Son of the Shadows (14 page)

"Hold your tongue! You're going soft, Gull. First you beg two days' grace for a man you know has no hope of survival, who wouldn't want to live even if he could. Then you bring some fool of a girl here.

Where did you find her? She's got a tongue on her, that's beyond dispute. Can we get on with this?

There's work to be done." Perhaps he thought he had intimidated me into silence.

"He does have a chance," I said, much relieved that he had decided not to hit me, for my head ached already from its earlier knock, "a slender one, but a real one nonetheless. He must lose the arm, that I

cannot save. But I may save his life. I do not believe he would want to die. He asked me to help him. At least let me try."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Because—curse it, woman, I've neither time nor inclination to debate issues with you. I don't know where you came from or where you're going, and I have no wish to be enlightened on either score; but here you are no more than a nuisance and an inconvenience. This is no place for a woman."

"Believe me, I am not here by choice. But now that your men have brought me so far, at least give me a trial. I will show you what I can do. Seven days, eight—long enough to tend to the man properly and give him a fighting chance. That's all I'm asking." I saw Gull's face, a picture of surprise. I had, after all, completely contradicted my earlier words. Perhaps I was a fool. Dog had hope written on his plain features; the others looked at the rock wall, the ground, their hands, anywhere but at their leader.

Someone at the back gave a tiny little whistle, as if to say, Now she's done it

.

The raven man stood very still for a moment, looking at me through narrowed eyes, and then he slipped the wicked knife casually back into its sheath.

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"Seven days," he said. "You think that's enough?"

I could hear the labored breathing of the smith, and the cynical tone of the questioner's voice.

"The arm must come off," I said. "Tonight, straightaway. I'll need help with that. I can tell you how to do

it, but I don't have the strength for the cutting. After that, I'll tend to him. Ten days would be better."

"Six days," he said levelly. "In six days we move. It can be no later; we are required elsewhere and must allow time for travel. If Evan is not fit to accompany us, he'll be left behind."

"You ask the impossible," I whispered, "and you know it."

"You wanted a trial. This is your trial. Now if you'll excuse us, we have work to do. You, Gull, and you,"

nodding at Dog, "since your folly brought her here, you can help her with the job. Fetch what she wants.

Do her bidding. And the rest of you—" He glanced around the circle of men, and they fell silent. "The woman is out of bounds. I should not need to tell you that. Lay a hand on her, and you'll have extreme difficulty in picking up your weapon the next day. She'll remain here with a guard outside at all times. If I

hear so much as a breath of any breach, you'll be painfully aware of it."

I kept a brave face, but under it I was petrified with fear. I, the girl who wanted nothing more than to stay at home and tend her herb patch; I, the girl who loved above all to exchange tales with her family of an evening after supper, instructing fierce strangers on how to hack off a dying man's limb and cauterize the wound with hot iron. I, the daughter of Sevenwaters, alone in the lair of the Painted Man and his band of feral killers; for it had become blindingly clear to me that these must be the very outlaws Eamonn had told of. I, Liadan, making bargains with a man who—what was it Eamonn had said? That he carried out his missions without pride or commitment? I wasn't sure, now, that this description was accurate. I thought both qualities were present, though not perhaps in the way Eamonn would have defined them. The man was singularly unpleasant, there was no doubting that. But why had he agreed to what I proposed if he thought me so misguided?

I pondered this as I told Dog to make ready a brazier just outside and to keep the heat up, and to get a broad dagger ready, red hot, if he could. Gull fetched the other things that were needed.

In particular, a small bowl of warm water and a very sharp knife with a toothed edge. Snake brought more lanterns and stood them around the rock shelter. Meanwhile I sat by the smith, Evan, and tried to talk to him. He slipped in and out of awareness, one moment speaking nonsense in his fever, then suddenly back with us, staring up at me in a blend of hope and terror.

I tried to tell him, during these brief, lucid moments, what would happen.

"... your arm is beyond saving . . . To save your life, we must cut off your arm. ... I will put you to sleep as well as I can, but you'll probably still feel it. It will be very bad for a while. . . . Try to keep still. Trust me. I know what I'm doing . . ." There was no telling if he understood me or believed me. I wasn't sure if

I believed myself. Outside there were sounds of quiet, orderly activity: horses being attended to, buckets clanking, weapons being sharpened. Not much talk.

"We're ready," said Gull.

I had taken a small sponge from the deepest corner of my pack, and this had been soaking in the little bowl for a time, not too long. Gull sniffed.

"That takes me back a long way. Reminds me of my mother's potions. Pretty strong stuff.

Mulberry, henbane, juice of hops, mandrake? Now where would a good little lass like you learn how to make up a draft like that? As soon kill a man as cure him, that would."

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"That's why we need the vinegar," I told him, eyeing him curiously. Did a man with no past have a mother? "The herbs are dried into the sponge. Very useful when you're on the road. You know a bit about these things then?"

"Most of it I've long forgotten. It's women's work."

"It could be useful to learn it again. For men who take such risks, it seems you have few resources to deal with your injuries."

"It doesn't happen much," said Dog. "We're the best. Mostly, we come out untouched. This, this was an accident, pure and simple."

"His own fault," agreed Gull. "Besides, you heard the chief. We've got our way of dealing with it.

No passengers in this team."

I shivered. "You've done this yourselves? Slit a man's throat sooner than try to save him?"

Dog narrowed his yellow eyes at me. "Different world. Couldn't expect you to understand. No place in the team if you're hurt so bad you can't do your work. No place to go outside the team.

Chief's right.

Ask any of us. All of us. Put us in Evan's place, and we'd be begging for the knife."

I thought about this as I coaxed the smith to swallow a few drops squeezed from the little sponge.

"That doesn't make sense," I said. "Maybe it's part of the code, whatever that is. But then, why did you try to save this man's life against your chief's orders? Why not just finish it, as he would have done?"

They seemed reluctant to answer. I pressed the sponge in my hand, and a little more of the highly toxic mixture dribbled into Evan's mouth. His eyelids closed. At last Gull spoke in an undertone.

"Different, you see. Evan's a smith, not a fighter. Got a trade. Got a chance of a life outside, once he saves enough to take himself away. Right away, it'd have to be; Armorica, Gaul, across the sea. He's got a woman waiting for him in Britain; he can up and go as soon as he has the silver for bribes to secure safe passage. There's a price on his head, like all of us. Still, he's got that hope."

"Couldn't tell the chief that," said Snake in a murmur. "It was hard enough work, begging a couple of days for him. Hope you can do miracles, healer girl. You'll need one."

"My name's Liadan," I said, without thinking. "You can call me that; it'll be easier for all of us.

Now we'd better get started. Who's doing the cutting?"

Gull looked at Dog, and Snake looked at Dog, and Dog eyed the lethal, toothed knife.

"Looks like it'll have to be me," he said.

"Size and strength aren't all of it," I cautioned. "You'll need very good control as well. The cut must be neat and quick. And he'll scream. This potion may be strong, but it's not as strong as that."

"I'll do it."

Nobody had heard the chief coming. It seemed that, good as his men were, he was better. I hoped he had not been listening for long. His cold, gray eyes swept once around the area, and then he stalked over and helped himself to the knife. Dog wore an expression of acute relief.

"You don't escape so lightly," I told him. "You seem to be the biggest, so you'd better hold onto his shoulders. Keep your hands well away from where the—from where this man is cutting. You two, take his legs. He may look unconscious, but he'll feel the pain of this and its aftermath.

When I tell you, you must use all your weight to hold him."

They moved into position, well drilled in obeying orders. "Have you ever done this before?" I asked the

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man with the knife. "Precisely this, no. You are about to instruct me, no doubt." I made a quick decision not to lose my temper however arrogant his manner.

"I'll take you through it step-by-step. When we start, you must do as I tell you straightaway. It will be much easier if you give me a name to use. I will not call you Chief."

"Use what you will," he said, brows raised. "We have no names here, save those you have heard."

"There are tales about a man named Bran," I said. "That name means raven. I will use that. Is the dagger heated? You must fetch it quickly when I tell you, Dog."

"It's ready."

"Very well. Now, Bran, you see this point near the shoulder, where the bone is still whole?"

The man whom I had named after a legendary voyager gave a nod, his face tight-lipped with disapproval.

"You must cut here to finish cleanly. Don't let your knife slip down to this point, for the wound has no hope of healing if we leave fragments within. Concentrate on your job. Let the others hold him. I will cut back the flesh first with my small knife. . . . Where is my small knife?"

Gull reached down and extracted it from where he had stuck it in his boot.

"Thank you. I'll start now."

I wondered, later, how I could possibly have stayed in control. How I managed to sound calm and capable when my heart was racing at three times its usual pace, and my body was breaking out in a cold sweat, and I was filled with fear. Fear of failure. Fear of the consequences of failure, not just for the hapless Evan, but for myself as well. Nobody had spelled out exactly what would happen if I got this wrong, but I could imagine.

The first part was not so bad. Cut neatly through the layers, peel back the skin, as far as the place where somebody had tied a narrow, extremely tight strip of linen around the arm, just below the shoulder. My hands were soon red to the wrists. So far, so good. The smith twitched and trembled, but did not wake.

"All right," I said. "Now you cut, Bran. Straight across here. Dog, hold tight. Keep him still.

This must be quick."

Perhaps the best assistant, at such times, is a man who has no understanding of human feelings, a man who can cut living bone as neatly and decisively as he would a plank of wood, a man whose face shows nothing as his victim jerks and thrashes suddenly, straining against the well-muscled arms that hold him, and lets out a shuddering moan straight from the depths of the gut.

"Sweet Christ," breathed Snake, leaning his weight across the smith's legs to keep him down. The horrible sawing noise went steadily on. The cut was as straight as a sword edge. By my side, Dog had his massive forearms planted one on the patient's left arm, one across the upper chest.

"Careful, Dog," I said. "He still needs to breathe."

"I think he's coming to." Gull's hands pressed heavily down on Evan's right side. "Having trouble holding him still. Can't you give him some more of the . . .?"

"No," I said. "He's had as much as he can safely take. We're nearly done." There was a truly horrible sound as the last shard of bone was severed, and the mangled remains of the limb fell to the ground.

Across the pallet from me, Bran looked up. There was blood on him to the elbows, and his shirt front was spattered with crimson. I detected no change at all in his expression. His brows rose in silent question.

"Fetch the dagger from the fire." Diancecht help me; I must do this part myself. I knew what would happen and steeled my will. Bran walked outside and returned with the weapon in his hand, hilt wrapped in a cloth, blade glowing as bright as a sword half forged. His eyes asked another question.

"No," I said. "Give it to me. This part is my work. Untie the last binding there. There'll be
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blood. Then come around and help Dog hold him down. He'll scream. Hold on tight. Keep him still."

The binding came off, and there was a flow of blood, but less than I expected. That was not a good sign, for it might signify the flesh was already dying. Without a word I moved to the other side, and Bran took my place, ready to hold the smith as soon as he moved.

"Now," I said, and touched the red-hot iron to the open wound. There was an unpleasant sizzling sound, and a sickening smell of roast meat. The smith screamed. It was a hideous banshee scream such as you might hear again and again in your dreams for years after. His whole body convulsed in agony, chest heaving, limbs thrashing, head and shoulders kept still only by the efforts of both Dog and Bran, who forced him down, muscles bulging. Big, ugly Dog was as white as a wraith.

"Sweet Jesus," muttered Snake.

"Sorry, not finished," I said, blinking back tears, and I touched the dagger to the wound again, moving it firmly so the whole area would be sealed. Forced myself to keep it there long enough, as another shuddering scream filled the air of the small shelter. Took the hot iron away, finally, and stood there as the smith's voice died down to a wheezing, gasping whimper. The four men relaxed their grip and straightened up slowly. I didn't seem to be able to move. After a bit, Gull took the dagger from my hands and went outside with it, and Dog began quietly picking things up off the ground and dropping them into a bucket, and Snake took the little cup of vinegar and, at a nod from me, began to sponge it, a few drops at a time, between Evan's swollen lips.