We Will Hunt Together (2 page)

It wasn't necessary. Pain and blood loss, on top of the poor eating and exertion of the past week, gradually sapped Helgaer's energy until she was barely able to move over the more difficult parts. She certainly couldn't concentrate enough to pay attention to her surroundings. Her cloak, something she had worn all her life, was getting in her way and weighing her down.

At one point, Camille stopped and took the water skin off Helgaer's belt, ordering, "Drink."

The tepid water revived Helgaer a little, although even drinking was painful by that point, so she was dimly aware that the nature of the country and the vegetation had changed. They were clearly much higher and must have been climbing for a while. When she managed to spy the sun, she was shocked by how low it had sunk.

All the time, she could feel blood oozing inside her clothes. It slowed as the day progressed. Whether that was because she was clotting or running out of blood, she wasn't sure. She was too tired to tell if she was merely exhausted or nearing death.

When Camille finally led her up to an old hunter’s cabin, as day was threatening to become dusk, Helgaer was in a world made so hazy by pain and fatigue that she just stopped and stood there, staring blankly in front of her.

"Sit," Camille ordered, pointing at a bench against the front wall of the cabin.

Helgaer nearly fell unconscious as soon as the weight came off her legs, but she forced herself to keep moving, struggling to remove the pouches and water skin from her belt with shaking fingers. Her belt, tied over her long shirt, gave her more trouble. She was almost crying from frustration before Camille came to her aid.

"Drink."

The water this time was cool and even more welcome.

Helgaer barely paid attention as Camille drew her knife and cut through the fine cord holding the crossbow bolt's fletches on, removing the fletches easily, although she had to carefully spread the vest's fur apart to do so.

She was so exhausted, she obeyed Camille's order to turn sideways without thinking about it, not realising what Camille was doing until she felt a hand on her back a second before the shaft was pulled through her in one swift movement.

Helgaer howled, adrenaline waking her up enough to feel the fresh blood spurting out of the wound. She almost turned to attack Camille, stopping herself with fists raised.

Her vest fastened in the front with four buttons. Camille undid them in seconds.

She lifted the bottom of Helgaer's shirt, then pressed a wad of linen against the entry wound. "Get your vest off."

At least that was easy.

Helgaer felt Camille lift her shirt up the back before pressing another wad of linen over the exit wound.

"Now get this shirt off. I can't bind you properly if it's in the way."

Moving her left arm too high made Helgaer hiss with pain, but she managed to pull the wool over her head. Beneath it, a long, broad strip of linen bound her breasts tightly against her chest.

Camille’s fingers tapped her on the belly. "Hold this pad. Your right hand. Here. Press harder. You have to stop the bleeding."

The pressure on Helgaer's back shifted without ever going away before Camille passed a long bandage around her, right to left, shifting hands again so she could take it with her left hand and pull it over the padding on Helgaer's belly.

Helgaer managed to do her part, getting the bandage in place, but her fingers were fumbling as she did so.

Camille wrapped her quickly and efficiently, pulling the bandage tightly enough to cut into Helgaer's waist and jam the padding against each wound.

She poured water into Helgaer's mouth, following it with a handful of dried flowers and bark.

"Chew, but don't swallow them. Just the liquid," Camille ordered. "They'll help with the pain."

They were bitter, but Helgaer chewed them, trying to generate as much saliva as possible, eager for any relief from the throbbing, burning pain in her side.

There was a moment then when Helgaer could think clearly enough to look at her surroundings.

Not far in front of her was a fire pit with an iron tripod over it. A small cauldron hung from the tripod.

The fire couldn't have been more than coals when they had arrived here, but it was burning steadily now. Steam was rising from the cauldron.

Camille appeared again, holding more scraps of linen and a small clay bowl. She wet a wad of linen in the bowl, using it to clean the dried and drying blood off Helgaer's skin, sponging what she could out of the clumped fur of her wolf-skin pants. "You need a bath, but that can wait until tomorrow."

Helgaer was too drained to take offence. Besides, it was true. She had been walking for four days in the same clothes without washing them or herself.

The herbs Helgaer were still chewing must have been doing some good because the pain was now muted and dull. But it was still pain.

On Camille's next trip into the cabin, she returned holding a thick woven blanket, much patched and, when she put it around Helgaer's shoulders, warm. It felt strange after her cloak.

Helgaer wrapped it gratefully around herself, trying not to move her waist too much, then had to unwrap it far enough to accept a bowl of warm stew with a wooden spoon in it.

"Lucky I didn't need to cook tonight," Camille said. "Eat up. You'll do yourself no favours not getting enough food in you while you heal."

Helgaer ate. She was an experienced cook herself, but all she had the mental energy to taste now was rabbit and wild garlic. She was not sure if it really was as delicious as her tongue was telling her, or if it simply tasted like that because it was in her mouth right now.

Camille did not talk as they ate, but did keep staring at Helgaer, not intently but inquisitively. Helgaer ignored her, keeping her head down.

By the time they had finished eating, the fire and the stars were the only light.

Camille stuck a small branch into the fire until it caught. She carried it into the hut, emerging with a lit lantern.

"Bed."

For a second, Helgaer's legs rebelled before she managed to stagger to her feet.

In the small circle of light from Camille's lantern, Helgaer, nearly dead on her feet, recognised a bed with an old straw mattress on it. Lying down caused another spike of agony, but it was muted and distant.

"Go to sleep. Snore and I'll tip a bucket of water over you."

Helgaer did not hear the last part.

Helgaer awoke late the next morning in an empty cabin.

A moment of confusion and instantly-alert panic (where was she? Who was there?) was displaced by a stab of pain when she tried to move.

She held herself rigid, her teeth clenched, as memory rushed back, and she pushed down the pain.

When she felt she could move, she unwrapped herself from the blanket before standing up with extreme care. She was still fully dressed below the waist, including boots, so the cold floor didn't add to her self-pity. Above the waist, she had Camille's makeshift bandaging, her breast bindings and nothing else.

The memory of Camille undressing her rose up in full force and her cheeks coloured. She said a brief prayer that she had adopted the bindings when she put on men's clothes.

Part of her expected Camille to walk through the door. Helgaer kept her arms firmly by her sides as she looked around for something to wear. Her skin still kept the warmth of the bed, but it was autumn. The air was chill and she would get cold quickly.

Her shirt was nowhere in sight.

She saw some of Camille's spare shirts hanging from carved bone hooks, but she doubted they would fit her stockier—and bustier—figure.

A cloak sewn out of wolf skins was hanging beside the door, giving her a small shock of nostalgia. It was not as good as a Vreeland cloak, but she lifted it down anyway.

With the cloak wrapped around her to preserve what modesty she could still claim, she looked with more interest at the insides of the hut.

Her belt, weapons and bucklers were lying in a neat heap beside the bed, which made her immensely relieved. Despite the pain, she strapped the belt back on underneath the cloak and adjusted her sword and dagger to her satisfaction. After a moment's hesitation, she defiantly strapped her bucklers on as well, although her abilities in a fight would be limited indeed.

The hut was one room in one rectangle. Shutters fit loosely over windows, making the interior dim but not fully dark. There was only one bed. Camille must have spent the night on a pile of skins against the other wall. There was a desk—just a slab of wood on four crude legs—and a very solid, very locked, chest. The desk carried knives and various tools for working wood, leather and skins. She recognised a fletching knife sitting in front of a bowl full of turkey feathers.

The desk also held a silver coffee pot with an oil burner. Helgaer felt a sudden stab of longing—it had been a week since she had last had coffee—but pushed it down.

Spare bows leaned against one wall, unstrung—all simple but impeccably made—next to a couple of quivers and an impressive pile of arrows. A weapons rack held a couple of mismatched swords. A shelf beside the swords held a few daggers. No two had the same blade, handle or sheath.

An unlocked, much cruder chest held clothes and a pile of old and mismatched wooden bowls and wooden or bone cutlery. There was no food in the hut. There was also, despite the furs piled in every corner, little warmth.

She warily stepped outside.

The hut stood with its back to a cliff, a semi-circle of trees around it. The clearing was partly bare dirt, partly straggly grass and partly a shelf of upthrust rock. The tripod over the fire pit, the cauldron, and, she could now see, supports for a spit as well, were made by a skilled blacksmith.

The trees were all high-altitude pines, giving her a brief and ruthlessly quashed nostalgia for home. They were so tall, the sun hadn't awoken her until late morning. She grimaced at having wasted so much day, but a small voice in the back of her head chided her for not recognising when she needed to rest.

Only a couple of paths left the clearing. On trees around the clearing, there were archery targets made of tightly coiled thick rope.

In normal circumstances, she would have spared a moment to appreciate the beauty of where she was.

There were too many questions for that now. She would have roundly cursed herself for being so trusting of a complete stranger, but, so far, she was still safe.

"Good morning."

Helgaer nearly jumped.

Camille was sitting on the far end of the bench, her eyes closed and her entire posture one of relaxation in the morning sunlight. Three rabbits sat on an old circle of tree trunk at the near end of the bench. Camille's exquisite bow was hanging on two hooks high on the wall of the hut, her quiver of arrows lying on the bench next to her.

Further past Camille, Helgaer's shirt and cloak were draped over a tanning rack. The shirt was wet and, Helgaer could see even from where she was standing, no longer had blood stains on it.

"Good morning." Helgaer suddenly realised how dry her throat was and, at the same time, how full her bladder.

Camille was looking at her from one half-closed eye. "Behind you. Follow the path."

A worn path lead around the side of the hut, past a wood pile, to a natural cave. The cave contained a chair with a hole cut in it over a bucket and a second bucket holding ash.

Trying not to feel self-conscious, she carefully unfastened and pushed down her pants and sat down, gritting her teeth against any movement that jarred her side.

A handful of ash went in the bucket when she had finished.

Camille stood up when Helgaer returned to the bench.

"You will need water first and then food to cope with losing that much blood."

Camille walked around the other side of the hut, so Helgaer followed, sealing her mouth against the questions trying to escape.

A large barrel sat against the cliff, underneath a small rivulet that was barely enough to wet the rock, but which, drip by drip, kept the barrel full. A battered metal mug sat on another segment of tree trunk next to it. The water set Helgaer's teeth on edge and made her shiver, but she knew the dangers of dehydration after so much blood loss.

Next to the barrel, where hot sun would never reach it, stood a solid, iron-bound chest.

Inside, a metal jug of milk stood next to two loaves of bread, a pile of forest onions, woody wild carrots and farmed parsnips.

Camille started pulling out vegetables. "How much can you carry?"

The cauldron, already washed, was sitting next to the rain barrel. Camille half filled it with water and carried it easily in one hand.

Back at the bench, Camille put the cauldron on the ground and pointed at another tree stump for Helgaer to deposit her armload of vegetables. "Can you butcher rabbits?"

"Pretty well."

Camille was already drawing the dagger at her belt and picking up a carrot.

Gritting her teeth, Helgaer sat down in front of the stump with the carcasses on it. She debated for a second how to arrange the cloak so she could work, then set her jaw and started taking it off. She could see her shirt was still too wet to wear comfortably.