might find me, firefly woman, but I think you're beginning to like me,” he said to the stately firs surrounding him. Serovek smiled despite the pain it caused as he imagined Anhuset's expression had she heard him.
He took the damp cloth she'd used to give him water and clean his face, and soaked his right eye, glued shut by scabs. Hot threads of blood trickled down his cheek as he broke the scab and forced his eyelid up. The world remained blurry, but his depth perception was no longer skewed. He wondered if Brishen had dealt with the same when he lost his eye and how long it had taken for him to adjust.
Scooting closer to a young tree, he used the trunk as support to leverage himself first to his knees, then to his feet. He breathed hard, lightheaded from the exertion as well as the pain in his ribs, lower back, and face. Resting against the sapling for a moment, he rode out the first few waves of agony until his body accustomed itself to the discomfort enough that he didn't feel like bellowing with every movement. Leisurely convalescing wasn't an option. He had to move, had to walk, and at some point, would probably have to fight. He already considered himself a detriment to Anhuset. He wouldn't be the means by which Chamtivos would find it easy to kill her.
She'd left him the eating knife for defense, but knives were tools as well as weapons, and after what felt like a thousand years, he managed to scavenge a few sturdy sticks of decent length and thickness and staggered back to where Anhuset had left him. His mobility might be limited from his injuries, but his enemies hadn't broken his fingers. He settled down to craft crude but effective weaponry with the eating knife and sticks.
The day had aged into late afternoon by the time Anhuset returned, grim-faced but carrying an armful of items she'd scavenged during her scouting. She paused to eye the third spear he was whittling at, shaving off bits of wood to create a lethal tip at one end.
“A fishing spear,” she said. “Nasty bit of work if you take one of those in the gut.”
He honed one of the back-curved edges he'd whittled into the stick's tip, meant to hook onto whatever it grabbed and tear if prey tried to wriggle free. “I'm not inclined to show mercy to this group,” he said dryly, setting the knife and stick aside for a moment. “I see you were foraging as well as scouting. What interesting things have you brought back?”
She dumped what was in her arms into a small pile at his feet: a short length of rope stained with mildew, a tattered shirt, and a moldy basket of smooth round rocks. She held onto the best item of all, a gourd full of water, and offered it to him. “You're surely parched, but I don't think I need to warn you about why you shouldn't guzzle it all down.”
Serovek nodded his thanks, using the first sips to rinse the taste of blood from his mouth. The water was cold, and to his dry tongue and throat, sweeter than winter mead. “Water from the lake?” he asked between sips.
Anhuset folded in front of him, long legs crossed at the ankles, her knees bent so she perched like a butterfly with spread wings. A beautiful butterfly with the sting of a hornet. “Yes, though I kept an eye on the waves. Something or things patrols those waters. They're big, long like snakes and were very interested in our boats when we rowed here. They may not come ashore, but I wanted to be cautious, not eaten.”
He raised the gourd to her in a toast. “Who wouldn't?” This time he swallowed a more generous gulp, his belly cramping in warning as the water hit his stomach like a stone. “I don't much like the idea of you risking your life that way, but I thank you for the water. Rest assured I'll savor every drop.”
Was that a blush tinting the high ridges of her cheekbones? He hoped so. She didn't admonish him for laying on the charm, only nodded and slid the basket of rocks toward him.
