Post 22

Veyga drifted in and out of consciousness as he was carried in the jaws of the Hound. His head swung loose, free of the sharp teeth, and he caught glimpses of the ground passing beneath in great leaps and bounds, faster than a horse could travel. The wind rushed past him as he tried to take stock of his injuries.

Sharp pain skittered through his chest, and he was certain he must have at least one or two ribs broken. One of his legs was pinned between two of the Hound’s teeth, and he could no longer feel anything from the knee down. From the shrieking pain he’d felt from there earlier, that was probably a blessing. Miraculously, somehow, the Hounds’ teeth and claws, those unstoppable weapons, had not touched him otherwise.

Where were they taking him? Was there any way for him to escape? He freed one arm from between sharp teeth, watching in terror as acidic saliva dripped from his skin. His shirt was literally disintegrating before his eyes, but again his skin was untouched. The blue glow still swirled across his skin, and as the sleeve of his shirt fell away, he stared in further shock at his tattoos, where the silvery blue light glowed brilliantly. The ink seemed alive, thriving.

He tried to reach up to lever the Hound’s jaws apart. If he could get free- he couldn’t hold back another shriek as the jaws clamped down even tighter, and his world disappeared again.

Concerned brown eyes stared down at him as he seemed to lay crumpled. His awareness expanded, and while he couldn’t seem to move, he stared past the brown eyes to the crystalline walls beyond them. He was in Skeyon, and the pain was blessedly gone. That was Eavan above him, elderly face more tender than Veyga had seen it before. The old man reached out gentle fingers to touch his cheek, but Veyga could feel no contact. Tears dripped onto his face, and Veyga could only stare as the old man wept over him. “This is not meant to be. Razakel, we will see you dead, if it is possible. I will not let him have you. We still have one trick up our sleeves… Sleep, child. Sleep and we will do what we can. We were wrong to think we should not interfere. Sleep now.” And Veyga slept, the old man’s tears damp on his cheeks.

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Jared looked from face to face, trying not to let his despondency show. If he hadn’t felt so hopeless, Mel’awn’s obvious sulk would have been almost amusing- she looked like a child who had lost a toy. The priestess had recovered herself, and she sat with head high but eyes shining with unshed tears. Bard’an sat slumped in his chair, arms wrapped tightly around his chest and his head bowed sharply. All four of them, and he included himself, felt as if their lives had been snapped in half, and they huddled beneath the open-sided tent as dawn broke over the shattered camp.

Mel’awn scowled a little although she made an effort that it was a pretty scowl. “I didn’t even have a chance to show him the records. This was never mentioned in the prophecies. Now what’s the point?”

Bard’an spoke without looking up. “Could the prophecies be about another man? Could you have been mistaken?”

“Even if they were, my Foretellings showed his face clearly- it was that man and no other that needed to reach Polien.” The priestess ignored the dark look Mel’awn cast at her.

The Captain strode up to the tent, tall enough to have to duck to peer beneath the cover. “My Lord Jared, I need to speak with you. What are you all moping in here for?”

Jared gaped at him. “He’s gone, Captain. What’s the point?” At least he could return to Eithna now. To have to tell her, though…

“Well, as to that… I need to have a word with you. Probably best it be in private.” A strange light gleamed in the Captain’s dark eyes, and Jared blinked. He could have sworn he saw the swirl of a dim blue light behind the brown of those eyes. He nodded and forced himself to his feet, following the Captain from the tent. The Captain nodded to one of Veyga’s sentries as they walked into the little thicket where Veyga’s tent was being disassembled by three of the mercenaries. Two of them wore bandages, and the third limped heavily. Not many men had survived the night unscathed, among those that had survived at all.

The Captain motioned to the men, and they scattered, leaving the two of them alone, then he turned to Jared and smile grimly, white teeth bared among the curly beard. “He’s not dead yet.”

Jared’s jaw dropped again. “What?”

The Captain tapped his left temple. “There’s something of him, here. I can feel him, and he’s not dead yet. He’s badly injured, but he’s still alive. I’ve given orders for the camp to be packed and I’ve handed over most of my men to my second in command. They’ll return to Ay’marne. I took the liberty of replacing two of the men Master Veyga had chosen- they fell beneath the onslaught last night. The rest of us will do what we can to follow those creatures. I pledged my troth, and until I know he’s truly dead, we’ll damn well follow. The pack horses will come behind, they’ll slow us down otherwise, with a few more men I chose. I know Master Veyga said two score, but…” His grin widened, looking like nothing so much as a grimace. “But he’s not in a condition to be saying otherwise now. The priestess and the record keeper can stay with them, and catch up to us if-.” He shook his head, pounding a thick fist into his palm. “When we find him. I wish we had a healer along, but we’ve patched terrible injuries before, and we’ll do it again. Are you riding with us, my Lord Holt?”

Jared nodded numbly. Still alive? How in the seven hells- but it didn’t matter. If the Captain said it was true, it must be. It had to be. By the seven hells, it just had to be true. “Of course I am. Thank the Gods and Goddesses.”

The Captain’s teeth disappeared within his beard as he frowned. “It’s not that I’m not a God and Goddess fearing man, my Lord Holt, but I think we need to look after him ourselves, and not trust to any deities. Seems to me like if they were really worth praising, they would have prevented this from happening in the first place.”

Jared nodded grimly, not necessarily agreeing but hardly in a position to state otherwise.

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The incredible pressure that seemed to compact his torso was suddenly released. He felt himself falling, the sweet air rushing past his face, and then he hit the ground hard enough to bounce, and the world was gone again in a spiraling void. What seemed like moments later his eye opened and he watched the narrow strip of vision he could see beyond his nose. He couldn’t move; his entire body seemed to have dissolved. His arm was stretched out beyond him, and he could clearly see that the glow was gone. He watched as bright red blood welled from deep gouges along his bicep and was thankful that he couldn’t feel it. Maybe it wasn’t his arm, in spite of the visible tattoos, still gleaming just a little bit. Beyond the arm was a tangle of brush, blocking his view, and he realized he could hear those Hounds howling, and something else beneath. The beat of hooves, the angry scream of a horse, the clash of metal on claw. It seemed to go on for days, but he’d lost all sense of time. The oozing blood fascinated him, and he could only stare as it soaked the ground beneath him. Life’s blood, pulsing with his heartbeat, spreading into the earth below. He sent a thankful prayer up to the Gods and Goddesses that he could feel no pain.

His life faded. He felt wispy, not quite complete, as though he would evaporate with a strong breeze. It was a strange sensation, but freeing also. Maybe this would be a good place to stay, here where there was no pain, no death, no worry. Why should he return to where the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, pinning his spirit to the ground? It was good here, quiet. It was a fine place to stay. His body would be left behind, but he didn’t need it here.

He snapped back into that body with a grunt as the pain was woken anew. He tried to scream but his throat felt crushed and only a low whimper passed his cracked lips. There were hands on him, sliding beneath his legs and arms, supporting his torso. His head was cradled in soft bare arms, his cheek pressed into warm skin. He tried to force his eye open, but he couldn’t do more than crack the lid, barely catching a glimpse of tree branches moving swiftly, dizzyingly above him. No, it was him that was moving, with concerned faces above him, gleaming eyes taking turns touching on him and then turning to look ahead. Tall people, with long pale braids over their shoulders, skin even paler, almost white, and those eyes were all varying shades of green. He turned his face into the soft skin against his cheek, and stared in shock at the pert pink nipple just inches from his eye. Then he was jostled, and with a thick groan he returned to that place of mist and shadows, relief flooding him.

He floated there, where there was no form, for ages. There was nothing- featureless gray nothingness all around him. Then he saw sparkles in the distance, like silver fireflies, dancing away. He tried to move toward them and then realized anew that there was no body to move. He thought for a moment and then willed himself toward the glistening lights. All of a sudden he was within them and they were all around him, brushing gently against his soul. He reached for one somehow, drawn to it, and suddenly a panorama opened beneath his mind’s eye, and below him, as if he were watching from the ceiling, he saw a lovely young woman in a rocking chair, humming softly, her hands folded across her softly mounded belly, and he could see the soft flame of the new life within her. A name floated through his mind. Eithna… He blinked away, the scene fading below him, and another glow grasped him, another panorama opening beneath him. Here was another young woman, if a little older, in another rocking chair, with a baby nuzzled against her breast. The baby was feeding sleepily, softly curled fist pressing into her soft skin, kneading. She was singing quietly, caressing the baby’s downy head with gentle fingers. A man sat nearby, a fierce scar across his face. But his expression was tender as he watched his wife nurse their daughter. Kayli and Mik… He blinked away again, and one more scene opened beneath him. A third young woman, but this time she was sitting at a campfire, her eyes gleaming, laughing up at the young man cuddled beside her. The gleam of new love shone between them, and he knew it for a fact that these two would marry and create a good life together. Rayna… He returned to the featureless gray void.

There were people in his life that mattered to him. People that he was sworn to protect. But it hurt too much to return. Surely he could stay here; surely there was nothing he could do to help them. He wasn’t a God, to weave magic to save the world. He wasn’t a being of limitless power, a hero from a story; he was just a man, just one man against the force of evil, and he could not stand against it. It would crush him to dust.

But wasn’t he dust now? Wasn’t he dust, here in this void, where nothing could touch him? He would return here if he failed, to this utter peace, so maybe it was best to return, to give a try to the impossible odds. It would hurt him, that was certain in his mind, but it could only hurt so much, and then he would return here, to this peaceful haven.

The decision was wrenched from him when he was on the verge of returning on his own, and he screamed as agony tore through his body. Strong hands held him down, sliding a little on his sweat-slicked skin, as the broken bones in his leg were re-knit. Surging heat flooded his ribs, swirled around the two punctures in his lung, set the ribs that had been snapped like sticks. He tried weakly to escape the pain, to return to the gray void, but it was as if a gate had been locked behind him, and he was forced to remain in the pain-shattered body. His bad eye burned as it seemed to melt, and the pain stabbed straight into his head. The heat settled in a knot in his chest and back, poking tenderly at the round scars and the tissue between, sizzling. He screamed again as the heat forced itself into his flesh, into muscle and bone and sinew, seeking damage, wanting to repair, wanting to sew him back into himself.

Finally he screamed so long that there was no sound left. Soft murmurs echoed in his ears, but he was beyond hearing. Gentle hands caressed his face, wiping the sweat from his cheeks, but he was beyond understanding. He wanted to give in to the darkness, he wanted to escape into the blissful oblivion, but something held him back. Some small spark of life kept him in that tortured and shattered body and he could not flee. Names flickered behind his eyelids. Eithna, Jared, Kayli, Mik, Rayna, Bard’an, Captain Farstreak… Children’s faces, people from Ragged Valley, and then the faces of millions of strangers playing a scene through his brain, flickering there and gone in less than a heartbeat, but burned into his mind all the same.

He had a duty to perform, he had a journey to make, he had a destiny to survive, and it was his responsibility to protect the ones that could not protect themselves. For some reason, it was up to him, to the little boy who had hid on a battlefield crying when he could not find his mother, to the gangly youth who had cowered in terror when a black horse flashing fire from its eyes reared above him, to the teen sneaking into a stables terrified beyond belief to free a man who had been punished unfairly. He didn’t understand why he’d been chosen, it made no sense but he couldn’t avoid it, and he had too much honor to deny it. His damned fool pride prevented him from running, and he settled his soul back into his broken body, resigned to do what he could to survive. If he could keep that body alive- keep his lungs taking in air, keep his heart pumping blood- then he would accept his destiny. He would face down fate and he would quit running.

He was suddenly in the gray room, with the featureless floor and ceiling stretching out of sight. His image was before him, but only dimly, as if it weren’t fully there before him. The pain was blissfully gone, and as he lifted his head he gaped as the image lifted its own face to peer at him from a blackened eye, lips split, blood trickling from several shallow wounds and a deeper one across its forehead. He reached up his hand, and the image did as well. With a start he realized the image really was just a reflection of him. There was no separate entity- he had been looking at his own face, had been hearing his own words, and had been arguing with his own subconscious all along.

The room and his image disappeared and awareness surged into him again as more pain streaked through his body. He was lifted by those gentle hands again, carried a short ways, and then carefully laid on a soft surface. A body settled against him, soft curves fitting into his sharp angles, warm skin pressing against his. For some reason, he took comfort from a strong heartbeat pulsing against his weak one, and he could even sense his heart strengthening, the frail throb steadying and matching pace with the one nearby. The pain in his body receded to a faint pulsation somewhere in the back of his head, still there but held away for the time being. Relieved, his tense aching muscles released all at once, and healing sleep surged up to clutch him in gentle arms, warding away the dreams. He was barely aware of gentle fingers wiping away his tears.

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Jared glanced toward the Captain as they sat huddled around a tiny fire, shivering and eating in silence. The Captain was a wreck, eyes haunted as he stared blankly into the flames that reflected the faint blue lights flickering behind his eyes. He had collapsed shuddering to the ground earlier, mid-way through setting up camp, and had only snapped out of a strange half-aware daze a mark ago. He refused to talk about what had happened, but since he had joined them at the fire Jared had seen those blue lights. They seemed to flicker in and out of focus along with his stare. Jared thought maybe he was the only one who noticed, and he was certain that the strange fit the Captain had experienced earlier was related to the link with Veyga.

Finally the Captain took a deep shuddering breath and seemed to relax, a fierce glow unrelated to the blue lights shining from his eyes. “He’s been found, and someone is caring for him. He’s still alive. By the seven hells, I don’t know how he survived it, but he’s still alive.” He looked around at the rest of their party, gaze finally settling on Jared. His grin was harsh, humorless. “He’s alive.”

Jared sighed in relief, sending up a brief, fervent prayer of thanks.

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Veyga moaned when a bright light sliced across his face, lifting a hand weakly to shield his tender eyes. Sharp whispers cut into his ears, and the light disappeared. Awareness slowly filtered through his senses, and he forced his eyes open. That caught his attention for some reason, and then he realized. Both eyes. Both eyes, with perfect vision.

He winced as a horrible throbbing began in his right temple. A figure was kneeling before him, and it swam into focus with a sickening lurch. He squeezed his eyes closed to the sight. "Eithna?" Had he somehow made it to her?

"No, my name is not Eithna. I am Fionn. You were badly hurt.” The voice was gentle, soothing. So were the hands that stroked his brow. A scent drifted over him, of herbs and flowers and something else he couldn't quite place. "Rest now, you are still tired, it is plain to see. You are safe here, if anywhere.”

He forced his eyes open again. He was on his side, tucked into a cushion of soft fragrant grasses. Before him was a rough wall with a door set into it. There was a roof above, thatch woven tightly with dried flowers tucked into it. Darkened beams spread out from a central point. The floor beneath him seemed to be made of some sort of living moss. There was nothing else that he could see, no chairs or tables, just the spongy grasses beneath him. Where was he? He moved a little, about all he could manage, and although he felt aches and twinges throughout his entire body, the sharp stabs of pain he’d expected were gone.

It took him a moment to realize that the warmth pressed up against his back and buttocks was soft yielding skin, and that he wore not a stitch of clothing. With a yelp he tried to jerk away, but strong hands wrapped around him and held him in place. “Stop wiggling, you silly man. Your body needs to heal, it is not recovered yet.” The voice was gentle but firm, and definitely, absolutely, feminine.

He froze, straining away from the contact as much as possible. He tilted his head to glare down at the small hands that had settled against his chest, and just stared in horror at the light swirling through the blue tattoos beneath those slender fingers. He fought against the vertigo that threatened to take him over and then tossed his head, groaning softly at the waves of pain that began to wash over him. What had happened to him?

The images came back in a rush, the camp, the Hounds, the dreams, the pain… He suddenly retched, and those gentle hands rolled him forward and held his loose hair away from his face as he sicked up the little bit of fluid left in him. Those gentle hands used something soft to wipe his lips and chin afterward, and then gently pressed him onto his back in the grasses. “Shh… easy now, easy.” As if he was a colt to be gentled. The voice was reassuring all the same, and he did relax a little. "There now, that is good. You need only rest for a few more days, and things should be just fine. You don't seem to be responding to your healing as well as you should. But rest will see you well." He couldn’t prevent a groan as the memories flooded him. That gray void, remembered so clearly now, seemed like a haven, somewhere he never should have left. He should have stayed; nothing was worth this, not even the world. How much did he have to suffer, before he was finished with this life?

He didn’t realize he’d been mumbling the words until he felt a soft breath against his ear. “It is all right, shh… You are safe for now, the Hounds are gone. Those ones will not have you again. You are as safe here as a man can ever be.” The soft hands and the warmth at his back disappeared, and he struggled silently to overcome the growing pain as the owner of those hands made soft noises throughout the room. Some short time later, one of the hands slid beneath his head and through his hair to lift his head slightly. Something hard was pressed to his lips. "Drink this."

He sipped of a pungent broth, coughing and turning his head away at the foul taste. A gentle chuckled caressed his ears. "I know how bad it tastes. But it will help, I promise. Rest now, just rest, and let the magic do its work. Now let sleep take you.” Soft flutters against his closed eyelids, and sleep indeed dragged him down again. The dreams stayed away, and he welcomed the darkness; it was as close to the gray void as he could get now.

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“Come on now you silly man, wake up. Wake up, it is time for nourishment.” Gentle nudges against his chest and shoulders, that soft and fluttering touch. “Wake up, now.” The voice pressed against his ear, the tones soft and demanding at the same time. He dragged himself away from the darkness, dreading the light, but when he opened his eyes this time the pain was even dimmer, the aches nearly gone. Only his knee still burned, and somewhere in his chest the smolder was so faint that he couldn’t even pinpoint exactly where it was.

“You must eat, silly man. Open your eyes.”

He obeyed the firm voice, and immediately met the stare of pale green eyes. They smiled down at him, pleased that he had followed orders. “There you are. Well come. It is time for nourishment. Let us see if we can get you up.”

Strong, small hands grasped his upper arms and suddenly he was using weak muscles to help them sit him up. The room spun dizzyingly, but he was able to hold himself steady as the hands slid away. The room was as he remembered it- no furniture, just the soft moss floor and the softer nest of soft dry grasses beneath him.

Remembering his nakedness, he grabbed a handful of the grass and pulled it into his lap. Soft sweet breath tickled across the nape of his neck as soft laughter sounded in his ears, making him shiver. “You are so silly. So modest. I forget how men are sometimes.”

A soft rustle of cloth, and then the owner of the pale green eyes knelt gracefully at his side. She was beautiful. He corrected himself; she was beyond beautiful. She was tall and slender to the point of being almost boyish, but those slim curves he remembered in embarrassing detail were softly rounded all the same. Her scant gray gown left little to his imagination, being nothing more than two panels of cloth gathered at her shoulders and belted together at her slender waist. It came to her knees, and her feet were bare. Her hair was just as long as her gown, wispy about her form, and it was a pale silvery blue the color of washed out winter skies. The color wasn’t from age; her slender face was young-looking, although there was wisdom to her pale green eyes that belied that. Her complexion was soft and creamy, which only drew more attention to the startling green eyes. Her arms and legs were slim, the hands soft with long fingers, but he remembered the strength in those limbs, remembered them holding him down when he’d thrashed through the pain. Those green eyes were big and round, with thick pale lashes that gave her a look almost of surprise, and her small pert nose and lush lips completed a face from every man’s wet dream.

His gaze was caught again by the color of her hair, and she laughed, a little nicker of sound. "Yes, I see you have noticed that I am a bit different from you. Have you a name, stranger?" She was smiling at him and his gaze settled there, noting the fullness of her lower lip, and he wanted nothing more than to please her. He wanted to take her in his arms and press his lips against the slender column of her throat; he wanted to feel the press of that warm skin against his again. He’d give anything to have her heartbeat throbbing against his one more time. That laugh again, and he closed his eyes to savor it, to seal the sound of it away in his memory. “A name, stranger?”

“I-. My name is Arius. Where am I?” Realizing where his thoughts were taking him, his flush darkened further and he cleared his throat, tamping the images down firmly. If he wasn’t careful, his lack of clothing would show her just how lovely he thought she was, grass or no grass.
Those gentle fingers were touching his forehead again and he shied away from her touch, remembering the grass clutched to his lap. He met her gaze as her smile disappeared. She reached out with both hands then, clasping them firmly on either side of his head, and a strange sort of cooling sensation washed over him. “Hm, no fever. Are you feeling well?”

He shuddered a little as a strange awareness seemed to probe through his head. “Well enough.”

“Your skin looks too flushed. I thought maybe the healing was still not taking.”

“Healing?” He met her gaze then, beauty forgotten, strange images playing through his memory.

“Yes, you were healed. We could not rid you of every injury, but most of them have been repaired at least. Your leg was nearly beyond saving, but we did what we could. These,” she lowered one hand to touch the neat round scar beneath his tattoos. “These were bad, and we could not heal the flesh properly. The marks have faded now, but will always stay behind, I think. I am sorry for that.”

He looked down where her fingers were splayed across his chest, wondering. He remembered the skin ripped open, where the Hounds had fought over him, and he’d been stretched between their jaws. The teeth had not pierced his skin, but it had torn when they had tried to twist him apart. His ribs had cracked; he had felt at least one of them puncture his lung. His life had flashed before his eyes- a lonely life, in spite of the handful of friends he had made. His leg had nearly been torn off at the knee, already damaged from being ground between the Hound’s teeth.

How had he survived that? He looked up at her, and watched in amazement as shining silver tears slid down her cheeks. He reached up to catch one shimmering droplet on his fingertip. “Why are you crying?”

“For what they did to you. You did not deserve the pain. We almost could not save you. It was so close-.” She swallowed hard, and then sat back on her haunches and dashed the tears from her cheeks. “You died several times, in our arms. We had to make you want to live; we had to find the memories that would make you survive. So sad…” She took a trembling breath and then her chin firmed and she met his gaze again. “Why did the Hounds have you? They would not tell us that.”

We? They? Who was she talking about? They were alone, now, in this little hut. There must be more people nearby though, the way she was talking. And who would not tell them why the Hounds had had him?

“I don’t know why, I wasn’t told why either. I thought maybe I could stop them-. He shuddered, and then winced at the slight aches that sprung back to life. “I was shown a way to stop them, but I never had a chance.”

She nodded. “That is the way, is it not? The Hounds, they are very fast, very powerful.” Her pale eyes gleamed. “Those two will not bother anyone again. We tore them apart completely.”

A brief image flashed into his head- had he really seen it, or was it just imagination? White horses and tall, pale nude women bearing crystalline swords leaping on the Hounds and dragging them to the ground. They had been vicious, and the Hounds’ dark blood had spurted through the forest. The bodies had been ripped to pieces, and he had not cared. He had been beyond caring then. A soft whimper was torn from his throat, and she reached out again to smooth the furrow from his brow with gentle fingertips. “They are gone. Remember that.”

He met her stare with another shiver, and then nodded slowly.

The door opened in the cabin, sending another bright shaft of light over him. He winced away from it, and realized with a start that there were no lamps, no candles in the little hut. Why was it not dark inside? Dim, certainly, as exposed by the bright sunlight coming through the open door, but not dark.

“Cover yourself, please. He is shy.” He was suddenly thankful that the brightness blinded him, as he heard another rustle of fabric, and the door was closed, shutting the light away.

“He is awake. That is good. That is very good.” The voice was equally soft, equally feminine. He looked up, at long tapering legs and an equally slim figure covered by a similar gown, to another lovely face with long pale silvery hair, and a set of green eyes several shades darker than the first set. “How is he feeling?”

“I have not asked yet.”

Both sets of green eyes turned to him, pale slim eyebrows raised. He cleared his throat. “I’m a little sore, but otherwise…” His gaze turned inward, assessing. He did feel much better. “Otherwise, I’m tired but better, much better.”

The newcomer nodded firmly. “That is well. Has he a name, Fionn?" She tilted her head to the side, examining him closely. “Has he had nourishment?”

“His name is Arius, and I was trying to get him up, Unai. He has only been awake for a little bit.” Fionn moved to sit cross-legged behind him, fingers skittering down his back to rest gently near his bare buttocks. “His skin flushes but I feel no fever.”

He had stiffened, and her touch darkened his skin even more. “Indeed.” The newcomer smiled a soul-shattering smile, and then she let loose a soft chuckle as Veyga shifted uncomfortably. “I think he is having difficulties with your touch, Fionn. Perchance you should give him some breathing space. Some men are not terribly comfortable with close contact.”

“I had forgotten.” Fionn sounded surprised, but she scooted away, and Veyga's temperature went down a notch or two. All he could do was hold the bunch of grass on his lap and look from one woman to the other. Fionn's smile faded as she saw his reaction, and she caught herself reaching for his face. “Are you unwell, Arius?”

“My eye. How did you-.” He shook his head, reaching up to touch his right cheek hesitantly. “I can see, everything is clear.”

The newcomer answered. “We did not see any reason to limit the healing to only new injuries. We repaired the damage done there just as we repaired the damage done elsewhere.” She dropped down before him, and he averted his gaze as her soft breasts swung slightly, unrestrained beneath the soft fabric. “This one, we could not touch.” She reached out to place her palm over the perfectly round scar on his chest. “We did try, we poured every bit of talent into it, but we were not successful. There is a wound beneath this skin that looks healed, but the wound would not heal. There are mysteries about you, Arius, which even I cannot probe. It is as if there is a shroud about you, one that cannot be parted to reveal the core of your soul. It concerns me, that someone feels you need this sort of protection.” She met his gaze suddenly, green eyes fierce.

He stared dumbly, a little ashamed that he was responding to her beauty as much as the beauty of the first woman. She smiled again, and he tucked the grasses even closer to his lap. “You are probably very hungry. Fionn, do you have nourishment for this wanderer? I must go.” She nodded once and opened the door only a little to slip out.

Fionn scrambled to her feet, and again he averted his gaze as he caught a glimpse of long tanned thigh and a tight rump. She knelt before him again, a woven basket in her lap, and smiled gently at him as she reached up to press a wooden bowl to his lips. “Drink.”

He drank deeply, trying not to gag at the taste of same foul broth from before. Fionn smiled encouragingly. Next she offered bits of apple, refusing to let him handle the food himself. She fed him each piece with those lush, curved lips tipped up in a knowing smile. The broth seemed to seep into his muscles, loosening both the knots and his self-control. He began to smile back, feeling light-headed, and even when she caressed his hair and touched his face, he did not pull away.

After the apple pieces, she fed him bits of grain cakes with honey drizzled over them, and he watched fascinated as she licked the honey that dripped on her fingers. He wanted to lick that honey off himself, but he couldn’t seem to lift his arm enough to reach for her. The room began to spin around him, and soft hands pressed against his chest, pushing him gently onto his back. Soft breath fluttered against his cheek, and the sweet, sweet voice whispered into his ear. “Sleep now, Arius. Sleep and have pleasant dreams.”

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Jared scowled, a rare expression for him, but the Captain just laughed and waved a hand. “My Lord Holt, he’s well and safe right now, there is no point to pressing the men more than needed. We may need our strength soon enough. At least he was traveling south before he was rescued, that certainly works in our favor.”

Jared was certain that whoever had ‘rescued’ Veyga was probably not looking out for his best interests. There was no reason for anyone to help the young man, not without a motive, and he found it difficult to outright accept that there might be people in this world kind enough to help a man for no reason at all. The Captain made it plain that he thought Jared was just being cynical.

Camp was being set up around them, the priestess and the record keeper already stashed beneath the open-sided tent and out of the way. Jared noted with a start that Veyga’s tent was erected a little away from the others. “Do you really think he will be back that soon, Captain?”

The big man’s grin split his beard, although there was less humor and more ferocity to it. “One way or another he will be. He’s close, my Lord Holt, close enough that I can’t quite tell which way to go from here. There’s… something between our connection now, a… veil, maybe.”

Jared was certain the alarm showed on his face, but the Captain patted his shoulder with a massive hand. “Enough, my Lord Holt. He’s well, he’s being cared for as tenderly as I could wish. We will find him, if we have to wait here for moonturns. There are several villages within a day’s ride, where we can get provisions if need be. We probably won’t need it- I brought along as much as I could, from the supplies provided for two hundred men.”

Indeed, two huge wagons had lumbered into the camp not too long after the priestess and the record keeper had arrived. Jared had been furious, considering the Captain had failed to mention the wagons, but the Captain had just grinned and told him that he’d thought it best, and that since Master Veyga wasn’t there to suggest otherwise, then the matter was settled. After all, the mercenaries had been hired to assist Master Veyga, not my Lord Holt.

So now they would wait. Jared thought that maybe he would go a little mad in the meantime, wondering and worrying. He decided to spend as much time each day ranging through the areas nearby, trying to find a trace of his charge.

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