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Then Draven was there.
His voice was loud and angry as he cursed everything and everyone he could think of, or so it seemed at the time. The stars, the sky, the king, and, of course, Whitehorn. Most of what he said was too foul to repeat.
Then I felt strong arms scooping me, lifting me up into the air. I was placed beside the fire. A blanket was unfurled and placed over me. A rolled blanket slipped beneath my head.
I stared into the flames, too weak and in too much pain to care much about what happened next.
Hours passed. A strong hand was placed under my neck, lifting my head with surprising gentleness, while a cup of water was put to my lips. I lapped at the water, most of it trickling down my chin to my throat.
Draven was so near. Closer than he had ever been to me before. He smelled strange and familiar all at once. He smelled of leather armor and horse saddles, of woodsmoke and musk. There was something else there. A hint of spice. Sandalwood and cinnamon. He smelled good. Deep and earthy. I stole another sniff, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
His hand lowered me back down to the makeshift pillow and I heard him step away.
There was silence for a few minutes. The wind in the trees overtop the only sound.
Then, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing with that?”
It was Draven. He sounded angry.
“What does it look like? I’m preparing her dose. She’s in no condition to do it, is she?” Whitehorn sounded unnaturally calm.
I lay, waiting, wondering what would come next.
Then, a smacking sound and the ringing of tin against wood.
“What did you do that for?” Whitehorn. It was his turn to sound furious.
The medicine. The cup. Draven must have knocked it from his hands.
“She’s not drinking a sip of that shit tonight.” Draven’s voice was a threatening growl. “Just look at her. She can’t even move. What were you going to do? Pour it down her throat while she choked to death? Do you understand what comes next? Do you?”
“What?” Whitehorn’s voice was sulky, as if he didn’t really want an answer.
“She’s dying, you idiot. Can you get that through your thick skull? The stuff you’re giving her is killing her.”
“That’s not possible. It’s medicinal. The king himself commanded...” A scuffling sound. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing with that?”
“What I should have done a long time ago,” Draven snarled. “Sit down before I make you sit down.”
I forced my eyes open, blinking rapidly in the glare of the firelight.
Draven stood a few feet away from Whitehorn. He was holding the small canvas bag which contained the medicine Whitehorn carried in his pack.
I watched as he sniffed delicately at the bag’s contents. His brow furrowed, then he frowned. Holding the bag in one hand, he dug his other hand in, fishing around, then pulled out a handful of the herbal concoction and shook it in his palm.
“Put that back. It’s not your concern. You shouldn’t be touching that,” Whitehorn complained as he watched resentfully.
Draven ignored him. I felt an odd twinge of pride at the way he brushed off the other guard’s orders, while knowing to do so was to risk my brother’s wrath upon our return.
But then, did a man like Draven concern himself with the wrath of kings?
“Do you know what’s in this?” Draven’s voice cut through the air like a knife.
Whitehorn gave a lazy shrug. “How would I know that? Why should I care?”
“Why should you care? Perhaps because if she dies on our watch, this mission is over.” I watched as he stepped closer to Whitehorn, his tall figure looming over the seated guard as he held out something in his hand. “Look there. Those are iron shavings mixed in with the herbs. Did you add those?”
“Course I didn’t,” Whitehorn blustered, staring at Draven’s palm. But he looked as if he were telling the truth.
