“Should we bathe the wounds first?” Maia asked.
“If we had a pond, yes. But he will die if we do not get him to a healer soon. He may die regardless.” He sighed deeply. “I have seen worse, by Cheshu, but not many. I once saw a lad who tripped and sliced his leg open to the bone. Lay the woad on thick, lass. There you go. Do not be stingy.”
Maia worked quickly, covering the wounds on the kishion’s shoulder. In short order, the makeshift bandages were applied to keep the tender areas away from the elements. She was exhausted and drained, but grateful that Jon Tayt had been there with her. His knowledge had been invaluable.
“How far to Cruix Abbey?” she asked him.
“Two more days at a slower pace. If he could walk, we might get there faster. But even if he does, it will hobble the journey. We have left a trail a blind man could see, so we best hope the bloody Dochte Mandar still think you are with the king. The abbey is the fastest way to find a healer. I know a prince in Mon who would help us, but his castle is farther north.”
“How do we carry him?” Maia asked, brushing her stained hands on her cloak.
The hunter snorted. “We?” He hefted the kishion up on his shoulder. “Argus!” he clicked his tongue and the dog padded up next to him.
A small fire crackled, warming Maia’s hands. She fed it with small chips of wood. Jon Tayt had built it in the hollow of some stones to help prevent the light from revealing them. Argus was huddled next to her, pressing against her leg, muzzle buried in his paws. He stared dolefully at the flames. Jon Tayt leaned against a nearby tree, his beard drooping against his chest, the low rumble of snores coming from him regularly. She heard the woodland insects of the night clicking and clacking in the dark, lulling her to sleep, but she struggled against their call. They all needed to rest, but Maia could not let herself fall asleep. Only two more days, she repeated again and again in her mind.
After a while, another noise joined the chorus of the night—the chattering of the kishion’s teeth. Her own cloak had joined his, both of them tucked up to his neck, and he was so near the fire it threatened to singe him. She stared at the kishion’s sweat-drenched skin, feeling a terrible premonition that he was battling his own death in his sleep. It was strange to watch him sleep. She wondered how many times he had watched her. As if he had been roused by her thoughts, his eyes suddenly opened and he struggled against the clutch of the cloaks.
“Be still,” she murmured, placing her hand on his chest.
He squinted and glanced wildly around the darkness before returning his gaze to her, his expression softening into relief.
“Good,” he mumbled, blinking fast now. “I dreamed I was buried in an ossuary. Still alive.” He shuddered again. “Nightfall?”
“Yes,” she replied, gazing down at his face. He had walked part of the way that day, but his legs were weak, and the pain from his wounds was so intense it had made him black out again.
“It does not hurt,” he mumbled. “I can go on.”
“Let Tayt sleep a moment longer,” she said, patting him. “Rest a bit. I will keep watch.”
He looked her sternly in the eye. “You look weary.”
She gave him a shallow smile. “You look injured.”
He grimaced at the comment and adjusted his bulk slightly. Convulsions rocked through him again.
“You should leave me,” he whispered hoarsely. “I am slowing your escape.”
She smirked. “I think you know me well enough by now,” she said, “to know that I will not do that.”
“You should, though,” he said simply. “If you have ever longed to escape me, now is your chance. I am helpless.”
“I do not repay loyalty with dross,” she answered.
A look crossed his face. It was as inscrutable as most of his expressions were, but it was almost as if he were surprised by her words. He chuckled darkly, causing an agonizing coughing fit. His body shuddered with his injuries. “Never make me laugh, lass,” he said in a half-strangled voice. “It is a torture. I am not loyal to you. I was paid well.”
She brought up her knees and rested her forearms on them, then rested her head on her arms and looked at him. “We are well past the obligations of duty, kishion. I saved your life last night. Just as you have saved mine countless times.”
“If you were wise,” he said with a stifled groan, “you would abandon me right here. Right now. I do not deserve pity. Yours especially.”
“Perhaps not, but I give it to you anyway. I am grateful we have a moment to talk. There are questions I must ask you.”
His chest heaved and sagged, but his icy gray-blue eyes did not shy from hers. He said nothing, though she could tell he dreaded her questions.
“Will you be truthful?” she asked him softly.
He continued to gaze at her, then nodded once. It was the best she was going to get from him.