2012-08-The Twelve-Hour Statue (2 page)

There was an awkward silence as Hrokon dug through his pack for his healer’s kit. He wasn’t much of a doctor. “You know, Xaven, one of these days you’ll decide you can trust me.”

Xaven lay on his back, looking up at the rising sun while his pain washed over him.

Hrokon had a point. If not for the big half-orc, Xaven would be dead. Since he wasn’t, perhaps this was a fine time to start reevaluating some things. Sensing awkwardness, Hrokon changed the subject. He rummaged through his kit, producing the emergency potion. “Here, drink this. It should get you well enough for us to get back to Yanmass and find a decent healer. We just made a lot of noise—could be there’s somebody around to hear it, in which case we’ll want to be well away by the time they arrive. Tell me where you stashed that chest from that altar in the first room, and I’ll get it loaded up. You work on getting that mud out of your lungs.”

“Right.” Xaven coughed, suddenly appreciating that their job was still far from over. “I hid it for us just over there before we went back inside.” He motioned to a copse of pine and eucalyptus further down the slope, away from the shattered temple. “Under the blackened boulder.”

“Good.” Hrokon clapped Xaven on the shoulder and headed off to collect the spoils, leaving his kit with the halfling. Xaven, for his part, lay still, slowly flexing fingers and toes as the potion gradually brought feeling back to the numb and buzzing digits. He closed his eyes.

He was going to be okay. More than okay, in fact—he was going to be rich. From behind the trees, he could hear Hrokon loading the altar chest onto a horse. It was forward thinking on the half-orc’s part to have brought an extra steed beyond the team Xaven requested. The half-orc really was smarter than anyone gave him credit for—including Xaven. He would make a worthy partner. And maybe, in time, a friend.

Xaven heard hoofbeats and rolled onto his side. Farther down the slope, Hrokon was riding away at full gallop, the altar chest strapped securely behind him on the saddle.

Xaven gave a choking laugh. “Smarter than anyone gave him credit for,” indeed. Xaven had clearly taught the half-orc better than he’d thought. Yet thanks to Hrokon, Xaven was still alive. He’d even left the halfling his kit, which looked to have just enough food and water for him to make it back to civilization. Perhaps, all things considered, it was a fair trade.

Xaven lay his head back, closed his eyes, and listened to the retreating sounds of his partner.