Page 72 of Blood Fist

Still on all fours, he kept trying to catch his breath. “R-Restrain…him…” he gasped, water and spit drooling from his lips.

Staring at the damp dirt between his hands, he distantly heard footsteps and shouting. Big hands grabbed him, holding him against a dry chest. He closedhis eyes and tried to breathe in the scent of whoever had him, but he couldn’t smell anything.

Garbled words cut in and out. Something about Iylah.

That’s when Ridan remembered everything. The market was destroyed. People were injured.

Opening his eyes, he pushed some of his wet hair off his forehead.

“We need to get people to the market. Put the fires out and summon the healers. Any able-bodied person needs to help with the wounded.” His voice was raspy, and he wondered if they could even hear him.

Corric was clutching his brother as Osmond sat on his back, pushing his face down as he restrained him with a pair of thick ropes. Jonen was hovering behind him, looking conflicted.

Niklas jogged up, catching the last bit of Ridan’s orders. “Fires are already being put out. Iylah has commandeered some tents with healers from the other clans.”

He nodded, but his attention was drawn to the strong arms lifting him. Brune had him held safely against his chest. “Osmond, Corric, can you get him someplace out of the way?”

Corric nodded.

Ridan glared up at Brune with all the dignity of a wet rat. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you to Iylah,” he said sternly, carrying Ridan away from the group and back towards the tents. His face was set like stone, eyes dark.

“I need to?—”

“You need to see the healer, Ridan.” Brune’s voice was hard. There was no room for argument. Not that Ridan could. He wasn’t sure he could stand even if Brune put him down.

“Drink this,” Iylah instructed, as she shoved a mug of something at Ridan. Peering into the mug, he made a face at the murky sludge within.

“Don’t give me that look,” she chided as she continued slathering poultice on one of his burns. Luckily, the burns were mostly surface—painful, but unlikely to cause any permanent damage. The blow to his head had been unfortunate, but after staring at his pupils, Iylah said he would live. Provided he rest.

Which they both knew was unlikely, but at least she tried.

“What is it?” he asked, swirling the concoction he was afraid to get close to his nose.

“Don’t ask.” She finished bandaging his last burn. “You may have some water in your lungs. We don’t need it festering. Drink it and be quiet.”

He did as instructed, willing his tastebuds to turn themselves inside out for a reprieve. Unfortunately, the sludge rolled across his tongue, and he could taste hints of honey and…dirt. Gagging, he handed the mug back.

“Keep your burns clean,” she told him as she collected the mug before moving to the other patients in the tent.

The attack hadn’t been as bad as Ridan feared. From what he heard, the damage was mostly to the market itself. Corric’s brother hadn’t been after the people, which was a relief. Still, it left him with the glaring problem ofCorric’s brother.

Clean up and tending to the wounded had taken much of the clan’s attention, but once that was done, they would demand answers. And justice. Something Ridan knew he couldn’t give them, not without devastating his packmate. But he also knew he couldn’t denythem. Losing the market was more than just inconvenient—many clansmen brought their whole years savings to this event. Winter was coming. They needed the income and trade to keep their families warm and fed.

Rolling his shoulders, he tested the stiffness in his body. Not as bad as before, but he knew he would be feeling it for a few days. Head still foggy, he was grateful it wasn’t worse.

His clothes had dried, but he felt dirty. Ridan would kill for a soak in the spring, even with the colder temperatures.

He was about to drag himself to his feet when Jonen and Brune slipped into the tent. Jonen was holding his father’s sword. Relief swooped in his belly. He hadn’t realized how much he missed having it.

Jonen handed it over, and Ridan inspected it. The blade was darkened with scorch marks, but otherwise looked to be solid. He would have Derry look at it later.

Without prompting, Jonen began to fill Ridan in. “The healers have treated close to fifty, four of which were Stone Blade.”

“And the dead?”

Brune winced and looked away.