gust of wind pushed at his hair, ruffled the growth of beard he felt bristling upon his neck. He tried to move his body, grunted at the sudden sharp pain in his midriff.
He felt weak. Weak and half-starved. Memories rushed back to him. The collapse of the mine. The fight with the baby-faced Augmentor and his belt of knives. Cold steel slipping inside his stomach. Waking in sweat-drenched fever, swallowing desperately from a waterskin shoved halfway down his throat before the blackness took him again.
‘You’re awake. About fucking time.’ Jerek was there, crouched beside him. His right shoulder and thigh were wrapped in padded dressing. Blood had seeped through the bandages, but it had long since dried and turned brown.
Brodar Kayne forced himself up onto his elbows and glanced around. They were in a narrow depression, tree-covered hills rising on either side. The smell of rain was in the air. It was hard to be sure with the sun behind the clouds, but he reckoned it was late afternoon. How long?
‘You been out the better part of a week,’ the Wolf said, answering his unspoken question. ‘You were gutted good and proper, Kayne. Isaac stitched you up but the girl thought you was done for. I told her you was a stubborn cunt.’
Kayne licked his lips. His mouth was dry and tasted foul. ‘Where are they?’ he asked.
The Wolf reached down and passed him his water bottle. ‘Hunting,’ he replied. ‘Would have gone myself, but Isaac reckons my wounds still need time to heal. Turns out he’s an expert trapper.’
He looked up at his friend. Jerek’s face was unreadable. He scowled slightly when he saw Kayne studying him. You’ve taken worse wounds and they ain’t slowed you an inch, Wolf. You stayed with me in case I regained my senses. Not that the grim Highlander would ever admit to the fact.
‘Where are we?’ he asked.
Jerek spat. ‘West of the Rift, maybe a dozen miles. A shipful of the red-cloaked pricks turned up the day after we collapsed the mine. Followed our trail for a while, but I reckon we lost them. We been lying low ever since.’
Kayne sighed. How many had died at the Rift? The sabotage mission had turned into a massacre. ‘They discover it was us that destroyed the place?’
Jerek shrugged. ‘Don’t think so. They never got close enough to see our faces. Still, ain’t much chance of us swanning back into the Grey City now, is there? Not with the trail of bodies we’ve left behind. I say we escort the girl back to the city and get her to retrieve our gold, then put some miles between us and Dorminia. I’m tired of this shit.’
Kayne was of a like mind himself. He felt old. He felt ancient. Too many dead; too much sorrow. He was tired of running away, sick of killing. A man has to know when to quit.
A disturbance up near a line of alders caught his attention. Isaac and Sasha emerged from the trees, the manservant clutching a trio of coneys in one hand. He smiled happily when he saw his charge had regained consciousness.
In contrast, Sasha was looking mighty peeved. Her jaw clenched and unclenched in a manner not dissimilar to the Wolf when he got into one of his moods. She had a jagged tear down the side of her breeches and her left leg was caked up to the knee in mud.
‘So you made it after all,’ she said, somewhat coldly, hunkering down near to where he lay. She pulled her muddy boot off and turned it upside down, giving it a violent shake. Filthy water trickled out. ‘It would be nice if Isaac paid as much attention to our footing as he did your recovery.’ She glared at the manservant. ‘I can’t believe you led me into a bog.’
Isaac looked slightly embarrassed. ‘I really am sorry about that. I was distracted.’
‘Distracted? You were ambling along drawing pictures of birds.’
‘I like to sketch. I have quite a collection back at the depository. Perhaps when we return to the city I could show them to you.’ His vapid face looked hopeful.
Sasha snorted. ‘Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse. Don’t waste your time, Isaac. I’m not interested.’
Isaac’s face fell. Kayne couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. ‘I guess I should thank you for patching me up,’ he said to the dejected manservant. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘I shouldn’t fret about the girl. I reckon she has her sights set