Fugitive of the Sky

Chapter Thirteen: Ominous Words

A few days later, the hunters finally came to a village large enough to have a sizable guest house. Hornar went off to the marketplace to buy supplies and see if he could find a trader, farmer, or traveler with whom they could hitch a ride to Liron. Even Natan was beginning to tire of taking turns carrying the girl on his back. Hitching a ride might be slower, and it might cost more money, but it would be much less obvious than marching into the city with a beaten girl on their backs. Tampul had slipped off, ostensibly to visit some old friends he'd seen plowing the fields. Notir had snorted and remarked there'd never been any old friends in these fields before.

Notir sat down on his mat in their rented room and threw his pack off. He worked his shoulders, twisting and turning to get the aches out of his back. "Trader, you take care of th' girl this time. I'm goin' down t' take a drink." He stared at Natan, ready for a challenge.

Natan held his anger in check with an effort. Unfortunately, it hadn't taken him long to partially revert back to his grumpy old self and Notir was back to actively trying to anger him. So far he'd been taking every opportunity to try to get him riled up whenever Tampul and Hornar weren't around. And as much as he hated to admit it, Notir was pretty good at getting him mad.

They stared at each other for a few tense seconds. Natan forced himself to breathe evenly. If Notir saw he was angry, he'd only think of some other jab that really would take him into the mountain. Eventually, Notir tensed his shoulders one last time and got up. He made a point of pretending to trip and knock Tampul's pack over. "You can clean that up too!" he called over his shoulder.

Natan couldn't help growling as Notir closed the door. "I'm not your personal slave."

He got up and went downstairs to ask the pinched woman in charge of the guest house for a bowl of water and some rags. Pushing Tampul's spilled clothes out of his way, Natan fished cloth bandages and a herb dressing out of the top of Hornar's pack. He'd bought some from the head woman at the border village, but yesterday it had stunk so much they'd given up and traded it for some less noisome medicine. The leather-skinned woman had assured them it was just as potent and would be enough to heal the girl's wounds.

Natan knelt beside the girl and started to dress her wounds. She hadn't moved from where Hornar had laid her, not even to move her braid out from under her arm or to get her legs out of such an uncomfortable position. Shadows crept around his mind. He hadn't seen her wake up or move properly since their last stop, and that had been hours ago. It seemed like she was spending more and more of her time unconscious, and while he didn't know much about herb lore, he knew that wasn't good.

Will she even survive? No, she had to. At the very least, she had to survive until they reached Liron and he somehow convinced the Clithans or the Trot that she was evidence of a coup. Surely the crest he'd been given by Tathin's men wouldn't be enough. He'd need some evidence or solid proof or something if he wanted to survive.

But if she died, wouldn't her dead body be so much easier to explain than trying to teach her the story so it would withstand an interrogation? He'd tried to pound it into her head every time he'd had the opportunity, but he was sure the girl still didn't grasp it. Not well enough.

And if the girl died, there would be nothing preventing him from taking her cape. Condemning vines drove long guilty thorns into his chest. He'd promised to protect her. He'd even offered to be her father! And here he was hoping she would die and make things easier for him. Had he ever wanted her for anything other than her rich, money-giving cape?

He had it stored right now wrapped in his extra clothes, carefully folded and stashed near the bottom of his pack. That way, if anyone started searching through his bag, they wouldn't see anything much. At least, as long as they didn't notice the slight glow at the bottom.