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“Surface wounds do not bleed so profusely!” I retort hotly. “Healer! Where is the healer?”
Verrick only chuckles, a little weakly, and says, “There’s no need for a healer, Pellia. There are those that need him more than I.”
“Then come with me,” I command. “I can wrap your wound so that the bleeding stops.” At least I think I can. How hard can wrapping a bandage be?
“We should move out as quickly as we can,” he tells me, not moving to follow my order. “They are gone for now, but they may come back with greater numbers. This first wave could have just been a scouting party.”
I didn’t think of that. “We are close to the village of Portia. We should ride there and stay for the night. They should have a village wall that can keep out the likes of werewolves.”
Verrick nods, looking tired. “We should make haste, then. Though, this means that we will not reach Grimblton tonight as we planned.”
“That doesn’t matter now,” I say. “We need to get everyone to safety. We can worry about our journey later.”
Besides, we would just be running right into a trap, I think,and it would not be good for Verrick to be wounded when we face the Cabal.
The Warchief turns away from me and shouts, “Alright, round up the dead and wounded into the wagons and move out quickly. We ride for Portia!”
Verrick then puts out his hand and I take it, letting him pull me onto the back of his warbeast. Once atop the mount, I reach out and rip strips from my shift’s skirt and press the fabric into my lover’s side to staunch the bleeding. He does not so much as wince, though I am pressing most forcefully.
The wagons straighten out as they follow Verrick orders. We will need to burn the dead when we get to safer quarters.
Then we ride, leaving the slaughter behind us.
???
Later we are in a room in the inn at Portia. I fuss over Verrick, much to his apparent amusement. Using a rag, I wash the blood from his body and we wrap his wounds. The slashes on his arm go through one of his tattoos and I exclaim over it.
“Your poor tattoo! When it heals, it won't look quite right.”
Verrick snorts. “It’s alright. Scars are a warrior’s honor. I do not mind them.”
“Well,Imind them. You could have been killed, Verrick! Why did you ride off into the woods by yourself?”
“I wanted to stop them before they got to the wagons, but there were too many. I’m only sorry that I couldn’t kill more ofthem before they reached the guards. We lost too many today.”
His words make me somber. Four guards and one orc died in the attack, quick though it was. I will need to write my personal condolences to their families and see about giving them a hero’s pension. If it weren’t for them, the wolves might have broken through the wagons and killed so many unarmed people.
Still, I go to wash Verrick’s arm before bandaging it and am surprised to find a rough texture under my cloth. More scales?
I take a closer look and notice the tiny texture of scales under each tattoo that I can see.
“Is there a reason that you only have tattoos where there are scales?” I ask.
Verrick touches his forehead, a little self-consciously, I think and responds, “This? A youthful rebellion.”
I raise my brows, trying to picture the serious, honorable Verrick as rebellious and fail. I say, “You must have been very young then, for I cannot imagine that now.”
With a rueful chuckle, he responds, “Yes, I was not quite an adult, only nineteen. Before I even met Lucy. I ignored the warnings of my father and went to find my mother.”
“Oh.” The tone of the conversation shifts. I can tell this story does not have a good ending, despite that, I will not stop him if he wants to tell it. I move on with my ministrations, wrapping his arm as I have with his side, mutely listening.
Verrick nods his head. “I was full of all the piss and vinegar of a young orc, ready to slay dragons and make my name. But first, I wanted to see my mother. To meet her and her people.”
“And did you? Find her I mean?”
He grimaces, some of the light going out of his eyes. “Yes. It took a month, but I finally found her pod of sirens. They were as beautiful and terrible to behold as my father had always said. When I found the guards that bordered their village they were going to kill me, but one of them noticed I had the markings of a siren-born. They took me to an abandoned island and told me to wait. I was there for hours before my mother finally arrived. Ithought she would be happy to see me, glad that I had grown up strong and capable.”
“But she wasn’t?”
