The White Road

CHAPTER 31 The Green Lady

“THINGS went wrong, did they?” Rhal asked as Seregil and Rieser were lifted aboard the Lady.

“We ran into a bit of trouble,” Alec told him, following close behind. “I hope your healer is a good one.”

“He is.” Turning to the crewmen gawking at them, he snapped, “Get these men below and find Konthus! Nettles, Skywake. Prepare to hoist anchor.”

Rieser and Seregil were put to bed in their respective cabins as the ship got under way. Seregil was conscious now, but was having trouble breathing.

“Prop him on his good side,” Micum advised.

Alec positioned several pillows behind Seregil’s back to keep him lying on his unwounded side, then carefully began easing his wet, bloody shirt off. Seawater mixed with blood spread in a widening stain on the silk coverlet. In addition to the arrow in his side, Seregil had a thin, deep gash across his back where another arrow had clipped him, which would take sewing up. Seregil lay there, panting, but managed to push himself up enough for Alec to get the shirttail out from under him. Meanwhile, Micum rummaged through the clothes chest at the foot of the bunk and found a clean shirt. Alec pressed it around the remains of the arrow shaft to staunch what he could.

Seregil grimaced. “Missed my lung, but I think I have some cracked ribs.” He held up his right hand, showing them his swollen middle finger. “This hurts like hell, too.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to heal up, my friend,” Micum said, patting his foot. “We’re bound for home now, and well earned.”

Presently a young man in a brown robe hurried in, the bronze serpent lemniscate of his profession swinging against his chest on its chain. “Lord Seregil, I’m honored—”

“Rieser first,” said Micum. “He’s hurt worse than Lord Seregil.”

“Are you sure, my lord?”

“Go!” Seregil gritted out.

“I’ll go sit with him,” said Micum. He limped away after the healer, leaving the door open behind him.

Alec wrapped blankets around both of them and sat down on the edge of the bed. “How are you doing?” he asked, smoothing Seregil’s wet, tangled hair back from his face.

Seregil grimaced, but it was mostly a smile. “Been better. Been worse. What happened to Rieser?”

“Shot in the chest. He saved our lives back there, not to mention the books. I have to admit, I thought he really had run off.”

“So did I.” Seregil closed his eyes, shivering. “It’s a good thing for us he didn’t. I wouldn’t want to go back to the Ebrados without him.”

“No. You’re chilled.” Alec got the rest of Seregil’s wet things off him and got him under the covers, then found dry clothing for himself among the things they’d left on board.

Seregil was dozing when Micum and the healer returned.

“How is Rieser?” asked Alec as Konthus set to work looking Seregil over.

“Not well, I’m afraid,” the young drysian replied. “The arrow struck under the left collarbone and went through to break his shoulder blade. It’s a painful wound, and will be a slow one to heal.”

“Konthus had to cut out the arrowhead, but Rieser never made a sound,” Micum told them.

The arrow in Seregil’s side had lodged between two ribs, breaking one but not penetrating to the lung. Seregil gritted his teeth as the drysian worked the arrowhead free and packed the wound with herbs and salved linen. When he was finished, he had Alec help Seregil onto his stomach and deftly sewed up the gash across his back with linen thread. He bandaged both wounds, then splinted the broken finger and said several healing spells over Seregil.

“That’s all I can do for now,” he said, washing his hands in the basin and going to the door.

“Thank you,” Seregil murmured, relaxing as the magic took hold.

“Send one of your friends for me if you need help with the pain. Maker’s mercy on you.”

“Rieser wouldn’t let the fellow magic him,” Micum said when he was gone. “Wouldn’t say why, but I suppose it was too Tír for his liking.”

“No doubt.” Seregil pulled weakly at the collar still around his neck. “This off. Now.”

Micum drew his knife and carefully slid it under the edge of the collar at the flanges. Holding the collar steady, he sawed through the lead rivet and pulled the collar open far enough to slip it from Seregil’s neck.

“A free man at last!” Seregil said with a hoarse laugh.

The metal had chafed a bit, Alec saw, leaving a band of reddened skin on Seregil’s neck. It made him think of Ilar, who’d worn a collar so long the skin under it was worn white. They’d left him there in Plenimar without a collar, or any slave marks, but his scars would surely give him away.

You know what they’ll do to me!

Alec knew. “Maybe we should have gone back for him,” he muttered aloud.

“Ilar, you mean?” Seregil asked. “It would have been suicide. Why didn’t he stay with Ulan? Or ride out after us?” He closed his eyes again, but not before Alec caught a fleeting look of regret. “I thought he’d be safe with Ulan.”

“Perhaps he still will be,” said Micum, but he sounded less than convinced.