Page 83 of The Tower of the Tyrant

‘And feel like it,’ Colm said.‘Three days chasing after you lot without a horse hasn’t left me much time to recuperate.’

‘Were you followed?’Llewyn demanded.The tension in him that had held since their reaching the forest was drawn near to snapping.

‘You should have found somewhere to hole up and heal.’Fola returned to her pack and retrieved a bottle of Frog’s ointment.‘You might have got an infection, or collapsed from exhaustion on the way, and then what?’

‘I’m not great at hiding,’ Colm said dryly.‘More built for brawling, and dealing with the aftermath.Besides, terms of employment were never discussed, but I wasn’t about to let a nasty scuffle end the best paying gig I’ve ever had.’

She glared at him, the reminder of her responsibility for his injuries dampening her relief.‘Let me see the damage.’

‘Fola,’ Llewyn said, ‘if he was able to find us, we’re vulnerable.We have to keep moving.’

‘The man’s half bled to death,’ Siwan cut in.‘Next you’ll be suggesting we all split up and head in different directions.’

‘I’ll follow his back trail,’ Harwick volunteered.‘To make sure it’s covered and watch the road.Won’t be able to sleep again after this rumpus anyway.’

Damon went with him, and a long glare from Siwan stymied any dissent Llewyn might have raised.

‘We’ll move on in the morning,’ Siwan said.‘We can spare a night.’

That settled matters, it seemed.Llewyn muttered and retreated to the edge of the clearing, watching the shadows between the trees and rubbing the band of pale flesh on his finger.

Colm winced again as Fola helped him on to one of the fallen logs near the fire.His shirt was soaked in blood and cut to ribbons.Removing it revealed a map of new wounds that stood out against his chest and shoulders—fresh, though the accelerated healing granted by his Warborn blood had staunched their bleeding.Other than the severed hand, only a deep gash on his right upper shoulder still seeped blood and a trickle of pus.She daubed ointment liberally, suppressing her own wince as Colm hissed.

‘Fuck, that salve still reeks,’ he muttered, then glanced down at Frog.‘Little guy lost a limb, too, looks like.Only his is already regrowing.Any chance you can manage that trick for me?’

Fola felt a hitch in her chest and shook her head.How dare he put on a brave face, torn to shreds as he is, and on my behalf?‘There are ways, in the City.But not here.Not with my skill.’

She reached for his injured arm, bracing herself for his groan as she unwound the bandage.The wound was grotesque: not one cut, but several.Dozens, maybe.His leathery hide had saved the arm, until it hadn’t.The severed ends of his radius and ulna protruded from a hacked mass of muscle and flesh.

‘This needs to be cleaned,’ Fola said, trying not to let resurgent guilt overwhelm her before she had done all she could for Colm.‘It’ll hurt like a bastard.’

Colm shrugged.‘Not more than having it cut off did, I bet.’

She gestured to Frog, who waddled and hopped to her side on his mismatched legs.With a few quick slashes of her finger in the dirt she conjured a clay pot, which she then bade Frog fill with a different decoction—one for dulling pain.

‘Do we have sutures?’Fola asked no one in particular.

‘We fled with the clothes on our backs, Fola,’ Siwan answered.

She muttered a curse, then drew another quick circle.‘Pile some leaves in there.’

Siwan and Spil did as she bade while she drew her knife.‘Dull,’ she muttered.‘You don’t happen to have anything better, Colm?’

‘Afraid not,’ he answered, pain creeping into his voice.

‘Here.’Llewyn returned from the edge of the clearing and offered his ghostwood sword, its edge flattened until it was sharp enough to rival any scalpel.‘Too large, I know, but it’ll cut clean.’

Colm shied away from the weapon, then fixed Llewyn with a long, searching stare.

‘What is it?’Fola asked.

Colm only shook his head, then quaffed the painkilling decoction.‘Let’s get this over with so I can get some sleep.’

Despite the aid of Frog’s medicine, he cried out once while Fola trimmed the frayed edges of the wound.Siwan retched, then apologised and retreated to her bedroll.When Fola had finished with the ghostwood blade, Llewyn took it and went back to his self-appointed post.Fola formed a needle and thread by magic from compacted earth and vegetation.When she turned to make her first suture, Spil put a long-fingered hand on hers.

‘You’re trembling like grass in the wind,’ he said, gently taking the needle and thread.‘Let me.I’ve stitched back together my fair share of ruined costumes.’

With steady, practised movements, he sutured Colm’s wounds.Fola felt every stab of the needle, every tug of the thread.When he finished, Spil tied off the thread, quietly took his leave, and waved away Fola’s whispered thanks.