AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I went about setting up the camp and making the fire, ignoring him as he sat hunched on a nearby log.
At least we had plenty of food. I had checked the pack horse and even if Draven had not found a healer, he had evidently managed to find stores selling fresh supplies. There were cuts of venison wrapped in heavy wax paper, root vegetables, and loaves of bread. Our sacks of barley, oats, beans, and other grains had all been refilled. Rounds of yellow cheese and links of smoked sausages filled another saddlebag, their pungent aromas making my stomach growl. If we had to rest here for a few days, we were well-stocked for provisions. My cooking skills were limited but I could make sure we didn’t starve.
When the fire was roaring, my tent was set up, and Draven's bedroll was laid out, I quickly chopped vegetables and a slab of venison, threw everything into a pot to simmer over the blaze, then stepped over to him.
“No food until you let me look at it,” I said firmly, pointing to his chest. “Now.”
I watched him hesitate. Then slowly, he lifted his tunic, his face twisting into a painful grimace.
Blushing slightly I watched as he revealed hard planes of rippling muscles and honey-bronze skin. But my admiration quickly turned to horror as I took in the sight of the wound just below his breastbone.
Wincing, he peeled the edges of his tunic back to reveal the extent of the injury. The wound itself was deep and jagged. The skin around it was red and inflamed, with blackened edges and dark veins spreading out from the gash like twisted roots.
I gasped. “By the Three.”
The flesh around the wound looked as if it were melting away. A foul odor emanated from it.
I was stunned by his stoicism. “You rode all day like that? How could you endure it?”
Draven shrugged. “I've had worse.”
I felt a surge of anger. “I don't see how that's possible or you wouldn’t be here now. It's infected. Terribly infected. And your plan was what? To ignore it? Hope it would go away? Stupid, stubborn man!”
He cleared his throat, looking awkward. “I usually heal very quickly. This–this is not usual.”
“You can say that again,” I agreed. I thought quickly. “Poison. Whitehorn must have used poison on the blade. Like he did with the exmoor. The coward.”
Draven nodded. “Probably bloodwraith.” He began to lower his shirt slowly, clenching his teeth.
I couldn’t help it. I flinched. “Bloodwraith? Bloodwraith is fatal,” I said tersely, my voice low.
“Usually. Not always. Good thing I'm strong.” He tried to grin and wound up coughing instead. A deep rattling sound from the center of his chest. I watched as he limped his way back to the log he had been sitting on. “Stew smells good. Ready to eat?”
“Don't change the subject,” I said, my voice hard. “What are we going to do about it?”
He coughed again and I saw the effort it cost him to even do that much. “We’ll be near another village tomorrow.”
“Grimhold didn’t have what you needed. What makes you think this place will?”
He took a deep breath. I could see the sweat on his brow. “I know this place. Been there before. There’s a healer. A good one.” He met my eyes. “We just need to get there.”
I bit my lip. “All right. Should we leave now? We could ride through the dark. I don’t mind if you don’t.”
He shook his head. “Sleep first.”
I watched as he ate his bowl of stew. The vegetables were still crunchy. Everything was too salty. But Draven ate automatically, spoonful after spoonful.
When he put down his bowl, I thought he would go over to his bedroll immediately. Instead he looked over at me.
“The markings on your arms.” He nodded to them. “What do you think they mean?”
“You’re asking me that?” I shook my head. “I was going to ask you that question.”
“They’re runes, of course. I’ve read about such things. But what they mean, who can say.” And yet still he studied them, his eyes scanning back and forth all the while, as if he were reading words from a page.
I crossed my arms over my chest and pulled my cloak around me.
“Your mother. Who was she exactly?”
