‘At least you can smile.’ There was relief in Hakon’s honest voice. ‘I don’t feel right when you are not smiling for more than a few heartbeats.’
Breta laid Brann beside a small fire set in a small depression cut into the ground to minimise its glow. It had been allowed to burn low – the night was warm enough as it was, and, cooking time over, it served only to provide what little light was safe enough for them to allow. Gerens squatted silently beside him, his dark eyes burning with as little hint as ever of the thoughts behind them, but deep concern born in hope filling the way he leant forward. Cannick brought a water skin and a clean rag, and started washing around the two wounds and the lump on the back of Brann’s head. Satisfied that the bump was no more than that, he turned to the wounds, starting to clean them with short efficient movements. Brann sucked in a sharp breath through gritted teeth as the cloth touched the open wounds, and once more as water was again poured over them. His head grew light, but he forced his breathing to be deep and slow and, the more Cannick’s work was repeated, the more the feeling became bearable and more sensation than pain. Similar, he mused, to the cold plunge pools in Sagia – what seemed an overwhelming shock, at first, soon dissipated against all your expectations to a bearable level. Similar, but a bit more painful in this case. Still, the aftermath of every gladiatorial contest in the Empire’s capital had involved work of some sort to a variety of wounds, so he fell into the familiar process of concentrating on his breathing. The slice along his ribcage was attended to first, and the pricks when the needle and thread pulled together the deep cut on his arm brought him relief, as he knew the ordeal was close to an end.
Cannick grunted, peering at his handiwork. ‘It’ll do. Now get in the river and wash the rest of you before I pass out from the smell.’
Brann smiled his thanks. There was something he had to do first, however.
The horses were restless as he approached, the scent of death that still encased him making them shift nervously against the ropes tethering them but the noise helping him to find them in the darkness. His own horse whickered as he stopped in front of it, eyes widening and nostrils flaring. He stroked its face just as it liked, and spoke softly until it calmed. Moving to the side, he felt in the darkness behind the saddle to feel the familiar heavy cloth of a cloak. His fingers traced the line of a repair, feeling the marks of his mother’s careful stitches.
A throat clearing behind him made him jump. He turned, and then relaxed when he saw Marlo, receiving an apologetic smile in return.
‘You’ve learnt to move quietly!’
Marlo shrugged. ‘It was something I always could do, but Sophaya has been helping me improve, just as you help me with my weapons.’
‘Really? I never noticed.’ He saw Marlo’s look, and raised his eyes to the sky at his own slowness of thought. ‘Of course. That is the point of her speciality.’ Brann nodded, considering. ‘It is good. It helps to be as skilled as you can at as many things as you can. Especially the things that help you to stay alive.’ He ducked to one side and came up to flick the back of a hand at the side of Marlo’s head. The boy fended it off with a flick of his wrist and they both laughed. ‘I hope she is a more patient teacher than I am. And there are at least three others who have trained for years longer than I have.’
‘But you are the best at finding a way to win.’ Marlo grinned.
‘Mongoose moves more similarly to you. She would understand what works for you.’
‘I would not like to upset Hakon. He still has ambitions.’
Brann’s laugh burst from him. ‘You mean he still doesn’t know?’ Marlo shook his head, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight. ‘We really should tell him, but it’s too much fun.’ He laughed again, softly, as his mind pictured an image. ‘Anyway, Gerens is fine with you having private time with Sophaya?’
‘Of course. You know Gerens. Everything is taken as it is.’
‘True. But Breta – she is expert with weapons I have never even seen.’
‘I am quite happy with both of my tutors, thank you. Each is equally adept.’
‘Ever the diplomat, trying to keep us all happy.’
‘Why not? It is only fair, as you all make me happy by allowing me to travel with you.’
Brann gripped the boy’s shoulder. ‘Marlo, never be mistaken. You are as much a part of this group as any of us.’ The silence stretched, almost awkward. Brann turned to the horses. ‘Saddled?’
‘We kept them ready and the essentials already on them, in case we needed to leave in a hurry after we found you.’
Brann’s hand strayed to the bundle behind his saddle, and Marlo smiled. ‘Your father’s cloak is most definitely one of the essentials.’
Brann smiled. ‘Thank you.’ He made to start unbuckling the saddle. ‘Perhaps we can now make the horses more comfortable for the night.’
‘Indeed, but I am afraid that you must have become accustomed to the way you… well… not to put too fine a point on it… stink. It is not good for the horses. Even your own is finding it hard to stay calm.’
Brann paused. It was true. ‘I should wash.’
‘You should wash. I will see to the horses.’
It was only a short walk to the river, a small effort little more than a brook. Kneeling waist deep in the water, Brann savoured the refreshing cold, a welcome contrast to the hot humid air that was oppressive even close to the middle of the night. There was a splash behind him and he whirled, wary of the day’s danger not yet being finished. But it was only Breta he saw, striding through the water as if it were a puddle. He turned his back as quickly as he had first turned, clutching both hands to conceal his groin.
The girl laughed. ‘Fear not, little gnat. It is your arse that my eyes have always preferred to feast upon.’ A massive hand slapped the relevant part of him to emphasise the point. It also served to immerse him, face first, in the water, before the same hand caught his arm – thankfully his uninjured right one – and hauled him back upright. ‘That’s you rinsed. Let’s get you washed. You do the front and I will tend to the side you cannot reach, which also of course contains this firm little arse.’
Brann couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You really are just like a female Hakon, aren’t you?’
An even harder slap answered that, but this time with the other hand holding him in place. ‘He is just like a male me. A pale imitation. Ask the men of the last town we visited.’
Brann grinned his amusement. ‘Only you and he would use a town in the nightmare grip of a siege as an opportunity to bed as many locals as possible.’
‘He did try hard to follow my example with due enthusiasm, I’ll grant him that. It is always good to spread good feelings where otherwise despair would rule.’
‘You have a good heart.’
‘It was not the heart I was seeking,’ she guffawed, slapping him a third time. Brann resolved to end the conversation while he could still walk, and concentrated on washing himself while Breta did likewise on his back.
As soon as he had dried himself, and before he could fully dress, Cannick inspected his wounds and wrapped them in clean cloth. ‘This should keep them clean. I’ll check them each morning and night, but as long as the cleaning has kept infection at bay, they should heal without restricting your shield arm.’
Brann grasped the older man’s arm as a surge of emotion swept through him. ‘Thank you, Cannick. I don’t know what I’d do without you. What any of us would do.’
The broad shoulders shrugged. ‘One day you will have to. Learn enough from my infinite wisdom until then.’ He winked, passed Brann his clean tunic and carried his pack back to the rest of his belongings.
Tended and washed, Brann felt a weariness sweep over him. The others were pottering about