We Will Hunt Together (13 page)

He bellowed, jerking his arm back instinctively while bashing at her body with his shield. She swayed backwards, taking all her weight onto her left leg. Her right leg kicked hard at his, her shin catching him in the side of the calf and nearly twisting it far enough to turn his ankle.

She had lifted her right arm over her head for balance. She cut down hard at his head, her blow caught on his shield, as she recovered her balance on both feet.

Her face still looked calm, but paler, her left arm tucked in close to her side.

"That hurt, didn't it? I can take anything you can give until you bleed yourself to death, wench."

With her left side and dagger turned away from him, Captain Koda led with his sword, beating at her blade mockingly. She easily circled away from his blade, the two never touching. He dropped his sword arm for a moment. She held her guard.

His sword came slashing up at her hand. She pulled her arm back, pivoted and slashed out viciously at his sword arm with her dagger. His eyes widened as he leapt violently backwards, jerking his arm up not quickly enough to avoid another gash, this one underneath his arm just above his elbow.

Helgaer's face was even paler and beginning to sweat, but her expression did not change. Captain Koda appeared, if anything, even more furious.

With blood still flying from the initial cut, his sword arced around to the outside, cutting back at her left arm.

She blocked his sword with hers held pointing down, her elbow ready to strike at his face. He lunged, shouting, leading with his shield, making her drop her elbow and take the impact with her lowered right shoulder.

She screamed as a dagger hidden behind Koda's shield stabbed between two plates of her cuirass, through her shirt and into her waist, following the path the crossbow bolt had taken.

"Weak," he sneered, his face so close she could smell his breath and his acrid sweat.

Her forehead broke his nose. The impact made stars flash before her eyes, but she launched herself forward while still half blinded, overbalancing him while he was reflexively jerking backwards.

The clang as his helmet hit the ground was even louder than the thump of his body or the crash as she landed on top of him.

As they fell, she reversed her dagger, jabbing blindly at his body. It skidded off the metal plates of his cuirass into his leg, not stopping until it jabbed point-first into bone.

All the breath was driven out of his body when he landed. His dagger jarred in her side, trapped by her cuirass but still slicing through her. She was too angry to care about the pain now.

Before he recovered his wits, she raised her head and brought it down hard again, this time shattering his teeth. Blood bubbled out of his gaping mouth as he sucked desperately for air. She head-butted him again, slamming his mouth open further.

Somehow, with her sword arm still crossed over her body between them and her sword useless, she found the wit to twist her dagger in his thigh, draw it up and slam it upwards beneath the scales of his cuirass into his waist.

He convulsed, managing to throw her clear to her right, letting her use her sword arm to throw her away from him before his flailing sword could reach her. Her dagger, its grip slick with blood, was torn from her hand.

She rolled, her arm shielding the dagger still sticking out of her side. She regained her feet with the searing pain from her waist narrowing her focus and giving her renewed strength.

He tried to rise as quickly, fury burning in his eyes as he sucked in breath through a ruined mouth, but he stumbled over his own shield, falling back onto it as his boots slipped off small stones.

She lunged, her sword knocking his away before coming back around and down, slashing as his groin. It didn't get through his armour, but it did hit where it would do the most damage.

He slashed wildly at her legs. She knocked his sword aside with her bracer, then seized his wrist.

With one hand standing on his shield, pinning his left arm to the ground with it, she put the point of her sword between two scales on his cuirass, over his stomach. Her full weight drove it right through him until it cut through his spine, pinning him to the ground.

She twisted his wrist hard until she could pull his sword from his grip, settling it into her right hand as she stepped back, out of his reach.

"How long are you going to take to die, Captain Koda? My Tola walked two miles back to her home, then waited until I found her the next day, staying alive so she could say goodbye. Do you have anyone you need to say goodbye to? Or do you just need to avoid meeting the dead?"

It did not take Captain Koda long to die, scrabbling at the sword with both hands and trying to understand why his legs would not work.

Helgaer watched him until his final death rattle, then walked slowly around behind him and cut his throat with his own sword.

"You've been avenged, Tola." The words sounded empty. All her rage had left her as she watched him die like a wolf on a spear.

She stared down at his beaten, lifeless body, trying to feel triumphant.

Vengeance had been taken and the death avenged, but all she felt was emptiness and her own cuts and bruises.

She threw Captain Koda's sword onto his body, then looked down at the dagger sticking out of her side. She reached up to grasp the handle.

"Leave it!"

Camille grabbed her arm. "Leave it in. You'll bleed less."

Helgaer looked at her numbly, but her hand fell.

Camille stared into her face, eyes wide. "Gods, I can't believe you're still alive."

Helgaer just stared at her, then slowly lifted her right hand to rub at her aching forehead.

"Can you walk?"

"Yes."

Camille turned her, pointing her towards the trees on the far side of the camp. "Walk. Get to the trees. I'll follow you."

Helgaer began putting one foot after the other. Behind her, Camille retrieved Helgaer's dagger then, with one foot firmly on Koda's ribs, heaved at the quillons of Helgaer's sword until it finally came free.

Camille started after Helgaer, hesitated, then turned and ran to the last surviving soldier, who was crawling away through the undergrowth. He tried to fight back, so it took Camille a little longer than planned to kill him.

Helgaer was not yet halfway to the trees before Camille caught up with her. Camille returned Helgaer's weapons to their sheaths, then threw Helgaer's right arm over her shoulder to support her.

Camille walked Helgaer into the woods for some way, heading over fairly even ground to the top of the ridge before letting Helgaer stop, sitting her carefully on a fallen tree.

She crouched, putting her hands on Helgaer's knees. "Now, how hurt are you?"

*~*~*

There was little Camille could do immediately other than keep Helgaer awake and focused, but she managed to wash the blood off her face, clean cuts and get water into her to replace what she had bled or sweated out.

The walk back to Camille's cabin was long and mostly uphill. Camille sweated with impatience at their slow pace, but controlled herself for Helgaer's sake.

Helgaer kept walking slowly but without getting any more tired than she already was, putting one foot in front of the other without twisting her waist and without dropping her eyes, which were fixed uphill towards where the cabin would, eventually, appear.

By the time they made it into the clearing, Camille was more exhausted from the mental toll of caring for Helgaer while keeping all her senses sharp than Helgaer seemed to be from walking with all her injuries.

"Sit," Camille ordered, pointing at the bench before running into the cabin to grab bowls, rags and her herbs.

Helgaer still showed no emotion or pain as she walked over to the bench, turned with her torso rigid, sat down and began, very slowly, undoing the straps on her cuirass.

She barely even flinched as Camille smoothly pulled out the dagger, replacing it instantly with a wad of linen pushed up under her shirt to be pressed over the wound.

She finished unstrapping her cuirass and pulled it over her head without prompting, dropping it on the ground. Her shirt followed it so that Camille could, once again, bandage her tightly.

Camille washed Helgaer's exposed skin as best she could, peered into her eyes intently, felt for breaks, then finally forced her to drink more water.

Helgaer merely stared ahead through all this, her face blank.

"Helgaer, answer me."

Helgaer focused slowly on Camille's face. "Yes."

"Can you see properly?"

"Yes."

"One of me?"

"Yes."

"Two of me?"

"No."

That seemed to be all Camille would get out of her. She sighed. "Okay, you're going to bed now. I can only imagine how hungry you'll be when you wake up. If you don't wake up, I'll kill you again."

That didn't even raised a flicker. Helgaer stood up. She walked inside with heavy feet. She collapsed onto the bed more than she lay upon it.

Camille tidied up the bench before walking into the hut. Helgaer was already asleep.

*~*~*

When Helgaer woke up, she ached with hunger and with every sort of joint and flesh pain imaginable.

Camille was waiting for her, stew bubbling gently over the fire.

Her expression was drawn but became instantly glad as Helgaer limped over to the bench before half sitting, half falling onto it.

Camille handed Helgaer a jug of water. She accepted with a shaking hand.

"Thank you," Helgaer said, her voice rasping in her throat. "I need more mead to dull the pain."

"Not for the first few days! You'll need another few weeks to recover from that. Strong drink will make you bleed."

Helgaer tried to smile, but most of her face was mottled with bruises and one eye would only open halfway. "I'll be right in a week."

Camille looked for one second as though she wanted to hit Helgaer.

"I don't think I'll be ready to travel for a few weeks, though."

"You won't be going anywhere for longer than that if I have any say in it."

There was silence for a few seconds as they each considered what Camille had just said.

Helgaer looked around, as best she could. "It's a good place to stay, if you'll have me."

Fin

About the Author

Jonathan Hepburn lives with his partner, two Irish Wolfhounds, two cats, an indeterminate number of wild birds and, sometimes, a passing python. He cares enough about coffee to not only grind his own, but roast it first. This says a lot about him. He rides a motorbike because it’s fun, and wishes they’d hurry up with a genetic cure for short sight. He recently became extremely fond of kilts.

He writes because otherwise the words come out when he’s not expecting them to, and likes to explore any genre with “speculative” in the name. He’s been writing for more than a decade but only submitting for a couple of years, and has more stories pending publication than have actually been published. He thinks romance is more interesting than violence and a lot more morally defensible, not to mention fun.