Chamtivos had a traitor in his midst, or at least a man who felt it necessary to even the odds a little more between predator and prey. Karulin had managed to wrap the knife in the gag cloth without anyone noticing, including her, relying on the hunch that Anhuset might want the cloth as either a bandage or a weapon. He was her enemy, her adversary, but at least an honorable one, unlike that craven dog to whom he gave allegiance.
She cut her bonds away and used the gag cloth to create a makeshift sheath for the knife. Chamtivos might have stripped her of her weapons, but she wasn't without. She had teeth, claws, Karulin's knife, her training, and her wits. They'd not find her easy prey to hunt and kill.
Serovek was another matter. Up close he looked in even worse shape, battered and bloody. No doubt she'd find more contusions and worse under his clothes. His breathing was quick but not labored, a good sign that. Even if his captors had broken a rib or two, they hadn't punctured a lung.
She lifted a few strands of his hair, sticky with blood, away from his abused face. “The cruelties of lesser men inflicted upon a greater one. I'm sorry, Serovek.” The sight of his injuries seated a cold fury deep in her gut, and she almost wished Chamtivos and the gutless lackeys he commanded would turn their boats around start the hunt now just so she'd have the pleasure of ripping their heads off and feeding their bodies to whatever lurked in the lake's depths.
It was late morning, and she had less than a full day's cycle to get herself and Serovek to some form of shelter and plan how they might survive. “Come on, margrave. We can't stay on the beach forever.”
They were exposed on the beach. The conifer wood covering most of the island offered the camouflage of shadow as well as darkness that she saw far better in than her human adversaries. There would be places to hide. Small caves, outcroppings or niches, swales overhung by tree branches with deeper ditches that could serve as ambush trenches. Anhuset hoped the island dwellers were less menacing—and smaller—than what she'd seen in the lake itself.
She eased Serovek onto his stomach, wincing when he emitted another groan. “This is only going to get worse for both of us before it gets better,” she assured him.
Kneeling at his head, she hooked her elbows under his shoulders and clasped her sore wrists at his back. He sagged in her arms, dead weight, his head resting between her breasts.
“And humans complain the Kai are heavy,” she muttered. “I think I could carry Magas easier.”
Widening her stance, she slowly raised him to his feet, using her legs to support him. With his feet still dragging the ground, she wedged her thigh between his legs, grabbed his left hand with her right and draped it over her shoulder. Every punch and kick she'd taken after head-butting Lewelis made itself known in the sharpest way when she pressed her head to Serovek's side, squatted and curved him over her back for a lift off the ground.
Sweat trickled down her face and dripped into her eyes as she took one staggering step, then another and another toward the tree line.
She adjusted her weight and that of her burden until she had her legs solidly under her and could walk without staggering. Soon, she adopted a steady pace, Serovek heavy on her but not impossible to carry despite his considerable bulk.
Heated by her exertions, she welcomed the shade the towering firs offered. She'd miss the warmth later, but for now the chill helped as she climbed the island's slope.
Thorny underbrush clawed at her clothes. She wove through a labyrinth of majestic trees, their needle-shaped leaves whispering to her while they swayed and creaked in the steady wind coming off the water. Serovek grew heavier on her back with every step, and the air in her lungs scorched a path on the inside of her bruised throat with each breath she took.
Exhaustion conquered her halfway up the slope. Dizzy, gasping, and in danger of dropping her burden, she staggered to a spot mostly clear of the rapacious underbrush but still padded with a carpet of fallen fir needles.
The process of lowering herself to the ground and rolling Serovek off her shoulders and onto his back left her seeing double. She collapsed next to him, listening to the thunder of her heartbeat in her ears.
Once her heart stopped racing and her lungs no longer threatened to catch fire, she checked Serovek. He still breathed, the rhythm deeper, slower as if he sensed that for now he was safe in the company of a friend instead of among enemies. Anhuset gained her feet to explore their immediate surrounds. The conifers, statuesque and close together, bound the forest in an endless twilight. Mushrooms and lichen grew in abundant patches on the forest floor and on flat rocks.
Luck smiled down on her when she spotted an expanse of stone with a shallow indentation in its center, a water-catch that still held a gathering of morning dew hidden from the sun. She didn't have a cup to scoop up the water so unwrapped the gag cloth from the knife and saturated it until water trickled through her fingers as she held it in her palm.
Serovek's bloodied lips parted as she squeezed a stream of water into his mouth. He swallowed everything she offered, the tip of his tongue swiping over his lower lip to catch the last drops. Anhuset used the damp cloth to lightly swab his face and break the crust of blood sealing his eyelids shut.
He regained consciousness gradually, his eyes moving back and forth beneath the thin skin of his lids, and his breathing changed once more. One eye finally opened to a bare squint, his gaze made even more hideous by the blood threads marring the whites of his eyes.
“Ah gods,” he said in a rough voice. “We made love, didn't we? And I don't remember any of it.” He shifted position, cursing from the pain it caused him. “You weren't jesting when you said I wouldn't survive you.”
He was a sorcerer in his way with his ability to coax out her amusement in even the direst of circumstances. Pleased more than she could express at his revival and his humor, she pushed his hair back from his forehead with a careful caress. “Obviously, you aren't dying.”
“I'd probably feel better and hurt less if I were.”
She used the cloth again to finish cleaning his face. He flinched away when she touched a particularly sensitive spot on his cheekbone. “Hold still,” she ordered. During her ministrations he'd managed to open his right eye more, though his left remained closed. “How much can you see?”
“Blurry on the right side. I'll let you know about the left when I can open it.” Poor vision not withstanding, he didn't miss the marks of her own stay with Chamtivos and company. “You're wearing a few bruises and lumps yourself, not to mention that rope burn around your neck.” He attempted to scowl but thought better of it. Still, his voice betrayed his anger. “They noosed you.”
She nodded. “Rope looped at the end of a pole.”
“Then there's a Kuram in their midst.” He expanded his remark when she shook her head to indicate she wasn't familiar with the term. “Horseman out of the Glimming. The Kuram are herders and use guras—what was used on you—to capture wild horses.” He pointed to her throat. “When did they give you that?”
“When we were first attacked. They shot me full of darts dipped in dasker poison to keep me that way until they reached camp. How did they take you?”
“Sheer numbers,” he said. “I killed a few, but they swarmed me like hornets.” He reached up to touch a spot on his scalp. “Someone with a club got in a lucky shot, though I don't think the lump on my head is as impressive as the one on your forehead.”