“No,” Gilla said. “That’s good.”
Cadr yawned, past the point of caring if the creature ate him or not. He stretched and then let the darkness take him, listening as the rumbling faded into his sleep.
“If she not move, arms die. Legs die.” Hanstau stood in the entrance to the tent, determined to make himself understood. He waved his hands and spoke slowly in his broken Plains.
The two guards just looked at him.
Hanstau huffed. Trying to explain the idea of atrophy with simple one syllable words was not the easiest task.
“They will not free me,” Reness said from behind him.
Hanstau looked back at her, grimacing in sympathy. Naked, bound hand and foot with leather ties to wooden stakes pressed into the ground, there was no way for her to move or flex. She had to be uncomfortable as all hell, and yet never once had he heard a complaint over the last few days they’d been housed together.
In many ways, she reminded him of his late wife. Stoic, calm, but Fleure had never had such a biting wit, nor would have borne the lack of clothing well.
Modesty was not an issue with Firelanders, but still. And while Hanstau had tried to ease the binds, tried to keep Reness clean, this had gone too far.
“It’s been days. This is intolerable,” he said, and turned back to the guards. “She must move, and clean, and eat or she will die.”
Reness spoke then, hopefully translating to get the idea through their thick heads.
The guards considered for a moment, then one shrugged and trotted off. The other motioned for Hanstau to go back into the tent.
He huffed, and did so, letting the flap fall.
“I explained,” Reness said. “Although I doubt it will accomplish much.”
“Worth a try,” Hanstau frowned at the naked woman, focusing on her wounded leg. He knelt by her side. “If they will let you walk and bathe, we can see about—”
The tent flap was yanked back, and Antas strode in.
Hanstau stiffened.
The blond warrior seemed to fill the tent with his bulk, armor and weapons all gleaming. There might have been a degree of handsomeness about the man, but it was lost on Hanstau. He’d seen Antas cut down others without mercy; those small eyes held only cruelty and viciousness.
He gave Hanstau a crafty smile. “What does my Warprize ask of me?”
Reness sucked in a breath, but Hanstau was past caring. “That she be permitted to walk and bathe and eat,” he said as simply as he could. “Or she dies.”
Antas lost his smile, and considered Reness with a frown. To Hanstau’s surprise, he gave a harsh nod, then started barking out commands.
The two guards entered, and were on Hanstau before he could raise a hand in defense. They forced him to his knees, his hands bound behind him, a blade at his throat.
Antas studied him. Hanstau snapped his mouth closed and glared back.
Antas smiled again, distinctly gloating. He knelt at Reness’s side. “If no thea,” he said. “Then no need, Warprize.” He paused, staring at Reness. “Understand?”
“Yes,” Reness said, grim of tone and face.
Antas freed her hand, stood, and left the tent.
Reness groaned, using the free hand to remove the rest of her bonds. She moved stiffly, and slowly, but she hadn’t lost any real strength that Hanstau could see. He shifted slightly, and the blade shifted with hm.
“Antas ordered—” Reness started.
“I got the gist of it,” Hanstau said drily. “Go, walk and stretch. Bathe, if they will let you, and keep the wound clean.”
“I will not linger,” Reness said as she stood, took a few tentative, limping steps, and then left through the tent flap.
The guards, and the blade, remained at Hanstau’s throat.
Hanstau grimaced, careful not to move. This didn’t seem the most practical way to keep him compliant, but given Antas’s savageness, it was probably wise on the part of the guards. He resigned himself to a wait, however long.
He could recite prayers to the Sun God, or perhaps that section of the Book of Xyson that listed—
The tent flap opened, and Hail Storm walked in.
A chill lanced up Hanstau’s spine. He flinched, and regretted it. He was a Master Healer after all; nothing should faze him. But there was something wrong with this man, something in the depths of his eyes…
Hanstau wasn’t alone. His guards felt it, too; they stiffened as the warrior-priest approached and towered over Hanstau.
But Hanstau wasn’t going to take that, he glowered at the man, meeting those dark eyes with his own glare.
Hail Storm knelt, held out the stump of his arm, and unwrapped the bandage.
Hanstau stared at it. It looked good, considering that it had been cauterized to stop the bleeding. But he noticed something else.
The grass under Hail Storm was withering.
Hanstau blinked. They’d been in the tent for some time, so the grass wasn’t the brightest shade a green to begin with, given the lack of sun. But the grass under this warrior-priest was curling, browning, even as—
Hail Storm said something harsh.
Hanstau jerked his eyes back up. “Yes,” he said, not sure of the words, but understanding the tone. “It looks good.”
Hail Storm grunted, his eyes narrowed as he began to re-wrap his stump with the dirty bandage.
“No,” Hanstau said firmly. He wouldn’t let the Dark One himself do that on his watch. “Use a clean one.” He jerked his chin toward his satchel.
Hail Storm grunted again, and pulled it close to rummage within. This ordinarily would have upset Hanstau, but he was distracted by the browning grasses, and now that he thought about it… he squinted a bit.
There.
There was the glow he had seen when he’d been with Simus and Snowfall. The power that Wild Winds had warned him of. It too was there, in the ground, and it flowed away from Hail Storm’s presence.
Hanstau became aware that Hail Storm was studying him as he tied off the fresh bandage.
Hanstau noted the signs that the fever had broken, and that the infection in the arm had cleared. The man looked healthy overall. Almost too healthy for someone who had lost a limb.
Hail Storm stood, and Hanstau sucked in another breath. The knife at his belt; the blade was glowing with a purplish-black rage.
Hanstau yanked his gaze away, and focused on the foot of one of his guards. That made no sense; daggers had no emotions. But Hanstau could almost feel the anger in the knife throbbing from across the room. It was as if the dagger pulsed with power. Power about to be used.
Hanstau looked up.
Hail Storm was considering him with a slight smile. He placed his stump against the dagger hilt, and with the other he clenched a fist.
Every muscle in Hanstau’s body froze. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, as if he were clenched in the fist, helpless…
The guards each stepped back, removing the blade from Hanstau’s throat. He could feel its absence, but for his life he couldn’t move, couldn’t take his eyes off Hail Storm.
Whose smile was that much more satisfied.
Panic flooded through Hanstau, and he would have thrashed against the restraint. But he’d no control, and no air, and his vision grayed—
Hail Storm eased his fist open the slightest bit.
Hanstau sucked in the air his body craved, his chest heaving. He still couldn’t move, but at least—
Hail Storm tilted his head, and made the slightest gesture with his fist.
To Hanstau’s horror, his own head moved in a bow of submission.
He knelt there, unable to move. A deep shiver of fear wracked him, and a cold sweat broke out over every inch of his skin. His breath came in desperate pants. He was helpless, no control, no power.
Over him, Hail Storm laughed.
As suddenly as it had happened, it was gone. Hanstau found himself on his side, alone in the tent. Hands still bound, tears drying on his face. They were gone, the guards, Hail Storm. He closed his eyes in thanks for that.