Once assured he wasn't going to die on her in the immediate future, Anhuset had sprinted down the slope, fleet as a deer. Chamtivos hadn't extended his particular brand of hospitality to her with the same zeal as he did to Serovek. Though it galled him, Serovek knew he'd serve her best by staying behind. He had to clear his head, pry open both eyes, and make himself useful to the woman who carried him across her shoulders over difficult terrain to get him to safety.
“Ugly you might find me, firefly woman, but I think you're beginning to like me,” he said to the stately firs surrounding him. Serovek smiled despite the pain it caused as he imagined Anhuset's expression had she heard him.
He took the damp cloth she'd used to give him water and clean his face, and soaked his right eye, glued shut by scabs. Hot threads of blood trickled down his cheek as he broke the scab and forced his eyelid up. The world remained blurry, but his depth perception was no longer skewed. He wondered if Brishen had dealt with the same when he lost his eye and how long it had taken for him to adjust.
Scooting closer to a young tree, he used the trunk as support to leverage himself first to his knees, then to his feet. He breathed hard, lightheaded from the exertion as well as the pain in his ribs, lower back, and face. Resting against the sapling for a moment, he rode out the first few waves of agony until his body accustomed itself to the discomfort enough that he didn't feel like bellowing with every movement. Leisurely convalescing wasn't an option. He had to move, had to walk, and at some point, would probably have to fight. He already considered himself a detriment to Anhuset. He wouldn't be the means by which Chamtivos would find it easy to kill her.
She'd left him the eating knife for defense, but knives were tools as well as weapons, and after what felt like a thousand years, he managed to scavenge a few sturdy sticks of decent length and thickness and staggered back to where Anhuset had left him. His mobility might be limited from his injuries, but his enemies hadn't broken his fingers. He settled down to craft crude but effective weaponry with the eating knife and sticks.
The day had aged into late afternoon by the time Anhuset returned, grim-faced but carrying an armful of items she'd scavenged during her scouting. She paused to eye the third spear he was whittling at, shaving off bits of wood to create a lethal tip at one end.
“A fishing spear,” she said. “Nasty bit of work if you take one of those in the gut.”
He honed one of the back-curved edges he'd whittled into the stick's tip, meant to hook onto whatever it grabbed and tear if prey tried to wriggle free. “I'm not inclined to show mercy to this group,” he said dryly, setting the knife and stick aside for a moment. “I see you were foraging as well as scouting. What interesting things have you brought back?”
She dumped what was in her arms into a small pile at his feet: a short length of rope stained with mildew, a tattered shirt, and a moldy basket of smooth round rocks. She held onto the best item of all, a gourd full of water, and offered it to him. “You're surely parched, but I don't think I need to warn you about why you shouldn't guzzle it all down.”
Serovek nodded his thanks, using the first sips to rinse the taste of blood from his mouth. The water was cold, and to his dry tongue and throat, sweeter than winter mead. “Water from the lake?” he asked between sips.
Anhuset folded in front of him, long legs crossed at the ankles, her knees bent so she perched like a butterfly with spread wings. A beautiful butterfly with the sting of a hornet. “Yes, though I kept an eye on the waves. Something or things patrols those waters. They're big, long like snakes and were very interested in our boats when we rowed here. They may not come ashore, but I wanted to be cautious, not eaten.”
He raised the gourd to her in a toast. “Who wouldn't?” This time he swallowed a more generous gulp, his belly cramping in warning as the water hit his stomach like a stone. “I don't much like the idea of you risking your life that way, but I thank you for the water. Rest assured I'll savor every drop.”
Was that a blush tinting the high ridges of her cheekbones? He hoped so. She didn't admonish him for laying on the charm, only nodded and slid the basket of rocks toward him.
“These are from the shore. I picked what I thought might work in a sling. Do you know how to use a sling?”
He almost chuckled but a twinge with the sharpness of a portcullis spike in his ribs changed his mind. “Since I was about four years old. My father taught me. When I was thirteen, I took down a charging boar with one shot landed between its eyes.”
Her eyebrows rose and her eyes widened. Even if he couldn't read her eyes in the way he could read a fellow human's, Serovek was sure by her expression she wasn't disbelieving of his boast, only impressed. Trust. She was learning to trust him.
“So not just adept at seducing women, riding horses and swinging a sword then.” She tapped the basket. “I'm adequate with a sling, though I've never killed a boar with one. I prefer throwing spikes.” She gestured to the knife he set aside. “When you're done with your spear, I'll take the blade and whittle a few spikes to carry with me. We can use the shirt and rope to make a sling.”
He hefted the rope. There wasn't much of it, certainly nothing to use for climbing or netting something, but there was plenty to make a sling once he unraveled some of the fibers. “Besides the rocks, where did you find the rest of these?”
“Different spots on the island. Either we aren't the first unfortunates to be marooned here for Chamtivos's pleasure hunts or this island is visited by others who leave things behind when they return to the mainland.” She reached for one of the two completed spears, inspecting it with a careful eye, testing its weight and balance in her hand. “You made this just with the eating knife?” At his nod, she smiled a wide, toothy smile guaranteed to turn most humans pale with fright. Serovek only wondered how he might kiss her senseless without having his tongue shredded to ribbons. “I can run back to the lake with one of these and try to spear something for dinner, but we'll have to make it a fast one. We can't stay in this spot much longer.” Her gaze swept over him. “I can carry you again if needed.”
His stomach recoiled at the idea. The water alone sat uneasy in his belly as it was. “I'm not hungry, and I can walk.” He sounded more abrupt than he intended, but Serovek would crawl up the remainder of the slope on his knees before he put that burden on Anhuset a second time. “What else did you discover during your foray?”
Her grin fell away. “There's only this side of the island with a shore fit to land a boat. The other side is a sheer drop to the water. The best place to be is at the island's summit, but the slope is steeper the higher you climb, a lot of it muddy and hard going. If we had more time, drier ground, and a gentler ascent...”
“And me not injured.”
She waved away that obstacle with an airy hand as if it meant nothing. “We'll just strategize around it.”
Serovek admired her ferocity, her pragmatism, her indomitable will. She didn't give up or back down. Her sheer grit saved her from what, in any other woman, would be deluded optimism. Anhuset didn't need rescuing. She just needed help—someone to open the armory so she could choose the weapons that would allow her to resolve the problem. “The summit is out, but I'm guessing you found an alternative.”