CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CORALEN

Coralen watched Storm turn into a scampering cub at her reunion with Corban and couldn’t help but smile. She hobbled over to the pair; Storm, for a moment, raised a lip and bared her fangs at Coralen before she recognized her scent, then she was nuzzling her as well.

Corban looked at her and smiled, tears streaking lines through the dirt and dried blood-spatter on his face.

“I thought she was dead,” he said.

“I found her, on a riverbank,” Coralen said smiling. Somehow it was important to her that Corban knew that. “I thought she was dead, she had the faintest heartbeat. Brina was looking after her when we left to find you, though she said there was little hope.”

“Well, whatever she did, it worked,” Corban grinned, ruffling the thick fur around Storm’s neck and tugging on one of her ears. She licked his face with a rough tongue, then licked Coralen for good measure, making her stagger. Coralen grunted in pain.

“I need to look at your wounds,” Corban said.

“I think I may have to wait my turn,” Coralen said. “There’re others in more need than me.”

Farrell and Laith were still unmoving, Laith lay prone across Farrell. It was he who was groaning.

Laith swore when they tried to lift her. Coralen breathed a sigh of relief at hearing her; she’d feared the giantling was dead.

“Concussion,” Corban said, looking in Laith’s eyes. “No broken bones.”

Gar came to help them and the three of them rolled Laith off of Farrell, as gently as they could. The two giants that had joined them—Varan and Sig, as Corban introduced them to Coralen—helped. Sig had a vicious-looking cut along the length of one arm, but still she lifted Laith as if she were as light as a bairn.

“You saved us,” Corban said to the two Jotun giants. “We are in your debt.”

“We’ll talk later,” Varan said. “But now, take this and tend to your wounded.” He offered Corban a bag. Corban opened it and sniffed.

“Comfrey, yarrow, peppermint,” Varan said. “Being apprenticed to a healer has its benefits.”

“Hala,” Corban said. “How is she?”

“Unconscious,” Varan replied.

“Mort struck her,” Sig snarled.

“She may never wake,” Varan added.

“I am sorry for that.” Corban shook his head.

Sig grunted.

“And take this,” Varan said, offering a drinking skin to Corban.

“Brot?”

“Aye,” Varan smiled.

Corban nodded and bent down beside Farrell.

“My thanks,” Farrell breathed, “much as I’m fond of her, Laith’s not a light lass. I feel half-crushed to death.”

“Might have something to do with the hammer-blow you took to your sternum,” Corban said, pressing on Farrell’s midriff. He yelped in pain.

“Aye, you might be right,” Farrell said. “I’m guessing, as we’re still alive, we won.” He blinked. “Is that Storm?”

“Aye,” Corban and Coralen said together.

“She looks meaner,” Farrell commented. “Wilder.”

I thought that.

“Where’s Dath?” Farrell asked.

A muffled sob drew all of their eyes. Kulla. She was still standing over Dath, who was lying face-down in the grass, a vicious set of claw-marks raked across his back. Gently Corban lifted his friend and turned him over. He made no sound, head flopping back in Corban’s arms.

“Please, no,” Farrell whispered when he reached them. Coralen just stood and stared, hoping. Corban had his ear to Dath’s chest, searching for a pulse.

“Thank Elyon,” he said with a long exhalation, “he’s alive.”

“He’s alive?” Kulla asked.

“Aye. For now, though that wound on his back needs cleaning, probably stitching.”

Kulla dropped to her knees, lifted Dath onto her lap and stroked his face, tears rolling down her cheeks. “When you wake up, we’re going to have a serious talk,” Kulla said quietly, “getting yourself injured like that.”

Coralen helped Corban and Gar tend to the others. Dath’s wounds were the most serious, each claw-wound needing washing out then scraping clean with a knife, making them bleed again. When Corban was eventually happy that the wounds were dirt-free, he slathered them with honey and stitched them closed. While they were doing that, Varan and Sig gathered the giant corpses and laid them together, eight giants in all. The dead bears they left where they fell, Storm feasting on one of them.

Coralen had her own collection of cuts and bruises, her jaw was tender and throbbing where the giant had punched her.

Lucky I don’t have a broken jaw.

She cleaned and washed her cuts down by the stream, but her worst injury was to her ribs, where the giant had kicked her. Already a purple bruise the size of her head was blooming across her ribs. Eventually Coralen consented to Corban checking her over. He touched her ribs, fingers gentle, but still she winced.

He strapped her ribs and gave her a bowl of something he’d heated over a pot, telling her to wash it down with the brot Varan had given him. She did so without complaint.

It was late by the time all was done, the moon fading in the sky.

Corban sat beside Coralen as she lay on the grass, trying not to groan with the pain in her rib.

“Quite a day,” he said quietly.

“And night,” Coralen said. She felt a warm glow spreading through her, the relief that she always experienced after a battle survived. None of their crew had fallen. Battered to the shadow of death’s doorway, maybe, but they were all still breathing. She knew the odds they’d faced this day and night had been overwhelming. It was verging upon a miracle that they had all survived.

She looked up at Corban and saw that he was watching and smiling at her.

“Come down here and get some sleep,” she said to him.

He did, lying down beside her, then turning over to put an arm across her. He kissed her cheek.

“Good night,” he whispered in her ear, and within about thirty heartbeats he was snoring softly. She lay there and smiled.

Just before sleep took her she realized they’d not set a guard. Then she heard Storm shift, get up and pad over to them, curling down behind Corban, the smell of her fur wafting over them.

Don’t need to set a guard tonight. Storm’s back, and she’s pack.