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I took the swallow ofsithevielDaerith pressed upon me, the drink’s heat far softer than the echo ofaelflameinside my veins. “My thanks,” I murmured, trying not to look guilty of eavesdropping. “How fares my lord Eol?”
The harpist shook his snow-crowned head, rubbing at the flask-mouth politely before offering it to Arn. “He may be well enough in time, if thenathlàsdid not leave a fragment in the wound. I begin to think the South able to withstand the Enemy well enough, if even its women are this brave.”
“Arn is brave.” I sagged against a handy tree-trunk while my shieldmaid drank. “I merely struck out in terror, my lord Daerith. There is no courage in that.”
The harpist studied me for a few moments, thoughts moving in his bright Elder gaze.
“We must move, and swiftly.” Even golden-haired Hadril, usually neat as a well-combed cat, was sadly bedraggled. “I no longer hear them screaming. Just the ice, grinding away.”
I could hear it too, the low unhappy sound as of mountains rubbing their shoulders together. For once Arn needed my help to rise instead of the opposite, and by dint of cooperation we both reached a position approximating upright.
Aeredh had reached his friend. He pushed aside Efain’s hand, then Eol’s mantle, jerkin-shoulder, and the layers of cloth underneath, ripping leather and black fabric further in his haste. His fingertips dove into the bloody hole revealed underneath; Eol cried out—not even attempting to muffle the noise—and stiffened, his eyes rolling back into his head.
I stared, my stomach roiling despitesitheviel’s soothing. “What is he—”
The Crownless swore in the Old Tongue, foully enough even the cold air cringed. “A splinter,” he said grimly. “I could just feel it; ’tis working deeper.”
“Leave him.” Daerith nodded to Arn, capping his blue glass flask with a swift, savage twist. “We can carry the women and the rest, but—”
“I will stay with him.” Gelad had gone pale. “Besides, I may halt them for some few moments, should they find us again. There is a blood trail now.”
“Stay with him?” The cold pressed against every inch of me, crusted ice weighing heavy upon my mantle. My knees were damp, and the rest of me followed suit. I would freeze miserably soon, especially if we tarried talking. “What are you saying?”
“You know what happens when it reaches his heart.” Daerith’s tone dropped, and he eyed the Northerners, who waded through snow to gather about their lord and Aeredh. “We cannot risk it. Thealkuinemust reach Taeron; you were right, my king. I shall never doubt again.”
Aeredh’s expression was terrible. He gazed at Eol’s sweating, chalk-pale face. “I have known him all his life,” he said, quietly.
“Either we leave him, or we all die.” Daerith’s answer was soft, but ruthless.
I looked to my Arn. Grimed with snow and dirt-laced ice, my shieldmaid gazed back at me. She arrived at understanding much swifter than I, for all I could comprehend the Old Tongue. A bruise was flowering upon her cheek, and both of us would be stiff as stone posts come morning—if we gained any rest at all tonight.
They are right, her eyes said,but I do not like it.
Nor do I, mine replied.Are you with me?
I did not even need to ask. She was at my shoulder as I pushed through the snow, sinking and struggling since there was no Elder to ease my passage. Daerith moved as if to bar my way, but Arn’s spear twitched and he halted, considering, his head tilted slightly and his lips thinning.
My hand closed over Aeredh’s shoulder. “Step aside,” I said in the Old Tongue. At least I had the benefit of listening to their accent for a long while now; mine had become tolerably pure. “We of the South do not leave our allies to die.” I fixed Efain with my mother’s most quelling look, the remains of a great weirding trickle-burning in my eyes.Seidhrmay be spent swiftly, but every living thing slowly accumulates more simply by breathing—and I suspected I would need every iota I could gather soon. “What ails him? A splinter, a fragment from the nathlàs’s blade?”
“It will travel until it reaches his heart. Then, when it does—” The scarred Northerner halted, staring at me with some astonishment. “The whole time? You have known our language this entire time?”
Suddenly, even through the terror and the ice and the devouring exhaustion from spending so muchseidhrupon flame-calling, I felt a curious comfort. My mantle lay over myseidhr-bag, but there was no time to dig through folds of cloth to find what I needed. “Arn, your lodestone, quickly. You.” I pointed at Gelad. “Something to clean the wound. Karas, take his other arm; Elak! Something to bind it with after I draw the thing free. Efain, you and Karas hold him, but tilt him back.Move!”
It was the same as when Ysderas the Fisher had the harrow accident, or Nifa’s daughter Kevryn fell through rotten ice andnear-drowned, or Flokin’s hunting mishap the year I gained my first inked band upon both wrists, or the ague that swept from the river when I was fourteen winters high. The same as difficult births when the baby wishes to come feet-first and must be coaxed otherwise—or worse, torn quickly free so the mother may be saved. I had the benefit of watching Idra bind many a wound and concoct many a cure; later, Dun Rithell and neighboring settlements turned not just to her but to us both. As the saying goes, a warrior may kill but thevolvais mightier, for it takes far more skill to heal than to wound.
This, I knew how to do, and Eol would not gainsay my aid now.
I shoved Aeredh aside, not gently, and perhaps the Elder was stunned, for he did not resist.
“Arn, watch his feet; he may thrash.” I stripped my gloves off, my knuckles aching with cold. My shieldmaid had already dug in her belt-pouch, and her lodestone dropped chill into my palm, sending a faint thrill up my wrist. The Northerners moved with alacrity too, following my direction.
The only impediment was Daerith. “We do not have time for this,” he hissed. “The nathlàs will climb free of that hole and hunt us through the night, and—”
“Cease thy yapping.” I felt no qualm at my rudeness. Thevolvasays what she pleases at the sickbed’s side, for swift action means survival instead of agonizing death, and hers is the will that accomplishes it. “If you would be useful, watch the treeline and tell us if that foul thing approaches.”
“She knew all along,” Efain repeated, in a mutter. “Canny girl.”
I could not hesitate. I pushed aside cloth, my fingers slipping in hot blood, and slapped the lodestone against Eol’s wound.
