Mist's Edge (The Broken Lands #2) - T.A. White Page 0,106

Chirron to get to more important duties now. That wasn’t going to happen though.

Shea’s sigh was gusty as she held the cloth she’d used to blot away some of the blood out to Chirron. He took it and pointed her to a seat.

She sat and held still as he pressed against the skin around the cut on her forehead. A cool, almost numbing sensation spread from the places where he touched. It wasn’t enough to dim all the pain, however. Fallon hovered over them looking like he wanted to shed Chirron’s blood every time Shea winced.

She needed something to distract her from Chirron’s probing fingers or else she feared he wouldn’t live through tending to her wounds.

“How are your men?” she asked.

“Fine. There were a few casualties, but we managed to bring down several of the eagles.”

Several. She still found that strange. It was damn near impossible for that many to gather.

“We were lucky they attacked here, where their movement was hampered. On the plains or in the mountains we would have faced much greater losses.”

That was another thing. Why had they attacked here? This wasn’t their natural hunting grounds. She’d listened to many stories told by the Airabel villagers, and they had almost no references to the golden eagles that plagued much of the Highlands and Lowlands.

“How did the Airabel villagers fare?” Shea asked.

“They suffered some losses. Many of their warriors fought honorably from above to keep the eagles from carrying off their victims. Their actions have won them much favor from my generals. Eckbert has volunteered his healers to help assist the wounded,” Fallon said.

“I need to talk with Eckbert.” Shea pushed Chirron’s hands away. Something about this didn’t sit right with her.

“I’m not done,” Chirron snapped, slapping a hand onto her shoulder and pushing her back down. “You’ll go nowhere until I’ve cleaned and put stiches in this cut.”

Shea glared up at Chirron. She had places to be and people to question. There were more important things to take care of than treating her superficial injuries. Chirron raised one eyebrow, his expression saying he wasn’t impressed with her glare. He gave Fallon a pointed look.

Fallon stood watching them, with his arms folded across his chest and a frown on his face. He looked seconds away from throwing things.

Shea saw his point. “At least send someone for Eckbert.”

Fallon gestured and one of the men in the room with them left. Shea presumed on the errand of summoning the village elder.

“Now that that’s taken care of, perhaps you can hold still.” Chirron didn’t wait for her agreement, pressing a cloth he’d soaked with a liquid to the cuts on Shea’s forehead. She hissed as it stung.

“The pain will do you good,” Chirron said, bending closer to get a better look at what he was working with. “The liquid will keep you from getting an infection and reduce signs of scarring.”

“Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired,” Shea told him.

He picked up her hand and pressed it to the cloth on her head. She kept it there as he turned and busied himself with his satchel of supplies.

“I treat warriors all day. Men who think they are immune to such common ailments as infection. I’ve learned to be direct.”

Shea snorted. She could believe that.

“If this can reduce scaring, it’s a wonder your soldiers have so many of them,” Shea told Fallon.

Chirron paused in what he was doing and looked up. “His men can’t be bothered with such things. They believe scars are a sign of strength.”

Fallon’s eyebrows were just barely lifted, and his mouth curved down with just the slightest hint of disdain. He gave them a long stare that said he had no interest in this conversation.

“Warlord, I’ve brought the village elder,” one of Fallon’s Anateri said from the entrance. He stepped aside to allow Eckbert to enter.

Eckbert was clad in leather armor and carried a quiver in one hand and a bow across his back. His face had been painted so that he would blend in with the forest and his eyes held a fierce light. One that she had seen many times in Fallon’s. This man was a warrior—old and past his prime, but he still held that spirit, and his garments and weapons said he was prepared to defend his people to the death.

Shea blinked at the odd vision. Eckbert had always seemed like a harmless old man.

“I’ve positioned my men in the trees surrounding this area. If there is another incursion by the