Gamon peeled back part of the eel's skin, but there was too much tortured flesh to see clearly. He could not tell how old the wound was. “Do the teeth still pump?” he asked her.

  Dion shifted, and Hishn whined, inching forward on the ground until she could put her head on the wolf­walker's leg. Dion forced the words out from between clenched teeth. “The first poison is—gone. The teeth have been in—about nine or ten hours.”

  Aranur dropped his pack, pulled his water bag from his shoulder, and began searching for a clean cloth. “We'll need fire,” he said to Tyrel and the girls. The three youths nodded, and in a few moments a small, smokeless blaze had been built within a pocket in the rocks. It would be easy to hide later and, with the stone as reflecting walls, would take little fuel to make the fire hot.

  “You'll have to burn away the back of the head,” Dion told them with difficulty. “Expose the roots of the teeth. Then use my cutters to— cut off the ends of the roots.” She stiffened involuntarily as Gamon shifted her hand again. When she con­tinued, her voice was lower and breathy, and Rhom tightened his grip on her shoulders. “It will make the inner barbs relax so you can pull the teeth out,” she said finally.

  Gamon nodded. He took his knife and handed it to Aranur, who set both that blade and his own into the fire, then got Rhom's knife, as well.

  “Aranur.” Dion stopped him as he turned away. “The scouts are within hours of you.”

  “I know.”

  “They found the trail by watching the river.”

  “We can talk about that later.”

  “No.” She lifted her head from her brother's chest and stared at Aranur. Her violet eyes were dark, and there was no hint of the wolves in her gaze. “That cloth—it was Namina's. And this—'' She picked awkwardly with one hand at one of the pouches at her belt. “I found at another spot along the banks.'' She held out the now-dried ball of thread. “The scouts said they had found her combings days ago.”

  He looked at the threads and stained cloth for a long mo­ment. “I see.”

  “Healer,” Gamon said quietly. “I'm ready to begin.”

  Dion turned her head into Rhom's shoulder again and gripped Hishn's scruff with her free hand. “All right.”

  She made no sound as he burned away the eel's skin with one of the knives. She gagged once at the stench. Hishn, who growled continuously, was held down by the wolf­walker until she began to whine. Then Dion released her, and the gray wolf leapt away, scraping her paws over her nose until Dion ordered her to stop. The wolf slunk away a few meters, then dropped to the ground and laid her head mournfully on her paws. The wolf­walker found her free hand in Rhom's grip.

  “Almost down to the teeth,” Gamon said softly. “Just an­other minute.”

  Aranur glanced over his shoulder to find that Tyrel had retched. Shilia looked sick, too. Namina was pale, staring away so that she did not have to see, and it was to her that Aranur strode.

  He hauled her to her feet. “Namina,” he snarled, “this you will watch.” She struggled against his iron grip for a moment, but he propelled her closer. “You, too, Tyrel,” he snapped. “Get your head out of the dirt and get up here.'' He motioned. “We—I trusted you to use the river alone, Namina. Look at what your carelessness has cost.” The horror on the girl's face was plain, and she twisted to free herself, but Aranur did not let her go. “This could cost us not only Dion's hand, but our lives, as well. The scouts have been following us by your signs.”

  Tyrel had stepped forward. He gagged again—a reflex—but held his stomach down. “It's not all her fault, Aranur,” he managed. “I was with her at the river sometimes.”

  Aranur looked at him. “I know that, Tyrel,” he said coldly. “And you had better learn from this, too.”

  “I can see the tops of the teeth now, Dion,” Gamon murmured. He took the small cutters she had pulled from another belt pouch and held the tool gingerly. “Aranur, I'll need some help.”

  Aranur glared at Namina for a moment, then released her and she fled back along the trail until Shilia caught her and held her close.

  Gamon glanced back only briefly. “Take these,” he said to his nephew, “and cut the roots of the teeth when I pull the edges of the flesh away like this. There—try that one first.”

  Dion gasped. They both stopped for an instant, but Hishn had only whined, not leapt up to guard her wolf­walker. Dion had not moved her hand. “Go on,” she whispered. “The inner barb just released.”

  By the time Aranur cut the last root, the sucker's teeth had begun to slide out of the back of her hand and the head of the eel was hanging off her mangled flesh. Aranur gingerly lifted the head away, his lips tightening at the sight of what was left of Dion's hand, and Gamon tossed the rows of cut teeth into the fire.

  The wolf­walker did not lift her head. '' Wash it,” she said in a low voice.

  Aranur motioned for a cup, which Shilia brought, leaving Namina to huddle on the trail by herself. Shilia poured the liquid and handed it back to him with another clean cloth, and he absently nodded his thanks, his eyes not leaving Dion. “I cannot stitch it, Dion,” he admitted.

  She laughed unevenly. “Nor can I.” She pried her good hand free of Rhom's grip, and he shook his arm out where his sister's fingers had left deep marks. She gripped the elbow above her mangled hand until what was left of her flesh turned pale. The bones were laid open to the air amid the red and tangled flesh, and they seemed to shift as the flaps of torn muscle lay first over one, then the other. “Wash it,” she repeated. “I'll deal with it later.”

  Aranur hesitated. “Will you have the use of it again, Dion?'' he asked quietly.

  Rhom's jaw tightened, and he could not help the glance he threw at Namina.

  Dion shrugged as best she could. “I'm a wolf­walker.”

  The tall man looked at her steadily, then dipped the cloth into the water and began to dab at her hand.

  “It will not hurt me, Aranur.”

  He looked up. Her eyes were still dark; her jaw was tight, and her grip on her elbow tighter. He knew what she was doing, and he knew that she was lying. Even a nerve pinch could not hide what she was feeling.

  She looked at him. “If you don't do it, I will have to.”

  He hesitated again, but when Dion shifted, as if to take the cloth away from him, he shook his head. “I will do it.”

  She closed her eyes halfway through his work, and her knuckles grew pale, then whiter. Hishn, who whined con­stantly, paced the ground a few meters away, lay down again, then jumped up and paced again.

  It will be over soon, Gray One, she told the wolf.

  Hishn paused in her pacing, lips pulled back from her fangs so that it seemed as if she would bite the air to lessen the pain. But she finally sat, and Dion did not look at her again.

  Aranur sat back at last. “That's the best I can do, Dion.”

  She opened her eyes, and Rhom released her. Then she examined her hand dispassionately, as if it belonged to some­one else.

  “Rhom,” she said. “The second and fourth pouches. There is a silver-lined vial, and a packet that smells like bitter smoke. Crumble one leaf and then pour two drops from the vial onto it. Mash it together and spread it as best you can over this.” He nodded, detaching the pouches easily and pulling out the items. “I'll be ready to run in a few minutes, Aranur,” she told the other man.

  “Dion—” he started, then stopped. They had already spent a half an hour there. If the scouts were so close on their trail, he needed to keep the group moving at almost any cost. He nodded shortly.

  “I'll keep your pack, Dion,” Rhom said under his breath as he handed back her pouches. She did not argue, though she stopped Aranur before he rose.

  “Aranur,” she said, “stay as far from the river as you can. The scouts—they're Longear's. They're the ones that have been herding us to the north and west again. And they're seeding the water with mudsuckers. The water bodies east and north of here are already stocked. And they mentioned a swamp.”

  “I see,” he said again. He did not speak to Namina as he strode back along the trail. “Gamon,” he said to his uncle, “brush out our tracks. Tyrel will help. I'll want Rhom up front.”

  The weapons master met his gaze. “How is Dion's hand?” Aranur shrugged, but Gamon saw the expression deep in his nephew's eyes. For a healer not to have the use of both hands ... and for it to be the fault of someone under Aranur's leadership ... The older man turned away and motioned for Tyrel to follow.

  Chapter 4

  Do you trust yourself---

  With your dreams?

  There are images

  That know they will not survive

  When you wake

  It was near evening. Four hours had passed since they last stopped to rest, and even Aranur's legs had deadened to the trail. The two times they had crossed running water, he had made sure it was where the streams ran fast and no sucker could find a hold. Dion ran as if her hand did not trouble her, but Aranur knew differently. There was a tightness to her eyes that had not been there before.

  She should try the internal healing—Ovousibas—on herself, he thought. As a wolf­walker as well as a healer, she could do Ovousibas just as the legends of the ancients described it. For centuries no one had believed it could be done, until Dion had stumbled upon the secret and learned to focus her mental en­ergy through the bond of the wolves to heal injuries and illness without touching an herb or a knife. Aranur had seen Dion use Ovousibas half a dozen times now.

  But, he reminded himself, he had never seen her do it on herself. He glanced back. Was it possible for her to heal her own hand? Ovousibas was draining—the few times he had seen her use the skill, it had left her shaking and starved, as if the energy it required had been drained from her own body. And what if she needed both hands to do the healing in the first place? He frowned. Dion could not bend her fingers, and even he could tell that the tendons and ligaments themselves had been torn from her bones by the mudsucker's hold. If he sug­gested Ovousibas, he wondered, pausing to view a small meadow before crossing it, would Dion be willing to try it.

  As he paused, Rhom caught up with him, and Aranur real­ized that it would not be Dion who hesitated, but her brother who protested the use of her skill. Rhom did not believe that Dion could escape the curse that had followed Ovousibas for the last eight hundred years. And though Rhom had seen his sister do the internal healing without contracting the plague afterward, he was still uneasy.

  Aranur shook his head to himself, then shrugged at Rhom's questioning glance. “Let's stop here,” he said. “We can climb the hill from here—the rocks will hide our tracks well, and that ridge will shelter us from any eyes on the path.”

  The blacksmith nodded. “I'll scout the other side.”

  But the wolf­walker, who had just reached them, disagreed. “I'll scout, Rhom.'' She motioned to the wolf, and had already taken two steps past Aranur when he stopped her.

  “Dion, your hand—”

  “Does not affect my sight.”

  Aranur frowned, glancing at Rhom for backup, but the blacksmith shook his head. “She's still a better scout than I.”

  “And as a fighter with one hand?”

  Dion met his eyes. “It will be a brief run only, Aranur. I will stay out of sight and be gone no more than twenty minutes.”

  A moment later, she was on her way, and Aranur was staring after her, wondering if he should have ordered her to stay while the rest of the group made its way up the hill. She would do what she wanted anyway, he knew, and he smothered an oath of irritation as he turned up the hill after the others.

  Dion and Hishn returned fifteen minutes later. They had not gone far, but there had been no sign of scouts within scent or sight. Dion was relieved. But Hishn, who sensed the wolf­walker's body as much as her mind, knew that Dion was fight­ing the pain of her hand with activity. The Gray One hinted at sleep for both of them, and Dion nodded absently. But she stopped in the darkening shadows of the trail before climbing the ridge to join the others. Above them, Tyrel was sitting guard in a pocket of stone overlooking the trail, his warcap removed, sandy hair fluffing lightly in the wind. Dion frowned. Tyrel did not see them.

  His eyes are tired, not sharp, Hishn commented.

  Dion absently rubbed her wrist where the throbbing of her hand broke into her thoughts like a fire pulsing against her nerves. She clenched her right hand against the pain of the left. It was easier to ignore the wound when she was doing some­thing. Examining the boy's position again, she noted the way his view was blocked by a thick clump of brambles on one side. It was blocked by an outcropping on the other, as well, she realized. Tyrel had stood watch many times before. He should have known better. We could get within meters before he saw us, she sent softly.

  Beside her, Hishn snorted arrogantly. Even Aranur cannot see a Gray One at dusk.

  Dion gave her a sideways look. You've been too long from the company of other wolves if you think you're that good on the hunt, she teased ungently. She directed the wolf toward the bramble patch. There will be a trail through there.

  Hishn snorted softly. A belly trail, she returned in disgust.

  Dion smiled without humor. You challenged, so I lead.

  She eased back into the woods until the bramble patch was between her and Tyrel, then ran in a low crouch toward a small game trail that led directly into the barbed brush. In a flash, she was on her stomach and worming her way inside. At her heels, Hishn's hot breath snorted in the dirt until Dion shushed her.

  The trail led to the right, then branched, with one branch leading up the hill, and that was the one she chose. It was dim within the brambles. Only spots of light broke the shadows where the leaves accidentally let the evening sun trick its way inside. But the shadows were a blessing. Once out of the brambles, Dion and Hishn could use the shadows in the rocks to sneak closer. Neither Tyrel nor any of the others would see them—or any scouts, Dion reminded herself soberly—coming. She untangled her clothes carefully, without shaking the brush, and while Hishn grumbled behind her, she eased up the hill. It was a good thing that Longear's men would not look for tracks in this sort of game trail. She had been careful of using her hands, especially the left one, but her knees and elbows made marks she could not hide.

  Moments later, she lay at the edge of the barbed vines, her eyes darting from side to side as she looked for signs of anyone watching. She stayed on her stomach to crawl out of the trail, then rolled into the shadow of one of the small boulders that littered the bald ridge. A second later, she eased closer to the boy until she leaned against the boulder behind him. Hishn, slinking up beside her, breathed silently, her ears twitching as she caught each movement the boy made. The wolf­walker cleared her throat.

  Tyrel whirled. “Moonworms—” He shot a glance behind him to see if Aranur had seen how Dion and the wolf had appeared.

  Dion brushed the dirt from her leggings as she watched him. “There are many trails to the top of a hill, Tyrel. Not all of them are obvious.”

  “But how—”

  “The brambles, Tyrel.” She shifted her sword back to a comfortable position, careful of her left hand. “But we could have come over that bulge, as well.”

  He glanced at both blind spots and flushed.

  Moving into the camp, Dion paused and looked back. “When you are Lloroi, Tyrel, you'll have to think like all your people—those who work with you as well as those who work against your leadership. Only then will you understand all the possibilities of your actions.” She stepped up to the camp, greeting Rhom and the others quietly. Behind her, Tyrel moved to a spot from which he could see both outcropping and trees, but his shame took a long time to fade.

  “How is your hand?” Shilia asked as Dion picked up her pack and unrolled her blanket.

  Dion shrugged.

  “If you need help ...”

  The girl's offer trailed off, and Dion smiled briefly, her expression unreadable. It was not Shilia who could help her, she knew, but Aranur. He could hear the Gray Ones as Dion could. If Dion was to try Ovousibas on herself, which she was considering, she would need his strength, as well. Rhom could also hear Hishn, but Dion and her twin were too alike to work together in the internal healing. The touch of Rhom's thoughts against hers was a grating shock—like a baring of intimate truths she could not stand. Where Aranur's touch gave her strength, Rhom's burned, and she knew it was to Aranur, not her twin, that she would have to turn. She gripped her wrist again, pinching the nerves to deaden the pain. But the tempo­rarily respite only made the throbbing more intense when she released the hold. She gritted her teeth.

  Shilia glanced at Dion's tight face. “Gamon said it would be a dry camp again. He said there were too many scouts around.” The girl prodded her thin blanket into a more comfortable pile and pulled off her equally thin boots. “I'll be glad to reach a road after this. I don't think I ever appreciated how nice they were to walk on, and how nice dnu are to ride—their six legs go a lot farther a lot faster than my two.''

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41