“You, too, Luc,” the doctor added, and motioned to a squad of soldiers. “Get that crap off the battle prince’s armor!” Lucien shed the metal plates of his outer armor, as well as his gloves, as other soldiers hurried to wash them clean before he could put them back on.
Iain rushed over to the wagon and produced another bag, which he held out to Johna. This one Lucien recognized as containing the physician’s precious stash of alcohol. “Here. Use this instead of the water. It’ll act as a disinfectant.” Taking the blanket from Atty, the doctor eyed the battle lady. “If you have any of their blood on you, you best join her.”
Atty shook her head. “I didn’t have any direct contact with them. I’m clean. Speaking of clean.” She returned to her horse and pulled out a change of clothing from her saddle bags, taking them over to where Johna was finishing up. “Your clothes need to be burned. Put these on when you’re done. Afraid I can’t vouch for the fit.”
Johna accepted the replacements. “Doesn’t matter. My only other pair of pants and shirt are on their way to New Bearinger, if they haven’t been left behind. Thanks for the loan.”
While his accouterments were wiped down, Lucien remained where he stood, one eye on Johna and the other on the compound, in the event there was another surprise attack. He couldn’t help but notice the occasional flash of bare skin as the huntress worked to rid herself of the tainted gore. The memory of holding her and feeling her body trembling uncontrollably was still fresh in his mind, and his arms felt unusually empty with her gone.
A horse approached him from behind, stopping almost beside him. “Your observation may have saved a life,” a deep voice remarked. “That’s twice now you’ve shown sound judgment.”
He turned, a wry smile on his lips. “It’s been years since we’ve seen a Blood army. I’d almost forgotten about them.”
“So did we.” Yulen leaned over his stallion’s neck, his arms crossed on top of the saddle horn. “Are you okay?”
Two soldiers returned with his clean armor and helped him slip it on. Lucien thanked them before answering his father. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“You sure?” At Lucien’s questioning look, Yulen pointed to his shoulder. “You took quite a hit. I doubt Mizelle will be able to pound that out. Most likely he’ll just cast you a new one. Good thing you were wearing that neck wrap.”
Curious, Lucien examined the metal shoulder cap his father indicated. A large dent reflected where the Blood’s weapon had struck him. No wonder the blow had numbed his arm. He suddenly remembered he’d left Mattox’s dagger in the thing’s eye as Yulen pulled his horse around and called out to his wife. “Is she done?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Let’s mount up.” He gave the signal. “We’re going to push it to try and make up for lost time. Schutz Ridge is a day’s ride away.”
A soldier rode up with Lucien’s horse. Taking the reins, he called over to where Johna was refolding the blanket to put back on the wagon. “Never mind that. Leave it. It’ll have to be burned. Go ahead and get on the horse.”
“What about you?”
“I need to retrieve my dagger, or else my brother will have my hide when we get home.”
Smiling, the woman nodded. Tossing her the reins, he hurried to reclaim his weapon.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Durrow
The battle lord didn’t push them, but they kept to a steady clip and covered a lot of ground. A couple of times Yulen went to talk to his men and captains, checking on them as he always did. Lucien also noted his father taking the time to inquire on the wounded Mutah. Iain rode next to the wagon to keep an eye on the man.
Less than an hour after they departed Whiterock, they came to a split in the road. Yulen studied the trail that turned southward as they continued on toward the west. Curious, Atty asked, “Where does that lead? Do you know?”
“I don’t know where it eventually ends up, but Alta Seran is in that direction.”
Lucien perked up as his mother softly wondered aloud, “Do you ever think about him?”
Him. Rafe D’Jacques. Fortune had told Lucien about the time his father’s half-brother had tried to take over Alta Novis by force, claiming since he was firstborn, the compound was his by right. But Rafe’s hatred for all things Mutah had led the man to abusing Atty, as well as many others. In the end, Yulen had killed him and sent Rafe’s mother, Janelle Callahan, back to Alta Seran.
Yulen gave his wife a loving smile. “Not if I can help it.” That seemed to satisfy Atty, and they said no more about it.
Surprisingly, the battle lord called for a halt a little past midday. Believing they’d made good headway, he gave everyone an hour to eat and stretch their legs before returning to the road. Johna grabbed her spear and vanished momentarily between the trees. Lucien took the opportunity to go over to where his mother was already cooking a couple of squirrels she’d managed to snag during their trek. The smell of roasting game over the open fire made his stomach growl. Atty flashed him a smile, which let him know she’d heard it. “Dinner will be ready shortly. Where’s your friend? She’s welcome to join us. There’s plenty.”
He turned to go get Johna, when a sneeze caught him off-guard. It didn’t come from him. Surprised, he gave his mother a concerned look, which she waved off. “Pepper.” She sniffed and blew her nose on a rag. “Hurry. We eat when your father returns.”
“He’s returned,” Yulen drily remarked as he strode into their personal campsite and took a seat on one of the mats she’d placed on the ground. Holding out his hands toward the fire, he looked at Lucien. “Was that you who sneezed?”
“No. It was Mom.”
Yulen turned to Atty, who waved at the sizzling squirrels. “Drop that expression, D’Jacques. I got some pepper up my nose.”
Chuckling, Lucien went to get Johna. When they returned, Iain had joined his parents. Lucien and Johna took a seat next to him as Atty carved portions from the meat. “Good thing about squirrels is they cook fast,” his mother remarked.
“They smell wonderful,” Johna praised her.
“Do you cook?” Atty inquired, handing the young woman a trencher.
“No.”
“You should learn. A good hunter doesn’t just kill the meal. He should be able to cook it, as well.”
“The kitchen staff at home uses a lot of Mom’s recipes,” Lucien informed her. “You know how tough beaver can be? It’s not like that when it’s fixed Mom’s way.”
“Iain, how’s our new friend?” Yulen asked the physician.
“He’s stable, thankfully.”
“What have you learned? Anything?”
Iain accepted a trencher from Atty, thanking her before answering. “His name is Durrow Chalom. He’s a fruit and seed merchant. He told me that about a month ago a woman and her young daughter arrived in Whiterock. She claimed to be looking for employment. So the compound took her in, and shortly afterwards people started getting sick. Within two weeks they were dying.”
“Was the woman sick when they took her in?” Atty questioned.