Kastan shook her head, trying to absorb the scope of Edmund’s plans. With Hengrek Blacktower’s death, his heir assumes power. And that heir rode to fight at Edmund’s side during the rebellion. She re-read a second scroll. With the consolidation of Eastern Kovalun, Edmund holds enough territory to challenge Harn’s authority. And Eoden is sealed from external threat.
None of it much mattered, at least for the moment. The force outside was most assuredly not a group of sellswords hired by the duke to look like Eodenth raiders. She had no idea who they were, or why they’d come to wage war, but they weren’t Harn’s hidden hand.
She studied a note Edmund had struck through with several deep lines. Lines? They look more like gouges. One’s sliced most of the way through the parchment. She leaned down to squint over the scroll, trying to make it out amidst the visual noise. His hand is normally so fair. This note looks as if it were written in either haste … or anger. An instant later she began to snort, then giggle as she held back outright laughter.
“Excellency.” Olga chopped the word into its component syllables. “Time is short.”
Kastan nodded, wiping her eyes. “Eobum would never have accepted that kind of power. A Count of Eoden? Even under Edmund, whom he loves, he would see that for the trap it is.” She was fast becoming an expert on that very trap, after all.
Olga sighed, stepping over to the small writing table where Kastan was sitting. She gave the briefest of glances at the scroll in question, then shook her head. “And do you not see Edmund’s multiple efforts to cross out the notion? He knows it well. That doesn’t change his own desire to see it done… but he knows the Eoalunth’s heart well enough.”
Kastan snapped her head up, all amusement gone. “The Eodenth’s heart, I’m certain you meant to say.” She made her tone flat and more than a bit chilly. “Or if you’ve trouble with that, perhaps you would find it easier to use his actual rank when speaking of him. In which case, Mistress, you would say that Edmund knows the Commander’s heart.”
“The Commander is Eoalunth, and if you believe you’ve time to chastise me for my choice of words, then it is clear to me that I deserve such. It means I have failed to impress upon you precisely how—short—time—is.” She planted the backs of her fists on her hips, but otherwise kept herself in check.
Kastan was just drawing breath to make a retort of some kind when movement caught her attention. The heavy canvas flap opened at the top of the short stair, revealing the grave face of Ruční Kopí.
“Hajvarr?” Kastan stood at once, ignoring Olga’s attempts to urge her back to her seat. She watched as his throat worked to swallow the bitterest part of whatever he was thinking or feeling.
“I know him,” said he. “I’d swear I do.” He shook his head. “Radek says… it won’t be long.”
Kastan went to him, mounting the stairs with swift, sure strides. “He has a son… Andrej. We—”
“Peace.” Hajvarr met her eyes. “He’s with him now.”
She nodded, bowed her head to collect herself, then moved past him into the tent’s main room.
Her nose twitched as the mingled perfumes of burned wax, vomit, open wounds, and raw egg assaulted her. The last of these, she knew, was smeared over a wound to slow bleeding. But one look at Rákos made it plain he was beyond such measures. Still, Radek had done his best, she had no doubt.
The hunter rested on a pallet of uncured hides that had been covered in cotton batting. His long shirt lay open. Someone—Radek, most likely—had sliced the garment down the middle and pulled it apart. Rákos’s bare chest seemed sunken as he labored to breathe, head gleaming with sweat in the lantern’s circle of light.
Kastan saw his eyes rolling beneath their greyish lids, as if he were in the throes of a vivid dream. She willed herself not to shudder.
Andrej stood at his father’s feet, gazing at the dying man’s troubled face. His own face was wet, though his breathing was slow and even. Štít sat to the boy’s left, leaning into his side. He stroked her sleek head, but the motion was a slow, automatic thing.
She marked the tools of both father and son—Sheshik bows and half-full quivers—laying across the singular table. Radek stood beside that same table, stirring something in a wooden mug. His apothecar’s instruments were close at hand.
As she stepped over to Andrej, she saw the wounds at last. Rákos had what looked to be three holes on his left side, very near, if not directly over, his kidney. Something in one of his wounds caught the light as she moved.
Hells hall me home. Arrows? When was he hit by arrows? None of our pursuers…
She realized with a sick shock that she’d never checked him over before they’d mounted up. He sounded short of breath… His hands were like ice. I should’ve… should’ve…
Should’ve what, exactly? She knew some rough leechcraft, but she couldn’t have stopped their mad run for the gate in order to tend to him. And he’d not told her anything about his wounds, even when he had explained how he’d gotten separated from the rest of his hunting party.
Some ownness must fall to him, surely.
Even so, I might have done … something, had I known.
She walked to stand behind Andrej, placing her hands on his shoulders. She felt him stiffen, but only for an instant.
“I have you, Andrej.” She gave his shoulders a warm, brief squeeze. “I have you. Pravdivý jako zítřek.” (True as tomorrow.)
There was an audible click as he swallowed. Nodding, he reached a hand up to squeeze her own.
Radek came to stand beside her. He kept his voice soft so as not to disturb his patient, but made no attempt to honey his words. She did note that he’d returned to his old man’s quaver—a disguise that made her flesh crawl, now that she knew it for what it was.
“He was pierced by fully four of them… jagged, broad-head-ded hunting arrows, Lady. Beastly things that do almost as much harm on their way out as they do up-on impact.” His face softened as he read her expression. “You look surprised. Well, Ruční Kopí was just as surprised. He tells me there were no archers among your harriers.” He sighed through his nose. “He must have snapped off the shafts at some point. I was able to re-move two of them, but I fear they did their work on his kidney. Another had already been ripped out, causing con-sid-er-able damage. It would have ended him almost instant-ly had it not first pierced his quiver. Removing the final one would cause him un-necessary pain and would only serve to short-ten his re-main-ning time with us.”
Kastan made a nod of acceptance. She knew her role in this. She also knew the answer to the question she must now ask, but she asked it anyway. “Is there anything to be done for him? Is there no way to save him?”
She felt Andrej stiffen. An instant later, she realized he was quite literally holding his breath.
“We can make him comfortable, Excellency. In truth, it is a mark of his strength and force of will that he has sur-vived as long as he has. I’ve seen war-riors of great stature and renown fall to less-ser wounds than this.”
She squeezed the boy’s shoulders again, resisting the urge to turn him—to embrace him. He began to breathe once more. He bowed his blond head for a moment, then returned to his vigil.
“Shall I give him to drink, Excellency?”
“Will it drive him deeper into sleep? If there’s a chance he might—”
Rákos chose that moment to take the matter out of their hands. He coughed his way into a sitting position, eyes snapping open and staring about with a wild, desperate intensity.
“Bjegota, dolů! Pozor!” (Bjegota, down! Watch out!) He coughed again, then vomited a nearly silent gout of blood. He tried to turn, as if wanting to avoid fouling his own chest. In the end, it made little difference.
“One of the arrows must have nicked the lung.” Radek pulled several cotton cloths from his apothecar’s effects and set about cleaning the dying man. He kept his voice modulated and calm, but addressed his speech to the room as a whole. “The wounds to his kidney are bad enough. That causes the body to poison itself—confusion, delirium, perhaps a final few moments of clarity before the end. If the lungs are damaged as well…”
In a voice that came out as a wet whisper, Rákos spoke anew.
“Kde je? Kde je můj chlapec?? (Where is? Where is my boy?)
Andrej tried to speak, but at first no sound came. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and tried again. This time, his voice came out calm—full of a warmth and strength that somehow overshadowed the war raging just outside.
“I’m here, Father. Jsem tady.” (I’m right here.)
“Obchodní jazyk, Andrej… Obchodní jazyk.” (The Trade Tongue.) Rákos seemed caught between sly chiding and fevered frustration. “Poslouchej minulost. Mluv s budoucností, ano?” (Listen to the past. Speak with the future, yes?) He gave another cough—this one blessedly dry, but very weak.
Andrej gave a breathy laugh, bowing his head for a moment. “To jo. I know. I’m… I’m sorry.”
Rákos grinned with pink teeth. His entire aspect appeared to deflate as he exhaled.
Hajvarr spoke in surprise from the entrance to the residence. “Pamatuji si tě, Rákos! Kdysi jsi mě káral stejným způsobem… Jsem Hajvarr, syn Vojtěch. Pamatuješ si mě?” (I remember you, Rákos! You used to scold me the same way… I’m Hajvarr, son of Vojtech. Do you remember me?)
Rákos nodded, pointed to Hajvarr and tried to speak. Kastan couldn’t decide if he looked sad or uncertain. His voice was gone. He didn’t seem to have enough breath for even a whisper. Still pointing to Hajvarr, he mouthed something that looked like know and me. Making a sour face of either pain or frustration, he shook his head, then pointed to himself.
Hajvarr put up both hands in a placating gesture. “It’s fine. I promise you I take no offense. Rest now.”
The hunter shook his head and lay back, eyes streaming.
“Excellency, he’s in ter-rible pain… May I give him…”
Kastan gave a nod, then watched as Radek poured a final powder into the mug before bringing it to Rákos and helping him to drink.
When it was over, and Radek had wiped the man’s lips clean, he returned to place the empty mug back on the table. “Say what you mean to say, boy. You may not have another chance.”
Andrej gulped, nodded, and drew a deep breath. He let it out in a shudder but forced himself to walk the few feet, then kneel at his father’s side. He kissed the man’s brow, took his bright hand between both of his own, and whispered into the hunter’s ear.
Rákos reached up with his dim hand and pulled the boy down so their foreheads touched. The contact was brief but felt even to Kastan like the only true thing in the tent. All else seemed thin and unimportant.
The dying man then turned toward Hajvarr, reaching his newly freed dim hand out toward him. Ruční Kopí came close and dropped to his knees beside him, clasping the outstretched hand in both of his just as Andrej had. Rákos accepted the contact, but only briefly, pulling his hand away.
Kastan found his eyes almost too bright to look at. They seemed to be seeing nothing and everything at once. He pointed to himself, then back to Hajvarr, smiling a sad smile. Nodding, he pointed to Hajvarr again, then to Andrej, and finally to his own head.
Hajvarr grinned. “Yes—exactly. I was about your boy’s age. You brought us a boar…”
Rákos gave a nod, then made his first and second fingers walk a shaking circle in mid-air.
Again, Hajvarr nodded. It was clear that he was concentrating on keeping both his voice and face under control. “You wandered all over the area. You hunted all the wide lands in the north of the county.”
Rákos grabbed Hajvarr’s ear as if to haul himself up. Kastan could see he was shuddering. He drew in a rattling breath, then spoke in a painful rasp.
“Je mi líto. Nemohl… Že jsem ji nemohl zachránit.” (I’m sorry. I couldn’t… I couldn’t save her.)
“You did save her. You brought Lady Kastan home safely. She’s right here… Look.” Andrej squeezed his father’s hand between both of his, then pointed to where Kastan stood. The boy’s eyes searched for hers, pleading without words for her to approach—to say … something that would comfort his father.
Kastan forced a courtly smile onto her face and came to kneel beside Andrej. “I cannot thank you enough, brave Rákos. You raced back to warn me—to warn the entire encampment—and gave no thought to your own safety. Many, many lives were saved by your good heart.”
With great effort, he lifted the hand that Andrej held. He moved it toward Kastan, eyes desperate.
Kastan placed her hands over Andrej’s, which were, in turn, placed over Rákos’s own. “I have him. I won’t abandon Andrej. Never think it. He belongs to m-my household for as long as he wishes to. You have my oath on it.”
Rákos looked suddenly alarmed. He tried to draw breath, eyes wide. His face grew pale as he fought for consciousness.
“Otče? Otče? Breathe… breeeeeeathe…” Andrej sat forward, pulling his hand free… moving his arm around his father’s shoulders. The man turned his head to face him, mouthing something. Then he slipped out of consciousness and knew no more.
Andrej lowered his father’s head back down, with Hajvarr’s help.
He’s slipped consciousness, but he hasn’t yet slipped sideways. It won’t be long, though. I should go back to Olga, but…
But no. One look at Andrej drove all doubt from her heart. Even now, he was wetting a cloth in the water Radek had used moments before. As she watched, he rang it out, and with gentle hands began to clean his father’s stained beard. The scene upended the hourglass, bringing her back to a time when she wasn’t much older than the grieving boy beside her. She was, for a moment, cast back to her mother Klara’s last days under the lash of the wasting sickness… days in which Kastan alone had been charged with that awful, final vigil. No, she was precisely where she needed to be.
As if reading her mind, Andrej glanced over at her and nodded. “You’ll be just in there?”
Hajvarr’s red hound had come over and curled up behind the boy. Kastan ran a gentle finger along the animal’s black muzzle, then along the thick crimson of her brow. Turning to Andrej, she leaned over and kissed the top of his head.
He smiled at her. It was a grateful smile, if both weak and distracted.
“You’re sure?”
He nodded again.
She hesitated. “I won’t be long. If you need anything…”
“I’ll call. Thank you, Lady.”
She stood, looking down at him for a long moment, then headed back to hasten matters with Olga along.